Till Derby Do Us Part (short story)

Author's notes: played on FM 9.0.2 with all major leagues selected. This save was going to be a 'fast-forward' one, more for fun than anything else, but I came across a situation I couldn't help but write about (with characters inserted, of course...)

Enjoy!

ttl

22 May 09

Mark Winters looked out his office window and couldn’t help but smile.

It was a bright, sunny May morning, with just a hint of summer in the air. While he admired the view of the training pitch now in full green-up, a warm breeze wafted through the window’s screen.

The fresh air swirled and eddied around his face. Seated at his desk, he leaned back in his chair and enjoyed the moment.

Rushden and Diamonds’ manager couldn’t help but feel pleased. After a disappointing finish to his team’s season that saw Kidderminster catch and pass them for the championship on the final day of play, they had pulled it all together the previous evening. The performance had come at exactly the right time.

Oxford United – sarcastically referred to as “Oxford and Diamonds” by some of the hardcore support after onetime manager Brian Talbot bolted for them a few years back, bringing several players with him – was the victim. Nene Park was filled to the rafters for the first time since the league days and the faithful were rewarded with a 2-0 second leg playoff victory.

The result overhauled the 1-0 first leg loss at the Kassam Stadium and put Winters’ beloved Diamonds in the Conference National’s playoff final. Soon, the surroundings would change.

“Hard to believe Wembley’s only an hour away from here,” he mused to himself. “Might as well have been on bloody Mars for all we knew about it.”

Another breeze passed through the window, again filling the room with fresh air. Winters inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, and thought, just for a moment, about leading R&DFC back to the promised land.

To him, the clean, fresh breeze seemed like an omen.

Brett Solkhon stood in the center circle of the training pitch and lofted ball after ball toward the goal at the west end of the training ground.

A former Denmark u-21 defender, his forehead had accounted for Kettering Town’s 1-0 victory over Aldershot two days before – the only goal in their two-leg playoff tie.

The Poppies had languished in the lower reaches of the Conference for years, but this was the year they had got it right. A late-season charge saw Town move up five places in the table in the last four weeks, but then maximum points will do that.

Their charge moved them to fourth place overall – two spots behind their hated rival, Rushden and Diamonds. More importantly, it put them in the playoff race for League football for the first time in their history.

Solkhon was having fun. There seemed to be a lot of fun in Kettering nowadays. As one would expect, the players were local heroes. And, as a former Diamond, he now had a point to prove.

After the day’s light training session, Solkhon was the only player left on the pitch. In five days’ time, Kettering Town would meet arch-rival Rushden and Diamonds with a spot in the Football League at stake. It was a chance Solkhon was determined not to waste.

He was lost in thought. The repetition of his long punts up the pitch served to put his mind at ease. Half an hour after his teammates had gone home, he remained.

A voice called to him from the touchline. “Don’t leave it all on the pitch,” he heard, and the defender turned to face a woman.

“Sorry,” he smiled. “Just getting my thoughts straight.”

“Well, they’re going to close the place for the day, so you’d better hurry,” the woman said.

Solkhon picked up the balls he had been kicking up and down the park, and headed toward the players’ tunnel.

“Ten o’clock tomorrow, right, gaf?” he asked.

“That’s right,” she answered. “Big match coming up.”

Brett Solkhon smiled at his team’s boss. “So tell me, what’ll happen in your house when you keep your husband from going to the Football League?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Nora Winters answered. Solkhon left for the players’ tunnel while Nora headed through the main gate.

“Or rather, I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,” she mused, getting into her car and driving away.

Rushden and Diamonds Football Club was once the model for England’s small clubs to emulate.

Bankrolled by Dr. Martens tycoon Max Griggs, for some years the club created through the merger of Rushden Town and Irthlingborough Diamonds was the ‘hot’ place to be in lower league football.

Budgets were big back then, the Diamond Centre conference facility Griggs had built adjacent to the ground was personally opened by Prince Charles – who flew in for the occasion – and times were very, very good.

The team rocketed up through the lower leagues and the Conference, reaching as high as League One before falling back. Players like non-league legend Darren Collins, striker Onandi Lowe and goalkeeper Billy Turley helped raise Diamonds to heights unimaginable in the pre-merger days. The sky seemed to be the limit.

Unfortunately, a solid glass ceiling stood between R&DFC and the sky. When the club hit that ceiling, it hit hard. The money ran out.

Tough economic times meant tough times for Dr. Martens and for the Griggs family. The budgets dried up. Players found other clubs. Lowe scored 49 goals in 90 matches before leaving first for Coventry and then for court after drug allegations, Turley left for “Oxford and Diamonds” after failing a drug test, and Max Griggs got out of the football business.

His son Stephen ran the club for a time, before turning it over to a supporters’ trust a few years later. While the intentions were noble, the money became scarcer than ever. The club that was once the darling of small clubs throughout Britain now stood on the brink of extinction.

Enter businessman Keith Cousins, who gave the club a desperately needed injection of funds. However, in the restricted economic environment of the modern era, it was hard to grow the club in the manner everyone desired.

A series of managers came and went, with Paul Hart starting the 2008-09 season at Nene Park but not finishing there. Perhaps in desperation, Cousins turned to a club legend.

Mark Winters had played for the club in its glory days, a midfielder who was a nice fit for the lower leagues. Born in the Northeast, he was a Newcastle trainee before his release at age 18. He bounced through the lower leagues before finding Diamonds in the summer of 2000.

The result, to put it mildly, was positive. An instant hit with the supporters due to his tireless energy and boundless enthusiasm, Winters played 198 games for the club, scoring 26 times and gaining a reputation as a rough customer in the process.

Sensing his skills beginning to fade, he called time on his career at age 33. Happy with the ending of his career, he settled into a job with the Inland Revenue while volunteering with the club’s youth setup. On weekends, you’d see him on the Peter de Banke terrace singing for his beloved club.

That is, until Hart left by mutual consent, taking most of his backroom staff with him.

The call came suddenly. Cousins offered him the caretaker’s role for the rest of the season. Winters jumped at the chance, even though the thought of leaving a government job for the rough-and-tumble world of football management gave him pause.

Results were good enough for Cousins and the club’s support, and he was offered the full-time job for the 2009-10 season. The process of re-growing Rushden and Diamonds Football Club could begin, but now a significant obstacle presented itself. That obstacle shared Mark Winters’ home and there was no way around that.

Nora Jenkins grew up around football. The only girl in a family of four children, she watched her older brothers all learn to play the game.

Two of them earned youth positions with their local team, Kettering Town. Watching so much football made young Nora want the same opportunity her brothers had. So she took up the game herself, and soon learned she didn’t have the ability of her brothers.

She had a lot more of it. So while her family members watched the local team, when she turned sixteen years of age Nora headed off to London for a tryout with Arsenal Ladies.

Womens’ football, while growing in Britain, isn’t quite yet at the level of countries such as Norway, China, Germany, Brazil or the United States. That didn’t stop Nora, though. She wanted to play, and she wanted to play at home.

Her skills were obvious and her prodigious talent made it certain she wouldn’t return to Northamptonshire for a good long time. She helped Arsenal to five women’s FA Cup championships before the unthinkable happened.

She got married. To one of them.

Her friends in Kettering were surprised. Yet Mark had been kind, gallant in his fashion, and he seemed willing to put that little matter of football loyalty aside in order to get what he wanted. And what he wanted was most definitely Nora Jenkins.

Nora, too, called time on her career after marriage and the Winters family made its home in Rushden. That in itself wasn’t so bad, but then the other shoe dropped.

Like many of the male gender, Nora discovered after she left that she really wanted to stay around football. Meanwhile, the fortunes of her hometown club were languishing. An ill-fated ownership by ex-England midfielder Paul Gascoigne went nowhere in a hurry, and the club soon found itself behind its larger neighbors.

Northampton Town, floating in the rarified air of League One, was the biggest kid on the block. While Sixfields Stadium was attracting the best talent, Kettering soon found itself a poor third in the local pecking order behind the Cobblers – and Diamonds.

Ownership decided to try to change all that. So they made a splash, hiring the first woman in Britain – or anywhere else, for that matter – to manage a men’s professional club.

Great writing, tenthree. You might have to check with Jenny and Tina on that first woman thing,

Good point, Gav ... you know where I can find either of them?

___

The conflict was obvious, and it came on more than one front.

There were those who couldn’t get their arms around the idea of a woman managing a group of men. And then, of course, there were those who couldn’t get their arms around the idea of their manager getting her arms around a Diamond.

There was a lot to absorb. There was media attention in the form of magazines, television and tabloids looking for the ‘exclusive’ story about the woman who broke the gender barrier in management. Of course, there was also the absolute need for results.

Those who accused Town of a publicity stunt chortled with glee when the Poppies lost their first match under Nora’s management. They lost it badly, in fact, crashing 5-0 at Histon. Her reign appeared ready to end almost as soon as it started.

But then, results started to come. Prior to Nora’s appointment, the only things the Poppies had done right all season had come in the FA Cup. In her second match, a cup knockout of regional rival Luton Town stopped the whispers for awhile and gave Nora some precious time to settle into the world of management.

While she adjusted, Nora Winters quietly got vital support from her husband. Mark had been around the game longer, he had seen more things and most importantly, he had failed on a much bigger stage when he was released by Newcastle.

He understood that football is a fickle game which is run, played and watched by people who can be fickle by nature. While his wife adjusted to management, and to the people who make football the game it is, Mark gave Nora the inner strength to save her job. He helped her cope, and she loved him for it.

These things weighed heavily on Nora’s mind as she made the final turn toward the couple’s home. She replayed the thought of Solkhon, lobbing ball after ball at the goal while he contemplated playing against his old club with so much at stake, and the potential difficulty that lay ahead.

Even the location of their home was now a source of local controversy. Living in Rushden hadn’t been a big thing at first, but the longer Nora stayed with Kettering, the more difficult it became. The couple had even considered a move to the potential DMZ of Northampton, but soon realized that once there, it was quite possible that nobody would like them.

She pulled her car into the garage and shut down the engine. She sighed heavily, getting out of the vehicle to enter the house through the attached inner door. It wasn’t going to be a pleasant week.

tenthree, I'd just like to point out how annoyingly well you write. It comes across as being effortless, which for writers like me is incredibly frustrating as I spend ten minutes trying to word one sentence!

Apart from that this is excellent

I'm pretty sure my great-grandma either grew up or was born in Rushden so I'll be hoping they win. Never realised Kettering was near there.

Oh, and I'm glad Gav mentioned that Jenny girl. Best. Manager. Ever.

Last I heard Tina was in Scotland and Jenny in the future

Jen, Gav, thanks for the posts, and Jen, thank you for your kind words. I don't know that Nora is better than either Tina or Jen, but there's only one way to find out!

___

“So, love, what odds will you give me?”

Mark’s demeanor was pleasant and energetic, as it always was. Nora smiled in reply.

“You’ll be favoured,” she answered, advancing to her husband’s arms as she walked to him across their sitting room. “I should be asking you the same question.”

It was that time of day when nothing else mattered. There was no talk of injured players, no talk of how the Northants Evening Telegraph would cover the big match, or which half of the “Odd Couple” was treated better by them. For a few precious minutes, Mark and Nora traded in their jobs for each other. On most days, it was the best part of the day.

There had been jokes between them, such as Nora’s e-mailing of an Oxford crest to Mark the day before the second leg of his playoff tie. The memo line of the mail read “Old habits die hard”.

Mark’s response was to send a Diamonds shirt to Nora’s office, which raised some eyebrows but was certainly a fair response in the couple’s eyes.

Now, though, the joking was done. The kidding was over. It was simply Mark and Nora, and that was all that mattered to either of them.

Unfortunately, the moment soon subsided. History was calling, both local and national. It was up to the two of them to match wits, with only one winner.

“I’m not sure I like this playoff business,” Nora sighed.

“Neither do I,” Mark answered. “I wish we could both go.”

“Well, if Kidderminster hadn’t…”

Mark frowned. “Don’t remind me,” he said. “Then you could have gone up alongside us. Wouldn’t that have been nice?”

“I suppose,” Nora answered. “Now, all people can talk about is the derby for promotion. And, which one of us gets left behind.”

“Let’s not think about that until we have to,” Mark said. “I expect you to try to leave me in the dust. You know I’ll be doing the same.”

“I know,” Nora replied. “I just wish it didn’t have to be this way.”

Nene Park has arguably the best facilities in non-league football. Built during the salad days, the place is simply beautiful and Diamonds’ youth program is the envy of some bigger clubs.

Yet league football is what pays for it all, at least in part. Conference clubs don’t have academies, or if they do, they generally don’t last long.

Rushden, though, is different. Players like Lee Tomlin and boxer Curtis Woodhouse learned their footballing trade in the youth ranks there, and every now and again a player pops out from that group that attracts the attention of bigger clubs. The academy has been part of the club’s lifeblood – but without a pending return to league football, the academy was in peril.

Kettering is different. Their youth system isn’t nearly as formalized as Rushden’s, but it did find players like Nora’s brothers. For them to see the team for which they once played now managed by their kid sister was a source of amusement mixed with pride. The entire Jenkins clan showed up to watch training, which for the day was opened to the public.

The session was organized, efficient and today, very well attended. It seemed like every media outlet in Britain also showed up to watch.

The result was an overload of the club’s one-man media department. The decision to open training meant that for that day, Rockingham Road was the media’s Ground Zero. The session had a bit of a carnival atmosphere about it, but Nora tried her best to put that out of her mind.

The subplots were obvious. Yet as Nora saw her entire family walking through the stands to find a place to watch training, she couldn’t help but think about how her husband was doing a few miles away.

brilliant 10-3..looking forward to the match

Mmm, who'll be crying after this match?

tenthree, I'd just like to point out how annoyingly well you write. It comes across as being effortless, which for writers like me is incredibly frustrating as I spend ten minutes trying to word one sentence!

Haha, I was thinking the same thing!

Thanks, all ... the buildup begins!

___

“They’re all with Nora,” Mark laughed to himself as his Diamonds team took to the training pitch at Nene Park. “And that’s fine with me.”

Diamonds’ media gathering was a mere pittance compared to their local rivals. While Mark appreciated the relative solitude, he knew full well that the situation would change over the coming days. You can’t have a human interest story like a football marriage without both sides being covered.

England 'C' striker Lee Tomlin passed Mark on the way to the training pitch. “Gonna be wild around here this week, gaffer,” he said.

“I don’t see how we can avoid it,” Mark replied. “There will be pressure on all of us. We’ll have to handle it as best we can.”

“Don’t mind it coming against Ketterin’,” Tomlin replied, now jogging on his way to work. To Mark, Tomlin’s nonchalance was both a good thing and a bad thing.

Every player wants the big matches and wants to play on the big stage, regardless of the level at which he or she plays. There is surely no bigger stage in England than Wembley, and Diamonds’ first appearance at the national stadium would bring a whole list of issues completely unrelated to the match.

Mark addressed these issues as he stood in the center circle of the training pitch. He gathered his senior squad around him and spoke quietly.

“For most of you, this will be a week unlike any other,” he began. “Some of you have played League football in the past and that’s great. We’ll have an advantage in experience. My purpose today, though, is to remind you of the focus you’ll have to have to be successful this weekend. You’re going to have old friends coming out of the woodwork wanting tickets, wanting favors – some of you may have already gotten the phone calls.”

“Our ticket allocation is more than enough to cover the needs of fans and your friends,” he said. “I encourage you to do everything you can to deflect conversations away from your purpose for this week, which is to learn the plan we’ll use to defeat Kettering Town.”

As Mark spoke, he turned in a slow circle so he could make eye contact with all his players. “Let me be clear,” he said. “As professionals, you know your obligations. I need to tell you now that if you forget those obligations this week, the consequence will be in not lifting that trophy this weekend, and more of those Conference away days next season. Don’t do that to yourselves. Stay focused. Stay disciplined. Stay away from the clubs and stay away from people who will want to capitalize on what is happening to you this week. It’s only for a week – and if you do your jobs now, you can celebrate promotion properly.”

He looked around to judge the impact of his words. Every player looked at him with a solemn expression. “Good,” he said. “Now, I want to add one more thing. This is still a game. That means we have fun playing it. So while we work hard as professionals to prepare for the match, be light about it. Enjoy the opportunity that your hard work has given you, and enjoy your football. When we play well, that’s what we do. So be mindful of that and let’s remember this week as a positive one. Okay, let’s get to work.”

“Let’s keep the cameras behind the fence, please.”

Nora was working as a one-woman media relations department, asking the throng of media at her training session to please mind their manners.

“I’ll talk with you after the session,” she promised. “But now my players and I need the space. So please give us that.”

Club employees were pressed into service to keep the press at bay and thankfully, the photographers and journos were cooperative. The desire for a good story could surely be fulfilled by playing nice in the sandbox. And since it was convenient for them to do so, the media listened to Nora.

Obviously, Rockingham Road was no Carrington in terms of its ability to restrict the press. Most Conference clubs want the press to cover them, providing the antithesis of Sir Alex Ferguson’s raison d’etre for the existence of his training ground.

“It keeps those ****ers from the media out,” he once famously said.

For a club like Kettering Town, the exposure was welcome, even if the reason for the press presence wasn’t entirely a positive one. The clubs would have to share the exposure and from a Poppies perspective, that wasn’t optimal.

Yet, as Nora started her training session, she had to remark that some exposure was better than none. Her players were loose and spirited, displaying the sort of attitude Mark was trying to instill in his own squad across town.

Like her husband, Nora gathered her troops round for a quick pep talk before letting them go to lunch.

“Remember that you’ve nothing to lose this weekend,” she said. “The pressure is on them. They will be favoured, they will be the ones expected to advance because they had the lead until the last day. In the end, though, it will come down to who wants it more. I think we do – in fact, I know we do – but it is down to you to prove that. You’ve got the chance to realize your dream here. You won’t be expected to succeed, which will make it all the sweeter when you do.”

For the time being, Mark and Nora had put each other out of their minds. There was football to be played, money to be made for their clubs, and for the moment love stopped at the training ground gate.

“How do you get on at home this week, Nora?”

The Sky Sports reporter had gotten right to the heart of the matter, so to speak.

“Well, Mark and I haven’t talked about the match and we aren’t likely to,” she said. “We do have jobs, and our jobs involve winning a match this weekend. It would be the same regardless of who we play. Our job is to win and not think about who it is that we’re beating along the way.”

“Would you feel you had one-upped Mark if you win this weekend?”

Nora frowned. “I wouldn’t call it that,” she said. “I would look at it as a win over a rival. That’s really the only way you can look at such a thing.”

“Do you ever give each other advice?”

“No,” she answered. “That wouldn’t be right. We manage rivals so that sort of thing isn’t done.”

“We’ve read published reports that Mark helped you with some of the hidden aspects of managing, like how to cope when things don’t go like you plan.”

The water was getting deep now, and Nora took a deep breath before answering. “Yes, I can confirm that,” she said. “Look at it this way. Mark is my husband and I love him. He doesn’t want to see me upset because I am his wife. That would be true of anyone in a marital relationship. You want your partner to be happy and to approach their life with a positive outlook. Mark gave me some ideas as to how to unwind after matches we lose and when things do not work out the way you put them on the wipeboard. I think he’d do that if he were still working at the Inland Revenue and I’d do the same for him.”

“Inland Revenue, eh?” one reporter asked. “Does this mean his bill is coming due?”

“Please,” Nora sighed. “I think we can all do without that sort of thing.”

It wasn’t exactly a human wave, but Mark could tell when the media was done talking to his wife.

The afternoon session in Rushden was busy. Mark had just dismissed his players to the physios and various plunge pools to ease away the remaining aches from the weekend, just in time to see the throng of journos approaching.

“Do I still have time to hide?” he joked, as press set up for a mass interview.

“No,” one of the television reporters said, with a smile just as wide.

One of the wiseacres opened the questioning with the old Groucho Marx question: “So, have you stopped beating your wife?”

“That’s not funny,” Mark snapped. “Not funny at all.”

“I’m sorry,” the presenter answered. “No offense meant.”

“Please choose your catch phrases more carefully,” Mark replied, shoving his hands into his pockets. This wasn’t the start he had hoped for.

“All right then, your thoughts on managing against your wife for a spot in the Football League?”

“It’ll be quite a match,” he said. “These teams know each other well, there’s a derby atmosphere, and of course the big prize is at stake.”

“How do you react to knowing that one of you will achieve local fame while the other will get left behind?”

“It’s a football match,” Mark answered. “At the end of the day, that is what it is. It’s one that people will talk about for years, admittedly, but the sun will rise the next day regardless of who wins. My job is to make sure that my team wins, of course, but I have every expectation of still being married to Nora after the match is over.”

“The question needs to be asked, Mark,” a reporter in the back of the mob called out. “How do you handle the family aspect of this match? One of you will have lost out to the other and will that have an effect on you?”

“Honestly, there’s only one way to find that out.” Suddenly, Mark felt cold. There was a breeze blowing, and it caught the sweat that now appeared on the back of his neck. A shiver raced down his spine but he dared not show it.

“And you don’t want to find out, do you?” he asked himself, as the questioning continued.

Mark sagged into his easy chair. He was saddened, more than a little bit surprised and strongly considering a change of career.

Nora moved behind him to rub his shoulders. “Come, come,” she said, “it couldn’t have been that bad.”

“You weren’t there,” he replied, closing his eyes. “I have never seen anything like it.”

“People here are decent,” she said, hitting a sore spot in Mark’s neck as she rubbed. He winced with pain and settled back into the chair.

“Some are,” Mark snapped. “Then there are the idiots I saw tonight.”

“Suppose you tell me everything that happened,” she said softly. “And then I’ll remind you whose opinion really matters.”

He didn’t see her humor and couldn’t really have been expected to. It had been an odd evening.

All he wanted to do was shop for some groceries. In the market, he ran into a group of boisterous young supporters wearing the club colors and not surprisingly, he was recognized.

“Hey, boss!” one of them called, and Mark realized right away that he could forget about shopping. He turned and waved, which meant a group of people soon surrounded him all wanting to talk about the match.

“Gotta hump the Ploppies,” one urged him, using one of the Rushden fan’s monikers for their arch-rival.

“We think we have the squad to see them off,” he said, trying to turn back to his shopping.

“Sure your missus won’t like that,” the first fan answered, a somewhat darker expression on his face. “Right, boss?”

“No one likes to lose,” Mark answered. “We’ll give it our all and we hope you’ll see us in the Football League next year. Enjoy the match.”

With that, he shouldered his way through the crowd, only to be followed by three members of the original group.

“You wouldn’t think of takin’ it easy on them because of Nora, would you?” one of them asked, and a new chill ran down Mark’s spine.

“Absolutely not,” he answered. “My job is to win on Saturday regardless of who is on the other team or who is managing them. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

The second fan cut off Mark’s path. “If you lose, we’ll know why,” he said, locking eyes with the manager.

“How dare you,” he spat, and now other onlookers arrived to defuse the situation.

“Make it easy on yourself, boss,” the second whispered as he passed by on the way to the door. “Just win the match. Easy, yeah?”

The tale now hurt to tell. He never even opened his eyes, and Nora felt helpless.

“I shouldn’t have done this to you,” she finally said.

“Done what?” Mark replied, now opening his eyes to look at his wife.

“Taken this job,” she said. “It’s been trouble for both of us.”

A frown creased Mark’s brow. “Nonsense,” he answered, turning fully in his chair. “It’s going to be wonderful for one of us, that’s for sure! It’s the Football League! What we’ve both wanted to do!”

“But it’s going to hurt the other,” Nora said sadly. “We’re both competitors and I know neither of us would hold it against the other, but I can’t say the same for the community and after today neither can you.”

“So I guess it really could be that bad,” Mark said, turning again to face forward in his chair. They both felt trapped.

Excellent idea in all honesty, tenthree. I tire of writing 'excellent stuff', but nothing else does it justice!

Gav, I appreciate it ... hopefully the ending of the story will appeal to you as well ...

___

The day was supposed to be fun. For Mark, the difference between being a football manager and being a dead man walking was negligible.

The Conference playoff final had moved to Wembley the season before and it had proven to be one of the more popular playoff events. Obviously, everyone wants to be promoted and the wag in the ET who had written “will the last one to leave Northamptonshire please turn out the lights” wasn’t far wrong.

The huge stadium was about half full as the teams began their walk down the tunnel leading to the pitch. Rockingham Road and Nene Park filled ten times over couldn’t have matched the capacity of the new ‘home of football’, which is why the Conference playoff final was such a special occasion.

Mark and Nora met at the top of the tunnel, behind their selected players, and it seemed like every live camera in the stadium was on hand to record the moment.

He smiled at her and extended his hand. It seemed odd for husband and wife to be swapping handshakes before the start of the match, but the emotion of the moment seemed to make it the right thing to do.

Together, the two walked onto the pitch and into an atmosphere neither had ever experienced. Loyalties appeared to be split about 50-50, and when the managers’ names were introduced, the reaction of the huge crowd was about the same.

They walked together, each keeping their own counsel. They reached the dugout area, and finally Mark turned to Nora.

“All the best, love,” he said softly.

“You too,” she replied, and they went their separate ways.

As a moderator, I do feel you should be sticking to the guidelines about short stories only being 3-4 posts long

As a reader, I'm really enjoying it, so make it as long as you like!

Blanco, thank you very much for the kind words. But I can't say anything in three or four posts ... sorry

___

The match began and immediately, the two sets of fans were after each other.

The screaming, yelling and singing seemed to bounce from one side of the great stadium to the other. It was a shame, in a way, that the match wasn’t at Rockingham Road, or at Nene Park. The emotion of the supporters clearly didn’t fit the venue. Wembley was too small to hold the passion.

All the emotions of a small-club rivalry were on display. The match started in as full-blooded a fashion as you could have hoped for, with Exodus Geohagan chopping down the rampaging Lee Tomlin on Diamonds’ first foray into the Kettering area. The six-foot-seven defender made quite certain his challenge took place outside the box, but his authority in sliding through the legs of the attacker left little doubt as to either his intent or his veracity.

Thankfully for Geohagan, he did get the ball, as Tomlin went flying like a headpin rammed by a ten-strike. He spun wildly as he hit the deck, as much to rile the support as to outline his belief a hard foul had been committed.

Mark knew better, but was nonetheless up and after the fourth official. Such a challenge couldn’t go unnoticed, and the Kettering faithful were immediately baying for the Rushden manager to go to the stand.

The emotion of the moment brought Nora out of the dugout and to the other side of the fourth official, while her husband argued with him. This was an early flashpoint. Husband and wife traded glances and glares that showed that for the moment, relationship took a back seat to club pride.

It didn’t take long for Rushden to respond, with Kettering swinging into attack after picking up the loose ball. Geohagan lofted a long ball upfield intended for the head of Chris Beardsley, standing just outside the Rushden area.

Diamonds defender Curtis Osano had him measured, and the ex-Reading man made no mistake. As Beardsley leaped for the ball, Osano ran him over from behind. And hard.

Referee Mike Riley, who had handled a few emotional matches in his day, didn’t hesitate, showing Osano the yellow card. The Rushden fans went wild with anger, and Mark played his part.

“My guy’s lucky his ankle’s still attached,” he roared. “Where’s the bloody justice here?”

At that, Nora knew she had to say something. Off the bench she came again, looking at the fourth official, who now had a significant problem on his hands.

“Tell him to sit down,” she demanded, pointing at her husband.

“I’ll sit down when I’m done,” he replied, as husband and wife now squared up to each other.

Now staff from both teams got between the managers, and Riley himself headed to the technical areas to restore order.

He called both managers to him, virtually unprecedented in a match of this sort, and when Nora opened her mouth to speak, the referee raised his hand.

“I’m going to be the only one speaking now,” he said. “Both of you are in danger of being sent to the stand. Now I expect both of you to return to your areas and I expect you to show the proper respect to the fourth official immediately. I further expect you will not square up to each other again, or you will leave me no option. Now, go.”

With that, he turned around and left, expecting to be obeyed. He was.

Play resumed, but there was an extra edge to Diamonds. Mark’s protest after the challenge to Tomlin had energized his team. Veteran Andrew Burgess blazed over a few minutes after Osano’s yellow card, but the Rushden midfield was starting to boss the game.

Burgess now swung a ball to the right side where the veteran Neil Cousins was waiting. Cousins switched play back to Burgess and this time it was another former Diamond, fullback John Dempster, who was waiting. His challenge was equally hard, but came with studs up.

Now it was the turn of the Rushden fans to scream bloody murder, and Riley again saw his duty clearly. He showed Dempster the yellow card, and awarded a free kick just outside the Kettering box to the keeper’s right.

Mark was fuming. He turned to his deputy, Justin Edinburgh.

“They’re bloody lucky we don’t still have Woodhouse,” he said, referring to the midfielder who had left Diamonds to pursue a career as a welterweight boxer. “We’d have ten men, but Curtis would have put a stop to this nonsense.”

The two talked as Burgess whipped home a perfectly taken free kick, beating the despairing dive of former Northampton and QPR keeper Lee Thomas for a 1-0 lead to Diamonds.

Half of Wembley erupted. The other half seemed to be swearing silent revenge. Mark leapt to his feet, fists clenched, and dared not look to his left.

Nora sat with her arms folded, and finally rose from her seat. She looked at her players and simply clapped her hands in support. The players knew what she meant.

The clubs reached halftime, and Nora’s halftime talk was short and sweet. “You need a goal, and I have no doubt you can get it,” she said. “Don’t you dare come back in here after the match without doing everything you can legally do to score it.”

Mark didn’t say a word. Edinburgh did the talking.

“There’s a trophy out there for you, now go and take it,” he said. His talk was even shorter than Nora’s. In the opposite changing rooms, players from both teams were left to their own thoughts.

The roar raised from the Kettering fans was as satisfying as it was blood-curdling.

Geohagan was sprinting off to the corner flag like the world’s largest gazelle, having headed his team back onto level terms just 90 seconds after the restart.

The Rushden defending, for its part, hadn’t been bad – but there was no one wearing a red, white and blue shirt who could match Geohagan in the air. Osano had tried, but was found wanting at the critical moment, and young Dale Roberts cleared the halfway line in frustration as he punted the ball back to the center circle.

There was one thing for certain – the shenanigans were definitely over. Not wanting to make a mistake that would reduce his side to ten men, both clubs played cautiously and by the book. Mark’s 4-4-2 looked the better of the two formations after the goal, with Nora choosing to match her husband tactically after only a few minutes had passed.

The tension in the air was palpable, and it was not lost on anyone that husband and wife weren’t even looking at each other as their teams engaged in a fight to the finish.

Veteran Rob Wolleaston wound up in Riley’s book for a too-hard challenge on Gareth Seddon but his penitence, while welcome, failed to impress the referee. Again, though, the official evened up the cards as yet another former Diamond, Mark Cooper, chopped the legs out from under Burgess on the stroke of the hour.

There was now less and less margin for error and the play became more and more conservative as a result. The clock reached eighty minutes and Rushden was again in the ascendancy. The play was now flowing through Burgess on the left, and the Rushden captain was picking his spots for crosses with decent accuracy.

He shook free from Dempster, and headed toward the byline on the left. The former Rushden defender moved to mark his ex-teammate, circling behind to head toward his goal. He strained to catch up and stretched his body to block Burgess’ cross.

From a range of ten yards, the cross struck Dempster squarely in the right forearm. The smack the ball made as it contacted the player’s arm certainly wasn’t lost on Burgess, and Rushden arms shot straight up in response.

Riley pointed to the spot. The Kettering players went wild.

Screams of ‘ball to hand!’ erupted all over the ground, and Nora now knew it was her turn to make the protest. Mark stayed in his dugout as his wife pleaded with the fourth official to talk with the referee.

As if thinking the referee might somehow change his mind, Tomlin made a hurried grab for the ball out of the hands of keeper Thomas, and that started another shoving match in the keeper’s six-yard box. Riley had his hands full.

Yet, the official calmly handled the protests and to defuse the tension, asked for and received the ball from Tomlin. With both sets of supporters and more than a few neutrals screaming for one reason or another, he finally handed the ball to the Rushden striker, who set it gingerly on the spot.

He struck. Thomas saved. Cheers froze in the throats of both sets of supporters.

At full stretch, the keeper palmed the ball onto his left post. Unfortunately for him, Tomlin was first to the rebound.

The youngster’s second stroke was swift and true, and had the same effect as an executioner’s axe. Rushden led 2-1 with ten minutes to play and now both benches were beehives of activity.

Mark immediately went to five at the back, pulling off the goal hero Tomlin to play a sweeper with four midfielders. Nora brought on two more strikers to play 4-2-4, and even moved Geohagan forward to act as the largest targetman this side of Peter Crouch.

Yet it didn’t help. Riley blew for full time. Rushden was moving up and Kettering was heading home.

Screams of joy erupted from the Diamonds faithful, who sang about the ‘White Flag’ and Tomlin all in the same song. No one could quite make out the words.

Meanwhile, the defeated Poppies stood, sat and laid flat on the ground, distraught. Mark didn’t notice.

What was intelligible, though, was the chant that erupted when the trophy was claimed. “We are going up!” his supporters cried, and in response the manager hoisted the playoff trophy high for all to see.

Mark accepted a winner’s medal as he passed the awards dais, and finally looked down at the pitch to see his wife leading her players toward their support, applauding them hands over head.

Burgess bumped into Mark at the head of the line. He was staring.

“Gaffer, are you all right?” Burgess asked. Mark said nothing in reply.

“Gaf?”

The Rushden manager turned to his captain. “I will be after I do what I need to do,” he said.

The interview area was filled with reporters from all over the country, all wanting Mark’s thoughts on an emotionally charged match, and on promotion back to the Football League for Diamonds.

He arrived as Nora was finishing her comments. “Credit Rushden, they did more than we did,” she said, her face a mask.

“And the bust-up with your husband?” one reporter asked. “What of that?”

“It hurt,” she admitted. “I know Mark was trying to do the best he could for his team, and there are times that a manager has to ‘do the duty’ with the fourth official. There’s also an unwritten code among the players that a hard challenge is answered with a hard challenge in reply. But that doesn’t mean squaring up to your own husband doesn’t hurt.”

Scribes were taking down her words at a furious pace. “Are you upset with him?” one journalist asked.

“I’d prefer not to comment on that,” she said. “I’m desperately proud of my players and I’m gutted that they can’t advance to the Football League as their play deserved. Thank you for your time.”

With that, she got up and left the dais, passing by Mark without a word. He was going to reach out to her, but the expression on her face told the competitor in him that she had best be left alone.

He looked at her eyes. They were red-rimmed with as yet unspilled tears, and Mark silently took his place on the dais.

“Mark, your thoughts,” one reporter asked.

“My thoughts are that I am very happy for these players, for putting in the work they needed to put in to get back to where we at Rushden feel they belong. They played a great match today and I’m proud of each and every one of them.”

“Any words for Kettering? And for your wife?”

“My words for Kettering are that they played a fine match and even though it’s a derby and some people may think differently, it’s a shame someone had to lose. My words for Nora are different.”

At that, she turned, standing in the doorway clutching a Kettering scarf in her hands.

“My words to Nora are these: with immediate effect, I am announcing my resignation as manager of Rushden and Diamonds Football Club.”

“I don’t care to live the rest of my life as the man who ‘beat his wife’,” Mark said, in response to the inevitable questions. “Squaring up to my own wife on the touchline today taught me a lesson I won’t forget. There are things in life that are more important than football. A derby win aside, and a promotion aside, I hope to live the rest of my life with a wonderful woman who happens to manage our rivals. I have done what I came here to do. Now that it is done, I must do what honor demands. Thank you for your time, and I wish Rushden the best of luck in the Football League next season.”

With that, he got up from the dais and walked, alone, to his victorious changing room. Promotion was sweet. The way it was obtained left a lot to be desired.

Nora watched him go, and when she finally shed tears, it was for both of them at the same time.

Bloody splendid work, tenthree. It's hard not to hate you for churning out such stuff.

Bloody splendid work, tenthree. It's hard not to hate you for churning out such stuff.

I echo gav's words here - though I don't hate you. It's good to have such quality on the board.

Brilliant 10-3. Was waiting for the end to unfold. It's splendid.

Excellent story 10-3, almost had me in tears!