Dances With Monkeys

[davidbr]

Although I say it myself, that was one hell of a result, and I think it deserved a celebration! I reached for the Grouse, opened, and poured away while at the same time absent-mindedly flicking the office TV over to Sky Sports. It seems I wasn’t the only manager who’d been making headway with contract negotiations today; Arsene Wenger was on, so was Thierry Henry, and Henry had just signed a new four-year deal at Arsenal. Working out a few sums in my head, I realised that Henry would now earn in a week more than Adam Boyd earned in a year!

Whilst I was allowing myself a wry smile at the ridiculous salaries now being paid at the top end of the game (and a wistful thought as to why I wasn’t there earning them!) I was brought back to reality by a knock at the door. To my surprise, it was Claire.

“Hi, love; didn’t expect to see you down here today. Thought you were at college ‘til gone four?â€

“Yeah, Daddy called me in. He says he needs me in costume, for the photo-shoot, like.â€

“What bloody photo shoot? First I’ve heard of it.â€

I wasn’t keen on photo-shoots, press conferences, or the press in general for that matter. Guess I’d never forgiven them for the way they’d hounded me at Liverpool, and the things some of them printed when I first took over here hardly did anything to endear me to journalists in general. Plus it was Friday, I was tired, and I still had work to do.

With that, as if by magic, Ken Hodcroft poked his head around the door.

“Yes, sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, but it was all a bit rushed. You understand.†No, not really I didn’t.

“The Hartlepool Mail wants to do a piece on Gary Hamilton, a few pictures, that sort of thing. After all, it’s not every day we sign an international.â€

"Christ, Ken, he’s won four caps for Northern Ireland not the World Cup with Brazil. Alright then, let’s get it over with. But if that bastard from the local rag’s there, the one who called me an alcoholic, I’m off.â€

Ken glanced at me, then at the half-empty bottle of Grouse on my desk, and just smiled.

[davidbr]

20th August 2005

Hartlepool vs. Colchester, League One from Victoria Park

4-1-3-2; (Steele, Robertson, Bamba, Grant, Collins, Djourou, Appleby, Bullock, Larsson, Hamilton, Proctor)

I’d decided on three changes from the side that surrendered so tamely at Ashton Gate last week, and they included two players making their club debuts; Gary Hamilton, our Northern Irish international, was more than a bit nervous lining up alongside Proctor up front, but Souleymane Bamba seemed to take it all in his stride; he came in at right-back for Darren Williams, and Neill Collins[ was fit to resume his duties at centre-half at the expense of Ben Clark.

The team might have changed, but the performance unfortunately hadn’t and we should have paid an early price; poor defending gifted a chance to Chris Iwelumo, but luckily for me the Colchester striker fluffed his lines and sent the ball high over Luke Steele’s crossbar. Mind you the visitors weren’t any better, that didn’t exactly make for a flowing game of football and for forty minutes the crowd were bored to tears, a speculative Lee Bullock shot over the bar was all we’d managed to come up with.

Then in the 42nd minute, a Colchester attack broke down high up the pitch and Hugh Robertson was onto it like a flash. His instinctive through ball sent Gary Hamilton clear of the visitors’ defence, it was a great pass but Hamilton was at least a yard offside. The linesman didn’t flag, Hamilton was allowed to run on to the edge of the eighteen yard box, Michael Proctor had gone with him and Hamilton squared the ball unselfishly for Proctor to score from close range. Colchester were furious, if I’d been Phil Parkinson I wouldn’t have been the happiest of bunnies either. All that mattered though is we’d got the break and we’d got the lead, now could we hold onto it?

Half-time: Hartlepool 1, Colchester 0

Well yes we did, but it could (maybe should) have all been very different when in the 58th minute Chris Iwelumo picked up a loose ball on the edge of the area. There wasn’t any danger and Lee Grant had time to just shepherd him away, instead the Villa man had a rush of blood, left his leg out and Iwelumo tumbled to the ground. There didn’t look a lot in it, but the cheating bastard had conned the referee and he pointed to the spot. Mark Jones, a 19-year old who’s actually on loan from Liverpool, picked up the ball but justice was done when Luke Steele pulled off an excellent save.

It could have been 1-1, instead barely sixty seconds later it was 2-0. Steele rolled the ball out to Neill Collins, he belted it downfield and Michael Proctor ran onto it. There didn’t seem a lot on and I’m not sure Proctor even knew what he was trying to do, but Colchester’s keeper Alan Blayney had even less idea and the ball sailed over his head and into the back of the net! I was delighted, Proctor looked a bit embarrassed, but he’d deserved his luck for an inspirational performance and that fluky goal was enough to close out the game. Not a great display from us today, but it’s ended with three points and that’s all that really matters.

Hartlepool 2 (Proctor 42, 60)

Colchester 0

[davidbr]

22nd August 2005

“You’ve just bought Mojo Deli? What’re you doing, branching out into the fecking restaurant trade or something?â€

No, I wasn’t about to turn into the next Jamie Oliver, and actually I’d just signed Iacappo Delli. Darren had never heard of him, nor for that matter had anyone else, but I was convinced that one day he’d be a superstar; convinced enough to fork out £28,000 of my transfer budget for him anyway.

“Trust me, mate, this kid’s something special.â€

Delli was only 16, he’d been playing for Cascina in the Italian amateur leagues, and he was a kid I’d heard about a while back, when I was living in Paphos actually; he’d come to Cyprus to take part in a youth tournament and straight away you could see he had something which made him stand out from the crowd.

Sure, he wasn’t the finished article, but then who is at that age? No, I reckoned that, with the right handling and a bit of luck, we’d just bought someone who could one day be a superstar. On the other hand, he could turn out to be the next Emile Heskey. Who knows?

[davidbr]

Unfortunately my save game file’s corrupted, so this one won’t be continuing. Thanks to everyone who’s read/commented on this story, once I've set up a new game I’ll be back with another go. Now to round things off with a suitably depressing end…

[davidbr]

Gradually the mist began to clear, and I opened my eyes. I’d woken up after a night on the tiles in a pretty bad state on more occasions than I can remember, but I’d never felt anything like this.

As things slowly came into focus, four shapes came into view; standing above me were Ken Hodcroft, Darren, a nurse and a guy in blue scrubs who I made an educated guess was probably a doctor. What the hell was going on here, and where the hell was I?

“Mickey, you’re in Intensive Care at Darlington General Hospital. You’ve been in an accident.â€

I tried to say something, could feel my mouth moving, but the ventilator made speech impossible. After some garbled sign language, the nurse handed me a pen and paper, and I scrawled two words; “what happened?â€.

The doctor stepped forward;

“Mr. Milligan, try to stay calm. You were in a road accident, the taxi you were in crashed into a tree in the centre of Darlington. I’m afraid you suffered some very serious injuries; we’ve had you sedated for the last fortnight.â€

Suddenly panic gripped me. Claire had been in the cab too. I looked up, and Ken turned away from my gaze. The tears welling in his eyes told me all I needed to know. In the end it was Darren who spoke up.

“I’m sorry, Mickey, she didn’t make it.â€

[davidbr]

It was a couple of days before I was well enough to be told exactly what had happened that fateful evening. We’d played Darlington in the League Cup 1st Round, went through on penalties for all it mattered now. I’d decided, since it was late, that the team would stay in Darlington that night and travel back in the morning, and Claire, Darren and I had gone out for a drink to celebrate our narrow win.

Darren was in one cab, Claire and I had been in the one behind, when the driver lost control of the vehicle; he told police later he’d swerved to avoid a cat. He’d escaped with cuts and bruises, but when we ploughed into the tree the passenger’s side took the full force of the impact. I’d been cut from the wreckage, rushed off to hospital for emergency surgery on serious head, chest and pelvic injuries.

Claire hadn’t been so lucky. She’d suffered massive head injuries, the neuro-surgeons had done their best but they couldn’t save her, and my darling had lost her fight for life the day after the crash, just three beds away from me. Ken and Darren had been by her side as she slipped away, and it comforted me somewhat to know she hadn’t suffered and she hadn’t been alone.

I wasn’t well enough to see her in the mortuary, not sure I could have faced it anyway, but three weeks later I was wheeled out of hospital and into the church to say my final goodbyes. It’d be a long while before I’d leave hospital permanently, but on that day I welcomed the physical pain, it helped to numb what I was feeling inside. Ken Hodcroft sat next to me through the service and we both sobbed together; Ken had told me he didn’t blame me for what happened, he knew I’d loved his daughter and it’d just been a tragic accident, but that didn’t stop me blaming myself. Didn’t stop me wishing that the roles were reversed, and that it was me lying cold in a wooden box.

So, that was how my tenure as Hartlepool manager ended. I couldn’t have faced going back, couldn’t have faced the memories, couldn’t have faced the next home game knowing that someone else would be inside the suit of H’Angus. Eventually, the doctors kept reassuring me, I’d be well enough to go home. The question was, home to what?