Luton Town : Staring into the Abyss

[ScottleeSV]

12/10/09 - Free pool

It was an annoyingly difficult snooker to get out of. I wasn’t going to hang around all day measuring out the angles though. Taking one last glance towards Brian and seeing he was still grinning at the devilish nature of his work, I put my cue down and shaped to shoot. I was going to need to come off three cushions for this one and be careful I didn’t hit my opponent’s furthermost red ball, tucked in as was just behind the black.

“Nope” Brian announced triumphantly, as the white began its diagonal descent down the table.

“Hang on!” I replied, waving it onwards with my hand. “Wait for it, wait for it!”

The white ball though, despite holding a reasonably good line throughout its journey, fell a good three inches short. I’d conceded two shots.

“Told you”.

“Yeah, whatever. You won’t clean up from there anyway”.

“To be fair he was born to be a football manager, not a pool player” said Chantelle from the sidelines, a smile on her face almost as wide Brian’s. “Did you know he won the manager of the month award for September?”

“Of course I knew, I’m the assistant manager” Brian told her, his eyes not moving from the table. “It's the first of many such awards he’ll win, I’m sure”.

“Hey, don’t write me off also winning this game!” I protested. “I usually whip him at pool. He’s just having a lucky day”.

“Yeah, yeah”.

We were in The Hatters Arms this evening. Gav had introduced a free pool night to be held exclusively on Mondays. Word hadn’t really spread around about it just yet though, so this the inaugural occasion didn’t have many takers. Thus we figured it was best to make use of it whilst we could. As Brian and I slugged it out on the green baize, Chantelle sat patiently by the side of the table. Young Luke was outside in the beer garden playing in the children’s area. We could monitor his well being through the window.

“I’m going to go see how he’s getting on” Chantelle announced, momentarily distracting Brian from his next shot.

“Do you want to get him another drink?” I asked, reaching into my trouser pocket.

“Nah it’s okay. He looks occupied enough”.

"Okay".

Seconds later she slipped out through the back door. As I turned my head back towards the baulk end, I saw that Brian had a slightly annoyed look on his face. Waiting until he’d taken his turn (and missed, thank god), I decided to address this.

“What’s the matter? Did she put you off when she got out of her chair?”

“A little bit, but no big deal. To be honest I’m more worried about her putting you off”.

“What do you mean?”

“Well” he began, pausing momentarily to pot a red. “She seems nice enough, I suppose. And she’s certainly attractive. I’m just a bit....”

He paused to take another shot. Even after he’d taken it though, he seemed to have trouble continuing with his train of thought.

“You’re just a bit what?” I bridged for him.

“I’m just a bit surprised. I’ve wondered many a time in the past what sort of woman would finally tweak your interest, and I’ll tell you something, Chantelle isn’t at all what I thought you’d go for”.

I wasn’t offended by this conversation (yet) but I certainly couldn’t concentrate on a pool game whilst it was ongoing. Trying not to appear at all disturbed by what I'd heard so far, I put my cue on the rack and took a sip of my drink.

“So what type of woman did you think I’d go for?”

“Well, for starters, someone either your own age or maybe even slightly older. I’ve never thought you to be that tolerant of the younger generation, if I’m brutally frank. Also, I never for one second thought you’d take a chance on a girl without a career or even a job. And as for the little man out there, well, that was the biggest surprise of all. It never even entered my head you’d go out with a single mother”.

“Love isn’t always predictable” I said solumnly, looking through the window at Luke and Chantelle.

“You love her?”

“No, but then I wouldn’t do this soon would I?”

Relieved he hadn’t sparked an argument Brian put his cue down and joined me by the window. His pint of Frog’s Impediment looked decidedly unlike beer to me, but that’s a story for another day.

“Look” I continued. “It might sound strange but it’s actually starting to grow on me that’s she got Luke. I’ve just about had my fill of women who can’t stay in the same place for more than five minutes. Maybe it’s a good thing Chantelle’s weighed down by an almighty anchor. It might sound out-of-touch but a homebound woman doesn't sound a bad proposition to me".

“Oh I see, I get where you’re coming from with that" he replied knowingly. "Well okay, fair enough. What about the job thing though? Are you happy always paying for someone like you have been doing? It might annoy you after a while”.

“Not really. Besides, everybody needs someone to take a chance on them sometimes. Luton took a chance on me and some people might just be of the opinion they’re being rewarded for that now. In this example, maybe I’m the Luton Town and Chantelle is the James Martin?”

“My word, what an analogy!” Brian exclaimed. “You can’t be suggesting though you think she would have trouble getting a boyfriend? She’s a stunner, and that’s about the only prediction I got right when it came to guessing what she’d be like”.

“Trouble getting a boyfriend, no” I agreed. “Trouble getting a respectable boyfriend, yes. You’re right about the stunning part though. I actually take back what I said about me being the Luton Town. It’s me who’s the lucky one here, not her. Yeah I definitely take it back - I’m still the James Martin and she’s the new Luton”.

Immediately after saying that I looked at Brian and he looked at me. Then together we burst out laughing.

“New Luton!” he cried. “I can’t believe you just said that”.

“Yeah, what a crock that is”.

Outside in the beer garden, Chantelle was now beginning to lead Luke away from the swings. They seemed to be done for the day.

“They’re coming back in” Brian observed. “Hey, do me a favour. Do that impression of that Randy Begher guy one more time. I can’t get that thing out of head since you told me about it”.

“Yeah okay, just once more though!”

“Fine. Go on then, let’s see it”.

Reluctantly I spread my arms out (for some reason a bit like a gunslinger) and made to point at two invisible women either side of me.

“Well let me introduce you!” I said in the corniest campest black man voice I could think of. “This is bitch number one, and this is bitch number two”.

Brian immediately creased himself up laughing, in the process almost falling backwards into my girlfriend as she re-entered through the door.

“Did I hear the word bitch?” she asked, her hand on Luke’s shoulder.

“Probably, but we didn’t mean you”.

“I think we might get that drink now. Luke’s had a knackering time out there”.

“Of course”.

I reached into my pocket and got my wallet out, eventually producing a crumpled five pound note.

“Were you talking about me when you were looking through the window?” she then asked with a smile. “It looked like it”.

“Errr, well...” I began, handing the note over.

“I was just telling James how suited to each other you both seem” Brian said.

“Oh, right" she replied happily.

And with that she began to lead Luke away towards the bar.

('Nice save')

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Next, BSP action >> Luton v Cambridge

[ScottleeSV]

13/10/09, League Match 16

Luton Town v Cambridge United

GK – Dean Brill (66 apps, 0 goals)

DL – George Beavon (18 apps, 0 goals)

DR – Claude Gnakpa (62 apps, 2 goals)

DC – Tony James (15 apps, 0 goals)

DC – George Pilkington (61 apps, 1 goal)

DMC – Kevin Nicholls (41 apps, 11 goals)

MC – Matthew Gill (24 apps, 0 goals)

ML – Charlie Daniels (15 apps, 2 goals)

MR – Danny Cadamateri (11 apps, 4 goals)

FC – Michael Bridges (9 apps, 1 goal)

FC – Scott Spencer (14 apps, 6 goals)

I was glad to have a midweek match this week, especially at home. We’ve been on a dodgy run of late and even surrendered our hard-earned lead at the top of the table. As far as I’m concerned the games can’t come around fast enough to put this right, quite frankly. The only slight concern was that we were playing Cambridge United, 9th in the table and one of the pre-season favourites for promotion. This was our fourth match in a row against top ten opposition. Roll on some easier games anytime soon please!

Tonight was the last game I would have Jamie Guy and Scott Spencer available. Both players go back to their respective parent clubs tomorrow. I’m still hoping to pick up James Lawrie on a loan deal from Port Vale but the move is stalling. Erica is dragging her feet upstairs over the paperwork and it doesn’t look like Lawrie will be here in time for Saturday’s trip to Forest Green. As for Dean Bowditch, the word from Joe Dunbar is that I’ll still be waiting another two months for that one. Poor Dean; I bet he fancied himself to get a bagful in this league.

Michael Bridges has been horribly disappointing so far but I’ve kept him in the line-up tonight, tempting as it was to let Spencer and Guy play out their swansong performances from the off. The simple fact is I’m going to need Bridges after tonight so I need to keep him both fit and happy. Because we’re at home I’m playing with two attacking wingers. Derek Niven, Richie Byrne, and Jamie Guy meanwhile drop to the bench.

With Luton in white and Cambridge in black and gold, the match kicked off in a noticeably feisty atmosphere. I was surprised by this until Brian reminded me that although not technically a local derby, the two clubs are just about close enough to have something of a minor rivalry. Just a shame that things weren’t so hot on the pitch, the first ten minutes passing without either side having so much as one shot in anger. Our boys seemed slightly nervous after going three games without a win, and Cambridge seemed tentative at playing away to such a big club.

The first effort went to the visitors, Quintin going on a run down the left side before whipping in a cross. It was poorly aimed though and went more towards the actual goal than the trio of hungry strikers dashing towards the penalty spot. That said; Brill was almost caught by surprise. He quickly had to backtrack towards his goal-line and palm the ball around for a corner. Challinor got ahead of James from the resulting a cross, butting his header half a yard too high.

After that we gained some semblance of superiority, without ever putting together a string of attacks in the same spell. For instance every time we took a shot, or threw a dangerous ball into the mixer, it seemed to be a good four or five minutes before we could do the same thing again. Prior to the 25 minute mark, our best efforts were a long range grass cutter from Gill (safely gathered by Potter), and a downwards header by Bridges from a Daniels cross (again safely gathered by Potter).

Our first ‘great chance’ didn’t come until just after the half hour. Nicholls fed Cadamateri in what at first appeared to be a relatively harmless position out on the right wing. Cambridge though were slow to react here, and Cadamateri quickly dribbled into a position deep inside the area before being confronted. Rather than make for the by-line or look to pull the ball back, the winger put his foot cleverly under the ball and lofted it upwards and over his nearest challenger. You might call that a dinked pass. Anyway, Potter attempted to punch under pressure but made a hash of it.

The ball spun above Potter’s head as he himself toppled to the floor woefully off-balance and now out of the picture. This left about six players to battle it out for the right to either head it into the open goal or head it away. Daniels was the one who won the contest, but his header went just wide. For his troubles Daniels clashed heads with defenders Gleeson and Wordsworth and needed time out with the physiotherapist. Good on him for going in where it hurts though even if he didn’t score.

I wasn’t so optimistic not long after play restarted. With the clock showing 39 minutes, Gill slid in on Parkinson out on the right and conceded a needless free kick. Cambridge’s captain waved everybody forwards and our captain began organizing the various defensive duties. Quinten it was who curled the ball in. It whizzed over most heads and was met by Crow, stealing in at the back unnoticed. His downwards header wasn’t cleanly met; it went down into the ground more than anything else. What it then did however was bounce up and into the top left hand corner. Cambridge had scored.

Disillusionment immediately swept around the ground. I got the impression the fans were starting to feel this was no longer simply a blip but reality setting in after a first twelve games where we’d drastically overachieved. The few minutes leading up to half time almost went by in a blur for me. My eyes were on the game but part of my mind was already looking forward to a hot bath and a late night curry, and maybe even a soul-searching session where I plotted discreet ways of leaving the job.

Ye of little faith. With more or less the final throes of the half, Charlie Daniels took on the Cambridge right back and won handsomely. From here he had space to run into. Daniels took full advantage and only played the ball across goal when right on the by-line. The ball hit the backside of a black and gold shirt who’d slid into the six yard box in panic. Right on cue to get the touch that mattered was Spencer, steeling in and whacking the loose ball high past Potter (and the downed defender) for the equalizer.

Cue relief and celebration around the ground, as the familiar home-goal tune began to sound out. Spencer high-fived his teammates and jogged back to the centre circle with a grin. The referee actually blew the half time whistle before the game had even kicked off again. Had the momentum in this match well and truly been turned on its head? Time would tell in the second half. For now though centre stage was passed over to Multicoloured Mickey, dancing on the touchline and trying desperately to find someone to wave at who wasn’t booing him.

[michael62]

1-0 down to york from the first leg monday is the day our biggest home game in 3-4 years

[ScottleeSV]

Michael, it will certainly be touch and go on Monday in real life. Oxford were the biggest 'winners' from the first round of matches

---------------------------------------------------------------------

England’s defeat to Brazil in the 2002 world cup hit me as hard as the next Englishman. Looking back to that game, there was something about Rivaldo’s equaliser bang on the stroke of half time which spelled doom. And so it proved, because Erikkson’s men were so downhearted they conceded again just after half time (albeit from a fluke). The same phenomenon occurred in this slightly less important match between Luton Town and Cambridge United in the Blue Square Premier.

A long diagonal ball from Beavon at left back swirled in the wind and proved problematic for defender Coulson. The ball bounced awkwardly off his knee, allowing Bridges to collect twenty yards out. There wasn’t much on from here but Bridges swiped a left footed shot with minimal back-lift which went through Coulson’s legs. Goalkeeper Potter was left glued to his line as the ball thundered inside the left hand post at a ridiculously fast speed. We’d taken the lead!

Now the atmosphere around Kenilworth Road was bubbling like a bubbling pot with bubbling things inside it. Singing echoed around the stadium as Jardim and Crow restarted the game for the stunned visitors. Unfortunately for midfield maestro Matthew Gill, he pulled up injured a couple of minutes later and had to go off. On trotted Derek Niven as a straight like-for-like. The expected hard retaliation from Cambridge didn’t immediately happen (the Gill tackle aside), and we had a relatively comfortable passage leading up to the hour mark.

When the next chance did come, it was to us. Like Double Decker buses it was Bridges who almost profited, just fifteen minutes after scoring his first goal in two months. Neat interplay between Cadamateri and Nicholls ended with a chipped side-foot ball from the latter into the path of the goal-scorer just inside the area. The ball was slightly behind Bridges but he did brilliantly to flick it forwards with his heel. Now facing the goalkeeper, Bridges dinked it over him but with only a minimal amount of power. Because of this, Tonkin was able to just get back and hack it off the line.

Still we pressed, and I was very much enjoying how we were playing. After 66 minutes we ran Cambridge ragged with a twenty one pass move inside their half which completely defied the league we’re playing in. It would have been a very special goal had there been a final product, but ultimately we didn’t even get the ball into the danger area. Derek Niven pulled a poor left foot shot five yards wide and finally everyone could take a breather.

Frustration was beginning to spill over amongst the Cambridge players and management, clearly having believed they’d missed a good chance to get a result away to the big boys. With twenty minutes to go the ball bounced in my direction over on the touchline. I picked it up and held onto it for a moment whilst shouting some instructions in the direction of Tony James. Cambridge’s players took exception to the delay, particularly Parkinson. He tried to grab the ball from me without even asking, and when I refused to let it go, a brief scuffle ensued.

Please believe me when I say I only kept my grip on the ball out of pure instinct. I’m not a time-waster or a cheat, or even a practitioner of gamesmanship. The Luton fans though bizarrely seemed to think I’d done a good thing, and for a while after play restarted they sang a few choruses of the James Martin song. The referee though took Parkinson’s side, and sternly warned me over my conduct as the throw-in was about to be taken.

With fifteen minutes to go I felt my first prangs of worry. Surely this was a little bit too easy? A good twenty five minutes had passed since Bridges’ goal now and still Cambridge hadn’t created an opening. Were we going to concede a dramatic equalizer for the third successive game? To dispel the possibility as best as I knew how, I sent my second and third subs on. McCracken went on for James to provide fresh pace at the back. I also introduced Jamie Guy as a replacement for Bridges.

The applause was extra poignant as the boards went up to signal the changes. Not only did Bridges receive ample adoration for scoring what was potentially the winning goal, but Jamie Guy was coming on in the opposite direction to make his final appearance for the club. With Spencer still on the pitch too, we were in the unusual situation of having both our strikers playing their last game. I must admit, Guy and Spencer have been excellent servants throughout their brief stay. Guy has scored 6 goals in 15 games and Spencer 7 in 15.

In the 79th minute, substitute Collins passed infield to Challinor for Cambridge. From here the ball was popped around from man to man before Wordsworth risked hoofing one up to Jardim. The ball was headed away by Pilkington but only as far as another substitute – Holroyd. He sprayed one wide to Corden who quickly fired a cross in low and hard. Brill leapt on the ball before Jardim could get there but only succeeded in saving the ball backwards so that it went out for a corner. Let me tell you though, my heart missed a beat when that ball went into the mixer.

As the final ten minutes slowly ticked towards their very welcome conclusion, Guy began to cause havoc with his pace on the break. Twice he almost grabbed the crucial third goal. The second time he actually hit the post, hammering a left footed shot past Potter only to see it bounce back out. Cambridge huffed and puffed and blew the ball into the penalty area whenever they could, but more often than not the passes were straight to Brill. As for actual shots, I don’t think they actually took any in the second half. We contained them extremely well.

When the final whistle went a huge cheer went around the ground. We had won our first game in four. In a pre-planned move of sheer respect, I walked onto the pitch as the players were shaking hands and hugged both Guy and Spencer. Then I retreated towards the tunnel area and aimed a spontaneous fist-pump in the direction of Kevin and Rory. Time to check the Rushden result and see if were back on top.

---------

FINAL SCORE (Att - 4259)

Luton Town 2 (Spencer 45, Bridges 48)

Cambridge United 1 (Crow 39)

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(other results)

Burton 1-1 Macclesfield

Crawley 2-0 Tamworth

Ebbsfleet 2-1 St Albans

Histon 2-1 Droylsden

Kidderminster 1-2 York

Mansfield 0-2 Grays

Northwich 2-2 Salisbury

Oxford 2-2 Weymouth

Rushden 3-0 AFC Wimbledon

Stevenage 0-0 Forest Green

Woking 2-1 Kettering

[font=Courier New]| Pos   | Inf   | Team          |       | Pld   | Won   | Drn   | Lst   | For   | Ag    | G.D.  | Pts   | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 1st   |       | Rushden       |       | 16    | 12    | 2     | 2     | 36    | 12    | +24   | 38    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 2nd   |       | Luton         |       | 16    | 11    | 4     | 1     | 35    | 17    | +18   | 37    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 3rd   |       | Grays         |       | 16    | 9     | 4     | 3     | 32    | 15    | +17   | 31    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 4th   |       | York City     |       | 16    | 9     | 4     | 3     | 28    | 17    | +11   | 31    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 5th   |       | Burton        |       | 16    | 8     | 4     | 4     | 25    | 20    | +5    | 28    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 6th   |       | Stevenage     |       | 16    | 7     | 7     | 2     | 28    | 26    | +2    | 28    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 7th   |       | Oxford        |       | 16    | 8     | 3     | 5     | 32    | 18    | +14   | 27    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 8th   |       | Cambridge     |       | 16    | 7     | 5     | 4     | 24    | 17    | +7    | 26    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 9th   |       | AFC Wimbledon |       | 16    | 8     | 2     | 6     | 28    | 22    | +6    | 26    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 10th  |       | Salisbury     |       | 16    | 6     | 8     | 2     | 24    | 19    | +5    | 26    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 11th  |       | Forest Green  |       | 16    | 7     | 5     | 4     | 19    | 14    | +5    | 26    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 12th  |       | Crawley       |       | 16    | 8     | 1     | 7     | 28    | 26    | +2    | 25    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 13th  |       | Woking        |       | 16    | 7     | 3     | 6     | 16    | 15    | +1    | 24    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 14th  |       | Weymouth      |       | 16    | 5     | 8     | 3     | 24    | 19    | +5    | 23    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 15th  |       | Histon        |       | 16    | 5     | 6     | 5     | 25    | 22    | +3    | 21    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 16th  |       | Ebbsfleet     |       | 16    | 5     | 3     | 8     | 23    | 28    | -5    | 18    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 17th  |       | Mansfield     |       | 16    | 4     | 6     | 6     | 26    | 33    | -7    | 18    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 18th  |       | Kettering     |       | 16    | 3     | 5     | 8     | 22    | 28    | -6    | 14    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 19th  |       | Macclesfield  |       | 16    | 3     | 4     | 9     | 14    | 31    | -17   | 13    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 20th  |       | Northwich     |       | 16    | 3     | 2     | 11    | 13    | 32    | -19   | 11    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 21st  |       | Kidderminster |       | 16    | 2     | 4     | 10    | 16    | 29    | -13   | 10    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 22nd  |       | St Albans     |       | 16    | 2     | 4     | 10    | 15    | 34    | -19   | 10    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 23rd  |       | Tamworth      |       | 16    | 2     | 2     | 12    | 11    | 29    | -18   | 8     | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 24th  |       | Droylsden     |       | 16    | 2     | 2     | 12    | 19    | 39    | -20   | 8     | [/font]
[font=Courier New][size=3][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------|[/size] [/size][/font]

[banglared]

Good win . But it was Rivaldo who equalised for Brazil after Beckham pulled out of a tackle.

[ScottleeSV]

Excellent memory, Bang! Edit made

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14/10/09 - Big trouble in little Luton

I made another desperate plea to Erica over E-mail this morning to approve the necessary funds to renew Jamie Guy’s loan deal. The woman just won’t budge though. As a result, our offer to Colchester is still short of what they deem an acceptable contribution towards wages. Thus I will now almost certainly travel to Forest Green this Saturday feeling more than a little uneasy about our forward line. We’re down to just Michael Bridges by my count. Either Danny Cadamateri or Will Buckley is going to have partner him. Roll on next week when hopefully James Lawrie will be arriving.

To calm myself down after Erica’s final damning mail, I left the office to get some fresh air. There’s a corner shop just outside Kenilworth Road called Kenilworth General Stores. It’s owned by a family of Asians called the Singhs, a friendly enough bunch. It’s nigh on impossible to guess which one will be behind the counter when you go in there. Sometimes it’s the male head of the house, sometimes the wife, sometimes some other male randoms, and sometimes this gorgeous young Asian girl I’d probably say is about Chantelle’s age.

I always look out for her when I go into the shop, kind of in an “Oh, I wonder if that fittie will be on the counter today?” type way. Today however it was the male head of the house I was presented with. I’d say the guy is in his mid-fifties if I had to guess. He wears a constant stern expression on his face (as well as a turban), but he’s harmless enough. Cyril and Lee’s cabin used to be just a few yards up the road from Kenilworth General Stores before they moved into the car park.

“Just this, thanks” I said, placing a bottle of Evian water on the glass counter.

“I’ve-been-wondering-when-you’d-come in” Mr Singh replied, in that typically rat-a-tat-tat accent of theirs.

I’m not going to hyphenate his every sentence, just to warn you. I’m sure you get the picture already.

“You have?”

“Yes, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that mascot of yours – Multicoloured Mickey”.

“Oh. Right, well I can’t take credit for that. If you want to congratulate the guy behind it then what I suggest you do is contact...”

“Congratulate?!” boomed Mr Singh, and I noticed rather warily at this point that his right fist was clenched in a threatening manner just to the side of the till. “Throttle, more like! I’ve never been more insulted in my life than in the moment I saw that wretched thing”.

“Hang on a minute” I stopped him, slightly confused. “Do you mean to say that you go to the matches?”

“Yes, I’m a season ticket holder of twenty seven years, or at least I was until that Grays match a couple of weeks back. Never again though will I set foot inside Kenilworth Road! After that match I tore up my season ticket and vowed never to return!”

(‘Oh well. Losing one fan isn’t going to make too much of a difference’).

“My wife tore up her season ticket also, as did all thirty eight members of our extended family who used to go with us”.

(‘Oh').

“I’m sorry but I’m having trouble understand this, Mr Singh. Why are you upset? To the best of my knowledge, and without meaning to sound patronising, the introduction of Multicoloured Mickey was meant to bring the community together. It was meant to be the shining beacon that united all races and religions within the Kenilworth Road walls”.

“Well then your good intentions backfired! That grotesque patchwork thing is a total embarrassment to my people! When will this country understand that we don’t want symbols of unity, and demonstrations of unity, and gestures of unity? All we want is to be left alone to blend into the rest of the crowds without comment or reference”.

“Okay fair enough” I replied, wondering now if I was ever going to get out of here. “Surely a boycott of the games is going a bit too far though? I don’t mind requesting a review of the continued use of Mickey if you’d like me too – I was actually against his introduction in the first place – but until then, can’t you just carry on supporting the team and just look the other way when Mickey’s doing his thing?”

Just then an old man of about a hundred years old (had to be) stumbled through a doorway at the back of the shop. His aging eyes were squinted so tightly shut I wondered how on earth he was managing to see where he was going. He reminded me of that old grandpa in the film The Texas Chainsaw Massacre actually, only this guy was clearly of Indian descent.

“I heard shouting. Anything wrong?” the old man asked in a croaky voice.

“No, father” said Mr Singh, keeping his glare on me. “And no, I can’t look the other way when Mickey’s doing his thing. Have you got any idea the effect it has on families like ours whenever this country’s ridiculous political correctness nonsense starts p!ssing all the white men off?”

“Err no” I said awkwardly.

“Well take a look at that!”

Mr Singh pointed towards the window. I hadn’t noticed it when outside the shop but there was a spray-painted cartoon picture on the glass pane. It looked like a mock picture of Multicoloured Mickey as a skilled graffiti artist might depict him. As I was taking this in, Mr Singh’s father leaned on the other end of the counter to catch his breath. He seemed a bit lost as to where he was.

“Is that meant to be.....”

“Yes, multi-coloured Mickey! And that’s not all. The other day, a gang came in my shop looking for trouble. ‘Get out of here’ I shouted. ‘F__k you’ one of them shouted back. ‘P!ss off back to Pakistan you f__king Mickey’ said another one. This is what they call us now! They call us Mickeys! My grandson has been called a Mickey eight times at school in the past week alone!”

“Well that’s out of order” I said firmly. “Racism just isn’t on, and I mean that. You should call the police”.

“The police do nothing! I’ve learnt over the years the best way for an Indian man to look after his family is to take care of his own problems. After that gang came in the other day, I went out and bought this”.

His anger practically boiling over now, Mr Singh reached under the counter and pulled out a baseball bat. Then he held it upright and vibrated it backwards and forwards as he continued to hold court. Vibrated isn’t a strong enough word actually. His bat hand was literally shaking with fury. I must admit, I felt more than a little intimidated.

“Is he one of them?” the one hundred year old man croaked.

“No, father” said Mr Singh. “Go back into the living room”.

“He’s one of them, isn’t he? I’ll get him if he’s one of them!”

“He’s not one of them, father! Now pipe down! You’re wearing yourself out”.

It crossed my mind throughout this little exchange to just turn on my heels and swiftly walk out. Mr Singh though twisted his head back to face me before I could make a positive decision.

“Anyway” he continued. “Did the bat frighten them? No. Back they came just two days ago, and this time they stole some Mars bars and drew that picture on the window”.

“Mars bars? They actually stole Mars bars?”

“Yes, they said it was Mickey-tax, on account of me being a Mickey. Anyway, evidently the bat wasn’t doing its job, so the very next day I went out and bought something else”.

Placing the bat gently on the counter from whence it rolled into the side of my Evian and laid still, Mr Singh leaned under the counter again. This time he pulled out something which positively made my eyes bulge. To cut to the chase and tell you what it was, Mr Singh had now pulled out a sub-machine gun.

“Uzi-nine-milimetre!” he said quickly and proudly, admiring both sides of the weapon. “Now this is guaranteed to scare away thieves and racists. If they want a war, they’ll get one!”

“Errr, Mr Singh” I said nervously, beginning to back away from the counter. “Where the hell did you get that?”

“A very nice man called Randy managed to sort me out” he replied, putting the gun down on the counter. “Anyway, why are you backing away? I’m obviously not going to use it on you. Hopefully I’m not going to have to use it on anyone”.

I was just about to apologise and return to the counter when something unexpected occurred. When it happened though, it seemed to happen extremely quickly. Mr Singh’s father suddenly came out of his coma and grabbed the uzi.

“He’s one of them!” the old man croaked, turning the weapon in my direction.

“No, father!” Mr Singh screamed, lunging at the gun.

“Jesus f__king Christ!” I shouted, ducking down and scurrying for the door.

Just as I reached the pavement only to stumble over on the curb, the sound of machine gun fire swept around the shop behind me, together of course with the assorted racket of things breaking and smashing. The last thing I saw as I ran across the road with my head glancing back over my shoulder was the sight of Mr Singh and his father grappling each other for the gun through the window.

Did I call the police? No. Did anybody else call the police? I don’t know. The rest of the street was deserted, so who knows? I’ll tell you one thing though – once I got back to the office I didn’t worry about Erica for the entire rest of the day. I was simply happy to be in one piece.

[michael62]

great story as usual today is our destiny we must win im soo nervous though never been this nervous about a football match before ever !!!!

[ScottleeSV]

My condolences for yesterday, Michael. I'm sure you'll get the job done next season though without needing the playoffs. I suppose, in a way, I won't look so rubbish if I fail in the playoffs on this game now.

On a different subject, I've made a slight edit to the previous post. On reflection, it just wasn't accurate to say that James Martin had never seen a gun before. Thus, I've taken that line out.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

15/10/09 - James Martin Senior

Having been given just three hours notice that today was the day, I was picked up by Towzer and Garry outside my flat at 6pm. It seems a long time ago now I found out my father isn’t the same man I’ve believed to be my father my entire life. My real one, who I’ve never met, apparently paid Dave Wheelie £250,000 to make sure I got the Luton job. Assuming that’s true then tonight would hopefully be the night the identity of the real James Martin Senior would be revealed.

Cannon and Ball though only had money on their mind.

“Did you bring the two grand?” Towzer growled with his head twisted around so he could look at me over the corner of the passenger seat.

“I brought my cheque book” I replied, gesturing towards one of my coat pockets. “I haven’t written any actual cheques out though because I don’t know your full names”.

“Woah! Stop the car, Garry!”

Flaunting several minor traffic laws in the process, Garry clumsily hit the brakes in a crowded metropolitan area and turned the car onto a curb.

“Oh come on! Like I’m going to carry £2000 in cash around! And it’s not like you don’t know where I live or anything. You’ve got my word the cheques will clear just fine”.

This wasn’t good enough for The Two Ronnies though, so after three minutes of both sides playing hardball, the three of us agreed to a compromise. I would give them £500 out of a cash point on the way to Dave’s place in addition to three further £500 payments over the course of the next week or so. The reason why we stuck it at 500 is because that’s the maximum I can take out of the machine in any one day. Apparently my two chauffeurs don’t do cheques at all.

Further delay occurred at the withdrawal spot, located at a motorway service station just outside of Luton. It transpired I’d already taken £20 out of my account earlier that day and as such could now only withdraw a further £480. Thus another ten minutes were spent at this juncture persuading Orville and Keith to accept five payments of 400 as opposed to four payments of 500. We might have got done a lot quicker if I hadn’t had an argument with Garry halfway through about the dangers of smoking next to a live petrol pump. Idiot.

“Is this where he lives now?” I asked sometime later, as we approached a town called Letchworth in Hertfordshire.

“Yeah” Garry answered. “He was set up in a flat here the day after that night at the warehouse. At first we were just going to drop him off at the county lines and leave him in a bush somewhere, but Dilic was worried he’d go to the police and cause a headache”.

“Because the man with nothing has nothing to lose” I speculated.

“Yeah” said Towser. “At least with a flat to wake up in, Dave had something to build from again. His punishment was losing his job and his right to live in Bedfordshire. It wasn’t the most ideal outcome for Dilic but it’s not always the most sensible move to just whack someone and be done with it”.

“Fair enough”.

Eventually we pulled into the car park of a huge block of flats called Leeward House. Without speaking the three of us clambered out and headed for the front door. You can’t get into these types of places without a numeric pass code but Towzer just banged on the nearest window until someone opened up to see what the emergency was. Four flights of steps later and we were outside Dave’s door.

“I bet he’s going to get the shock of his life in a second” I commented, knocking loudly on the wood panelling.

“Not if he doesn’t open up he won’t”.

This was true enough, so after a minute of waiting I tried the door to see if it was unlocked. Remarkably it was.

The flat inside was small and untidy. There was a living room, a kitchen, a bathroom, and one bedroom. Most crucially however there was no Dave Wheelie.

“If the door was unlocked he might have nipped out to the shops or something” offered Towzer. “And we’re still getting the money if he doesn’t turn up, by the way. Now you know where it is you can come back yourself anytime you want”.

“That’s fine” I said irritably, picking up a couple of porm magazines from the sofa.

‘Dave, you dirty little b_astard’.

“Ewww” said Garry meanwhile, appearing from the bedroom with a grin on his mug. “Have a look in there”.

“Why?” Towzer asked.

“It’s full of sex toys and gags and things”.

“Really? No way”.

As Towzer trundled off to investigate this, a mobile phone ringtone sounded out. From the looks on all of our faces it soon became clear the phone was not one of ours. On further investigation, I managed to locate the source of the noise as coming from the kitchen skirting boards. There was a Samsung handset lying next to the breadbin. Acting on impulse I picked the phone up before the others could get to it and answered the call.

“Hello”.

“This is Dave. Why are you in my flat? What do you want?”

“Dave?” I asked in surprise, taken aback to hear his voice again after so long. “How....”

“I saw you down in the car park so I scarpered out through another exit”.

“Well there was really no need. We didn’t come here to do you any harm. It’s me who needs to see you. The other two are just here to show me where you live”.

“So what do you want? You might as well tell me now because I’m not coming back up there until I’m sure you’ve all gone”.

I supposed it wouldn’t make much difference asking what I needed to ask him over the phone. Towzer and Garry were stood next to me inquisitively listening to every word but I also supposed it wouldn’t matter much if they knew why I was here. Secretly they’d probably already figured it out anyway.

“Okay, we’ll play it your way Dave. I know someone paid you to hire me as manager of Luton. I want to know who”.

A pause ensued on the other end of the line. For a second I didn’t think he was going to answer. And then he did.

“Your father, that’s who”.

“Yeah I know it was my father, but who is he? I didn’t even know I had another one – a real one, I mean”.

“Look, I only spoke to the guy twice over the phone” Dave explained. “The first time it was to offer me the deal. The second time was to sort out the bank transfer. I never met him in person. He was desperate for you to follow in his footsteps though”.

“What do you mean?”

“Your real dad is a famous football manager”.

To this my insides practically turned to jelly.

“Who is it, Dave? WHO?”

Dave took a moment to clear his throat, and then answered.

[ScottleeSV]

17/10/09 - Distracted

Alex Ferguson. Arsene Wenger. Bobby Robson. Franz Beckenbaur. These are just some of the names that roll off the tongue when you think of great managers. It might have been something of a boost for me to discover I was the b_stard love child of one of these legendary figures. I could have woken up today convinced it was in my genes to nurture young talent like Arsene, be an educated disciplinarian like Franz, or a born winner like Sir Alex.

(Okay it’s a stretch having Beckenbaur on that list, lest my mother was ever partial to weekend trips in Bonn).

I’m writing this entry from a small country pub in Nailsworth, the sleepy Gloucestershire town where Forest Green Rovers ply their trade. We’re playing them today in yet another important fixture between ourselves and a fellow top half side, our fifth in a row. I console myself in the knowledge our next three games are versus St Albans, Tamworth, and Droylsden, three absolutely p!ss-poor teams the likes of Sir Alex probably wouldn’t even spit on. Thus if we can somehow win today we might just go on a much needed run.

So who is my real father then, I hear you ask? Well, let me first say Dave was right to label him a football manager. To call the guy famous though would be like calling Garry a captain of industry. In fact let’s play a little guessing game here and see if you can get it without me telling you. Chantelle, if this is the future and I’ve let you read this book, just skip to the next article because this one really won’t be for you. Oh, and I would just like to say that I honestly like you much better than I ever did Charlotte.

Okay, time for the first clue. I’m going to pretend I’m my real dad for a second now. I was born on June 16, 1946. After a largely useless playing career where I didn’t make it at Burnley and spent the rest of it floundering at Carlisle United in whichever lower league they were in back then, I took up managing in 1979. I figured it couldn’t go much worse than my playing career so what the hell? Initially I was at Blackpool, but my tenure there only proved notable for my unprotected sex with James’ mum. I was sacked after just one season.

I completely bottled my life after that, both professionally and personally. From a managerial point of view I didn't take another post for nine long years. When I eventually did jump back in the saddle, at Hull City, I was once again sacked. It was only in the nineties I achieved some degree of what you might loosely define success. Between 1995 and 1997 I achieved two successive promotions with Bury. I then earnt one additional promotion with Burnley before sliding back in mediocrity again for much of the last decade. At the time of writing I’m now sixty four years old and enjoying one last hurrah at Norwich City. Retirement though, enforced or voluntary, probably can’t be far off. So who am I?

Whilst I let you stew just a little bit longer as to who my real father is (and yes I’ve back to being James Martin now), a few words on today’s team news. Danny Cadamateri is the man being pushed up front to partner Michael Bridges. I’ve got James Lawrie arriving on Monday so maybe the striker crisis isn’t going to jolt my world as much as I thought it might. With four goals to his name this season Cadamateri is actually a more solid bet to score than Bridges. Although having said that, maybe Michael’s goal against Cambridge will be the start of better things from him?

I hope so.

The vacant spot on the right wing goes to Michael Taylor, where as the only other change sees Derek Niven come in for Matthew Gill in centre mid. Charlie Daniels’ continued presence on the left wing means we’re going with two attacking wide players away from home today. The reason I’ve done this is because we didn’t look very solid away to York with the more defensive outlook of Cadamateri on one side and Niven on the other. If we’re going to be vulnerable in our 4.4.2 we might as well at least set ourselves up to score more than the opposition. That’s my thinking anyway. Watch it all go Pete Tong.

So who are Forest Green Rovers? Well, they initially shot to prominence between 1996 and 1998 when achieving back to back promotions to earn a spot in the Conference National. They’ve stayed in this division ever since, despite many a flirtation with the drop. Over very recent times though they’ve begun to improve. You might even go as far as to label Forest Green a solid mid-table outfit now as opposed to the perenniel minnow they used to be, impressive stuff for what is basically a village team. They have also over the years achieved steady but sure improvements to their ground and fanbase.

This season the Lawnmower Men (to quote one of their many nicknames) sit comfortably in eleventh place with just four defeats from their seventeen games so far. Make no mistake about it, this match will be HARD for the current Luton Town team. I wouldn’t be unhappy actually to take just a point from this one, especially looking at the games we have to come. Much will depend I guess on how the Taylor/Cadamateri switch takes effect. We’ll soon see.

My father by the way is Stan Ternant. I’ve heard of him, vaguely. Maybe you have too? I don’t really know what to make of this new father development so for the time being I’m just plodding on with what I know i.e the football. One thing’s for sure though; Stan doesn’t know that I know, my mum doesn’t know that I know, and my dad doesn’t know that I know. That gives me the power to let the news sink in at my own pace and take things from there.

In the meantime I’ve got a forest to scythe down! Come on, Hatters! Get it done.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Next - BSP action, Forest Green (11th) v Luton Town (2nd)

[ScottleeSV]

17/10/09, League Match 17

Forest Green Rovers v Luton Town

GK – Dean Brill (67 apps, 0 goals)

DL – George Beavon (19 apps, 0 goals)

DR – Claude Gnakpa (63 apps, 2 goals)

DC – Tony James (16 apps, 0 goals)

DC – George Pilkington (62 apps, 1 goal)

DMC – Kevin Nicholls (42 apps, 11 goals)

MC – Derek Niven (9 apps, 0 goals)

ML – Charlie Daniels (16 apps, 2 goals)

MR – Michael Taylor (7 apps, 0 goals)

FC – Michael Bridges (10 apps, 2 goals)

FC – Danny Cadamateri (12 apps, 4 goals)

We began with a strut. Michael Taylor received the ball down the right hand side and immediately curled a low one in just in front of goalkeeper Robinson. Cadamateri got there but a fraction too late. There was practically no room for the shot and the ball was blocked by Robinson and away. Encouraging start though, despite the clearly uneven surface. Forest Green by the way were playing in black and white stripes, Luton in yellow. At a first glance the crowd was quite small for a Blue Square Premier fixture. At least half of everybody present seemed to be Luton.

The early Cadamateri chance didn’t prove a sign of things to come. The Lawnmower Men swiftly began to nullify our every threat. They even created one or two of their own, usually from high bouncing balls over the top or hoofed free kicks over everybody and out for a goal kick. In the 16th minute Sawyers went one better, trapping the ball thirty yards out and dodging at least three tackles as he spun around on the spot to cleverly retain possession. From here he unleashed a twenty five yard shot with minimal warning. I thought it was in from where I was standing but the viewing angle was deceptive – the shot fizzed inches wide with Brill beaten.

After 20 minutes Charlie Daniels finally did something of worth, taking a Nicholls chip on the chest before shooting off down the left. His cross was accurate and straight to the head of Bridges. Under pressure from Molyneux and Preece, the target man headed the ball down and across the area for Cadamateri to run onto. Unfortunately though the ball strangely bounced as if on a clay court, and it almost went over the diminutive Cadamateri’s head. He did get a touch on it but not a firm one. The ball looped up and onto the roof of the goals.

Quite clearly the playing surface was causing us headaches, and it caused us another one eight minutes later. Kevin Nicholls lost the ball in midfield when he trailing leg seemed to just give up on itself. Nicholls hadn’t injured himself, but the advantage he’d conceded to our opponents was another matter entirely. Stonehouse it was who ran away with the ball. There were options all over the place here, and a lot of our players were struggling to get back. Stonehouse eventually slipped one into Robertson out of position on the right but in acres of space.

From here the attacker dallied, and as each second passed I thought the danger was becoming less and less. In the blink of an eye though Robertson gained a yard on Beavon and rifled in a low cross. At least I thought it was a cross. The ball missed every leg stretching for it and bounced into the back of the net after hitting the far post. God knows how many bobbles that hit on its way to the promised land. It was as if Robertson had sunk a ridiculously hard-to-judge putt at Augusta. None the less, his side were one up and ours was one down.

There was no quick fix in the next ten minutes. We continued to toil with little or no end product. Away to Salisbury I hadn’t minded going 1-0 down because we had been so much on top. Here though we were struggling to get going. Frustration soon boiled over for Kevin Nicholls. Probably feeling guilt-ridden over the goal, he went in late on Smith and earned a yellow card. In the 39th minute Daniels managed to deflect a cross behind off the very same player for a corner. The way things had been going, the achievement of a corner almost felt like getting a free kick on the edge of the box.

I hope for two things at every corner we take. Firstly, I hope for a clean header from one of our attackers. If that doesn’t happen I hope for the ball to drop down amongst the crowd. This way we’ve got another 50/50 chance of somebody in a Luton shirt getting hold of it and whacking it in from close range. Amazingly the latter is what happened here. Nicholls’ delivery pin-balled around everyone and everybody, and who was on hand but Michael Bridges? The striker followed up his goal last week with a low drilled effort into the corner from seven yards out.

Relief flowed around the away support and dugout. We weren’t playing well but we’d given ourselves a chance to make amends, if not for now then for the second half. It’s weird how differently you view things after a goal too. Minutes earlier I’d felt thoroughly depressed, a touch angry even. Now I not only felt relieved but also a little guilty. After all, Forest Green are a top half team and very strong at home. It’s so easy to get carried away in a position like ours and expect the world on a plate. It doesn’t work like that.

Just as it had been on Tuesday night, the momentum had swung. Bridges almost scored again straight from the restart. Then Cadamateri attempted a sublime side-foot shot from thirty yards after the ball had rolled across his body after a pass from Niven. The shot didn’t go in but it only just cleared the crossbar, inviting warm applause from the rejuvenated travelling Hatters. Forest Green looked far from finished at this stage but they certainly wanted half time by the looks of it. The goalkeeper took an age to boot the ball back into play.

There was time for one more big moment. Michael Taylor danced down the touchline and laid one back for Gnakpa. The right back then smashed a wonderful cross-field ball into the path of Daniels down the far left. Daniels breezed past Bignot and confidently slid the ball across goal. Two minor deflections later and the ball landed perfectly for Bridges, who slotted home from no more than a yard out. The linesman though chalked it off for offside. We would have to be content for going in level.

[ScottleeSV]

I resisted the urge to make changes at half time, instead giving the starting eleven the opportunity to improve. Brian and I were both in agreement they would have to improve quickly though. I wasn’t adverse to using all three subs as early as the hour mark if we carried on in the same vein as we had before the interval. It’s not that I thought the prospect of a draw was bad; as I’ve stated in previous entries, a point away to Forest-Green-2009 isn’t a bad result. I just hate seeing us underperform.

Thankfully our play was better straight from the restart. Pilkington’s long ball in the 47th minute sent Bridges into an advanced attacking position down the right wing. Bridges tried to cross the ball in but almost inadvertently ended up scoring goal of the season. As it was, Robinson stumbled backwards towards his far post and tipped the ball over the crossbar. Nothing came from the corner but two minutes later Bridges was in the thick of it again, laying a one metre pass sideways for Kevin Nicholls on the edge of the area. The skipper hammered one in low and Robinson once again had to concede the corner, this time with a more orthodox save.

Isn’t football a wonderful game? Forest Green’s response to suddenly getting battered was to go down the other end and score with their first attack of the second half. The painful moment arrived with 55 minutes on the clock. Mangen and Telford (no relation to the radio operator who gets his throat slit in Die Hard 2) combined in the centre circle to send McDonald away down the right. Just as I was starting to feel a sense of déjà vu as to how this attack was developing, McDonald got his cross in. It was a low one, close to Brill, very manageable. Brill though pushed it outwards instead of catch it. The ball careered into the unfortunate Derek Niven and ricocheted over the goal-line.

I don’t know why but the mishaps we were suffering today were p!ssing me off more than anything else that’s been thrown at us for quite some time. When Niven’s own goal went in I had a mad urge to kick another bottle, and that’s the first time I’ve felt like that since the one and only time it happened. The players, having said that, didn’t mooch around and stare at the turf in despair. Led by a determined looking Kevin Nicholls they quickly returned to the centre circle and restarted play.

The next few minutes were end to end. First Michael Taylor crossed one onto the head of Michael Bridges, whose powerful header was caught in midair by Robinson. That would have been an instant reply, had it gone in. The home side then had a golden chance to put the game to bed. Once again the play went down that wretched right hand side! This time it was Telford allowed to scamper into space and get his cross in. The ball went all the way to the back post where for all the world it looked as if Stonehouse would score. He took at least one more touch than was necessary however and Tony James managed to block his eventual shot on the line.

On such moments do the outcomes of games rest! In the 66th minute our midfield pressed the Forest Green backline onto the edge of its own area. Nicholls and Niven were in the thick of things here, bustling and probing with innumerable small passes and little flicks. Luckily we got the rub of the green with a little deflection just outside the semi circle. The round thing came back to Nicholls and he took an instant first time shot. Robinson dived purposefully to his right but the ball bobbled over his outstretched right hand and just fractionally clipped the inside of the post before nestling in the bottom corner. We’d equalized. Again.

Instinctively I screamed in relief and punched the air, optimistic once more that we weren’t destined to go home empty-handed. I’d been warming up subs just prior to that goal but in the chaos of the celebrations I completely forgot about them. Even if I hadn’t forgotten, I probably would have held back from making the switches as quickly as intended. Thanks to Nicholls’ timely strike we had the momentum again. You don’t mess around with momentum. It’s like big tough guy you just don’t mess with.

Things were potentially about to get better. Forest Green were sagging now, perhaps convinced it just wasn’t their day after all. In a spot of panic their manager sent on two subs. One of them was attacking midfielder Adriano Rigoglioso, a guy I used to actually play with at Morecambe many a year ago. My shock at seeing him again temporarily distracted me from the on-field play. A roar from the away end though dragged my attention straight back into it. Charlie Daniels was charging down the field and he was through!

He was far from central in his line to goal here but it was still a great chance. Egged on by the travelling faithful behind that very same goal, Daniels slowed down inside the area as the keeper approached. From here the winger side-footed the ball across Robinson in the direction of the far corner. The finish was perfectly weighted and ended up in the corner of the net. We’d taken the lead! Now firmly on cloud nine I ran ten yards up the touchline and air-punched for all I was worth. Brian remained where he was stood but happily high-fived me when I returned to the dugout.

"How did that come about?" I asked.

"Just a long ball from Gnakpa. Defence was all over the shop".

Thirteen minutes remained at this point. Such was our overwhelming dominance now against a completely bedraggled set of home spirits, I once again put off making the substitutions. Cadamateri almost made it 4-2 in the 80th minute, cutting inside Sawyers before inexplicably toe-poking a shot wide when it was easily to side-foot. What home fans there were had gone completely silent, completely drowned out by the vociferous swarms from Bedfordshire. The full repertoire was coming out now, including the James Martin chant.

With six minutes remaining Michael Taylor played a one two with Nicholls before embarking on a run down the right wing. His first time cross was well hit by Bridges but equally well saved by Robinson, who despite getting beaten several times already today had still had a good match. On this occasion the ball rebounded out to Niven. The Scot controlled the ball with his chest before eagerly slotting low past the out-of-commission goalkeeper for goal number four. On no better note can I end the account.

----------

FINAL SCORE (Att - 1556)

Forest Green 2 (Robertson 28, Niven o.g 55)

Luton Town 4 (Bridges 39, Nicholls 66, Daniels 77, Niven 84)

----------

(other results)

AFC Wimbledon 2-4 Crawley

Cambridge 1-1 Northwich

Droylsden 4-1 Ebbsfleet

Grays 2-2 Salisbury

Kettering 0-1 Histon

Oxford 2-0 Burton

St Albans 2-2 Mansfield

Tamworth 1-2 Kidderminster

Weymouth 1-0 Stevenage

Woking 2-3 Rushden

York 3-2 Macclesfield

----------------

(top of table with everyone having played 17 games)

1 - Rushden (41)

-----------------

2 - Luton (40)

3 - York (34)

4 - Grays (32)

5 - Oxford (30)

-----------------

6 - Crawley (28)

7 - Burton (28)

8 - Stevenage (28)

[ScottleeSV]

18/10/09 - A fresh perspective

Come Sunday afternoon my mind was back on Stan Ternant again. Initially love had been the name of the game. I’d stayed over at Chantelle’s and we’d enjoyed a thoroughly hormone-charged morning behind closed bedrooms doors. After it was over though, she’d gone back to sleep for a lie-in where as yours truly had got up and watched some cartoons with Luke in the living room. It was during this little period Ternant had appeared in my head.

When Chantelle finally emerged from the land of nod at just past midday, not yet dressed but wearing a very fetching silver dressing gown, I began to cook breakfast for her and the little mite. I broached the subject of my long lost father as I was doing this, telling her the story all the way from the beginning. I even included the part where I broke into Dave’s safe to retrieve the shortlist of candidates. I did not however mention that Chantelle herself had been there that night entertaining Darren on top of the photocopier. Sometimes you have to tell a story with a certain degree of tact.

“I would have loved to have had a second dad when I was still living with my mum” she commented afterwards, leaning groggily on the kitchen table. “There was only me and my mum growing up. If she’d met a nice guy, a step-dad, it would have been ace. She was never interested in meeting anyone else though”.

“Well, it’s a slightly different situation in my case” I said, turning bacon over with a giant plastic spatula. “For one thing, I’ve already got two perfectly good parents. It doesn’t matter to me if one of them isn’t biological. Nor does it matter they’ve now broken up; in my eyes they’re still two perfectly good parents. Also, I’m an adult living a long way from home now anyway. It’s not as important for me to have a healthy parental situation anymore. In fact it’s not really important to me at all. When they broke up last year I hardly blinked”.

“Then why are you so tetchy about this whole thing?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s pride more than anything else. When I decided to become a football manager I wanted to work hard, play fair, and go as far as I could. The way things have turned out though haven’t exactly been fair, not by a long shot. Someone has basically paid some scumbag a fortune so I could skip the first half of the long and winding road and go straight to the second half”.

“So once again, what’s the big deal?” Chantelle asked, somewhat bemused. “You’ve had a lucky break. That’s all it is. Don’t tell me you wish this hadn’t have happened and you’d ended up at a rubbish club?”

“Not exactly” I begrudgingly admitted.

“Well then!”

I still didn’t like it though, and as I ducked into the fridge to retrieve some eggs I remained troubled.

“I don’t mean this to sound mean” she continued. “But you should be grateful really. Lots of people don’t get lucky breaks. I’ve hardly had any lucky breaks in my life. If I went for a job I really wanted and I got it, and then I found out someone had paid all that money to make sure I’d got it, I’d be thrilled. Yeah it’d be weird meeting a new dad, but I’d still be happy about it”.

“I know what you’re saying – I do. I just wish I’d got the job on my own merit that’s all”.

“Are you going to give him a call or something then?”

“Who?”

“Your new dad”.

I wasn’t, actually. There were currently no plans afoot for me to contact my new father. Nor were there any plans to get in touch with my mum and dad and find out what their input was. I wasn’t naive enough to think I would always feel this way, but for now my innermost desire was to concentrate on the football, concentrate on Chantelle, and maybe deal with unfinished family business some other time. One idea I’d already toyed with was to wait until the close season and maybe deal with it then.

“No” I eventually said stoically, coming down from space. “I’m thinking of just leaving the whole thing alone for now. I’ve got too much other stuff going on in my life”.

“Seriously?” my host replied, getting out of her chair. “You’re seriously going to just leave it? How much did you say your real dad paid that guy - two hundred thousand?”

“More. It was two hundred and fifty thousand, apparently”.

Seemingly more awake now, Chantelle put her arms around my waist and leaned her head on my right shoulder blades.

“S__t, he must be absolutely loaded to be throwing that amount of money around. What is he, the manager of England or something?”

“No, Norwich City. It’s not the most lucrative club in Britain but with the amount of money in football these days it’s not inconceivable he could have become a millionaire across the length of his career”.

“Well maybe you should have another think about getting to know him then” she said, kissing me softly on the neck. “If he’s that loaded you might be able to make some serious money out of it”.

With this she returned to her chair. She was probably spot-on with what she was saying. It still didn’t inspire me to jump in the car and head straight to East Anglia though. Money has never been one of my primary motivations in life. Don’t get me wrong, it IS up there, it’s just not number one. I’d probably rank it at number three behind sport and women.

“He’ll keep” I finally said after some serious deliberation. “At the moment I don’t even know who I’m going to pursue first – my Leeds parents or Ternant. When I’m ready though, I’ll know. My insides will give me a sign”.

“Okay”.

Conversation over she rose from her chair again, only this time to head for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To get a quick shower”.

“Breakfast is practically ready”.

“It’s okay; I’ll only be a few minutes. Grab Luke when it’s ready and get him to the table. I won’t be long”.

“Okay”.

Just as she reached the doorway Chantelle turned around. Her face was almost lost to me at the moment behind her unbrushed long blonde hair.

“Oh, I meant to ask you something. Leanne texted this morning. She says there weren’t any Luton players at Heavenly Hatters last night”.

“I know there weren’t. I told them yesterday they’re all banned from going there. That was their reward for winning. I should have banned them ages ago but meeting that Randy guy convinced me to finally get on and do it. I don’t want anyone under my management having anything to do with that place, quite frankly”.

“How did they take the news?”

“Not too badly. It’s not like it’s the only strip club in the world. I’m sure they’ll find somewhere else to get their titillation fix”.

“Yeah”.

Once she was finally gone I was able to re-devote my attention to the breakfast, or at least most of it. I was making a James special this morning – sausages, eggs, bacon, fried bread, tomatos; the works. As far as I was concerned, if Chantelle and Luke didn’t like this there was something wrong with them.

‘Then let’s talk finance. £5000 should do it’.

Steve's words to me in Jostein's still resonated a year on. Would me going to Stan Ternant and angling for compensation be any different? I wasn't sure I could run with Chantelle's train of thought on this one.

[mametz1536]

"not yet dressed but wearing a very fetching silver dressing gown," - My mind is going into overtime - Great story

[ScottleeSV]

lol, Mametz. Sorry to say it but today's update is sadly Chantelle-less.

------------------------------------------------------------

19/10/09 - Sick as a parrot.

I got to the office today a lot later than planned. Bumping into Bob Wharton just before I went in didn’t help. The man is impossible to walk past in the corridor because he’s just so damn fat. If you’re heading in the opposite direction as him, you literally have to turn around and go backwards until there’s a wider place for him to pass. It’s like bumping into another car on an isolated countryside road and then having to drive in reverse for two hundred yards. Very annoying.

“Good news” he said with a grin. “The new loan guy is in my office. You can meet him in a bit. I just need to finalise the contract with him”.

“James Lawrie?” I asked, beginning to walk backwards so Bob could reach the toilets.

“Yep. Just between you and me though, he errr... seems really nervous”.

“So are most new players when they turn up”.

“Yeah but this kid is actually physically shaking in there. Anyway, I’m sure you’ll buck him into shape. I’ll bring him into you when we’re done”.

“Okay”.

Bob disappeared into the men’s (albeit at snail’s pace), and I could now finally make my way into the communal offices. There was a full house today. Everybody was present.

“I’m sorry” I instantly heard Caroline tell someone on the phone. “There’s really no more tickets ....... Yes I know it’s only Monday...... What can I say? There’s been a mad rush for them..... To be perfectly honest with you here, Wimbledon and Finchley are much more to blame for this mess than we are”.

“Wingate and Finchley” I said loudly, taking my coat off and placing it on the back of my chair.

“Sorry, Wingate and Finchley” Caroline told the phone, as Darren predictably began to snigger. “Yes I’m sure you’re a loyal season ticket holder......... I believe you, I do! Look, the best I can do for you is put you on the waiting list in case our allocation goes up between now and .........I know sir but this isn’t a normal away game!....... Yes I’m sure you didn’t have any trouble getting to Forest Green but the world cup’s different to the league, isn’t it?”

“FA Cup, Caroline” I said, booting my computer up.

“Sorry, FA Cup! ........No, you can't speak to my supervisor ....Maybe you could go watch another team just for this one week only? It would be something different to do! Don't you ever get bored of watching the same team? I would ........ Hello? Hello?”

Predictably enough our resident goth looked rather put out when she finally came off the blower.

“Unbelievable!” she called across to me, giving Darren the finger at the same time. “I’ve never known a week like this. It’s just call after call after call after call. It’s driving me crazy”.

“Don’t worry. It’ll get like this sometimes when the big games come around. You were right to blame Wingate and Finchley though. Limiting us to one thousand tickets is just ridiculous. Listen, if you want a break from the incoming calls, block the line up by making some outgoing ones”.

“What kind of outgoing calls?”

“I don’t know. Use your initiative. Maybe call Wingate and plead for more tickets. You could lie and tell them we’ve had five thousand enquiries and that they’re missing out on making a killing. If they get stubborn, ask them if there are any temporary stands they can erect – that means extra room – or anything they can do to get more people in. If they give you any baloney about police advice, call the police yourself and ask them if there’s anything that can be done to have the attendance increased. Think out of the box a little bit!”

“When you call the police, ask for Alison” Darren suggested. “If there’s anybody who knows about ticketing Luton games.....”

“Yeah right” Caroline replied, picking up the phone.

“Gosh” I said, looking at Darren carefully. “Now there’s a name from the past. Have you seen Alison about anywhere recently, Darren? I wonder if she’s still knocking about”.

“Can’t say that I’ve seen her myself” he said, but without looking me in the eye.

‘You’re still going down Heavenly Hatters, aren’t you, you cheeky monkey’.

Brenda and Nicky had been silent up until now, unusually so in Nicky’s case. In my inbox though was an E-mail from her.

Hi

It’s not just the calls that are bugging Caroline. I think her salary is annoying her again today because of how busy she is. I could see it on her face earlier when Brenda got a call from someone about her new house, you know, the house Caroline wondered a while ago how she could suddenly afford?

Nicky

“Nicky, a moment outside please”.

“Okay”.

Once we were out there I turned to face her and quickly put on my ‘this is kind of awkward so just be patient with me whilst I spit it out’ face.

“What is it?” she asked.

“This weird contradictory situation where Caroline’s skint and Brenda seems strangely flush. Listen, I know I’ve never asked you about anybody’s salaries before and I don’t intend to start now either. Caroline’s obvious discontent though isn’t sitting well with me. I know money’s tight around the club. Believe me, I know. Trying to sign players at the moment is like.... well let’s just say money’s tight. Anyway, can I just ask, and this is strictly between me and you, is Caroline being hard done by? I mean, is she really on an absolutely pittance for what she’s doing?”

“She’s on the least out of everybody, I don’t mind telling you that much” Nicky began, choosing her words carefully. “Yes it’s less than what Alison got for doing the same job, and yes it seems low compared to everyone else in the office. It’s kind of low but not quite low enough to complain, if you know what I mean”.

“I get you. And what about Brenda? Is she at the other end of the scale here? Is she on unusually high wages for some reason?”

“No, not at all. She doesn’t even beat me and Darren, and we don’t earn all that much”.

I nodded my head thoughtfully, staring downwards for a moment at Nicky’s high heels. In the silence I could just vaguely hear Bob rambling away about something to James Lawrie in his office. I would have bet my bottom dollar that Bob was on a fair bob or two, no pun intended. I didn’t ask about him though. It must be weird being Nicky and having the power of knowing what everyone earns. Mind you, sometimes I think it must be weird being Nicky full stop.

“This is obviously just a Caroline problem then” I eventually continued. “If Brenda’s been a bit flash with the cash recently it must just be one of those things. At her age quick money could come from anywhere – a long term savings account, inheritance money, a gift from her ex; who knows? It’s none of our business either. As for Caroline, she’s just going to have to ride this out until the club gets back on a surer footing”.

“Okay” said Nicky, trying to smile a bit less than was normal for her.

“You don’t think I’m out of order asking about people’s salaries do you?”

“If it was anybody else then maybe. Not you though. I know you’ve got the right intention so I don’t mind”.

“Thanks, Nicky”.

“Anytime, Mr James”.

Just then the door to Bob’s office burst open and some young guy (James Lawrie, I presumed) ran out of it, down the corridor, and into the toilets. Seconds later a horrible squelching noise reached our ears.

“Oh my god, it sounds like he’s throwing up” said Nicky.

“Yeah” said Bob, appearing in the doorway of his office. “Like I said before, James, really nervous that one. You might have your work cut out there”.

‘Just lovely!’

[ScottleeSV]

20/10/09 - Wingate and Farcely

I was hurried into a press conference this morning. Given its timing, I knew it could only be about one of three things; the recent Forest Green match, the up and coming Wingate and Finchley match, or the loan signing of James Lawrie. Because of the fact we beat Forest Green, and also because Jamie Lawrie has yet to miss any sitters, I privately betted on Wingate and Finchley. I was right too. What I didn’t expect were Bob Wharton and two other two gentlemen to be seated at the top table when I arrived.

“Ah, here he is” said Bob with a grin. “Ladies and gentlemen of the press room, James Martin!”

Bob hasn’t been to many of my press conference before. If he had, he’d know I never get clapped into the room or anything flashy. I usually just walk in to almost perfect silence and then the questions begin as soon as my bum touches wood. Then later on when everybody’s done, or once I’ve walked out in anger, everyone packs up and leaves (to lots of murmuring and exactly no clapping).

“James” Bob continued, as I soaked up some glares from the audience. “This here on my right is Artur Zhirkov, the chairman of Wingate and Finchley. On his right, Daniel Pryke, the manager of Wingate and Finchley. Artur, Daniel, this is James Martin. Now then, this is to be a joint press conference ahead of Saturday’s FA Cup 4th Qualifying Round match at The Harry Abrahams Stadium. First there will be some questions from the floor and then we’ll finish off with a brief photo-shoot between the two managers”.

(‘Wow, a photo opportunity with a Ryman league boss. Behold my latest career highlight’).

On first impressions Daniel seemed to be square-chinned serious kind of chap. I’d say he was in his late thirties. The other guy, the one with the foreign name, was much older. He was over fifty and also looked extremely serious and stuffy. Or maybe they were both just nervous? Neither would be all that familiar with press rooms after all. Together the four of us sat on the same long table facing the assorted media, Bob in the middle and the rest of us either side of him.

“Daniel. I’m Andy Branston from the Hertfordshire Herald. How does it feel to be at Kenilworth Road being interviewed alongside the manager of Luton Town?”

“Errrrrr, really strange but also a little bit exciting. It’s not something I thought would happen at the start of the season, that's for sure. It’s going to be a great occasion for everyone at the club".

“James, this is also going to be quite different for your team too. It’s not every week you travel to a side three divisions below you. What are your thoughts ahead of Saturday?”

“Well” I said steadily, reaching for the water jug. “I’ve always loved the FA Cup, both as a fan, a player, and a manager. It’s unique. It’s special. Every season it seems to throw up magical ties between teams who would never normally get the chance to meet. This, you would definitely have to say, is one such tie. I’d just like to say to our guests that I hope you enjoy seeing Kenilworth Road this afternoon, just as I’m looking forward to seeing your... stadium.... ground...thing, on Saturday. I hope Wingate and Finchley, players and staff alike, enjoy their day in the sun, and above all, I hope Saturday’s match is a good advert for FA Cup football”.

Now personally I thought I’d been quite the diplomat throughout that little speech. The little middle-aged man called Artur though apparently disagreed, slamming his fist down on the table and making everybody jump.

“Unbelievable” he said snappily. “Day in the sun? Is this how you think we view Saturday’s match? Day in the sun? We are top of our league by four points! We haven’t lost a home game since April. Do you think we’re just going to roll over like a dog on Saturday because the mighty Luton is in town?”

“Well no” I replied calmly. “I didn’t mean any offen....”

“Brad Scowcroft, The Luton Supporter’s Trust. If I read this correctly, Mr Zhirkov, are you confident of causing an upset on Saturday?”

“In MY opinion” Zhirkov boomed, turning to face Scowcroft and wagging a finger to amplify his point. “A win for Wingate and Finchley on Saturday is distinct possibility! I have invested a lot of money into this club. We have good manager, good players, good training and fitness techniques, and a strong will to win at any cost. We are not afraid of these prima donnas you put in front of us. Man Utd? Maybe too tough. Luton though? No. We are not afraid of Luton - maybe it is LUTON who should be afraid of us? Our intention is to win the match. We think we have good chance”.

“A fat chance in hell more like” I whispered in Bob’s ear, smiling.

“And this MAN is a disgrace to the FA Cup” Zhirkov shouted, rising to his feet and pointing across at me. “We’ve only been here five minutes and he makes fun of us! First he doesn’t know our stadium name. Then he says we’re only here for day in the sun, and now he makes joke with chairman! Disgrace!"

“Hey, now don’t make me out to be the bad guy here!” I said firmly, myself getting out of my chair. “I came here for a friendly press meeting and you’re turning it into something else entirely!”

Out of the corner of my eye I was suddenly very conscious that pens were scribbling and cameras were clicking. Bob meanwhile was sat below my chin, one hand wiping his brow in embarassment.

“It was already something else even before the meeting!” Zhirkov gnarled. “The smiley girl who let us in called us Fingate and Winchley! Rude staff and rude manager. What kind of joke are you running here?”

“Only a joke that’s about to eject your sorry butt from the competition” I said in a kind of patronising Ross Geller voice.

“You are disgrace!” Zhirkov once again shouted, only this time he actually pushed me as he said it.

Instinctively I pushed him back. Then he grabbed my tie and tried to push me backwards. In retaliation I grabbed the back part of his arm and began to wrestle with him over the top of Bob’s head. The cameras meanwhile were going crazy, clicking away like there was no tomorrow. Nobody seemed to want to break the skirmish up, not least Wingate manager Daniel Pryke, content as he was to just sit and stare at the wall as if pretending he wasn’t present.

“Okay, okay!” my chairman eventually shouted, rising upwards and using his huge body mass to get in the middle of us. “That’s enough. Ladies and gentleman, the photo shoot is sadly errr.... postponed”.

Using firm chubby hands, Bob ferried me backwards towards the door. Zhirkov meanwhile straightened his tie and violently pushed away the fake concerns of a smiling Andy Branston.

“We see you on Saturday!” he roared at me.

“Yeah you will. By the time we’re finished with you lot, they’re going to be calling you Losegate and Finchley”.

The Slovenian (as I would later discover he was) tried to lunge for me again but Bill Tulip cut him off. Moments later and I was out the door being led away by Bob.

“My word!” he said, scuttling faster than I’d ever seen him move before. “No wonder they say you’re bad at press conferences. I think I’ll need a glass of wine after that”.

“You and me both, Bob. You and me both”.

[mametz1536]

"Caroline, she’s just going to have to ride this out until the club gets back on a surer footing"

I'm stealing her - she can come to Baden and work for me. Pay her more !!

"Don't you ever get bored of watching the same team?" Fantastic line.

[michael62]

lol you got to win now !!!!

[tenthreeleader]

Finally, a manager who has more trouble in press events than my character.

Great post!

[ScottleeSV]

Thanks Michael, Mametz, and Tenthree.

Oh, and Caroline isn't for sale.

------------------------------------------------------------------

21/10/09 - Less reasons to shop at Morrisons

You’ll never guess who I saw in Morrisons earlier this evening? I only went and bumped into Erica Hunt, the biggest pain in the ass accountant there ever was. It was me who saw her first. I was pushing a trolley up the crisps and biscuits aisle when I spotted Erica pass by the junction up ahead.

The last time I saw her must have been before I got with Chantelle because I never realised just how much the two look alike. Yes their faces are different, but apart from that I can’t look at one without being reminded of the other. They both have long, straight blonde hair. They’re both about the same height. They’re both roughly the same age (Chantelle 23, Erica 25ish). Oh, and they’re both F.I.T. Since beginning this entry, I have asked Chantelle if she has a sister but the answer was a definite no.

Before I could wheel my trolley around the corner to catch up with Miss Hunt, my phone went off. In truth it’s been going off non-stop throughout the course of today. Various journalists and other assorted scumbags have been ringing me up to ask about the Zhirkov incident. I’m not quite big enough in the footballing world to make the nationals over this incident, but I have no doubt I’ll be the cover story in the Hertfordshire Herald tomorrow evening (and probably the Bedfordshire Bulletin too).

“Hello” I said irritably.

“Hi, is that James?”

“It is”.

“Hi. This is Daniel Pryke, the Wingate and Finchley manager. We met yesterday at the press conference?”

“Oh, yeah. How could I forget? What do you want?”

“Well, firstly let me just say that a number of people at the club are highly embarrassed about what transpired. Without opening up a lengthy debate on the subject, Mr Zhirkov is very apologetic about what happened and he wants to make amends. As a token of goodwill, he would like to invite you and your squad to stay at the hotel he owns in Cambridge the night before the game”.

“Cambridge? Your ground is in a suburb in Barnet isn’t it? I looked it up on Wikipedia”.

“Yes. Regrettably though, Mr Zhirkov doesn’t own any hotels in or around Barnet. He only has one such establishment and it’s in Cambridge. If you and your squad can get up there from Luton the night before the game though, he promises you free five star board and a free team breakfast the morning after. What do you say? Under the circumstances it’s a very generous peacemaking offer”.

“I suppose”.

Not wanting Erica to get away whilst I thought it over, I allocated one hand to both trolley and phone and shot up the aisle towards the t-junction. Luckily I hadn’t lost her; she was dawdling in the very next aisle pondering the purchase of a huge cheese wedge.

“Well okay then” I eventually conceded. “I suppose it will help keep the press off our backs if they think we’ve made up. Tell Zhirkov I accept. Tell him to forward the finer details to Brenda, my secretary at the club”.

“Will do! And hey, look at the other big positive. As much as nothing would please me more than to see your side in total disarray when you turn up for the match, staying at a hotel the night before should be great for team morale”.

“Or bad for team morale, if the guys in the squad have families who disapprove of the idea. Not only that but I’ve already got some quality team-bonding time lined up for my guys. After Zhirkov's rudeness yesterday I held a squad meeting and promised everyone a week’s camping holiday next week if they beat him on the pitch. Don’t get me wrong, as much as I appreciate the hotel gesture I’m only agreeing to it for the sake of my repairing my public image, nothing more”.

“Fair enough. So what do you think about...”

“Mr Pryke, I really have to go. Thrash out the finer details with Brenda at the club. Goodbye”.

That might have sounded a rude way to go but Erica was on the move again, and I was running the risk of letting the opportunity slip by. She was heading towards the hot drinks section now. Steadying myself as I put the phone back in my pocket, I finally negotiated the extra yards required to catch up.

“Hello, Erica” I said with an admittedly fake smile.

For a few seconds she twisted her head to look at me. Then, as cold as ice, she turned back to the coffee selections without saying anything.

“I hope you’re going to be careful when you decide which coffee to buy” I continued. “You are a coffee drinker aren’t you? So am I, as it happens. The great thing about coffee is the way it keeps us going throughout the day. It’s almost like human petrol. I remember one time though, when I was a student studying for my exams, I didn’t have much money so I bought this really cheap own brand rubbish from one of the local supermarkets. Later that night when I was revising, I just couldn’t find the energy to do it.

“Anyway, it didn’t occur to me until much later, but that cheap coffee was the problem. I’d compromised. I’d comprised my entire future just for the sake of a few lousy quid. Even at the risk of temporarily going overdrawn, or using a credit card I’d sworn I’d never use again, I should have bought the good stuff. I should have prioritised the most important thing of all – results. Now then Erica, I hope you’re not the type to compromise for the sake of a few lousy quid”.

Still without speaking, Erica lifted the largest most expensive jar of coffee from the shelves and held it up in front of my face. Then she dropped it in the trolley and began to resume her journey down the aisle. Clumsily I kicked my own food carrier back into gear and followed on.

“Quit it already” she said. “Guy and Spencer are gone and they’re not coming back. Deal with it”.

“And what if we don’t go up, Erica?”

“Then you’ll be fired and I’ll still be at Luton. Besides, you did okay without them at Forest Green. I don’t know what your problem is”.

“That was just ONE game” I nearly shouted at her. “It remains to be seen how we get on in the other twenty nine”.

As quick as a flash she turned around and held her finger up sternly.

“Back off!” she said. “The board are already f__ked off with you after what happened yesterday. I’m sure you wouldn’t want them to hear a story about how you harassed the accountant in her local supermarket”.

“Speaking to the board doesn’t sound like a bad idea actually. Maybe we could go see them together? We could talk about how the penny pinching antics of one ditzy accounting trainee barely out of university might just cost us promotion”.

Rather than rise further to this, Erica smiled and turned around to get the trolley moving again. Meanwhile, an hispanic couple nearby were eyeing us nervously whilst all the time pretending to look at the price of hot chocolate. They weren’t fooling anybody. It was in this moment however I decided to let Erica be on her merry way. The last thing I needed was a second public spat getting out of hand in the space of two days.

“I wouldn’t approach the board if I were you” Erica called back, now almost at the checkouts. “I think you’ll find my relationship with them is built on much stronger foundations than yours is”.

‘Really?’ I thought to myself, thinking of Dilic and how much closer I was to him these days. ‘Well maybe I’ll call your bluff on that one of these days. Just you wait’.

From here I tried to get on with my shopping but the addrenelin was pumping through me far too quickly to concentrate. After a few more minutes of dallying from one aisle to the next, I called time on the expedition and left.

Once in the car park in front of the store, I spotted Erica again. She was placing some carrier bags in the boot of a very posh looking red ferrari and zapping it closed. What I saw next made me slide behind the nearest piller for fear of being seen. A white haired middle-aged guy got out from the driver’s side and opened the passenger door for Erica. I’d seen this guy before – It was Paul Leonard, the director who’d chaired that meeting with me in the boardroom to talk about The Royal Hotel Four.

“I don’t believe this” I muttered under my breath, as Paul returned to the driver’s side.

For all intents and purposes, it looked like Erica did indeed have strong foundations with the board, the strongest type you can possibly get.

[ScottleeSV]

23/10/09 - Bad hotel #2

The night before the game we arrived at The Plum Rose Hotel in Cambridgeshire, owned by the eccentric but seemingly very wealthy Artur Zhirkov. The Wingate chairman wasn’t there to greet us personally but the hotel manager had obviously been briefed as to our arrival. The man was actually stood outside the front door waiting for us when we turned up. The hotel itself was only a modest structure, perhaps big enough for somewhere between forty and fifty rooms. It was situated out on a country road rather than in the hubbub of Cambridge itself.

Our party of twenty two strong enjoyed a light supper in the hotel bar before savouring a few non-alcoholic beverages before bedtime. Then I ordered everyone off to the land of nod just shy of midnight. Unfortunately Zhirkov’s hospitality didn’t extend to giving us one room per man, so the majority of us had to double up. I was partnered with Brian in Room 41 on the top floor.

“I must admit, I didn’t think we’d be enjoying this kind of luxury until just before the final”.

“It is very posh isn’t it?” I replied, shutting my eyes and turning over. “Everything’s very Victorian and prim. I could imagine the Queen staying here if she ever visited the countryside”.

“Yeah” Brian chuckled softly. “I’m glad the room’s got two single beds though or I really would have had a problem with this whole set-up. So would Alice and Chantelle probably”.

“Count yourself lucky. Some of the players had no choice but to take double bed rooms. Anyway, I’m dropping off any minute. Goodnight, mate. See you in the morning”.

“Night, James”.

-----------

To say that I fell asleep in a quiet, tranquil, old-fashioned hotel with all the trapping of nineteenth century architecture contained within it, imagine my confusion when I woke up to the sound of rave music. It was half past two in the morning according the alarm clock by the side of the bed. The music wasn’t just a distant pest seeping into my ear like water from a small leak in the side of a rowing boat either. This was a full on assault of the senses, a booming techno orchestra seemingly filtering through the walls at absolutely no reduction to the decibel level.

“What the f__k is that?” I asked, rubbing my eyes and getting out of bed.

“I don’t know” said Brian, sporting a tacky set of blue pyjamas I hadn’t noticed before lights out. “It sounds like some idiot’s having a party in one of the rooms”.

“Not when I get my hands on them”.

Outside in the immediate corridor, some of my players had already gathered around the door to Room 45 just around the corner. All of them looked dreary eyed and extremely annoyed.

“Whoever it is won’t open the door” said Kevin Nicholls.

“Hey” I shouted, rapping on the wood. “Whoever’s in there, open the f__king door, either that or turn that racket off!”

As I waited for the response which didn’t arrive, Danny Cadamateri joined us with some rather disturbing news.

“It’s not just that room. Mine and Taylor’s room is on the first floor. More music is coming out of Room 12 right next to us. I don’t think it’s one of the player’s rooms. I don’t remember anyone from our party going into that one when we all went to bed anyway”.

“There’s two rooms doing this?” I asked with one finger in my ear to ward off the rave attack.

“Three rooms” said Richie Byrne, holding a mobile phone tight to his ear. “Joe Dunbar says there’s a room doing it on the second floor too”.

“Really? F__k me!”

Increasing numbers were now gathering at this spot. Whichever players hadn’t slept on mine and Brian’s floor were slowly making their way up to see if we knew what was going on. It was impossible to hold a conversation though because the music was just so damn loud. It was literally as if the actual door to Room 45 didn’t exist and the music was blaring straight through the doorway.

“Quiet!” I shouted over the half a dozen or so conversations taking place. “I can’t think over this racket. Everybody go and get dressed and wait in the lobby where the music won’t be so bad. Hopefully the manager will be down there to give us some answers”.

A few hectic minutes later and all twenty two of us were assembled by the main reception desk. George Pilkington was the final man to arrive, bounding down the last of the stairs with yet more dark news to report.

“Boss” he called over to me. “The manager’s on his way down now. I don’t think he’s going to be much use though. He doesn’t want to open any of the doors responsible for the music. Tell you the truth, I got the impression he’s not in the least bit surprised this is happening”.

“Then it's just as I've begun to suspect” I said, sighing in the process. “This is a stitch-up, and the hotel manager knows about it”.

“What are you talking about?” asked Keith Keane.

“Keith, it’s too much of a coincidence that three or four different rooms on different floors all start playing loud music at the same time. The Wingate chairman has orchestrated this. He’ll have holed three or four guys in those rooms up there with the specific instructions to start playing this sh_t at the exact same time of the morning. He wants us all sleep-deprived for tomorrow’s game. I read about something similar happening to England in the world cup once. It might have been England anyway. I can’t remember”.

“But that’s crazy!” exclaimed Will Buckley. “We can just all go home. He must know that”.

“All go home? We’re in Cambridgeshire! That’s the beauty of it. It would take us hours to arrange the necessary transport to all get back to Luton at this time of night. We could try going to a different hotel but who are going to have their doors open for us at this time?”

A silence fell across the foyer, and still the hotel manager was nowhere to be seen. From upstairs the chaotic ramble of several difference dance tunes playing simultaneously continued to vibrate around the walls.

“We can just call the police though, right?” Brian eventually piped up. “They’ll put a stop to it”.

“No” said Nicholls. “If you were going to set up something like this, you’d tell your guys to turn the music off the moment any sirens come into view. Then when the police have gone, the music will magically come back on again. You watch”.

“He’s right”.

“Son of a....”

“Guys!” Richie Byrne shouted over everyone from the back. “I’ve just looked online on my phone. There isn’t just one Plum Rose Hotel. This Zhirkov guy has a chain of them, and one of them is just outside Barnet. He only wanted us in this one because of how out of the way it is. Notice too how there’s nobody in the hotel tonight apart from Luton FC people and the music makers?”

“Unbelievable” I said furiously. “I should never have trusted that guy after the way he was in the press conference. We’ve been done up like a right bunch of kippers here”.

Another silence followed. Nobody seemed to want to say anything. In fury I focused on a nearby plant pot and took an almighty swing at it with my left foot.

“DAMMIT!”

[ScottleeSV]

23/10/09 - Come dine with me

The manager of the hotel was a snobbish sounding camp-voiced man. When he finally arrived in the lobby wearing some hastily thrown on work trousers and an un-ironed shirt, he had a look on his face as if worried he might get lynched. Indeed it wasn’t completely inconceivable that might have happened had Brian and I not fought our way to the front to calm the situation down.

“Please don’t blame me” the man said, holding his hands up in a defensive posture. “I had to go along with this or I’d lose my job. It doesn’t matter how much anybody threatens me, I will not open any of those doors”.

“And what if we decide to kick them down?” Nicholls argued.

“You’d struggle given how thick they are” I said. “Besides, imagine the furore there’d be from the press if we wrecked the place. Nobody is to kick any doors in or harm anybody. That’s a direct order”.

“But what are we going to do then?” George Beavon asked. “We can’t stay down here doing nothing all night. We won’t get any sleep”.

As people began to talk over each other again, bouncing various ideas back and forth which were either unworkable or just plain stupid, I pinched the top of my nose and thought hard. I had to think of something quickly here or we were in big trouble. Many years ago I’d tried to play football once after getting next to no sleep and the end result had not been pretty.

“Quiet!” I shouted, before turning to the hotel manager again. “Look, I’ll give you a thousand pounds if you can find us somewhere in this building to sleep where we can’t hear that music. Your boss needn’t know about it. You can just say we charged around the hotel until we found somewhere relatively soundproof. He’ll never suspect you helped us. Oh, and it’s got to be somewhere quieter than in this lobby. In here isn’t good enough. Nobody’s going to be able to get to sleep in here”.

“The launderette” he replied, after giving the matter some thought. “It’s a room under the wine cellar. It’s two floors beneath the ground floor so I doubt you’ll be able to hear the music from in there. It’s the only idea I can think of. If that doesn’t work, I don’t think I’ll be able to help you”.

“Okay then!” I said, grinning for the first time since waking up. “You and me let’s go check it out. Everybody else, wait here”.

The route to get there took us first into the kitchens, then down to the wine cellar, and finally down one more level into the launderette. The latter was basically a huge stone room about the size of half a penalty area. Covering one side of the room was a machine I can only describe as being one gigantic washing machine and tumble dryer joined at the hip. The other side of the room though was relatively bare. More importantly, you could only just barely hear the dance music from in here.

“It’s cold down there but it will do” I announced on my return to the lobby. “Everybody, go back to your rooms and grab as many quilts, blankets, and pillows as you can carry. Then take them down to the launderette and set up a bed for yourself. Once you’ve done that, get your head down and get some sleep. Okay, get to it!”

Not needing a second invitation, twenty one pairs of legs all begun to scurry up the stairwells. Whilst they were doing that, I held one last conversation with the hotel manager about the thousand pounds and how I was going to get it to him. We quickly agreed that as I obviously didn’t have the money on me right now, I would return solo on Sunday evening with a cheque.

Ten minutes later we were all cosily tucked away together down underground, hotel manager included. The last person to get his head down was me, setting up camp as I did right near the door. The body heat from twenty three people all sleeping head to toe in such a confined space actually helped combat the distinct chill in the air. Not that I thought about it for long; I don’t remember lying awake very long before succumbing to sleep.

------------

The following morning I was refreshed and raring to go, and I could tell from most of the faces around me they felt exactly the same way. Zhirkov had tried his best but by the grace of God we’d beaten him. All that remained now was to do our business on the pitch. As everyone began to head back above ground for the team breakfast, Brian and I stayed in the laundry room to work on some last minute tactics. Oh, and far as we could tell from where we were sitting, the music upstairs was no longer playing.

We’d only been working at it for about ten minutes when trusty physiotherapist Joe Dunbar reappeared to get something from where he’d been sleeping.

“Problem, Joe?”

“Nah. I just need some tablets. One of the guys upstairs is having a little bout of sickness. Hopefully he’ll be right again by the time we get to the ground though. I’ll keep you in the loop”.

Grinning but in sheer disbelief I looked at Brian.

“Damn that James Lawrie. He’s a nervous wreck. All he’s done since he turned up is puke up every chance he gets. You’d think the prospect of playing a complete sh_t team today would actually......”

“Hey, just a second” Joe interrupted. “I didn’t say it was James Lawrie. As far as I know, James Lawrie is just fine. It’s Richie Byrne who’s sick”.

“Richie Byrne” Brian repeated thoughtfully. “That’s odd. Richie slept next to me last night. I heard him wake up at about half six this morning though. He said he’d already had about as much sleep as he usually gets before a game and that he was off up to pinch some breakfast, maybe watch some TV in the lobby whilst he was at it”.

I suddenly looked at my assistant in complete horror. Judging by the expression on Joe’s face, he was also beginning to cotton on.

“The breakfast!” I said loudly. “Zhirkov must have known we might find the laundry room. He probably had a contingency plan. Oh Jesus Christ, where are the other players right this second?”

“Up-up in the hotel dining suite” Joe stammered, clearly taken aback at how I’d shot to my feet with a worried scowl on my face. “Everybody’s just this minute sat down to eat”.

“****!” Brian shouted, himself getting up.

“F__k!” I cried, racing for the stairs.

Of the three of us, I was comfortably the fastest and most agile. With all the energy I could muster I dashed up each set of stairs and rushed into the lobby. Then, after almost throttling the receptionist to tell me where the dining room was, I went straight in there shouting and bawling at the top of my lungs.

The actual dining table was huge, easily big enough for a squad of footballers. As I entered the room they were all sat merrily next to each other just beginning to tuck into an extremely delicious looking selection of cereal and toast.

“Nooooooooo” I shouted loudly, sprinting across the room.

Without any thought for own well being, I did a huge Superman dive onto the table. Arms outstretched my body then began to slide forwards over the wood. Bowls, plates, napkins, cups, and various other bits and bobs all flew everywhere. It was carnage. Eventually I came to a halt with my head dangling over the far side of the table. Here I lay still for a minute, completely out of breath.

“What....the.....f__k?” Danny Cadamateri said slowly, his shirt now covered in ketchup.

“Ow” I said softly.

[michael62]

lol classic can't wait for the next installement make sure you beat them or your never live it down

[WelshWolf]

This. Is. Great.

no more need be said, you have an amazing ability.

[adam426]

just finish reading through it brilliant cant wait for the next installement

[pooman2279]

Love the Matrix dive across the tables. Brilliant stuff

[ScottleeSV]

Thanks Michael, Adam, Wolf, and Pooman. That's an extremely morale-boosting set of compliments to start the working week. Cheers.

------------------------------------------------------------

24/10/09 - The Road to Wembley

My Superman dive might have been a tad over-the-top, but at least it shows I care about this club. As luck would have it nobody apart from Richie had eaten enough to get sick. Thus we escaped from Zhirkov’s second attempt to derail us with our first choice left back the only casualty. I reckoned I could probably live with that. After all, George Beavon is hardly a shabby replacement to have waiting in the wings.

Half an hour of packing later, and after carefully checking Zhirkov hadn’t put a potato in the exhaust pipe of the team coach, we set off for London. Obviously the players still hadn’t had breakfast by this point so I instructed the driver to stop at a service station en route. The players all went to the salad bar. Me and Brian went to Burger King.

“I know it’s all academic now” my assistant began, shoving a big fat piece of his Special Edition Royal Deluxe Flame Grilled King Sized Beef Grenade into his gob. “But who would we have turned to if the whole squad had gone down with food poisoning back there?”

“Darren, Nicky, Caroline, and Brenda, with Fred in nets, probably” I replied. “It doesn’t really bear thinking about really, even against Wingate”.

I didn’t finalise the starting eleven until the last possible minute today. Literally I was still tinkering with it seconds before I had to hand the sheet in, scribbling out Beavon and writing Daniels instead. Replacing Daniels on the left wing would be central midfielder Matthew Gill.

The thinking behind this was obvious if only you could have seen the Wingate and Finchley playing surface. It was a complete disgrace. I kid you not it looked a bit The Somme from World War One. I almost expected Arthur Lowe from Dad's Army to pop out of a trench in the centre circle and say "Now what's going on ere' then?" In fact, let me give you a quick scientific breakdown of what the pitch at The Harry Abrahams Stadium roughly consisted of...

Mud = lots. Grass = not so much.

The rest of the team remained unchanged from that which beat Forest Green. I resisted the temptation to put James Lawrie in. The young Port Vale lad has been throwing his guts up so much over the past week anyone would think he was a food taster at The Royal Plum Hotel. I did at least have him on the bench though. The FA Cup is famous for its debut goals and its young bucks coming out of nowhere to make a big splash. Maybe today James Lawrie would do just that.

“I’m sure I don’t need to tell you all of how important this game is” I told the lads at quarter to three. “Financially the club needs a good run in the FA Cup this season. Not only that, but if any of you lot aren’t motivated to go out there and give these pricks a good hiding after what they’ve tried to do to us this week, you want your head examining. And don’t forget, if you don’t win, you won’t get your free camping trip next week. Now then - I want ultra professionalism out there! I want determination! I want drive! I want focus! I want those bastards’ heads on sticks! Now get out there and get it done. This one’s for Richie!”

“Yeah!” shouted six players at the same time.

There’s no tunnel at The Harry Abrahams Stadium. The door to the changing rooms takes you straight out onto a little gravel area sandwiched between the first aid port-a-cabin and the main stand (the only one that has seats). It was here we lined up side by side with our opposition ready to take the field. They were in blue shirts where as we were in white. As the referee stood at the front of the two queues checking he had all his required apparatus with him, the Rocky Theme Tune began to play loudly from the speaker system in the main stand. Clearly the DJ was aiming to hit just the right note for the occasion.

Moments later and the three officials began their walk out to the middle, taking the two sets of players with them like a giant caterpillar tail. As soon as the first set of boots hit the mud, an almighty four-sided roar sounded out and an avalanche of blue ticker tape descended down from everywhere. It was almost like Argentina 1978 only without the toilet roll. You forget sometimes just how much these matches mean to the smaller teams.

‘Trying hard now!’ sang Rocky (or whoever). ‘Getting strong now! Gonna fly now!’

I would later learn the attendance was just under 3000. At least two thirds of those had to be Luton fans though. Officially we’d only been given 1000 tickets but as far as my eyes could tell there were white Luton shirts on all four sides of the ground. Not only that, but the noise from the travelling support was deafening. There hadn’t been much interest last season when we’d gone out in the first round away to Northampton. Dropping out of the football league though seems to have re-galvanised the support. Today was a case in point.

“Luton till I die” they sang, almost drowning the remains of the Rocky theme out as the players warmed up. “Oh Luton till’ I die! I know I am I’m sure I am, oh Luton till I die!”

They repeated this about four times. Halfway through the final one though they all broke off and cheered. As Brian correctly pointed out, said cheering seemed to be aimed at a spot somewhere behind us in the stand. It was Zhirkov! He was taking his seat near the back with what looked like two minders either side of him. By the time he’d parked his bum, a new chant had broken out.

“Arrrrtur Zhirkov, is a w_nker, is a w_nker! Arrrtur Zhirkov, is a w_nker, is a w_nker! Arrtur Zhirkov is a w_nker, is a w_nker!”

They might not have known about all the hotel shenanigans of the past twenty four hours, but they sure knew about the press room incident. It had been shamelessly milked dry by Branston in the Herald on Thursday, not to mention by the Bedfordshire Bulletin the exact same evening. It wouldn’t surprise me if at least a couple of hundred floaters had only decided to go last minute because of the publicity generated by ‘the skirmish’. All that being said, my favourite of the pre-match songs was probably the very last one on the playlist.

“Our manager...is harder than yours! Our manager...is harder than yours!”

Before long, Rocky had been turned off and we were ready for action. Brian and I shook hands for good luck and the referee began his customary checks with the opposing goalkeepers to make sure they were ready.

(‘Come on lads’).

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Next - FA Cup 4th Qualifying Round action, Wingate and Finchley v Luton

[ScottleeSV]

24/10/09, FA Cup 4th Qualifying Round

Wingate and Finchley v Luton Town

GK – Dean Brill (68 apps, 0 goals)

DL – Charlie Daniels (17 apps, 2 goals)

DR – Claude Gnakpa (64 apps, 2 goals)

DC – Tony James (17 apps, 0 goals)

DC – George Pilkington (63 apps, 1 goal)

DMC – Kevin Nicholls (43 apps, 12 goal)

MC – Derek Niven (10 apps, 1 goals)

ML – Matthew Gill (25 apps, 0 goals)

MR – Michael Taylor (8 apps, 0 goals)

FC – Michael Bridges (11 apps, 3 goals)

FC – Danny Cadamateri (13 apps, 4 goals)

To another thunderous roar, this much anticipated FA cup tie finally got underway. It was Bridges and Cadamateri who kicked off and before you could say Zhirkov-is-a-douchebag, the ball was careering its way towards the Wingate penalty area. The ball got itself stuck in the mud at this point, completely bamboozling central defender Lamb. Cadamateri came up on his blind side and suddenly it was 50/50 for the ball, the prize potentially being a clean run on goal in the first minute.

It all got spoiled though when one of the locals behind the goal got too excited at what was going on. Instead of simply wet himself, which would have been preferable, he let go of the lead controlling his dog and onto the pitch it leapt. The referee immediately blew the whistle about four times and all hell broke loose. The dog was big, black, and nobody seemed to want to catch it as it danced down the pitch like a performing seal.

“I don’t believe this!” I shouted, shaking my head.

“It’s a German Sheppard” said Brian. “Stay put. This is my bag”.

With more of a waddle than a run, Brian scurried onto the pitch towards the dog. It wasn’t a moment too soon either. The dog currently had Tony James’ shorts down past his knees, and the central defender was understandably fearful for his tackle. My assistant though is quite the authority on all things canine. It wasn’t long before his unique blend of soft whistles and friendly head pats had the thing under control and returned to its owner.

“There’s only one Brian Fox!” shouted the Luton faithful. “One Brian Fox, there’s only one Brian Fox”.

The dog incident disrupted our rhythm for quite some time. It wasn’t until the 10th minute we had our first shot, Gill firing over from just outside the penalty area after a lay-off from Niven. Trying to play any kind of football in this mud bath though was next to impossible. It soon became apparent the only workable tactic was the long ball. This almost worked in the 12th minute as Bridges looked to take a long punt from Brill under control. The ball got stuck beneath his feet though and goalkeeper Hadley dived in where it hurts to collect.

Big moment after 16 minutes, and this time it was for the home side. Screeched on by a whole raft of school kids behind the goal they were kicking towards, Spellman showed craft which belied his level to put Benton in a promising position just outside the area. Faced with Pilkington directly in front of him, Benton waited for the run of Kavanagh before chipping it diagonally into his path so he could chest it down and run in on goal. Kavanagh got the chest part right but a stray hand from covering defender Gnakpa seemed to flick the ball away from him.

Countless cries for a penalty went up. The referee however, trying to keep up with Gnakpa’s breakaway in the other direction, waved both arms over each other like an umpire signalling four runs. He hadn’t given it. I didn’t need to look behind me to know that Zhirkov would be jumping around like a rabid monkey up in the stand. The ball had definitely hit my defender’s hand. It was just a case of whether the man in black thought it was deliberate enough to award the penalty. Evidently he did not.

Wingate paid the price for dwelling on the decision. Barely ninety seconds later and Daniels had overlapped with Gill down the left. The tricky leftie took Baird both one way and then the other before going over his leg just inside the area. That was definitely a penalty and this time the referee did point to the spot. As the players cuddled and celebrated, it suddenly occurred to me that Zhirkov obviously hadn’t bribed the referee before this match. Maybe he just hadn’t thought of it?

I never back against ‘the skip’ from twelve yards. He’s devilishly good at penalties and this was another rip-roaring example. Rather than risk a low across over the mud, Nicholls blasted his kick high into the top left hand corner and we were one up after 18 minutes. Nicholls was already an important figure in this match even before the goal. With the pitch in such a state, you need a gritty bulldog type in centre midfield and that’s exactly what we had in Nicholls. This match was made for him. It was symbolic he should score the opener.

Goal number two almost arrived when a downwards header from Niven was saved awkwardly on the line by Hadley. After that a long passage of play crept by without much happening. Long ball after long ball seemed to be the order of the day. We were still having more of the pressure than the home side, but it didn’t look like it was going to be a day we would blast them out of sight. In the 32nd minute, Bridges tried to shoot from the edge of the area but missed the ball completely. He soon shut up the hecklers though; having another go and seeing his shot only just bobble wide of the far post.

With ten minutes to go until half time, a header away by Gilligan on the edge of his own area landed at the feet of the bulldog. The bulldog passed it to Gill, who then sprayed it straight back to the bulldog. From here the bulldog growled and snarled and carried the ball forwards, eventually passing it to Cadamateri, who had drifted out wide. Cadamateri attempted a side-footed cross but it went low and straight to Lamb. However, Lamb mistimed his volley away and the ball fell to Gill in a crowded area. The midfield maestro smacked it hard but Hadley produced a reflex save to palm it away.

Just as I thought we were looking comfortable, Wingate and Finchley found a second wind in stoppage time at the end of the half. First they had a couple of corners, both unconvincingly hacked away. Then a long aimless ball by Ward seemed to confuse the back-line. They were all left ball watching and Benton ghosted in at the back post. He let the ball bounce before heading it at goal – probably a mistake. The ball didn’t bounce that high in the mud and Benton’s header ended up being an awkward stooping kind of header. Brill saved on the line at chest height and we had survived. We were ahead at the break through Nicholls’ penalty.

[ScottleeSV]

Judging by the roars of encouragement from the W & F contingent as the players re-took the field, a lot of them clearly still hadn’t given up hope of an upset. A good start to the half though they did not make. As soon as they lost the ball after a ten pass move from the kick-off, their heads seem to droop remarkably quickly. Nicholls and company took over in midfield and from here we enjoyed a golden passage of play where shots and chances seemed to come a lot quicker than they ever had in the first half.

Taylor and Bridges had both screwed half chances just wide when Taylor it was who won a corner on the hour mark. Twice the cross was headed behind for further corners before Nicholls’ third effort went over everybody to the far side. This time, and with the pressure at breaking point, Charlie Daniels whipped one back into the middle. Tony James had stayed up for all three corners and it was he who met the ball now with a bullet header down into the ground. The ball bounced up and past goalkeeper Hadley into the net for the second goal. Incidentally that was Tony James’ first goal for the club.

Now I felt relatively safe, safe enough to punch the air and slap Brian on the shoulder at any rate. As the game restarted, I stayed on the ball by warming up my substitutes. Whilst I was doing that, the DJ announced that the owner of a Vauxhall Corsa registration VF14 2RB was parked on somebody’s lawn outside the ground, and could they please go move it? I don’t know if it was just me but the DJ sounded a lot more melancholy than he had when reading the team sheets out during the warm-up.

In the 64st minute I took Gill off and brought Beavon on. As a result of this change, Daniels would move up to left wing and Beavon would drop in at left back. We were still on top at this stage and we almost added a third when Cadamateri fed Bridges inside the area only for the striker to balloon over the top. One thing I’d noticed since half time was that we were keeping the ball a lot better in the mud. It was as if we’d acclimatized to the subtle bounces and non-rolls of the ball and could now feel more confident in stringing a few passes together.

The bulldog almost got his second in the 67th minute, swopping a one-two with Bridges before hitting one against the base of the post. To be perfectly frank, the game was a lot easier than the first half. Wingate seemed both demoralised and knackered. I couldn’t envisage them pulling two goals back from here. Zhirkov seemed to agree with me. A roar from the away fans told me something was going on in the stand again, and when I glanced backward and upwards, I could see everybody’s least favourite Slovenian heading for an early exit.

“Bye, bye, BYE, Bye” they predictably sang to the tune of the famous Pompey chimes. “Bye, bye, BYE, bye”.

Soon it was time for substitution number two. On came Owusu for the bulldog, giving him a deserving pat on the head in the process. I still don’t think young Owusu will make it at Luton in the long term, even if we stay in the Blue Square Premier for a protracted period. In the present moment however he’s an important squad player. Not only that but he trains hard and stays out of dodgy hotels when strippers give him the come-on. I admire that in one so young.

With twenty minutes to go, Wingate substitute Holgate worked a good move with colleagues Peacock and Ward. He gave Beavon the slip just outside the area and cracked in a shot which had Brill scrambling towards his near post. At first I thought it had gone in and that Zhirkov’s departure had been wholly premature. The ball slammed into the side netting though and the Ryman side had probably shot their last boat. Indeed, a minute later and normal service was resumed with our boys back where they’d been for the majority of the half; on the attack.

The goalscoring appetite of Michael Bridges has risen sharply since he ended his barren run against Cambridge a couple of weeks ago. You could tell he desperately wanted to keep his rich vein of form going today. Chances came and went throughout the match, but in the 84th minute he finally got his goal. This was his third goal in as many games. It was also arguably his best yet. It reminded me of Davor Suker’s chipped goal for Croatia against Denmark in the Euro 1996 finals.

It all began with a throw-in taken by Gnakpa on the halfway line. Niven and Taylor did some important donkey work in the centre circle quagmire before Taylor pushed the ball nonchalantly out to Daniels on the left. Despite predominantly being a defender Charlie Daniels has a natural instinct to make attacking passes and dribbles. In this instance he curled a lovely ball around the last line of defence for Bridges to run onto at an angle. The striker took one touch to control the ball and then half-volleyed a lob over the stranded Hadley for goal number three of a very satisfying afternoon.

For the long-suffering Luton fans this moment of brilliance was the icing on the cake. The goal also firmly confirmed I was about to win my first ever FA Cup match as a manager. There was just time for Michael Taylor to miss an open goal in injury time (God knows how) before the referee blew for time. Brian and I shook hands with a smile and then applauded the away fans for turning up. In their masses they remained near the entrance for quite some time singing the famous Wembley song. Whilst I can’t quite agree that we’re on the way to the final, simply winning this one match had given me a lot of pleasure to take away with me.

"Looks like we're going camping then" I said brightly, as we headed back to the changing rooms.

"Yeah" Brian replied. "The worrying thing is, I haven't even told Alice yet. I didn't want to jinx it".

--------------

FINAL SCORE (Att - 2422)

Wingate and Finchley 0

Luton Town 3 (Nicholls 18pen, James 60, Bridges 84)

--------------

# - Yes okay, car geeks, I couldn't remember the ACTUAL registration plate.

[ScottleeSV]

26/10/09 - All aboard the victory bus

True to my word we set off camping on Monday morning. The trip was to be for three nights and the destination was Suffolk, or Newmarket to be more specific. I’d booked a cottage just east of the township in a quiet area supposedly well stocked with woodlands, streams, and moors. It sounded perfect. As the cottage apparently only had six bedrooms, only the non-playing staff would be staying there. The players would be camping out nearby in tents and sleeping bags. It was a great chance for quality team bonding.

“So then lads” called back the coach driver, as we burned down the motorway. “What do you make of the FA Cup draw yesterday?”

“Well, it was very interesting” I replied. “Very interesting indeed. It’ll be a tough test playing away to the MK Dons, that’s for sure”.

“Too tough, I hope you’re aware” Brian contributed. “We’ll never beat them on their own patch. I can’t believe we’ve drawn a League One club in the first round for the second year in a row”.

“Didn’t do too badly against Northampton last year though, did we? 88th minute in the replay they scored the winner, wasn’t it? Anyway, we might get a good highlights slot if nothing else. Think about it – fallen giants visit the league’s new guns?”

“Doubt it. The BBC and Sky always go with the naffest clubs with the naffest Sunday league grounds for their televised games in the FA Cup. The sad truth of the matter is that Wingate and Finchley are more likely to get first billing on Match of the Day than we are”.

“Not this year” I said with a smile.

"You know what I mean".

“Bit of a strange chap that Wingate chairman wasn’t he?” posed the driver. “I read the article about your bust-up in the Bulletin”.

“Don’t even remind me of it. With any luck, I won’t see either him or that wretched football ground ever again”.

I glanced up at the onboard television set near the ceiling. A horror film called The Descent was currently playing. It was about a group of potholing enthusiasts who go potholing only to run into a bunch of killer mutants. The disc belonged to horror nut Will Buckley. Apparently quite a few of the lads like a good horror film and The Descent was one a lot of them hadn’t seen. I couldn’t get into it personally. Like Brian I’d pretty much stopped watching once the cavers had reached the caves.

“How long is it until we get to the cottage?” I asked the driver.

“If my directions are right, about half an hour, give or take”.

“Righty ho”.

That gave me just enough time to do what I’d been planning to do but hadn’t remembered up until now. Without explaining to Brian what I was doing, I bent down carefully and began to rummage inside the carrier bag between my feet. A few seconds later I found what I was looking for, a small compact disc in a container. Apologising to Brian for the upheaval, I squeezed past him into the aisle and approached the television set. Then I pressed pause on the in-built DVD player.

“Aw boss, what are you doing?” cried Will.

“It was just getting to the good bits” said Keith.

“Come on, boss!” – Danny Cadamateri.

“Pipe down everyone! Pipe down. I’ve got a much more interesting disc here. Nadine Gouvell at Live Bunny has kindly sent me a highlights package featuring a great many key moments from matches involving St Albans so far this season. It’s only 25-30 minutes long. Seeing as we’re playing them on Saturday, I thought we could all watch it and learn a thing a two in the process. With any luck we’ll be able to see where they’re weak, where they’re strong, who their danger men are....”

I was gradually cut off by more and more rising voices. It was as if absolutely everybody on the coach disapproved, not that I could hear a word of what was being said. Strangely it was Kevin Nicholls the club captain who eventually stood up from his seat to calm everybody down. He was sat next to Keith Keane about five rows behind where Brian and I were sat.

“James mate” he said, turning around to face me once he had complete silence. “This is a holiday! You promised us a relaxing camping trip if we beat Wingate, not a video analysis session. Come on, be fair”.

I had to admit, he had a point.

“Okay, fair enough. The holiday ends though as soon as we leave the cottage, which MEANS, boys and girls, we’ll be watching this St Albans DVD on the return journey back to Luton. Is that clear?”

“Yeah that’s fine” said Kevin.

“Yeah” agreed George Pilkington.

Several other people mumbled words not so much of approval, but contentment. I was content anyway. On reflection I was supposed it would be better to watch the video on the way back rather than on the way there. That way there was less chance they would forget what they’d seen by the time the match started.

“That didn’t go down too well” Brian smirked, once I’d turned The Descent back on and returned to my pew.

“It’s no big deal. Anyway, they’re completely right. This is meant to be a holiday. Football and work should be taking a back seat for three days”.

As Brian nodded his approval, my mobile phone went off. The caller I.D was showing Darren Simmons as the caller.

“Yes, Darren?” I said coolly, lifting the gadget up to my ear.

“Hey, dude. Listen errrr, so you lot have really gone on that camping trip huh?”

“Yes we have indeed Darren”.

The line went quiet for a moment. At first this confused me. Then I read between the lines.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t come, if that’s what this is about. It’s a playing squad outing though, not a club outing. Don’t get too down about it”.

“I’m not too down about it. Well okay, I’m down about it. You lot are off to get smashed and explore the woods for three days and I’m stuck here in the office. This is part of the reason I wanted to be a scout, so I could be involved more when stuff like this comes along”.

I bit my lip tentatively and glanced at Brian, not that he was going to be of any help to me right now. This was a tricky one.

“Listen Darren, I know you’d rather be here on the coach with us but, and this is just between me and you, I need you to be back at the office to.... keep an eye on things”.

“What do you mean?”

“Well let me put it like this – Unofficially, who do you think I consider to be the acting office manager when I’m away?”

“Me?” he asked disbelievingly after a pause.

“Hell yeah you! I mean come on; it wouldn’t be any of the others would it? Think about it. Brenda’s a good secretary but she’s no leader. Caroline’s too passive and Nicky’s too Nicky. That leaves you, Darren! That leaves you to hold the fort and make sure everything runs smoothly in my absence”.

“You serious? You really mean it?”

“Absolutely! You’re my right hand man, my number one guy! You know that! To be honest, I saw how good a leader you are when you hosted that deathmatch".

“Yeah” he said cheerfully. “Hell yeah!”

“Yeah!” I repeated. “That’s the spirit”.

Cue sudden commotion up and down the aisles, as somebody finally got butchered in that wretched horror film. Finally! To ensure I would be able to hear Darren’s next sentence, I switched the handset to my other ear.

“Oh, as deputy leader however I should probably report something to you” he said.

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“Nicky’s been giving your dog some of those horrible buns she makes. That’s what she’s been saying in the office anyway”.

“That’s okay. Dogs will eat any old s__t, even actual turds if you let them. They don't get sick as easily as we do from stuff like that”.

“How come you gave Bambi to her whilst you’re gone anyway? Didn’t Chantelle want to look after her?”

“It didn’t occur to me actually. Anyway, Nicky and Bambi have got history. Nicky looked after her when I went to Canada. Look Darren I’ve got to go. Oh, and about that deputy thing. It’s unofficial so don’t go mentioning it to anybody. Just... keep a general eye on things”.

“Will do. Cheerio”.

“Adios”.

Sighing I put the phone back in my pocket and crossed my arms. Up on the television screen, a girl with both blood and mud on her face was battering a bald man/thing to death.

“Acting office manager?” Brian asked disbelievingly.

“Kid'll believe anything” I replied.

[michael62]

you got to beat Mk dongs every luton fans hates them !!!

[ScottleeSV]

From memory, MK Dons are halfway up League One at the moment. It's a tall order to beat them away from home. We'll see.

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27/10/09 - Original pirate material

The first night at the cottage was a joy to behold. Our entire party, all twenty six of us, basically had one big house party and got totally legless. Originally I’d planned a spot of orienteering for the day after but I rescheduled for Wednesday once it became apparent we’d all need time to recover from the booze. And anyway, like Kevin had pointed out on the bus, this was meant to be a holiday, not a glorified training mission. Probably best to let them all do their own thing for a while and then hit them with the orienteering only when they got bored.

As told to me over the phone, the area surrounding the cottage was full of pristine scenery and dignified quietness. What I hadn’t been informed of was the presence of a huge forbidden zone just beyond the nearby cornfield. It was about the size of two football pitches and had a large orange tape around it at waist height, a bit like those ones you see on Crime Scene Investigation. The first I knew about this was mid-afternoon, when Nicholls came to inform me that Tony James had fallen into a large pot-hole and couldn’t get out.

I’d been having a coffee with Brian and Michael Taylor in the front garden when the news was broken to me. The four of us (Nicholls being the fourth) all sprinted over to where the accident had happened to see what we could do to get James out. The forbidden zone at first glance looked like one huge open field with tape around it. Apparently though the ground inside the zone was unstable and likely to give way underfoot.

“Where did he fall?” I asked as we reached the tape.

“A bit further that way” Nicholls replied.

Before I could speak again, or even move in fact, Tony James appeared safe and sound from a spot in the ground about fifty yards further along the tape line. He had mud all over his face and looked rather shaken up.

“What the hell happened?”

“The ground just gave way beneath me” James explained, panting slightly. “This whole forbidden area must be full of hidden holes beneath the grass”.

“Why did you go past the tape then?”

“I had no idea what the tape was for!”

“He couldn’t climb out when I left him” said Kevin.

“Well in the end I managed to scramble up the sides. It wasn’t easy though”.

Taking my sunglasses off in the process, I stepped past James and peered into the hole he’d exposed with his trespassing. It was at least twenty feet deep and to be frank he was lucky not to have done himself some damage.

“I wonder why this area is like this” Brian queried.

“Who knows?” I answered. “You’d think the council around here would have done something about it though wouldn’t you? This tape won’t stop kids wandering in any less than it stops dope-headed footballers”.

“Oi!” said James, still removing dirt from his skin.

------------

In the evening we all split into two groups and took turns to frequent the local boozer for a pub meal. It was over a mile’s trek but that wasn’t a big issue for our fully fit squadron of professional athletes. Later on, back at the house, everybody settled down to watch another horror film in the cottage’s giant living room. There were two choices, both of which had been plucked from the belongings of a certain Will Buckley.

“You can either watch the original Nightmare on Elm Street or Death Count” said the winger, holding both boxes up for everyone to see at the front of the room. “Old school Freddy or new school Gorilla Killer, make your choice”.

“Hang on” I said. “How can you have a copy of Death Count? It was only on at the cinema last month. I know because I took my girlfriend”.

“It’s a pirate” he explained sheepishly.

On the principle that pirate videos are bad for the DVD industry (not to mention the fact that Death Count is utter tripe anyway), I voted for Freddy. Sadly however only four other people in the squad agreed with me. Even Brian let the side down. Thus, with a winning margin of twenty one votes to five, Death Count it was.

Thankfully I was spared from watching some of it when I received a phone call from Nicky of all people. Apologising in a whispered tone for disturbing the film, I slipped away from the makeshift cinema and entered the kitchen area.

“Hey!” she said. “Sorry for interrupting your holiday”.

“Actually that’s quite alright. What can I do for you? Bambi’s not playing up is she?”

“She is from Sally’s point of view, but I’ve got Bambi in my bedroom with me now where she can’t cause any mischief downstairs. Anyway, I wasn’t calling about Bambi really. It might sound daft but... I don’t know....I just...”

“Hey what’s the matter, Nicky?”

“Well, nothing much really, it was just a depressing day at work. I don’t want to sound like a suck-up or anything but I don’t like it as much when you’re not there. It’s kinda hard to explain but... I don’t know...the workday just feels really slow-moving when you’re not there. It feels quieter too. Oh, and in the afternoon, me, Caroline, and Darren had a brief argument about whether to turn the thermostat up or keep it as was, and eventually I think Darren got his way”.

“Well why didn’t you stand your ground more?”

“Well, I think I was caught by surprise. I mean, normally, you probably would have stuck up for me or at least been impartial and sorted it out fairly. But with you not there...”

Her point made, she broke off. From the living room meanwhile a huge cheer broke out. I could only presume the point of the film had been reached where Danielle the college sl_t gets her kit off for someone in the leisure centre toilets, moments before the Gorilla Killer sneaks in and stabs her through the toilet door with a pitchfork. Happy days.

“What’s that cheering all about in the background?” Nicky asked.

“Errr, we're watching Sleepless in Seattle. Tom’s just kissed Meg”.

“Oh, I cheered at that bit too!”

“Yeah. So anyway Nicky, about this office thing, if I were you I’d be happy when I’m away, not unhappy.

“Why, after everything I’ve just said?”

“Well” I sighed. “Look, who do you think I consider to be the deputy person in charge when I’m away?”

“Not me, surely?” she replied after a pause.

“Hell yeah you! I know it’s not official, but secretly, and just between me and you, you're the person I count on to keep an eye on things whenever I’m out the office”.

“Oh come on!” she said, now laughing on the other end of the phone. “I totally don’t believe you! You’re just saying that”.

“No, straight up! Besides, the proof is in the pudding. Who did I entrust with looking after my dog when I went to Canada, and again this week?”

“Me” Nicky said slowly and thoughtfully.

“Yeah, see? Not only that, but I saw just how capable a leader you are when you took it upon yourself to show that young lad Kevin around the offices that time. You didn’t have to do that but you did”.

“I suppose”.

“And besides, who else would I pick? Brenda’s a good secretary but she’s no leader. Darren’s too immature and Caroline’s too passive. That leaves you, Nicky. That leaves you to hold the fort whenever I’m away”.

“Yeah! Cool! I can do that!”

“Of course you can! Oh, but don’t tell anyone or they might kick up a stink that they didn’t get picked themselves, okay? Besides, you don’t have to actually do much. Just.... keep an eye on things for me".

“Sure! Will do!”

And that was Nicky well and truly cheered up. By the time she’d put the phone down she was a lot more chirpy than when she’d first picked it up. Parking myself back down next to Brian, I couldn’t help giggling to myself under my breath.

“What’s so funny?” my assistant manager whispered.

“Oh, nothing. Nothing at all” I sniggered.

[BobBev]

Scott - I can't tell you how impressed I am at how well you have kept a very detailed story running, particularly your ability to come up with fresh ideas and new plotlines - great stuff.

[Dickie12]

I agree! Fantastic story! Like I've said before! Publish it as a book and I'd buy it 4 sure!

[ScottleeSV]

Thanks guys, as always. It means a lot

----------------------------------------------------------------------

28/10/09 - Every man for himself (part 1)

It could have been a scene straight from the training ground. On one side you had me, Brian, and coach Gary Mason, all fitted out in tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt. Facing us across the figurative line in the sand were twenty or more attentive members of the playing staff, all waiting to hear what the gist of the drill was. The only difference was that we weren’t in Luton; we were in Suffolk, and the surroundings couldn’t have been more different.

“Okay, listen up everyone!” I said, stretching my legs as part of my own private warm-up routine. “This is the moment I personally have been looking forward to ever since we left Luton. We might have come all the way out here today in six very cosy taxis, but we shall be returning on foot. The distance between here and the cottage is approximately four miles. That’s four miles of rugged terrain full of hills, streams, woods, and very thick bushes. Your goal, using nothing but the compasses given to you, is to return to the cottage as quickly as possible”.

“That won’t be hard you know”, George Pilkington called out. “We saw which way we came in the taxis. It’s not going to be hard to find our way back from here, even if we don’t follow the road”.

“Ah-ha” I said, raising my finger. “There’s a twist though! Me, Brian, and Gary will be taking a fifteen minute head start on the rest of you. The reason for this is because we’re going to be trying to hunt you all down between here and the cottage. That’s right, not only must you find your way back but you must also be careful to avoid detection from the three of us. The moment any one of us gets to within five yards of you and calls your name, that’s it, you’re out of the game”.

Cue ample sniggering and mumbling from within the group.

“You must be joking!” shouted Keith Keane from the back row. “You three oldies will never get near me. You probably won’t get near anybody else for that matter either”.

“Yeah!” agreed about four others.

Brian, Gary, and I all briefly looked at each other and allowed ourselves a chuckle.

“Ladies and gentleman” I began, turning back to the group. “For those of you with any doubts as to how us three ‘oldies’ could possibly tag all you guys between here and the cottage, let me enlighten you as to a few things you probably didn’t know about me, Brian, and Gary. For starters, I am believe it or not, still only thirty years old. I might be forbidden on doctor’s orders these days from entering the rough and tumble arena of a professional football match, but in terms of sheer physical fitness I can still match every single one of you.

“Not only that, but I have experienced cross country trekking all over the world, from some such far flung places as Cuba, Africa, and Belize. I have plundered my way, bleeding and spitting, through environments and terrains so deadly, so energy-sapping, so demoralising, they would probably make you pussies crawl under a rock and cry. Believe me when I say it, ladies, but this four mile trek to me is going to feel like a game of tag around somebody’s ten foot by ten foot back garden. So be warned”.

“Okay then, fine” Keith conceded. “What about the other two though?”

“Well Keith, believe it or not, Brian was an army cadet back before he got into the football business. He might have put on the odd pound since then but he certainly hasn’t lost that killer instinct in a deadly game of cat and mouse”.

‘At least that’s what he told me on the taxi journey here anyway’.

“As for Gary Mason” I continued, giving my top coach an encouraging slap on the back. “He actually DID used to be in the army. That’s why I invited him to be a stalker and not a runner in today’s little game”.

“Awesome stuff!” said Kevin Nicholls, clapping his hands together. “It’s on then! Let’s get started”.

“Damn right it’s on” I replied. “Right then, like I said before, the three of us will be setting off first so as to put ourselves between you guys and the cottage. If you’re wondering how wide you can go to try and get around us, there’s a main road east and a huge river west. Those are your boundaries. I’d estimate there’s almost a mile between those two points, so it’s not like we’re not giving you a fair amount of space to try and get by us. Any lucky ones who make it back unscathed will be treated to a free pint later tonight”.

To much talking over each other, the players all parted in the middle to let me, Brian, and Gary through to the front. The first of the woodland areas was directly before us. We would disappear in there to begin with and then fifteen minutes afterwards the action would begin.

“Make no mistake about it” I said, performing one final stretch of the right thigh before setting off. “We will be hounding you every step of the way out there so don’t take us lightly. And don’t even think about hiding out somewhere either. We’re going to be patrolling and monitoring every single gas station, residence, tree house, farmhouse, doghouse, outhouse, and henhouse, in the entire area. No stone will be left unturned. Good luck, gentlemen. Oh, Kevin, as club captain, I’m trusting you to make the others wait fifteen minutes before setting off”.

“Don’t worry. I’ll time it to the second”.

“Good. Right, we’re off! Let’s go!”

And with that, flanked by Gary and Brian either side of me, I began my journey towards the trees. Game on!

[hasdgfas]

Great idea Scotlee! I really enjoy games like that.

I'm really enjoying this story. Thank you for writing it.

[ScottleeSV]

Thanks Hasdgfas. Glad to know you like the story

-------------------------------------------------------------

28/10/09 - Every man for himself (part 2)

Side by side we kept up a steady pace for about five or six minutes. Then, once I was satisfied we’d put a reasonable chunk of distance between ourselves and the players, I held my hand up to signal time out. I didn’t want to say anything out loud but Brian already looked dead on his feet. There was a thick fallen log close to where we’d stopped and my assistant wasn’t slow in making a beeline for it, the back of his shirt and most of his face already awash with sweat.

“Right, guys” I said, staying loose. “I’ve got a plan as to how we do this. The game zone is roughly a mile wide so there’s no sense us staying together. If we split up that gives us a third of a mile each to cover. We should be able to pick a lot of them off that way. Now don’t waste your energy running around like headless chickens! If I were you I’d pick a good spot to hide for a few minutes and see who comes along. If that doesn’t work, find another spot a bit closer to the cottage and try that one. Repeat, rinse, lather etc”.

Gary nodded and shot off through the trees. Brian also gesticulated to let me know he’d got the message, pulling himself up and tottering off in the opposite direction. That left me with the middle section, which was fine by me.

For another short burst I kept onwards towards the cottage, initially emerging in a field and then entering another patch of woodland not long after. It was in here I came across the ideal hiding place. There was a small rope-bridge going across a stream a hundred yards or so in from where I'd left the field. A short distance further down that same stream was a thick clump of bushes, some of them actually dangling down into the water.

It was my reading of a runner’s mentality that the rope-bridge might be considered too obvious a place for an ambush, and that finding a more discreet place to cross be the preferable option. If so, and if they opted for the shallow crossing area near the hanging bushes as their alternative, I would be waiting in earnest. Grinning at the possibility I didn’t waste any time creating the outpost.

I don’t know how long I waited inside that wretched bush, my limbs stiffening and my patience thinning, but eventually somebody came along. I heard them approaching a mile off. Whoever it was stopped at the bridge and then began to head right for me. They were walking straight into the trap. All I had to do now was wait until they were close enough, leap out into the open, identify who it was, and then call their name. Then I would have my first victim of the afternoon.

‘Actually, sod the name-calling for this first one. Just leap out and jump on them. Make a statement of intent!’

So that’s what I did – I leapt out and jumped the poor sod.

“Hey, get off me!”

“Gary? What the hell?”

Feeling more than a little annoyed I rolled off the side of my flattered head coach and stood up again.

“What are you doing over this way? This is my zone!”

“I know, and I saw James Lawrie making right for it” Gary began, standing back up and dusting himself down. “So I chased him through some trees and this is where I ended up”.

“I take it you lost him?”

“Yeah, just before I came across that rope-bridge back there”.

“Well that’s just terrific!”

As we stood there lamenting our poor start to the game, the heavens opened and a heavy drizzle began to fall.

“Double terrific!”

And if we needed anything else to go wrong, out came the distant sound of a woman’s scream.

“What the hell was that?” Gary asked, glancing in all directions.

“I think it came from that way” I said, pointing with my finger. “Come on, we’d better go and see what the hell it is. Somebody might be in trouble”.

Off we sprinted, more or less in the opposite direction of the rope-bridge. It took us about two minutes to locate the origin of the scream. When we did, we found Brian and a rather frightened young lady facing each other ten yards apart beneath a huge oak tree. Both were ankle deep in an area dominated by fallen leaves.

“What’s going on” I immediately enquired.

“This guy tried to attack me” explained the woman. Judging by her pink tracksuit and holstered walkman, it was obvious she was a jogger.

“No, I didn’t attack you!” Brian exclaimed, panic evident in his voice. “Listen, James, I was hiding under these leaves and I heard her coming along. I thought she was one of ours! When she got close, I jumped out of the leaves and wrestled her to the ground. It’s not what she thinks though! Tell her!”

“You wrestled her to the ground?”

“I’m off!” interrupted the woman. “If this freak is your friend, keep him away from me! He’s lucky I haven’t called the police”.

“You wrestled her to the ground?” I asked Brian a second time, ignoring the jogger’s departure. “You were only supposed to call out the names of the runners, not sumo-wrestle them!”

“Yeah well.... I wanted to make an early statement of intent” Brian said, looking hurt.

“The only statement you’re going to end up making is down the nick! What a total balls up this is turning out to be!”

My assistant chose not to reply this time. As the rain continued to fall, the three of us stood in a little circle as if waiting for inspiration. From anywhere. From anyone.

“Okay look” I said in a much calmer tone. “We’ll never catch everybody now. We can still nab a few of them though IF there are no more cock-ups. Gary, you get back the way you came. Brian, no offence but you look absolutely f_cked mate. You come with me. We’ll operate as two teams from here on in. Okay, let’s go! Chop chop!”

As Gary disappeared for a second time, I gave Brian an encouraging thump on the arm and beckoned him forwards. A short time later we left the trees behind and spent half an hour crossing some open fields. We were never going to nab anybody out here but I wanted to get closer to home before hiding again. The chance for catching people early doors was surely long gone; the players would be entering the second half of their journey by now.

Unfortunately Brian was slowing me down with every passing minute. He’s not as fat as Bob Wharton but he’s still fat by definition. By the time we entered the third (and probably final) section of woodland, I was extremely dispirited to say the least. Indeed we both were. The rain was still falling heavily by this stage and puddles were everywhere, making jogging problematic. My body felt cold and soaking wet. So did Brian’s - I know this because he kept telling me so approximately every five seconds.

“James, I can’t take anymore” he bleated. “We haven’t seen anybody for hours! Everybody’s probably got home by now!”

“Don’t just assume that! Besides, I think I recognise this place. I think we were around this spot yesterday, weren’t we? Come on, I’m sure we’re close to the cottage! If anybody’s still not home yet we might catch them right at the end when they least expect it”.

Desperate not to return home empty handed, I grabbed Brian’s arm and pulled him back into a jog. Reluctantly (and remarkably!) he grunted and went along with it. Seconds later we were weaving in and out of trees and bouncing through wet patches again. It had to be now or never though. I didn’t think Brian had many jogs like this left in him, and I was hardly going to leave him out here on his own if he collapsed in a heap. The trouble was, the sky was greying now and the rain was making it difficult to see too far ahead.

Because of the poor visibility, neither of us saw the waist-high tape of the forbidden zone until it was a fraction too late. Before we even knew what was happening we’d burst through the tape and slid desperately into the same hole Tony James had fallen victim to the previous day. Our arms frantically swiping at thin air at the same time we were yelling, down we plunged twenty feet or more into a six foot pool of rainwater.

“I think we’re done for this time” Brian commented, sitting up in the water.

“You think so?” I replied sarcastically.

It took about half an hour to scramble out of that blasted hole. As the early evening sun began to set in the distance, the pair of us eventually slow-walked into the front garden of the cottage to the most embarrassing slow handclap you can imagine. It mightn’t have been so bad if we hadn’t been caked from head to toe in mud, but that’s life I guess.

“Is it wet out?” Keith Keane grinned, a tinny in one hand and his unspoilt sunglasses in the other. All the other players were present too (and laughing), making it quite the welcoming committee.

“Yes” I answered glumly, pushing my way into the cottage.

I am now officially retired from two different sports.

[ScottleeSV]

31/10/09 - Back to the bread and butter

Two days on from the end of the camping trip and I’m fully raring to get back to the business of the football. It seems a long time ago now we won 4-2 away to Forest Green in the last league game, and after today it won’t exactly be a short distance until the next one either. That’s because once today’s visit to St Albans has been negotiated, we play away to Grays in the Live Bunny Cup on Tuesday and then it’s the big one away to the MK Dons. In fact by the time we leave Stadium MK we will have played five consecutive away games. That’s a tough run on the road by anyone’s standards.

When I think about it, the turnaround between Wingate and Milton Keynes seems a little bit quick. Only fourteen days separates the final qualifying round and the first round proper. For all I know it might have always been like this and I’ve just never noticed. Still, it does seem quick. Tickets though are selling like hotcakes. Caroline has already moaned several times about the amount of phone calls she’s had to take from cup-hungry Hatters. Secretly, I don’t think it would break Caroline’s heart if the name of Luton Town wasn't in the hat for round two a week on Monday.

Today is a slightly unique day because it will be the first time I’ve batted in the middle, so to speak, without my assistant manager. Brian’s body did not recover from the orienteering exercise as well as everyone else’s. He still to this day carries several aches and pains and his wife has ordered him to stay home resting until at least the end of the weekend. I’ve no complaints about this. Everybody’s 100% attendance record at work goes west at some stage.

Being in nearby Hertfordshire makes St Albans practically a local derby for us. As was the case with Stevenage earlier in the season however, hardly any playing history exists between the two clubs so neither does any significant rivalry. We’re a club well below where we’re used to being where as the Saints are enjoying only their second season in the fifth tier since forming in 1908. As expected so far this term they’re struggling near the bottom. This is an away game we really need to be looking to win.

St Albans the town is a fairly modest one with a population of only 64000. It’s also a small gem. There might not be all that much to see and do but everywhere is tidy and well kept, at least the parts I drove around in. I stopped off at the St Albans cathedral for a nosey around and was generally impressed with what I saw. One of the local ministers was in the vicinity when I arrived, and as soon as he found out I was the Luton manager he was only too happy to chat about his beloved errr Watford.

“Yeah but what do you think about the St Albans club?” I asked.

“Oh yes, I hear they’re doing rather okay aren’t they?” was the response.

One or two injury problems have popped up over the past couple of days. Both Kevin Nicholls and Danny Cadamateri have gone the way of the Fox, and Richie Byrne still hasn’t recovered from his poisoning at The Plum Rose Hotel. It just makes you wonder doesn’t it – what would have become of us if we’d all finished that breakfast? It doesn’t bear thinking about. Anyway, Cadamateri is expected to miss just a couple of games with his thigh strain. Nicholls though reports a tear and might not be back for well over a month. Big blow.

Time then to test the quality of our squad depth. James Lawrie, if he makes it onto the pitch without being sick, will start his first match up front today alongside Bridges. Niven and Gill will be partnered together in centre midfield, and Charlie Daniels will move up to left wing. This means George Beavon gets to come back into the side at left back. My one decision of controversy is to leave Keith Keane on the bench.

Clarence Park, the home of St Albans City FC, isn’t one of the biggest grounds we’ve arrived at but in keeping with the rest of the town it is at least nice and tidy. Unlike the hellish Wingate and Finchley it also has a playing surface that actually looks playable. The place is no Kenilworth Road but then we always knew we’d have to come to smaller grounds this season.

“Don’t underestimate these guys” I said in the changing rooms before kick-off. “They’re scrapping for their lives down at the bottom and they’ll be wanting a win. They’re also probably looking at this as their biggest game of the season. Make no mistake, their boss will have them pumped up and coming at you straight from the go. The advantage we’ve got today is the pitch. It looks nice out there compared to what we were on last week so try and play football and hopefully we’ll out-do them in the quality stakes”.

Five minutes later and we were walking out to The Kill Bill Theme. It wasn’t quite the reception we received at Wingate but it was still pretty vocal, and we still had more fans in the ground than the home team. I just hoped we could keep our minds on the matter in hand and not think too much about the FA Cup match next weekend. Leaders Rushden and Diamonds were away to Weymouth today so I fancied we had the marginally easier game. I just hoped my choice of the Niven/Gill combo would pay off.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Next, BSP action - St Albans (somewhere very low down) v Luton (2nd)

[ScottleeSV]

31/10/09, League Match 18

St Albans v Luton Town

GK – Dean Brill (69 apps, 0 goals)

DL – George Beavon (21 apps, 0 goals)

DR – Claude Gnakpa (65 apps, 2 goals)

DC – George Pilkington (64 apps, 1 goal)

DC – Tony James (18 apps, 1 goal)

DMC – Derek Niven (11 apps, 1 goal)

MC – Matthew Gill (26 apps, 0 goals)

ML – Charlie Daniels (18 apps, 3 goals)

MR – Michael Taylor (9 apps, 0 goals

FC – Michael Bridges (12 apps, 4 goals)

FC – James Lawrie (Debutant)

St Albans’ early lead in the various statistical columns (passes completed, free kicks won, percentage possession held etc) lasted about four minutes. Then, once we had an opportunity to get the ball on the deck, we took control in all of them. I couldn’t put my finger on it at the time but something about the start to this match told me we would be okay today. I would later deduce it was the way the home side had come out trying to play continental style football.

Often when we’ve played in this league, the opposition has had a big inferiority complex and tried to compensate by kicking us from pillar to post. Occasionally it’s worked to some degree but most of the time our quality has simply been too much regardless. Okay, so Rushden and Stevenage probably tried to play football against us. Everybody else, no. Despite being a poor side on paper, St Albans began their match with us trying to match our on-the-deck fluency. Big mistake.

Michael Bridges had already had seen a shot well saved by goalkeeper Tardiff when he called out to James for the ball in the 10th minute. James went through Niven to get to Bridges, and such was the carefree marking in midfield from St Albans, Niven managed to send Bridges away without so much as a tackle coming in. Once he had possession, Bridges easily held off the attentions of defender Jellyman to slot under the advancing keeper from the edge of the area. Easy as pie.

The goal was Bridges’ fourth in four games. I was delighted with his rich vein of form. James Lawrie hadn’t done much so far but the opposition was such that Bridges didn’t really need much in the way of support. We almost got the second goal four minutes later, Gill heading over after a cross from Taylor. The blue home shirts were buzzing around everywhere but in no cohesive pattern. It was literally a case of passing it around them and getting a shot away whenever.

Emotions on the touchline were very low-key. Obviously Brian was missing but in the home technical area too there was a visible lack of energy. Even a goal down the St Albans manager seemed content to pace from side to side with his arms crossed saying precisely nothing. Nobody from his crew had anything to say to him either.

I was just starting to think we were labouring in scoring the second goal when Daniels crossed into the arm of Martin. Appeals for a penalty were still going on (and being turned down) when Nivens picked up the loose ball and was tripped by Gate on the edge of the area. Again it was a tight call but the referee evidently didn’t feel comfortable turning two appeals down, so the second one he gave.

Now for the really bizarre part, as up to the penalty spot strode Jamie Lawrie. Obviously Nicholls was absent both as a penalty taker and as a captain, so with the blessing of third choice skipper George Pilkington, Lawrie it was who got the nod. In the few seconds I had to think about this I couldn’t work out if it was a good thing for the lad or a disaster waiting to happen. In light of the fact I said nothing knew I couldn’t really moan when Lawrie subsequently hoofed the penalty a yard over the bar.

Tragically he stood hands on hips staring at the ground after his miss, soaking up a full chorus of derision from the home supporters. Pilkington, Bridges, and Beavon all went to console him during this humiliating moment. Even a St Albans player took pity on Lawrie, briefly putting his arm around the youngster to say something before play restarted. It probably doesn’t get any more humiliating than that.

Thank god then we were playing this shower of rubbish and not a team like Rushden. In the 34th minute we won a corner over on the right. Taylor had a stab at taking it and his drilled centre was slap bang onto the head of Pilkington. The stand-in skipper confidently planted a firm header into the top right hand corner and now we did have the second goal. Having been responsible for allowing Lawrie to take the penalty a few minutes ago, I’m sure Pilkington was relieved to have atoned for his mistake.

The response from the St Albans manager had to be seen to be believed. Instead of shout, or bawl, or change or anything around, or do anything, he chose this moment to go fill his belly. After all, it was nippy out today. Probably best to get a half time cuppa and a sandwich before the queue got too much to handle. Seriously though, what a joke. I doubt the football league brethren will be recruiting anybody from Clarence Park anytime soon.

I wasn’t thinking along the lines of a third before half time, but a third was what we got. The build-up was so ragged, so forceful, it hardly bears describing. The ball basically went up the middle until Bridges could hold off the blue shirts long enough to snap in his umpteenth shot of the half. The ball was saved by the legs of Tardiff but Gill followed up to smash in a follow-up shot. Again the ball was saved by Tardiff. Again Gill pulled the trigger. Again saved. For his third try, Gill took a touch this time and made sure, swiping it low into the corner. Game over, and it was only the halfway point!

"Rushden and Weymouth is 1-1 at the moment" called out a Luton fan to me as I headed in for the team-talk.

"Cool" I smiled up to him.

[SCIAG]

Scott, you've done well to keep up the quality for so long, especially in a debut story!

This is a very nice read, and I hope you keep working at it. Your characterisation is strong, and I haven't seen anybody write match reports as good as yours for some time.

[ScottleeSV]

Thanks Sciag. I'm glad you read and like the story. Cheers.

------------------------------------------------------------------

I pulled Lawrie to one side on the way back out for the second half.

“Listen, don’t worry about that penalty. George should never have let you take it, and I should have stopped him from letting you take it. I’m not disappointed with you; I’m disappointed with the fact there’s ten other guys out there with a lot more experience of playing for Luton than you and none had the bottle to step up”.

“It was still a pathetic effort”.

“Don’t worry about it. Let it go. We’re 3-0 up. Nobody cares. You’ve got another forty five minutes out there to keep improving. Look, I’m going to give you the full ninety. Don’t worry about scoring though. Just focus on the basics, make your passes find a man, hold the ball up, do the things you can guarantee you’ll get the chance to do. Getting the chance to score is never a guarantee”.

Lawrie nodded and trotted out, hopefully with fresh vigour. I took my place in the dugout area and crossed my arms. It was Halloween today. Hopefully though there would no second half horror show from the men in white. It didn’t look like there would be when the game restarted. You always worry about a post-interval resurgence from the opposition when they’ve previously been on the back foot, but not from those guys. Not with that manager.

Remember that goal from Carlos Alberto (I think) in the 1970 world cup final where he finished off about a twenty pass move before practically bursting the net with his rocket across the goalkeeper? Even you weren’t born in 1970 chances are you’ve seen it. The various TV stations always show it every time there’s a world cup on, sometimes as part of their opening titles. Anyway, in the 53rd minute Claude Gnakpa almost paid tribute to the goal with a similar strike.

Niven it was who eventually rolled the ball out to the oncoming right back. James Lawrie was sheepishly calling for the ball in the middle but Gnakpa had other ideas. Defender Martin practically skulked out of the way once he realised what was coming. The shot was fierce but lacked Alberto’s precision and flashed just wide. On this most shocking of football days though, that was a rare ray of sunshine.

Just to prove that even a bruised and battered side gets at least one good spell in a game, St Albans forged a couple of half chances just shy of the hour. Their striker Hakim looked a nippy little player even in the first half, but now he really brought his fruits to bear, deceiving Pilkington for pace before testing Brill with a daisy-cutter. Then Cousins got in on the act, heading straight at Brill from a corner after another Hakim effort had been deflected behind by Beavon.

Any hope of St Albans pulling an undeserved Lazarus though firmly disappeared on the hour mark. For a second I thought Lawrie was going to break his duck. Gill’s incisive pass was taken surprisingly well by the newbie. The shot wasn’t bad either, forcing Tardiff to sprawl and parry. Cue the in-form Michael Bridges to follow up and almost burst the net (pointlessly). That was his second goal of the game and his fifth in four outings.

With the score-line at 0-4 I felt perfectly safe making some substitutions. I brought Keane on for Gill and Hogarth for Pilkington. Keane was visibly annoyed at being left out in the first place, so a no brainer there. As for Hogarth he’s another young lad like Lawrie, albeit a central defender. More crucially he’s a permanent Luton Town player. The partnership of James and Pilkington is pretty much set in stone for the season now but it’s nice to give Hogarth the chance to impress where possible.

The game died a death after the fourth goal. The home side had long given up the ghost of course, and we didn’t particularly have much desire to go forth anymore either. During the intermittent boredom, entertainment was provided instead by the seemingly disinterested St Albans manager. I didn’t hear his mobile phone go off when it did, but I did spot him talking on it.

“Yeah I know ......yeah .......no ........ eh? Oh. Yeah. 4-0 down at the minute.....Well it’s f__kin Luton innit?”

Luton or not, if you don’t try, and if you don’t encourage, and if you don’t prepare properly, and if you talk on the phone or go for a hotdog whilst the game is going on, chances are you’ll lose. Shame Brian wasn’t here today; he probably would have enjoyed the antics of my opposite number. In the meantime, Bridges spurned a chance for his hat trick. Taylor’s header downwards on the edge of the area was potentially an assist-in-waiting but the hitman of the day clipped the bar and over.

James Lawrie showed signs of fatigue with eleven minutes remaining and had to come off. Not a debut to remember then but the heavy victory probably means Hatters fans won’t over-evaluate it. In the opposite direction arrived sometimes winger sometimes striker Will Buckley for rare pitch time. Not that he made that much of an impression. One man who did very late on was St Albans defender Jellyman. The man with the best surname on the pitch kicked out at Bridges and conceded a late penalty.

It was a definite straight red card but the referee took pity, not even booking him. So did the travelling army behind the goal actually. They were probably too busy scratching their heads at who would take the penalty. In the end it was substitute Keith Keane who assumed reponsibility. Comically though he f_cked it up almost as badly as he did his relationship with Nicky. He sent Tardiff the wrong way but the ball clipped the outside of the post and went wide.

Nobody much cared though in truth. Five minutes later and the game was over. I shook hands with the St Albans manager and told him his boys showed promise, and that I personally thought they’d stay up with ease, maybe even shoot for a mid-table placing. See? Even a straight-down-the-middle guy like me can tell the odd porkie now and again.

----------

FULL TIME (att - 1831)

St Albans 0

Luton Town 4 (Bridges 10, 60, Lawrie m/p 27, Pilkington 34, Gill 45, Keane m/p 87)

----------

(other results)

AFC Wimbledon 0-3 Histon

Cambridge 1-1 Kidderminster

Droylsden 3-3 Stevenage

Forest Green 2-2 Crawley

Grays 5-0 Northwich

Kettering 3-1 Oxford

Salisbury 3-0 Macclesfield

Tamworth 1-1 Ebbsfleet

Weymouth 2-1 Rushden

Woking 0-1 Burton

York 1-2 Mansfield

[font=Courier New]| Pos   | Inf   | Team          |       | Pld   | Won   | Drn   | Lst   | For   | Ag    | G.D.  | Pts   | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 1st   |       | Luton         |       | 18    | 13    | 4     | 1     | 43    | 19    | +24   | 43    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 2nd   |       | Rushden       |       | 18    | 13    | 2     | 3     | 40    | 16    | +24   | 41    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 3rd   |       | Grays         |       | 18    | 10    | 5     | 3     | 39    | 17    | +22   | 35    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 4th   |       | York City     |       | 18    | 10    | 4     | 4     | 32    | 21    | +11   | 34    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 5th   |       | Burton        |       | 18    | 9     | 4     | 5     | 26    | 22    | +4    | 31    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 6th   |       | Oxford        |       | 18    | 9     | 3     | 6     | 35    | 21    | +2    | 30    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 7th   |       | Salisbury     |       | 18    | 7     | 9     | 2     | 29    | 21    | +8    | 30    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 8th   |       | Weymouth      |       | 18    | 7     | 8     | 3     | 27    | 20    | +7    | 29    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 9th   |       | Crawley       |       | 18    | 9     | 2     | 7     | 34    | 30    | +4    | 29    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 10th  |       | Stevenage     |       | 18    | 7     | 8     | 3     | 31    | 30    | +1    | 29    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 11th  |       | Cambridge     |       | 18    | 7     | 7     | 4     | 26    | 19    | +7    | 28    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 12th  |       | Histon        |       | 18    | 7     | 6     | 5     | 29    | 22    | +7    | 27    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 13th  |       | Forest Green  |       | 18    | 7     | 6     | 5     | 23    | 20    | +3    | 27    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 14th  |       | AFC Wimbledon |       | 18    | 8     | 2     | 8     | 30    | 29    | +1    | 26    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 15th  |       | Woking        |       | 18    | 7     | 3     | 8     | 18    | 19    | -1    | 24    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 16th  |       | Mansfield     |       | 18    | 5     | 7     | 6     | 30    | 36    | -6    | 22    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 17th  |       | Ebbsfleet     |       | 18    | 5     | 4     | 9     | 26    | 33    | -7    | 18    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 18th  |       | Kettering     |       | 18    | 4     | 5     | 9     | 25    | 30    | -5    | 17    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 19th  |       | Kidderminster |       | 18    | 3     | 5     | 10    | 19    | 31    | -12   | 14    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 20th  |       | Macclesfield  |       | 18    | 3     | 4     | 11    | 16    | 37    | -21   | 13    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 21st  |       | Droylsden     |       | 18    | 3     | 3     | 12    | 26    | 43    | -17   | 12    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 22nd  |       | Northwich     |       | 18    | 3     | 3     | 12    | 14    | 38    | -24   | 12    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 23rd  |       | St Albans     |       | 18    | 2     | 5     | 11    | 17    | 40    | -23   | 11    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 24th  |       | Tamworth      |       | 18    | 2     | 3     | 13    | 13    | 32    | -19   | 9     | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------|[/font]

[ScottleeSV]

October 2009 round-up of the other divisions

------------

Premiership

Top - Chelsea (27), Liverpool (26), Man Utd (23), Man City (23), Arsenal (19), Everton (19), Middlesbrough (19)

Bottom - Newcastle (13), Charlton (12), Ipswich (12), Sunderland (11), West Ham (11), Bolton (11), Stoke (9)

The Blues early four point lead has been cut to a point, as Liverpool come back into contention for their first title in twenty years. Man City have infiltrated the big four at Arsenal's expense. The league's top goalscorer is currently Didier Drogba with 8 goals.

At the bottom Stoke have finally managed to put a couple of wins together, but they're still bottom. Tottenham's recovery meanwhile sees them escape the relegation picture entirely. Established premiership clubs Sunderland, West Ham, and Bolton will not be enjoying their season thus far.

------------

Championship

Top - Wolves (31), Birmingham (28), Portsmouth (28), Leeds (28), Bristol City (27), Sheff Wed (26), Southampton (26)

Bottom - Millwall (16), Plymouth (15), Preston (14), Nottingham Forest (13), Leicester (12), Doncaster (11)

Swansea have fallen from the top of the table to a position outside the playoffs since the last update. Wolves have replaced them where as a fantastic October for Birmingham sees them rise into second. The leading marksmen for The Championships is Sylvain Ebanks-Blake of Wolves though; he has 9 goals.

Down at the bottom Doncaster prop up the rest followed by Leicester and Nottingham Forest, meaning a nervy time of it for the East Midlands. It's still early days however.

------------

League One

Top - Norwich (33), Brighton (29), Blackpool (28), MK Dons (27), Carlisle (26), Southend (25), Tranmere (24), Bristol Rovers (24)

Bottom - Huddersfield (16), Stockport (15), Darlington (15), Hartlepool (15), Rochdale (12), Oldham (11)

The Canaries have extended their lead from three to four points at the top, and continue to look the best bet for the title. Lots of seaside towns in the mix here. Brighton, Blackpool, and Southend are all shooting for promotion. Scunthorpe and Bradford both had a disappointing month and drop out of the reckoning.

League One's current hotshot is Brighton's Glenn Murray with 12 goals. At the bottom, Rochdale and Oldham have finally started to put significant points on the board but still remain in trouble. I'm slightly surprised to see Huddersfield in the reckoning down there, it must be said.

------------

League Two

Top - Port Vale (30), Morecambe (30), Notts County (29), Rotherham (28), Bury (28), Gillingham (27), Cheltenham (25)

Bottom - Grimsby (16), Wycombe (14), Walsall (14), Chester (14), Dag and Red (11), Wrexham (9)

The top three remain the same here, where a very closely fought race sees the top seven sides separated by only five points. Leading goalscorer is Morecambe's speedy striker O'Carroll with 11 goals.

As matters stand, Wrexham and Dagenham and Redbridge will be playing League Two football next season. There's still a lot of football to be played though and I have a sneaky feeling Chester will eventually fall into the drop zone.

------------

Blue Square North

Top - Southport (31), Gainsborough (28), Blyth Spartans (26), Altrincham (25), Hinckley (25), Barrow (23)

Bottom - Redditch (15), Fleetwood (15), Kings Lynn (13), Solihull Moors (12), Boston Utd (12), Workington (11), Leigh Genesis (7)

The Sandgrounders' lead has been shaved slightly but they're still well placed as the league season moves into November. It's very curious to see Gainsborough doing so well in second. I believe they're a side who have never graced the heights of the Blue Square Premier.

There are two leading goalscorers in the Blue Square North, Gainsborough's Adam Boyes and Danny Holland of Harrogate. Both have 9 goals. At the foot, Leigh Genesis are just starting to get left adrift. They only added one point to their tally this month. Newcomers Boston aren't living up to expectations.

------------

Blue Square South

Top - Braintree (31), Eastbourne (28), Hampton and Richmond (27), Bognor Regis (26), Basingstoke (26), Maidenhead (26), Chelmsford (24)

Bottom - currently unavailable

Sorry to say I've lost the notes for the bottom of the table in October. At the top, Braintree are doing Essex proud. They've now overtaken the much more fancied Eastbourne to claim poll position. Unfancied Bognor Regis are also doing well.

Top marksman is Chelmsford's Sam Higgins with 9 goals. Not the first time Higgins has lead the way in this column.

[ScottleeSV]

31/10/09 - Better the devil you fancy

‘The best thing about being a woman, is the prerogative to have a little fun (fun, fun). Oh oh oh! Go totally crazy! Forget I’m a lady! Men’s shirts, short skirts, oh oh oh! Really go wild yeah! Doin in style’

The annoyingly familiar twangs of Twain’s most recognizable. It was coming from upstairs where Chantelle was playing host to Lyndsey and Candice, two friends of hers I’d not previously met. This being Halloween they were getting ready to hit the town. I didn’t need to be up there with them to imagine the scene – makeup, outfits, booze, giggling, and of course, Shania.

God knows where Chantelle’s other friends were tonight. Caroline wasn’t around, nor Nicky, and Leanne Walters of Heavenly Hatters fame was also absent. I’ve noticed over time that Chantelle tends to play a kind of squad rotation system when it comes to her girly buddies. Every week she seems to be giving somebody ‘pitch time’, and never all of them at once. In Nicky’s case I don’t think I’ve seen her with Chantelle since I first starting dating her.

‘Oh oh oh, get in the action, feel the attraction, do what I dare, oh oh oh’.

“You picked a film out yet, buddy?”

“Not yet” Luke replied.

I wasn’t going out tonight. Chantelle had wanted to have a girl’s night for ages (she hadn’t had one since last weekend, heaven forbid), and I was tired from the St Albans trip anyway. Not only that but we’d decided this would be the perfect opportunity for me and Luke to sit down man to man and do some male bonding. I’d consciously dodged spending time with him on previous visits to the house, but now it was apparent Chantelle and I were becoming more than just a casual fling, best to start increasing the tempo in the step-dad stakes.

“How about this one - Gremlins 2?” I offered.

“Nah, that looks rubbish”.

“Well what sort of thing do you like? There must be about fifty films here. There must be one of these you fancy watching”.

“Nah not really. Mickey at school’s got a pirate copy of Death Count! Mum won’t let me have one though”.

“Well your mum’s very sensible if you ask me”.

‘Man! I feel like a woman!’

The end of the song seemed to signal the end of the night out's big build-up too. Seconds later, and with Luke still stalling over what film he wanted to watch, the girls came trotting down the stairs like a herd of giggling elephants.

“What do you think?” Chantelle beamed, entering the living room. The other two remained in the hallway.

If I’d had coffee in my mouth at that moment, I probably would have spat it out over the Indian rug. Chantelle quite simply looked stunning. sl_ttish admittedly, but also stunning. In light of the fact it was Halloween she’d donned red high heels, a red and black dress, and red devil horns to go in her hair. A very red theme then, all things considered. She’d also clearly spent ample time on make-up and eyeliner. I suddenly wished I was off out too and not sat here babysitting!

“Utterly jaw dropping” I replied, holding my thumb up and curling my lip.

“I’m going as a horny devil”.

“So I can see”.

The sound of a taxi’s horn interrupted the show. It was a shame that because I suddenly had the urge to see what the other two girls were wearing too. Neither one of them followed Chantelle into the living room though, instead opting to wait by the front door smoking a fag. More is the pity.

“Chantelle!” one of them called out. “The taxi is here!”

“I know! Coming!”

Before making good on that statement, the horny devil bent down and hugged me around the neck. It was in this moment I caught such an overwhelming waft of perfume that my senses almost went into overload. Women certainly know how to play the game don’t they? Anyway, once I’d had my hug, Luke got his.

“Bye mum”.

“Bye sweetheart. Be a good lad”.

And that was that. A few excitable skips and hops later and the girls had all gone.

“So then” I said, turning back to Luke. “Have you decided yet?”

“Nah” he replied miserably. “I’ve watched all these before”.

I’d forgotten over time just how difficult kids can be to please. Still, I had a trick up my sleeve Luke didn’t yet know about. I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to use it so early on in our friendship but tough times though call for desperate measures etc.

“Maybe we’ll just watch some TV with our ice cream then? Before we do that though, Luke, I’ve got a present for you. Wait here a minute”.

The youngster eyed me curiously as I got up and left the room. When I returned I had one arm behind my back and a (devilish?) grin on my face.

“Death Count?” Luke asked, smiling hopefully.

“No, not Death Count. Definitely not Death Count. What I do have though is.....drum roll.....a Luton Town 2009/2010 home shirt!”

Like a toreador in a bull ring I whipped it out and handed it over. Luke though seemed unimpressed, studying the fabric and the various logo’s for all of three seconds before tossing it aside. Then without further word he disappeared into the kitchen. I was just about to ask him what he was doing when he came back clutching a Chelsea home shirt, and in his size by the looks of it.

“Mum got me a football shirt too” he said. “This one”.

“Did she now? Not any time in the past six weeks, I hope?”

Luke looked bemused and didn’t respond, so I simplified my English and changed the question.

“Why did she get you that?”

“She says Chelsea’s the best”.

“Right. Okay. I don’t suppose I could convince you to switch to Luton though, could I?”

“Nah, I like this one”.

He did like it, so much so he ran upstairs at that point and came back down with it on! Without showing any emotion I picked up the discarded Luton shirt and went to put it back in my bag.

(‘Maybe I’m just not ready for this s__t’).

[ScottleeSV]

03/11/09 - Unwanted sideshow

It’s Tuesday evening. An hour from now we play away to Grays in the last 32 of the Live Bunny Cup. I’m experienced enough in these minor competitions to know the atmosphere will be little better than it would be for a summertime friendly. Grays don’t even get good attendances at the best of times. They’re a town Wikipedia claims to be a part of Thurrock in Essex, which is slightly confusing when you consider Thurrock has two teams lower than Grays in the pyramid.

With its barebones population of 36000 though, there can be little doubt the ‘Gravelmen’ have done well for themselves. Until as recently as 2003 they had never been higher than the Isthmian League. Then two successive promotions took them as quick as a flash into the Conference Premier. They might have made it three in a row but for Halifax thwarting them in the semi finals of the playoffs.

Since then they have remained in the same division but without again challenging for football league status. They have however won the FA Trophy on two separate occasions, no mean feat given their minute size. This season Grays have started unusually brightly, sitting impressivly in third position at the time of writing. On paper then we’re in for a tough game. I already know how well they can play because of how they came back to draw 2-2 in the league game at Kenilworth Road.

After intense consultation in the Hatter’s Arms last night, Brian and I decided to go full strength for this one. I know it’s only the Live Bollocks Cup, and I know we’ve got the much more important MK Dons game coming up on Saturday, but I have my reasons. For starters I’ve already got a shortage of available strikers. With Cadamateri and Bowditch injured, who else can I instruct to lead the line tonight if not Lawrie and Bridges? In Lawrie’s case he desperately needs a low pressure affair to sink his teeth into anyway.

In midfield I’ve brought Keane back in to partner Niven. However with both Nicholls and Gill now requiring extended time on the treatment table (the latter has grazed his metatarsal in training) this was also a no brainer. My one selection of interest to the supporters will be Clint Easton on the left wing. Even there I couldn’t quite bare to leave the talented Charlie Daniels out, instead dropping him to left back and leaving the unfortunate George Beavon on the bench.

To sum up, it’s a strong team. The press might not like that. The board might not like that. The supporters might not like it either for that matter. We’re on a good run now though and if possible I don’t want to lose the momentum we’ve built up going into Saturday. I’ve also a competitive little sod at heart. I like to win every game, and I’d especially like to win this one because of how Grays stole two points from us in the league encounter.

Going back to the impending MK Dons challenge, the BBC have informed us they will be showing extended highlights of the game on Match of the Day. Seasoned pro John Motson is going to be covering us and we’ll be second on after Workington v Exeter. Not only that but they’ll be a brief feature on both ourselves and the Dons on Football Focus earlier in the day. Combined, this is fantastic news for myself and everyone at the club.

Somebody from the BBC is going to attend the pre-match press conference on Friday to video some of the interview footage. Then it will be shown as a snippet during the Football Focus preview. I’m really excited about this. I only found out about the whole thing today but already I’m daydreaming of what might happen in Milton Keynes. The trademarks of John Motson and Match of the Day are synonymous with cup upsets and unknowns making their mark on the sport. Maybe this Saturday will be the day I make my mark?

Changing the subject I got an E-mail from Glynn yesterday expressing his apologies for not picking up on the fact I was Manager of the Month in September. Glynn is of the opinion such moments should be celebrated with a pre-match presentation at the very next home game, complete with tacky music and a huge bottle of bubbly. He thinks such razzmatazz is good publicity, and for once I’m in his corner. I’ve no problem at all with putting myself in the shop window that way.

Unfortunately of course it’s way too late now to showcase my September award. I’ll have to win a second one to get the Glynn treatment. Hell, on Monday the awards for October came out! I failed to defend my title but there was some notable Hatters success in the player categories. Michel Bridges came 2nd in the Player of the Month section, and Danny Cadamateri finished 3rd. The winner was Daniel Jones of Grays so I guess he’s one to watch out for tonight. The name escapes me from when we played them last time.

If the fantastic news we received from the British Broadcasting Centre didn’t satisfy our lust for television exposure today, we also got cameras in our face when we showed up at The New Recreation Ground. Nadine Gouvell and her Live Bunny crew were out in full force. I guess the fact that Luton are 1st in the league and Grays 3rd meant we were the obvious choice to be game of the night.

“James!” she said, waving her microphone in my face as I stepped off the team coach. “How are you feeling ahead of tonight’s big game?”

“Excellent” I replied. “If nothing else it will take my mind off the Mk Dons for a couple of hours”.

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Coming next, Live Bunny action - Grays v Luton

[easternhawk2]

I'd like to say this is a great story that you've got going here. Keep up the good work

[ScottleeSV]

Thanks, Eastern. I appreciate that

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03/11/09, Live Bunny Cup (Last 32 round)

Grays Athletic v Luton Town

GK – Dean Brill (70 apps, 0 goals)

DL – Charlie Daniels (19 apps, 2 goals)

DR – Claude Gnakpa (66 apps, 2 goals)

DC – George Pilkington (65 apps, 2 goals)

DC – Tony James (19 apps, 1 goal)

ML – Clint Easton (1 app, 0 goals)

MR – Michael Taylor (10 apps, 0 goals)

MC – Keith Keane (56 apps, 6 goals)

MC – Derek Niven (12 apps, 1 goal)

FC – Michael Bridges (13 apps, 6 goals)

FC – James Lawrie (1 app, 0 goals)

Poorly attended games like this always need an early goal just to tweak people’s interest. Tonight we got one from the unlikeliest of sources. Step forward James Lawrie! That’s right. Just to prove he is indeed a striker and that Port Vale weren’t playing a mischievous practical joke on us, young James scored in the sixth minute to great acclaim from his no doubt relieved teammates. The ball was basically hooked in from close range after Taylor took an age to cross it in. Still, they all count.

Grays though are a solid side. Like us they’d decided before kick-off to try and win the match rather than tank it. Hence the full strength side, warts an’ all (and by warts I mainly mean Mr Mullarkey, who scored twice at the Kenilworth). As soon as we took the lead they swarmed back at us like... the swarm. Taylor beat Pilkington in the air from a Walsh cross to nod one down for the aforementioned Mullarkey to hit, approximately twenty yards out. The target man was on target but thwarted low down by Brill.

Then a comedy of errors took place. The lively Walsh once again skipped away from his nearest challenger to get another cross in, this time one hit from deep. There weren’t many Grays players forward but Gnakpa didn’t control the ball properly when it landed on the edge of the six yard box. James tried to clear it but didn’t get any lift. The ball hit the grounded Gnakpa and rebounded straight to Upson, who apart from Malarkey was the only light blue presence in the area. Upson slotted past a shell-shocked Brill and before you could say ‘Live Bunny Stew’, the home side were level.

We were playing poorly here. Our usual swagger and poise seemed to be missing. As the twenty minute mark came and went Grays were by far the better team. The only Luton player seemingly intent on making something happen for us was Taylor. After 23 minutes he beat one man, looked up, realised nobody was making a run, beat a second man, looked up, realised there was still nobody making a run, tried to beat a third man, and failed. Good effort but nothing doing.

I’d just started to realise that comeback kid Clint Easton was playing uselessly when Grays unleashed another wave of attacks. First Mullarkey got on the end of an Ashton punt, glancing one towards goal only to see Brill claim at the second attempt. Then, a couple of minutes later, the troublesome striker shimmied left and right on the edge of the box before teeing one up for Taylor to hit. What a rocket! Just over though, not that Brill saw it.

Throughout the first third of our league campaign I’ll admit I didn’t pay much attention to the Gravelmen of Essex. I’ve always looked out for the results of Rushden and AFC Wimbledon for obvious reasons (and to a lesser extent, Oxford). Not Grays though. As much as they’ve impressed in the table, I always thought it was a false dawn and that by Christmas they would have slid down into mid-table mediocrity. Looking at them tonight though I’m now highly doubting that’s going to happen. Put frankly they’re a very good side.

After 32 minutes we were undone by a one-two between Mullarkey and Taylor. The former passed to the latter and then the latter sent the former through on goal. With James on his arse and Pilkington struggling to get back, Mularkey opted to go around Brill rather than shoot. Brill’s outstretched arm connected with the striker’s shinbone and sent him tumbling to the ground. It was about as obvious a penalty award as you’re ever likely to see. Strangely though the referee only booked Brill rather than give him his marching orders.

If this had been a more important game I think the players, staff, and fans of Grays would have had a lot to say about that decision. As it was they kept it zipped, allowing Mularkey the perfect atmosphere with which to mentally prepare himself for his penalty i.e. a calm one. Mullarkey eventually took a slow three step run-up before sending Brill the wrong way, swishing one low into the opposite corner. VERY well taken penalty. Grays now in front by two goals to one.

Reaction to going behind from our lot was non-existent. There were too many people treating this encounter like a training session out there and I didn’t like it. Screaming as loud as I could, I bellowed some expletives from the dugout. The primary target of my abuse was Clint Easton. Secondary targets included Keith Keane, Michael Bridges, Claude Gnakpa, and most surprisingly, George Pilkington. Seriously, you know there’s a motivation epidemic going around when even Pilkington doesn’t try.

As the half ticked towards its conclusion, I saw Nadine Gouvell canter up to the Grays boss and ask him how he was feeling now he had the lead. For a moment I thought she was going to ask me how I was feeling too. Instead though, once done, she turned around and led the cameraman back in the opposite direction. Smart move.

The linesman signalled for three minutes of injury time. In the second of those minutes, James cleared only as far as Upson, who immediately sprayed it out to the roaming Taylor to get one final attack underway. Upson whipped one in with his left and Taylor went to meet it with a diving header. If it had gone in it would have been nothing less than what Grays deserved. Taylor didn’t get everything he wanted on it though and the ball glanced just wide of the far post.

[pooman2279]

I have a feeling James will lose his rag, Not sure what gave me THAT idea though...

Great story mate.

[ScottleeSV]

Thanks, Pooman. And errr, we'll soon see :o

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The beginning of the second half aped the first, only the goal was a million times more memorable. The build-up involved just two players, Niven and Bridges. The former won the ball in midfield and worked hard to shield it from Ashton and Stuart. Then he fed Bridges, thirty yards out and close to the touchline. The striker had little on so moved infield and elected to quite simply belt one. The ball arched and dipped and swerved and went straight into the top right hand corner. Wonderful goal.

Cue raucous celebrations from the two hundred or more die hard away fans. The first Luton goal had barely had them off their seats. This one though was one to talk about and remember, a fine reward for their Tuesday night loyalty. Bridges meanwhile nonchalantly strolled back to the centre circle with barely a fist-pump. He knew there was still work to do and so did I. Never the less, it couldn't be forgotten that Bridges now had six goals in five games, big justification for his £3000 per week wages.

Nadine wasn’t far away. In the aftermath of the goal she wore one of those gormless expressions you often see the bystanders wearing in Superman movies whenever Superman takes off in the high street. Once play was back under way she predictably clicked her fingers at her cameraman and beckoned him over to where yours truly was standing.

“Brian, take care of this one for me please”.

“With pleasure, sir”.

Guessing correctly as to what I was hinting he do, Brian blocked the path of Nadine and politely hinted she get lost. The anchorwoman responded by asking the Grays boss (Wayne Burnett) what he thought of the wonder strike instead. Burnett though also hinted she get lost. It’s not often you see an attractive woman get spurned twice in a row but if it’s going to happen then chances are it will happen when football’s on.

The match became a tactical stalemate at 2-2. In the 65th minute I made two substitutions. The first was Owusu for Easton on the left wing. Former Norwich man Easton had barely been in the game. He also looked distinctly short of match fitness. Owusu on the other hand is a young squad player on the outside looking in and was always going to get pitch time at some stage tonight.

Also arriving on the scene was versatile forward Will Buckley. He would replace Taylor on the right wing. A minute later Wayne Burnett made his first change, bringing Mohammed on for Cogan. The switch initially paid huge dividends for Grays. In the 68th minute Mohammed swung in a deep cross which was controlled by Taylor in acres of space in a little pocket beyond the ball-watching Gnakpa. Taylor took one touch and then smashed the ball past Brill onto the crossbar and back out again. That was desperately close.

Bugging me immensely since half time was the presence of some mouthy little runts in the stand behind the dugout. As a manager you get abuse at most grounds you visit from at least one person. At this level of football though, with the size of crowds we’re used to playing in front of, the volume of noise generated often drowns out most of the vitriol. The trouble tonight was that the attendance was probably less than 500. As a result of this I could hear more clearly than usual what was being said amongst people around the ground.

“Hey Luton manager! You’re gonna get beat, mate! You should have stayed in Luton!”

The comment above wasn’t the worst I heard, but some swear words I simply refuse to repeat in my journal. There were three kids in particular who were getting on my nerves, all between twelve and fifteen and all seemingly paying more attention to me than the game. Where do these brats come from? I tell a lie actually. They weren’t just heckling me they were going for Nadine too; upset as they were she wasn’t getting her breasts out, or something along those lines. Mostly however they were focusing on me.

“Luton manager, what’s that scar on the side of your neck? Love bite off your mum?”

Me being the consummate professional, I ignored the barrage and kept my eyes on the game. We were into the final twenty now and heading for extra time. The last thing I needed though was thirty more minutes. I’d taken a real risk playing the majority of the first team, and if we had to go the full distance I knew it might not bode well for Saturday.

“How fat is your f__king assistant or what?”

In the 72nd minute Charlie Daniels stood over a free kick on the left hand side. Boy did I hope this was the moment! Seemingly everybody went forward for this, everyone except James and Brill in fact. Over it went and there was Pilkington, rising like a hawk in a bid to score his second goal in two games. The header he produced was accurate and easily beat the goalkeeper. If it had beaten Canoville on the line we might even have re-taken the lead.

“Hey Luton boss, you ‘re utter sh_t mate!”

The closer it got to the end, the more and more desperate I felt. Grays were wilting but we weren’t taking advantage. We were spending a lot of time on the ball but without threatening the goal. In the 81st minute Buckley shrugged off his marker inside the box only to pull one about three yards wide. That was poor. Two minutes later Lawrie and Bridges went for the same ball and collided awkwardly. The ball ricocheted to Niven but he fired over.

“Your team coach is gonna get its windows put through tonight, Luton manager”.

Sensing their team had lost its way since half time, the majority of the decent Grays fans tried some singing and chanting near the end. It didn’t work though. Some token efforts were made by Taylor and Mullarkey to carry the ball forwards again, but for the most part they’d spent all their energy in the first period. If only we could polish this off now and avoid the extra thirty. It was CRUCIAL for the sake of our FA cup tie we avoid the extra thirty.

“You’re a dead man, Luton manager. Dead”.

In the last minute Keane dribbled this way and that, thirty yards out and looking for an option. The best one appeared to be Daniels, so Keane laid the ball on for him. Daniels beat at least one tired pair of Grays legs and fired a cross in. The ball hit Jones and rebounded back to Daniels. Now the left footer elected to dribble, doing his step-overs and tricks as he did so. The final piece of magic was to sell a dummy to Canoville before giving himself space to shoot on his right.

Daniels’ effort was hard and low. It beat everyone. It clipped the far post. It went wide. That would surely be the final chance of the ninety. Extra time it was then. How frustrating to put ourselves in this position! It’d been 2-2 for most of the second half and we still hadn’t put Grays to bed.

“We’re gonna let the tires down on that coach, Luton manager”.

“Will you little f__ckers just p!ss off?” I turned around and shouted, broadening my shoulders and looking menacing.

For the briefest of moments there was silence. Then about a hundred locals all began jeering and shouting at me. Brian grabbed my shoulder and turned me back to face the other way again. Seconds later the referee blew the final whistle. At least that was one thing; I could now walk into the centre circle away from the heckling and prepare everyone for extra time. It was going to be a hell of a long half an hour once I returned to the dugout though.

[ScottleeSV]

'Malarkey' now changed to the correct spelling of 'Mullarkey' for both this and the past two updates.

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“This extra time period does not have to be a massively energy-consuming affair” I explained to my charges. “It’s only half an hour more and then you’ve got four long days of rest ahead of Saturday. Grays are knackered. You’re fitter than them, you’re faster than them, and you want it more than them. Let the ball do the work and you’ll be fine. We’re bound to score one more from here on in. Just stay focused and get it done. Best of luck”.

I made a point of walking back to the dugout long before the Grays boss. I didn’t want the home fans thinking I was afraid of them. Privately though, I was glad there were a couple of burly looking stewards not too far away. Any wannabe Mark Chapmans would hopefully have their work cut out if they wanted to jump over the railings to try and get me. Win or lose though, the rest of the game was going to be an uncomfortable experience.

The light blue shirts of Grays briefly enjoyed a second wind. Wayne Burnett is obviously a good manager and his pep talk obviously had some effect on his team. When play resumed they immediately surged forwards with the full backing of every local thug, chav, and spiv. Fresh from the bench, Sloma threaded a pass through to Mullarkey twenty five yards out. The big striker attempted a long range dipper which cleared Brill but landed on the roof of the net rather than under it.

My outburst of earlier was only to be regretted. However, if there was one consolation it was that Nadine Gouvall was unlikely to have picked it up on tape. As the abuse levels had accelerated during the second half Nadine and her cohort had wandered away to somewhere behind the far goal. Makes sense – fans are always happier to get themselves on TV than managers are.

Tony James was starting to tire so I brought Hogarth on in the 100th minute. Neither can take penalties particularly well so there was no gain in keeping James on. The reason penalties were now on my mind was because we’d gone completely flat in extra time. As the linesman held the numbers boards up to confirm the substitution, my mobile phone began ringing. It was Chantelle. She obviously thought the game would have ended by now.

Ignoring her call, I bellowed out some motivating words to the shattered Derek Niven. All that seemed to do though was bring about the whistle for half time in extra time. Begrudgingly the players all began to either walk or jog over to the opposite sides of the pitch. Fifteen more minutes of stalemate and we would be into the penalty shootout. Somehow I doubted that would be much fun tonight with this mob on my back.

Thankfully James Lawrie’s next contribution went a long way in ensuring we wouldn’t need one. With 109 minutes on the clock, the young striker controlled a forwards header from Keane. The covering Campana tried to catch him up but Lawrie, now operating with severe cramp in his legs, opted for the volleyed shot rather the difficult dribble. It probably wouldn’t have gone under normal circumstances but the ball took an awkward bounce in front of the keeper, bamboozling him and eventually deflecting off his head into the top corner of the goal.

The loanee now had two goals to his name in this match. To celebrate he ran in front of the Luton fans smiling and waving. Good for him. Now all we had to do was ride things out for eleven minutes and claim the win. Personally I didn’t show much emotion when the goal went in. I didn’t want to wind up the Grays fans by doing a Mourinho or anything like that. I reckoned I would probably be lucky to escape this night without contact from the Conference committee as it was.

Back came Grays. Sloma did well in the centre circle before a wayward shot from Upson deflected off Daniels for a throw-in. Walsh took it and found Mullarkey inside the area. His backing into Hogarth was just starting to worry me when, quick as a flash, the striker found half a yard of space and blasted into the side netting. Mullarkey’s slightly embarrassed glare at his boot laces told me he thought that might be their last chance.

And so it proved. We played the last few minutes completely on the counter attack. In the 117th minute, Pilkington hoofed one downfield beyond an advanced backline. Bridges, Lawrie, and Owusu of all people, charged after it and suddenly we had three against one. Lawrie might have had his hat trick here but was too tired to keep up with Bridges, the man on the ball. Sub Owusu on the other hand was reasonably fresh, and it was he who profited from Bridges’ lack of selfishness.

Rather than try to beat the keeper, the striker laid a low pass on for Owusu to then comfortably blast into an empty net on the run. Ashton had initially been the last Grays defender but slipped and allowed Bridges past him almost at a whim. Regardless, the game was over now. All that remained was for the final whistle to be blown. It came practically bang on the 120 minute mark. No injury time. Sensible stuff from the ref.

To great booing and anti-Martin chanting, I briefly applauded the commitment of the away fans and then hurried to the dressing room flanked by Brian. My shoulders instinctively hunched themselves as I made my way. I think my sub-conscious kept expecting something to be thrown from the crowd, one final hurrah in revenge for my outburst. Nothing was doing though so I counted my lucky stars. I'm not so sure my players were counting such stars - Their efforts had earned them another date with Nadine and Live Bunny.

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FINAL SCORE(Att - 488)

Grays Athletic 2 (Upson 14, Mullarkey 32pen)

Luton Town 4 (Lawrie 6, 109, Bridges 48, Owusu 117)

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[ScottleeSV]

05/11/09 - Remember remember the fifth of November

I detest fireworks but love bonfires. Unfortunately, it’s very rare you get to sample the latter without the spoiling presence of the former. Tonight a whole bunch of us met up at the park just down the road from my flat for a bonfire party (that also promised a firework display). If the occasion had been referred to as a firework display that also included a bonfire I don’t think I would have bothered.

Luton Town might be non-league club now but the club’s tentacles still stretch far and wide throughout the local community. Heavily involved with the running of this particular bonfire was Brad Scowcroft, president of The Supporters Trust. He was doing lots of promotional bits and pieces tonight, scurrying around with cut-price tickets and informational pamphlets etc. A certain E-mail he'd sent earlier had managed to persuade lots of Luton fans to make this their bonfire-of-choice, including me.

As the giant fire burned away causing the nearby air to distort and blur, Chantelle and I stood hand in hand about eighty yards away. You’d need to multiply that number by about ten to get an accurate reading of the total attendance. Amongst them – Luke (attached to Chantelle’s other hand), Nicky, Sally, Caroline, Darren, Brenda, Rory, and Rory's friend Kevin. Even Katrina was floating around, Mr Dilic’s pretty Serbian secretary from the second floor.

We weren’t all stood together but we were more or less in the same section of the crowd. Not many words had been said since the blaze had reached its highest. No words needed to be said. Sights like this one weren’t a dime a dozen. Neither was such glorious open air warmth at the back end of Autumn. Add in the presence of toffee apple and sparklers, both good fun in moderation, and the scene was almost perfectly set.

A short way behind us was the bench I’d plopped Bambi onto before having it out with Towzer and Garry. How long was that ago now? Six months? More? Bambi incidentally was currently locked away back at the flat. I might have brought her if it had been just a bonfire and no fireworks. Dogs though are notoriously scared of big bangs. Little ‘La Bamba’ (as Nicky often calls her) is sadly no different.

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Thirty two hours earlier I’d been sat in the canteen with Brenda when Darren had rocketed in through the door like an express train. He was then so quick at turning the TV on I didn’t have time to ask what was wrong until the moment I found out anyway. Luton Town were on the regional news!

“Multicoloured Mickey has proven controversial ever since his debut in this match right here” said an unseen narrator.

(Cue a brief clip of Mickey sauntering along the touchline throwing Indian food away for fun).

“Now though, his time is at an end. After several complaints from supporters and local people alike, Mickey is being retired at the tender age of just one month old. In his place for the next home game against Tamworth, old favourite Happy Harry will return. The decision has proven popular with many long-term Luton supporters”.

(The camera now cut to a middle aged man standing on a housing estate).

“We’re delighted with the news” said the man, whose name was apparantly Harold Ball. “A lot of us within the supporter’s club have been campaigning for this ever since Mickey’s inauguration. We felt the change was wrong. We felt it was made for the wrong reasons. We felt the new mascot was borderline insulting. And, after canvassing opinion throughout the town, we felt the change wasn’t even popular with the ethnic minority groups it was aimed at in the first place”.

“The initial change is also thought to be responsible for several incidents of violence behaviour throughout the town in recent weeks” continued the narrator.

(A picture of a youthful man in a baseball cap now dominated the screen).

“Just several days ago, twenty two year old Matthew Barnard was arrested after the stabbing of a Chinese man at the Handoori Takeout Stop, his chilling words during the attack – ‘this is for Harry’. Fortunately the victim survived and is now recovering in hospital”.

(The scene now changed to a roaming profile shot of a local school).

“And at South Luton High School on Tuesday, mathematics teacher Stan Plankton was suspended after allegedly calling one of his pupils a useless Mickey. School governors are refusing to comment”.

(Now somewhere more familiar, the outside of a corner shop I definitely recognised).

“Perhaps the most chilling consequence of Mickey’s existence though occurred at this little shop just outside Kenilworth Road itself. Only this morning, an Indian man and his father were arrested after police discovered an enormous cache of weapons hidden in a backroom. The men, whose family have owned Kenilworth General Stores since the 1970’s, were found to be sitting on a potentially devastating stockpile of automatic weapons, handguns, grenades, and even a grenade launcher”.

(A replay was shown of Mr Singh and his dad being marched out of the shop in handcuffs, their faces blurred in a token attempt to hide identities).

“Get off me!” cried Mr Singh. “This is a set-up. I’ve never seen those guns before in my life!”

“It’s thought the men purchased the weapons to stave off threats of local youths such as Mr Barnard” theorized the narrator.

“This was a catastrophe just waiting to happen” said a policewoman called Myers, shown speaking in full uniform outside the local police station. “If we hadn’t seized control of these weapons before the next attack on the shop, heaven only knows what tragedies may have befallen. It all stems from the owners taking offence to numerous Mickey taunts made on them since the new mascot was introduced at the local football club”.

"Well I'll be damned" I said, as the narrator began to wrap things up back in the studio.

"This doesn't mean I'm getting back in the Harry suit though" Darren stated firmly.

"Don't worry, I'll get someone else to do it from now on" I assured him.

"YOU were Happy Harry?" Brenda exclaimed, a big wide smile on her face.

Darren suddenly looked like he could kick himself.

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As the bonfire continued to rage and roar, I allowed myself a smile at the memory of yesterday’s newsreel. They’d shown the same piece on the evening news too and I’d watched it all over again. Poor Glynn Edwards had done a disappearing act since Darren started breaking the news around the offices. I had to feel for him in a way. Glynn’s Mickey idea might have been a terrible one but I don’t think he’s a bad guy. A suspect marketer, maybe. Not a bad guy though. I hoped he didn’t take this minor career setback too much to heart.

Caroline was currently trying to light a cigarette with a sparkler. As she did that, I whispered in Chantelle’s ear that if she also wanted to drift away for a quick puff, I didn’t mind keeping hold of Luke whilst she did so. The response was a thank you, and a notification the offer would be accepted but not for a few minutes yet. I kissed her ear and told her the extra time in her presence would be savoured and cherished to the maximum. Chantelle smiled and called me a corny b_stard. Fair comment really.

Over on the fire, some faggots at the summit crackled and toppled, revealing a better glimpse of what was up there. The ruckus caused little additional sparks to frazzle and sizzle. Brad Scowcroft, in addition to two of the other organizers, stood the nearest of anybody to the wonder. The tape around the centrepiece might have been thirty yards away in all directions, but the three chief dignitaries had allowed themselves the privilege being just a few feet closer. I’ll bet it was baking hot where they were, that’s for sure.

“That’s the worst Guy Fawkes I’ve ever seen” said Chantelle.

“That’s because it’s not a Guy Fawkes” I grinned.

('Au Revoir, M.M')

[ScottleeSV]

07/11/09 - David and Goliath

When it comes to exploring places on away days I’m going through something of an off period. I keep finding excuses and reasons not to bother. Away to Wingate I travelled on the team coach in a show of unity after the hotel scares. Away to Grays I told myself I needn’t bother exploring the town because I’d get another chance in the league fixture, potentially on a Saturday daytime too. Today, with the MK Dons lying in wait, I couldn’t possibly envisage myself leaving the players to go sightseeing.

The fixture was just big, too monumental. For once-a-blue-moon games like this, managers and players need to stick together in everything apart from going to the toilet. You need to have breakfast together, travel together, see the inside of the stadium for the first time together (if you’re away, which we were), and just generally have this whole big theme of togetherness going on.

We ate a service station halfway between Luton and Milton Keynes. It might have been just past midday at the time but already we’d spotted numerous cars pass by with Luton scarves hanging out of the windows. Thousands would be travelling across for the game today, all hoping and praying we could turn the ‘MK Dongs’ over, as I’d seen them referred to on Hatters Online.

A great majority of the squad wanted to catch the Football Focus preview of our match somewhere, but I vetoed the idea. As much as I was also desperate to see the feature, I decided it would be too much of a distraction in the build-up to kick off. Instead I instructed Darren to record it and make the video available on the Luton FC website, the idea being everyone could watch it from the comfort of the own internet service provider when they got home.

Sadly our team line-up today would be the weakest it had been all season. Due to a combination of both long and short term niggles, I was missing Bowditch, Cadamateri, Beavon, Gill, Niven, and Nicholls. Despite being non-existent against Grays, Clint Easton would get one more chance on the left wing. Charlie Daniels therefore would remain at left back and hopefully get forward whenever he could. Young Owusu would get his first start of the season in centre midfield alongside Keith Keane. Talk about baptism of fire!

Up front was where we were strongest. Bridges was coming in on the back of six goals in five games, and Lawrie two in one. The MK Dons team contained several names I recognised and several I didn’t. I had no doubts they would be going all out to win though. In my experience no team below the Premier League ever tanks an FA Cup fixture. If it’s of any interest, their starting eleven was as follows - Everet, Diallo, Chicksen, O’Hanlon, Llera, Wright, Lewington, Wilbraham, Sturm, Nardiello, and Gerba.

“Keano, stop messing around!” I shouted, re-entering the dressing room for the final pep talk. “It’s almost time to get out there. Now look you lot, I’m not going to bawl and moan if it goes wrong today. If you lose, fair enough. If you get hammered, fair enough. Just remember though there are thousands of Luton fans out there in the stands who want to see a show. Days like today don’t come around very often so make the most of it. As long as you try your best, I’ll be proud either way. Good luck. Keith, get them moving”.

He didn’t need to. As soon as I stopped talking, everybody leapt up from where they were sitting and burst into a crescendo of encouraging words, rally cries, and slaps on shoulders. It was time to do the business, or at least try to do. I’d deliberated neglected to mention the BBC camera crews in my team talk for fear of making the player’s legs wobble. The Keith Keanes of this world might not suffer from nerves, but the Richard Owusu’s probably do.

We were in our orange kit today, the MK Dons in white. Led by the men in black, both sets of players began to make their way out onto the pitch. The noise in the arena was deafening. Stadium MK is an impressive 22000 all seater affair, and on first impressions I’d say it was two thirds full today. One end behind the goal was completely choc full of Luton fans, many of them with banners and five foot hats. It was a very colourful scene. The Dons fans weren’t quite as bouncy but then they are the League One team.

“Come a long way since Bangor haven’t we?” I asked Brian.

“A long way”.

Probably because of my nerves but the warm up period seemed to go by only too quickly. Soon the toss has been made, the players had switched ends, and the referee was ready to get the game under way.