Dances With Monkeys

[davidbr]

It may have been early July, but as I stepped onto the drab tarmac of Newcastle Airport the temperature barely reached double figures and the northerly wind cut right through me. True, the shorts and T-shirt I was wearing was hardly appropriate attire for a damp, drizzly English summer’s day, but the shivers that afflicted me had nothing to do with the weather. This time yesterday I’d been lazing on the veranda of my Cypriot villa in 30-degree sunshine, now I was about to take the biggest gamble of my life. Hartlepool, a little club in English football’s third tier, had a vacancy for a manager, and I was going to be the unlikeliest of choices to fill it.

First off, perhaps I’d better explain who I am and how, at the age of 27, my life’s now come full-circle from the shores of the Mediterranean to the rather less picturesque surroundings of the North-East of England. My name’s Michael Milligan, everyone calls me Mickey, and I’m a… well, I don’t really know what I am. I’d describe myself as a professional gambler, “serial bum†would be how the more unkind of my acquaintances might put it. What I do know, though, is that I used to be a footballer, and even though I say it myself I was a bloody good one.

In the immortal words of Glenn Hoddle, for my sins in a previous life I’d been born in Hartlepool, on April 12th 1978. For those of you who know Hartlepool, my deepest sympathies, but for those of you who don’t, it’s a medium-sized town on England’s north-east coast, sandwiched between Newcastle and Middlesbrough, and claims rather laughably to be a centre of history. That history seems, for the most part, to consist of a rather dubious tale of how the locals, many moons ago, once hanged an unfortunate monkey that’d come ashore after a shipwreck, believing it to be a French spy. I’d say the monkey got off lightly; they could have made the poor bugger live there.

Anyway, I digress. As a child, life in the Milligan household, with an alcoholic mother and bone-idle father, wasn’t exactly like the Waltons, and like so many before me I sought an escape route – mine was football. Mind you I didn’t really play seriously, just whiled away the days kicking a ball about with a few of the other latch-key kids on the local patches of wasteland (and that’s something Hartlepool had in abundance.) It was there, at 15, that I was first spotted by a scout from Hartlepool United, and invited down for a trial. Now I’d never played in a proper team before in my life, and quite frankly if the ball wasn’t at my feet I wasn’t interested – to me, tracking back was an obscure event in the Olympics and workrate was a small mining town somewhere near Leeds. But, give me the ball, and no-one could deny the lazy little bastard sure could play.

[davidbr]

It may have been early July, but as I stepped onto the drab tarmac of Newcastle Airport the temperature barely reached double figures and the northerly wind cut right through me. True, the shorts and T-shirt I was wearing was hardly appropriate attire for a damp, drizzly English summer’s day, but the shivers that afflicted me had nothing to do with the weather. This time yesterday I’d been lazing on the veranda of my Cypriot villa in 30-degree sunshine, now I was about to take the biggest gamble of my life. Hartlepool, a little club in English football’s third tier, had a vacancy for a manager, and I was going to be the unlikeliest of choices to fill it.

First off, perhaps I’d better explain who I am and how, at the age of 27, my life’s now come full-circle from the shores of the Mediterranean to the rather less picturesque surroundings of the North-East of England. My name’s Michael Milligan, everyone calls me Mickey, and I’m a… well, I don’t really know what I am. I’d describe myself as a professional gambler, “serial bum†would be how the more unkind of my acquaintances might put it. What I do know, though, is that I used to be a footballer, and even though I say it myself I was a bloody good one.

In the immortal words of Glenn Hoddle, for my sins in a previous life I’d been born in Hartlepool, on April 12th 1978. For those of you who know Hartlepool, my deepest sympathies, but for those of you who don’t, it’s a medium-sized town on England’s north-east coast, sandwiched between Newcastle and Middlesbrough, and claims rather laughably to be a centre of history. That history seems, for the most part, to consist of a rather dubious tale of how the locals, many moons ago, once hanged an unfortunate monkey that’d come ashore after a shipwreck, believing it to be a French spy. I’d say the monkey got off lightly; they could have made the poor bugger live there.

Anyway, I digress. As a child, life in the Milligan household, with an alcoholic mother and bone-idle father, wasn’t exactly like the Waltons, and like so many before me I sought an escape route – mine was football. Mind you I didn’t really play seriously, just whiled away the days kicking a ball about with a few of the other latch-key kids on the local patches of wasteland (and that’s something Hartlepool had in abundance.) It was there, at 15, that I was first spotted by a scout from Hartlepool United, and invited down for a trial. Now I’d never played in a proper team before in my life, and quite frankly if the ball wasn’t at my feet I wasn’t interested – to me, tracking back was an obscure event in the Olympics and workrate was a small mining town somewhere near Leeds. But, give me the ball, and no-one could deny the lazy little bastard sure could play.

[davidbr]

Time for some technical guff that I should have put in at the start. This is being played on FM06, version 6.0.3 (without the data update) and I'm running England (Conference N/S and above), Italy (Serie A, B and C1), France (1st and 2nd), Germany (1st and 2nd), Spain (Primera and Segunda Liga)and Scotland (all divisions). All those are on Full Detail, I've also got the top divisions of China, Australia, Argentina and South Africa on basic just so the game simulates the continental competitions. Database size is Huge

All results will be genuine, no cheating or editing, and I'll also include the traditional disclaimer: This story is purely fictional, any similarities with real persons living or dead are purely coincidental, and not my fault!

[davidbr]

I eventually broke into the first team at the end of the 1994/95 season, scored twice on my debut at 16, and the media circus had begun, Suddenly I was the best thing since sliced bread, “the next Gazza†as one esteemed journalist cried from the Sunday pages. Of course it was all hype, and it really unnerved me. I played football because I enjoyed it, for the sheer love of having a ball at my feet. I wasn’t interested in training five days a week, or running ten miles a morning. At Hartlepool they tolerated me, indulged me even – they had to, for the simple reason that they needed me far more than I needed them.

In all I made 119 appearances at Victoria Park, scoring 91 goals, before my stint ended almost as dramatically as it’d begun. Unbeknown to me, Liverpool had been monitoring my progress very closely and in October 1998 in came a £2.5m bid from the Anfield giants. I wasn’t ready, mentally, for the demands of the Premiership and if it’d been up to me I’d have turned it down, but it wasn’t up to me; the Hartlepool board had grown tired of my lifestyle, jumped at the chance to offload me in a way that wouldn’t alienate the fans, and before I knew what was going on I was in front of a press conference sporting a bright red shirt and an even redder face. I was 20 years old, and while for many kids it’d be a dream to run out at Anfield, I knew this was never going to have a happy ending. At Hartlepool, I’d been King, a fans’ hero, and for the most part this had given the club enough leverage to keep the most lurid of my activities out of the daily rags. At Liverpool, I was just another lonely young fish in a very large pond, and I was never going to be allowed such luxuries. My life soon became a never-ending cycle of late nights and even later mornings, of wining, dining and other activities that I’ll leave to the imagination with the local young lovelies, and boss Gerard Houllier, a stickler for discipline, very quickly lost patience.

In the end, I didn’t even last a year. Things came to a head when I was sent home from the club’s pre-season tour of Holland in July 1999, after a punch-up with Robbie Fowler in the team hotel after he’d welshed on a poker debt. That was the final straw for Houllier; barely a week later, after 19 appearances and nine goals in the red shirt of Liverpool, I was on my way; my contract terminated “by mutual consentâ€. I soon realised that the queue of clubs after my signature was going to be a short one; at the age of 21, my career in English football was over, and I left England shortly afterwards never, or so I thought, to return.

[davidbr]

So, what was I doing back here then? Well, in a nutshell, after a pretty decent few seasons by their standards the bottom had fallen out of what passed for the Hartlepool empire. The season before I’d left for Merseyside, Hartlepool had been bought out by a Scottish-based oil firm, IOR. Suddenly, what with that and the cash injection they’d got from the Liverpool deal, the club seemed to be on the up; things even went so far as to see Peter Beardsley, he of the England caps and the scary face, running out in the club’s colours. In 2003/04 they reached the play-off semi-finals in League One (as it is now) before losing to Bristol City, and last season went one step further; a win over Tranmere in the semis saw them earn a trip to Cardiff, and the honour of facing Sheffield Wednesday for a place in the Championship.

That, though, was where it all went wrong. They lost to Wednesday in extra-time, and within a few days of that defeat came a shock announcement; IOR, due to what they called “financial pressuresâ€, were pulling the plug on their deal. Manager Neale Cooper followed through the exit door too, chairman Ken Hodcroft stayed on, but his reputation amongst the fans was about as low as a worm’s privates. He needed something, someone, to keep them happy; and I was that someone.

[davidbr]

Now, as well as being a footballer, I was also a bloody good poker player (as Mr. Fowler had found out to his cost!) and, since fleeing the less-than-fair shores of the Mersey that’s how I’d been keeping the wolves from the door. Ever since I was knee-high to a Jack Russell I’d had an almost photographic memory, plus the ability to keep a cool head under pressure, and so, despite my future at one stage looking about as bright as an eclipse, I’d carved out a pretty comfortable and carefree life for myself. After a fair bit of moving around I’d settled down in Cyprus, rented a villa near Paphos, and the free-and-easy lifestyle was right up my street.

For all the problems I must have caused the board whilst at Hartlepool, Ken Hodcroft and I had always got along pretty well. He was a laid-back kind of guy, liked a drink and a laugh, and he’d always been good to me. That’s probably why I agreed to take the job, that and the fact that I was bloody impressed he’d come all the way to Cyprus to see me personally. When Ken first knocked at my door I’d turned him down flat, part of me thought it was another wind-up, a bigger part of me wasn’t keen on being back in the public eye. But after a lot of persuasion, and even more alcohol in the fleshpots of Paphos, I found myself shaking Ken’s hand and promising to meet him in Hartlepool the following week.

And whatever else I may be, I’m a man of my word.

[davidbr]

So that’s how, on a typically damp July morning, I came to be seated next to Ken Hodcroft and in front of the press, and I came to be placing my scrawled signature on a two-year contract as manager of Hartlepool United. I was surprised by just how full the room was; given my, ahem, “colourful†past, there’d been an unusual amount of interest from the nationals (unusual for a crap second division club, that is)

To be honest, reaction to my appointment was pretty mixed. Most of the fans seemed happy to see a cult hero returning to Victoria Park, most of the sports writers thought the chairman had taken leave of his senses. But there was no going back, no time for regrets; for the distinctly unprincely sum of £525 a week, I was the man charged with steadying the ship at Victoria Park. Whatever happened, it was going to be bloody interesting!

[davidbr]

The first, and most pressing, task as manager was to find myself an assistant; when Neale Cooper left, he took most of his backroom staff with him, and as well as the lack of a number two I was left with only one coach. It was time for a little help from my friends.

Darren Agnew and I go back a very long way. He was a senior pro at Hartlepool when I first signed for the club at 15, and he took me under his wing. He became like a brother, father and uncle all rolled into one, I idolised him, but he was also the original club hell-raiser and while he was most certainly an influence on me, whether he was a good influence is very doubtful. It was partly thanks to him that I spent my 18th birthday in the cells after a fight at a strip club, it was also thanks to him that I spent the night of my 19th chained to one of the Victoria Park goal-posts strangely minus my trousers. Those were just two of many weird and wonderful moments spent in his company.

Yes, Darren was a party animal. The last time I saw him was in Cyprus just over a month ago, he’d come over for a week and most of that week was lost in an alcoholic haze. But he was also a football man, he’d spent his entire playing career at Hartlepool, and that loyalty stayed with him off the pitch. If he took an interest in something you could be sure that his interest was entirely genuine, and if he started something you knew he’d be there to finish it. There was no-one I’d rather have as my assistant, and the terrible twosome were about to be reunited.

After a few rings of the phone, a woman’s voice answered. I didn’t recognise her, but then that was hardly unusual; Darren had always been a ladies man and got through girlfriends at a rate of knots, that was another habit I’d picked up from him. After what seemed like an eternity, a groggy voice came on the line.

“Mickey? That you?â€

To cut a long story short, Darren was soon heading up North, and I now had a second-in-command.

[davidbr]

6th July 2005

The buzzing sound resonated in my eardrums, and slowly and groggily I climbed to my feet and tried to get my bearings. Gradually, I recognised my hotel room and I recognised the sound of the alarm clock.

I couldn’t remember setting, or even having, an alarm, but it was 8am, it was the start of my first full day as manager, and I had to get a move on; I was meant to be meeting the chairman at ten. Then, I noticed the head of blonde hair on the pillow next to mine. I had company.

Heading for the shower, the events of last night slowly came back to me. Darren had arrived just after six, and we’d decided that the start of my managerial career deserved its own celebration.

I could remember going in pretty much every bar in Victoria Street, I could remember being in Bar Paris, and I could remember being served there by the young lass who now shared my bed, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember her bloody name. Thankfully her uniform was slung over the chair next to the bed, her badge was still on it, and the mystery was solved; I decided to let Claire sleep on for a bit.

[davidbr]

When I came out of the shower she was up and dressed, and a very pleasant sight she was. Long blonde hair, stunning figure… But there was no time for that; I was going to be late. I reached for the phone:

“Reception? Yes, Michael Milligan in room nine. Could you order me a taxi for nine-thirty please?â€

Claire reached across and took over the phone: “Could you change that to nine o’clock? Ta.†She turned round and kissed me. “It’s just I’ve got to be there for 9.30. You don’t mind, do you?â€

“No, I guess not. I don’t follow though. Be where?â€

“At the ground. I’ve got to be dressed up by ten; we’ve got a photo shoot arranged. For your first day in charge, like.â€

“Y..You work for Hartlepool?â€

“Only part-time, while I’m at college.â€

This was getting a bit close to home for my liking. What do you do, then?â€

“I’m the mascot.â€

Remember I mentioned the monkey-hanging thing earlier? Well, the club’s cottoned onto it and H’Angus, a bloody great furry monkey, is Hartlepool’s official mascot. And that was Claire?

“Y..You mean you play H’Angus?â€

“Yeah. It’s a doddle and it earns me a few extra quid. Daddy sorted it out for me.â€

“DADDY???!!!

I mean, what were the odds? My first night out in Hartlepool, I pull the prettiest girl in the bar, and it turns out to be the chairman’s fecking daughter?! I made my way to the mini-bar; I needed a stiff drink!

[davidbr]

“No, it’s not that, I had a great time and you’re a beautiful girl. It’s just that it’s my first day at the club, and your dad, what with my reputation.. Let’s just say, I’d rather he didn’t know about what happened.â€

“Don’t worry, it’ll be our little secret. On one condition- you promise me a repeat performance sometime.â€

“It’s a deal. What about tonight?â€

As our taxi pulled into Hartlepool’s car park, Darren was just getting out of his battered Volvo. He noticed my companion, and raised his eyebrows. I responded with a shrug. Claire went to kiss me, but I pulled away; I didn’t know who might be watching, and it wouldn’t make my meeting with Ken any easier if he knew I’d just spent the night with his little angel.

[davidbr]

Claire and I went our separate ways, and I wandered over to join Darren. Upon learning the identity of my little stunner, his face paled.

“The chairman’s daughter? **** me, Mick, that’s a bit close to the wind even for you.â€

“Yeah, but I didn’t know who she was, did I? I didn’t even know he had a daughter. Come on, with a body like that you’re not gonna ask for her family tree, are you?â€

“I guess not, but I’m being serious, Mickey. You’re gonna have to slow down a bit, you and me both. We’ve got the reputation of the club to think of.â€

"Repu..!! Darren, we’re in a town whose proudest boast is that, two centuries ago, they once strung a furry little critter up by the balls! What fecking reputation??â€

“I’m not sure they strung him up by the balls, mate, but I see your point.†He put his had firmly on my shoulder.

“But if Mr Hodcroft ever finds out you’ve shagged his daughter, it’ll be you getting strung up by the balls, not H’Angus.â€

[davidbr]

“I’m sorry, Mickey, but there just isn’t any more money I can free up for you.â€

“Come off it, Ken, forty grand for transfers? Your car cost more than that!!â€

Now I know we’re not Arsenal or Man Utd, I wasn’t expecting to be playing with seven figure sums, but I sure hadn’t expected this!

The upshot of our meeting with Ken was that I had £39,000 available for transfers and a wage bill of £25k a week – that allowed me just short of a grand for bringing in new players. Ken was only asking for mid-table respectability, and we should be able to do that, but I had half an eye on promotion and to say I was disappointed would be the understatement of the year.

Still, I was here to stay, and I’d just have to make the best of it. With that, it was off down to the training ground; pre-season training resumed today. Our stadium, Victoria Park, holds just over 7,000 and quite frankly I’ve seen bigger rabbit hutches, but thanks to the generosity of the ex-sponsors the club’s training facilities are excellent, probably among the best in the division.

[davidbr]

Paul Stephenson, our lone coach, was already there putting the players through their paces, and we’d decided ahead of time that he’d be taking the first few training sessions – I wanted to see exactly what I had to work with. Paul was a decent, hard-working ex-pro, teetotal apparently, and he’d bring the discipline to our set-up that Darren and I certainly lacked.

Another thing I had to do was arrange us some friendlies. Ken was all for ringing up Arsenal or Man U, but the last thing I wanted was to go into the new season on the back of some real hidings. No, “winnability†was the pre-season friendly buzzword down here, and the only phone-calls I made were to the head honchos of those football luminaries Abbey Hey, Aylestone Park, Northallerton, Milton Keynes (City, not Dons), Bristol Manor Farm and Almondsbury. No I’d never heard of any of them either, and if we can’t beat that bloody lot we really are in trouble.

My first ever day as a football manager passed quickly, and towards the end of it my mind was on other things; I had a date with the lovely Claire. Risky, yes, but then as Kevin Costner said in Robin Hood, some things are just worth dying for.

[davidbr]

Friday 15th July 2005

It’s the end of my first full week in charge, we’ve played (and won) two friendlies, and I’m gradually beginning to settle in here. A first half Adam Boyd double helped us to a very easy 4-0 win over Abbey Hey, and although we only beat Aylestone Park by a single goal (Boyd again was the man to get it) I was very pleased with the way we bossed the midfield in both games.

What I’m not doing though, is feeling any more optimistic about the chances of this team making an impression at the top end of League One. As of yet I haven’t made a dent in our £39k transfer kitty, but I did make attempts to land several up-and-coming stars on loan. I started with Aston Villa’s Steven Davis: Villa said yes, he said â€on yer bike.â€

The response from Arsenal’s Quincy Owusu-Abeyie was along very similar lines, likewise Gary Cahill whose agent actually laughed down the phone at me. I’ve made a note of you, pal, one dark night there’s every chance we’ll meet again…

We’ve got four more pre-season games arranged, starting at home to Northallerton tomorrow afternoon (all the games are at home, by the way, I couldn’t be arsed with too much travelling around) and I’m going to make a tactical change. For the first two matches I stuck with a standard 5-3-2, but that’s not how I like to play my football. What we don’t have here is a lot of width, so tomorrow we’ll line up in the Christmas tree formation; flat back four, three holding midfielders, two further forward and a lone front man.

If it works, it’ll cause teams at this level all sorts of problems – the question is can we make it work with the quality (or lack of) we’ve got down here? I’m sensing there’ll be quite a few tactical reshuffles before the serious stuff gets going.

One thing I’ve been thinking very seriously over is whether or not to register myself as a player this season. I was playing amateur football for a local team in Cyprus and I know I could still hack it technically at this level, but physically it’s another matter – fitness was never exactly a strong point of mine even when I was meant to be in regular training, and six years of Jack Daniels and Moroccan woodbines haven’t done a lot for the old lung capacity.

In the end I decided against it – player/managers rarely cover themselves in glory, and given my lack of experience I could do without the distractions.

[Readingfanman]

Great start, and a good story to boot.

[davidbr]

<BLOCKQUOTE class="ip-ubbcode-quote"><div class="ip-ubbcode-quote-title">quote:</div><div class="ip-ubbcode-quote-content">Originally posted by readingfanman:

Great start, and a good story to boot. </div></BLOCKQUOTE>

Thanks readingfanman, all comments are appreciated and taken on board. I should perhaps add that I don't live in Hartlepool, all information about the club history/town/bars etc is taken from the official town website so blame them if I get anything wrong!

[HD]

<BLOCKQUOTE class="ip-ubbcode-quote"><div class="ip-ubbcode-quote-title">quote:</div><div class="ip-ubbcode-quote-content">Originally posted by davidbr:

Time for some technical guff that I should have put in at the start. </div></BLOCKQUOTE>

I don't know about anyone else, but I, PM7 and a few others at least tend to put technical info in the 2nd or 3rd post as you have. It lets people get into the story off the bat. Nobody cares what leagues you're running if they aren't interested in what you're saying, so don't feel you have to sort that!

I like this, there's a whole bunch of good new stuff on the forum lately.

[Terk]

Very nice start

[davidbr]

Thanks Terk and HD for the encouragement and advice, I just hope I can keep it going

I'll try to post updates regularly, but there's a certain sporting event in Germany coming up very soon so apologies in advance if those updates aren't as frequent as I'd have liked

[davidbr]

Off the field I’m still in my hotel room and so, very frequently, is Claire Hodcroft, the chairman’s daughter. I know I’m playing with fire, from talking to Ken I know all too well how protective he is of his daughter, but I just can’t seem to keep away. I’m realising what a special girl she really is and, though I never thought I’d say it, I think I might be falling for her.

Yes that’s right, me, Michael Milligan, a man who’s as shallow as a worm’s grave. I know it’s not been a fortnight since we first slept together but we’ve seen each other every night since (away from the club, I mean) and for me that’s going some. I just don’t do relationships, period, haven’t ever had one that’s lasted more than a couple of dates. It’s not that I’m short of offers, far from it; without being boastful I’d say I’m a pretty good-looking guy, and as they say girls just love a bad boy.

No, I just seem to lose interest, and I’ve left behind me a string of broken hearts wherever I’ve been. I’m not even sure why; psychologists might point to my unhappy childhood, the women in question would probably say it’s because I’m a heartless bastard, I’d say it’s just that I like my freedom. Whatever the reason, if I’m going to do this I know I’d better get it right, or my stint at Victoria Park could be a very short one.

[davidbr]

Sitting in my office contemplating these thoughts, sipping a soothing glass of Jack Daniels, I was interrupted by the whirring of the fax machine. It was from Mick McCarthy, manager of Sunderland, and he wanted to know whether I’d be prepared to allow Adam Boyd to move to the Stadium of Light. Boyd’s my best player, (I’ll put up a squad list once the pre-season games are over and I’ve had a proper look at everyone) but given the club’s financial state I know I couldn’t refuse a decent offer.

£300,000 plus a reserve player certainly wasn’t a decent offer, in fact it was bloody insulting, and I sent the fax straight back together with a hand-scrawled message questioning Mr McCarthy’s parentage.

I’d also had another offer in from Boltonthey wanted defender Michael Nelson on a free transfer with an offer of a friendly thrown in. Nelson earns £1,400-a-week and I’d thought he was crap, but if a Premiership club were after him maybe Fat Sam Allardyce knew something I didn’t. No, for the time being Nelson was staying put.

[davidbr]

20th July 2005

Well, wonders never cease! At last, and after a rainforest’s worth of faxes saying “up yours†from players’ agents, I’ve signed someone on loan! The lucky fella is Arsenal’s Swiss kid Johan Djourou, his preferred position is in centre midfield but after watching him train Darren’s convinced he could do a job at the back as well.

He might have to; the offers for Michael Nelson have continued to flood in, I’ve no idea what other clubs are seeing in this kid but it sure is something I’m not. One bid, from Preston, was seriously interesting – as well as £50k hard cash, they were offering one-cap-wonder Claude Davis, of Jamaica, in part-exchange. Davis looks a decent player, certainly more of the finished article than Nelson is, and after a long chat with Darren I’ve decided that if they throw in a pre-season friendly Preston are welcome to open talks.

[davidbr]

21st July 2005

A lot of my time over the last week or so has been spent watching endless match tapes, especially of the recent World Cup qualifiers, and especially of the CONCACAF section. You’ve only got to look at the stars that have come out of that area, Dwight Yorke, Jason Roberts, Shaun Goater etc, to realise there’s a lot of cheap talent there, and while most of the lads that caught my eye were still out of my transfer budget there was one that I thought we had a chance with. He was Nehemias Zelaya, an 18-year old from El Salvador, he was available on a pittance, and my offer of £6,000 to his club Luis Angel Firpo was readily accepted. Zelaya agreed terms, saying that he was delighted to have the chance to play at a higher level, and I thought that, as George W. Bush might say, it was a “done dealâ€.

But I hadn’t reckoned on those bastards from the Home Office. Zelaya needs a work permit, and according to the fax that came through yesterday the stuffed suits in London won’t give him one. We’ve appealed, but Ken doesn’t think there’s much chance of them changing their mind. I’d been in a good mood too – we won two more friendlies, 4-0 against Northallerton and 3-0 against Milton Keynes City (Djourou scored on his debut in that one) – but that really spoiled my week. I reckon Zelaya would have been a star with us.

Never mind, such is life. I'd never been one for pondering what ifs; as the saying goes, if your auntie had balls, she’d be your uncle. I cheered up a bit later though; clutching a very large Scotch and smoking something that wasn’t tobacco, I pi**ed myself laughing as Liverpool lost 1-0 in the Champions League qualifier to European powerhouses Levadia Tallinn. Even the fact they’d won the first leg 3-0 and so walked it on aggregate couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.

[davidbr]

30th July 2005

Well, the new season’s almost upon us. We’ve completed our pre-season programme with a 4-0 win over Bristol Manor Farm and a 2-0 success against Almondsbury, and in a week’s time we’ll be heading south to Robin Hood territory to take on Nottingham Forest at the City Ground.

The media, and the bookies for that matter, have been quick to write us off – my appointment hasn’t exactly inspired confidence amongst the esteemed gentlemen of the press. “Like putting McDonald’s in charge of your prize cow†was how one sarcastic bastard from The Scum put it. I’ve cut that article out and pinned it to the wall of my office, and come the end of May I fully intend to place it in a part of the said gentleman’s anatomy where it’ll take a bloody good surgeon many hours to extract.

A lot of that newfound optimism comes from the fact that, over the last week, I’ve managed to sign three players on loan – bloody good players too, I’d say. From Arsenal comes Sweden U-21 star Sebastian Larsson, he looks a cracking little player and even better we’re not paying a bean towards his wages either! From Aston Villa comes contestant number two; midfielder Lee Grant. A moody little bastard is Grant and I don’t think the powers-that-be at Villa Park were sad to see him go, but he’s better than the dross I’ve got down here in that position. And finally, from Manchester United and for a staggering “nul points†in wage terms, we have goalie Luke Steele.

At last, I’ve got a squad, and here’s the happy chappies who’ll be fighting the good fight for Hartlepool in the 2005/2006 League One campaign:

[davidbr]

Goalkeepers:

The main man behind the sticks will be Man Utd loanee Luke Steele, he’s only 20 but United rate him very highly and he’s already got a season’s loan at Coventry in the Championship behind him. For backup, we’ve got 25-year old Grecian Dimitros Konstantopolous. He’d played all our pre-season games before Steele came in but a career in the reserves at various clubs in his homeland perhaps hints of a less than glittering career in prospect – plus I’m bloody glad not to have to write his name on the team sheet every time. Third-choice keeper is 22-year old Jim Provett; he’s played a part in pre-season but will only come into contention in a real emergency.

Defenders:

Whatever formation I eventually choose against Forest we’ll be going with four at the back. The right side of defence is a definite weakness, with ex-Sunderland man Darren Williams the only out-and-out right-back on the books. Sadly Darren’s more Dead Donkey than Black Cat, so I’m on the look-out for a replacement pronto.

Another Black Cat is 21-year old Scotsman Neill Collins, he’d already come from Sunderland on loan before I took over and unfortunately he’s out for a couple of weeks with a back strain. Following in the finest traits of his nation, Collins is a tight as a virgin gnat’s chuff and I’m fully expecting him to carry that onto the field of play. Fighting for the right to partner Collins in the centre of our defence we’ve got two 22-year old English lads, Michael Nelson and Ben Clark; big blokes they may be, but they’re more Michael Moore than Bobby Moore and I’m bloody glad I’m only going to have to use one of them. Of course Nelson could be on his way soon anyway.

When I said the club lacked width, I wasn’t kidding, and our left-back Hugh Robertson also lacks any apparent ability as a footballer. 30-year old Hugh’s another guest from the land to the north and he’s spent most of his career flitting around a variety of crap Scottish clubs. I’ve also got utility man Sebastian Larsson, the Arsenal kid can play left-back but it’s not his preferred position and I had plans for him elsewhere.

[davidbr]

Midfielders.

If we’re a bit thin on the ground where defenders are concerned, the club’s practically awash with midfielders. Sadly they’re all, on the whole, not very good and so I’m damn glad I’ve managed to bring in three centre midfielders on loan; Villa’s Lee Grant and Arsenal’s Johannes Djourou (plus Larsson) are probably going to be the mainstays of our side.

Also fighting for a place in the middle is the son of a legend, not that he’d thank you for bringing it up. Gavin Strachan’s never really coped with the weight of expectation that comes with being Gordon’s son and, while he’s certainly not inherited the talent of his famous father he’s a capable player at this level and he’ll be given his chance. 30-year old Mark Tinkler is a product of the famous Leeds youth academy that produced the likes of Smith and Bowyer, Mark’s career though hasn’t reached those kind of heights and since he’s costing me a grand and a half in wages every week he’s a firm candidate for an early exit.

And, last but not least, there’s 24-year old Lee Bullock, formerly of Cardiff, and 21-year old Antony Sweeney; Sweeney’s got a lot to learn but he might get a look-in. Bullock’s meant to be a creative midfielder but since he possesses the first touch of a drunken virgin doesn’t look like he’ll be creating very much. Yes, I’m glad I’ve got those loan players!

[davidbr]

On the right side, we’ve got yet another ex-Sunderland reject in the shape of Michael Proctor, the 24-year old never made the grade at the Stadium of Light but has played regularly in the Championship with Rotherham and looks a tidy enough player at this level. Proctor’s going to have a fight on his hands to win a regular place, though, as he’s got a full international up against him; Thomas Butler is 24, has played twice in the green jersey of the Republic of Ireland and comes from, you’ve guessed it, Sunderland! We’ve also got ex-Torquay man Eifion Williams, he’s become a fans favourite here over the last couple of seasons but under me he’ll be second fiddle to Butler and Proctor, and former Mansfield man Darrell Clarke; he’s just crap.

The stand-out candidate for the left flank is Aussie international Joel Porter, he’s scored 5 times in four appearances for the Socceroos up to now and the 26-year old, who can also play up front, was a key man last season with 19 goals. The only other players with a left foot are former Sheffield Wednesday reserve man Ritchie Humphreys and ex-Norwich star Chris Llewellyn. Humphreys has impressed me in pre-season and has a good chance of a regular place, but Llewellyn’s struggled to find the form of late that brought him four Wales caps in his Carrow Road days. [bThomas Butler[/b] can play left midfield too, but he’s a strictly right-footed player and to me that’s always been akin to putting a square peg in a round hole.

[davidbr]

Strikers:

The main man up front, and the club’s undoubted star player, is 23-year old Adam Boyd. There’s already a few Premiership clubs sniffing after him and his form in pre-season’s shown why, an intelligent player with an eye for goal if we’re to threaten at the top end of the table Adam’s going to need to be on form.

Among the contenders to partner Boyd, though, the options aren’t so rosy, and the favourite so far is midfield man Llewellyn. The only other senior out-and-out striker at the club is 22-year old John Daly; sadly for me, he has the fitness levels of his famous golfing namesake and probably handles a football about as well. Teenagers David Foley, Jack Wilkinson and James Brown have all got a lot to learn; in the case of Brown, a hell of a lot.

So there you have it. It sure isn’t going to be just like watching Brazil, but in Boyd we’ve got a potential star and, with the loan players on board, I’d say we’ve got at least a chance of making a favourable impression this season.

Although, as a gambler, I don’t think I’d stake too many readies on it…

[davidbr]

“Look, we’re going to have to tell him sometime. I’m sick of all this sneaking around.â€

“I can’t, not yet. I’ve only been back five minutes, it’s just too soon.â€

“Why? What’s the worst he can do?â€

“Remove my testicles with a blunt pen-knife. How’s that for starters?â€

Yes, I was with Claire, and yes we were having that same old discussion. She wanted us to “come clean†with her old man, and I, erm, didn’t. Not yet. I’d always got along with Ken Hodcroft, would even go so far as to call him a friend, but somehow I doubted that his reaction would be one of delight when he learned that his only daughter, his little darling, was getting down and dirty with someone who, as Ken himself had put it, “probably had it away with half the tarts in the north of Englandâ€.

“But he’s bound to find out somehow, Mickey. People talk, and he’s already getting suspicious.â€

That was very true. When I’d first come back, despite being a fans’ hero hardly anyone recognised me, I mean they hadn’t seen a trace of me for six years. That was starting to change, and once the season got started there’d be no hiding place. I knew if we wanted to keep seeing each other, I’d have to conquer my yellow streak somehow.

[davidbr]

And I did want to keep seeing her. What Ken had said was probably true, I’d shagged my way through Liverpool at a rate of knots and carried on much the same in Paphos and wherever else I’d been. No, I was hardly good boyfriend material and that bad-boy image seemed to be strangely attractive to the young ladies, but Claire was somehow different. She seemed to genuinely like me for who I am, not what I am (although as I’d pointed out, going out with the manager of Hartlepool is hardly going to lead to an invite to Beckingham Palace!)

And I liked her, I mean really liked her. Loved her? Well I’m not sure; I wasn’t even sure I knew what love was, there was precious little of it in the Milligan household as a child and consequently I’d never been much good with emotions as an adult. Sure I had friends, like Darren, who I’d climb mountains for, but I knew I’d never felt anything like this before. I even felt, for the first time in my life, jealous. Jealous that other men would be looking at her when she was out, even jealous when she was at the club even though the only time she saw the players she was wearing a daft monkey suit.

“But I’m no good for you, your Dad’ll know it, deep down even you know it. My personal life’s a disaster area, always has been, and I’ve always been bad news for the women in my life. You’re a lovely girl, Claire, and I’m scared I’ll end up hurting you.â€

“I don’t want any man, Mickey, I want you, and I’m not scared. I thought you were meant to be a gambler; well here’s a gamble, why won’t you take it?â€

That was true, I’d think nothing of staking more in a night than Hartlepool paid me in a year. But I only ever risked my wallet and my MasterCard, not my heart.

“I guess what I’m trying to say, Mickey, you daft bugger, is that I..I love you.â€

There. She’d said it; the question was, could I bring myself to do the same.

[davidbr]

"Christ, Mickey, that’s heavy. What did you say?â€

“You know what, I can’t remember.â€

Darren was the one man who I knew I could trust to give good advice, even if there was sod all chance of him actually taking any himself.

And it was true, I couldn’t remember, but whatever words my ramblings contained they hadn’t done the job. Claire left in tears, I was left passed out on the bed in the company of Jack Daniels, and it was the first time in my life that I hadn’t enjoyed a drink.

“I’ve really hurt her, Darren, and I don’t know what I should do.â€

“You’re asking me for advice, with my bloody record?â€

“Come off it mate, you taught me everything I know about pulling women.â€

“Pulling ‘em I know, I wrote the book on it. Keeping ‘em – Mick, you know my track record. But what I know is you’ve got to sort your head out and fast, the season starts on Saturday.â€

“I know that, Darren, the thing is I just can’t get her out of my head.â€

I really didn’t know what was happening to me. I didn’t do emotions, one of my many ex’s once said I didn’t have any finer feelings and she was probably right. Where women were concerned my feelings started and stopped in my pants, I even had one girl dump me and didn’t notice for a fortnight. But Claire had triggered something in me, something that I didn’t know how to handle. I was losing control, and I didn’t like it.

“Do you love her?â€

“I don’t know, Darren, I don’t even know what the fecking word means. What I do know is that there’s something special there, something I’ve never felt before, and I don’t want to lose it.â€

“Well then, here’s my advice and it’s the best I can do. Get your arse down the road to Interflora and pick up the biggest bunch of flowers you can get. Then find her, beg forgiveness, get down on your knees if you have to, and tell her… tell her the crap you’ve been spouting to me, tell her what she wants to hear, tell her the words to the National Anthem if you fecking want to. Just tell her something, sort it out, and let’s get back to the football.â€

[davidbr]

The upshot of my heart-to-heart with Claire was that I’d managed to force out that four-letter word, we’d agreed to take things slowly and we were once again an item – officially, this time. There’d been a catch, though – I had to let her tell Ken. Now, in his office, was the moment of truth – how would he react, and more to the point how much physical damage would he inflict on me?

“Claire’s 19, she’s an adult, she can see who she likes. If she likes you, and she says she does, then that’s good enough for me.â€

I stood there open-mouthed; I’m not sure what I was expecting, but that wasn’t it!

“Oh, and Mickey?â€

“Yes?â€

“You’d better do right by her, ‘cos if I ever hear you’ve hurt my little girl, I’ll bust in your balls. With a sledgehammer.â€

[davidbr]

“HOW many???!!â€

“Twenty-one.â€

No that wasn’t the number of dents Mr. Hodcroft had made in my skull, it was the number of Hartlepool players Darren was now informing me were going to be out of contract at the end of the season. The question was, how many, if any, did we want to keep?

“Don’t panic, Mickey, we’re not suddenly going to have all of ‘em buggering off tomorrow. Butler, I reckon we ought to sign him up asap. The rest, I’d let them sweat it out till Christmas at least. Maybe if they know they’re playing for their future at the club, we might get more out of the lazy c**tsâ€

So, that’s what we did. By the end of the day, I’d called Thomas Butler into my office and offered him a new three-year-deal worth £1,400-a-week. The others, if they bothered to ask, would be told they’d have to show they deserved a place here.

[davidbr]

“Tommy, why don’t you step into my office for a chat, let’s see if we can, ahem, make a few changes to your itinerary?â€

“You mean take in a bit of footie while I’m out there? Cheers Mickey, you’re a fecking lifesaver. A month with the missus would do my bloody head in.â€

That was Tommy Miller, he was (one of my two) scouts, and he was off on a month’s holiday in Australia and New Zealand at the end of the week. Now, there had to be a few Aussies who could make better use of a football than some of the crap I had here, and Tommy was going to have a go at finding them.

Whether we could get them would be another matter. At Hartlepool the phrase wasn’t “don’t mention the warâ€, it was “don’t mention the Work Permits.†Not when I’m around, at least not if you didn’t want a glass sailing towards your head.

Yes, the shower of ***** that calls itself the Home Office was still making my already difficult job even harder. That nice man David Blunkett had taken time off from bonking his secretary/a reporter/his guide dog to refuse our appeal for Nehemias Zelaya’s work permit, and just for good measure he said we couldn’t have one for Zelaya’s international colleague Alfredo Pacheco either. When I received the fax from Blunkett’s office informing me of their decision, I sent it straight back with a single word scrawled across it. Let me give you a clue.. it started with “câ€, ended with “t†and no, it wasn’t cent.

Perhaps wisely, Darren’s suggested he deals with any future enquiries!

[davidbr]

Oh, and by the way, who the f**k are Harchester, why have they got a player in their squad on twenty grand a week and why, since they’re meant to be an English club, haven’t I ever bloody heard of them?

I’d never played an English game with “local and above†news items so I’d never noticed it before but they’ve just sold a player to Barnsley! Is this a bug? (I’ve got the patch) A joke? A ****-up?

And does anyone know of a good save-game editor so I can delete them?

[davidbr]

5th August 2005[\B][\I]

Well, the wait’s almost over; tomorrow morning we’re heading off on the long trip south to Nottingham. And nerves are beginning to take over; to be honest, I’m shyting bricks! I mean tomorrow afternoon I’ll be leading out a side made up mainly of rejects and loan players against a club that’s twice been crowned the best in Europe. True that was a long time ago, but Cloughie’s legacy lives on and this is undoubtedly the “glamour trip†of the League One season. Question is, will we rise to the occasion?

“Mickey, it’s starting!!â€

That was Claire, and “it†was the draw for that most-maligned of competitions, the League Cup. The draw for the first round was live on Sky Sports News, and we were about to see who we’d be facing in a few weeks’ time. I still wasn’t sure how seriously I wanted to take the cups this season; a decent run could bring in some vital transfer cash, but then again we didn’t have the largest of squads here and I was worried about burn-out harming our league chances.

“Number 17â€

“Darlingtonâ€

“Will play..†The camera switched over to Stuart Pearce, Man City manager, and he reached into the bag. I just knew what was coming up next:

“Number 22â€. Yep, that was us, away to our north-east rivals. Bloody typical.

I switched off the TV, still cursing under my breath. I’d desperately wanted a home game, but Darlington are a league below us and we’d be expected to go through.

My thoughts were interrupted as the door swung open. It was Darren, and he was clutching a fax. From the grin on his face I guessed it was good news, and I was right; Harry Redknapp, Southampton boss, had decided he didn’t want Eddie Anaclet after all, and was happy for us to talk turkey with the 18-year old Tanzanian about a free transfer move.

“Sod it, I’ve had enough for today. Grab some glasses, let’s break open a bottle.â€

[davidbr]

Sorry about the mess I made of that last post, the speech only should be in italics. It doesn't look like I'm allowed to edit it so would it be possible for a mod to correct it for me?

[davidbr]

6th August 2005

Nottm Forest vs. Hartlepool, League One from the City Ground

[H’pool line-up (4-1-3-2): (Steele, Williams, Robertson, Grant, Clark, Humphreys, Bullock, Larsson, Boyd, Llewellyn.)]

The home side came into this one as clear favourites, and right from the start they set about showing why with some concerted early pressure. The opening fifteen minutes were all Forest and I was mighty grateful to Luke Steele for keeping us in the game with fine saves from Commons and Southall.

We weathered the early storm, though, and should have led after 20 minutes when my right-back Darren Williams flicked on a long throw into the Forest box. The home defence stood like statues as the loose ball fell perfectly for Chris Llewellyn, but with the goal at his mercy the Welshman sliced it tamely wide. I couldn’t believe he’d missed it, nor could he; Forest boss Gary Megson was a very relieved man.

That relief didn’t last long, though; about eight minutes actually, when a hopeful punt from Djourou in his own half found Ritchie Humphreys in a suspiciously offside-looking position. The flag stayed down, Boyd climbed up and his powerful header from Humphreys’ flick-on bulged the Forest net. Megson went mad at the linesman, it looked offside but I couldn’t give a damn; I had just witnessed my first goal in management, and we led at the City Ground.

On the stroke of half-time it was 2-0; by now we were being forced back but were still hurting Forest through some dangerous counter-attacks. The goal, though, was a calamity of Forest’s own making, Nicky Southall dallied on the ball near the half-way line and was robbed by Humphreys, he launched it forward first-time towards Boyd and Forest’s keeper Pedersen came racing off his line. What on earth he thought he was doing will forever remain a mystery but he was light-years away from getting near it and Boyd had the goal gaping as he slotted in the easiest goal he’ll probably ever score.

Half-time: Nottingham Forest 0, Hartlepool 2

In the dressing room the players were jubilant, but I was still a nervous man; I knew full well that we were very lucky to be ahead in this one. With that in mind, I switched to a far more defensive style of play, with Djourou curbing his forward runs to provide reinforcement to the back four. In hindsight, perhaps that was a mistake; Forest began to seize control of the midfield, we were forced back, and three minutes short of the hour Scott Dobie supplied the cross, Gary Holt the glancing header and the home side were back in it at 2-1. There was no doubt who was in the ascendancy now, and we never looked like holding on.

Southall’s error had led to our second goal, but it was his launched pass that finally unlocked us, opening the way to goal for Gareth Taylor. The Welshman finished coolly and clinically, Steele couldn’t save us this time, and even though I sent players forward (and hauled off Llewellyn for youngster Jack Wilkinson up front) the game petered out and we had to settle for a point.

Nottingham Forest 2 (Gary Holt 57, Gareth Taylor 65)

Hartlepool 2 (Adam Boyd 28, 46)

[davidbr]

“Adam; you were brilliant out there today, keep playing like that all season and we’ll bloody walk this league. Same with you, Luke – keep it up and Fergie’ll be regretting letting you go.â€

“As for the rest of you; don’t be too hard on yourselves. Yes I’m disappointed we didn’t do better in the second half, but it’s the first game in season, the first competitive game you’ve played for me and we’ve got our first point. All I ask is that you work hard in training next week and we’ll iron out the mistakes, believe me.â€

I was annoyed we hadn’t won, of course I bloody was; when you’re two goals up at half-time it’s hard not to look at it as two points dropped, and I’d been desperate for a win to wipe the smiles off the face of certain newspaper columnists who couldn’t wait to see me fall flat on my face. But, taking a more realistic view, I knew we’d been outplayed today and had barely deserved even a point out of it.

Climbing the steps of the team coach for the long journey north, I found myself re-running today’s game over and over in my mind, trying to figure out what’d gone wrong. Was it the tactics? Should I have left things alone at half-time? Or was it simply that the side I had here couldn’t hack it?

As a player I’d never looked forward to away games, hated the long coach journeys and the hours of boredom that went with them. But, in my playing days once the final whistle went that was me done, all I had to think about was which sleazy Northern nightclub I’d be gracing with my presence later that evening. As a manager, you don’t get that same luxury. I reached inside my jacket, pulled out a silver hip-flask, and took a swig. It’d been a long day, and I felt I’d earned it.

I’d arranged to meet Claire back at my hotel around 10pm; in the end it was closer to midnight before I was turning the key in the door. I was shattered, and I was glad of her company. But later, as we were curled up in bed, a strange realisation dawned on me – my thoughts weren’t of the gorgeous girl lying on the pillow next to me; they were of Swansea, and of whether I should stick with the 4-1-3-2 formation on Wednesday night.

Football – it’s a funny old game!!

[davidbr]

“Oh come on, we see each other every day anyway. It’s not like it’s going to be such a big step.â€

“But, me living above a nightclub? Come off it, that’s like moving Vanessa Feltz in over McDonald’sâ€

It was Sunday afternoon, I was with Claire and Darren and we were watching Chelsea take on Arsenal in the Community Shield, when talk turned to my current “housing situation.â€

I was still in the York Hotel, and while I was pretty content with the situation the chairman certainly wasn’t. At the moment, the club were paying more for my hotel bills than they were paying me in wages, and Ken had been badgering me all week to find some permanent accommodation. Trouble was, there just wasn’t any available.

Now as I’d mentioned before Claire worked evenings at Bar Paris, it was where we’d first met and where we were right now, and she had her own flat above the club. Her solution; simple – why didn’t I move in with her? I was surprised, shocked even, at how appealing I found the idea, and how readily I found myself agreeing with it. Claire made her way to the ladies, and I turned to Darren and laughed;

“Bloody hell, me with a live-in lover? Christ, what’s happening to me!â€

“Well I guess we’ve all got to grow up sometime, Mickey.†He paused for a moment, a more serious look on his face. “I’d love to be a fly on the wall when her Dad hears about it, though.â€

Not wanting to think about that, I turned back to the screen where the final whistle had just been blown at the Millennium Stadium. It had been a bad day at the office for Jose Mourinho; even though they’d dominated the game, Jens Lehmann had been unbeatable and goals from Henry and Van Persie gave Arsenal the Community Shield.

Arjen Robben scored Chelsea’s second half consolation, and in the press conference afterwards Robben announced he’d just signed a new contract worth £75,000-a-week; that’s three times what I’m allowed to pay my entire squad!

[davidbr]

Wednesday August 10th 2005

Hartlepool vs. Swansea, League One from Victoria Park

[4-1-3-2; Steele, Williams, Robertson, Grant, Clark, Djourou, Humphreys, Bullock, Larsson, Llewellyn, Boyd]

In the end Neill Collins didn’t make it, nor did Joel Porter recover from the thigh injury that kept him out of the Forest game, so it was an unchanged line-up that ran out for my first home game in charge. Maybe that benefited us, because right from the start we actually looked like a team, not a bunch of strangers as we’d done against Forest. Finally after 14 minutes our energetic start was rewarded; Lee Bullock won the ball well inside our own half, his first-time pass sent Adam Boyd clear of the Swans backline and Boyd’s square ball was perfect for Ritchie Humphreys to slam home; 1-0 to Hartlepool!

Johan Djourou, who I’d given licence to roam between the back four and the midfield, was using that freedom well and causing Swansea all sorts of problems. It was Djourou who started the 26th-minute move that led to our second; Humphreys was involved again, he found Boyd in space inside the eighteen-yard box and Callum Davenport threw himself into the challenge. Sadly for Davenport he got nowhere near the ball but got plenty of Boyd; the referee pointed to the spot, and as last man Davenport was forced into the walk of shame; Swansea were down to ten. I was surprised to see young Djourou step up to take it, but I needn’t have panicked – his powerful kick gave Willy Gueret no chance and we were firmly in control.

Half-time: Hartlepool 2 Swansea 0

The team walked off at half time to deserved applause, and my message was simple; well done, now let’s have more of the same! Straight away Djourou was causing problems with his roaming runs, his vision set up a decent chance for Chris Llewellyn and the Welshman should probably have scored – though after his miss against Forest I wasn’t surprised to see it go well wide!

On the balance of play we probably should have scored more, but the two were more than enough and the 6,000 crowd inside Victoria Park left happy at having seen our first home win of the season, and a comfortable one at that. Lee Grant and Ben Clark had been a formidable pairing at the back, restricting Swansea to speculative 30-yarders that were more of a threat to Claire in her mascot’s suit on the sidelines than they were to Luke Steele’s goal. Chairman Ken came down to the dressing room after the game to add to my praise of the team’s performance and even Swans boss Kenny Jackett admitted he’d lost to a better side.

Hartlepool 2 (Ritchie Humphreys 14, Johan Djourou pen 26)

Swansea 0 (Callum Davenport s/o 26)

[davidbr]

August 11th 2005

“S**t!! How long for??â€

“I can’t be sure, Mickey, but it could be anything up to a fortnight. They’re definitely out for the City game.â€

I’d arrived at the ground still on a high from yesterday’s win, but that phone call had sure wiped the smile of my face. It was from Matt Fox, my physio, and he’d just told me I’d be without my first-choice strike pairing for at least the next two matches. Adam Boyd and Chris Llewellyn had both picked up back strains against Swansea, they’d lasted the 90 minutes though and I hadn’t thought it was serious at the time – that was until they arrived for training today bent over like the hunchback of Notre Dame.

Now Matt had confirmed my worst fears and I had some serious thinking to do. Llewellyn I wasn’t so bothered about, but Boyd’s another matter – with Joel Porter still at least a week away I’d need a major reshuffle for the weekend trip to Bristol City.

Still, nothing I could do about it; except utter a few more random expletives that is! I was already feeling rather delicate (Claire and I had hit the town last night to celebrate our win and I’d, err, overindulged slightly…) and this sure didn’t help. I poured myself a glass of Scotch, hair of the dog and all that, and checked the pile of crap in the fax tray.

The first message confirmed what I already knew; Eddie Anaclet had decided his future lied at Victoria Park after all, he’d accepted the contract we’d offered him and would move from Southampton on a free. Whether he’d make the grade I really wasn’t sure, I hadn’t seen enough of him to really make up my mind, but for nothing it was worth the risk. For now he’d be training with the reserves, but he was confident he’d soon take Hugh Robertson’s place in the first X1.

The next one also brought a smile back to my face. Now I had a right-back by the name of Mickey Barron, who was so utterly crap I hadn’t even noticed him when I’d first arrived. That was until I’d realised he was costing me a precious £1,400-a-week in wages, and since H’Angus the monkey had more of a chance of holding down a first-team place than Barron I wanted him out. That fax was from Peterborough, for some reason they wanted him and were prepared to take over his contract. Mine is not to reason why; I accepted, Barron was called into my office where I explained to him his Hartlepool future was about as bright as an Iranian pope-o-gram’s; hopefully he’ll be off by the end of the week.

[davidbr]

“No, I won’t be late. What do you fancy doing tonight?â€

“I’ve got an early start at college tomorrow and I think another heavy night would kill me!. How about I pick up a video and we slump in front the telly instead?â€

“Sounds good to me.â€

And it did. I’d hauled my handful of possessions from room nine at the York Hotel to Claire’s flat above Bar Paris, and we now had our own little love-nest. It’s true it was hardly luxurious but it was better than living out of a suitcase in a hotel room, and the idea of having someone to come home to had become strangely reassuring. Perhaps Darren was right, and it was time for me to grow up a little. Perhaps it was just I’d never met the right girl before. Who knows, who cares; I was going to enjoy it while it lasted.

No, things off the pitch were going well. Ken Hodcroft seemed to have come to terms with the fact I was dating his daughter, he still clearly disapproved but at least seemed willing now to give me a chance. We’d actually been getting on very well, while he does leave the running of the team to Darren and I he’ll usually pop in for a chat most days, or pop down to the training ground to see how things are going on.

[davidbr]

“Gavin? Sit down. I take it you’ve guessed why you’re here?â€

“You’ve had an offer in for me, boss. Mr. Agnew told me.â€

Gavin Strachan was spot on. Conference club Stevenage had been keeping an eye on the Scotsman since the start of the season, and this morning they’d tested the water with a £30,000 bid. Strachan hadn’t managed to get off the bench in our opening two games, and I’d made a decision.

“You’ve accepted the bid, boss, haven’t you.†I nodded, and his face fell.

“Gavin, don’t get the idea that I’m trying to force you out; if you’re happy to stay and fight for your place, all well and good – I’d be happy to keep you here. But I think you’ve realised by now that Johan’s first choice and if I’m honest I just think in the holding position he’s better than you.â€

“Thanks for being straight with me, Mr Milligan. I need to think about this, it’s quite a drop down and I didn’t want to leave Hartlepool, but I’m 27 and I need to be playing regularly.â€

“Well I’ve accepted Stevenage’s offer, so take your time, have a chat with your agent, and let me know what you want to do.â€

That wasn’t the only transfer bid I’d had to mull over lately. In addition to the ongoing Michael Nelson saga (Celtic, West Brom and Leeds have all joined the race to sign our young defender), reserve keeper Dimitros Konstantopolous could well be returning home with Atromitos. The Greek side’s offer could be worth up to £160k, and while that’d be a fortune for a club like ours much, too much in my opinion, of the fee is in instalments and based on future appearances; looking back over Dimitros’ career, there’s no guarantee he’d be making too many of those. I don’t speak a word of Greek, but I’ve done my best to get across to them that I want more readies up-front before we’ve got a deal.

[davidbr]

While I was struggling with my Greek fax, I was interrupted by a knock on the door; it was Ritchie Humphreys. I hadn’t asked to see him, but as I said to the players from the day I arrived, my door’s always open.

“Sorry to bother you, boss, but I need to ask you something. There’s been rumours going around that you’ve offered me around to other clubs – is it true, sir?

It wasn’t true as such, but Darren and I had been spending the week discussing the futures of all the players at the club, we need to get that wage bill down and since Ritchie earns £1,400-a-week he was certainly often mentioned. He was an average player at best, even in this division, and we both felt we could use his wages to buy better.

“Ritchie, we haven’t transfer listed you, and don’t call me sir. But I want to build a team that can hold it’s own at a higher level, me and Darren have had a chance to look over everyone and we’re going to have to make some changes if we’re serious about promotion. We need new faces, but the way things are we have to sell before we cam buy.â€

“So what’s you saying?†Ritchie wasn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the box.

“We’re not actively trying to sell you, yet. But, if a bid does come in for you, we’ll not stand in your way. It might be an idea to get your agent onto it, finding you another club I meanâ€

[davidbr]

Now it’s all well and good selling off the players you don’t need, but eventually you have to find some to replace them. It helps if they’re good ones, and we think we’ve identified several of those. It also helps if you can afford them, and that’s where luck hasn’t been one our side.

Here’s an example. On Tommy Miller’s travels through the land of Oz, of all things he came across an English kid plying his trade in the A-League who he thought might be a decent buy; Guy Bates, of the Newcastle Jets, was available for around £10k and of course since he was a Pommie we wouldn’t be shafted by the Home Office for a work permit. Anyway, Bates’ club accepted the offer, and Darren had the task of phoning him to discuss terms.

“What the f**k??!! Are you taking the p*ss??†I was guessing things weren’t going smoothly. Darren marched into my office, and his face was a picture.

“You’ll never guess what the greedy little c**t wanted?? Two and a half grand a week!!â€

By way of comparison, Adam Boyd was the top earner at Hartlepool, he was also the jewel in our crown, and he was on £2k a week. Needless to say, the talks were unsuccessful!

We’d also had a bid of £30k rejected for Shelbourne striker Dean Crowe, and Northern Irish side Portadown said no thanks to my £24,000 offer for Gary Hamilton. Right now I couldn’t afford to go any higher, but those two were both full internationals and once I offloaded a bit more dead wood I’d be back with a better offer.

In fact, it’d been almost uninterrupted disappointment as far as incoming transfers went. The one and only success was that we now have a right-back as competition for Darren Williams; Souleymane Bamba was born in the Ivory Coast but doesn’t need a work permit as he’s got a French passport, and we’ve snapped up the 20-year old after Paris-St-Germain released him at the end of last season. I think he’ll be a decent signing, and it also means that at last we’ve got an alternative at right-back to Darren Williams. That can only be a good thing, for my health as well as for the team; my blood pressure rises a notch every time Williams touches the ball.

Another thing that Darren (Agnew, that is, not Williams!) and I have been sorting out is devising some specific training schedules for each position within the squad. In my playing days training certainly wasn’t something I was all that familiar with and Darren was hardly a workaholic in his career either, so we’ve relied hugely on Paul Stephenson in this task. It was a daunting task too, but Paul’s finally happy we’ve found the right balance between doing enough to keep the squad sharp, but not overworking them to the point where they die of exhaustion. Of course, we could be wrong!

[davidbr]

Saturday August 13th 2005:

Bristol City vs. Hartlepool; League One from Ashton Gate.

[H’pool X1 (4-1-3-2); Steele, Williams, Robertson, Grant, Clark, Djourou, Sweeney, Bullock, Larsson, Williams, Proctor]

It’d be an understatement to say that I had selection problems ahead of this one; Neil Collins, Adam Boyd, Chris Llewellyn and Joel Porter were all out through injury. It’s a bloody long journey from Hartlepool to Bristol but for once I was glad of the extra thinking time, and I used it to decide Eifion Williams and Michael Proctor would get the nod up front. Antony Sweeney also came into our midfield for Humphreys, who dropped to the bench.

The big worry was where the goals would come from, and Michael Proctor didn’t take long to come up with the answer. With only four minutes on the clock, City right-back Louis Carey sold his keeper short with a suicidal backpass, Proctor ran onto it and his finish was clinical past a furious Steve Phillips. That was just what we’d needed; Bristol City had lost both games so far, and the fans were already showing their anger.

Unfortunately we didn’t build on that, despite their terrible start to the season City were amongst the promotion favourites for a reason and they began to show why. I couldn’t deny on the balance of play they deserved to be level, in the 24th minute they were, and it was a moment of magic from a former Premiership star that made the difference. League One’s a very long way from the glamour of the top flight, but Marcus Stewart showed that class is permanent when he ran onto a hopeful punt forward, showed superb trickery to leave Lee Grant standing and gave Steele no chance with an emphatic finish.

Just as City had shot themselves in the foot for our opener, in the 34th minute so we did the same. Darren Williams had looked about as reliable as a Michael Fish weather forecast, and so it wasn’t surprising that it was his awful clearance that gifted possession to his opposite number Jamie Smith. Fair play to Smith, he still had work to do, and he did it well; his floated delivery into the box was perfect, so was Marcus Stewart’s glancing header, and that was 2-1 to City at the break.

Half time: Bristol City 2 Hartlepool 1

I’d been forced into one half-time substitution, Sweeney was forced off with a knock and Ritchie Humphreys replaced him, and I also made another out of choice; Lee Grant had been caught out of position far too often so he’d find himself watching from the bench, Michael Nelson was his replacement.

I don’t know what it is about us, but I’m yet to witness a decent second half performance from this team; I sure didn’t witness one here. True City were just as bad, but then they could afford to be; they were in front. Proctor and Williams might as well have stayed in the changing room for all the use they were out there, Humphreys came closest for us with a daisy-cutter that flew a foot wide, but we never really looked like getting back into it.

City played out the remaining minutes at half pace, Steve Brooker almost added to their lead but his long-range effort sailed just over, but they’d done enough. The final whistle confirmed my first defeat in management and it wasn’t a pleasant feeling. Still it’s early days, and I couldn’t deny City had deserved it.

Bristol City 2 (Stewart 24, 34)

Hartlepool 1 (Proctor 4)

[davidbr]

17th August 2005

“OK, Gavin, thanks for letting me know. And good luck; no hard feelings, yes?â€

As of tomorrow, Gavin Strachan will be a Stevenage player. He came to let me know he’d decided to accept the Conference club’s offer, said he needed regular first-team football and that’s something I can’t offer him here. Still, it frees up more of our wage bill, and adds an extra £30,000 to the transfer kitty.

Part of that, though, has already been spent. Once I knew Gavin was leaving (and that I’d also got Mickey Barron off the wage-bill) I was straight back on the phone with increased offers for Dean Crowe and Gary Hamilton. They were both accepted, but Crowe was asking for £3,000-a-week and even though he’s a good player he’s not that good.

Hamilton, though, was delighted to accept, and I was delighted to get him. In the end the price was £24,000 plus a 40% sell-on clause, I felt that was a fair price, and the Northern Ireland international (he’s been capped four times by his country) was introduced to the squad at the start of training today. I might also land another new signing too; Lancaster City have accepted a £10k bid for midfielder Ian Dawes, but Dawes isn’t sure he wants to make the jump into full-time football and he’s asked for some time to think over his options.

Oh yes, and I almost forgot; we’ve got a new goalkeeper. On a free transfer, and all the way from Portugal, comes 21-year old Carlos Magalhaes on a short-term deal until the end of the season. He was released by Boavista without playing a game, but he looks to have some potential and at least it means I’m safe to sell Dimitros Konstantopolous should he decide to leave.

[davidbr]

19th August 2005

Another Friday, another week gone. We were due to take on Hartlepool tomorrow, but first I had a vital piece of business to conduct. Sat in front of me was star striker, Adam Boyd, and what happened next could be vital to the club’s future chances.

“Hi, Adam. How’s the back coming along?â€

“Pretty good, Mr. Milligan. The doc says I should be back in training by the start of next week.â€

“That’s great news. Oh and please, call me Mickey.†Right then, if I thought it’d have made him agree to what I wanted he could have called me Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile.

“Adam, I need to discuss your contract. I take it you know it runs out in twelve months time?â€

“I haven’t really thought that far ahead to be honest, Mr..er, Mickey.â€

“Well I have. In short, Adam, I want to keep you, I’m desperate to keep you. Now I’ve discussed it with the chairman, and we’ve put together the best possible deal the club can afford at the moment. I’d like you to look it over, talk to whoever you need to, and get back to me as soon as you can.â€

“No need for all that, boss. Just hand it over, I’ll sign it now.â€

“What?? You sure?â€

“Positive. I reckon we’re going the right way here and I’m playing regularly. I’m not interested in going to a Premiership club and spending the next two seasons keeping the f****g bench warm. Besides, I’m happy in Hartlepool.â€

Happy in Hartlepool?! I thought it was his back he’d damaged, not his brain! The last time anyone was happy in Hartlepool, it was that bloody monkey, and that was only because it knew it’s suffering would soon be over. Still, all that was important was that ten minutes later I’d secured Adam Boyd’s signature on a new five-year deal worth around £3,000-a-week. Who says there’s no loyalty in football any more?