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The Manager


Nathan_West

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Present Day

I hated buses. I utterly loathed them and I was glad to be shot of it as it pulled away, leaving me alone at the bus stop. People would have been forgiven for thinking I looked a bit depressed. They had absolutely no idea.

It had been a tough six years since my injury. I'd snapped an anterior ligament between the leg and knee and I had honestly never known agony like it. Even now it hurt, like a dull, constant thrum that shot poison through my veins. I limped from time to time. The injury had been severe enough that the doctors had warned me against ever attempting to play football again. And it had devastated me.

I crossed the road quickly, passing the council offices and the police station as I made for the old corrugated iron foot-bridge that crossed the two platforms at Havant railway station. I was thankful that I could walk again and not have to hobble around everywhere on crutches. Trying to watch a football game at Westleigh Park had been a horrible experience. I much preferred to be on the terraces than in the stand. My knee could be felt protesting as I crossed the bridge and down the ramp on the other side. I wondered if it would ever cease fully, but I wasn't too confident.

I was about to undergo my penultimate physiotherapy session. Five and a half years of it, three days a week, had certainly helped in my recovery, but not in enabling me to get back into the sport I loved. I stepped through the door, waved at the receptionist and walked through to the surgery.

Part of me would be sorry to leave when the final session was done and dusted. My specialist had been exceptionally patient with me over the years and god knows she'd needed to be. I was incredibly stubborn in my ways. She was a pretty thing, a red-head named Karen who was only a couple of years older than me. She'd taken over my physiotherapy a couple of years ago when she was fresh out of university, and she'd gained my respect in the process.

“Afternoon” I told her as I walked into the room.

She looked around and flashed me a quick smile. “Hello trouble,” she replied in that northern accent of hers. “How's the coaching coming along?”

I had completed my coaching badges and secured myself a job with Havant and Waterlooville's academy side within the last year. It felt weird being back in that kind of capacity. A lot had changed. The first team had recently lost its manager and I, being ever so slightly mad, had applied for the job. A superfan in charge of the team he supported, it was a masterstroke!

“Yeah,” I murmured, “It's getting there slowly. It's completely different to playing though.”

“I'm sure it is, but look on the bright side, at least you're still working in the sport,” Karen told me as she gestured for me to sit down on the bed in the corner.

“That's true,” I sighed. I rolled up the left leg of my tracksuit for Karen to get at my knee and I hardly noticed her warm hands tenderly pushing, prodding and poking at my kneecap.

“Any problems since I last saw you?”

I shook my head. “Only the usual shooting pains, so yeah, pretty normal.

“I see. Just extend your knee out for me – there we go – now, the pain should disappear with time.”

“Sooner the better that's for sure.”

Karen laughed. “I bet. I suppose the good news is that the knee seems to be as strong as we can ever really expect it to get.”

“That's handy to know,” I smiled. She gestured for me to lay back so she could start massaging the joints around the knee. I did so willingly. Very, very willingly.

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Hi all. Once again work is creating all sorts of issues. Will get something up online soon as possible

We've al been there mate, my advice is post when you can. It probably help if you built up a back log of written work so you can post it quickly if you haven't got time

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