[FM17] Out Of His League

[tenthreeleader]

8 Oct 2016 – Stockport County (1-3-8, 21^st place) v Salford City (9-1-2, 2^nd place)
Vanarama Conference North Match Day # 13 – Edgeley Park, Stockport
Referee: Andrew Miller

Chance procrastinated just long enough to take a trip to Stockport.

It wasn’t a long trip, mind – less than twenty miles and less than half an hour – but it gave Chance an opportunity to clear his mind.

The teams were only eighteen miles apart geographically but nineteen places apart in the table. Salford was now second in the table on goal difference to Fylde, and everyone in Ammies colors knew there was something to prove.

They would also do it in a different alignment. There weren’t enough available midfielders to play 4-3-1-2 and have a substitute. That meant 4-2-3-1 since there weren’t wingers available to play Morley’s preferred style.

The assistant held his tongue, though – what could he say, really? – and Chance hoped the time the team had spent on the training ground learning the tactic would be enough to produce a good performance away from home.

His team talk was short and to the point. “Now’s when we find out what you lot are made of,” he said. “You’ve got enough to beat these.”

That was rapidly becoming one of his favorite phrases, and he was now seeing smiles around the room whenever he used it. That was good.

“You’ve got enough to beat these,” he repeated himself, “but if you don’t mind your business and respect them they’ll bite you in the arse so hard you’ll walk funny. It’s on you to do what you said you wanted to do, get a result and get back on top of the league. Now go and do it.”

The match would be played in front of one of the larger crowds of Salford season – despite their very poor league standing, nearly three thousand fans were expected at Edgeley Park – and the team took the pitch with its hundred or so traveling supporters trying to outsing a much larger crowd.

The problem was that as a growing club, there weren’t exactly many club songs the fans could all identify with. So for the time being, they settled on “Go on, Salford”, which had pretty much been the mantra in the ground since 1940.

But from kickoff, it was apparent that there was a missing element to the Ammies’ attack. That was understandable. Players were playing in positions they had insisted in training that they could play, but when the time came for them to actually do it in a match, the positions looked foreign to them.

That was unfortunate. Thankfully, Salford had Stockport’s defenders to help them. On a foray in the 21^st minute, Skapetis, who was playing as a lone striker, managed to play the ball wide to Wassi, who was completely out of his element in the new tactic.

That said, Wassi got a decent ball into the six-yard box – where it was neatly turned home by County defender George Swan.

The looks of disgust on the Stockport touchline were profound, the defender buried his head in his hands, and Chance was left to remark that he’d rather be lucky than good.

The match got to halftime with that same score, and Chance couldn’t really say much. As poor as they had looked going forward, they had been antiseptic at the back and they led away. It was honestly all he could ask for.

“Hold this lead and let’s get the hell out of here,” he told the players. “Don’t let your performance drop and let’s get a win today.”

Then he did something he usually didn’t do. He looked at his phone.

“Fylde are losing at Kidderminster,” he told the players. “Grab this chance. Let’s go.”

He sent them out for the second half and from an attacking standpoint, it was more of the same. There wasn’t a lot of fluency to the game – giving Morley a chance to crack sardonically about the relative wisdom of 4-4-2 – but in the end, there was Stockport to thank.

A cross from the opposite side was deflected home by Isaac Néhémie in 62 minutes and Salford led 2-0 on two own goals.

With finishing like Salford was getting from the Stockport defense, who needed three central midfielders, anyway?

They cruised to a win, Lawton made his debut nine minutes from time after sufficiently recovering from his knee tweak, and as Chance headed to the changing room with his team, he checked his text messages.

“Time to talk,” Sara wrote.

Stockport County 0
Salford City 2 (George Swan o/g 21, Isaac Néhémie o/g 62)
H/T: 0-1
A – 2,711 (127 away), Edgeley Park, Stockport
Man of the Match – Patrick Brough, Salford City (MR 7.2)

# # #

[mark wilson27]

You didn't score yet you won, thats always a good thing sir

[tenthreeleader]

She was right, of course.

Brandon had been right, of course.

Chance had been wrong. Of course.

It wasn’t like the conversation had to be difficult. But for Chance, who had been so wrapped up in his football that he really had never had a serious relationship before, it was like pulling teeth.

Sara was wonderful, and Chance knew it. He was damned lucky to have what he had. But it was almost as though he couldn’t believe his good fortune.

So, very gently, when the team arrived back from Stockport, Sara took him aside. She had been waiting for the coach and her face never lost the serene expression it always seemed to carry when they were together.

“Come on then, off for a drink,” she said, piling Chance into her car for the drive into Manchester.

As they neared their destination, she spoke. “I’m driving for a reason,” she smiled. “You aren’t getting home tonight until we talk.”

She meant no malice. Chance knew it.

So he reached for her hand. “Sorry, love,” he said. “I just locked up when you started talking about wanting to move in.”

“You don’t want me to?” she asked immediately, and Chance felt the stress rising up his throat and into his temples.

“It’s not that at all,” he said. “I’m just scared I’ll do the wrong thing.”

She pulled the car into a parking spot and shut down the engine.

“You sweet man,” she said. “Honestly, Chance, you are a very sweet man. That’s what I love about you. But you have to understand, if we don’t take a chance with this relationship, how do we know where it might go?”

“I like kissing you,” he immediately offered, and she blushed.

“It’s about more than that,” she said immediately. “And you know it. We’ve been together long enough to talk about it and I hope you’ll understand why.”

“Because you love me?” he asked.

“Now you’re getting it,” she giggled. “Come on, then, let’s enjoy.”

And they did. They talked until closing time, about life, about family, about each other.

Finally, there was nothing else for it.

“You’ll do it?” she asked.

Chance smiled. “Of course,” he answered. “Just bear with me, I’m not much in relationships.”

“You are just fine,” she said, as they rose to leave.

She drove them straight back to his flat.

“But wait, my car…”

“…can wait,” she said, parking outside the door of his apartment complex. She reached into the boot of the car and pulled out a blue overnight case.

“Honestly,” she said, “it can wait.” He took her hand and together they walked into his apartment.

They said not a word, as Chance prepared to sleep. It would be close quarters – he had a queen size mattress on his bed – but that mattered even less to Sara. She washed up before bed while Chance shut out the lights.

And then there she was, silhouetted against the moonlight shining through the room’s thin blinds. Her curves stood out beautifully in shadow as she stood in profile.

“Forgot my pyjamas,” she giggled. “You mind?”

“Get in here,” Chance laughed, pulling the covers aside to allow her entrance.

Then she made him realize what a bloody fool he’d been.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

It hadn’t been an artful game, but it had certainly been an artful night.

The oddity involved in a two-nil win with none of his own players scoring wasn’t lost on Chance, but the third straight clean sheet for the team wasn’t lost either. The team had seemed to figure things out at the back, and it was just in time.

Next up was Dartford in the FA Cup, before the league’s true in-form team, Boston United, came calling at midweek. They were unbeaten in nine matches in the league and had zoomed to third place in the table, trailing Salford by six points with a match in hand. The clash at Moor Lane would be pivotal.

Chance tried to put those things out of his mind as the sun shone through a crack in the blinds. It illuminated Sara’s sleeping face and Chance had to smile.

He touched her gently and she shifted position ever so slightly, in reaction to his caress. He leaned back in the bed and smiled.

“That’s how it’s supposed to be,” he thought to himself, as Sara woke up slowly.

“You didn’t run away,” he joked, kissing her forehead.

“And I’m not going to,” she said. “I need to get more of my things today, but that hardly counts as leaving.”

He just loved her smile. It was captivating and when it was heartfelt, the combination it made with her blue eyes was truly stunning. Of course, he hadn’t seen it in the dark the night before, but then Sara had other ways to let Chance know she was happy.

He went to training a nearly transformed man. Unfortunately, it was obvious.

“Someone finally did the right thing last night,” Morley cracked as Chance took to the training pitch with a spring in his step.

“Someone did,” Chance said, knowing there was nothing else he could say.

The result of Chance’s new relationship was a surprisingly relaxed boss and an excellent week of training. There was something to play for at the weekend.

Salford City had never made the First Round proper in the FA Cup – yet that was what was at stake against Dartford, the team holding down 18^th place in the Conference South table. A sellout crowd was expected to see who would carry a non-league banner into the First Round.

He knew virtually nothing about Dartford, and the scouts were only limited help. To Chance, though, that was fine. He wanted to concentrate on what his team would do, rather than worry about his opposition.

And in that regard, his concentration was very good. Having Sara with him really appealed to Chance and after a lifetime of living alone, he was amazed at how easily he seemed to slide into a committed relationship with someone he really cared about.

Salford City (1^st place Conference North) v Dartford (18^th place Conference South)
FA Cup Fourth Qualifying Round – Moor Lane, Salford
Referee: Jon Moss

Moor Lane was packed to the bursting point for the FA Cup tie with Dartford. To this point, Salford’s Cup run had been fortunate – no clubs really bigger than they were, with most of the work done at home.

The atmosphere was great and Jess picked a pretty good pre-match playlist to get the crowd slowly into the match:

Playlist – Salford City vs. Dartford
Castle on the Hill – Ed Sheeran
I Feel It Coming – The Weeknd featuring Daft Punk
Little Bit of Light – Strange Weather
No Heaven – DJ Champion
Do Your Thing – Basement Jaxx
Sing Sing Sing – Pluto Electro v Benny Goodman
Me Too – Meghan Trainor
Freaks – Timmy Trumpet and Savage
House Party – Sam Hunt

Then Duane Ofori-Acheampong scored for Dartford only nine minutes into the match and all the crowd-stoking seemed to be for naught.

They certainly didn’t look like a club hovering above the drop zone. All the happy songs seemed to be a thing of the past.

But things got better shortly afterward as Jon Moss put Skapetis on the penalty spot after the striker was upended in the area by Danny Harris. The striker sent the keeper the wrong way and the scores were level.

The rest of the first half saw a Dartford team defending deep and trying to make something happen on the counter. They were happy to cede possession as long as they could make something worthwhile out of the eventual outcome.

They hadn’t reckoned with Deon Moore ruining their halftime plans with a beautifully taken goal one minute before the interval.

Chance hadn’t counted on it either, but breaking down the visitors so close to halftime changed quite a bit about the team talk and quite a bit more on the pitch.

The loanee had done well, finding space in the right-hand channel and turning in a cross from Skapetis. The two men had changed positions on the park. Chance didn’t care for them doing that and had tried to stop it more than once, but this time was different because, naturally, the ball wound up in the back of the net.

So he didn’t say anything, while Moore sat in his locker looking like the cat that had eaten the canary. He simply told them they were doing well and sent them back out there.

The second half was, in its fashion, comparatively tactical. Dartford changed alignments twice, first to 4-3-3 and then to 4-2-4, at which time they got burned on a Salford counter. Moore broke through and went in one v one to score nineteen minutes from time for a 3-1 advantage that started general singing and merriment within the ground, and even Danny Harris’ 87^th minute consolation goal for Dartford wasn’t enough to stop the noise.

First Round, here comes Salford City.

Salford City 3 (Skapetis pen 18; Moore 44, 71)
Dartford 2 (Duane Ofori-Acheampong 9, Danny Harris 87)
H/T: 2-1
A – 2,000 (100 away), Moor Lane, Salford
Man of the Match: Deon Moore, Salford City (MR 8.8)

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

The song playing over the tannoy was for fun, but it seemed to be really making an impression on the crowd.

“Jump in the Line” by Harry Belafonte was blasting and people who were already jumping up and down due to the cup success had reason to jump for an additional three and a half minutes.

It made for a really nice atmosphere as Chance mingled with his players and the opposition after the match. The deeper a non-league team goes in the Cup, the more good wishes it tends to attract except from its bitterest rivals.

He had a worry though, and it was about his captain. Grand seemed devoid of energy, had played very poorly in a positional sense and had been culpable for both of Dartford’s goals.

Yes, they had won, and that was great, but Chance had a decision to make on how he was going to handle the issue of his captain’s play. The central defense had been an issue from the start of the season but Grand had always been a player he could count on – until his present funk.

There was a time to be happy, though, and this was it. Things were going very well.

As Belafonte blasted his way through the song, Chance looked up into the stand and saw Sara waving at him. Chance smiled, and waved back. So Sara, in her enthusiasm, vaulted the railing and went to hug her boyfriend.

“You aren’t supposed to be out here,” Chance teased as they embraced.

“I know,” she said, “but sometimes the manager’s groupie has to get onto the pitch too.”

He smiled, they shared a tasteful kiss, and he headed into the changing room to talk to the lads.

“This was a good win,” he told them. “They were a decent lot and you beat them, straight up. But while we wait for the First Round, which is a place no Salford team has ever been, just think about what you accomplished. And then remember this: it’s not going to get any easier. Teams will look at you as the little club that made the First Round and they’ll go after your arses harder than ever. Enjoy this but let’s come to training ready to learn.”

He waited until the Tuesday to speak with Grand, and then he laid it on the line. With the scheduled match against Boston United moved to November 1 so the cup tie could be played, the team had a unscheduled day off. So that was when Chance said his piece.

He invited the captain to sit in his cramped office and laid it on the line. “Simon, I need better from you,” he said plainly. “I think we both know you haven’t been up to scratch lately.”

“Aye, gaffer,” he admitted. “I’m off form and I can’t really explain it.”

“Everything okay at home?” Chance asked, to an owlish look from Grand in reply.

“Look, I’m the boss,” Chance said. “You’re the captain. That means we talk to each other. You come to me, I come to you. You’re the heart of this team and I need to know when things aren’t right.”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Grand replied. “The usual things.”

“Well, then why can’t you seem to concentrate on pitch? I’ve seen some stuff out of you the last couple of weeks that would make it easier for me to just hutch you down the bench and let Priestley have a chance.”

Grand frowned, but he really couldn’t say anything. He took his correction with good grace.

“I need to be better,” he finally announced. “I’ll get my head down.”

But the next day at training, Grand had a run-in with Priestley after the two of them made a hash out of a high ball during a drill. It wasn’t a huge thing, but the squad player had done the right thing and the club captain the wrong thing, and wasn’t shy about letting the skipper know it.

Chance intervened, standing between the two players and quietly having a word with both.

“Simon, why don’t you sit this next one out?” Chance suggested. The captain again took his correction with good grace, and didn’t even look especially upset at Priestley, who had been right after all.

So he walked, alone, to the touchline and watched the next drill. His face showed disappointment, which was what Chance both needed to see and dreaded at the same time.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

Salford City (10-1-2, 1^st place) v Tamworth (8-3-3, 3^rd place)
Vanarama Conference North Match Day #14  -- Moor Lane, Salford
Referee: Stephen Smith

Grand couldn’t start the Tamworth match and that was proper in Chance’s eyes. He was just not up to it and as a result Priestley slotted in alongside Howson as the third placed team visited Moor Lane.

The captain had made amends with his teammates – all his teammates – after the kerfuffle with Priestley at training but Chance needed to make his point and so the skipper sat on the bench.

That might not have been the best idea Chance had ever had as his team prepared to face Tamworth, a decent side more than capable of visiting Moor Lane and leaving with points.

But, the boss has to be the boss and after Grand’s indiscretion Chance was left with no choice. Captain or no, he had to sit. That gave him the opportunity to give the armband to Howson, who was getting every ounce out of his ability and was in very good form.

The problem was that Chance wasn’t sure Howson was the right guy for the long-term. He was slow, lumbering at times, and not the best player Chance had ever seen at getting into position to read the game. But he was a grand chap, the two men got along quite well, and none of that mattered a damn.

Tamworth packed the midfield and dared Chance’s men to find a way through. Word was already getting out that a trip to Moor Lane wasn’t always the best thing for a visiting club’s goal differential, and the Ammies huffed and puffed at a packed five-man midfield for the entire first half with a lot of industry but with exactly zero success.

That said, the visitors had hardly darkened the half in front of Albinson, so the tandem of Priestley and Howson had very little to do in the opening 45 minutes.

On the whole, though, Chance would take it. “The match is still there for you,” he told them at the break, “but you have to mind your responsibilities. Don’t be the man who makes that mistake –“ he clapped his hands together to emphasize the last two words – “today.”

He didn’t want to be negative when the team had played well enough to earn a lead, but at the same time letdown in the second half had been a distressingly regular occurrence at times and he didn’t want a repeat.

A light drizzle began to fall right after Tamworth kicked off to start the second half, but it didn’t seem to bother anyone. It bothered Green the least of all, who bent home an adroitly-taken set piece in the 61^st minute to finally make the breakthrough the home fans craved.

That brought Tamworth out of the 4-5-1 they had been playing and into a sharply attacking 4-3-3. But perhaps surprisingly, each wave-like surge forward for Tamworth broke on a rock named Steve Howson.

The big center-half was immense, properly positioned, cutting out passes, heading balls clear, organizing the penalty area and generally making life easy for his goalkeeper. Despite the change in alignment, Tamworth wasn’t able to break through to the center of the Salford penalty area. That was due to the excellent play of Howson.

So good was he, in fact, that Chance kept Grand under wraps on the bench for the entire day. The very best thing had happened – the team had learned that even the captain could be nailed to the bench and made to stay there if he wasn’t playing well.

It was a grand result.

Salford City 1 (Green 61)
Tamworth 0
H/T: 0-0
A – 1,559 (95 away), Moor Lane, Salford
Man of the Match – Steve Howson, Salford City (MR 7.6)

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

The match with Boston United appeared to be a moving target.

It had been moved to the Tuesday after the Tamworth match to make room for the FA Cup tie, but was then moved again so Boston could have a Cup replay against St. Albans on that same date – which they lost.

The result was an unplanned stretch of off time for the Ammies, which nobody really minded.

The FA Cup First Round draw which followed was again kind to Salford City. They were drawn against another Cup dreamer, Ossett Town of the Northern Premier League Division One North, at home.

The possibility of a Second Round tie loomed ever larger as a result – rarified air for a side which had never reached the First Round proper in its entire history.

As a result, the mood at training was good that week. Fylde had defeated Harrowgate 3-1 the preceding Saturday to keep within two points of Salford at the top of the table but the Ammies had a match in hand, so Chance could look ahead to the coming week with a degree of confidence – as the manager of a team which had now kept four straight clean sheets in the league.

The Pilgrims played later that week, and Chance took Sara on their first ‘football date’. They knew they were in love by this time, but the two of them had never been to a match together where Chance wasn’t at work.

So it was that the two traveled to York Street so Chance could scout Boston and Worcester from the stand.

A few matchgoers recognized the manager, and gave him a respectful distance, even if they did glare a bit at a rival.

“Some of these people look like they’d as soon bite you as look at you,” Sara said, holding Chance’s arm just a little tighter.

“Nobody gets to bite me but you,” he smiled in reply.

“That’s nibble, dearest,” she said, squeezing his arm.

Blushing, Chance found his seat and held Sara’s hand tightly, while she looked like the cat that had eaten the canary.

They saw a match that was hardly worth watching.  Boston had had a long run of matches including the previous Saturday and the bloom was off their wild Irish rose, if you will. Worcester wasn’t going to make anyone forget Manchester City, United or Arsenal, and before long it seemed that the only way Boston was going to be able to hold Worcester was to hold them by the shirt.

Jake Collin was in charge of the match and seemed to spend most of his afternoon writing names in the book. “He could be at one of our matches,” Chance mused to Sara, who squeezed his hand.

“The referees aren’t out to get you, Chance,” she said.

“Don’t tell me, tell them,” he replied, as Collin hauled yet another Pilgrims player over for a chat and a little name-dropping.

The game ended goalless – naturally – but the manager had had a day out with his girlfriend and that counted for quite a bit.

The work was starting to slow down in the roofing business so Chance had the next day off, and that allowed him to make the trip in the first place.

They sat on the drive home, holding hands as Chance drove.

“Could you get used to this life?” he asked her finally, as they got back into their home neighborhood.

“I’m only used to watching Salford,” she teased. “But Chance, I’m happy to go wherever you take me.”

“That sounds like I’m holding you down,” he replied.

“Not at all, I like the idea,” she said. “And if I want to go, why would you want to stop me?”

“I wouldn’t.”

She kissed him as he braked the car to a stop.

“You’re finally getting it,” she teased. “Come on, let’s have a drink before bed.”

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

“You’re making us money. We like that.”

This wasn’t Phil Neville talking to Chance. It was Scholes, which made it rare since he didn’t often speak to anybody while an active player.

The FA Cup television schedule had come out and there was Salford City, playing in a nationally televised match against Ossett Town in a battle of minnows of the type everyone seemed to enjoy watching.

“Well, we’ll try to do right by you,” Chance replied, pleased that the owners were taking notice. And it wasn’t as though Scholes or any of the other owners really needed the money – he had been joking in that regard – but the club turning a profit was a nice side benefit.

He had texted that morning and Chance replied that he was happy to have made the club a bit of dosh. That led to a phone call after training and an opportunity for Chance to have some talk time with one of the players hardest to reach during his time in the game.

“’Ave ‘em ready,” Scholes advised.

“I think there will be no problem with that,” Chance replied. “They like this Cup business and I think it’ll be a good day out for everyone.”

The vagaries of the schedule also made it possible for Chance to duck out and attend the Tamworth-Stockport match.

It turned out to be a waste of time. Stockport had a player sent off early in the match and Tamworth was hardly troubled, breezing to a 3-1 win which was little more than exercise. That was annoying to Chance but obviously, couldn’t be helped.

As importantly, Fylde was held to a goalless draw at Nuneaton. Their failure to win meant that Salford topped the table by two points with a match in hand heading into the Tamworth match. So the football gods gave, and they took away.

The Ossett Town television windfall was great news, but it also meant that with a matchup against Harrowgate early in the week, the team would play twice in three days. The first team was big enough to handle the stress, but training would have to be managed carefully and there probably wasn’t enough time on the off day for all the players needing treatment and massage to get it.

Okay, so that was an exaggeration. But the players would have to take care of themselves.

The schedule ahead was daunting. Telford away was a winnable match but Boston United followed and then came the Cup tie against Ossett Town. It was going to be a busy time.

“You’ll hardly have time for me,” Sarah teased as the couple lay in bed the night before the trip south to Telford.

“Don’t think like that,” Chance replied, smoothing her hair off her forehead before kissing her nose.

“I don’t want to,” she answered, “but sometimes being a football widow is hard work.”

“Could be worse, I could be sacked,” he teased in reply.

“Be careful what you wish for,” she answered, snuggling against his shoulder. “Then all you’d have to do is stay at home all day and play with your girlfriend.”

As they fell asleep, Chance thought that maybe being sacked wouldn’t be so bad after all.

# # #