A Large Curry Chips and a Mars Bar: Leeside Tales

[Little Miss Lump Kicker]

At 4pm, on a Tuesday afternoon, Jackie Lennox’s chipper was as quiet as usual before the evening dinner rush. There was just a few students, lining their stomachs ready for a big night, and a man in a suit looking confused. So, Natalie Hayes took the opportunity to work, on her break, at the tables outside, on study plans for her players. Or she was until she spotted Kevin ‘Two Names’ Barry, the University College Cork striker, walking inside.

Seeing Two Names brought out what some would say was the worst in Natalie, though the lads in Lennox’s knew it was the best of her; all coming from her love of football and what players needed. As Kevin stared at the menu Natalie ran back to the counter before her break was finished, eyes on the men’s team star.

Natalie knew what Two Names was going to order even as he pored over the menu—of this she was certain—a large curry chips, a Jackie Double Deluxe, a Mars Bar, and being that he was a semi-professional footballer, a pint bottle of milk.

With a quiet cackle and wink to Steve—who knew well what was coming; being a bit of a UCC fan himself—she slid behind him at the till, over towards the heat lamps, and grabbed her apron. She put on a broad customer service smile as Steve began to speak up, “Natalie, your man over there—” but Natalie was already in full flow as she faced towards the few customers.

“NEXT!” she roared, to the mostly empty room.

Kevin ‘Two Names’ Barry stepped up. “Eh... A Jackie Double Deluxe, a large curry chips—loads of salt and vinegar—and... Eh... Ah...”

“A Mars Bar and a pint of milk,” Natalie said.

“Yeah! Haha! How’d you know?” the lump of a student, who was far too assured of himself, asked.

“You’re a sportsman, aren’t you?” Natalie said.

His already sizeable bulk inflated as he realised he’d been recognised. “You know me! Nice one! UCC football. Ten goals, three assists, future Cork City star. I’ve been scouted...” Natalie’s eyes narrowed causing Two Name’s boastful roll to slow. “Or you can just tell? I mean, I know we get an OK crowd, but someone like you, and someone like me—”

“You should try a salad,” Natalie said.

Kevin Barry looked back up to the hanging wooden menu. “A salad burger? Are they any good?”

“A salad, you fat pillock,” Natalie said. “You were subbed after fifty-eight minutes in the last match, which I suppose is three minutes better than your average fifty-five minute efforts”

Kevin licked his lips as though the salt hanging in the air was the closest he’d get to chips that evening. After tasting the atmosphere, and figuring it was just some local weirdo-woman football-idiot talking, he spoke up. “Listen here...” he began. “You’re just some old fan who—”

“Yeah, yeah!” Natalie said. “Ten goals, but eight from corners because you knock the opposition off with your heft, but only three assists. All of them coming off your incredible arse when you can’t turn around fast enough.”

Steve grabbed a tea-towel and was trying to look busy—wiping down the metal counter—so as not to be seen laughing at Natalie shaming another resting-on-his-laurels student star. He knew what was coming, it was always the same from these eejits; Natalie wasn’t a slim thing.

“You’re not exactly the healthiest looking woma—”

“I’m not a bloody footballer, am I?” Natalie said.

“You were,” the man in the suit—the man who’d been hanging back studying the menu—said, as he stepped forward.

Steve pointed towards the guy. “Natalie, this is the gentleman who was asking for you.”

The man in the suit stuck out his hand and Natalie wiped hers on her apron then shook his.

“Who the hell are you?” Kevin Barry asked, not wanting to back off.

The man looked at Two Names, sized him up and down, then turned back to Natalie.

“Natalie, I’m with—”

“I said, who the hell are you!” Two Names repeated. He danced on both feet, pretending at being a boxer, swift and agile, but more looking like he needed a wee.

“You should be asking who Natalie is?” the man said.

Natalie looked at Steve who shrugged his shoulders and mouthed something about, 'From the city, or something.'

Two Names, already tired of bouncing on his toes, steadied down, but the look on his face was all annoyance. The conversation had turned from him—the football star—to some stupid woman serving chips. “I don’t need to know who some-old-fool-Natalie-flinging-burgers is, to me or to anyone.”

“You mean Natalie Hayes, former Republic of Ireland under 21 international, destined for the national team—until injury—part-time manager of the UCC women’s team, friend of your manager—”

“Bloody who? The women’s team? Who cares!” Kevin said, with an audible snort.

Natalie slumped back against the service hatch, deflated, hearing her history repeated, obvious to all, but it was all true. She’d played for the Irish women’s u21s until her right knee gave out on a dodgy pitch, she was managing the UCC women’s team, who were doing quite well in their league—first, in fact—not that the men’s team noticed unless they were at a party, but the man in the suit wasn’t finished with her.

“The woman who’s currently completing her Licenses by distance, with no little expense to her—our information isn’t great here—with a ‘mid-table Championship team.’ The woman wisely telling you to eat a salad, as your own coach says, and the woman I’ve come to ask to interview with us. And she’s not old. I’m old, and you’re young. And seemingly thick.”

Natalie looked inquiringly at Steve, who—now with tea-towel hanging over his arm as he perched against the till—said, “I dunno, ‘the city?’ The council.” Then she turned to look again at the man only half talking to her.

“Steve says you’re with the council?”

“Cork City,” the man said.

“Right, Cork City Council.”

“No, you misunderstand, Cork City, the football team. We’d like you to interview for the manager’s position; professional contract, get us out of the first division, try something new; new owners and all that.”

In the same instant, Natalie Hayes and Kevin ‘Two Names’ Barry both said, “I can’t believe...” voices trailing off to silence.

Kevin slumped back onto one of the stools lining the edge of the room, watching someone from the team he wanted to sign with completely ignore him.

But the City man wasn’t ignoring him; he said, “By the way, Kevin, according to our scouts you’re not called Two Names because you have two first-names, it’s because there’s enough of you to deserve two names. You really should try a salad.”

Natalie, however, unlike Steve-by-the-till, didn’t hear this valuable piece of local gossip; not that UCC scandal would matter to her any more. Instead she was picturing Cork City winning promotion, winning leagues and, eventually, getting to the European group stages, all with her directing every aspect of Cork City’s return to the top.

 

***

 

I just found out about this sub-forum last night (I only check the forums for the beta) so I didn’t realise Football Manager fan fiction was a thing. Finding out I got a little excited. I’ve been thinking of writing up my release-save somewhere, but didn’t know where. Combining it with creative writing is something I didn’t even dream was possible, let alone a supported endeavour. So, with joy—real joy, I haven’t been this happy about writing something in an age—I wrote this up last night (and edited it while I couldn’t sleep.) It’s a “preview” or more “the beginnings” (not quite a prologue) of what will come with the full release of the game after the 24th; seeing as Cork City need the final release data update so I can’t begin just yet. But—no lie—at the moment I’m too excited about writing Football Manager to keep this bit of the story back until that data update. I already have ideas of where the story could go, but I’ll have to see what plays out in my save before I can lock any of them in, which I guess is the joy of this—all the magic of Football Manager informing fiction.

Edited November 16, 2020 by Little Miss Lump Kicker

[neilhoskins77]

Welcome to our little corner of the Boards then Little Miss Lump Kicker. We're very glad you finally found us, and better yet that it sounds like we're exactly what you were looking for.

We'll be looking forward to your work, and this is an excellent start. Good luck!

[Little Miss Lump Kicker]

Natalie Hayes’s interview with Cork City went well. Despite nerves her enthusiasm, predictions for the future and ambition assured the new owners they made the right choice in only interviewing her. Helping, too, was her love for Cork City; her home and stomping ground. When Natalie spoke of building links with the community, and building for a future involving everyone, the new owners—foreign to Cork—were all ears; promising that theirs and her views aligned completely.

So it was with arriving on her first day to the Bishopstown training ground that Natalie was eager to get a mark on her players, but instead of a welcome party, walking from her scooter to the offices, she was surrounded by boisterous kids. It wasn’t that this was a bad area, much of it was comfortable, but give teenagers any opportunity for mayhem and they’d kick off. She wondered if asking to bring her little moped inside the hallway was the right beginning for a newly appointed manager, but decided the kids would probably give more attention to throwing stones at the passing buses with their big windows and angry drivers.

Entering the unimpressive buildings by the pitches there was no fanfare. She had insisted, that on her first day, she just wanted to get down to seeing her players in action.

Finding her way to her office brought Natalie down corridors with bare-painted walls, where the smell of Deep Heat seemed imbued in everything. It felt like home to her. Disgusting, but home. Still, finally, sitting behind her desk Natalie quickly realised something was awry; there were stacks of CVs piled up, all promising the world but none very impressive. It didn’t dawn on Natalie these CVs were similar to her own.

Finding one of the men she remembered from her interview she interrupted a conversation on average top division sponsorships to ask what was up with all the resumes. Quickly assured it was just part of the plans to make it to the top half of the Premiership, and it was part of her role as manager, she accepted she’d have to review them before she saw to her players. This was, of course, the life of a real manager at a small, non-university club—especially one with little background support from big collegiate IT departments and seconded staff.

It was only when she opened an email from her assistant manager, waiting in her already setup account, that Natalie understood there was more trouble to this than she imagined.

Although seeking out the original man-in-a-suit she found a different one. When questioned, he responded, “Clearing out some of the dead wood, part of our Premiership hopes.” It turned out there was no staff in any of the support roles.

Looking to find her coaches, Natalie eventually found a man in a tracksuit, one of her own kind. “All the coaches are accounted for, but we have a certain lacking in other areas,” he told Natalie. More surprising was that he said, “This is typical for the first division, short contracts, minimal budgets.” It then dawned on Natalie that everyone in a suit had been talking like they were already in the Premiership—the league City had just been relegated from—as though there wasn’t an entire season to play before promotion was decided.

Natalie pointed this out to the person in front of her. “Officially they’re saying two seasons, but they’re treating relegation like an aberration. That they bought a Premiership club who hit a blip and promotion is all but guaranteed. If you check your inbox you’ll see amateur analysis on teams we’re not even playing against, but they think we should be. They’re deluded,” he said.

“I just want to see my team,” Natalie said, confiding out of annoyance.

“I know, I know, but we need those support roles sorted. At the moment we don’t have a single scout.”

After an introduction, and a bit of small talk Natalie asked “Will you look after the training?” of her assistant manager, Jimmy Galway. Surprising her with a smile he told her he had reports made out on the entire squad already, in a file for her, if she had a free moment.

Looking through the CVs, and occasionally calling through to the suits to establish the wage boundaries, Natalie heard more mentions of the Premiership than she did of the First Division, but when she asked why they weren’t prepared to hire, and attract staff by offering Premiership salaries, she was quickly shot down. Her plans to build through the community were becoming less like an idealistic dream and more like a harsh reality, seeing as she’d only be able to afford Bob the Plumber with a dodgy TV-box for scouting the next opposition.

Sick of reports, reports on future staff, reports on season tickets, reports on wage structures, Natalie put on her boots, and walked out of the building to watch the training session from afar.

What she saw on the pitch were the kids she was afraid would knock over her scooter and thought would throw rocks at the passing buses, but were actually making a show of themselves by being absolutely useless at even the most basic of football in the first team training.

Despite wanting to watch from a distance, to not get involved, Natalie Hayes inched closer and closer to the training pitch as she watched missed pass after uncontrolled ball.

“They’re not what I was expecting,” she said to Jimmy Galway.

“Talent? Or age? Or both.”

“Both combined,” she said. “I mean you’re not going to be amazing at that age, in a big town with only a small football support.”

“They’re better than most in the league,” Jimmy said.

“I had planned community outreach, something to build the team.”

“Oh?” Jimmy said, with raised eyebrows.

“Bed them in, get someone in to develop youth, the whole hog in building for the future.”

“Right...” Jimmy said.

“But they’re already the youth we have to develop. There’s hundreds of them! It’s a bloody summer soccer camp!”

Jimmy flicked a misplaced football that came his way up into his hands with a deft touch. “You seem to have figured the team out pretty quickly,” he said.

“What do you mean? That they’re young? I thought they were going to throw stones at passing buses three hours ago. I was intimidated by ‘youths’ in our carpark!”

“It’s the way we are,” he said.

Years of casually watching City play, when she got the chance between managing her own team, came to Natalie in an instant. “They’re youth players, or young players, we develop young players who probably won’t go anywhere else, some sticking with us until their mid-twenties.”

“We’ve a good academy,” Jimmy said.

“But not the best, and going nowhere.”

Jimmy nodded, dropped the ball on his foot and passed it to Natalie.

Trapping the ball beneath her own foot, then passing it off to nowhere, Natalie said, “This might be a struggle, to turn all these kids into a team.”

Jimmy Galway blew his whistle three sharp blasts, and walked a few metres onto the pitch. “Lads!” he yelled. “Come meet the new manager!”

[Little Miss Lump Kicker]

Natalie Hayes’s pre-season training with Cork City did not go according to plan. What she wanted from it was plenty of friendlies, bedding the team in. What she got was far too many players, all vying for positions, with no clear stand-outs.

Despite the mass of bodies training, there was no u19 manager, and only one coach making do with the kids. Because of this Natalie decided to bring anyone who could put their boots on without falling over into the full team sessions. These eighteen and nineteen year olds, while far from the finished article, looked as though a few years care and attention could make them into footballers. They certainly showed signs, the odd touch, a well timed tackle, that they had potential. The problem was how do you bring a team to the playoffs, or better, with a group of kids who didn’t know whether they were coming or going.

As there was so much back-office work to do Natalie left the training plans to her assistant manager, Jimmy, asking him to work them hard, so, from the back, she might get an idea of who could stand up to the pressure. And work them hard he did; the injuries started piling in.

There were young joints being twisted, not fully-formed muscles being pulled. They weren’t the pliable bodies of amateur footballers soaking up whatever little training they could get, but juvenile bodies not ready for a fully professional workload. This made Natalie realise how shallow they were in actual depth.

City’s defence was the weakest element, which Jimmy confirmed. “Nothing,” he said. “Well, not nothing, just nothing cohesive.”

She asked him what he meant by cohesive.

“None of our young guys, our cover, are the full package. They do well in some areas, but others let them down. Give them a couple of years and they’ll round out, maybe, but right now?” he sucked air through his teeth.

Natalie already half-knew this, seeing them train, but hearing it from her head coach tied the knots tighter in her stomach; knots that pulled again when she thought of her wage budget.

“How are we supposed to build a team for the Premiership if I have to eat up all my spare capacity on loans?” she asked Jimmy.

He laughed, only a little cruelly, and said, “That’s why they pay you the big bucks.”

And it was big bucks, over 70% more than the combined income from her former job in Lennox’s chipper and her part time position managing the UCC women’s team. She wouldn’t replace her little Japanese scooter—it was very nippy—as she had been in her playing days—but she was contemplating a house with only one other flatmate. If she really budgeted she could rent a place solely for herself.

The next few weeks, with the lack of depth—despite some friendly wins—involved frantic phone calls to every Irish Premiership club to see if they had any players available for loan. Cork City’s reputation brought out the clubs’ interest. City had good facilities, and would be playing some of the best football, but that didn’t stop the teams from demanding monthly fees, 100% wage contributions, and guaranteed starting positions.

This put Natalie in a bind. Her plan was always to use these loan players as injury back up, at least outside of defense, but to get them in she’d have to make promises she didn’t know she could keep.

Again, she turned to her assistant manger. “Jimmy, do I do it? Do I lie my ass off to these guys?” she asked. “We don’t even have scout reports on them. I’m just going off what little highlights packages I could find and a bit of general buzz.”

“What happens if you don’t play them?” he responded.

“They get recalled.”

“But you’re not playing them,” he said.

“And we might not get loans in the future.”

“Then get promoted—look at some of our friendly wins, we’ve beaten a Premiership team already—get promoted, then when they’re angry next season beat them from the same division. They’ll be livid, and it’ll be hilarious.”

This was all consequence free for Jimmy. She’d wondered why he didn’t apply for the manager’s job, but now she knew why; he didn’t want the pressure and could happily laugh his way through a season. “Do you really think we can get promoted?”

“Maybe,” he said. “It’s up to you.”

Natalie nodded, then put in calls to the other managers to finalise a series of loans on players she was mostly blind on. Their videos showed some ability, but, like her own young guys, whether they were incomplete she didn’t know.

They arrived to the club three-or-so of weeks before the season kicked off, and the cost was troubling Natalie. To keep the finances in good condition she’d have to scrimp wherever she could. From—a few weeks before—asking for higher wages to recruit better staff she was in a position where she didn’t even want to fill out her own backroom: just to save the few hundred quid that might go to the wage budget in the future, and to securing signings for a higher division.

With two weeks left in pre-season she was glad she did spend. Another rash of injuries hit her, including to Seosamh Butler, who’d been banging in goals; the striker she’d decided was going to start for her.

It was after that spate of twists and tears to increasingly battered bodies that Natalie had to re-address her ‘work-them-hard’ approach. It wasn’t just the stress on young limbs causing niggles, it was pulls and strains that would have them out for weeks.

Watching a less intense session, Jimmy was explaining to Natalie that some of the players susceptibility to problems—and their injury history—was a reason they hadn’t been picked up by bigger clubs when Simon McCarthy interrupted the manager and assistant manager’s conversation.

“Boss!” McCarthy said. Jimmy took a step back so intense was McCarthy’s focus on Natalie. “I know I didn’t show it in training, but I am trying. I’m really looking to improve the areas I’m weak in. My work rate, all that, I know.”

Natalie was slightly knocked by how firmly, assuredly he’d said, ‘boss,’ and how he was so absolutely certainty that Natalie was his boss, so she just nodded to cover her inability to speak.

“Put me in. I’ll score you goals,” he said. “I know I will.”

Despite being unsure—with seemingly better loanees—Natalie knew she needed to look out for her own players first.

She looked McCarthy straight in the eye, “Show me, then,” she said. And in the opening game he did exactly that. City scored five to Athlone Town’s one, with Simon McCarthy putting two in the back of the net to put them first after one game.

With the final whistle of their dominating win Natalie began to wonder, in the smallest way, if the team she was hesitant about were a lot better than she gave them credit for. A young team, maybe not ready for the Premiership, but with a season under their belt? She was beginning to see a future for the club, if she worked it right.

[Little Miss Lump Kicker]

After Cork City’s opening game win, to put them top on goal difference, 5-1, against Athlone Town, Natalie Hayes was eager to get into the league proper. Athlone were predicted to be at the bottom of the table, so it might not have shown much to thrash them in the opening match of the season.

Whether the team she had picked would be the team that would last would only be known when the league shook out a bit. But what was clear to Natalie was that her 4-3-3 tactic shaped up well against opposition City were clearly better than.

Still, she had some doubt about whether her instructions to the team would work going on. It was a controlled approach, based on a lot of possession, intricate passing and wingers creating opportunities, but these weren’t English Premiership players. They weren’t even English Championship players. Asking them to play such a technically involved game might be too much for them. It was for that reason she made some allowances. Yes, they were to press when they lost the ball, and yes, they were to counter when they regained possession, but there was no huge intensity to this. They were always to take some time to to settle into any new scenario in a game. The intuition of top players didn’t apply to her team, so it was all just that bit slower, to make up for some of their lacking in skills.

This balanced approach, outplay the other teams, but don’t push too much, turned out to work for Natalie Hayes’s Cork City. After five games they were clear ahead in the table, lying first, with only one goal scored against them; the one that bottom of the table Athlone Town put away in their very first match.

In fact, after Simon McCarthy came to Natalie before the season began, begging to be left into the team, he scored eight goals in his first five starts. And he was always starting, never subbed; there was no need with him putting in the performances he’d promised. This was huge to the team’s rise in the table, but it left Natalie doubting how she’d missed his ability, especially favouring Seosamh Butler before his injury. What it did mean was she was worried about what injuries could do to their chances. If McCarthy—with his rate of goals—was out of the team, would their ability to win matches fall away?

She had some loanees in the frontlines, attacking midfielders who could also play as strikers, but she just couldn’t play them with the form her players were in. First she had a phone call from the Bohemian’s manager, then within a day from the Sligo Rovers’ manager. Both didn’t accept the bare-faced lie that they were getting playing time, but backed down when Natalie told them her own players were in good enough form that she just couldn’t put them in the line-up. Maybe other managers understood the dilemma she was in, or maybe they just recognised the benefit their players would get being associated with a winning side, even if it was a division beneath them.

Still, this meant Hayes’s wage budget was as tight as ever. Bringing players in on trial—there were a few who could round out the team—as they lead the league (with another two games played, both wins,) meant that even though they were decent players she couldn’t sign them. At the back of her mind, though, was the thought that even if she could sign them, they’d only be at the standard of her own players. If the season played out as it began, seven wins from seven, she’d need a step up in quality, to help her compete after a promotion.

And it was after those seven wins from seven Natalie Hayes was facing into what she saw as her first real test, something she wouldn’t have predicted when she initially saw her players on the training ground. It was a match against Shelbourne, the team relegated along with her, a former premiership team, like hers, and predicted to come first—in the only automatic promotion spot—to Cork City’s second.

Starting the match, at home, Natalie didn’t change anything. She had to see how her team would fare using the same approach she’d kept with every other game. She even kept her attacking mentality going in. Still, she knew it would be a lot closer than any other match, and it was a real test in the fires; a game to prove the team.

Unfortunately, even with the home fans cheering them on, her players’ standards dropped. Something only natural when playing against a team just as good as them. If you’d asked her before the match if she’d take a draw, she’d have snapped your hand off for it, but despite a poor performance from the team, every stat showed them as the better. xG, shots on goal, shots on target, possession, passes, all had Cork City ahead. But, despite the stats, it was a nil all draw at the end. City’s form in the First Division—still clear in front, but now with zero losses instead of 100% wins—wouldn’t tell her much about how she’d fare against higher class teams, especially as this was the easier home tie.

Coming out of the game Hayes worried over the next year, presuming the season continued as it began. A rise up the Premiership would be a lot harder than a brilliant start to the First Division—her eyes had always been set, long term, on Europe—and she didn’t have the cash to improve the team; especially as she re-negotiated the contract of her starting keeper, William Jobs, at a much higher wage than she could realistically afford, just to keep him, and that’s when the phone calls started coming.

“We talked about this before,” the Rovers manager, David Hurley, said.

“We did,” Natalie said. “His form just doesn’t justify him starting.”

“You made some guarantees,” Hurley continued.

Thinking how he backed down before, Natalie Hayes played her hand. “If that’s what you think, maybe you should recall him?”

All she heard in response was a, “Fine, I will,” before the phone was slammed down.

Seeing her inbox the next day, there was the paperwork. Not only had Sligo Rovers recalled Niven, but Bohs had also recalled Armstrong. The word had gotten out.

Two attacking midfielders who could also play as strikers, valuable back up for Natalie, with very little in reserve for her in depth, were snatched out of her hands. And even then it only freed up about €200 in her wage budget.

After a flying start to City’s season, Natalie Hayes had to deal with their first draw, even if they hadn’t actually let in a goal, and two of the most important players recalled, two players she’d need if there were injuries. And with the word out about how she treated loanees, she might not secure any more backup.

Facing into her first cup game Natalie was left with a decision. Did she work her starting team hard, seeing as they were playing a team just beneath her in the league—her main competition, maybe—or did she begin to rotate the winning formula and try and keep the starters for the most important games outside of cups. It was a superb beginning to the year, she’d had, but in the thick of things spoilers were now being thrown up at regular occurrences. Hayes didn’t know if her success was justified, or a lucky roll of the dice, and with options being taken from her she needed the length of the season to play out with little trouble.

[Little Miss Lump Kicker]

Despite the board not caring about cup progress Natalie Hayes saw those games as a way to really evaluate her Cork City squad. Get past Galway, title contenders in the First Division, and they might come up against a Premiership team in the later rounds. Then she could see how her team shaped up against players from the league she wanted to be in.

Galway United were dispatched 3-1 in the opening round of the League Cup, luckily a home game to give them just that little boost, and the draw for the next round put them up against Premiership side Waterford.

This time it was an away game, so the opposing home team would be really forward in everything they did. What didn’t occur to Hayes was if her board didn’t care about those games that might also be the case with the boards, and even managers, of other teams. The prize money for winning the League Cup would barely affect bottom lines, and with the top league playing thirty-six games to the First Division’s twenty-seven, the two cup competitions were only a distraction.

Jimmy Galway pointed this out on the sidelines against Waterford. “Look around you,” he said.

Natalie was hard focused on her team, doing well against Premiership opposition. “Did I miss something?” Natalie asked.

“Look at the crowd,” he said.

Natalie had to tear herself away from a steel eyed, laser piercing stare on the game. “What?”

“The stands, they’re empty.”

“And?”

“And the team doesn’t care...”

“What do you mean?” Natalie asked.

After the 2-1 win, and delight for Hayes, it was only once she’d praised her players, “We toppled a Premiership team, lads, no-one expected that of us!” that Jimmy Galway pointed out that the top teams might not care about getting knocked out unless they make it to the business end of the cup, and this was only the second round.

‘It doesn’t matter...’ were words that haunted Natalie’s mind, as she lay down to sleep, for the next few nights. Then, Hayes’s focus turned again to the First Division. At least with the league everyone was seriously competing, but Cork City’ s domination continued, despite a little bit of bad news from the cup game.

City’s injuries had dried up, which Hayes was very thankful for. Sure, saving some of the budget on backroom staff was something she could do, but by getting in another sports scientist, at just over a hundred quid a week, and another physio to shore it all up, their spate of injuries in the pre-season turned to a lucky drought as the season began. At least that was the case until Simon McCarthy went off injured as they beat the Premiership team; a knock after scoring the goal that would win the cup tie for them, meaning she had to put Seosamh Butler in. Fine, one half to warm up was needed, but he didn’t look lively. Awaiting the physio’s report on McCarthy—it looked good during the match, but you could never be sure—was an anxious time, even given the win. Eventually word came in, “Two weeks,” and Natalie sighed in relief.

Still, it meant Butler would be starting against Cabinteely, a topsy turvy team—mid-table—who lost against bottom teams and won against the front-runners. They were completely haywire, and Butler would have to start.

“Why is Aleister Morris out on loan?” Hayes asked, about the one other striker on their books with any game.

“You’d have to consult with our former manager,” Galway said.

“He’s better than Butler, from what I can see, he’s pulling in Man of the Matches for Cobh, who I shouldn’t have to remind you are in the same damn league as us!”

“Maybe he needed development,” her assistant manager said.

“He could be starting for us!”

All Galway could do was shrug his shoulders, “We’ll do fine with Butler, even though he should, really, be playing out wide.”

“You think?” Hayes asked.

“He has the finishing, you can see that in training,” the assistant manager said. “But, he’s never scored goals from up front. He just freezes.”

“And we need him there against Cabinteely,” Hayes said.

“The lunatics...” Galway responded, with screwed-wide eyes. “Absolute mad team.”

Thankfully, her solid midfield secured the win against Cabinteely, 3-1, Ciaran Daly getting two and Paul O’Shea one, but Butler did not look good in front of goal.

“I’m glad we’re getting McCarthy back next week,” Hayes said.

“Are you gonna rush him back in?”

“What choice do I have?”

“Try mixing up your attacking mid,” Galway said, changing the subject.

Hayes could see his worry at her risking their players for wins play out on his face. She’d kept a similar team, working them to the bone, so far, for almost the whole season. “Both Mussel and Grey—I know they’re solid, and I know we’re winning—are gonna be burned out if you keep playing them. That could be a problem come the end of the season, if things are tight. Give Ringa and Butler a chance to show themselves.”

It was after that meeting that word came down from on high that contracts were coming up for renewal. Natalie felt like promotion was on the cards for City but she had no budget to work with.

She approached the board. “We need more room in the wages,” she said.

The man in the suit remained stony faced. “We’ll get back to you on that, but...” Natalie didn’t fully hear the excuses. There’d be no scope for her, despite them topping the league over a third of the way through the season. “Tie down your starters,” he said, just as Natalie left the room.

Natalie offered contracts to her starting team, mainly refusing futures to young guys whose leaving might free up capacity in the next year, little by little, but the other hard negotiations cost her. One release clause, a few angry, refusing to sign, and discontent at refusing high promotion clauses; everyone knew from their season they looked like going up; guaranteed wage boosts. But, thankfully, she’d have at least seven or eight for the next season—outside of the loans she relied on—and a few of the young guys who might develop. It was a bedrock, including their solid midfield of Ciaran Daly and Paul O’Shea, although Daly could be snapped up by anyone for €250k. It wasn’t a huge worry, though, as she didn’t see him improving that much to draw foreign attention, and there shouldn’t be that kind of money in the league.

It was with contracts in mind—and depth—that Natalie Hayes listened to her assistant manager, Jimmy Galway, for the next few games. She rotated her wide attack. Butler looked solid when put on the right, and Ringa was given a few starts, being a valuable left-sided advanced midfielder.

Despite Ringa’s poor showings in match practice, he did what her wide attackers hadn’t been doing so far; one goal in his first start, two in the next.

“You were great in front of goal,” she said to him, when she called him into her office.

Ringa swelled up. “Thanks, that means a lot,” he said.

“Your goal scoring, in front of goal, getting those goals, was really good,” Hayes said.

“I’m gonna keep it up, I promise,” he responded.

“I want you working on your passing and crossing in training, especially your passing,” Hayes said, eyebrows furrowed.

“Sure thing boss, anything to complete this package,” he said, then he walked out with a big, broad smile on his face, eyes gleaming as though he saw a chance to round a keeper.

Hayes realised her interaction with the players might not be getting the best out of them.

Ringa was scoring goals but he wasn’t creating them. In fact his creation stats were dire. And that wasn’t something she could rely on if they went up. A wide attacking midfielder who didn’t provide his striker with opportunities wasn’t something that would fly in the Premiership, but, still, the suit’s words rung around her ears, “Sign up your players for next year.” So both Ringa and Butler, who were competent in rotation, were kept on. Now she was exactly seven euros over budget in the wage figures, with a core team—outside of defence—signed on should they be promoted.

And promotion, after another few wins in the mid-season, was looking ever more likely, but a team that could get to the European spots in the Premiership? With a side that were half mad—comparing their actual skills shown in training with on-field performances—beyond their stable midfield core—and a defence made up of loans, loans eating their budget?

Hayes’s mind had turned completely from the First Division. Now she was worried about whether they’d be back there in two season’s time. If, with the wide gap between the First Division and the Premiership, her job could survive promotion. Her dreams of European glory, and building a legacy, were far away. Especially with the board offering nothing in assistance.

Edited November 28, 2020 by Little Miss Lump Kicker
Formatting

[Little Miss Lump Kicker]

After signing her core squad back up for at least another season, and being turned down for an increased wage budget, Natalie Hayes approached the Cork City board again. It was a simple request, to send their captain on a leadership course.

On the field Ciaran Daly was an inspiration. His play was the match of anyone in the league—solid, reliable and constantly getting results for his team—and as a player he was he was an arduous worker, but when it came to interacting with the squad, on the pitch and off it, he wasn’t able to put things quite the right way. With Daly signed on for another year—release clause excepted—Hayes knew she’d need him to improve his handling of his players if he was to remain such a go-to guy when the next season came. The board, however, were again to turn her down. For the third time they told her she had to make do with what she had; first for higher staff wages, then for an increased budget, and now for a simple leadership course.

Hayes had only been in the job for half a year, but in that half-year she’d seen Cork City go clear on top of the league by a good ten points, having drawn only once in all her competitive games, and never having experienced a loss. She expected a bit more respect from the club, and repeatedly they failed to show it to her, so, in the press conferences she always turned up to, when the question was inevitably asked about her relationship with the board she told the truth. “I’m not sure they have the same ambition as me,” she said, bluntly and honestly.

If, when she said it, she could tell immediately it was rash, she at least expected a reaction. To be called into the offices, even a video stream with someone based in Preston—the club whose chairman owned City—and something, anything, any kind of promise to be hashed out. Even a warning—not to talk out against the suits—would show someone cared, but there was no response, not even talk in the corridors of the training ground buildings. Instead Hayes was left stewing, as though she was the most senior person, not just with the team, but with the whole club; that no-one in charge cared.

Focusing on the games to be played, Hayes frustratedly turned back to her team. They had a habit of picking up yellow cards, which was only natural with the tough approach she made sure they took, but now three of her four backline were all one game away from a ban.

“They can’t all pick yellows, can they?” she asked Galway.

“Nah. Two? Sure. One, it’ll happen, eventually. All three in the same game? I doubt it.” And those were, as they say, ‘famous last words.’

Against Shelbourne, three of her starting back four—one yellow away from a ban—all picked up cards; a game right before they were due to face U.C.D; the team right below them in the league. Win this and they’d go more than 12 points clear. But with three of her four starters missing, all in the same area, Natalie was expecting the worst.

“Jack O’Shea hasn’t been training too badly,” Galway said.

“He has a bright future, that lad.”

“So put him in.”

Hayes nodded in agreement. “What about Merca?” she asked. “He’s one for the future as well.”

“What choice do you have?”

“The one choice I wish I had was with Leavy.” As she spoke her fists balled up and turned white with pressure.

“He refused to sign, didn’t he?” Galway’s tone was inquisitive, as though he didn’t agree with Hayes’s damnation of the man.

“He wanted the world.”

“Like I said, what choice do you have?”

“We can play Brady there.”

Galway partook in his usual sign of disagreement, or at least reservation; sucking air through his teeth. “Didn’t the Bohs’ manager talk about recalling him if you didn’t play him at full back?”

“To use your words, ‘what choice do I have?’”

“Put Leavy in, make him work for his contract, we might even sell him before his time is up?”

Natalie Hayes guffawed. “Money, in this league? With what’s going on with finances?” She rubbed her forehead, as though making a decision, but it was already decided in her mind. “We play Brady in the centre. That way we have three solid players in the lineup instead of two.”

With her backup, slightly out-of-position players in against U.C.D.—another title contender—for the first time in quite a while Cork City were drawing one all at half time.

Hayes let the players have it when she spoke to them.

But what she didn’t expect was two of her three replacement defenders would play a great half. Brady was as solid in the centre of the backline as he was on the right, and Jack O’Shea was putting in a performance-of-the-season. While Merca was playing poorly, he was doing just enough, and the experience would better him.

Hayes knew if she could motivate her team all they needed was one goal, and their decently performing replacement-defence would see them through. And with Butler—now doing fine on the right wing—bagging his second halfway through the second half, they’d done enough for the win. They’d got one over their nearest title contenders.

“O’Shea is some player,” Galway said, at the recovery session the next day.

“We’ll have to fit him in more.”

“What about Merca? He didn’t stand out, really. And if he did it was for the wrong reasons.”

“He showed some,” Hayes said. “We’ll stick with him.”

However, the warning Galway offered about Brady came true the Monday morning Hayes hit her office. Waiting in her inbox were the words, “We’re recalling Brady. We asked you to play him at fullback, which you refused.” However, the spark of an idea ignited in Hayes’s mind. Hasty, perhaps, they could very well attract better players when they were back in the Premiership, but the idea took hold in that moment.

Hayes sought out Brady to tell him the news about his recall. Finding him togging out for training, completely unaware, she called him outside the dressing rooms.

“Would you like to play for us?” she asked.

“I do,” Brady said, confused.

“I mean full time.”

“I’m signed to Bohs.”

“Would you like to play in the Premiership, for us?” she asked, continuing, without giving Brady a moment to think.

“I can’t sign a contract with you, not while I’m on loan here.”

“Would you, if you could?”

“I’d love to play in the top division, getting starts,” he said. “And I’m having a great time here. We’ll see it through. We’ll get there.”

“You’ve been recalled,” Hayes said.

“What? Why? What reason did they give?”

“Playing you outside of right back.”

“So I’m being sent home?”

“And you could be in the Premiership with us, next season.”

“Bohs might offer me a contract, don’t I have to give them a chance?” Brady said.

“They recalled you from playing with a winning team, doing wonders for your career.”

Brady thought for a few seconds, seemingly contemplating more opportunities with a team going up, versus constantly being loaned out to teams going nowhere.

“I need an answer,” Hayes said. “We have a contract drawn up already.”

“Can I even sign it?” he asked, and Hayes knew she had him, whether it was a good decision for her team or not.

“Our lawyers say it’s fine.”

“Let me get changed,” he said.

“I’ll give you a chance to say your goodbyes once you we get your name on that page. And you’ll be back next year, with a Premiership side who won’t loan you out.”

And he did sign, and Natalie Hayes secured a valuable player for their time in the Premiership, where he’d make a steady backup should anything go wrong; should Merca not hit his potential. And it cost her wage budget nothing, seeing as she signed him on the same rate she’d been paying for his loan.

What Natalie Hayes didn’t realise was that she was, now, at least at times, thinking of their promotion as a foregone conclusion. They were more than four wins clear in points at the top, and all her deals were preparing for their time in the highest league, whether she, or her team, was ready for the challenge or not.

 

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Midway through my first season writing up Cork City, I'd love to know how you readers are getting along with it.