JoeLatics

Members
  • Content count

    734
  • Joined

  • Last visited

About JoeLatics

  • Rank
    Amateur

About Me

  • About Me
    Oldham!

Interests

  • Interests
    FM... Guh!

Favourite Team

  • Favourite Team
    Oldham
  1. Erm - wouldn't that just be a matter of exporting the database and importing it in to the new version? Or am I missing something?
  2. How rude of me, I haven't commented in ages! One of the 2 stories I check every day when I turn on my laptop, KUTGW mate!
  3. Thanks for all the kind comments! I'm having issues with the database before even starting (namely that poor old Finley isn't getting any games above U18 ) which I'm trying to sort out, so please don't think I've forgotten about this!! Cheers
  4. I'd just like to sincerely apologise for the complete lack of posting the last couple of weeks. Life's just got all mega busy (I'm in the process of applying for Medicine at Uni!!), and kinda took over, what with interviews and so on. Thinking about it, this was probably the worst possible time to start a story, as I've got exams coming up in January as well!! Still, I'll try to persevere, although posting may become very sporadic at times! Thanks all. Accountant! (How the heck did you get that, Drog?! ) After pulling up in the car park of the skyscraper in which he worked, Fin stepped out of his Volvo, pausing only to adjust his tie before stepping through the revolving doors. The office was on the top floor, so, despite being fitter than most of the footballers whom he refereed, Fin elected to take the lift. He pressed the button and waited. And waited. And waited. “Bloody hell,” he thought, “this is taking its time!” Fin felt someone walking up to him, and turned around, seeing the Caretaker, dressed head to toe in his blue Caretakers’ uniform. Without saying a word, the balding skinny man slapped a sing on the doors of the elevator, helpfully informing Fin that the elevator was “Out Of Order” “Fan-ducking-taskic, just what I needed”. Fin trudged up towards the stairs... …................................................................ …................................................................ …................................................................ “Late, Moran” commented the office boss as Fin walked in to the office, without so much as looking up from the computer monitor. “Sorry Sir”, Fin mumbled back. You, the ever observant reader of this story, will have no doubt noticed Fin’s utter lack of confidence in this particular setting; far detached from his usual demeanor. The more astute of you will have noticed what an inconsiderate idiot his boss is. The fact is, Fin hated his day job. After graduating St Arnaldo’s High School, he entered into an apprenticeship with Kirkwood & Son’s Accountancy Firm, who essentially worked to allow very rich people to continue to be rich by spotting tax loopholes. What had started as a tiny 2 man venture (with Kenneth Kirkwood and Son) had, over time, evolved into a small-to-medium sized firm of over 50, with several branches across the North West. The boss of Kirkwood & Son (Preston) was in fact the Son. Trevor Kirkwood was now well into his 50s, hair beginning to grey, wrinkles now starting to show. A genius accountant by any stretch of the imagination, he had graduated from Oxford with a First at the age of 21, before starting the firm with his father. This had, unfortunately, only gone to inflate his ego hugely, and he regarded himself as being the bee’s knees, almost incapable of any sort of error or oversight. “You’ve got this match of yours tomorrow, haven’t you Moran?” questioned Kirkwood. “Erm - yes, Sir.” Fin replies uneasily. “I’ve told you time and time again, Moran” Kirkwood said in a patronising, raised voice, “You’re never going to get anywhere with this ridiculous refereeing malarkey! You’d be better to pack it in now and focus on the firm!” Fin made no response. This sort of goading from the boss was becoming an all too common routine for him - “Just ignore him Fin, he has no idea what he’s on about!”. He made his way over to his cubicle, past the other members of staff who were smirking at him. “I can’t wait to get out of here....”
  5. Thanks a lot, Scott Now stop spending your time reading, and carry on with writing Abyss! :L Present Day 7am. Fin woke up that morning, freshening up before going downstairs. He got a bowl and poured his cereal. He was seeing everything, and knew that time was ticking on and on (and that everybody was rushing). He knew that tomorrow would be the day. Unsurprisingly, he’d received a letter from the FA promoting him to Level 2 around April last year. He’d known that promotions don’t take effect until the next season, but even so, he found it very difficult to stay motivated to referee games like Ossett Town v Mickleover Sports (a drab affair finishing 2-1 in favour of the away side, played in front of a crowd of just 58) when he knew that fixtures involving relative heavyweights such as Luton, Cambridge, and Darlington could be just around the corner. He barely even dared to dream of what could happen if he performed well at Level 2 - “who knows”, he thought, “perhaps I could even end up as Level 1”... Fin was brought out of his thoughts by his girlfriend (who, dear reader, for the sake of provoking some sort of interest in this particular story ark, will not be named at this time. Suffice to say you’ll know soon enough...), who reminded him that he was going to be late for work if he didn’t get a move on. (Referees even at Level 2 are not, of course, professionals.) “Bloody hell, you’re right! It’s almost half seven!” Fin mumbled through a mouth full of Corn Flakes, frankly doing well not to spray them all over the wooden dining table. He took a look up, around the dining room of the house which (the as yet, anonymous girlfriend) had picked out a few months ago. The dining room was, in fact, one with the living room, separated only by an arch. Both rooms’ walls were cream, which was nicely contrasted by the deep brown of the table and chairs in the dining room, and sofa of the living room. Fin wasn’t allowed to keep his small display box containing the various medals he’d accumulated over the years (from a medal for Assisting in the Oldham Youth League U-12 Cup Final right up to refereeing the Northern Premier League play-off finals last year) in the living room, which he felt would have been much more interesting to look at than the (admittedly impressive) 42” flatscreen TV which occupied that space in the corner instead. The refereeing fees, combined with the more-than-decent salary Fin received from his regular job made for a very comfortable standard of living, especially for a 22 year old. Whilst many people his age were now wondering how on earth they could pay off debts from University, Fin had already climbed onto the housing ladder, and was very much enjoying life in the semi-detached on Taylor Street, Preston. Having finally finished his cereal, Fin ran upstairs, quickly got changed and brushed his teeth (NB. not simultaneously), and ran out of the front door, stopping only to give a short kiss to (Anon!). He opened the door of his Volvo V60, and set off for his last day of normal work before The Big Match. He was barely able to take his mind off it, but eventually managed to focus again on his day’s work as an...
  6. Thanks mcglede, that means a lot I will eventually get round to actually getting FM into it, I promise! Fin followed John into the Carter’s Arms pub. “Pint of bitter for me and Fin here please, Brian!” shouted John as soon as he saw the barman. Brian, a plump man with a cherry red face, stopped wiping down the glasses long enough to had a long look at Fin, before walking across to the pumps to get their drinks, evidently not particularly caring about serving minors - those accompnied by John McDermott, at least. Fin wasn’t totally comfortable here - he’d never drank alcohol in public before. In fact, the idea of it disgusted it, given what had happened to his father. “Not the time to be thinking about that” he thought, managing to withhold the single tear which had almost formed itself in his eye. Perhaps, had things been different, it would have been his Dad coming along to his first match with him, his Dad sneakily buying him his first pint, his Dad giving him the words of encouragement and advice after his first match (who, after all, would have been in a better position to give feedback than Tim Moran?!). Instead, he was here with a man he’d only known for 5 minutes, who, despite seeming a good enough guy, surely could never make up for the lack of a Dad in recent years. “Fin?” John said cautiously, looking slightly concerned. “Yeah, yeah, sorry. I was in my own little world then!” replied Fin calmly. “Haha, no problems! Come and sit over here, Fin, and we’ll have a little chat” responded John, sitting down at the nearest table, next to the window. Fin did so, but wasn’t properly paying attention to where he was walking, and accidentally cut across the path of the young barmaid who was bringing the drinks over to John. She didn’t see him either, till it was too late, and tripped over him, hitting the floor with a thud, followed shortly after by the pint glasses, which smashed into thousands of tiny pieces, throwing the golden coloured liquid within everywhere. “Oh Jesus, I’m so sorry!” Fin apologised immediately, offering his hand to help the barmaid up. “Don’t worry about it”, she smiled, taking his hand and standing back up. Fin looked at her properly for the first time, and was nearly blown away. She was a few years older than him, probably 16 or 17. Her straight, blonde hair came down to her shoulders, complimenting the shape of her face quite nicely. Her face was made up with red lipstick, mascara highlighting the eyelashes around her deep blue eyes. Despite looking slightly older than Fin, she was also slightly shorter - Fin, tall for his age was already standing at about 5ft 9, whilst she was 5ft 7 at most. A normal, red blooded teenager, Fin couldn’t help but notice her decent décolletage, emphasised by her fairly low cut top. “I’m Fin” dribbled out of his mouth after a moment or two. “Emily” she smiled. “I’m just going to go to get the brush and mop” she said before turning and walking back to the bar. “Hey!” shouted John, startling Fin who had forgotten that he was there, “What about our drinks?!” Brian didn’t seem the type to give out free drinks, but in this case clearly felt it necessary, reluctantly pulling another two pints without a word upon hearing this particular objection. “Now lad,” John began once Fin had finally taken his seat across from the older referee, “let’s just go through that match, blow by blow...”
  7. Cheers ttl 16th April 2003 (Oldham Youth League) - Royton Boys (U12) vs Shaw Lads (U12) “FOR F#CK’S SAKE, REFEREE!” screamed the Royton manager yet again, “THAT WAS A BLATANT F#CKING PENALTY, YOU GINGER TW@T!!!” Only two days past his 14th birthday, and thus only just old enough to have qualified as a referee with Lancashire FA, Fin couldn’t help but be somewhat disconcerted by this constant abuse from the large Royton coach, who looked to be in his mid-30s. Fin, conscious of the need to show no weakness, shook his head, and assertively shouted “No penalty; he won the ball”. The manager was about to set off on yet another rant after hearing this, but his assistant put an arm around him, and tried to calm him down. Refereeing had always been the goal for Fin. Whilst other boys in the playground at St Howard’s Primary had been running around on the concrete, using jumpers for goalposts and tin cans for footballs (except for the odd occasion after a birthday, when they had the luxury of a bright flyaway ball), Fin would be spending time reading up on the game’s Laws; eventually becoming the point of reference when his classmates had disputes about whether Robbie Fowler’s latest goal was offside, or if Steve McManaman deserved to be sent off. He would watch Match of the Day every week, although this was purely to be able to settle such disputes - as one of the very few Oldham Athletic fans in the classroom (the rest supporting their more glamorous neighbours), he cared more about Joe Royle’s Division One team than any Premier League matters. Fin had been waiting literally his entire life for this, his first match, and wasn’t about to let some fat know-it-all of a manager ruin it for him. “Your language and behaviour is completely inappropriate”, he said to the manager at the next stoppage in play. “This is an Under 12’s match, and they should not be subjected to such language. If you carry this on, I will be forced to eject you from the vicinity of the field of play.” With that, he returned to the match. He was pleased to see the large grin which was originally on the manager’s face when he walked over slowly disappear as he continued his dressing down. He had got the message over quite expertly. ..................................................... Score: Royton Boys U12 - 12 Shaw Lads U12 - 14 Full time. Fin had done it. He’d refereed his first ever game. He was somewhat disconcerted to see a man looking to be in his mid 40s, and wearing a trench coat approach him once the whistle had gone. The man broke into a smile, and extended his hand to shake “John McDermott” he introduced himself, in a broad Northern accent, “A pleasure to meet you, Fin!”. Fin relaxed; John was the League’s Referee Co-Ordinator, the man who had given him this match. “And yourself, John!” Fin replied, shaking his boss’s hand. “That was a bloody incredible display, my lad! I barely spotted a single wrong decision there!” Fin was extremely pleased to hear this. “Thank you very much, that means a lot to me!”. “Why not come with me now for a pint, and we’ll have a chat about it?” “Sounds great, although I’m not old enough to drink!” replied Fin. “Don’t worry mate” John replied with a wink, “I know the barman...”
  8. An interesting variation on the FMS theme - perhaps even outside the rules (I sure hope it isn't!). I genuinely have no idea how well this will be received, but let's see how it goes!! 12th February 2011 “So, Fin. I see you’ve been refereeing at Level 3 standard up to now.” Fin Moran wasn’t usually a nervous character - in fact, in his line of work, he couldn’t afford to be. A single sign of weakness can make the difference between mass brawls and everyone going home without having even noticed the referee’s presence. Despite this, he was absolutely bricking it now, here at his interview for promotion. “Yes, that’s correct” he managed to mumble out. “Damn it Fin, get a bloody grip!” he thought to himself. The interviewer, a middle aged FA executive smiled whilst Fin took a moment to recompose himself. “Excellent. Look, I can see that you are probably too good for that Level. Frankly, you should be officiating at a higher level than Contrib. games - you’re on Step 4, correct?” “Yes. I referee the Northern Premier League, and act as Assistant for the Blue Square North from time to time.” “I see” came the reply from the FA executive. He took in the appearence of Fin, who was dressed smartly in a black suit and red tie, which complimented his short, flame red hair. He seemed nervous but composed. Neither his bright blue eyes, nor his youthful face gave anything away. “Which do you prefer”, he asked, “Refereeing or acting as Assistant?” “Refereeing without a doubt” replied Fin, a small smile on his face. “I prefer to be able to make the decisions about my style, about how much I’ll let the game flow. I’m a leader, not a follower, although I am, of course, happy to receive any input from other members of the team”. “Good answer”, he thought. “Sure, sure. I felt the same myself when I was active. Fin, would you mind giving me a quick overview of your career to date? Frankly, this interview is a bit of a waste of time. You’re getting the promotion unless you say something completely ridiculous. Just for my sake, how on earth have you managed to essentially become a Level 2 referee at the age of just 22?!” “Long story” thought Fin, as he cast his mind back over the years...
  9. LANCASHIRE! We're in bloody Lancashire!!! Otherwise, this story is simply amazing. I've only ever been able to get into 2 stories on this board, and this is one of them. Gutted to have finally caught up, waiting for updates is gonna kill me Amazing stuff, KUTGW!!!
  10. Your tea lady must be bloody amazing...
  11. Looks incredible. I'm staying skin-virgin until this one, baby!!!!
  12. The AI doesn't know you're on holiday, it wouldn't affect the outcome of MotY.
  13. Bad day for Greg Wright!!!
  14. OP - I'm sure you could get some help of the community if you asked! Hope it's going well.
  15. It's common sense... you wouldn't expect a player to be allowed to dribble the ball from a PK, hitting the post doesn't make any difference!