WLKRAS

Thanks for the kind comments, gentlemen We had a week to prepare for the clash with fourth-placed Fylde and I made sure to focus on ironing out those defensive mistakes we’d been seeing. Goodlad, himself a former goalkeeper, worked with the netminders, while the rest of us worked on defensive positioning and most importantly picking the right pass when trying to play it out. It sounds easy to the untrained ear, but making the right decision is a lot harder than it seems. And my players were proving that currently. “Stop!” I yelled “Everybody hold their position and send the ball back to Alex!” Alex Lacey had just given the ball away with a forward pass when all the space was to his right. I walked onto the pitch and stood next to Lacey. “Why play it to Nicky?” I asked, referencing his pass to Featherstone, who was being tightly marked. “He asked for the ball” Lacey said sheepishly. “Look around” I said. “How many better options are there?” I didn’t need to point out the fact that both Hendrie and Seaman on the right were wide open. “This is what I mean people” I called out, making sure everyone was listening. “Just because someone is calling for the ball, doesn’t mean he should get it without a second thought. The first available option isn’t the best one by default. And if you can pass it to someone who has options, that’s even better” I took the ball off Lacey’s feet and striped a twenty-five-yard pass into the feet of Charlie Seaman. “Now Charlie can play it back to Hendrie behind him for a little give-and-go or play it inside, or look for the forward run. Either way, he’s got options. And we’re not under pressure as soon as we’ve played one pass forward. Carry on” I hollered, trudging off the pitch and taking up position next to Anthony Sweeny again. “Nice pass, gaffer” he remarked. “Doesn’t come as easy as it used to” I replied, rubbing my right hamstring which had immediately tightened upon my showing off. “Don’t be too hard on them, this is not the Premier League” he reminded me. I turned to face him, letting out a sigh. “Anth, no offence, but these lads are getting paid to play football. One way or another, I think I’m entitled to expect them to get the basics right. If they can’t do that, then maybe they need to consider a career change” Sweeney stayed silent at that. Maybe I was being too harsh. But these lads weren’t going to get any better with molly-coddling. We needed to be sharper and that started with getting it right in training.

Superb stuff, ED

Let's try and get this going again. Might not be at the same pace as before, but things have slowed down a bit, so hopefully we can get this going on the regular again. I left the dressing room and went out to face the the press. Their mood seemed more subdued, but that suited me just fine. “A better day for you today” observed Boswell, the old BBC guy. “I think that’s fair to say. We still haven’t ironed out all the mistakes, but it was a much better performance. Topped off by a magnificent goal from Feathers” I responded before taking a question from one of the local Southend guys. “Codjovi really made a difference with his pace when he came on. Will we be seeing him getting a starting position soon?” “If he trains well, there’s every chance he’s going to get games. The schedule is busy enough and with his ability to play either side, it’s nice to has options. Although the downside is, we had to lose Hastie to injury to bring him on, so our options won’t be as expansive for a few weeks anyway” “Is it that serious? It looked like a dead leg to me?” Alice Newman piped up from the front of the gaggle. “Look, I’m no medical expert, so I’m not going to give a verdict and Danny, our physio, was still treating him when I left to come to speak to you guys. We’ll put out an update when we have one” Newman brought the questions back to Codjovi next. “Are you at all concerned with the fact that signing Codjovi is going to put you over budget wages wise? Will players have to be sold?” “It is a concern yes. Probably more for the chairman than myself, but obviously it’s not ideal, especially with the club not being in a great position financially anyway. But my job is to win games and deliver on the pitch and I need resources to do that. And as always, we’re open to fair offers for any players, but they have to be fair. We’re not selling for the sake of it.” With that, I ended the mini-press conference and the group fo journo’s were off to write their reports. I got the final verdict on Hastie on the bus home. “It looked like just a knock at first, but I think he’s pulled something as he’s collided or gone down. He’s gonna need a couple of weeks to recover” O’Connor told me leaning down from the aisle into my front row seat. He glanced down the bus where most players were lost in their phones, headphones on their ears. Despite a three-nil away win, the bus was quiet. “Was it like this in your days? When you’d won away?” O’Connor asked. “You’re making me feel old. In my days…” I chuckled. “But no, we’d have a game of two or cards on the go, everyone chatting away to each other. Game’s different now I guess”

Still following along and it's still superb. KUTGW

Made the final five, not bad

Hey everyone. Just a short message to let you know I'm going to have to put this on hold for a little while. I've got some personal stuff going on, on top of which FM is currently refusing to load up at all. Planning to get back to it at some point, but I currently don't have the mental energy to fight to get the game running again. Catch you all in a little while - WLKRAS 19th of August, 2023 Roots Hall, Southend Southend United (24th) vs Hartlepool United (19th) (Vanarama National League) The news came Friday morning, just in time to meet the registration deadline. Codjovi was joining Pools and would be on the bench for the long trek to Southend. Other than that, it was a fairly standard lineup for us. Dixon in goal, Hendrie, Lacey, Pruti and captain Ferguson made up the back line, Cooke and Crawford in midfield with Mancini on the tip of the triangle, with Hastie and Ndjoli on the wings and Mani Dieseruvwe up top. “Look, we all want the proverbial monkey off our backs. We’ve lacked a bit of luck, but we’re better than 19th” I looked around the dressing room at some determined faces, they knew I was right. ”So. We’ve got the perfect opportunity to grab that first win here today and get back into form. Southend are struggling even worse than us, both on and off the field. Let’s make sure we compound that misery. I want you to press them, harry them, don’t give them time to think” The message hit home. Southend kicked off, but our boys were all over them straight away. It was a gamble because with games coming thick and fast, the constant pressure would wear our players out. But it was worth it to break our slump. We did the pressing part well, gaining plenty of turnovers in the first few minutes, but our passing was sloppy, so it didn’t really help us. Six minutes into the game, Dieseruvwe collected a forward pass and laid it off out to the left where Ndjoli was making a run. The winger ran onto it, took it past his man and pulled it back to the edge of the area where Mancini was arriving. The attacking midfielder was presented with an easy finish and he duly obliged for an early lead. It almost seemed as if the team thought the job was done and they retreated into their shell a bit, the pressing slacking and the passing remaining sub-par. Southend immediately hit back, forcing a corner a few minutes later. It was swung into the centre of the area where Cardwell rose but headed it off the post and out of play. A warning for sure and it at least had the effect of waking the players up. Southend piled on the pressure, but the determination was back among the players, with Ferguson throwing his body into the fray to block a shot from Wood and Lacey making a key tackle to win the ball back from the resulting corner. We played it neatly out of the defence, but Hastie lost it going forward and Southend were straight back at us, ending a move with Wood firing at goal, but Dixon being equal to it. Sweeney got up on his feet and hollered some home truths about the team’s passing then sat back down rather sheepishly as if he’d forgotten who was in charge. I just grinned in response. In any case, his dressing down seemed to have worked as we tightened up our play and Cooke gathered the ball up in midfield to play a slide rule pass between the two centre-backs for Dieseruvwe to run onto. He took a touch, but it was slightly too heavy and it allowed the Southend goalkeeper enough time to dive in and gather the ball off his feet. A minute later, it was a near-carbon copy, except this time Dieseruvwe’s touch was better and he fired a shot past the goalkeeper. Unfortunately, it was also wide of the goal, but we had reasserted our superiority and Southend were subdued for the remainder of the half. “Keep your focus lads. We’re on top, but we have to cut out the mistakes, we don’t want to let these guys back into the game. Grab a second early and they’ll deflate like a balloon” I urged the players at the break. They nodded in agreement. Goodlad chipped in with some observations of his own, mainly remarking on the opposition's apparent weakness in the centre of defence. We restarted after the break, but it was Southend who got out of the blocks the best. A low cross in from the left came off Pruti, but only as far as Cardwell who hammered a shot at goal. Fortunately, Dixon was equal to it and managed to push it wide of the post, but the warning had been sent. I got up off the bench to try and focus the players with some gentle encouragement. Dixon lumped a ball forward for Mani Dieseruvwe, not my preferred method of distribution, but I let it go. Mani headed it out right for Hastie to run on to. He got to the ball first, but a defender came charging in and bundled our winger to the floor. He got away with it, but Hastie stayed down on the turf clutching his thigh. He’d taken a knee to the upper leg and was in no state to continue. I called for the young Spanish winger Codjovi to replace him. Not much after, I also brought on Featherstone for a tiring Crawford and the veteran quickly picked up on Codjovi’s pace advantage over most of the opposition. In the 63rd minute, Featherstone fed Codjovi around the halfway line and the youngster set off on a great run, dipping inside and out, beating two defenders before sending a forward pass for Dieseruvwe. Our target man smashed it into the net with ease. But it was so easy because he’d strayed beyond the defence into an offside position. It only took another minute, but we did get our second. Ferguson fed a low cross in on the overlap and Mancini was left with an easy sidefoot finish to double our margin. I brought Dolan for Pruti in defence, hoping his fresh legs would help see out the game, but it wasn’t really necessary. With twenty minutes left to go, Featherstone picked up the ball in the centre of the pitch, about twenty-five yards out. He took a look at goal, steadied himself and fired an incredible thunderbolt off the outside of his right boot. It swerved away from the goalkeeper and nestled sweetly into the top corner. The away support erupted in jubilation as did our bench. The players on the pitch were mobbing Featherstone near the corner flag. Three games worth of frustration came out from everyone and the elation was palpable. Of course, there was still twenty minutes to play and we’d given away good positions before. Just six minutes later, Cardwell put the cat among the pigeons. Their right winger skipped past a tiring Ferguson and flung in a cross. Cardwell connected and thumped it into the net, but the referee adjudged he’d pushed Lacey to get leverage and ruled it out for a foul, much to our relief. We saw the rest of the game out easily enough. Back in the dressing room, I tried to temper my enthusiasm somewhat. ”Well done everyone, that was good. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, that was a game we should have won regardless. There’s going to be a much bigger test next week when we face Fylde. So enjoy today, but I want more like this next week” Final Score Southend United 0 Hartlepool United 3 (Mancini 6, 64, Featherstone 70)

Hartlepool Mail Thursday, 17th of August, 2023 From our reporter Browne clashes with journalists as reign gets off to a shaky start New Hartlepool manager Chris Browne verbally clashed with journalists during his latest press conference on Tuesday. With only one point from three games, Browne’s reign has got off to a shaky start and the manager already seems to be feeling the heat, with nothing less than promotion expected for Pools this season. Browne took offence at questioning from one journalist suggesting his relationship with chairman Raj Singh was ‘strained’, accusing the questioner of ‘making up gossip’. Despite Browne’s protestations, the normally outspoken Singh has been remarkably quiet of late. Meanwhile, sources within the club confirm that there is a definite strife between the manager and those in charge, with Director of Football Joe Monks making appointments to the academy staff without consulting with the manager. The finances around the club remain insecure with Singh looking hard for a buyer to offload the club onto. But the issues aren’t only off the pitch for Browne. With only a point to their name after an opening day draw at Barnet, Pools have lost two home games in quick succession, giving away an early lead both times, despite being in control and having the better chances. So far, Browne has insisted on a possession-based game and while Pools have looked very good when it comes off, there have been too many chances and goals conceded for the team to be carrying on in this manner. That said, Saturday’s game against bottom-of-the-table Southend should be a good opportunity to get points on the board. Much like Pools, Southend have started with only one point from three, but having been in administration, they started the season with a ten-point deduction, leaving them rooted to the bottom for the time being. I threw the paper down onto my desk with a sigh and picked up the phone to ring Howell to find out who covered us for the local paper. None of their journalists had been at any of my press conferences, so it surprised me to find them writing about what had happened after the Maidenhead game. The paper was right about one thing though, Southend was a must-win game. According to Avins scout report, they played football in a similar manner to us, getting it down and trying to play a passing game. It would be a good opportunity for us to show what we could really do when we put our minds to it. Hopefully, we’d have a new face in the squad for that. Amilcar Djau Codjovi, the twenty-one-year-old winger without a club, was considering the offer I’d made him on Wednesday morning. We had settled on a weekly wage that was more than I’d liked, but less than he’d asked for initially, so you win some and you lose some. We just had to wait for his final answer.

Bertrand thanked groundsman O’Hagen by buying him another beer and headed into the stands for the game. It wasn’t great if you were a Bromsgrove fan, but plenty of excitement for the neutral. In a game that featured 29 attempts at goal, the visitors from Coalville walked away with a 4-1 victory. Bromsgrove’s misery was compounded by the late sending off of midfielder Billy Shaw after a crunching tackle and some subsequent argy-bargy. Bertrand approached the kid on his laptop after the game. He was furiously typing away but agreed to pause for a moment when Bertrand introduced himself and asked him what he knew about Chris Browne. The kid introduced himself as Max Banner. “In fairness, I know very little. My older brother Kevin is the one who could tell you better than me. But he always spoke highly of him” he admitted. Then, as if an idea had struck him, his face lit up and he dug out his phone. “Let’s call him!” he said excitedly. He dialled a number, put the speakerphone on and placed the phone between the pair on the table. “What’s up Bro” said the voice on the other end. “Hey Kev, I’ve got a guy here who’s investigating Chris Browne, you wanna answer some questions for him?” “Do I have to?” the voice on the other end was grumpy. “Let me assure you I’m not a journalist, Mr Banner. If that’s a concern. But I would very much appreciate your help” “Fine, shoot” Kevin said still reluctant. “What did you think of him? What was he like?” “He was determined to win and he could be a hardass. Tear strips of you if you didn’t play to the plan or weren’t what he considered professional. There was more than one occasion when I was the target, but in fairness, we were semi-pros. Even after three years of retirement, he was better than any of us in training. But he could be pleasant enough” “Did he have any trouble with anyone?” “Plenty of people. Worst kept secret in the club that him and Darren Grocutt didn’t get along, even if they tried not to show it in front of the players. Same for him and Mr Daniels. He had a beef with a few journalists too. I remember he punched one in the car park at one point, yet someone managed to make that go away. Think he had a tiff with the girl too. But they were both into each other. Didn’t need a degree to work that one out” “Is that why he hung out at the pub?” Max pitched in, much to Bertrand’s annoyance, although he was pleased after he heard the answer. “That and the fact that he liked a drink. Fairly sure he took training hungover more than once. But we all kinda turned a blind eye. Guy was the most hated man in football, but he knew what he was talking about on the pitch” “Do you think he did it?” Bertrand took over the questioning again. “Doesn’t matter what I think. Jury convicted him” Banner said, nervously. “If you had to pick one way or the other?” Bertrand insisted. “All I know is the guy was coaching here to redeem himself. And we were the bottom of the barrel at the time. He must’ve been desperate. I can’t see why someone so determined to do that would kill anyone, drunk or not. But what do I know?” Bertrand had thanked the Banner brothers and headed back to his hotel. He would have to speak to DI Rainford next.

You might want to have a read of the rules above and maybe consider moving this to say Career updates, as it doesn't really constitute a story.

“Yes, I’m sure the neutrals will have enjoyed it. Me, not so much” I growled in response to Alice Newman’s question about the game in the post-match press conference. “Where did it all go wrong today?” asked Abraham. “Too many mistakes, too many bad choices and not doing the simple things right. We had 71% of possession but ended up conceding four soft goals. That is unacceptable” I answered. I was in no mood for niceties and the players were going to know about it. “Does that mean we’re going to be seeing some changes for Southend at the weekend?” Newman put in. She didn’t seem impressed by Abraham stealing her line of questioning. “I’m not going to speculate on that just yet. A lot of that will depend on how the players apply themselves in training between now and Saturday” Newman tried another follow-up, but again, Abraham was eager to interrupt. “I understand the relationship between yourself and the chairman is already strained, do you think your slow start to the season could aggravate that?” “Robbie, I appreciate you work for a tabloid rag that insists on spreading gossip and hearsay as the gospels, but that’s not how we work around here” I fired back. I saw Newman crack a smile at that. Abraham tried a rebuttal, but Jacob Howell, the press officer, stepped in before things escalated further. He whispered in my ear as he marched me away from the microphones. “I wish you wouldn’t try to antagonise journalists. They’re only doing their job, asking the difficult questions” I looked the guy up and down. He was a good twenty years younger than me. He was trying, but failing to grow some stubble on his chin. “I don’t know what you’ve heard kid, but as far as I know, the chairman and I haven’t had a strained relationship. So maybe instead of telling me what I can and can’t do, maybe you should do your job and find out who is leaking this nonsense to Abraham” I scowled, leaving him behind. I returned to my office to find a note from Joe Monks on my desk. It told me Codjovi would be arriving for contract talks on Wednesday morning. The young winger was very interested in joining Hartlepool and was hopeful of swift negotiations. That brightened my mood somewhat. It wasn’t the only position we needed reinforcements in, but it was a start at least.

15th of August 2023 Suit Direct Stadium, Hartlepool Hartlepool United (17th) vs Maidenhead (18th) (Vanarama National League) My pre-season schedule had been tough on fitness in the hope of preparing the squad for the rigorous schedule of the National League. Unfortunately, it hadn’t quite worked out as planned just yet. We had a few players simply too tired after the Gateshead match to be starting again. Dixon kept his place in goal. Hendrie and Onariase kept their places in defence but were joined by Pruti and Paterson. Featherstone was alongside Crawford in midfield, with Mancini returning in the attacking midfielder role. Hastie moved to the left wing to replace the injured Ndjoli with Seaman taking over on the right. Umerah was the man up front. “We need to do better at home, guys. There’s no excuse really. We’ve had the chances in both our games so far, but we need to see games out and finish off the opposition. Let’s do that today” was my plea before the game. We started well after kick-off, stringing a few moves together and passing particularly well early on. The first real chance came about ten minutes in. Again it was a move full of one or two-touch passes, from Hendrie at right back, through to midfield to Hastie on the left wing. Alas, it fell to Hastie’s weaker left foot and his effort didn’t contain anywhere near enough power to trouble the Maidenhead goalkeeper. Four minutes later, we were at it again, this time down the right. Mancini found Seaman who showed a clean set of heels to the left back before pulling back a low cross for Crawford. The midfielder ghosted one way before jinking the other. All defender De Havilland could do was bring him down. The referee had no hesitation in pointing to the spot. Featherstone shouldered the responsibility and slotted home easily from twelve yards to put us 1-0 ahead.. Maidenhead tried to strike back immediately with a long ball for Zimba, their lone striker, but Dixon was alert and snuffed out the danger. He was called into action again just seconds later when Onariase immediately lost the ball he’d received and Smith fired from close range. Somehow, Dixon was equal too it, tipping it wide and also claiming the subsequent corner with ease. But the guests kept coming. On the half hour, Seaman floated a cross into the area, which was easily gathered by Ross in the Maidenhead goal. Despite Avins’ warning in the scout report I had failed to prepare properly for what was to come next. Ross booted it upfield for Mitchell-Lawson, who skipped past his defender and played in Smith. The attacking midfielder was left with an easy finish and converted without much hesitation to level the game. And it got worse. Three minutes later, Hendrie in our right-back position was caught in possession by Mitchell-Lawson around the halfway line. With another lightning counter through Zimba and Smith, the latter was left with another simple finish. I was raging on the touchline and I made my feelings known to the players. In fairness, I was probably partially to blame for not properly preparing for the possibility of such rapid counters. “Settle down boss, those outbursts aren’t going to improve matters” offered Goodlad beside me. I’m not sure if he was right or wrong, but my rant seemed to have an immediate effect with Paterson forcing a corner, which was just headed wide by Hendrie. Three minutes after Maidenhead took the lead, we were back level again. Hastie dribbled down the left with purpose, passing past one, then two defenders before drifting in a cross towards the centre. Umerah had peeled off towards the near post, taking two defenders with him and leaving an acre of space for Mancini to arrive in. He put his head through the ball and thumped it into the net. Goodlad got up and shouted some encouragement, but his shouts fell on deaf ears as Maidenhead nearly made it 2-3. It was another cross from Mitchell-Lawson, who had caused us no end of trouble, finding the head of Zimba. He put his header past Dixon, but to his agony (and our relief) saw the ball bounce back off the post and hacked away by Pruti. We made it to the break with scores still level, but there were a few tired legs and weary heads in our dressing room. Both Goodlad and Sweeney did their best to motivate the players again while physio O’Connor was busy massaging a few of the tired legs. I decided to keep it simple. “Come on lads, we need to keep at them. Tighten up at the back and make sure we keep the ball. They can’t score without it” The second half got off to a lethargic start from both sides. It appears Maidenhead were in no better shape than we were, but with thirteen minutes gone in the second period, the game kicked into life again. Zimba was driving forward down the left, but Onariase was doing a good job covering him. He even managed to knock the ball away from the striker’s feet with an assertive tackle, but he couldn’t control it and it rolled straight into the path of Kinsella. The left-back swung in a cross towards the back post where Mitchell-Lawson was completely unmarked with Paterson marking clear air in the centre of the pitch. Maidenhead’s right wigner didn’t need any more encouragement and slotted the ball past Dixon to restore the guests’ lead. I immediately went to my bench and decided to throw caution to the wind. The team got shunted about a bit, with Hendrie, Onariase and Crawford coming off for Burton, Cooke and Dieseruvwe. We gave up on having a left winger and shunted Dieseruvwe up front with Umerah, with Hastie moving to right-wing and Seaman dropping back into the right-back role abandoned by Hendrie. It didn’t do us much good. Burton struggled to meet the pace of the game and his lax pass nearly led to a Maidenhead fourth, only denied by the alertness of Dixon in our goal. With us pushing forward, there was always going to be space for Maidenhead to seal their victory and they did just that with fifteen minutes left in the game. Kinsella was allowed to freely march through midfield, Mancini only belatedly picking up a half-hearted defence. By then, Kinsella had already spotted substitute Sho-Silva approaching the back post and slid in a low ball for the winger to turn in. 2-4 for the visitors and a groan from the home crowd. We mounted a late assault and pulled one back five minutes later. Seaman took a throw and got it back again from Hastie, before floating in a cross for Mani Dieseruvwe. The big striker outmuscles his two attending defenders and nodded home. And we came again, a good passing move through the middle moving through Dieseruvwe, into Hastie and then to Umerah who’d moved into the area. The striker smashed it first time, hitting it off the frame of the goal and bulging the net. The crowd went wild at our late fortune. But then the whistle went. The flag on the far side was up, Umerah had strayed just beyond the defence and the goal wouldn’t stand. We’d had seventy-one percent of possession and five shots more than Maidenhead, but the only statistic that mattered we’d lost 3-4. Final Score Hartlepool United 3 (Featherstone (pen) 15, Mancini 36, Dieseruvwe 80) Maidenhead 4 (Smith 30, 33, Mitchell-Lawson 59, Sho-Silva 75) Attd: 4218

Victoria Ground, Bromsgrove Tuesday evening Bertrand headed to the ground, hoping to get there early and catching up with some people who may have known more about what happened at the time. He entered the clubhouse, which was still pretty empty, but there were a few people milling about. One of them was a kid in his twenties, busily typing away at a laptop. He had papers spread all around him on the table. He almost seemed like a reporter, apart from the fact that he was wearing a Bromsgrove scarf draped loosely around his neck. Bertrand was just about to walk up to him when an older man entered the room and walked up to the bar as he called out to the kid. “Gaffer’s here, Max, if you wanna do your pre-match” his voice was gravelly like he smoked twenty cigarettes a day and drank a bottle of Scotch to go with it. His hair was white and dishevelled. He asked the bartender for a pint. “All done, Dan?” asked the bartender as he put a pint down on the bar. “Pitch’s as good as it’s gonna get” he nodded. Bertrand surmised that he must be the groundsman and decided to sit down beside the guy. “Excuse me, sir” he said. “You look like you’ve been around this club a while. Were you here when Chris Browne…” The groundsman held up his hand and cut him off. “Y’ere not a reporter, are ye? Ye don’t look like one” “No sir, My name is Bertrand Nelson-Reed and I’m an investigator of sorts. I’ve been hired to do some professional background on Mr Browne’s time here, nothing for the media, I can assure you” Bertrand said, extending his hand, which the old guy took and shook. “Dan O’Hagen. I were here when Chris was, aye. Compared my pitch to a cow’s field, he did!” the latter part was said in mock outrage. “Truth be told, it wasn’t far off in those days” “What was he like to work with? What sort of person was he?” “Realistic. He was used to far better facilities, obviously, but he did what he could with what he had. He was nice enough to me, but he could be… brooding at times, I guess. Suppose he had his demons…” the latter part was spoken at almost a whisper. “What do you mean, demons?” “I think he drank. There were times he stomped about like a bear with a sore head. Suppose that’s how he met the girl in the pub” “Were you surprised he joined the club in the first place?” Bertrand asked, ignoring the latter part of the sentence for nwo. “Well, yeah, I suppose so. Everyone had expected Darren to get the job, but the chairman jumped at the chance to get a big name through the doors. I think he was expecting people to come and shout abuse at the guy, after what happened before, but there was very little of that really. And he did a grand job with the team he had” “Darren being Darren Grocutt, I take it? Presume he was none too happy about being passed over” “Both Darren and Steve Daniels, the Director of Football, were fuming at it. They were best mates, both had been at the club for ages and they took it personal. Grocutt was forever stalking about like someone had killed his cat. And I think Daniels and Browne had a big argument at one point, but I’m not sure what that was about. In any case, they got their wish eventually anyway, when you know…” he let his gravelly voice trail off. “Did you know the girl?” “Nah, she worked in the pub, but that’s about all. Although I seem to remember there was a kerfuffle with her and Daniels a few years before Browne turned up. I don’t remember the details to be honest” “This is going to be a strange question, but did you ever notice anyone hanging around the ground. Maybe wearing a hat and a raincoat?” “Bloody hell, there’s a question” he laughed. “Nothing immediately springs to mind, but it’s like fourteen years ago. Why do you ask?” “Something I came across somewhere else. I’m wondering if there may have been an accomplice.” O’Hagen laughed at that notion. “Anyone else still around who knew him?” Bertrand said hopefully. “Not really. You can try talking to Max, the kid who does the website and social media and what not. His brother played for the team when Browne was in charge. Daniels comes in now and then, but I don’t think you’ll get much from him, his mind is going. He’s got dementia I think”

We didn’t have much time to prepare for the next game as we’d be facing Maidenhead at home in midweek. Avins came to deliver the scouting report in person Monday morning. He plonked the thin folder on my desk. “All in there, boss. They tend to play on the counter, so I imagine we’ll have plenty of the ball” was his brief summary before leaving. Despite being a decent scout and coming across pretty well in his interview, his social skills seemed somewhat lacking. Fortunately, scouting was pretty solitary business. I also managed to navigate my encounter with the local press pack that I had dubbed the ‘drab four’. Jordan Knight from the Chronicle, Alice Newman from the Northern Echo, Derek Boswell from BBC Tees and of course Robbie Abraham. Their focus seemed to be less on the game we’d just played, or were about to play and more on various transfer rumours. That was easy enough, since there was still no money available, we’d have to be looking at players that were available on a free. With Pett and Aarons leaving after we couldn’t meet their demands, Monks had put me onto a young Spaniard. Amilcar Djau Codjovi was a twenty-one-year-old winger, who could play on either side of the pitch and he was quick. Like lightning quick. Monks had managed to dig up a video of the kid when he was Morecambe and it demonstrated just how fast he was. It always showed he wasn’t afraid to put himself into challenges and he worked hard. He’d drifted about various clubs, but never got his career off the ground. I asked Monks to feel him out about joining us. As it was, we would need him sooner rather than later. Our regular left winger Ndjoli had collided in training with Paterson, which left him with a nasty bruise on his thigh. O’Connor was quick with his verdict. “I mean, he could play if you really needed him too, but I’d strongly advise against it. He could aggravate it and then he’d miss the game at the weekend against Southend as well.” It would mean a start for Max Storey on the left or on-loan Charlie Seaman on the right with Hastie moving over to the left. I spent most of the evening mulling it over…

That last line feels very "Tell Cersei I want her to know it was me"

13th of August, 2023 Hop Pole Inn, Bromsgrove Bertrand Nelson-Reed nosed his Daimler into the car park outside the Hop Pole Inn. The pub was just a stone’s throw away from the Victoria Ground, formerly of Bromsgrove Rovers, now home to the Phoenix club Bromsgrove Sporting. Evelyn Scott had worked at the pub according to the files he had received from DI Rainsford and there were several mentions of Browne frequenting the pub on occasion. Considering the team he managed wasso nearby, Bertrand wasn’t surprised. He avoided the pair of potholes in the car park and found a space before going inside. It was about three o’clock just between the Sunday lunch crowd having left and the Sunday dinner ones turning up, so the bar was relatively quiet. There was a football game on the TV, which seemed to have the attention of the few patrons that remained. Bertrand made his way to the bar and ordered a pint of bitter from the typical hipster bartender in his middle thirties. He had a bushy beard, a nose ring and several rings in both ears. He was wearing one of the ‘lumberjack’ shirts with the sleeves rolled up, showing a mass of tattoos on both arms. Bertrand was appalled. Young people these days… “Thank you, good sir” he said as the bartender placed his pint in front of him and he tapped his card against the reader. “Y’er not a lowcal, arr ya” drawled the bartender with a heavy Black Country accent, while looking Bertrand up and down. “Very astute of you, my friend” Bertrand began, but the bartender cut him off. “Y’er not one of them murder tourists, arr ya?” “I beg you pardon, murder tourists?” Bertrand, feigning confusion. He had already clocked the picture tribute on the wall behind the bar. The bartender began to explain the history, while Bertrand pretended to be politely interested “So the girl who worked here was murdered by the manager of the local football team? My God, how awful. Did you know her?” “As a matt’r a fact, I did. I’d been working ‘ere since that summer. She were a lovely lass, tough but fair. I never liked tha’ manager fella. He came in ‘ere on occasion, always leering at her" “You think that’s why he killed her?” Bertrand asked off-handedly, putting his empty glass on the bar and motioning for another. The bartender shrugged as he pulled another pint. “Ah, I don’t know. Ne’er knew the bloke much” “Know anyone who would?” Bertrand asked, sliding a crisp twenty-pound note across the bar with a knowing look. The bartender stared at him for a second, then broke into a grin. “Y’ere a clever one. Only place where they might know would be the club” he said, nodding in the direction of the door. Bertrand left him the twenty and took his pint Bertrand had tried, in vain, to see someone at the club after leaving the Hop Pole Inn. The place had been shut up pretty tight and a passing dog walker eventually told him unless there was a game, he had no chance. As fortune would have it, a nearby sign announced Sporting’s next home game as Tuesday the 15th, facing a team called Coalville Town. So Bertrand booked himself into the local Premier Inn and began to learn as much as he could about the Bromsgrove Rovers team Chris Browne had managed back in the day. The chairman at the time had been a Robert Martin, who had been struggling to keep the club afloat. Because of that, Browne’s tenure had actually started with a ten-point deduction. But eventually, Martin’s building company collapsed as a result of the financial crisis and with it went Bromsgrove. There had been a brief attempt by Director of Football Steve Daniels to try and carry on, but he too was unable to keep the club afloat. Martin had moved to the US, but Daniels was still listed as living in the area. Browne’s former assistant, Darren Grocutt, had taken over after his arrest and seen out the season, even staying on for the brief period that Daniels was in charge before relocating to the Far East and now managing a team in Thaland’s lower leagues. Bertrand also managed to find information on a coach named Alex Watson, appointed by Browne in his first few weeks, who left again when Grocutt took over. But he had no further luck managing to track that guy down, the name being too common to be of much use.

I’d fallen hard against the wall and stone steps and it took me a second to get my breath back. It was the same for the person who had run into me. She was bent over, hands on her legs and breathing heavily. She shot me a sideways glance. “Sorry... I was lost… in my music…” she panted and then she stopped when we recognised each other. “Jessica?” “You’re the guy from the gym... The coach... We gotta stop meeting like this…” she righted herself and looked around for her headset which had fallen a short distance away. She walked over and picked it up as I dusted myself off and got to my feet. “I’m sorry. You ok?” she asked, returning with the headset. “I’ll be alright. Us old-timers don’t bounce as well as you young ‘uns” I chuckled. That drew a smile from her too. “I’ll take that as a compliment. I’m probably older than you think” she observed. That gave me pause. Mentally, I’d put her a couple of years older than Ellie, 33 or 34 maybe. I just stared for a second, trying to take it in, but she beat me too it. “Forty-one” she said, with a confident laugh. The look on my face told her all she needed to know. “Yeah, I get that a lot” she added. She looked out to the sea and the sky with all of its oranges and pinks. I followed her gaze. “Pretty, isn’t it? It’s why I like to run here on an evening while I can.” “Helluva view. Good for the soul” I agreed. “See, that’s what I tell people, but they never believe me” she said, “Anyway I need to get back before it gets dark. Sorry again. Hope you’re not too bruised” she added. “Find out in the morning, I guess.” I replied as she started to walk off. She was about to put her headset back on when I called out after her. “Don’t forget, those tickets are ready for you and your boy whenever” She smiled and waved by way of reply as she jogged off again.

I met my opposite number Dean Holdsworth in my office post-match. We had been teammates at Bolton back in the day before he dropped down the leagues with Coventry and others before returning to our old haunt as a manager for a short-lived spell. I offered him a beer although my mood was still sour. “Cheers” he said, raising the bottle. I raised my can of coke in reply, but he made no comment about my choice of drink. “Sorry, Dean. I’m not quite used to the whole post-match pleasantries yet” I apologised. “I understand. You never were one to take losing a game well and in fairness, you were better than us today, just less lucky” “Helps when your goalkeeper has a blinder” I offered. “Interesting combination of jobs he has” I said, referring to the fact that Rob Elliot was also Gateshead’s Technical Director. “You do what you can at this level. Surprised you haven’t registered yourself, you look as fit as when we were at Bolton” he offered after a sip of his beer. “Those days are gone, Dean. Besides, I get enough abuse off the pitch, never mind going on it” Holdsworth stayed silent at that. I had a feeling he didn’t know what to say. He seemed apprehensive straying further down that path of my past. He finished his drink and stood. “Thanks for the beer, I gotta head back. But remind me to repay the favour when we play you at home" he said, standing and extending his hand. I shook it. “I’d rather have three points when we meet next” I said to myself after he’d left. I was still in a mood that evening. I drove down to the Headland and parked near the Heugh Battery. The site of the only World War One battlefield on British soil is now a museum, commemorating not only the shelling of Hartlepool in 1914 but other wars Britain had been part of. The battery had provided valiant, but ultimately ineffective counter-fire to the shells from three German cruisers. I stood beside the museum at the top of the stairs down to the promenade for a minute. From the headland, you could along the shore as far North as Sunderland, while South you could see across the Teesbay to Redcar. The sky was streaked with all sorts of pastel colours at this time of night, with the sun beginning to set. I smiled, my mood finally lightening and my thoughts for drink slipping away. I walked down the steps to make my way to the promenade and look out over the sea. But as I reached the bottom of the steps, a shape slammed into me at full pelt, sending me backwards into the wall. I saw a pair of headphones skitter across the steps as I fell backwards against the wall.

12th of August, 2023 Suit Direct Stadium, Hartlepool Hartlepool United (15th) vs Gateshead (12th) (Vanarama National League) Fair to say, it hadn’t been the best preparation for a rivals clash. I slept on my kitchen table until 5 am, at which point I woke up stiff and crawled into bed for another couple of hours. Not that I did much sleeping, but at least it was more comfortable. By about 7 am I gave up, showered, dressed and headed out. I walked down to Church Street and followed it down to the statue of old Ralph. There was a Wetherspoons there, aptly named the Ward Jackson, where I treated myself to a fry and several cups of coffee for breakfast. The place was a common haunt for fans getting a pint before the game, but at this time of morning, it was pretty dead, thankfully. Once I got to the stadium I spent the morning contemplating the lineup before the team meeting around noon. Mancini was struggling for fitness, so Featherstone came into central midfield and Crawford moved forward into the attacking midfielder role. Otherwise, we were unchanged. I started my team talk by mentioning this was a big one for the fans and it seemed to have the desired effect. Crawford surged forward just two minutes into the game but was unceremoniously bundled over by Francis, who was booked for his trouble. Callum Cooke lined up the free kick and from twenty-two yards out, curled it around the wall into the near corner, off the frame of the goal. The Suit Direct Stadium practically erupted. Five minutes later, they were on their feet again, but this time it was a collective groan as Mani Dieseruvwe headed just wide from an inch-perfect cross from Hastie. But our joy wasn’t long-lived. Just before the half-hour mark, we lost our concentration and paid dearly for it. Trying to play it out from the back as was our standard, Hastie lost it on the right wing. Onariase backed him up and nabbed it off the striker, but only managed to put it straight into the path of Wearne. The Gateshead man thought all his Christmases had come at once and made no mistake in levelling the game back up. Our response was immediate, slicing through midfield with some brilliant passing from Cooke, Featherstone and Crawford. The latter played in Cooke, who slotted past Elliot. There was another eruption, but it ended in another groan as the assistant referee raised his flag. Cooke had gone too soon and strayed offside. As the half wore on, Gateshead got more and more confident. They fired over from a corner before Dixon forced another one by tipping Wearne’s shot wide. Just before half-time the pressure told, a long ball forward fell to Olley on the left wing. He slid in a cross for Wearne along the surface, catching Lacey unawares. Instead of shooting himself, Wearne laid it off for Dinanga who had an easy finish despite having two defenders closing on him. I was furious. That was twice in two games we’d conceded on the verge of half-time. I made my feelings known in the break. “Did I miss a rule change or something? Have we started playing rugby where we only play 40-minute halves? Or have we simply given up on trying for the full half? Against a local rival of all the teams. I’m sure the fans will be thrilled by us turning a 1-0 lead into a 1-2 deficit. You’ve got forty-five minutes left to prove that you at least want to try and win this game!” The rocket seemed to have done its job. We shot out of the gates after the break, stunning Gateshead. The only downside was our finishing was still not great. Mani Dieseruvwe headed over from a Ndjoli cross and Cooke had a great swerving effort, but Elliot pulled off an equally good save to deny the midfielder. I urged players forward, but we were no closer to levelling the game by the hour mark. I decided on some fresh legs with Mancini and Dolan coming on to replace Crawford and Featherstone. Mancini headed just wide soon after coming on, and Elliot continued to frustrate us with a good performance in goal by saving substitute Umerah’s header after coming on for Dieseruvwe. Umerah was showing the effects of not training well and headed over from a Cooke cross. I thought we’d finally got there with seven minutes to go as Dolan’s long-range effort finally beat Elliot, only to fizz against the post and back into the path of a defender who hoofed it out of the ground and into nearby Morrison’s car park. Just as I was losing hope of getting anything from the match, right back Hendrie broke down the right, skipping past two defenders and swinging in a cross. It floated high towards the back post. Ndjoli rose high, beating his marker and getting a solid connection on it, thumping it goalwards. But his effort was straight at Elliot and despite having seventeen shots at goal, a solitary goal was all we had to show for it. Final Score Hartlepool United 1 (Cooke 2) Gateshead 2 (Wearne 27, Dinanga 44) Attd: 6258

The rest of the week went pretty smoothly until Friday. There was plenty of focus on finishing and practising our set pieces routines after Avins’ report suggested that Gateshead were weak in defending those. As Sarah and the chairman had already pointed out, we were expecting a big crowd for this one. And the media were keen to get in on the action, hoping to stoke the flames of the rivalry. The press gaggle at Maiden Castle was not quite raucous, but it wasn’t far off. Baby-faced Jordan Knight had started us off “How do you feel about this local rivalry? Do you think it matters more?” “It’s hard to judge for me, not being a local. But I think for the players and the fans these games are important, so we have to make sure we’re up to our best” I replied with a note of caution in my voice. “So other games are less important?” this was Abraham of course. “That’s not what I said and you damn well know it, Robbie” I fired back. I felt Jacob Howell put a hand on my arm to try and reign me in. Thankfully, the older guy from BBC Tees cut in before Abraham could follow up. “Your team showed plenty of attacking intent last time out, perhaps only lacking a bit of application in the finishing. Will we see more of the same here?” “Well, not in the lack of application I hope” I chuckled, relieved at the change of subject. “But yes, we’re not here to sit back. I want to play football, I want to have the ball and make the opposition run around after us. And if we don’t have it, I want us to get it back as quickly as possible" “Gary Liddle suggested you need to keep a close eye on Grayson, is that something you’d agree with?” this was Jordan again. “While I appreciate Gary’s input, I think we’re more than capable of preparing for the game ahead without it. Unless he wants to join my coaching staff, I don’t really care what he thinks” I replied crankily. That drew a frown from Howell sitting next to me. Abraham fired off a follow-up question before he could rescue me though. “Isn’t that pretty disrespectful to someone who’s a club legend?” he asked, as Howell started to stand and declared the press conference over. I had already been in a bad mood at the start of the press conference, after both Pett and Aarons had insisted on wages we couldn’t possibly meet in their contract negations earlier in the day. And their agents were pretty unwilling to negotiate. So when Abrahams and Jordan started poking at me, it set me off. It didn’t get much better either. Ten minutes after the press conference, Ian McGuckin told me that Director of Football Monks had decided to start recruiting his own staff, adding Sammy Pressman as the U18’s assistant manager and putting further pressure on our overstretched wage budget. I spent most of that evening looking online for AA meetings, realising I had just missed one earlier in the evening. I contemplated the gym, but for some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to go there. Instead, I sat in the dark in my apartment at my kitchen table, brooding until I eventually fell asleep.

First order of business for me on Monday morning was popping into the ticket office. As always, Sarah was already there. It seemed like she lived in the place. “Morning boss” she greeted me cheerfully when I entered. “Tickets for Gateshead are going like hot cross buns at Easter weekend. Nearly six thousand sold!” “Aye, chairman texted me earlier. Think he’s delighted with the cash” I replied. “Oh” her face dropped. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to rain on your parade there” I said apologetically. “I was actually hoping you could help me with something” Her face brightened again at that suggestion. “Of course, what can I do for you?” “Well…” I wasn’t sure how to put it. “A friend of mine and her little boy are hoping to come to a game soon, but I’m not really sure which one they’ll be able to make. But would you be able to keep me a couple good seats spare? Obviously bill me the costs” “Of course!” she beamed enthusiastically. “What names, just so I know I’m not giving them out to anyone” she laughed. “Jessica and her little boy is Alfie” “Last name?” she frowned. “Erm…” She laughed again. “You don’t know it, do you? How did you meet this… friend” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “It’s not like that” I said, twisting uncomfortably. “I’m sure it’s not” she winked, seemingly taking great pleasure in my discomfort. “Shall I try and get H’Angus to visit them before the game? Kids usually love that, especially if it’s his first game?” “Yeah, that would be great”. H’Angus the Monkey was of course Hartlepool’s mascot, named after the famous monkey that was hung by locals as a French spy sometime in the early 1800s. “Not a problem. I’ll make sure they’re ready for the next few games we’ve got at home” “Thanks Sarah, I owe you one” “No worries, coach. Hope it works out for you” she added another wink.

6th of August, 2023 Castlereagh House, Durham The first hurdle for Bertrand would probably be the most difficult one. He had arranged to meet Lady Ellie to speak to her about Chris Browne. He had hoped the Viscount would sit this one out, but instead, his Lordship insisted on being present. It could complicate matters. Bertrand sat on the couch opposite Lady Ellie, with Lord Castlereagh in his usual armchair between the two couches. “So, your husband has already told me bits and bobs, but I’d like to hear it all from you, from the start, if you please” “Do we have to go through it all?” objected the Viscount immediately. “If his Lordship would be more comfortable, we can do this without him?” Bertrand said, flashing a sideways look. Ellie shook her head. “It’s fine” she said with a sigh. “I was seventeen when I met him, in a bar. He was cute, for an older guy, and he clearly thought the same of me. He was also drinking like a fish and quite happy to buy me drinks, so I let him feel me up a bit. One thing led to another and before you know it we’re back at his, getting it…” “Oh please” the Viscount complained “For Gods sake Daniel, like it is beyond to realms of possibility that I’ve had sex with anyone other than you” Ellie hissed at her husband. “In any case, it was a one-night thing for him, mostly” she said, turning back to Bertrand. “And for you?” asked Bertrand. Ellie turned her face downwards in embarrassment. “I’d fallen head over heels for him. I lived back in Essex then, but when he got a job in Bromsgrove, I managed to rent a room nearby and started watching him” she said softly. “That’s when I noticed I wasn’t the only one following him. There was a middle-aged guy, wearing a fedora and one of those long raincoats. So I rang Chris to tell him about it” “How did he respond?” “He rang back a few days later, in the middle of the night, asking me over. But when I got there the door was locked and there was no answer when I knocked or rang the bell. That was the last time we spoke until he came out of prison” “And you didn’t see him either?” “I didn’t say that. I still kept tabs on him. I was like a little lost puppy, just turned eighteen with too much time and not enough affection” she glanced over at her husband, who was pretending not to listen while reading his paper. “I saw the guy with the raincoat lurking in a car outside Chris’ building on the day before, you know….” “Anything else you can tell me about this man. Or the car he was in?” “Not really, the car was silver, maybe a Vauxhall or a Volkswagen, something like that” “Hmm, not sure that’ll get us anywhere. Anything else?” Bertrand asked, but Ellie shook her head. “Why are you convinced he didn’t kill the girl?” he went on. Ellie cast her eyes down again, hesitating. “Tell him what you told me” said Viscount Castlereagh. Ellie sighed. “I was outside the house that night. I was angry at him for taking another woman out to dinner and then they were all over each other when they came back. I wanted to kill them both, I was so angry. There was an open window on the back of the house, big enough for me to climb in through, right next to a drainpipe. I had to be very careful, but I managed to get up to the window. I had a big knife with me and I was gonna do it. I peered in to make sure the way was clear. It was some sort of spare room, but the door was open, and in the hallway, walking away from me, was a guy, dressed in black, carrying a knife by his side. So I got the hell down and rang the police from the path near the house. And then I made myself scarce” “And why did you never tell the police this” Bertrand’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “You’ve got to understand, I wasn’t in a reasonable frame of mind at that time. I was so angry. And I was terrified of getting accused. I had gone there to kill them both after all, and you know, Chris could say I was stalking him. I resented myself for that later, but it was too late by then” “And so you said nothing? But why tell people now?” “Chris is having it hard enough with everything that’s happened to him. He deserves to have his name cleared. And that way, Daniel’s company doesn’t have to pull out of sponsoring Hartlepool. I owe him. But you can’t tell Chris. Ever” she pleaded. “You want me to find the real killer, without ever revealing your part?” Bertrand frowned. “If anyone can, it’s you, my friend” said the Viscount, lowering his paper and joining the plea. “I know it’s not an easy job, but if you can untangle this mess, we’d both be most grateful”

“Was that a missed opportunity, Chris?” The question was asked by the balding gentlemen from BBC Tees, who had evidently made the long arduous journey down the A1 as well. “I think we missed more than one, in fairness. But yes, that’s a game we should’ve won” “Was it a bad time to concede, just before half-time?” asked one of the local journalists, who I didn’t know. “Well, any time to concede is bad, but if we reach half-time with a 1-0 lead, I think we’d see a different game. Barnet seemed happy with a point and didn’t really come forward. They only started to get chances once we tried to send more people forward. Thankfully Dixon had a good day in goal or we could’ve ended up with nothing” “Will you be looking to address the finishing issue by bringing in additional players? I heard you’ve been looking at J’Neil Bennett for instance”. This game from the baby-faced kid called Jordan. I’d forgotten his last name, but he seemed to get around a bit for sure. “At this point, no. It’s just been one game. As for Bennett, I don’t know him” I said, rising to indicate the post-match presser was over. I scanned the room, but there was no sign of Robbie Abraham. I guess he had a different game to cover in the North East, which suited me just fine. Babyface Jordan seemed to be picking up the slack while he wasn’t here anyway. The kid was right in that we were still looking to strengthen the team, but there was still no money, so any signings would have to be on a free. Preferably on a non-contract deal, but that was probably unlikely. In any case, there were two names on my list and I was planning to send them an offer of training with us for the week. The first was Tom Pett, a central midfielder who previously played for Port Vale and Stevenage, and was a solid passer of the ball according to Monks. The other was winger Rolando Aarons, who had been at Newcastle and Huddersfield. He was pacey, but I wasn’t entirely convinced by the report on his technical abilities. I phoned Monks from the bus on the way home to ask him to get the offers out so they’d hopefully be able to join us for Monday's training. Speaking of training, the rest of the bus journey was used by the coaching staff to work out training for the week going forward. Finishing was one thing high on the list for the first part of the week, but depending on Erik Avins’ report on Gateshead I was willing to be flexible. It might be that next week’s opponents required special. But I wouldn’t have that report until Monday, so for the time being, we pencilled in a lot of finishing.

5th of August, 2023 The Hive, Harrow Barnet vs Hartlepool United (Vanarama National League) I got home from the gym without any further incidents, my mood lifted by the endorphins of exercise and the encounter with Jessica. It was odd in a way. You don’t really notice the absence of social interaction with people in the world, until one happens and you realise it’s the first person you’ve randomly spoken to in weeks. And then suddenly you notice that people have avoided you, or speaking to you, outside of work related matters. Comes with having had your name in the papers as a convicted criminal I guess. At least Jessica seemed willing to take a chance on me. In any case, I had other things on my mind as we heeded down the A1 towards London to face Barnet. Mazfari and Jameson were both back, but Dixon would be our starting goalkeeper. In front of him were four defenders, starting with Hendrie on the right, Lacey and Onariase in the middle and Ferguson wearing the captain’s armband on the left. In central midfield, Cooke and Crawford shared the responsibilities, with Anthony Mancini in front of them as the attacking midfield. That left Hastie and Njdoli on the wings and Mani Dieseruvwe got the nod up front over Umerah. I didn’t need much of a pre-match speech. Looking around the dressing room these guys were ready. There was a steely determination in their eyes. So I just left them with one line. “Long way to come to be leaving with nothing, lads. Make sure we don’t” It turned out that was pitched exactly right. We dominated the early scrimmages, keeping the ball well when we had it and winning it back quickly when we didn’t. Crawford put the hosts on notice with a well aimed shot just three minutes in, but the Barnet goalkeeper was there to turn it away for a corner. As we had practiced in training, we built from the back, shifting the ball around quickly to force an opening. Thus it went from Lacey to Cooke, to Crawford, who laid it back off for Cooke. The vice-captain shifted it out right to Hastie who slipped past his man and swung in a cross for Ndjoli. It would’ve been easier to score than miss, but unfortunately Ndjoli fluffed his lines, hitting at the keeper first and then putting the rebound wide across the goal. The move deserved more, but five minutes later we had our just reward. Cooke had just had an free kick saved and it was punted up the pitch. Onariase brought it down and we built from the back again. This time, we went through the middle and Crawford slid a pass through into the area for Anthony Mancini. The attacking midfielder took one touch to switch it to his right foot and fired a low shot into the net. Just over fifteen minutes in and we were one to the good. If Barnet thought the goal was going to settle us down, they were mistaken. Four minutes after the opener, the hosts turned over possession in midfield and we quickly countered through the left of the pitch. Ndjoli crossed it in for the late arriving Crawford and Tom really should’ve made it two, but missed. He held his head in his hands in disgust. Moments later, it was his midfield partner Callum Cooke whose thunderbolt smacked off the post and out of play. Half an hour into the game, we had eight shots, five of which were on target, while Barnet had had none. But I was getting concerned that we weren’t kililng off the game. “This is going to come back to bite us” I observed to Goodlad as Mancini fired just wide after another turnover and counter attack. Cooke and Crawford were buzzing around the midfield like angry wasps, hoovering up everything and breaking up Barnet’s play at every opportunity, while also providing passes into dangerous areas for our lads to run onto. Ndjoli missed two more good chances before the half was out, first heading straight at the keeper and then having a shot saved from close range. As the clock ticked to 45+1 I was preparing to offer the team some gentle encouragement about their finishing, but praising their control of the game when the inevitable happened. Out of nowhere, Barnet were level. From a throw-in on the left, they swung a high ball into the back post where Potter outjumped Hastie and Crawford and nodded home a leveller. It was their first effort all half, but it was all level again and that’s what mattered. Needless to say, that had soured my mood for the half-time team talk. “Well, that was a bit of a sucker punch. But that’s what happens when you don’t kill the game off, gentlemen. We’ve had plenty of opportunities and they’ve barely had the ball, but the only statistic that matters is goals. Kill it off in the second half, they don’t deserve to be in this game” Credit to the team, they picked up straight where they left off. Cooke had an effort that flew just over the bar and then put a free kick just wide moments later. But Barnet had been buoyed by their goal and it took a great save from Dixon to deny Gorman, while Hendrie made a last ditch tackle to prevent the resulting corner from becoming dangerous. By the hour mark, it was time for fresh legs. Cooke was knackered and came off for Featherstone, while Dieseruvwe, who had been invisible so far, came off for Umerah. Alex Lacey was next to miss the target, heading over from a Ferguson free kick on the wing. Mancini also had ran his legs off and came off for Dolan, with Crawford moving to the attacking midfielder role. Goodlad had got up and demanded more going forward from the team. But we were fighting a losing battle, despite a late flurry. Crawford, Featherstone and Dolan all had efforts at goal, but none of them actually on target. In fact, none of our second half efforts had been on target and it was a stark reminder of our plight. “We should’ve won that and I think we’ll have to work on our finishing, but that said, you can’t argue with how we dominated the game and how much we created. Trust the process and we’ll get it right before you know it” Final Score Barnet 1 (Potter 45+1) Hartlepool 1 (Mancini 16) Attd: 2015

That evening I couldn’t settle. I was still internally raging, but also nervous as hell. Tomorrow would be the first league game and an away one at that. I was wondering about the sort of reception I’d get. I was starting to have second thoughts about taking ninety minutes of abuse. But more than that, Robbie Abraham had gotten under my skin again. For the first time in thirteen years, I was dying for a drink. Not a good sign for an alcoholic. I’d been doing well enough never to think about seeking out a meeting since I’d been released and I wasn’t sure if I was going to find one at eight pm on a Friday evening. So I did the next best thing, I got changed and drove to the gym. It was only a couple blocks over from the stadium. We had our own gym at the training facilities at Durham, but without one in Hartlepool, we’d struck a deal which allowed us to use this one as both players and staff. Thankfully it wasn’t too busy on a Friday evening and I spent the next ninety minutes putting myself through a rigorous routine. It hurt like hell but in a good way. And it was better than going to the pub. I sat down on a bench to recover from the final set of exercises, head bowed and breathing hard with sweat pouring off my face. I heard soft footsteps approaching but ignored them as I tried to suck in some oxygen. “Excuse me?” a soft voice said. I looked up to see a woman standing a couple of yards away. She was dressed in common gym attire, a vest top and skin-tight leggings. She was skinny, lithe almost, but her arms were more sculpted than mine. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, which gave her face as somewhat stern look. But it wasn’t an unattractive one. There was a hint of embarrassment and apprehension on it. “Hi, sorry” she stammered. “Aren’t you the Hartlepool manager?” “Yeah” I nodded, wondering what was coming. She looked around again, nervously keeping her distance. “I’m sorry to ask, but my son is a massive Pools fan…” she held out a piece of paper with the Gym’s logo on it and a pen. My face broke into a relieved smile. “Of course” I said reaching for the pen and paper. I had to get up to reach them as she was still not getting any closer. Taking the hint, I returned to the bench after taking the pen and paper. “What’s his name?” “Alfie” she smiled in reply. “How old is he?” I asked, trying to make conversation as I wrote on the piece of paper before signing “He’s eight” “I have to say, this is a first for me” I laughed as I held out the pen and paper. She took a step forward and almost snatched them out of my hand before stepping back. “Thank you. He’ll love this” “No worries, thank you. You might not realise, but you’ve just made my day” I said. Her eyes sparkled at that remark. She was about to turn and walk away when an idea popped into my head “Has he ever been to a game?” “No. His dickhead of a dad was supposed to have taken him a few times, but he keeps blowing it off” “Tell you what. What’s your name? I’ll make sure there’s a ticket for him and you waiting at the ticket office whenever you feel like going” “I’m Jessica. But really, you don’t have to. My ex-husband should spent less time in the pub and more time being a dad” she shrugged. “But you know, drunk’s gonna drink…” I shuffled uncomfortably at the remark. “Well, the offer is there” I said. “Thank you” Jessica replied, turning to go back to her own business. She took a few steps, stopped and turned back to face me. “You know, you seem a lot nicer in person than what the papers write about you”

dtown: I was always fine with laps, but then I could keep doing them all-day back when I played. Not so much now! 10-3: Stretching is always part of the warmup far as as I (and Chris Browne) are concerned New scout Avins had prepared a scouting report on Barnet, having watched them in a pre-season friendly. I had skimmed through it before my press conference, but there was nothing that really stood out. Barnet had treated their pre-season in a similar fashion to us and although they had a record of four wins from five, only losing to Celtic and narrowly at that. So there was little I could answer to the questions from the local journalists when they asked me what I was expecting from Barnet. “I expect they’ll give it their all. But I don’t think it’s for me to speculate how they’re going to line up. We’ll deal with that when we get there, but I make a point of not being too concerned with the opposition’s tactics. If we play our game, we’ll do fine” “You start the season with a long away trip, is that a worry at all?” asked Alice Newman. “I mean, it’s not ideal, but we’re going to have to play these games anyway. And travelling is a part of that. It is what it is” I replied philosophically. “I’ve been hearing talk about unrest in the dressing room about your training methods, would you care to comment on that” No prizes for knowing who asked that question. I didn’t even look at Abraham before I responded. “No, next” But Abrahams wasn’t deterred “I think the fans have a right to know, don’t you? If you’re upsetting players by making them do conditioning exercises like it’s 1980s East Germany, then the fans may have an opinion on that” he pushed. “I don’t know where you are getting your information, but it is not accurate”. Abraham tried to push again, but this time our press guy stepped in. “I think that will be all for today, thank you everyone” he said, ushering me out of the room. There was a rage boiling inside me, someone was feeding Abraham this info and I was determined to find out who it was.