[FM15] Raising Cain

[tenthreeleader]

Thanks to everyone for the kind words. The last few weeks at work have really been kicking my tail. But am back now with more to post. A man's got to have his priorities!

___

“I honestly do not know how I could be any more proud of this group of players,” Kyle exulted. “From where they were to where they have now gone, I can hardly say enough. They get the credit, they have done the work, they are a very happy bunch now and we’re going to have a very enjoyable coach ride home.”

With two matches left, Oxford was now in control of its own destiny. That was amazing news.

The Us had posted an 18-5-5 mark in all competitions since Kyle had arrived and had moved from 22^nd place to seventh. The achievement was remarkable, and it might not have been finished with the Tranmere result.

“We have something to defend now,” Kyle noted. “The club has played brilliantly to get to this point, but we still have two matches left and if they don’t get won, we’re still staying home for the playoffs.”

“Could you even have imagined this, Kyle?” Churchill asked. Evidently he hadn’t remembered the night in the pub, since he was still speaking kindly to the manager.

“Everyone dreams of it,” Kyle said, trying to suppress a frown. “But if I’m honest, I don’t know that I’d have called this a playoff club when I got here. It’s been a great run, though, and it’s not over yet.”

He was asked, now by regional media, about the secret to Oxford’s success.

“They work. Damn, they work,” he said of his players. “They apply themselves and now their confidence is to the point where they aren’t scared of trying the killer ball, aren’t scared to switch play and make something happen, and they aren’t scared that if they make a mistake it’s going to beat them. There’s a lot to be happy about.”

“How much of that is down to you and your coaches?” A reporter who Kyle had never seen before but judging by his blow-dried appearance was probably connected to some television camera, was asking the question.

“All a manager can do is put his players in the best position to succeed,” Kyle said. “I’ve not seen a manager yet who could win anything by himself. The players have to believe, they have to push, they have to work, and they can’t quit or they get relegated. That’s what we had when I came here and now it’s different.”

“The players had quit?” The same reporter showed that he understood neither Oxford United nor Kyle’s response with his followup.

“No. I mean that if players at this level don’t play, they get to play at the next lower level if they don’t get released,” he responded, irritated at the question. “This club was in a bad state in November and I was fortunate to inherit a group of players who wanted to dig their way out of the hole they were in and make something of themselves.”

With that, it was back to a very happy group of players in the changing room.

Players were well into their post-match routines by then, with plunge pools taken, most of the team showered and the remainder replaying their heroics over refreshments of various kinds.

“Come on, lads, hurry along, we’ve got a long ride home ahead,” Kyle called. Reluctant to move on to the next phase of their day, the players nonetheless realized they had to get a move on.

“Can’t we just enjoy this?” MacDonald called out, to general laughter from the team.

“You should, you did well,” Kyle called back. “But if you want to see your wives and girlfriends sometime tonight, you’d better get on the coach, it’s a long drive for them to come pick you up!”

That moved the players along. Kyle had more thinking to do on the way home, and in his case it wasn’t about a wife or girlfriend. In his case, if he didn’t watch it, it was going to be about both, and the last time he had done that it hadn’t worked out well for him.

In London, Stacy sat watching Sky Sports, and the scores ran along the bottom of her television screen. She saw “Tranmere 0-3 Oxford: Us move into final League Two playoff spot” crawling along the bottom of the screen and she shrugged her shoulders.

“Maybe you aren’t such a failure after all, Kyle Cain,” she mused.

Boyd was down the pub with a few of his friends and so he didn’t see the result with her, but her phone message light came on as he texted moments later.

“Your boy won,” Boyd had written. “But he didn’t win you.”

Stacy leaned back in her chair and sighed. The baby was kicking again, and every time that happened, she thought about her life, and the life she was supposed to be having.

It hurt. The life, that is. Not the baby.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

In rowing, it was the be-all and end-all. Oxford v Cambridge. One of the world’s oldest and greatest sporting traditions.

But in football, not so much. Cambridge had nearly qualified for the first season of the Premier League after finishing fifth in the old Second Division before falling in the playoffs to Leicester in 1991-92, narrowly missing out on becoming the only club in the history of the English game to be promoted from the fourth tier to the top tier in successive seasons.

Now, though, the two communities who were not natural rivals on the football pitch had the opportunity to play for something real. The Cambridge Uniteds were mid-table; the Oxford Uniteds were shooting for something higher.

Kyle wanted to guard against letdown after the triumph in Birkenhead, but found that very difficult. Training was ragged on the Monday and Tuesday after the return trip to Oxfordshire – so bad, in fact, that he pulled the team off the training ground on the Tuesday afternoon and had them run laps.

He followed that running stint with a brief team meeting about the importance of focus. Nobody likes to run laps after playing 44 league games plus cup competitions, and Kyle well knew it.

“If you don’t want to run, keep your shoulders to the wheel,” Kyle barked as the players passed him on a third lap of the training pitch.

Wright, the captain, was the first to understand what Kyle was doing, and a quiet talk with a few of the worst offenders after training soon put things right.

But with Saturday’s match providing Oxford a chance to all but lock up a trip to the playoffs, there was still work to do and finally, on the Wednesday, the players kicked things back into gear.

It was just in time for Kyle, who was running out of patience.

The pressure was starting to get to him, too, since Eales informed him that the club had a ‘fan day’ promotion planned for the final home match and ticket sales had been comparatively brisk.

That would mean a win was important to keep Moore off his back as much as anything else. She would make some comment, some aside to show her disdain for the Oxford manager and if they lost, well then it would get pretty loud as the team would surely need a result in the last match of the season away to Newport County to assure a playoff position.

These were things that no other manager in England had to worry about, Kyle felt sure, but then his job depended on winning and if he didn’t win he shouldn’t keep his job anyway, he thought.

But the thought of giving one more twist of the knife to that woman was enough to keep him going, enough to keep him looking at video for that extra half hour every night, to get him not to hit the snooze button in the morning for five more minutes of rest.

That was the way she wanted it. Well, Kyle would set a personal standard that would shut her up.

Allison, for her part, was just as passionate about seeing the team succeed, as a lifelong fan. She put her feelings for Kyle aside that week, to allow him to concentrate just that little bit extra.

She was quiet to the point that Kyle actually asked her if anything was wrong, remembering back to their goodnight before leaving for Birkenhead. He cringed as he sent the text, wondering if she had had second thoughts.

“Just giving you space,” she had texted back. “Everything’s okay.”

It would have been easier if she had had second thoughts, Kyle mused. It would have made his life, and his decision, much simpler.

He had liked his moment with her quite a bit. He knew it was forbidden fruit, though, and that took a lot of the starch out of him. He also wondered what Stacy could be playing at.

And, if he was honest, he missed watching Stacy carry the child. He had really enjoyed her pregnancy with Jenna back in the day, and as an attentive father, had secretly wanted to be able to repeat those special days. The chance was there – and someone else was getting to watch it all.

That would have been much easier had Allison not entered the picture. The person who noticed the conflict was Vic, and that didn’t bode well at all.

Vic and Allison were besties, though, and so Kyle needn’t have worried about anything showing up in the Mail that would affect that friendship. Yet she was a fairly astute judge of people, and as such her quiet question after the Wednesday training session didn’t take Kyle by surprise.

They were walking to their cars, and the reporter had waited for the manager. That in itself wasn’t unusual – Vic often did that when she had time before deadline and needed clarification on a certain issue – but the questioning certainly was.

“Allison said you had a nice time the other night,” Vic said, and Kyle blanched.

“Oh, don’t worry that I’ll say anything,” she said. “I just want her to be happy. I consider you to be a pretty good guy, Kyle, and I think you’d be good for her because I know what you’ve been through in your life. She went through a lot of the same things. That’s why I introduced the two of you.”

“We did,” Kyle admitted. “She’s a good friend and for now it needs to stay that way.”

“I know you have decisions to make that are important for you and Jenna and even your wife and your unborn child,” Vic said. “Those are your decisions and I know Allison respects them as well as your right to make them. I just want to make sure everything’s okay. As a friend to her.”

“I think things are okay, she said they were,” Kyle said, trying not to sound defensive. “If I had it to do over again, I don’t think I’d have kissed her, because I’m sure she told you about that.”

“She did.”

“We got caught up in the moment and I think we showed some feelings,” Kyle said sheepishly. Suddenly, he was unable to look Vic in the eye.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

“Fan Day” called for the players to make an appearance on the night before the match in a get-together at the stadium.

Kyle would rather have had his players at home, concentrating on the next day’s match and getting ready for a good night’s sleep, but this time the commercial department and Moore had won the argument.

Kyle stood at a table in the Christchurch Suite between Fazackerley and Eales. The suite area had been opened up to season-ticket holders for the event, while other staff members and players were situated at various points around the concourses and on the pitch so the kids could run around with a United player and maybe even have a kickabout.

It was Kyle’s job to greet the high-end folks, the season-ticket holders who sat behind the dugouts and paid more coin than most burghers in Oxfordshire to see the local eleven play. So he stood, in his touchline suit, hair combed, tie knotted just so, and nervous as a dog with his tail next to a floor fan.

He didn’t know why – his team was wildly popular now and he personally was the League Two managerial flavor of the month – but the whole idea of the gathering set his teeth on edge.

One by one, the season-ticket holders filed by to shake his hand, thank him, and offer unsolicited advice on the team.

That was part and parcel of being a boss of a smaller club – listening to what the hoi polloi knew was the best way to solve the striker issue, close down opposing strikers, or hold a late lead – and Kyle did a lot of head-nodding and smiling.

The fact of the matter was that these people didn’t spend hours poring over video, thinking and rethinking tactics, and they didn’t understand individual strengths and weaknesses and why they kept certain players in, and others out, of the eleven.

That didn’t matter. This was about getting people to renew their season tickets for next season, and everyone seemed to have the same general question:

“If I renew my ticket, will it be for League One or for League Two?”

Kyle, of course, couldn’t answer that, but did his best to disarm the more strident questioners by telling them that if they supported the team vocally enough the next day, it might very well be the former.

It was the right thing to say, but the fans wanted guarantees Kyle couldn’t give. He had told the Mail that afternoon that he liked his team’s chances, but that was as far as he would go. The morning edition would, in the finest tradition of English journalism, blow up his comments into something they weren’t, but that was beyond his control.

He greeted people one by one, and then he saw Moore walk into the room.

She ignored Kyle completely and instead focused her attention on Eales.

“Mr. Eales, it looks like we have about three thousand here tonight,” she said. “We’ve been taking informal attendance and it looks very good.”

“Excellent, Diana,” Eales said, noting that the club souvenir store had been opened for the occasion and was doing brisk business. These sorts of events were the reason people like Diana Moore had jobs, and she had done very well for herself.

“Thank you,” she said, turning to glare at Kyle before she left the room.

“I don’t think that problem is getting fixed,” Eales sighed as the line to meet the group dwindled.

“You can’t fix something when both parties don’t want it fixed,” Kyle said, trying not to complain. “I bought her a sympathy card for her father and she returned it to me torn in pieces.”

“That’s sad,” Eales agreed. “But if she didn’t want it, then what can you do?”

“There are more than a few things she doesn’t want,” Kyle said. “Peace with me being one of them. I can’t change what happened, I can’t change the mistake I made, but I can try to make amends until they are either accepted or I get my face slapped, I suppose. Maybe that’s next.”

“I have to judge her on performance, and she knows her job,” Eales said. “I have to judge her like I judge you, and I know you understand that.”

“Well, can she be a master promoter without constantly trying to insult people?”

“That will come up at her review,” Eales said. “That much I can do.”

With the club losing money and needing an infusion of cash, commercial income was vital, and as such Moore’s position meant a lot to the club from a business standpoint. Kyle wondered if she got the same pressure for results off the pitch as he did for results on it.

At times, Kyle was frustrated with his chairman, but he was smart enough to realize that Eales wasn’t going to do anything that would damage either his business or his own reputation. Kyle would have to find his own way, and that was something he had grown accustomed to doing.

# # #

[Maviarab.]

Great updates Tenthree...and glad to see you back posting

[tenthreeleader]

Thanks very much .. and now on to more posting

___

25 April 2015 – Oxford United (20-10-14, 7^th place) v Cambridge United (13-16-15, 15^th place)

Sky Bet League Two Match Day #45 – The Kassam Stadium, Oxford

Referee: Scott Mathieson

There was an air of expectancy at the Kassam Stadium as Kyle reached the staff car park. Turning in from Grenoble Road, he saw that a good crowd had gathered to enjoy some pre-match food and fun on what promised to be a glorious spring afternoon.

From the looks of things, some of them had partied all through the previous night, judging by their loud and boisterous reactions to the manager’s arrival.

“Get stuck into them, boss!”

“Beat them bloody, Kyle!”

“See you at Wembley!”

That last might have been a bit optimistic, but surely nobody was talking about the national stadium during Appleton’s reign. It made Kyle feel good.

A chant from the assembled of “Kyle Cain’s Yellow Army!” made him feel better still, and as he entered through the staff door, he knew there would be a big and boisterous crowd and that meant much.

Lord’s report was just as pleasing – Will Hoskins was ready to return from injury and would be available for selection for the season’s final match at Newport County.

For now, Hoskins was the present. The future was pulling his socks on when Kyle entered the changing room.

He mussed Roberts’ hair and wished the teenager well. He was getting another start, the in-form striker playing off Hylton, another player coming back from time in the training room.

“Thanks, gaffer,” the lad said, his short brown hair not seeming to move much as a result of Kyle’s greeting. Roberts was the man on a mission, his hot streak in high gear. He had scored five goals in ten matches while on loan at Barnet earlier in the season and now had three goals from four matches with the Oxford senior squad.

Kyle saw no reason to sit the hot hand on the bench, even if using it would have been cheating. Skarz was going to get another shot at the left fullback position, with Potts on the bench in case of trouble, and as the match proper began, the extra fans in the stands made the chants a little bit louder and the atmosphere just a little bit better.

Cambridge started the match in a 5-4-1 Diamond formation, jamming the middle of the park with defenders and midfielders to try to counter Oxford’s direct game. It nearly backfired in the first minute, as Bevans stroked a beautiful cross from deep right onto the forehead of Roberts. The free header sailed just over the top of Will Norris’ goal 48 seconds into the match.

Harry Lennon welcomed Roberts to League Two with a too-hard challenge only five minutes into the contest that drew both the ire and the yellow card of referee Scott Mathieson, to the delight of the Oxford crowd. The teenager was playing his new-found fame for all it was worth, and he achieved near-cult status only three minutes later when Bevans took a Maddison feed and crossed for the youngster.

This time he didn’t miss, sailing off to the corner flag at the Mail stand end with his arms apart like wings of an airplane, his fourth senior goal safely into the back of the net.

They earned two more corners in the next five minutes but neither one came to much, while Cambridge played rope-a-dope of the type Muhammad Ali made famous. They were trying to survive as Kyle’s men poured forward in waves.

Then it was Hylton with a free header which Norris saved at full stretch, so it was hard to be anything but pleased at how the squad was playing.

Luke Chadwick earned Cambridge’s first corner just shy of twenty minutes into the match but it came to nothing as Oxford defended tenaciously.

Shortly after that, the Us were celebrating again as a cross from Skarz was headed clear but only as far as Ssewankambo, who found Bevans on the right. The switch in play was very effective as the fullback slid a pass to MacDonald in the area, with the Scot beating Norris along the floor to his right post for Oxford’s second.

The set piece parade continued for the remainder of the first half, with three more corners and a couple of decently located free kicks coming as Cambridge finally had to start to foul to slow Kyle’s men down.

The most spectacular was Richard Tait coming through Hylton’s legs from behind just outside the Cambridge area in 39 minutes, which earned a yellow from Mathieson and could have been more.

Bevans had had a great first half and as such was in very good spirits as he sat for halftime refreshment. Kyle noticed, and made sure the defender got some extra praise in addition to the team talk, which was positive with just a bit of warning.

Nobody could tell if the team Cambridge had fielded had a pulse, so it was a bit dicey as to how to handle them in the second half. If they showed up, they could make trouble. Midfielder Tom Champion, who certainly hadn’t played like one, got the thumb at halftime in favor of Jordan Slew and by the time the second half was twenty minutes old, the visitors had gone through all their substitutions.

What they didn’t have was a shot on target, and for Kyle that was very pleasing. The defenders held Cambridge off with ease, allowing only a half-chance by Liam Hughes on the hour mark while having two decent chances themselves, from Hylton and Roberts.

Just after Cambridge’s third substitution, striker Rory Gaffney, stepped onto the park, O’Dowda made them pay, by slotting another great left-to-right ball to MacDonald, who was perching like a vulture at Norris’ left post for three-nil in 65 minutes.

However, then what Kyle dreaded the most happened.

Roberts was working a ball to the middle of the park for the trailing Maddison when Slew stepped on his plant foot just as the teenager was turning. He twisted very awkwardly and fell hard, yelping in pain and grabbing his right foot.

The referee immediately signaled for the physios and Lord came at a run, taking a few moments to assess before sending word to Kyle through Wright.

“Andy says it’s almost certainly broken,” the captain said. “They’ll need to cut Vardy’s shoe off.”

Kyle tossed his head back in frustration. It was a freak accident and now yet another promising Oxford player was on the shelf. A stretcher was brought onto the pitch to carry the ashen-faced boy back to the training room to start his treatment, and this time when Kyle mussed his hair, he had a different message.

“You are important to this club,” he told the boy. “Don’t forget that. We’ll be there for you.”

Mullins came on for Roberts as Kyle shifted to 4-2-3-1 with the points in the bag. And after the shock of the injury, the fans began to sing.

Despite Roberts’ sidelining, it was hard to imagine the team playing much better, and what everyone was waiting for was the tannoy announcer to start reading other scores.

The match continued, Cambridge continued to flail away, and then the announcer became a very popular man with three minutes left to play.

“Final score,” he read. “Plymouth Argyle two, Tranmere Rovers nil.”

At that, the fans rose as one, and began to chant.

“Kyle Cain’s Yellow Army!”

He had to admit that he liked that chant better than the last one he had heard from them, and as Mathieson looked at his watch, Fazackerley turned to Kyle on the bench.

He extended his hand.

“Congratulations, Kyle,” he said. “That’s about done it, I should think.”

Oxford United: Ashdown: Bevans, Dunkley, Wright (captain), Skarz, Ssewankambo (Whing 71), MacDonald, Maddison, O’Dowda, Roberts (inj, Mullins 81), Hylton (Hoban 71). Unused subs: Clarke, Grimshaw, Meades, Potts.

Oxford United 3 (Roberts 8, MacDonald 26, 65)

Cambridge United 0

H/T: 2-0

A – 7,697, The Kassam Stadium, Oxford

Man of the Match: Alex MacDonald, Oxford (MR 9.2)

GUMP: Alex MacDonald

# # #

[Maviarab.]

Well done argyle....but baaaad news for Roberts. Excellent stuff again

[tenthreeleader]

There is nothing like an opponent who does a job for you, eh?

___

The word was dire. Four to five months on the shelf for Roberts, who deserved better. Surgery was already scheduled to insert a plate and screw into the boy’s foot so it could heal.

“Such talent,” Kyle said sadly in his post match news conference. “We don’t seem to have had a whole lot of luck on the injury front of late but every team has to deal with injuries. We aren’t unique. He’s going for the ball and the lad steps on his foot. It happens. We don’t have to like it but it happens.”

“Does this take away from the win at all?”

“From a team standpoint, no,” Kyle answered, trying not to show his frustration at yet another injury. “But from a personal standpoint, yes. James has done very well for us and it’s a shame he’s out at a time when we need him the most. He can’t help it but that’s football.”

“This win probably earned you the playoffs.” Churchill looked like Kyle had invented the Pythagorean Theorem.

“It looks good, doesn’t it?” Kyle marveled. “I think we’d need divine intervention to keep us out now.”

He was right. Oxford now stood fifth, with a twelve-goal difference on Tranmere in eighth place. Oxford could lose at Newport County but it would take pestilence on the pitch to keep Oxford United out of the playoff places.

[b]Playoff race[/b]

4. Plymouth       79           +35
5. Oxford         73           +20
6. Accrington     73           +12
7. Luton          72           +11
8. Tranmere       70            +8

Cheltenham had gotten themselves officially relegated that afternoon, and Kyle knew what that feeling was like. So he had seen the high and the low of the League Two wars almost exactly a calendar year apart.

At that time the year before, he had been informed of his sacking as Torquay were officially sent down. At that time a year ago, he had delivered the famous ‘non-team talk’ at Mansfield and seen his team thrashed for it. Now playing under Chris Hargreaves, his old club had locked up a playoff place that afternoon, winning by a goal to nil at Halifax Town. That made him smile.

But at the same time, he thought about how that failure had driven him, and how he wanted to see his new club succeed in the same way.

The last match of the season saw Carlisle on 44 points and Exeter City on 43, with the teams at home to Hartlepool and Dag and Red respectively. He was glad he didn’t have to manage under that kind of pressure again.

It was never going to be easy. Yet Kyle had put Oxford on the brink of promotion from the brink of relegation and for that, some people were talking about him for Manager of the Year.

None of them worked for the Oxford Mail, though, so there was that to consider.

Not that Kyle would have lobbied. He simply wanted to succeed and let the chips fall where they may.

Yet, despite the injury to Roberts, the mood in the changing room was almost obscenely optimistic and Kyle couldn’t wait to get back to his players.

He entered the changing room to a near mosh-pit of music, celebration and noise. It was a great atmosphere, even though nothing had officially been clinched as of yet.

It was the kind of atmosphere that makes people want to go into football as a career. It was almost intoxicating, with happy players in a team atmosphere in an environment of success.

They quieted, though, when the boss entered the room.

“Men, you have done brilliantly,” he said, stopping outside the door to his office. “You’ve done everything I’ve asked of you and put yourselves in a position to advance if you can get one point at Rodney Parade. You’ve earned this celebration but I want you to be smart about it. Be good, be intelligent, get home early and get ready for training on Monday morning. We are going back to work, gentlemen, because there is still work to be done. Now enjoy this win!”

They cheered Kyle, and he headed into his office with a grin as big as all outdoors on his face.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked his text messages.

There was a note from Allison there. It read: “Congratulations. You got us to the promised land. There’s another one waiting for you if you will only come and claim it.”

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

There was a lot to be happy about that week.

The table looked downright gaudy. With a goal difference of plus twelve against Tranmere, the playoffs were all but assured even if things went badly at Newport County, a team that was as solidly mid-table as you could get in League Two.

He had taken Allison to dinner on the Sunday, and that was great too. There was no repeat of the ending of their prior dinner date, and part of Kyle was thankful for that, but the two had an honest conversation about Allison’s text message.

“Don’t think for a moment that I wouldn’t love to,” Kyle said, “but you know that puts me in an impossible situation.”

“I understand,” Allison said sadly. “But can you blame a girl for wanting a repeat performance?”

She cared. She genuinely cared. That meant a lot. And it didn’t hurt matters that at midweek, Kyle asked her over for dinner – with Jenna and Miles.

This was a definite attempt to bury the hatchet, as it were. Everyone around the same table, talking about the same things, and hopefully removing the same barriers.

Kyle wondered why he hadn’t thought of it long before. He trusted Allison to make the right impression on Jenna, and she tried very hard to do just that, reminding her that it was okay for more than one person to care about her father.

Jenna, who had seemed to have lost some of the protectiveness she had always previously felt about Kyle, now rethought her position.

Miles, for his part, was quiet. That was outside of his nature as well. Usually a boisterous fellow, the fullback had received word from the coaching staff that his Oxford days were numbered and as such he was trying not to blame Kyle for his predicament.

His problem was that he hadn’t done enough to warrant a new contract, and that caused heartbreak for him. That was understandable, and he knew that the final decision had rested with Kyle Cain.

So, finally, he brought it up. And nearly ruined dinner.

“Did you tell them to release me because of what happened at training that day?” he asked.

Kyle stopped in mid-bite, a fork with a hunk of a pretty good Porterhouse steak on it halfway to his mouth. He put down the fork and looked at the young man.

“Why, no, Miles, I didn’t,” he said. “You know that decisions to tender contracts are made not simply by me, but by all the coaches, including your youth team bosses.”

“But you could have stopped it,” he said, in a tone that somehow managed to be non-accusational.

Now Kyle looked in at Miles, with Jenna looking at him from the other side of the table.

“Look here, Miles,” he said. “You need to understand a few things, first off that this is a business. There’s no time for sentimentality here. If I were to keep you on board and paying you a contract next season because you’re dating my daughter, that wouldn’t be very good, would it?”

Miles wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“I think I did enough,” he said defensively.

“Well, most players do,” Kyle answered. “I thought I had, when I was released from Orient. I thought I had done enough to get one more deal, but the management disagreed. I will be more than happy to help you find a club, though, if you’d like.”

“I’d prefer it be Oxford,” he said simply.

“I’m sure you would,” Kyle answered.

Allison watched the conversation warily. She wasn’t at all sure how it was going to turn out. Clearly, Miles felt that he wouldn’t get to see Jenna as much if he was with another club, and perhaps that was the case, but the fact remained. His contract wasn’t being renewed.

Kyle thought it through.

“What would you say to Oxford City?” he asked. “Conference North, good side, I know their manager, Johnson Hippolyte…” his voice trailed off.

Miles thought about it in return.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, I guess,” he said. “I could stay in Oxford and maybe play more. And see Jenna, of course.” At that, she smiled.

“Would you like me to put in a word for you?” Kyle asked.

Miles, seeing he was defeated, nodded his assent.

Jenna now entered the conversation. She squeezed her boyfriend’s hand to get his attention.

“Shouldn’t you be saying something to my father right now?” she asked.

“Such as?”

“….thank you?”

Miles Booth looked at Kyle and finally, gave in to the inevitable. He was certain that his actions with Jenna had led to his release, but as long as he could keep playing football, he would deal with the consequences. If, that is, Oxford City could be persuaded to take him on trial.

“Thank you,” Miles said, returning to his meal.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

“I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.”

Boyd Stokes had less and less to be happy about these days. The clothes horse of the London Public Library System was having issues with Stacy Cain. Or, at least he thought he was.

Stacy thought so too, only she wasn’t telling him that.

In her new maternity dress, she looked like spring itself – a green and white floral number which had as much new life inside it as the pattern showed on the outside.

The baby was kicking regularly now – and for his part, Boyd didn’t make the obvious joke about a footballer’s wife having a little kicker in the oven. Stacy was into her eighth month now and she had talked with her obstetrician about potential due dates.

It looked now like the late May was the right time for the little Cain to be entering the world, and for her part Stacy was starting to anticipate what was to come.

Labor was no fun at all, obviously, but what happened afterward was great. She had enjoyed Jenna immensely, even if she didn’t always agree with how she had grown up. She was too close to her father.

She was wondering how close this child would be to Dad as well. Sometimes she didn’t mind the thought. Other times, it consumed her.

But Boyd felt like he was being shoved into the background. Emotionally, he was right. That was exactly what Stacy was doing. She had taken her own thoughts to heart about their relationship and seriously wondered if there was a way back with Kyle and her family.

Being alone had been hard. Reuniting, in its way, would be harder still, assuming it was possible.

She didn’t really know what she wanted. At times, the conversations she had with Kyle indicated that there was no way back. He had been cruel to her, but deep down in her heart of hearts, she knew she had been just as cruel in return.

She looked out the window of Boyd’s apartment, offering a view toward Silvertown. Not exactly the best quality view in the city, but you could sort of see the Thames so it wasn’t awful.

That’s not bad, Stacy thought, as she sighed to herself. ‘Not bad’ is the story of my life. When does good happen?

She looked over at Boyd. He wasn’t a bad guy, she thought. He did like to think of himself as the most sophisticated guy on the block, but there was no harm in that and he was half decent in bed. And he wasn’t seeing anybody else, which certainly helped.

Yet she felt unfulfilled. That was also not surprising. Families were supposed to be together, she knew, at least until the papers got filed.

Stacy’s phone buzzed, to see a text message from Jenna. Had dinner with Miles and Allison and Dad, she wrote.

Stacy’s eyebrows rose high enough so as to make her think they were hiding in her hair. Why would they do that?

Then it hit her.

She was being replaced.

She picked up her phone and texted back.

How did it go?

Stacy waited for a few moments and the answer arrived.

It went well, Jenna texted. We had a great time. Miles is getting released, but Dad’s going to find him a new club and we can still see each other. Allison is very nice.

Stacy looked down into her lap and felt the baby kicking again. For the first time in a long time, she imagined she knew how her husband must have felt for all those months.

Even though she wasn’t alone, Stacy Cain certainly felt that way.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

2 May 2015 – Newport County (17-12-16, 12^th place) v Oxford United (21-10-14, 5^th place)

Sky Bet League Two Match Day #46 – Rodney Parade, Newport

Referee: Darren Sheldrake

Now, there was something to defend.

The trip had been about one hundred miles. Walking through the gates of the old place in New South Wales, it felt like one hundred years as well.

On the banks of the River Usk, Rodney Parade is the second oldest sports venue in the Football League, with sport first being played on the grounds in 1877. The football club didn’t move there until three years ago, but the old gates in the front of the place made Kyle feel like he was walking into a bit of history, even as his team tried to write some.

They entered play in fifth place – seventeen places above where Kyle had found them in the table when he arrived back in November. His was one of the great success stories in the history of Oxford United Football Club – and even though it wasn’t First Division stuff, it was still something to remember.

There weren’t many changes made from the team which had gone two full matches without surrendering so much as a shot on target. They were the form team in League Two again, playing as well as they had been right after Kyle arrived.

Now was the time to be playing well – at the end, when the matches mattered the most if you weren’t automatically promoted.

Since he had arrived too late for that to be a serious consideration, Kyle settled for the next best thing – putting out a team which he hoped would be good for three points but which could certainly handle earning the one they truly needed.

Hylton played off Hoban, with Hoskins in reserve – Oxford’s “Triple H” attack was now fully ready for play with all three available for selection once again.

The three had combined for 39 goals in the forward positions on the season, which was a huge reason the Us were in the situation they were in that afternoon.

The match kicked off in a drizzle with a temperature of 19 degrees Centigrade.

After an early half-chance for Hoban, the home team came storming back, with Leo Chambers’ cross turned behind for the first corner of the match. The corner led to a lovely chance for striker Rene Howe, but Ashdown blocked the shot with his chest, a good thing since he didn’t have a very good idea of where the ball was.

Chris Zebroski was next, surprising Ashdown with a truly audacious lob from twenty-five yards with the keeper caught off his line. The ball bounced squarely off the top of the crossbar and over for a goal kick that was better than Ashdown deserved.

Kyle turned to his left on the bench, where goalkeeping coach Wayne Brown sat.

“I hope you didn’t teach him that, Brownie,” Kyle said with a half-smile, and the coach shook his head from side to side.

“Not a chance,” he mused.

Now Oxford was coming to life, with a raking cross from Bevans finding the rampaging Hylton as a late arriver in nineteen minutes, but the striker’s bullet header flashed just over Jamie Stephens’ bar.

Yet the home team had come to play, and fired themselves into the lead soon afterward. It came off a throw, with Andrew Hughes finding Tom Walker down the left flank. He crossed early, Ashdown got caught moving from right to left, Dunkley didn’t get Rene Howe covered, and the striker beat the wrongfooted Ashdown to his near post in 24 minutes.

The cross had been inch-perfect, and it was hard to find a single person culpable. Most of the right side of the defense had been at fault, so it was a team effort.

The modest crowd which had gathered to see County into the close season showed its appreciation, though, and Oxford had to find a way back into the match.

Hughes came right back for County, nearly making it two with a rasping effort from just inside the box to Ashdown’s right which thankfully found the side netting.

A Zebroski header in 36 minutes again called Ashdown into action and Kyle was starting to warm up the hair dryer for halftime. It had been an exceedingly disappointing first half, with chances flowing all one way and no spark of creativity at all from the vaunted Oxford midfield.

Finally, seven minutes before half, O’Dowda gave Oxford its first good chance of the match, connecting on the half-volley from MacDonald’s cross, but Stephens made a very good save, anticipating the cross, getting to his right post and getting a strong hand on the ball to tip it around the post.

But that was it for Oxford in the first half, and at the break Kyle had sharp words.

“Playoff team,” he snorted. “What I’m seeing here couldn’t beat Chalgrove Cavaliers.”

Now admittedly, the Premier Division of the Oxfordshire Senior Football League was stiff competition, and Cavaliers did have a reserve team, but that was harsh stuff.

“Gentlemen, if you will kindly pull your heads out and look round you, you’ll see you’re trailing to a team who has no business beating you. When you’re ready to play some football, you will see this. If you aren’t ready to play some football, I’d be prepared to get your heads handed to you in the playoffs.”

He turned and left the room, with Fazackerley left to pick up the pieces. Kyle had told it to his players straight, and left it to them to figure out the rest.

“We were s***e,” Wright said. “Gaffer is right. Let’s put it right, lads.”

With that, they went out for the second half, noting that Kyle had left it to the existing eleven to fix things rather than haul players off, and the second half began.

County immediately pressed and won a corner in the first minute as Skarz’s challenge on Robbie Willmott went behind. Zebroski won a header from the corner, outjumping Dunkley, but Ashdown was well positioned to make the stop.

A quick long throw sprang Hoban, though, and Darren Jones was forced to foul to stop the break, earning him a booking from referee Sheldrake. It was a sign of life and that was better than nothing.

Hoban kept trying, but was robbed by Stephens a few moments later. It was tough watching his players be denied in such fashion, but Oxford was definitely back into the match.

The Barn D’Or winner got yet another chance in 56 minutes, weaving his way through the central defense only to smash a shot off Stephens’ left post. The ball rebounded straight back to Hoban, though, and he didn’t miss the second time, leveling the score on 56 minutes.

It was about time, the way Oxford had been playing, and the traveling support was up and screaming, finally with something to cheer about.

Rene Howe barged right back with a wild miss for County after the kickoff and Ashdown’s goal kick was short to Skarz who was allowed to reach the halfway line without and significant challenge. His ball to the middle found Maddison, the midfielder’s ball to the right found Hylton, and Hylton’s ball from eighteen yards found the back of the net to put Oxford ahead 2-1 just 70 seconds after Hoban’s opener.

They smelled blood in the water now, and Kyle nodded with satisfaction. The fans started to chant “Score in a minute, we’re going to score in a minute…”

And they were nearly right. Hylton barely missed in 59 minutes which would have made three goals in three minutes, but just after the hour Maddison threaded a great ball into the area onto the run of Hoban, who was brought to ground by Wilfried Gnahore.

Sheldrake gave the penalty, and O’Dowda found the top left corner to make it 3-1 in 63 minutes.

The chanting continued. “Score in a minute, we’re going to score in a minute…”

And four minutes later, it was skipper Darren Jones sliding through Maddison’s legs in the area, with Sheldrake awarding a second no-doubter penalty. With the away support in raptures, O’Dowda did it again, wrongfooting Stephens in the opposite direction for 4-1 in 67 minutes.

They kept singing, this time out of playfulness, but four goals in eleven fantastic minutes had left County a blazing wreck. It had been a simply magnificent stretch of football and when it was done, Oxford’s place in the playoffs was locked in concrete.

At the final whistle, Wright shook his manager’s hand and the captain grinned.

“Good enough for Chalgrove Cavaliers, boss?” he asked.

Kyle laughed. “Yes, I should think so,” he answered. “No complaints here.”

Oxford United: Ashdown: Bevans, Dunkley, Wright (captain, Grimshaw 76), Skarz, Ssewankambo, MacDonald, Maddison, O’Dowda, Hylton, Hoban (Hoskins 76). Unused subs: Clarke, Mullins, Whing, Meades, Potts.

Newport County 1 (Rene Howe 24)

Oxford United 4 (Hoban 56, Hylton 57, O’Dowda pen 63, pen 67)

H/T: 1-0

A – 4,063, Rodney Parade, Newport

Man of the Match: James Maddison, Oxford (MR 9.0)

GUMP: Patrick Hoban

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

They were fifth.

That was little short of amazing.

When Kyle Cain had arrived at Oxford United in November, the team was 22^nd in the table with relegation worries. Thirty matches later, Oxford had won twenty, drawn five and lost five and now had advantage in a playoff tie against Luton Town.

The Hatters had finished sixth, with 75 points and 22 wins. Fourth-placed Shrewsbury, on 80 points, would face seventh-placed Accrington Stanley, on 74.

Luton had a good side, one that played Oxford to a 1-1 standstill at the Kassam in February. It was that match which started a stretch of relatively poor play by the Us, in fact, and as such they were a club which bore close watching.

On the reverse side, Exeter City managed to stay up on goal difference thanks to a last-day 2-2 draw with Dag and Red, while rivals Carlisle lost 2-1 at home to Hartlepool – and got themselves relegated – in a way you had to experience to truly appreciate.

Carlisle led 1-0 with four minutes to play at Brunton Park and was set to retain its place in League Two, until referee Keith Hill sent off midfielder Brad Potts for a second bookable offense within a six-minute span in the 86^th minute. Now playing against ten men, Hartlepool’s veteran striker Marlon Harewood leveled in the 88^th minute.

Even that scoreline would have kept Carlisle up, but Hartlepool’s Lewis Hawkins then connected on a thirty-yard thunderbastard in the first minute of added time to make it 2-1.

That kept the Grecians in the Football League on goal difference and made it a bit difficult for Mr. Hill to get off the pitch at the end of the match.

Kyle heard about the ending, said a kind word about Lee Sinnott’s doomed club, and then had a lot of good things to say about his own team’s second half. The press had questions for the players about what he had said at the interval.

Clarke answered. “He gave us an honest opinion,” the captain said, “and the lads agreed with it.”

The trip home, as a result, was much happier than it otherwise might have been, and work began straightaway to prepare for the first leg of the playoff tie at Kenilworth Road.

The cities were close together – less than fifty airline miles – so travel was not going to be a problem. Kyle could concentrate on a very specific match plan for Luton without worrying about going on the road until the morning of the match.

Maddison was named the league’s Player of the Month for April and that was a good thing, but he paid tribute to the Oxford fans afterward and that was a great thing. Having a loan player praise support that wasn’t truly his own was little short of extraordinary.

So Kyle ran a happy ship while preparing for Luton, as one might have expected.

Eales also welcomed Kyle to the monthly board meeting the Monday after the Newport match, and had some news for him.

“Getting into the playoff might well help us break even for the season,” Eales began. “Right now we are under water by about £100,000 for the year, but a good home gate and, hopefully, Wembley, will help quite a bit. Do you think that’s possible?”

“If Miss Moore does her job, the first is possible,” he responded. “If I do my job, the second is possible. Right now I think we are playing as well as anyone.”

“Results are bearing that out,” Eales noted. “Obviously, we are thrilled with the finish and the chance to win promotion. Understand that we are very pleased with your work.”

Kyle could do little but say thank you in response, but the veiled words about finances placed a bit of pressure on the manager. The chance was there to put Oxford United on a much better financial footing by advancing to the final.

It was funny to him, in a way, that with two weeks’ worth of good work he could do more for the club than Moore could do in two months. That made him feel good.

“And Kyle, I want you to know that we have had discussions with Miss Moore at board level about the same issues,” Eales said. “There are certain targets we have set for her that we need to see hit. I believe this might answer a few questions you may have been asking yourself recently.”

“That might,” Kyle responded diplomatically, “but then the commercial department is not my area of concern.”

Eales gave Kyle a sideways smile, as did Managing Director Mark Ashton and director Frank Waterhouse. They all knew, and Kyle knew, that if he could somehow get his team promoted, some significant difficulties in his life might just go away.

With that he was dismissed to training, and the chance to work some more with “my lads”, as he was starting to call them. They had the chance to do something nice for Kyle, too.

The manager was on £45,000 per year. Promotion would earn him an extra £3,500 plus a fifteen percent wage rise in League One. So Oxford was playing for Kyle too, in a way, though he dared not say anything. Most of the players had promotion bonuses in their deals as well, so there really was no need to make a fuss. Even after seven months in the job, extra money was always very nice to have.

Everyone had something riding on the two-legged tie.

# # #

[Maviarab.]

I need to go away for the weekend more often if I come back to so many updates

Fantastic stuff....epic final game to the season (wondering if Kyle can nab some of his loans on a permanent perhaps?) and Alison's comment about promised land made me spurt my coffee over my keyboard. All round good read!

[tenthreeleader]

Glad to oblige. Oxford performed rather brilliantly to this point and made this quite a fun save to play and write.

___

Kyle had to tell Ssewankambo he couldn’t go home. That was hard, and easy at the same time.

The on-loan defender had been called up to Sweden’s u-21 team for matches to be played during the playoff. And for the first time he could remember, either as a player or a manager, a national callup was turned down.

Kyle wasn’t required to let the player go, and after a meeting with the young man, Kyle denied permission for the callup.

“We need you here,” Kyle had told the player. “You’ve come a long way and you are a big part of this team. If you wouldn’t be mortally offended, I’d like to keep you here for the Luton tie.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Ssewankambo grinned. That was a great thing to hear – and see. The enigmatic midfielder had proven to be a handful at times, petulant and wondering why he wasn’t in a higher league – but now that he was playing for something, he was right there with the team.

Right where he should have been, in fact.

But as the days marched on toward match day, Kyle had less and less time for Jenna and Allison – and less time to think about Stacy. He was throwing himself into work and that was to be expected. He had a lot of it to do.

It didn’t help matters that Luton’s new boss, David Flitcroft, got into the mind-game act on the Wednesday.

“We’ve got some nerves in our camp,” he told BBC Oxford in a pre-arranged conference call with the managers. “It’s a big match and we have a lot to play for, and some of my players need to understand that.”

Kyle, for his part, wouldn’t be drawn, and that led to a miniature war of words.

“I think that’s just a mind game,” he said when his turn came. “David Flitcroft is a professional manager and he knows how to stop things like that, so I have no doubt that we’ll see a Luton side that is ready to play and ready to take our scalps so I don’t put a lot of stock in that.”

Of course, the media was always going to have fun with a statement such as Kyle’s, but he knew it was true and he wasn’t shy about saying so.

So the days leading up to the match were filled with a manufactured feud between the managers. Flitcroft was a decent enough guy and he knew that the media-inspired set-to meant nothing as well. So the two simply prepared their teams for the match.

And along the way, Kyle got to spare a thought for Micky Adams of Tranmere – or more accurately, formerly of Tranmere, who got the sack for failing to hold onto the playoff spot Kyle’s team had taken from them.

That was no fun. Micky Adams was a good manager to Kyle, and to blame him for Oxford’s surge wasn’t fair in his eyes.

The Birkenhead club had had a good season, but not good enough to meet expectations, so the result was Micky needing to find a new club. That was hard, but it was also part of the game.

No matter how good a guy someone is, someone else in the league is going to have a hand in getting him fired. Enough people had done it to Kyle the year before, and as such the shoe was on the other foot in this case.

His time would come again, he knew. It comes for everyone.

But in the meantime, as he loaded up the team to head to Luton on match day, he had more important things to worry about.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

8 May 2015 – Luton Town (22-9-15, 6^th place) v Oxford United (22-10-14, 5^th place)

Sky Bet League Two Playoff Semifinal First Leg – Kenilworth Road, Luton

Referee: Lee Probert

It had rained the whole previous night. As the Oxford coach turned onto Ivy Road for the final approach to Luton’s grand old stadium, Kyle wondered what the pitch would look like.

The answer was, not very good.

As the team headed to the changing room, Kyle went to the pitch for an inspection. A discussion with Flitcroft and referee Lee Probert led to the decision Kyle expected – the pitch was a mess but the match would be played.

“Wear your long studs today, lads, you’ll need them out there,” Kyle advised. “You’ve got a slick track today and it’s going to be wet and muddy, especially in the penalty areas.”

Luton’s pitch, not the artificial one which had caused such controversy in the 1980s, was a mess. It didn’t bode well for teams which liked to get the ball onto the floor – but Kyle had built Oxford to be a direct team and as such he felt the attack wouldn’t be too badly hindered provided the team had decent footing.

That was debatable, though, as the teams prepared for kickoff and made sure that the right studs were on their boots.

“Don’t let this pitch bother you,” Kyle advised them. “I want you to keep your minds set on the things that got you this far rather than what the pitch looks like. You have done brilliantly to get here, you have earned your place and you have earned the advantage your play gives you in this tie. Don’t be the player who gives that advantage away. I know you can do this – and as always, work hard for yourselves, work hard for your teammates and above all, work hard for your shirt. It’s a team game, lads. Remember that and we’ll head home happy. Hands in, and let’s go.”

The players formed a circle in the middle of the changing room, Wright led them in a brief cheer and they lined up in the hallway.

It was there that Kyle had his first face-to-face meeting with Flitcroft after the controversy of the week. He didn’t see anything in it and neither had the Luton boss, so the handshake between rivals was heartfelt if perfunctory.

They weren’t going to wish each other luck, but neither were they going to be at each other’s throats. The lines began to move and the teams took to the pitch in an annoying drizzle that seemed ready to add to the soup on the pitch.

Kyle had one more surprise for Luton. He started Potts at right back, though he hadn’t played in that position as a member of the Us.

He had been scheming for a way to have Potts and Skarz on the pitch at the same time, with both of them primarily left full backs. But Potts could also play the right, and after a conversation not only with Potts but also Meades and Grimshaw, Kyle made up his mind. The West Ham man would play on Oxford’s right flank with Meades and Grimshaw thus freed up for other duties.

Kyle felt it made Oxford more flexible. There was certainly no harm in that.

As one might have expected, the match began tentatively. The poor footing had a lot to do with that and while the players tried to figure out how to make cuts and find space without sliding, play was very ragged. Oxford earned the first corner in eight minutes when Potts’ cross was headed behind by Hatters skipper Steve McNulty.

The first good chance of the match came a few minutes later through the home team’s midfielder Jordi Ortega. Only the finish was lacking on a wonderful little sequence of passes and Ashdown collected far more comfortably than he should have on a weak effort from near the penalty spot.

Jayden Stockley’s aim was thrown off by Dunkley, who charged down his effort in nineteen minutes and deflected it behind for another corner, but Oxford was starting to find its feet a bit more and was starting to look brighter.

Wright, who had suddenly turned into a goal-scoring machine in the latter stages of the season, nearly put Oxford on the board first with a great header from their first corner of match, only to see Ortega clear off the line to keep the game scoreless.

That brought the crowd into the game and if nothing else, it took some of the damp out of the air. The Us were finally punching at their weight and the pace of the game picked up considerably.

Ortega celebrated his great defensive work by nearly getting booked for ramming Maddison to the floor just outside the penalty area, but the midfielder missed the free kick wide and play resumed.

For all his skill, Maddison hadn’t hit the target on a set piece for as long as Kyle could remember – and fixing the set piece issue would probably put the finishing touches on a fine lower-league attacking group. They needed a dead ball specialist, but since Oxford really didn’t have one, the hope was that the teenager would somehow figure things out.

Nathan Doyle stymied Hoban with a clean block tackle six minutes before the break and Wright returned the favor, seeming to slide nearly to Watford while successfully challenging Luke Rooney just outside the penalty area. The slide mark he left was nearly ten feet long, Kyle judged, and that didn’t bode well for the rest of the match since it had started to rain again.

The best Oxford move of the half came right before the interval, when Lee-Barrett was called into action twice, first to save from Hoban and then again from Hoskins, who stole a backpass and went in alone, only to be robbed by the keeper.

Probert blew for halftime and Kyle had the chance to address his men, happy with the way they had come on over the latter part of the first half even if they hadn’t scored.

“Again, you’ve put yourselves in position to succeed,” he reminded them. “I’m pleased with what I’ve seen here but there is better in you. If you come out of this place with a win today you’ve got one leg in the final. You know that, but I do not want you to forget it.”

Yet, the second half started as slowly as the first. It was past the hour mark before the first decent chance arrived, after Ortega had left in favor of Pelly Ruddock. It came through MacDonald, who was left unmarked after Lee-Barrett pushed Hoban’s rebound right onto his foot. Yet the Scot fired into the side netting, throwing his head back in frustration and jabbing at his head as he ran back up the park.

Flitcroft went to his bench again in 69 minutes, burning both his remaining substitutions. Off came Stockley for Ricky Miller, and off came Andy Parry for veteran Abdoulaye Faye. The 37-year old Senegalese was on for stability and leadership and provided both.

Oxford was getting opportunities, but from range, as Luton moved to a 5-1-2-2 alignment, stuffing the back line with five and an anchor man to defend in depth. It was a safe decision on a sloppy pitch.

Yet, Flitcroft was out of substitutions and Kyle held the upper hand in that regard. Unfortunately, it was a substitution Kyle didn’t make that cost his team dearly.

It was O’Dowda, who took off on a run down the left flank in 77 minutes only to overstride, slipping on the wet turf with his ankle turned. Grabbing at his leg, O’Dowda rolled back and forth on the pitch and Kyle nearly went into apoplexy.

He was about to take off O’Dowda, and had he moved a minute sooner, the valuable winger would have been just fine. Now it was too late, and Hylton came on for him as O’Dowda was carried off.

He never liked to lose a player, but O’Dowda was one-third of the best midfield trio in League Two and was a vital part of the Oxford attack. Hylton slotted into his spot on the left, and Kyle removed the exhausted Wright in favor of Andy Whing, with a note to Dunkley to drop the defensive line back to compensate for Whing’s rather noticeable lack of pace.

Molasses would move faster than Andy Whing on this pitch on this day, so Kyle was taking no chances. And then Oxford was celebrating, as Luton made a ridiculous defensive error.

It was Michael Harriman who made it, dispossessing MacDonald on the right and then rolling a back pass toward Lee-Barrett which only made it as far as Hoban, who ran onto it and scored from a sharp angle to the keeper’s left ten minutes from time.

It was a lucky goal, and sometimes those are the kinds you have to have to win matches on the edge.

The relief was palpable on the Oxford bench. It was a lead, away from home, with ten minutes to play on a sloppy pitch. Kyle immediately signaled for Grimshaw, bringing him on for MacDonald and changing to 4-2-3-1.

Ssewankambo provided the next good chance, though, in 86 minutes, with a scorching half-volley that Lee-Barrett palmed away with a desperation dive to his right. That sent Luton away, with Luke Wilkinson finding Scott Griffiths down the left, and his ball into the right channel split Potts and Whing like they had been dissected.

Ricky Miller ran onto it, left the tiring Potts in his wake, and beat Ashdown to the wide side three minutes from time to get Luton level and completely deflate the Oxford bench.

While the crowd went understandably nuts, Kyle was left to remark that even though you do the best job you can to hold the lead, sometimes the other guy makes a great play. In Miller’s case, it was the first one of his season.

The 26-year old striker had played for a staggering seventeen different clubs in ten years including five stints with Stamford, and this was his first goal for club number eighteen, Luton.

Not only that, it was the first goal he had ever scored in the Football League, and it had come at the worst possible time for Oxford United.

Five minutes later, it was all over. A one-nil win had been well and truly thrown away, and it would all come down to the home leg now.

Oxford United: Ashdown: Potts, Dunkley, Wright (captain, Whing 77), Skarz, Ssewankambo, MacDonald (Grimshaw 81), Maddison, O’Dowda (injured, Hylton 77), Hoban, Hoskins. Unused subs: Clarke, Bevans, Meades, Mullins.

Luton Town 1 (Ricky Miller 87)

Oxford United 1 (Hoban 80)

H/T: 0-0

A – 10,110, Kenilworth Road, Luton

Man of the Match: Ricky Miller, Luton (MR 8.0)

GUMP: Patrick Hoban

# # #

[Maviarab.]

Scrappy scrappy game. Let's hope O’Dowda isn't too serious. High hopes for the U's at home on a better pitch

[tenthreeleader]

The team played hard and pretty well. But O'Dowda is a big, big miss. And I nearly broke my mouse in the 87th minute.

___

“You guys know I’ve always been a glass-half-full guy, right?”

For some reason, nobody believed Kyle as he stood before the press after the match. There were positives – of course, having the second leg at home meant that a win before the Oxford faithful would send the Us to Wembley – but in terms of momentum, the tie was a difficult thing to judge.

Luton had been statistically outplayed. Oxford had twelve attempts at goal to six for Luton and eight shots on target to four for Luton – twice their hosts in both categories, and had even had more of the possession.

There was really no reason to have to settle for a draw, other than an inspired pass to a journeyman who had scored his first goal for his club.

“It’s annoying to concede so late,” Kyle said. “Everyone knows that. And it isn’t the first time this has happened to us, which is doubly annoying. We simply have to figure this out. It’s no longer optional.”

“Otherwise, are you satisfied?” Churchill asked.

“The result is what satisfies when you get to this stage,” Kyle said, trying not to sound irritated. “I’d take one shot on target if it gave us a one-nil win. I think anyone would.”

Lord’s report arrived at that moment and Kyle’s frown grew more severe.

No chance of return before end of season, Kyle read. It was only a twisted ankle but with only two weeks between the first leg and the final, it was going to be a big ask.

Eleven goals and eleven assists were gone from the wing position. There was really no way to make them up. Kyle would have to come up with something different.

“Callum is done for the season,” Kyle announced. “What a shame.”

There was no harm in people knowing that, since it would have been obvious at the next training session in any event.

Kyle sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, pushing a sodden mass of blonde turned brownish by the wet off his eyes.

“What do you do?” Vic asked.

“We have the next man come up,” Kyle said, using the popular phrase. “Next man up.”

“But surely O’Dowda was a key to your hopes?”

“All eighteen players are key to our hopes,” Kyle corrected. “We have seventeen of them left in this roster plus another one we’ll be moving in, and no, I’m not prepared to say who that person will be as yet.”

“Any thoughts on who should be favored for the return leg?” That was Churchill, leaving the door wide open.

“Oxford, of course, what am I supposed to say?” Kyle answered. “We’re heading home but I think we’re completely useless? Of course I like our chances. I like these players and I like what they’ve done together. They deserve the chance to play for something and now they will get that chance.”

Then Jeremy Walsh from BBC Three Counties, which regularly covered Luton, kept pressing Kyle on whether he didn’t agree that Ricky Miller deserved his man of the match award.

“You know, if it were my business to praise someone else’s players, which it isn’t, I’d say something, but since it isn’t my business, I won’t,” Kyle said.

That led to a discussion round the bramble bush where Walsh kept asking the same question and Kyle kept saying he wasn’t going to answer.

The man had persistence, but he was starting to ruin things for everyone else because he was only kicking Kyle in his most sensitive footballing spot – his team’s inability to protect a late lead.

Kyle thought that stacking six outfield players and a keeper in front of goal should have been enough to stop most teams, but as an attacker he thought that on general principle. It was all or nothing with strikers.

But the talk about Miller was really annoying to him. So he said so.

“You know, I’ve never walked out of a press event in two years in this business, but you’re making me consider it,” Kyle said to Walsh. “I said, no comment.”

The reporter glared at Kyle, but figured that he wasn’t going to gain any more purchase by going where he wasn’t wanted. So much for that.

It wasn’t a fun trip home. That had been wrecked by Ricky Miller and one good ball down the channel. Yet the tie was far from over.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

The word was that the Kassam was going to be packed for the second leg. That shouldn’t have surprised anyone.

In fact, the Tuesday match officially sold out on the preceding Friday when Luton announced that its entire allotment of away tickets had sold in an under an hour.

That meant a crowd of well over twelve thousand was expected for the second leg, but Kyle didn’t have time to worry about that.

His message to the team on the Saturday, the day after the first leg, was about defending. That was a bit odd for the manager of the “Flying Circus”, but he had a point to make.

“You went two whole matches without allowing a shot on target in the runup to this tie,” he told them. “We are going to get back to that in training and we are going to be better in our own third. If they don’t score on Tuesday, you are going to Wembley. It’s just that simple.”

As the players stretched out prior to beginning the workout, Kyle walked up and down the rows of players to make his point.

“We’re going to work on it today, we’re going to work on it Sunday, and we’re going to work on it Monday, and then we’re going to do it on Tuesday, lads. Because that’s what is going to win you this tie. We’re going to be good at the back, solid at the back, and when they break on your back line, we’ll hit them for pace and rip their bloody hearts out.”

He had it figured out, this version of Kyle Cain. Gone was the timid manager of Torquay, afraid to alienate and afraid to say the wrong thing. This manager was different.

A spring breeze gently cleared Kyle’s words from the air and felt warm against his face. The rain had cleared out right after the match and it was, by all accounts, going to be a beautiful evening at the Kassam.

Yet the weather was also of secondary concern to Kyle, who wanted his players to work as hard as he was working. He knew that wasn’t possible, but it was a nice thought.

The Kassam pitch was going to be in better shape because of that weather, though, and that was to Oxford’s benefit. Injuries were killers at this point of the season.

Virtually random thoughts raced through Kyle’s mind as the team worked out in front of him. It was stressful work. It was constantly on his mind and starting to rob him of sleep at night. It was Torquay all over again, but on the opposite end of the spectrum.

He needed some relief, and Allison tried to provide it.

She dragged him to dinner on the Sunday evening after a late and short training session. She showed up at the front desk and waited there until he left, not even bothering to call.

“I knew you’d say no,” she teased after he asked her why she didn’t message first.

Kyle shrugged. Allison knew him better than she might have realized.

So off they went, to a quiet evening tucked away in a hole-in-the-wall bar with the lights turned down low.

This was about letting him unwind, and it was about letting him look at her if he wanted to do it. And, being Kyle Cain, he did.

“Nothing has changed,” Allison said. “I just want you to know that. And even if you don’t pick me, nothing will change.”

Kyle looked at her, wearing a tight-fitting black and white top that left no doubt as to her shape, and something didn’t process in his head.

“That seems odd, if you don’t mind my saying so,” he said.

“What, that I want to be around you? I’m in no hurry after my divorce, Kyle, and I can be choosy. I have no idea what you’re going to do with your wife but I’ll tell you that it won’t stop my friendship with you, it won’t stop me wanting to be with you and it won’t affect my feelings in any way.”

Kyle wasn’t used to women talking to him like that. That was odd too.

He finally decided to enjoy her company and finally the conversation turned to the recent ‘family’ dinner with Miles and Jenna.

“I think Jenna is quite charming,” Allison said.

“She is. You see why she’s my best girl.”

“And Miles’ too, I trust,” she replied. “And if Stacy isn’t your best girl, that makes me happy.”

Kyle looked at her. In sales parlance, she was ‘going for the close’ as hard as he had ever seen her try.

“Allison…”

“…I’m making you uncomfortable,” she said, finishing his sentence for him. If there was anything Kyle hated more than Diana Moore, it was someone trying to finish his thoughts, but in Allison’s case he made an exception.

“No, you aren’t,” Kyle said. “Instead, you’re getting my attention and that seems to be what you want. But you need to be patient awhile longer. I need to have a heart-to-heart talk with Stacy. There’s an unborn child involved here and I have to take that into consideration.”

Allison nodded, but leaned in to make another point. She did that for a reason as well.

“But you don’t need to live your life for someone else anymore,” she told him. “Shouldn’t that be the lesson of your relationship with Stacy? She’s been awful to you since you took this job, she is openly sleeping with another man and now that she feels guilty, she thinks she can just take you back? Is that right?”

Kyle looked down at his food and nodded his head.

“That’s about right,” he said. “I don’t like how she treated me but she is the mother of my baby and I’ve got a responsibility. She knows that. Even if she doesn’t have me, she’s going to get a substantial amount of what’s left of my money, so who knows? Maybe she thinks she can control me. I have to think it all through.”

That wasn’t something he would have said ten years ago. Maybe, finally, Kyle was growing up.

Allison looked downcast. “Then I won’t get my chance,” she sighed.

“Don’t say that,” Kyle said, reaching across the table to touch her hand. Her look of genuine surprise showed Kyle that he had struck home with his thought.

“Allison, I may be a lot of things but I’m not an idiot. At least, not any more. I remember what happened between us and I remember that I liked it a lot. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, Allison. You aren’t one of them.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” she asked. “I mean, I told you I’m willing to wait. But for how long?”

Kyle realized that his intention to be kind had made things even more difficult for him. That was exactly the opposite of his intentions, but then it had always been that way.

“Soon,” he finally said. “I can’t say exactly when, but soon.”

# # #

[Maviarab.]

Those bloody reporters lol....can't wait for the bedroom scene...err..I mean the next match and Wembley!

[tenthreeleader]

Now, hold the phone there, son ...

___

There was a public rally on the Monday evening. It was very well attended.

This was like the old days, Kyle was told by senior staff. When Oxford played in the old First Division, it had been something like this. The energy was there. The interest was there. The town stopped when United played. That night, people thought about the old days.

They gathered at Frys Hill Park, which was just across the parking lot from the Mail stand at the Kassam Stadium. There were several thousand people there, to hear Kyle, and to a lesser extent Eales, Wright, and Whing address them about the morrow’s match.

As the event began, those in the southwest corner of the park could look across the Guelder Road to see the Luton team coach arrive at the Holiday Inn Express immediately adjacent to the stadium. Flitcroft was taking no chances – he wanted his team comfortable and ready to play in the morning instead of boarding a coach like Kyle’s men had done.

Yet the night wasn’t about the visitors. It was about Oxford United, and Kyle wanted it to be about the fans. His words to the players before the event were to say whatever they could think of that wasn’t profane to make the night about the supporters, since a packed and loud house the next day would make things that much easier.

Since he had to be around the stage, Kyle wasn’t asked to work the crowd, and that made him happy. He wasn’t a glad-hander in any event, but some of the more extroverted players had no problem at all with doing just that.

The evening was calm, placid and warm, which led to an even more festive atmosphere. The next night promised to be perfect in terms of weather, with a sellout crowd expected.

So Kyle had an upbeat message when his turn finally came.

“We want to put on a performance tomorrow night that you supporters can be proud of,” he said. “Our players have worked very hard all season for this moment and now that it’s here, we know you’ll be right there with us as our twelfth man. We’re pleased with the first leg result and we know if you can help us to a win tomorrow night we’re all off to Wembley.”

That drew the predictable cheer.

So did his next statement.

“When I came here in November the team was struggling, but I want to commend each and every one of the players for buying in, learning the system we installed and making the effort to pull themselves up by the bootstraps. You deserved better football to watch and these players gave it to you. It’s been a fun ride and a fun rise toward the top of the league. Root us over the line tomorrow night.”

Wright and Whing said their pieces and Eales did the chairman’s duty, to golf-clap applause from the assembled, who weren’t there to hear the money men. They were there to celebrate the team and rightly so.

So it was that the players got to sign autographs, the club got to sell a few more shirts, pennants and scarves, and Kyle got to think about other things.

Allison was there.

In the company of a male friend.

Kyle felt like he had been kicked in the stomach when he spotted her, with some muscle-bound thirtysomething trying to climb inside her outfit as she pretended to resist him. He wondered who he was, decided that he had been down that road once before with his wife, and decided to let the matter drop.

Of course, that was easier said than done, given what the woman had said to him just two nights before.

So when the event was done, Kyle headed home, distracted in the worst way possible on the night before he would take charge of the biggest match of his career.

He looked at the ceiling in his bedroom while Jenna played video games until the wee hours. She was young. She could do that.

Kyle felt old. And he couldn’t sleep. Neither fact surprised him.

# # #

[Maviarab.]

:eek:

[tenthreeleader]

Kind of a bad day at the office for Kyle.

___

12 May 2015 – Oxford United (1-1) Luton Town

Sky Bet League Two Playoff Semifinal Second Leg – The Kassam Stadium, Oxford

Referee: Tim Robinson

It had been a long morning. Or a longer night. Or something.

Kyle was up early to see Jenna off to school and then got himself to the stadium so he could hide.

That didn’t sound terribly manly and Kyle recognized that, but it was a big day and he wanted total concentration.

Yeah, right.

He sat in his office at lunch, with a sandwich and soup from the cafeteria sitting uneaten on his desk in front of him.

He wasn’t hungry. At times, he was nauseous.

That morning he had checked his teeth, to see if there was anything growing in them which might repel those of the feminine gender. He had taken the events of the previous evening hard, and a younger Kyle might have resorted to the bottle as a way to drown his sorrows and fears.

Who knew, he thought. They might be just friends. But if there was one thing he had learned from his life, in his own experience and through others, it was that promises are words. Just words.

So he tried to drown his worries and fears through one more look at match video.

He watched the entire first leg over again, for what seemed like the tenth time, looking for any advantage he could possibly find from the Hatters’ approach.

He thought about how Ricky Miller had caught lightning in a bottle and how he was going to do everything he could think of to be as sure as he could that it wouldn’t happen again.

It was a masterstroke for him – his first goal in League football, coming quite nearly out of nowhere, at the perfect moment for his team. Had it been in the second leg and sent Luton through, it would have made Miller a cult hero and Kyle Cain’s name somewhat less than a blessing around Oxfordshire.

His lunch remained, uneaten, and finally Kyle fell asleep at his desk, his door closed. He was exhausted and it was the wrong time for him to be at anything less than the top of his game.

Yet, when the big match comes you find the energy, and so it was that he awoke at 3pm to find the earliest arrivals already making noise on the other side of the wall, to the changing room.

He was quite pleased that there had been no smart comment from Diana that morning. Had there been, she might have seen Kyle’s very worst side and nobody wanted to be around when that side got shown. It was rare, but when it happened it was epic and there was no doubt about Kyle’s feelings when it was done.

He headed through the side door of his office into a small adjunct office which adjoined the changing room and contained his personal matchday dressing space. This time, he was going all-out.

Kyle had never been one for tracksuits, but then he had also never been one for the coat-and-tie. But this match was special so that’s what he wore.

He wore a navy blue suit with a silk white dress shirt, gold necktie and pocket square, and no, Jenna didn’t have to tie the knot for him. He did it himself, looking online to find the best kind of knot and learning it himself.

At 4pm, he was ready, and sat in his main office with the final team sheet in front of him and Fazackerley across from him at the desk.

“This sheet will do itself, Kyle,” Fazackerley advised, and Kyle knew the older man was right. There wasn’t much need to change. Hoskins still wasn’t at one hundred percent after his injury but he couldn’t be risked in a u-21 match at this point and so he needed to find fitness in other ways.

At long last, the time came to meet the officials and turn in the team sheet. Flitcroft was taking this match every bit as seriously as Kyle – he was dressed to the nines as well – and as the two men exchanged team sheets and handshakes, it all hit Kyle. It was time to really play for something.

Heading back to the changing room, Kyle noted with a start that Ricky Miller was not in Luton’s eighteen. It was a vastly different group.

Flitcroft had made five changes from the first leg. Faye got the start as one of three center-backs in a 5-1-2-2 alignment. Tyler Connolly, a substitute in the first leg, moved to the XI, as did Pelly Ruddock, veteran Luke Guttridge and Paul Benson. It was a much, much different Luton look.

Yet Kyle had changed too – to 4-2-3-1, which his team had never used to start a match at home. Again, Potts moved to the right to give Oxford two real threats at the full back positions, but with Maddison playing off Hoban as a shadow striker and Hylton replacing the injured O’Dowda on the left.

Finally, it was time for warm-ups and Kyle heard the first warmup song of the night heading over the tannoy. He liked it – quite a bit, in fact – and his phone flashed as the media department sent a gif of the night’s playlist over Twitter, an oldies-heavy, high-energy fun show that almost made Kyle want to skip his office prep.

It included a three-fer from three of the greatest bands ever to come out of Oxford, which was a nice local touch:

Oxford United Pre-Match Playlist

League Two Playoff Second Leg – 12 May 2015

A Little Less Conversation – Elvis Presley vs Junkie XL

Karma Police – Radiohead*

Alright – Supergrass*

Cassius – Foals*

Ode to Oi – TJR

Shut Up and Dance – Walk the Moon

Skills – The Beatbullyz

Let’s Go Crazy – Prince and the Revolution

Jungle – Jamie Commons and the X Ambassadors

I Don’t Wanna Stop – Ozzy Osbourne

The Fight Song – The Young Goulets

Nowhere To Go – Arch Leaves featuring Randy Coleman

(*Oxford musicians)

There was no doubt that by the time the warmup was over, the crowd would get the message as to what was being asked of them. Not that this group needed prompting – the Kassam Stadium was stuffed to the gills and the atmosphere was electric as the warmup concluded.

The team talk was predictably simple.

“The first time you played this team this season, you lost to them four-nil. That was before things turned around. Now you’ve got two draws on the spin against them, once in the league and once last week. Tonight is the night you show them you’re better than they are.”

Warming to his task, Kyle looked each man in the eye as he circled the room.

“You know what’s ahead of you after you make your point tonight, gentlemen. It’s a big prize. We all know that. But concentrate on the moment and know that they have to come in here tonight and take it from you. You have the advantage. Use it. Put your boots on their necks and stomp. Get yourselves to Wembley because you deserve to be there. Now, hands in and let’s go.”

The teams took the pitch to the predictable strains of Lux Aeterna and Kyle shook hands with Flitcroft as the teams went through the pre-match ritual of pretending to wish each other good luck.

Finally, there was nothing else for it. It was time to get the match underway.

# # #

[mark wilson27]

Not a bad playlist there. Lets hope it can get the players going into the final

[tenthreeleader]

Perhaps ironically, Kyle Cain and I both like oldies.

___

Pelly Ruddock showed he wanted to play early on, and was too emphatic about it in Kyle’s mind. Sliding through Maddison’s legs to chop down Oxford’s Player of the Year candidate was not a popular move in front of eleven thousand Oxford supporters even if the one thousand or so Luton fans in the away section didn’t mind so much.

That was forty-five seconds into the match and already Kyle was off the bench and in the ear of the fourth official, Peter Bankes.

“How on earth is that tackle on?” Kyle asked. Flitcroft sat in his dugout with a pensive expression, not wanting to inflame tensions early in the match but realizing that his player was lucky to avoid the book within the first sixty seconds.

Potts retaliated with a hard challenge on Jordi Ortega, cleanly taking the ball from him on Luton’s first foray, and starting a counterattack that nearly resulted in the first goal of the game, with Maddison firing wide after being teed up by MacDonald.

It was a full-blooded start, with Luton earning the first corner after Skarz turned Stockley’s cross behind in seven minutes.

The crowd was loud and supportive, but Kyle hardly heard it as he immersed himself in the match. He wasn’t even looking for Allison in the Mail stand – Oxford wasn’t attacking in that direction anyway in the first half and as far as he was concerned, it was just something that didn’t interest him.

His attention was jerked back to the match when Paul Connolly got the ever-popular ‘washout’ warning from referee Tim Robinson for a hard foul on Hylton in ten minutes that set up the Us for a set piece just outside the Luton area which came to nothing.

For his part, Dunkley couldn’t leave well enough alone a few minutes after that, challenging Benson hard in a decent set piece position. Robinson seemed determined to let the teams play to the greatest extent he could, refusing to book Dunkley and bringing Flitcroft to the touchline for the first time.

The managers paced like caged animals in their respective technical areas, willing their teams to that extra effort that might give the edge in the tie.

Maddison got the first shot on target in sixteen minutes, but Arran Lee-Barrett collected comfortably. That was enough to start the fans yelling again, so it counted for something.

Ssewankambo and Skarz then both shot over within the next few minutes, but Luton’s five-man backline appeared to be restricting Oxford to chances from range. Both managers had the same idea – Luton’s back five with a holder against Oxford’s back four with two holders.

Yet it was the home team that was the more fluent, even if it was also the more wasteful. Hoban shot over in twenty-three minutes after the team’s second corner of the match.

Finally, though, Robinson couldn’t keep his cards in his pocket when Connolly tripped Hylton in full flight for his second hard foul against the same player. The yellow toned Connolly down a bit and helped focus the Us.

Hylton had an effective first half down the wing, forcing the second card of the match as well as the first when Pelly Ruddock brought him down in thirty-six minutes, referee Robinson playing advantage only to see MacDonald’s ball run long down the right. He brought play back, rightly, and booked the Luton man.

It wasn’t exactly Premiership stuff, but it was nail-biting, tactical in its way, and very emotional on both sides. Just the sort of play you’d expect.

Bankes held up a board indicating one minute of added time and then Luton made its bid, with Ssewankambo completely whiffing on an interception attempt and sending Ruddock away right up the middle.

Whing moved over to close him, though, and the midfielder’s shot was seen wide by Ashdown, who had the angle covered. Ssewankambo reacted with disgust and instead of yelling at him, Whing simply put his hand on the loanee’s shoulder and had a quiet word.

That’s a teammate, Kyle thought, and nodded with satisfaction as Robinson blew for halftime.

That said, it was still nil-nil. The first ball into the onion bag might well be one for Wembley.

# # #

[Maviarab.]

Damnit Ten....you can't stop at half-time man!

[tenthreeleader]

Good thing there's a second half to write about, yeah?

___

“Good work,” Kyle said. “You had better chances, you had a lot more of the ball, and you did a great job keeping them away from Jamie. Right now this is your tie to win. We’re going to need to find a way through five at the back to get it, though, so Derek has some ideas for you. But as always, keep your eyes on the prize. I love how you are working for each other. Keep doing that and let’s celebrate when this is done.”

Fazackerley stepped to the front of the room and the veteran assistant manager outlined a new tactical plan to deal with five at the back. It was going to be a numbers game up front, and it involved both Ssewankambo and better ball movement, but not necessarily in that order.

Flitcroft’s plan was simple: make Oxford come forward, hit them on the counter and smash and grab. They would have to defend well, of course, but every away playoff team has to do that. As long as the Us shot from distance, they were no threat.

Fazackerley wanted the ball deep into the six-yard box and Kyle concurred. The idea was to make a little mayhem in front of Lee-Barrett, since the Us were getting so much of the possession. That meant Ssewankambo would need to be a true box-to-box midfielder and he would need to help make something happen when he got forward.

It had to be someone, but that player couldn’t be Whing, whose lack of pace would be cruelly exposed in such a scenario. He was playing well shielding the back line so there was no harm in keeping him in that role.

There was a decidedly tense atmosphere as the second half kicked off. There was all to play for but Dunkley limped to the touchline almost immediately after kickoff after initiating contact with Paul Benson and coming out the loser for it.

The defender could continue, though, and then it was Stockley coming off with a knock in 52 minutes, replaced by Nathan Oduwa, the teenage Spurs loanee having not featured in the first leg. The Nigerian slotted in next to Benson and became Wright’s responsibility.

He had just gotten comfortable when Oxford came forward for the first time in the half. Maddison earned a throw in the Luton half and took it himself, finding Skarz ahead of him. His ball into the area seemed to disappear into a mob of players.

And then there was Robinson pointing to the penalty spot, with Potts on the ground near it, underneath Luke Wilkinson, who had put him there. Everyone in the Kassam Stadium seemed to lose their mind at the same moment, for different reasons.

Faye rushed the referee and was immediately carded for dissent, while Ortega barely avoided a second card at the same time.

But then, Whing had a job to do.

The player who couldn’t be brought forward for extra numbers due to lack of pace now had all the time he needed, from twelve yards, to try and break the deadlock.

Lee-Barrett shifted from side to side on his goal line, trying to make the veteran defender guess the direction of his dive. He even tried to get the referee to order a re-spotting of the ball to try to throw Whing off his stroke, risking a card in the process. Robinson warned the keeper, who returned to his place to await events.

Whing kept his eyes forward the entire time, not giving away his idea, and then sent Lee-Barrett the wrong way. Both players went to their left, and in Lee-Barrett’s case, it was the wrong direction. The penalty was perfect, perhaps unstoppable even if the keeper had guessed correctly, and Oxford led in 52 minutes.

Whing stood in the middle of the penalty area, arms crossed on his chest while the Mail stand fans broke into a ribald oldie-but-goodie chant regarding Posh Spice, her husband, and her purported sexual preference for the Oxford defender.

And just like that, Flitcroft’s match plan changed. Luton had to come out and play now, and Hylton finally got his revenge against Connolly from the first half, sending the Luton man flying after catching him in possession in 55 minutes. He got the same warning from Robinson that Connolly had gotten after his first foul against the Oxford man.

Ssewankambo then moved up and found Hoban with an artful little ball in 59 minutes that sent the Irishman in free and clear – until Wilkinson caught him from behind with a perfect tackle, one that took no small amount of stones to make from a player who had already conceded a penalty.

Oxford surged forward now, the 4-2-3-1 holding its shape nicely while creating chances through Maddison, who found he liked playing a bit further forward. His dummy off a Skarz cross created a chance for MacDonald, but the Scot shot wide in 63 minutes, putting paid to that chance.

It was at that point that Dunkley really started to drag, his knock from the start of the half really affecting him. Kyle walked down to the edge of his tactical area to where players warming up were heading up and down the touchline.

He grabbed Johnny Mullins, who looked a bit surprised, but he was the man Kyle had in mind.

“Swap positions with Andy,” Kyle said. “I want you shielding the back line. Tell Isak I want him to drop back like in the first half. You two are going to break their attack before it hits Jamie. Have you been watching?”

“Yeah, boss!” Mullins replied, trying to shoulder his way past Kyle to the fourth official. The manager liked the aggressiveness, but he wasn’t done yet.

“Do not let Oduwa behind you unless you see a free central defender between Oduwa and goal,” Kyle said, straining to make himself heard over the din. Then he smiled.

“Or better yet, just don’t let him beat you,” Kyle grinned. No sense overthinking it.

He mussed Mullins’ hair and gently pushed him toward the fourth official. Bankes held up the board, bringing off Dunkley to a nice ovation from the fans.

Cheyenne Dunkley had had a hard time breaking into the eleven when Kyle arrived. Now he was a big part of the plan, and his handshake with the boss was heartfelt as he headed to the bench and the training staff.

Almost immediately Griffiths crossed for Benson for Luton, but Wright threw the striker off his stroke and he headed wide. Mullins showed he had been listening early on by outmuscling Oduwa for a header from a long punt by Faye as the match passed seventy minutes.

Jake Howells came on for Griffiths in 75 minutes for Luton and immediately Oxford surged forward, with MacDonald’s piledriver missing in 77 minutes as Lee-Barrett got low enough to turn it behind for a corner.

Luton cleared its lines, but only as far as Maddison, who sprayed the ball to the right for MacDonald. The Scot’s cutback found Ssewankambo, the late arriver, and the Swede took two steps to his right before shooting.

His rising shot cannoned off the bar, and fell at Hoban’s feet for the easiest goal of his life. Twelve minutes from time, Oxford led by two and the Kassam seemed to shake from the thunder of the fans.

The Mail stand was in raptures, Hoban had scored the 19^th goal of his season, and it was all over bar the shouting.

Kyle didn’t even feel the need to use any more of his substitutions. The players were running on adrenalin now and they were more than good enough to hold Luton for the remaining minutes. The singing started, and right on cue, Tim Robinson’s whistle sent Oxford United to Wembley.

Oxford United: Ashdown: Potts, Dunkley (Mullins 67), Wright (captain), Skarz, Ssewankambo, Whing, MacDonald, Maddison, Hylton, Hoban. Unused subs: Clarke, Bevans, Grimshaw, Long, Ashby, Hoskins.

Oxford United 2 (3) (Whing pen 55, Hoban 78)

Luton Town 0 (1)

H/T: 0-0

A – 12,573, The Kassam Stadium, Oxford

Man of the Match: Pelly Ruddock, Luton (MR 7.4)

GUMP: Andy Whing

# # #

[jrfellow]

Oxford to the finals!

[mark wilson27]

Enjoy your trip to Wembley sir, fingers crossed its a good trip

[BoxToBox]

Incredible stuff!

[salkster2102]

Did you put a suit on when you played the final?

[mark wilson27]

Did you put a suit on when you played the final?

Tenner says he did

[Maviarab.]

Yessssssssssss!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[tenthreeleader]

I only wore a suit once for a match ... but it was when I played a Cup final at work on my lunch hour. Despite many of my characters being suit and tie fellows, I myself am purely tracksuit. Thanks for the comments, men!

___

“Que sera, sera, whatever will be, will be … we’re going to Wemberley, que sera, sera!”

Kyle had gotten to sing that song twice while an active player, but it was sweeter to hear it being sung for a team he managed.

He shook hands with Flitcroft and then turned toward his bench, raising his arms overhead and waving to the crowd, applauding hands over head. The local rival had been vanquished, and there was only one match left to play.

The noise was unlike anything Kyle had heard in the stadium before. He looked up to the directors’ box and tossed a thumbs-up gesture to Eales, who returned it in kind.

The stewards kept the fans off the pitch, and that was a good thing, because Kyle gathered his team around him for a brief moment for a word.

“Shake their hands and then take a lap,” he said. “Connect with these fans, they’ve been brilliant. Congratulations on what you’ve accomplished!”

That was what happened. The team took a victory lap of its home ground and with the obvious exception of the visiting support, they were very well received.

The singing wouldn’t stop. Kyle loved to hear singing fans who wore his colors, but before the team had even left the pitch he was already thinking about the next match.

Shrewsbury had won the first leg of its semifinal tie by 2-0 over Accrington away, and now returned to Greenhous Meadow to face a desperate visiting team with at least one leg in the final.

For now, though, it was time to enjoy what had been accomplished by Kyle’s players. That was more important.

The general celebration reached the center circle after the lap had been taken and the Luton players and staff had gone to their changing room. Kyle had tried to tell his players not to rub it in against their visitors, but he couldn’t tell them to hold back the natural emotion that players exude after a big win at the end of a long season.

So Kyle had his players stand around the circle and salute the sellout crowd one final time before heading to the changing room – and before he headed to face the press.

Usually, Kyle stood in front of a backdrop that had Oxford’s sponsors on it in case any photographers took pictures during that part of the session. That night, though, it was different.

The Football League logo was there, along with its League Two incarnation, with Sky Bet everywhere. The playoffs were different and that wasn’t surprising.

Kyle looked at the backdrop a bit strangely, unused to his new surroundings, but it was a small thing in the glory of the moment.

“Always wanted to see another Wembley Walk,” he smiled, with the Oxford media giving him a polite smile of acknowledgement.

“What did you tell the squad?” Vic asked.

“What I’ve been telling them for the last month, that they had a chance to make something real for themselves if they would only believe they could do it,” he answered. “If this team didn’t believe in itself before this evening, it surely must now. That was a great effort against a good side.”

“With Callum O’Dowda out, there must have been doubts.”

“Jack, leave it to you,” Kyle said, showing that not all bygones were truly bygones. “We have a number of players who can slot in and make something happen but Callum’s season has meant that we haven’t seen all of them on that side of the park. Danny Hylton did a great job up there tonight, he made things happen, he drew fouls, he posed a danger on that flank and I was very happy with the job he did.”

“Will we see him there for the final?”

“If I decide he gives us the best chance to win, yes. But I’m not going to let anyone know that until the proper time.”

Jeremy Walsh of BBC Three Counties was there, just like in Luton, only without the same expression on his face. His man hadn’t even made Flitcroft’s eighteen, and this time the Luton manager would have to answer those questions.

He did speak, though. “A word about Luton, if you please,” he said.

“They’re a strong side,” Kyle said. “I was a bit surprised that so many of the players who gave us trouble weren’t in David’s eighteen, but he put out the team he felt would give him the best chance of a result. We had a few changes too and ours worked out better.”

“The fans,” Vic said. It wasn’t a question.

“When our fans show up, they make a huge difference,” Kyle said. “All credit to the supporters for helping the players get over the line tonight. They were wonderful, they were a twelfth man and I hope even more of them come to Wembley.”

“Any predictions?” Churchill.

“We’ll play at least ninety minutes,” Kyle said confidently. “Both the teams in the other match tomorrow are good, solid sides. We have to be ready for either, because both of them have beaten us this season, and we will be ready, with eleven days to prepare for the match. We may be in form, but we take nothing for granted.”

With that, he headed back to his changing room, which was now emptying, and got out of his touchline suit. Somehow, it had avoided getting messed up after the match so that was something to file under “fun but useless information”.

He hung up his suit, changed into his casual clothes and headed out the staff entrance.

Where he ran into Allison.

“Congratulations!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around Kyle and reacting with a start when he didn’t hug her back.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “The lads had a good night, yeah?”

“They did, and you got them there,” she beamed. “You’ve done such a marvelous job. Want to go out for a drink?”

He looked at her with a sad expression.

“No, thank you,” he said. “I think I’m just going to go home and go to bed. I didn’t sleep well last night.” He started to walk to his car and she walked alongside.

“Aren’t you feeling well?” she asked.

“Oh, I’m all right,” he said as he reached his vehicle. “But I think you were feeling pretty good last night at the public gathering, unless I’ve missed my guess.”

Allison’s jaw dropped as Kyle shut the driver’s side door, started the car and drove away.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

“Every night when you go to bed, you hope the next day is going to be a better one.

Some days it is, some days it isn’t.” – Flip Saunders

They didn’t talk for a few days after that.

Kyle didn’t speak with Stacy, either. He was concentrating on the biggest match yet.

He went to Greenhous Meadow the next night and watched Shrewsbury book the other place in the final, drawing 1-1 with Accrington to win 3-1 on aggregate.

He was especially impressed with Shrewsbury defender Jermaine Grandison, a 24-year old right back who got up and down the park with ease against Stanley and posed a real threat every time he got the ball in the attacking third.

He had pace. He had staying power. He could cross a ball. And he had a mean streak that was highly pleasing to anyone who didn’t have to play against him. He was the Man of the Match and he was one to watch for.

For Kyle, the alignment had to be 4-2-3-1. It had worked so well against Luton and in a big match like a Wembley final, he had to think about defense first. Being the “Flying Circus” was important and if Oxford had to chase the game, it was necessary, but in watching the video of the FA Cup tie between the teams, it seemed that Shrewsbury matched up well against the 4-1-3-2 Oxford had used to bag so many goals.

Then there was the infamous “ten-man” loss that had nearly wrecked everything. Kyle needed to come up with something better.

However, a significant decision was nearly made for him in the first full training session after the Luton match.

It came in a six-on-six drill and it happened when Jake Wright stretched too far for a ball and wound up in a heap grabbing his lower right leg.

The captain was in significant distress and as Lord and the athletic training staff reached the player, even Kyle could see the knot in Wright’s calf. It was enormous, the size of a clenched fist, which Kyle could see because Wright’s were in that exact position on either side of his body as he cried out in pain.

It was so bad that the player’s foot pointed straight downward, as it seemed every muscle in his lower leg all tried to occupy the same space under the skin.

He was assisted to the trainers’ room and Kyle then had to think about how he could get through a playoff final without his skipper and one of the team’s talismans.

That was a kick in the teeth, especially with O’Dowda out for the season. Two such important players being gone at the same time would really hurt.

However, with the squad’s morale down due to the sudden spate of injuries, Wright raised it right back up by meeting with Kyle after the session.

“Boss, we need to talk,” he said, using crutches to walk.

“Of course, come in,” Kyle said, getting a chair for Wright to sit in. Heavily, the defender sat down and got down to business.

“I’m going to play in that final,” he said.

“Not like that you aren’t,” Kyle said. “As much as I know you want to.”

“Andy tells me I can take injections,” Wright said. “They’ll get me through once the swelling goes down. He says it will, with therapy. I can play. I want to play. And damn it, I am the captain of this club and there’s no bloody way I’m not going to play if you say the word and select me.”

Kyle looked Wright in the eye. There had been times when he hadn’t seen eye-to-eye with him, times when he had even benched the man he trusted to wear Oxford’s armband.

But this was a different Jake Wright. The man had steel in his eyes and passion in his heart. That was never in doubt. But now he was bleeding blue and yellow and that was exactly the kind of inspiration Oxford United had to have if it was going to win promotion.

One thing Kyle had always trusted was the man’s honesty. He was captain for a reason. He was seeing that reason explained right in front of his eyes. Unfortunately, the press had seen the injury and it was sure to be in the afternoon editions and all over the internet and social media before the day was over. But Jake Wright said he wanted to play.

“The injections are up to you,” Kyle said. “I had injuries when I played and I didn’t like some manager telling me what I had to do with my body. But if you want to take them, I’ll make sure it happens.”

“I tell you, gaffer, there is no doubt. I’m taking the injections and I’ll worry about healing up after we get promoted.”

Wright turned and crutched his way out of the office. As he disappeared down the hallway, Kyle Cain leaned back in his office chair.

You couldn’t have wiped the smile off his face.

# # #

[mark wilson27]

I only wore a suit once for a match ... but it was when I played a Cup final at work on my lunch hour. Despite many of my characters being suit and tie fellows, I myself am purely tracksuit. Thanks for the comments, men!

Looks like I owe our scouse friend a tenner

[tenthreeleader]

“Pride grows on a human heart like lard on a pig.” Alexsandr Solzhenitsyn

The date loomed large. Kyle worked the team hard at first and then backed them off to keep legs as fresh as possible before the big match.

Their mood was excellent. While Town had beaten Oxford in the Cup, the Us had taken their measure in the league under Kyle’s management, so it wasn’t as though they had reason to feel overmatched. It was a team Kyle had seen personally on two occasions so there was plenty of video to study.

Kyle was optimistic. The team was supercharged and ready to put on a show under the arch, and his media workup in the days prior to the match was about going to Wembley and enjoying the moment.

He knew the players would feel pressure. So his time with the team focused on how to avoid it.

One of the key team members in that regard was MacDonald, who had played in the playoff final just the year before with Burton Albion – and been on the losing side, as Fleetwood Town earned promotion instead.

That was hard for him to bear, but obviously going back to the big stage meant a chance at redemption for the influential winger and so Kyle talked with the Scot about trying to settle down his teammates.

That led to several very strong training sessions in the days prior to the trip to London and as a result the Us were as ready as Kyle could make them for their day in the sun.

And then, he had to talk with Allison.

He felt hurt. Sucker-punched. He would have said betrayed, except she owed nothing to him. On the Thursday before the match, he was leaving the stadium for home only to find her waiting outside the office doors.

“We need to talk, Kyle,” she said.

“We do? All right,” he responded, trying not to look into her eyes. “What would you like to talk about, Allison?”

“Well, this whole business of us not talking to each other. We’re friends, right?”

“Until you say we aren’t.”

“All right, then. That means you get to have other friends and so do I, right?”

“If you say so.” There. That hadn’t been so bad.

“But you told me in the bar that I needed to wait, and that’s fine, but I get to have a life too. It’s not all about you.”

He had heard that line of reasoning before.

Kyle guessed that he had spoken too soon, even internally. When women want to talk about something, it’s never over until they say it is.

“It rarely is all about me,” Kyle shrugged. In fact, never.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.

“Well, let me put it this way,” Kyle said as he started to walk to his car. “I think I’ve just been told I need to shut up and listen, and that’s fine with me, so that’s what I’m doing. Right?”

“Sarcasm doesn’t really suit you, Kyle,” Allison answered, walking right alongside him.

“I’m East London born and bred,” he replied, brushing his hair out of his eyes as he reached the driver’s side door. “Sarcasm doesn’t just suit me, it is me.”

“All well and good,” she replied. “And I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, because I know I did. But I was just having a good time.”

“The guy looked like he was having a really good time,” Kyle said. “Thing of it is, Allison, that seems to happen a lot around women I care for these days.”

She looked at him sadly.

“I know you have very little control in areas where you want it,” she said. “And since you’re a football manager, control is the one thing you need to have. I get that too. But loosen up a little bit. Enjoy life. I am still waiting for you, in case you were wondering.”

“I was wondering, exactly that point,” Kyle said. “Honestly, I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, let me put it this way,” she answered. “I am waiting for you but as you once told me, I’m going to live my life. You need to do the same.”

“So if I had had someone draped all over me at the public gathering you’d have been just fine with that?” Kyle asked, opening the door and getting inside his car. “Because if you were, then I’d need to do some serious thinking.”

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

This wasn’t just inconvenient. It was catastrophic.

It wasn’t Wright laying on the training ground writhing in pain. It was James Maddison, and that was a game-changer.

He was clutching his right knee and rolling from side to side after shifting awkwardly during a simple dynamic stretching routine.

Dynamic stretching is a slow-to-fast form of warmup stretch that allows players to prepare for training gradually but in motions that are of the type they will generally make while playing. It’s considered safer.

At least, before today.

Lord was to him almost immediately, since the athletic training staff handled those drills, and as a result he was able to make an almost instant diagnosis.

“Nothing is obviously dislocated, or torn as near as I can tell,” he told Kyle on the way to the training room. “He’ll get a scan and I think I know what it’s likely to tell me.”

“Which is?” Kyle’s heart was in his throat.

“It’s a strain, probably of the MCL,” Lord said. “Don’t even think about the final. He’s going to be on crutches for at least two weeks and probably not able to run for another two after that.”

Kyle’s heart sank. James Maddison was on the short list for League Two Player of the Year and it was a devastating blow to have him lost to a training injury.

The team finished training but with heavy hearts, and Kyle headed to the training room to talk to his teenage midfielder.

Not surprisingly, he found the lad very upset. Kyle understood the feeling.

“It was an accident, James,” Kyle told him. “Nothing to be done about it.”

Maddison bowed his head, his blonde hair falling into his eyes.

“I wish it hadn’t happened, gaffer,” he said, sighing heavily. “I wish it had happened in a match or something. To do your knee in a stretching exercise, that’s just awful.”

Kyle couldn’t disagree. He also could do next to nothing about it, which hurt more than he could describe. He had put Maddison out there when Appleby wouldn’t, and the lad had responded magnificently.

Now, he was gone. Or as good as gone, anyway. It was devastating.

Or at least potentially so.

Oxford United was a lock to put three midfielders in the League Two Team of the Year. Two of the three – O’Dowda and Maddison – would be unavailable for the final.

So it was that Kyle called young Josh Ashby into his office after the training session that day.

The nineteen-year old had spent much of the season in the reserves developing his considerable talent but he had scored twice for the senior team – perhaps a bit oddly, once more than Maddison – in a handful of appearances.

Now he was about to step onto one of world football’s biggest stages – Wembley – in a crucial role for the senior team.

It wasn’t the World Cup finals or anything like that. But for Oxford United, it was the next closest thing and in calling Ashby to his office, Kyle knew he was bypassing players like Mullins, veterans who could do a job.

But he knew one other thing; at least to start the match, he didn’t want to play with two strikers. Shrewsbury had abused Oxford in the midfield and the final third when the Us had played 4-1-3-2 and it was time for a change.

4-2-3-1 had choked the life out of Luton and Kyle was certain that, properly played, it would do the same to Town. But the tactic needed a shadow striker, and Ashby was that.

He could have played a senior striker in that position – Hoban for one would have been a decent choice – but Ashby took to the spot like a duck to water in training and young legs in that role would be important.

So, the conversation between manager and former Oxford City man was held and once the boy got over his shock, he agreed that he was the right man at the right time.

Odd how a bit of news such as that can make someone grow up, Kyle thought, as Ashby left the room.

Once the manager’s office door was closed, however, Kyle leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily. This was, in reality, the worst possible news he could have received.

# # #

[Maviarab.]

Dafu.....it's all going pear shaped! Get Allison on the blower...the team needs a woman's touch

[edtheguy]

Hey look over there - it's the other shoe. Someone just dropped it....

Big test for Mr. Cain here, this might require some intensive in game management, can't wait to see how he handles it!

[tenthreeleader]

Sir Alex might call this squeaky-bum time ....

____

She wasn’t sleeping very well these days.

Stacy’s thoughts were not with Boyd, who had noticed more than once that his paramour wasn’t paying much attention to him these days. Sure, they were great when the lights were out – they had always been good at that – but while the physical portion of their relationship was worth five stars, the emotional portion was not – at least not to Stacy, at least not right at that moment.

It wasn’t that she loved Kyle. That was pretty well established. It was just that she was wondering about whether she was really doing the right thing.

Her pregnancy was very well advanced – she was due around the first of June – and the more she felt the baby wiggling and kicking inside her, the more she thought that maybe she had been a bit too hasty.

It was supposed to be “for better or worse”, not just for the good times, and though Kyle was an immensely difficult man to live with and one even worse to try to trust, her life just didn’t feel right.

Jenna’s texts were arriving more regularly now and the contact with her daughter was most welcome. She felt like they had been estranged when she had moved with Kyle to Oxford and she had stayed behind in London. That part of her was feeling more whole these days and that was quite welcome as well.

She knew she wasn’t supposed to be doing what she was doing, just as Kyle had eventually come to the same realization. Her desire for revenge had been realized – and like so many people had said in literature, once it had arrived it wasn’t as satisfying as the thoughts of it had been.

Now, what was there?

The baby moved again – it often did at mid-morning, for some unknown reason – and Stacy smiled, patting her belly softly as she turned to her work.

Behind her, Boyd sat with his nose practically glued to his computer monitor. He often did that when sorting lists or doing administrative tasks of some kind or other. His concentration was total, he liked to say, and sometimes that annoyed his co-workers who wanted his attention.

But now he got up to do some work at the main counter and Stacy got to her feet to use the restroom – something expecting women seem to do more and more frequently as their date approaches – and as she passed his desk, she noticed that Boyd had new wallpaper on his machine.

She recognized it immediately, and reacted with a start. It was a picture of a flower, but not just any flower.

It was a round-leaved sundew – not the prettiest of flowers to the purist, and an odd choice for a man who wore a flower in his lapel every day.

But Stacy had done plenty of research in her job and she knew exactly why her boyfriend had chosen that particular bloom. It happened to be the official flower of Shropshire, whose county town was Shrewsbury.

That seemed petty to Stacy. She shared a home and a bed with him now, and it seemed odd to her that he should behave in such a fashion.

But then, as she returned from the ladies’ room, she wondered the same about herself.

Spite. Pettiness. Anger. Resentment. All the things she had noticed in Boyd were also present in her own attitude.

She sat back in her chair and returned to her work. Her hair fell over her shoulders in a way she didn’t like, and she swept it off to the right.

At that moment, Boyd appeared behind her, delivering a discreet kiss to the left side of her neck which she had just unknowingly cleared for him.

“You startled me,” she said, turning to face him. She liked it when he was romantic, and he knew that. He was trying to re-light Stacy’s fire.

“Sorry, love, didn’t mean to,” he said. “Just thinking I might surprise you with something nice.”

She reached over her shoulder and touched his hand which rested gently near her neck. “You do that every day, silly,” she said. It felt nice to feel close to him.

Nice. Not necessarily right, but nice.

# # #

[Carninho]

I thought I didnt want comment till i'd caught up, but I'm still way behind (post 158 to be precise) and its about time I did.

I started with old Bobby Malone and moved over to this as it seemed to be active still.

I'm loving the story so far as many others are judging by the comments I've seen along the way! Certainly helps pass the time at work.

Have you written any others that have finished, as I'm looking where to go next?

[tenthreeleader]

Thanks for the kind words, Carninho. I appreciate it and I do love to hear about new readers. I should tell you that Bobby Malone is simply on a hiatus. There's more written but my energy is going into the Cain piece at the moment. If you are looking for a completed work, head to the Award Stories thread and read American Calcio. It will introduce you to Rob Ridgway and that story and its sequel will probably keep you busy for at least a month. Enjoy!

___

Jenna sighed, and threw her head back on the couch. It had been a bad week.

All the time he had spent with Miles in recent days meant that her school was suffering. A meeting with her school headmaster that had taken Kyle away from his club at a vital time had left her father in a sour mood, for a variety of reasons.

He had somehow convinced her that the reason he was angry wasn’t because he was leaving his team but because she didn’t seem to be applying herself in the classroom.

“I tell my players that I’ll never be angry with them as long as they’re doing their best,” Kyle said, knowing full well that in his time, he had been angry with players for any number of reasons.

She had reacted like you’d expect a teenager to react – first with petulance, and then with more petulance, but eventually she calmed down when Kyle made her toe the mark.

“If I have to review your work at home, that’s what I will do,” he warned her. “I have a lot to do but really, I’ll find other people to do my work if you aren’t doing yours.”

“You wouldn’t like that,” Jenna said, which was the entire point.

“You know, I’ve been pretty patient with you,” Kyle said. “I appreciate that we’re close and I appreciate your loyalty, but I’ve let you get away with some things that a lot of single dads wouldn’t do.”

Of course, to many a teenager those were fighting words, and she shot back as you might have expected a teenager to do.

“Such as?” she asked.

“Such as tolerating you bringing your boyfriend into my house when you should have been in school. We can start with that.”

Her reaction had been one of angry denial, which simply meant that teenagers aren’t always able to act with common sense. He had been right, she knew, and she couldn’t really argue.

It was that conversation she was most upset about, given the reason for her present distress. Her marks had been poor, very unlike her, and her school officials were arranging tutoring for maths among other things.

There was no disgrace in that – her father had made an entire career out of simply counting upwards by one and maths weren’t his speciality – but it was lack of application, lack of effort and lack of diligence in assigned work that distressed her teachers the most.

She was undisciplined. That was something that could never have been said about her before. In Torquay she had been an excellent student – attentive, kind, and willing to learn and improve. In East London, she had been the same way.

Only in Oxfordshire had she fallen away, and that was a real cause for concern.

She sat back on the couch, thinking about how her latest test had gone. That was what frustrated her now.

The meeting had been humiliating enough. Being told she had to raise her game by both her teachers and her father was humiliating. She was used to doing good by doing well, as the old phrase went.

But now, she wondered what she was going to do. A tear raced down her cheek – not one of sadness, but one of fear. She needed her father.

But instead, she picked up her phone, and sent a text message to Miles.

“The test was positive.”

# # #

[Darius1998]

That's all I can say.

[tenthreeleader]

Life is full of little surprises, isn't it?

___

23 May 2015 – Shrewsbury Town (25-9-14, 4^th place) v Oxford United (23-11-14, 5^th place)

Sky Bet League Two Playoff Final – Wembley Stadium, London

Referee: Peter Bankes

“Enjoy the moment. Savor the moment. You may never get here again.”

Kyle’s words to the team as they gathered in the changing room at Wembley had been short and to the point. There was no sense in sugar-coating or lying about it - there was immense pressure on his players and he wanted to try to relieve a bit of it.

Of course, it wasn’t exactly a healthy Oxford United team that got off the coach. Wright was ready to play and had been selected though he wasn’t exactly comfortable. Maddison and O’Dowda were of course out of contention, though both made the trip and would watch the match from the plush seats behind the visiting bench.

The fans did the Wembley Walk and that was a thrill for everyone who had come down from Oxfordshire – and it appeared to be about half the population of the town from the look of the stands when the teams came out for warm-ups.

The national stadium was going to be over half-full for the contest and that meant an extremely large payout was awaiting Oxford United, win or lose. The first possibility was wonderful. The second didn’t bear thinking about.

He let the players do their thing while he sat in the manager’s office, making sure the team sheet was filled out perfectly. He might rather have had a few other names on it, but there are things you can’t control in this game and he knew that full well.

As for the left side of midfield, Kyle had another answer – Meades, who seemed to have been the forgotten man after his injury spate, was being restored to the XI and judging by the way the man warmed up, you’d have thought he’d be completely shattered before the match ever kicked off.

It was a different-looking eleven that Kyle put on the large board in front of the room:

Oxford United (4-2-3-1)

GK – Ashdown

DR – Potts

DC – Dunkley

DC – Wright (captain)

DL – Skarz

DM – Ssewankambo

DM – Whing

AMR – MacDonald

AMC – Ashby

AML – Meades

ST – Hoban

Subs – Clarke, Grimshaw, Mullins, Bevans, Rose, Hoskins, Hylton

That felt odd, but Kyle wanted the flexibility of having two strikers on the bench in case dire need arose. This match, for a change in his tenure, was going to be played from the goal outward, and as such that called for a different look. He was sure Town wouldn’t expect such a lineup and he had decided that faith in the players would get this job done.

Finally, though, it was time. He stepped to the front of the room.

“This is why you play,” he said simply. “You men were near the bottom of the league when I came here and since then, every one of you has showed me you have what it takes to play in the next league up. There’s a club in the other room down the hall who you have beaten this season. Remember that, and remember that you have the ability to get this job done.

“Get a body on James Collins, get a body on Mason Bennett, defend like wild men and hit them for pace. And when we’re done, we’ll celebrate. Hands in and let’s go.”

The teams lined up, Kyle shook hands with referee Peter Bankes and Salops manager Micky Mellon, and noted the silence that accompanied both teams as they prepared to take the pitch. That in itself wasn’t unusual. The noise around them, however, made it almost surreal.

The lines began to move. The tunnel gradually gave way to one of the biggest stages in world football, and noise like Kyle hadn’t heard in some time.

Oxford United was coming out of dreamland. Now was the time.

# # #

[jrfellow]

Even though the match is already played, good luck!

[Maviarab.]

Ahhhhhh....what happened.....

[tenthreeleader]

The teams started tentatively, and that was to be expected. Town earned the first corner of the match in five minutes when Bennett was left open in front to receive a ball from Jermaine Grandison, only for Dunkley to intervene and clear behind. The corner came to nothing, but not for lack of effort.

Luke O’Neill’s effort found the forehead of the charging Nathaniel Knight-Percival, who drilled it straight at Ashdown, thankfully for Oxford. The crowd roared or sighed depending on which side it was sat, and Kyle swallowed hard after feeling his heart skip a beat.

But then it all went wrong again, as Ashby collapsed under a heavy and hard challenge from Shane Hill. Kyle also felt it was late, so he was up off the bench like a jack-in-the-box and in the face of fourth official Lee Mason. Lord was summoned onto the pitch and Ashby was carried off, the teenager’s face red with pain from a gash over the right ankle. Bloodstains had already soaked through his sock and it was obvious he needed substantial repair.

Kyle’s eyes were flashing with anger as Mason heard his case but waved him away. The second plan in central midfield was now gone as well, and Kyle looked down the bench, waiving to Hoskins first to warm up and then to enter the game after only eleven minutes.

He slotted Hoban behind him given the Irishman’s known excellence in the attacking midfield role, and play resumed.

O’Neill then clattered hard into Meades, which earned him a very strong admonition from Bankes. By golly, you’d better not do that again, the referee seemed to be saying, while Kyle shot an icy glance in the direction of Mason standing between the two technical areas.

He turned to Fazackerley as he sat back down in his seat, angry and upset.

“Long ways to go yet, Kyle, save that emotion,” his deputy advised.

Kyle nodded. Only once.

Ssewankambo then tackled Mason Bennett too hard for Bankes’ liking, giving away a soft free kick about forty yards from goal. O’Neill took it, and the Oxford defenders didn’t get Collins marked.

He ghosted between Dunkley and Wright and, sailing through the air, redirected the free kick past the flailing Ashdown and into the goal to get Shrewsbury ahead in nineteen minutes.

Half of Wembley erupted in celebration while the other half, unfortunately Kyle’s half, sat in sullen silence. It was time to chase the game.

It took four minutes for Oxford to respond with their only regular attacking midfielder – MacDonald – leading the way, freeing space in the Salops area after taking Hoban’s entry ball to the right. But keeper Callum Burton dove at full stretch to turn the effort behind for a corner, marking Oxford’s first real threat of the match.

Knight-Percival then got another of the ever-popular referee’s warnings for hacking down Potts, but Bankes had no hesitation in booking Skarz for achieving a measure of revenge against O’Neill in 36 minutes.

Kyle’s look of exasperation was caught by the television cameras, unfortunately, but his muttered words for the officials were thankfully not.

Then it was Aaron Wildig coming back for Town, getting the ball to Collins and moving to the left for a return. His cross to the right found both Collins in space and Ashdown too far off his line. The striker lobbed him, the ball finding a home in the upper right corner of the net for a two-nil lead to Shrewsbury six minutes from halftime.

That was a shock. Oxford hadn’t been two goals down in a long time, since the York match at home, mainly due to their offensive firepower. Yet the score simply showed the size of the mountain the team had to climb.

Kyle headed to the touchline to get Wright’s attention.

“Two strikers up,” he said. “We have to go back to two. I want 4-1-3-2 and high pressure on the ball.”

Wright nodded and headed back to his mates, who were understandably upset.

Meades responded with an effort from range that barely missed over the bar, and Hoskins did the same just before the whistle. But neither was on target, and Bankes blew for halftime to send Oxford to the changing room down two goals to nil.

# # #

[mark wilson27]

2-0 down at half time, going to have to be some team talk to get back into this sir..

[Maviarab.]

Omfg...let's come out fighting!

[tenthreeleader]

Definitely a shock. Miscalculation in tactics has put Oxford behind the eight ball. Shrewsbury punished me in 4-1-3-2 in the Cup so I thought the extra midfielder would help. I was wrong. Can we pull it out?

___

“It is no use saying, ‘We are doing our best.’

You have got to succeed in doing what is necessary.” – Winston Churchill

“You can still do this.”

The squad was expecting a roasting – and eventually, they got one – but Kyle’s message at half was that two goals were quite possible.

“Work for space, get possession, and press like you have never pressed before,” he told them. “There’s no sense in screaming, but also, if someone would like to remember the bloody match plan when Collins gets the ball, that would be magnificent.”

He neither planned nor made any substitutions, because he wanted these players to dig themselves out of the hole they had made.

But he had something else to tell them.

“If we die, we die together,” he said. “But before we are next in this room, I want every one of you to dedicate yourselves to making sure we don’t die today.”

With that, he left the talks to Fazackerley and a motivational speech to Wright, who was now in fine oratorical form.

Win or lose, he wanted the players together and fighting for each other. That was the way the second half began.

Two minutes after the restart, Whing found MacDonald down the right and the Scot smashed a drive into the side netting. Shrewsbury had not failed to note Oxford’s depleted midfield, and was giving him extra attention by trying to close him down.

Hoskins then ripped a shot off the crossbar, the long carom finding defender Connor Goldson, the Shrewsbury skipper putting the ball into touch. Skarz quickly took the throw, finding Hoban, who found Ssewankambo. His ball into the area reached Hoskins completely and gloriously unmarked to cut the arrears in half.

Or, not. The far side assistant had his flag up for offside and Hoskins was going wild.

Right along with the Oxford bench. It had been an extremely tight decision and Kyle wanted nothing more than to see a replay on the large screens at the stadium.

He waited. And waited. Finally, he realized it wasn’t going to happen. Kyle went to talk with Lee Mason again, but the referee had his hand up, palm facing forward, warning Kyle off him before he ever got there.

Angered, MacDonald won the ball back and dribbled through the Shrewsbury defense by himself, before hitting the foot of Burton’s left post with his shot.

Two shots off the woodwork and a disallowed goal. Quite a haul in five minutes.

Then it was Ssewankambo trying from distance, only to be denied by Burton’s full-length dive to his left. Oxford was now dominating the match and Kyle was up and on the touchline to shout encouragement to his men.

Then Oxford was caught on the counter and it was Ashdown saving the day with a great stop on Bennett, keeping the arrears at two goals even when all the Oxford faithful knew it should only be one.

Just before the hour, another chance came. Hoban, doing a fine job playing off Hoskins up front, laid the ball to the left for Meades. The replacement midfielder took three powerful strides and was off down the left, leaving defenders in his wake. His cross for MacDonald in the six-yard box found the winger in space and this time he left absolutely no doubt, sidefooting home the simplest of finishes to get Oxford officially on the board in 58 minutes.

That was much better stuff and Kyle knew his squad had Shrewsbury fully on the back foot. But Jermaine Grandison surged forward and worked a great 1-2 ball with O’Neill, getting his shot saved by Ashdown and finding the rebound at his feet.

That effort somehow went wide, and Oxford had dodged a significant bullet. Yet time was starting to become a factor. Ashdown robbed Collins in his effort for a hat trick moments later, and it was pretty apparent that if Oxford was going to find a way back, their goalkeeper needed to stay sharp.

As the match passed seventy minutes, Kyle realized that more firepower was needed. Meades was willing, but he wasn’t as able as some, and so he left in favor of Hylton. All three of Oxford’s senior strikers were now on the pitch at the same time and, needing a goal, that was where they all needed to be. For Oxford, it was “Triple-H” or bust.

Defender Cameron Gayle came on for Shrewsbury, as Mellon went to five at the back with fifteen minutes to play. It was the logical move, and Stephen Jordan replaced Mickey Demetriou three minutes later in a like-for-like move for fresh legs.

That said, it was Shrewsbury which got the next decent chance, with Collins hitting the side netting in 77 minutes, and Gayle trying to cross moments later and nearly beating Ashdown, who got back to tip the ball over the bar.

Potts had a raking chance in eighty minutes which came to nothing and finally, Kyle knew there was nothing else for it but to tell Ashdown to get forward if the opportunity arose.

Hoskins picked up a clear header in 84 minutes but found the keeper’s arms with it, and with Kyle considering moving to 4-2-4 for the first time in his tenure, Whing collided with Hill and couldn’t continue. He had to come off, and Kyle replaced him with Grimshaw, who was much more mobile and could get forward.

At the start of added time, everyone did get forward, including Ashdown, as Potts earned a corner on the right. It was a short ball, and on the return Potts moved forward, skipped past a challenge, got to the byline and got in a cross – but Burton grabbed it and got the ball into the Oxford half where Ashdown chased it down.

But there the ball stayed as Oxford’s dream died, one goal short.

Oxford United: Ashdown: Potts, Dunkley, Wright (captain), Skarz, Ssewankambo, Whing (injured, Grimshaw 87), MacDonald, Ashby (injured, Hoskins 11), Meades (Hylton 73), Hoban. Unused subs: Clarke, Mullins, Bevans, Rose.

Shrewsbury Town 2 (James Collins 19, 38)

Oxford United 1 (MacDonald 58)

H/T: 2-0

A – 51,765, Wembley Stadium, London

Man of the Match: James Collins, Shrewsbury Town (MR 8.8)

# # #

[mark wilson27]

Unlucky tenthree, lets hope you can build on this next season