Jumping Through Hoops

[Celtic_1967]

We landed in Glasgow and I was in a blind panic. As we’d started our descent towards the runway I’d remembered something. It was akin to having gone out for a drink and remembering 3 hours later that you left the gas on.

I’d remembered the feeling from days ago that something was wrong in my office and I’d never figured out what, now something was telling me I had to.

As soon as I was clear of the airport I rang Jen and practically insisted she meet me at Celtic Park. I had refused to tell her why and she, somewhat reluctantly, agreed.

***

I arrived in my office before my wife did. I found myself looking round the room and pacing, trying desperately to work out what was wrong and why it was annoying me so much.

I’d finally had enough after 5 minutes and was about to turn my office upside down when my wife walked in. The look on her face was enough to stop me in my tracks. To describe it as ‘nonplussed’ would be an understatement.

‘What am I doing here?’

‘Something is wrong in here and I need your help to work out what it is.’

‘You've dragged me out here to move furniture, are you mad?’

I had to explain that it wasn't the layout I was unhappy with. Something wasn’t as it should have been and I couldn't work out what.

‘Trouble is I have no idea where to start looking. Everything seems to be in place.’

‘Well ripping the place apart randomly won't help. Look around, what bothers you the most?’

I had considered it from that angle before. I gazed around the room and then it hit me.

***

Jen was on her way down the M6 when I arrived at my office and at that precise moment I was glad she was.

As I headed in I was met by a large man in a blue uniform. I say met, it was more that he was inserted, head first, under my desk.

‘He said it was under here, I’m sure he did’ the man muttered to himself.

Clearly he didn’t know I was there. I decided not to make my presence known and backed slowly out of the room. I waited until I heard the man pull himself up off the floor before re-entering the room.

‘Hello Officer, can I help you.’

‘Oh... er... no I’m done now.’

My first thought was ‘I bet you are’, but thought better of repeating it out loud. I decided to let it go even though I knew why he was there. Saying anything might give away the fact that I knew what he was doing.

‘Okay, no worries’ was all I offered as he shuffled past me into the corridor and up to the reception desk to sign out.

I imagined a perplexed look on his face as he went. It put a smile on mine, I might just be starting to win this game.

[Celtic_1967]

The upper hand was something I’d forgotten what it felt like to have. I felt it this morning. It was warm and fuzzy. The feeling was doubled when I saw the text message waiting for me.

‘Job done, on way back x’

Now I was certain I’d won this round. I wasn’t even bothered that I wasn’t sure how to win the game. I felt like I was in the lead and that was enough for now.

***

Having the upper hand is all well and good. It is, however, completely pointless if you haven’t a clue how to use it. I’d had it since yesterday and done nothing with it.

‘You have something that belongs to me.’ The all too familiar voice was accusing in its tone.

‘You mean the key. The one you had taped to the underside of my desk. The one that I’m sure belongs to the car that killed Robin Horse. I reckon your actions mean that key isn’t yours anymore. You wanted it to look like mine; therefore you can’t now claim to own it.’

‘You’re not as smart as you like to think. I know what you’ve done with it. I will pin this on you and whilst I’m arranging that I’m going to make life as uncomfortable as possible for you. On both sides of Glasgow.’

‘What are you ta... have you forgotten that one half of Glasgow is obliged to dislike me anyway.’

‘They will now dislike you and deride you and your own fans will detest you.’

‘Seriously, you’re deluded if you thi...’

‘Stop right there. I can assure you I am not deluded. I have made good on all my other promises so far, this will be no different. This news will eclipse even the day that Baptista signed for Reading.’

The line was dead again. He never hung around long enough for a quick Q&A. Dammit what the hell was he talking about.

Apparently Baptista had signed for Reading at some time in history. Why would Venus reference that, and more to the point why the hell don’t I remember it.

A quick Google search answered the second part of my question. It’d happened after my car accident and I’d been paying no attention at all to football at that time. It still didn’t explain what this had to do with making my life uncomfortable.

Sure Baptista signing for a provincial club, even one on the up like Reading had been, was big news for the club. It was hardly big news for the player though, he’d been playing for Real Madrid so Reading would hardly faze him. So where was the link to me in all of this.

I read the news article in front of me 3 times before I saw it.

Baptista was today unveiled ahead of an away match with Middlesbrough

Baptista was today unveiled ahead of an away match with Middlesbrough by Reading...

Baptista was today unveiled ahead of an away match with Middlesbrough by Reading Manager Rob Ridgway.

There it was, that was the answer right there. Release information on Celtic’s link with Ridgway and suddenly the Glasgow goldfish bowl becomes even smaller and more claustrophobic than normal.

A flat out denial was the only thing that would work here. One more lie wouldn’t hurt; in fact this one might help.

I needed to get word to Rob and let him know what was about to happen. We both needed to be on the same page and that could only happen if I told Rob what was about to occur. I picked up my phone to make the call just as it rang. Now instead of making a call I was taking one.

‘Mike Kowalski.’

‘Mike, it’s Hugh Keevins from the Daily Record.’

‘What can I do for you?’ I already knew why he was calling; I’d just worked it out for myself not 10 seconds ago.

‘Hugh in answer to your question I can categorically state that Mr. Ridgway has never provided any assistance in transfer dealings or indeed of any nature to Celtic Football Club.’

‘Can you explain how we have a press release from Celtic FC claiming differently?’

‘You’ve got a what?’ I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

‘Aye, press release confirming that Rob Ridgway has been and will be assisting the club.’

‘I know nothing of this; can you send a copy over for me?’

So I found myself dialing a German phone number to explain to a man who’d done me a favour that we were now potentially knee deep in excrement whilst waiting for every Celtic managers favourite newspaper to send me a fax.

[tenthreeleader]

Mike, this post gave me chills. Brilliant.

[gavrenwick]

Mike, this post gave me chills. Brilliant.

I have to double that. Supreme.

[Celtic_1967]

10-3, gav, thankyou.

‘Herr Ridgway bitte,’ I told the receptionist.

‘Eine minuten bitte,’ came the efficient German response.

I waited listening to whatever it was that the Germans use in place of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons when it comes to hold music. It could have been 99 Red Balloons for all I cared. I wasn’t in the mood.

Finally Rob’s voice came on the line.

‘Rob, its Mike Ko...’

That was all it took.

‘What in the hell has happened at your end. I’ve had the press all over me for the last few minutes.’

‘I know Rob. It seems that Celtic have issued a statement about you and the c...’

‘I realise that. What did you guys think you were doing? This is going to make my life impossible!’ Rob sounded frustrated, exasperated and angry all at once. I was certainly glad this conversation wasn’t happening face to face.

‘I don’t know, all I can tell you is that I didn’t authorise it. This did not come from me.’

In fact it could only have come from one of a very small handful of people. Whoever it was it was likely they were our insider. These were details I was happy to spare Rob.

‘So what are you going to do about it Mike. This isn’t good enough.’

‘I know Rob, I’m sorry. Obviously I’ve done my best to deny it. I’m still waiting to see the press release. As soon as I see it...’ I was interrupted by my fax machine whirring into life. ‘...hang on here it comes.’

I stretched across my desk and grabbed the fax. Putting it down in front of me I breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Rob we’re safe. We can pass it off as a hoax.’

‘How?’

Now was the time to tell Rob what was going on. I had to explain that I was a dancing monkey for Venus.

‘Whoever issued this couldn’t afford to have it traced back to them. As such it’s had to go out missing one crucial detail.’

‘What?’ Rob was getting tired of having to ask questions.

‘Whoever issued this didn’t issue it through the press office. I know because it isn’t signed.’

‘And if it was signed that would leave a trail back from the person who signed it to whoever requested the signature all the way back to whoever wrote it.’ Rob finished my thoughts off for me.

‘Exactly! As such we can claim it as a hoax. I reckon that whoever it was at the club hoped to create such a media storm that the little details would go un-noticed. So my only requirement from you is to deny it. I’ll do the same and point out that the release isn’t authorised by our press office and we’re home and dry.’

‘Not quite. I have a request for you.’

I wondered what it might be. Rob generally had a reputation as a nice guy, but a nice guy who was not to be messed with.

‘I was happy to help out Copper but he’s gone now and I have no remaining link to either you or the club. As such I want to terminate our arrangement. I don’t wish to be caught up in all of this. If I am it makes it very difficult for me to ‘go home’.’

I couldn’t blame him really. I’d probably have done the same.

‘Sure Rob, of course,’ I was annoyed it had come to this but I saw his predicament, this could so easily have gone another way.

‘Excellent. Oh, Mike... no hard feelings.’

It was a nice sentiment, but the sentiment didn’t cover for the fact that I’d just lost a potentially priceless competitive advantage and I wasn’t in the least happy about it.

[TerrierBhoy7]

Great update matey

[Celtic_1967]

I paced the floor tapping a pencil against my temple with my team sheet in my hand. A few miles away my wife did the same, well except she’d replaced the team sheet with a phone and the pencil with the look of a woman with something heavy on her mind.

I had to decide the best way to approach the league match at New Douglas Park; Jen was contemplating making a potentially difficult phone call.

I couldn’t afford to get this wrong as Hamilton had already dumped us out of the league cup in a tie we were expected to win easily. A win here was a necessity. Jen couldn’t afford to get this wrong either making this phone call could mean the beginning or the end.

***

I was still pondering my options long after Jen had made her decision. She’d made the call; it was the only thing she felt she could do. It was the only way to gain and keep control in this situation. It was the only way for her to know.

***

I was woken from my thoughts by the sound of my phone vibrating itself off my desk and into the bin. I fished around for it and eventually found it, although only after I’d mistakenly grasped a half eaten apple on two occasions.

The message was from Jen,

Going to the solicitors, won’t be back in time for the trip to Hamilton as I have another appointment straight after.

Vague information was one of Jen’s strong points. Enough information so I felt involved but not enough to interfere. From her point of view she’d told me what was happening and where she was going so I couldn’t be upset with her for disappearing but she hadn’t given me enough to work out what she was doing. As such I stop her from doing it as I didn’t know what ‘it’ was.

***

The two meetings were intended, at least for Jen, to bring about a new beginning. From my point of view she might get her new beginning by bringing about the end of a current situation.

[gavrenwick]

Glad this returns. KUTGW, Mike.

[Fergie1983]

This has been superb and had me hooked the last few days in work and not much been done!

[Celtic_1967]

Gav - thank you.

Fergie - That means a lot as did your message. I remember feeling like that reading Copper's 'American Pilgrimmage' so to have the same happen with my story is an honour.

Just now wasn’t the time to worry about what Jen was doing. She is my wife; I’d need to trust her. Right now I needed to be thinking about 3 points at New Douglas Park, Hamilton.

The journey was considerably shorter than the one we had taken to face Debrecen but I would still have preferred a home game. Celtic park and the crowd noise should give us a big advantage and having already lost to Hamilton at home this season I didn’t fancy an away game with them straight off the back of an away European game.

Hamilton away was what the fixture computer had given us however so that was where we were going.

I still hadn’t finalised my team sheet as we stepped off the coach in Hamilton. Ten of the names were in but I couldn’t decide between McGeady and McGinn to take the spot on the right flank and complete the team.

My heart said McGeady as a technically better player and with the greater likelihood of unlocking a defence with a single pass or run, but my head said McGinn to leave a winning team intact. The Northern Irishman won out over the plastic Irishman and Aiden took his seat on the bench ready to be an impact sub should it be required.

I wanted a win today, obviously. I wanted it for the 3 points, for the pleasure of winning and to avenge the defeat that had been inflicted that had put paid to Copper’s League Cup run before it had even started. Nothing short of victory would satisfy me. I imparted exactly that to the team.

Things didn’t start well and we were slow out of the blocks. A totally mistimed tackle from McManus meant that Bonnal was able to find his way through and collect a through pass from Antoine-Curier and required Boruc to come out and collect the first shot of the match in the 3rd minute.

Bonnal was involved again less than 10 minutes later when he slid in to take the ball from Samaras after a Fox throw in. The challenge saw Hamilton clear the ball but left the rangy Greek in a crumpled heap on the sideline. Caldwell immediately put the ball out to allow Sammy to receive attention.

Arriving back in our technical area Gavin McCarthy, carrying his physio’s bag, advised that Sammy would be ok to continue for now. He insisted that we reassess the situation at half time at the very latest.

‘Don’t give them space. Get closer; give them no time on the ball!’

Having watched my side chase the ball for the opening 15 minutes I’d finally had enough.

It was a chance I was taking. There was a chance of getting punished by ‘ball chasing’ but we’d been nowhere near it in the game’s opening so we had to do something.

My team had a different something in mind for doing however. Whilst I was on the touchline turning red with the effort of shouting instructions and waving my arms like I was trying to take off Shaun Maloney was cutting the ball inside for Willo Flood to fire home through a sea of bodies from 18 yards.

Getting the goal gave me a problem. We were ahead but definitely not as a result of my changes. So do I go back to Plan A now that we had the lead or stick with the Plan B that was supposed to get us the lead.

Reading my thoughts Parky appeared at my side.

‘Trust your instincts. You made the change for a reason.’

With that I settled down still not entirely comfortable with the choice I had made. I knew that mistakes were unlikely to go unpunished. Subconsciously I crossed my fingers, closed my eyes and expelled the air from my lungs.

Giving away to quick free kicks after the kick off finally convinced me that I had made the right call. The fouls weren’t ideal but it did show me we were at least capable of getting close to our opponents and we just needed to get our timings right. The timing wasn’t that far off anyway, signified by the fact that neither foul was punished with worse than a quick blast on the officials whistle and the retreating of 10 yards by my players.

Danny Fox was about to show his timing wasn’t off however. Having sprinted in to clear a corner at the near post he then found himself mere seconds later in the correct position to receive a pass for a very dangerous cross into the penalty area the Fortune was only inches from scoring with.

Not content with already having shown both his defensive and attacking prowess Fox again got back to head clear a looping cross to deny Antoine-Curier an equaliser that looked nailed on. It was certainly a very impressive 5 minutes from the young left back.

Fox seemed to inspire the rest of the defence as they found there timing in the tackle and ability at getting back. Both McManus and Caldwell looked rock solid after half an hour as they repelled Hamilton’s advances with ease.

Even Artur Boruc was in on the act.With Bonnal having crossed from the Hamilton Right the ball evaded our defence and Simon Mensing was left with an easy headed chance. Easy except that Boruc had other ideas. He managed, inexplicably to get down to his right and turn the ball around the post. A save like it had not been seen since Gordon Banks against Brazil in the 1970 World Cup and rightly it brought a rapture of delight from our travelling fans.

‘Ohhhhh Artur Boruc,

The Holy Goalie,

He hates the Huns!!

He blessed himself at Ibrox and the Huns went off their nut,

he's off his fecking rocker and sings:

GOD BLESS THE POPE’

The Chorus rang out from behind Boruc over and over again. At first Artur turned to the fans and offered a friendly wave. The whole stand went into pandemonium and the singing continued at volume.

I was slightly jealous. I’d never had my own song from the Celtic fans. Granted, had I had one I’d have preferred one without the religious references but really I’d have accepted it.

The singing continued unabated until the 37th minute when Hinkel played a ball from right back over the Hamilton back line and Samaras sprinted through and slotted it home after taking one touch. It would have been difficult for the singing to continue at this point as Sammy, like me, doesn’t have his own song. The fans were more used to him missing last season and the sound of a collective groan was more his song, but that wasn’t appropriate here.

Two-nil with less than 10 minutes until the interval meant that conversation on the bench turned to our half time actions.

‘Mike I think you should taking Niall McGinn off at half time. He’s been a passenger here today.’

‘I’m going to leave him on John. The game time will help his development.’

‘Christ Mike, you’ve got McGeady on the bench, he easily in the Top 5 players in this league and his getting splinters in his arse whilst McGinn runs round like a headless chicken.’

‘Everyone here today knows what McGeady is capable of but we don’t actually know that much about McGinn. I think we should keep him on. I’ll have a word at half time. We’re two up we don’t need to make changes for the sake of it.’

Parky left it at that. I knew he disagreed but he also respected my position as Manager and the role of ultimate decision maker that comes with it.

Half time consisted of Parky telling the team to keep doing what they were doing and me taking Niall McGinn to one side for a quite word.

‘Niall you need to pick your game up in the second half. You’ve been carried out there today and that’s not good enough for this team. I want you to show me what you can do. Show me that leaving you on was the right decision.’

Niall said nothing, he simply nodded his understanding. I got the distinct feeling that what I should have done was an arm round the shoulder and what I did do was a kick up the arse. The second half would give me my answer.

As the team took the field for the restart McGinn looked determined. I hoped he’d get an early touch to settle him down. Fortune gave me my wish by giving him the ball directly from kickoff.

McGinn was off and running. He skipped past an attempted tackle from Hastings and headed for the goal line. Simon Mensing was closing him down and I prayed he’d release the ball before he got caught in possession. Niall looked up and saw the red and white shirt closing in. Had I been close enough I would have seen all the confidence drain from McGinn’s face as he panicked. So fearful of making a mess of the cross, knowing I was watching, it became a self fulfilling prophecy and his attempted cross skipped off his boot and trickled into the penalty area. We’d wasted a great chance; Samaras, Fortune and Maloney were queuing up to score our third goal but the ball was going to be cleared by McLaughin. I buried my head in my hands in frustration.

The roar of the crowd at that end of the pitch had me pulling my hands away from my face almost as soon as they had gone up. I could hardly believe that Cerny was fetching the ball from the goal behind him.

‘McLaughlin missed it and Maloney nipped in.’

Twenty one seconds after the second half had got started and the referee was heading back for the centre spot. Three-nil was an excellent position this early in an away game and it made me determined to leave McGinn out there.

‘Maybe supplying the ball for Shaun will give Niall some confidence.’ I was aware I sounded like a man trying to convince himself.

‘Yeah, perhaps,’ came the reply, ‘stranger things have happened.’

On 48 minutes the referee was again getting ready to restart the game after the game’s 4th goal. From the Hamilton kickoff after our third goal the ball had been worked back to the home team’s back line and Eloebert had sent a high ball over our entire team. John Paul Kissock, the 20 year old ex-Everton midfielder, anticipated the ball perfectly. Despite not being the quickest, Kissock was able to carry the ball into the box and unleash a shot totally unchallenged. Boruc parried the ball but it dropped kindly for Antoine-Curier and he pulled the score back to 3-1 with ease.

Determined not to watch the lead slip away I pulled my team back into a counter attacking system in the hope that we’d avoid conceding any further but still retain an attacking threat. The game didn’t quite pan out that way, although what we got was acceptable. For the next 15 minutes nothing happened. Hamilton wouldn’t come at us because we had a nice solid defensive line and they didn’t want to get picked off on the break. My team didn’t go forward because they were only looking to do that on the break. It might not have been pretty, but it was effective in terms of maintaining our position.

The dullness of the last few minutes was interrupted with a double substitution. I’d finally seen enough, or not if you prefer, of Niall NcGinn and decided to put him out of his misery. So after he’d warmed up and pulled the splinters out of his arse Aiden McGeady was sent on.

‘Get into them Aiden. Run at them and make it happen out there.’

‘Sure thing Gaffer.’

You couldn’t fault Aiden for enthusiasm and fortunately he had the skill to go with it. He just wanted a ball at his feet. I suspect the lad does kick ups in his sleep.

The other change was an exhausted Samaras off and Sami Allagui on to replace him. It was a straight swap and Sami was told to keep doing what Sammy had been doing.

With 72 minutes on the clock the official had his whistle to his lips and his finger pointed to the penalty spot. Scott Brown had returned a cleared Shaun Maloney corner to the winger and Trent McClenahan had brought him down as Maloney cut into the penalty area.

Brown assumed responsibility for the penalty kick. He placed the ball on the spot and set himself up for his short run up. Cerny danced around on his line like he had a ferret in his jock-strap and it worked. Brown hammered the ball directly at the keeper and it was parried away.

‘SH*T, that would have killed it off.’

Parky simply shrugged his shoulders. In his head we would win this anyway.

It proved to be so as our Counter attacking setup nullified the Hamilton attack and although it meant that McGeady couldn’t really get into the game to do any damage in truth it didn’t matter. 3-1 was enough.

Well it was for everyone except Allagui. No-one had told him. As a result with a minute and a half of stoppage time played he burst into the six yard box chasing a hopeful Maloney through ball and slotted past Cerny.

4-1 was plenty.

[Celtic_1967]

I was awake although my eyes were still closed. I could tell it was far too early to get up so I rolled over to go back to sleep. I wish I hadn’t. The three foot fall didn’t bother me but the sudden stop as I hit a cold hard floor really hurt.

‘What the f... where am I?’

Then I remembered, and I remembered why I was here.

I was aware of a severe pain in my chest and down my right arm. I tried to sit up but it hurt too much. I ended up crawling, wincing with every movement, and pulling myself up the door frame using my one good arm.

Groping around in the dark I eventually found the light switch and flipped it on. I saw what I’d fallen off and made a mental note to never try sleeping on the treatment table in the Home dressing room at Celtic Park.

I tried to lift my right arm to check my watch but the effort was excruciating. I settled for removing my watch with my left hand and lifting it to my face as I leant against the door frame. I still had no idea what time it was though as I’d smashed the damn thing on the tiled floor.

At least I knew where I was and how to get to my office. Moving as slowly as I could so as to minimise the movement in my arm I left the support of the frame and promptly collapsed screaming in agony in the hallway. Waves of pain shot across my body with such incredible force that everything went black.

***

I woke up not knowing where I was for the second time that day. I moved very cautiously to avoid as much unnecessary pain as possible. There was no pain at all.

I was definitely in a bed this time. The soft mattress under my back told me that much.

I opened my eyes and was relieved to see that I was in my hotel room. Relieved but confused. It made no sense, unless,

‘It was a dream?’ It had felt so real.

It had been real. I realised that when I tried to get up. My right side weighed twice as much as my left side. I glanced down and saw the two huge casts; one on each of my right limbs.

‘Oh Sh*t.’

‘What exactly have you been doing?’ Jen chose that moment to come out of the bathroom.

I didn’t much feel like speaking to her seeing as she had been the cause of my accident. I knew I wouldn’t get away with ignoring her.

‘I fell out of bed.’ It was as close to the truth as I felt like getting.

‘That must have been one hell of a fall to bruise your ribs, fracture your ankle and break your arm?’ she knew I was lying.

‘What do you care anyway?’ The words were spat out like week old milk.

‘I do care; you’re just too blinded by your anger to see it.’

It was true I was angry. I think I had a right to be so. Anyone who had found out that his wife had been down to the solicitors office and used the power of attorney documents that were supposed to make his life easier to give away his £250,000 penthouse apartment would be more than a little miffed.

It was the reason I’d ended up sleeping where I did the previous night. I had refused to go back to our hotel because I was so damn angry. I was only here now because I’d been brought here sedated by an ambulance from Glasgow Royal Infirmary. I was here and I couldn’t leave even if I wanted too; I could barely stand up on my own.

[copperhorse21]

still reading and still a very fine mystery. Glad you are resuming your efforts.

[Celtic_1967]

Copper - Thank you for the continued readership.

My distinct lack of mobility was going to be a two-fold problem; one a short term issue the other more long term. The longer term issue was going to getting to and from work and the car for that matter. Jen would normally be the solution to that problem. However right now I wasn’t really in the mood to speak to her let alone ask for help. That brought the short term problem into play. She would almost certainly want to talk to me about the issues here and I could do nothing to escape it; at least not without her help.

I’m not churlish or rude enough to just flat ignore her when she’s speaking to me, which meant I had no choice but to deal the issue. I couldn’t run, or walk for that matter, away from it.

‘You understand why I did it, don’t you?’

‘Frankly Jen, no I don’t.’ Surely she realised that I wouldn’t understand her giving away my most valuable asset.

‘We’re currently in a recession. The flat wouldn’t sell and I needed it out of my life.’

‘Wait, surely you could have reduced the price? Isn’t that what people do when the property won’t sell?’

‘Giving it away was easier. It meant that all I had to do was sign over the deeds, there was no messy surveys and waiting for money to come through. The whole deal was tied up in hours rather than dragging on for any more time. It’d already been weeks.’

‘But it was two hundre...’

‘I know Mike, you’re acting like I don’t realise that.’ Jen’s voice started to crack, which made me look up. Jen continued, ‘Having it there as a constant reminder of what I went through was just too painful.’

The last few words had been barely discernable and the upset had turned to full scale tears and gasping for breath through the sobs.

At that instant I wanted to throw my arms around my wife. Suddenly the money wasn’t important. I saw past all of the issues we’d had recently and saw the girl I’d fallen in love with and I fell in love all over again. I wanted to throw my arms around her, but I couldn’t. She was too far away and I couldn’t move well enough without her help to do it so she had to come to me.

Finally she stifled the sobs long enough to move over and sit next to me, curled up on the bed with her head on my stomach. As she lay there I just held her. Well, held her and felt like a d*ck for the treatment she’d suffered because of the way I’d reacted. Yes it was a lot of money but she’s my wife and I love her. It’s not like we were living on the breadline.

Neither of us spoke for what felt like eternity. I subsequently realised that this was because I didn’t know what to say and because Jen had fallen asleep through emotional exhaustion.

I reached for my laptop and sat watching footage of upcoming opponents whilst my wife slept. I didn’t really learn much though. I was too busy thinking about Jen and being distracted watching her sleep.

When Jen finally woke she pulled herself up next to me.

‘Still love me?’ She looked me straight in the eye.

I smiled and nodded. No words were needed.

Knowing I couldn’t move effectively enough to instigate it Jen shuffled over and kissed me.

‘Good, because now we’re on the same page we have work to do.’

‘What?’

‘Did you ever wonder what the other meeting was the day I went to the solicitors?’

‘Well yes, but...’

‘It’s... retribution.’

‘Venus?’

‘Yes’ and with that Jen went back to sleep.

[tenthreeleader]

Hey, look who's back!

Well done, Mike! I am happy to pick up reading where you left off!

[copperhorse21]

Sometimes it's really nice to get the encouragement from the fellow forum readers to acknowledge that there is a fan base and they like what you write. Interim nominations are great because they inspire many of the quality stories to resume, this being one of them!

[Celtic_1967]

10-3, Copper; Thank you.

Retribution. The thought had been going through my head all night. It probably would have stopped me sleeping, but the two casts I was wearing had done a great job of that on their own.

Retribution. It wasn’t exactly an alien concept to me. It was precisely the reason that Jen and I found ourselves in the situation we were in. The thought that we might have been about to make this worse had occurred to me.

Retribution. Part of me wanted to walk away from all of this and get on with my life and my job but there was an equal part of me that couldn’t walk away. Not at least until I knew what Jen had up her sleeve.

Finally the thought process drove me mad and I needed to think about something else. I managed to move, very slowly, to the edge of the bed and swing my legs off it. Using the wall in front of me I supported my own weight on my left foot. Now how to walk without putting any weight on my broken ankle?

‘Crutch... floor... behind you!’

How the hell had Jen known I was up. I didn’t really care. She was right and it gave me some mobility. At least enough mobility to get over to the door and pick up the morning paper.

The hacks were, for once, singing our praises. Although with us having found our way onto the score-sheet in each of our last 10 matches and having won 6 straight SPL games in row; and setting a new record in the process meant that the press had no choice but to show us some respect.

My inward smile of satisfaction was punctuated by a sudden realisation that I needed to pee. I grabbed my crutch and eased myself to my feet and began my slow progress to the bathroom. At least I would have done if I hadn’t caught my cast on the leg of my chair and tripped myself up. Christ, the pain of slamming my broken bones against the floor hurt more than actually breaking them.

Jen was up and over to me in seconds, helping me pull myself to my feet. As I stood I felt the pain begin to subside. That’s when I became really angry. The fall had made me release my bladder and **** myself.

That was the clincher. Retribution would be served. I still didn’t know Jen’s plan, but whatever it was we were going ahead.

***

Over breakfast Jen had imparted her information to me in a hushed tone. Really it was only the beginnings of a plan but we now had an ally and it was a start.

Jen just needed to set up the meeting, but I was going to need to wait until after the Kilmarnock game.

[seanydude]

Cracking story mate.

Glad its back

Mon The Hoops

[Celtic_1967]

seanydude - thanks for the kind words and 'Mon the Hoops indeed

Entombed - Up there with Rat Pack and Super Saints! I'm honoured for my work to be mentioned in the same breath as two incredible stories by excellent writers. Here's some more for you.

8 wins in a row in the league and 5 straight in all competitions meant that a home game with Kilmarnock was not the time I wanted us slipping up. I’d had plenty on my mind recently and something told me there was plenty more to come but I wanted my players with only one thought in their heads today; 3 points.

I’m sure the fans wanted 3 points, lots of home goals and a good performance; I suppose I did too, but I’d take 3 points above all else.

‘Boys today we are expected to win. The media think we will, the fans will settle for nothing less and I want 3 more points on that board at a quarter to five. We are the better side, but don’t think that means we can turn up and take victory. We need to put the effort in. Give that effort and we’ll get the reward. I expect to win today because I expect the effort to be there. To show you I mean business – Aiden you’re in.’

I pointed to the Glasgow born Irishman and threw him his shirt. He caught it and smiled.

There were glances around the dressing room, someone was being cut from the team and everyone was trying to work out who it would be. Niall McGinn was the man in question.

‘Niall, you’re out son. You’ve been playing great this season granted, you’ve kept Aiden out of the team. I need 100% effort from everyone every time they cross that white line and you didn’t give me that last time out. We can’t have passengers. Right lads get stripped and ready.’

The lads all busied themselves with shorts and shinpads. I turned back to the recently dropped winger.

‘Niall, I’m sorry about doing that in public. It wasn’t personal. I want the team to see that I expect them to give me everything. I want them to realise that I won’t stand for lack of effort and that was too good a chance to miss. I promise if you show me in training the level of effort I want you’ll get another chance.’

A small smile crossed the lips of the man in front of me. He extended his hand and grasped mine.

‘I understand gaffer, and no hard feelings.’

That’s what I liked about Niall; always about the good of the team, even if it hurt him personally. He made dropping him publicly easy. This is a lot more than could be said for other people.

I was aware of someone standing behind me as I added the finishing touches to the team sheet. I turned to see who was waiting for me. When I realised who it was I knew exactly where this was going.

‘Yes Glen?’

‘Gaffer I want you to know I thought treating Niall like that publicly was out of order. He didn't deserve it.’

‘Glen when you're Celtic manager you can do it anyway you like but until then we do it mine. In fact if you dislike my methods so much I won't make you suffer through them.’

The defender looked puzzled. I was going to spell it out for him and enjoy it. I put the team sheet down in front of him and crossed out Loovens and wrote Thompson instead.

‘Gaffer you can’t drop me to the bench for voicing an opinion.’

‘I don’t intend to.’ I found where Josh Thompson’s name appeared on the subs list and crossed it out and wrote in Tolmie. ‘You’re out altogether. You’ll never play for this club again whilst I’m in charge.’

Losing Gary Caldwell to injury was a blow. Replacing him with an 18 year old was a gamble and having an Under – 19 defender providing bench back up was probably crazy. It was a risk worth taking. If it paid off I was as good as rid of Loovens and if it didn’t, well I didn’t want to think about that.

[tenthreeleader]

Mikey, very glad to see you writing and posting this again. Good luck.

And no, nothing follows.

[Celtic_1967]

10-3 - Thanks, and you're right; pretty much nothing followed... until now!

As the boys took to the park I prayed that the fact it was Halloween would curse us into putting on a horror show; especially with the inexperience at the back.

I really wasn’t sure what to make of the first minute of action. I couldn’t decide if it inspired of frightened me. Willo flood played a diagonal ball out wide for McGeady who immediately threaded it into the penalty area for Fortune. The big lump managed to play it against Alan Combe’s hand when it was easier to put it past him. Horror Show? I hope not, but just maybe!

Our luck got no better in the 7th minute. Danny Invincible proved that he wasn’t but pulling down Shaun Maloney in the left-hand channel. Aiden McGeady delivered a pinpoint cross onto Samaras’ head which Sammy headed, with equal pinpoint accuracy against the cross bar. It was certainly promising that we’d create two excellent chances in less than 10 minutes, it was worrying we’d been unable to capitalise on either.

We had Kilmarnock on the back foot and we looked to press our ability advantage. Scott Brown slipped a diagonal ball into the box which McGeady collected easily. The young winger looked up to see who was free to square the ball too. What he found was Samaras and Fortune standing stock still too far behind the back line to be effective in a square ball situation. McGeady was either going to have to shoot or go backwards with the ball, and Aiden had never displayed his reverse gear. Unfortunately the ball got stuck under his feet and he was forced to try and beat the keeper at the near post with his right foot. Really he’d have been better curling the ball away into the far corner with his left foot, but it wasn’t to be. The shot ended up wide into the near post side netting. It was unfortunate both for the team and for Aiden.

I wanted to jump up and run around the technical area in an attempt to drive my team on to do the one thing we hadn’t managed so far; score a goal. We’d created chances; 6 in total so far, two of them clear cut. We just couldn’t get the ball over the line. I wanted to run around the technical area. But I couldn’t. My battered body wouldn’t let me. I sat on the cold plastic chair and moped instead.

I only got the chance to be miserable for a few minutes. I was forced to cheer up when McGeady ghosted across Alan Combe in the Killie goal and guided home a Maloney corner. My enthusiasm for the goal came at a price. I’d forgotten I was in a cast and jumping up to celebrate really f****** hurt. So I sat down again.

That was the catalyst we needed to get us started. In the following two minutes Fortune was unlucky to miss out on a goal after a lethal McGeady cross was the cause of a melee in the 6 yard box and Samaras also nearly made it two when Maloney feed him through from the other side. Unfortunately Sammy didn’t react quickly enough to get the shot off and O’Leary managed to block and clear. We had looked really dangerous so far.

Our excellent play was rewarded in the 20th minute when Samaras hammered home a shot from twenty yards by firing across the goalkeeper. It had been all about team work, with keeper playing in to right back, right back to right wing, inside to central midfield, ball into our forward line and one forward finding the defence splitting pass for the other. Teamwork; until Sammy stole the teams thunder with his brilliant finish.

‘Looks like we don’t need Loovens.’

Parky didn’t respond to me. It wasn’t that he was upset or even disagreed, he realised he didn’t need to respond. He knew I was having a little smug moment to myself.

Our play was fast and direct. We outclassed Kilmarnock in almost every department and respect; we’d added two more goals by half time and it could have been more. Maloney hit the crossbar with a cross from 22 yards that was designed for Fortune and Samaras continued to prove himself as unplayable by the opposition when he stole in and rose high to head home a wonderful Maloney cross on the half-hour.

A hat-trick was complete 10 minutes before half-time when Oliver Thomas clattered through Marc-Antoine Fortune for a needless penalty. Fortune was going away from goal, chasing a Maloney cross that had been half headed clear. Thomas went through the back of him. It was a clear penalty. Samaras dispatched it against the goalkeeper’s right hand post and into the goal. Half-time was nice and easy.

The second half, as is often the way in these situations, was largely devoid of anything remotely resembling action. I guess having told the lads not to over exert themselves second half would explain it. I saw no point chasing yet more goals at the expense of our fitness. That meant that other than a couple of Samaras shots that were missed; one that was easier to score, and the standing ovation the Greek player received when replaced by Allagui the second half was a non-event. Not that I, or anyone in green and white minded.

Coming into the dressing room after the match it transpired that Rangers had fallen 1-0 at Tannadice to a hard working performance from Dundee United. That was the icing on this particular cake. We found ourselves two points clear with a game in hand.

[tenthreeleader]

Welcome back to the land of the posting Another fine post by yourself, Mikey.

[Fergie1983]

looking forward to this story again!

[Elrithral]

Just in time for the awards, dun dun dun

[Celtic_1967]

Fergie, 10-3, thankyou.

El, I can promise you this story won't be winning any awards.

The scream was blood curdling. It was a cry for help. The cry of an infant. Crying for her Daddy to help her. I instinctively reached out to help her. I couldn’t reach.

I sat bolt upright gasping for breath. My eyes adjusted to the gloom and I realised that I was in bed. It had been a dream. It was always the same dream, or at least it had been for the last month. Every night I had woken with a start gasping for air and with a cold sweat like a layer of frost on my back.

I’d finally had my casts taken off so pulling myself out of bed was much easier. So was making it to the bathroom.

I flicked the shower on, slipped my boxer shorts to the floor and stepped in. I stood there in the steam for 2 minutes but it was no good the water couldn’t wash it off. I grabbed soap and a facecloth and scrubbed hard but the guilt wouldn’t come away. It wasn’t going to be as simple as washing it off.

I reached out from behind the shower curtain and fumbled, unseeing, until I managed to find and switch on the waterproof radio.

The room was filled with the melancholy sound of Chris Martin, ‘...I never meant to cause you trouble, I never meant to do you harm...’ My heart sank and I sagged into the bath. I sat there with the salty tears mixing with the water from above me, diluting and running down the plughole.

[Celtic_1967]

‘I don’t remember any of the last 7 games.’

It was true. Since the Kilmarnock game on 31st Oct 2010 we had played 7 first team fixtures, including 2 in Europe and I couldn’t remember a single second of any of them.

‘Mike the doctor said you might be a bit hazy with your memory. He said that much paracetamol in one go could damage your ability to remember in the short term.’

‘No, this is more serious. It’s like they never happened. My short term memory is fine. I can remember what I had for tea last night. I know who I am, who you are. I just don’t remember anything of my job in the last few weeks.’

It was a scary position. I’d lost 5 weeks of my working life. Matches were played and by the time I got home I’d forgotten everything. What if I never remembered?

Jen pulled out a folded sheet of paper from her jeans pocket. She unfolded it and passed it to me. Looking down I read;

Celtic 2 – 0 Debrecen

Falkirk 2 – 3 Celtic

Dundee United 2 – 4 Celtic

Celtic 3 – 0 Hearts

Celtic 4 – 0 St. Mirren

Levski 1 – 3 Celtic

Celtic 2 – 1 Aberdeen

‘Are these the scores from the games?’

Jen nodded and offered a weak smile.

‘We’ve done this before haven’t we?’

Again Jen nodded. ‘At least once a day for the last few weeks,’ came the reply.

I was my turn to offer the weak smile, however mine was out of embarrassment and Jen’s borne of frustration. You know the frustration that you try to suppress when you are speaking to someone with Alzheimer’s and you find yourself on the five minute repeating loop conversation. That was this must have been like for Jen.

Still staring at the paper I tried to remember something, anything. I could remember sitting at my desk swallowing tablets and water over and over until I felt like I was going to be sick. I could remember waking up in hospital although I hadn’t been unconscious. Enough paracetemol will make you sleepy but having a cannula stuck repeatedly into your hand as the nurse searches for a vein is usually enough to bring you round.

I could remember why I’d done it. The feeling of failure. Being responsible for what happened to my wife and unborn baby. Now I felt the failure twice as hard. I also had to wrestle with the fact that instead of facing my problems I’d tried to run away, tried to leave everyone else to deal with them.

I could feel my eyes getting wet. I was welling up. I had to stop myself. A single tear would open the flood gates.

‘Jen are you sure I was even at these games?’ I couldn’t recall anything.

‘Yes, although Parky was making most of the decisions.’ I stared blankly. Jen continued, ‘I told him what had happened and he agreed to take on the first team duties. However the club don’t know so it was all kept very quiet. He’s a good friend.’

It was true. Parky was my best friend, other than Jen. I felt bad for letting him down, putting him under more pressure than was really fair.

‘Jen?’ She waited for me to continue. ‘Where do these results leave us?’

‘Top of the SPL. Eight points clear of Rangers with 14 games played. The win against Dundee United put you in 1st.’

‘OK, what about these Champions League games?’

‘Europa League.’

‘What?’

‘You’re in the Europa League.’

So much for my short term memory being unaffected.

‘Right, Europa League. How do we stand?’

‘2nd place behind Roma. Although you’re 3 points and a goal difference of 7 behind them with only one game left to play in the group. You’ve qualified for the second round but given the remaining game is against Roma, albeit at Parkhead, it’s unlikely you’ll snatch top spot.’

Parky had done me proud. It was more than I deserved. I had to find a way to thank him. Then I realised the best way to do it.

‘When is our next match?’

‘Away to Motherwell in 2 days.’

I picked up my mobile and scrolled through my contacts. Locating Parky’s number I paused, my finger hovering over the ‘call’ button. What would I say to the man who has kept me in a job?

Jen seemed to read my thoughts. ‘Just be honest, tell him whatever is in your head.’

With the call finished I’d made my best friend a promise that I would be back and fully in charge for the trip to Fir Park. I was going to win the match for him.

[tenthreeleader]

Beautifully done, Mikey.

[mametz1536]

I second that, really excellent post full of emotion, great reading.

[fergie83]

very good, worth waiting for!

[Celtic_1967]

Thanks fellas, I appreciate the kind words

I’d been awake for hours. I couldn’t shift the night terrors, they were always there. They weren’t my main concern right now though. Making sure the vomit falling from my mouth made it into the toilet was priority number one currently. I felt more nervous about being in charge today than I had at Pittodrie on the opening day of the season. Indeed, the opening day of my managerial life.

It was time to leave for training, just as soon as I swap my vomit soaked training top for a fresh one. Jen had already gone out. She had a meeting to attend. I didn’t know who it was with. Apparently it was a meeting that should have taken place a few weeks ago but had been postponed due to my recent selfishness.

To be honest I was just glad she wasn’t there to witness me with tears rolling down my face with nerves and fear.

I turned from the door and headed back into the room. Slumping onto the bed I reached into my kitbag and pulled out my mobile.

‘Parky?... It’s Mike, look I’m sorry I won’t make training this morning... Jen has gone out and taken my keys with her. I can’t get into my car.’

It was a pathetic lie and despite knowing it was a lie Parky said nothing more than ‘No problem. You be around for tomorrow’s match?’

‘That’s the plan.’

‘Look, picking the team tomorrow might be tough if you don’t remember any recent action. What if I come over later and we’ll go through it together. Then you can make all the calls from the sidelines tomorrow.’

‘Great.’

I’d just lied to my best friend. I was ashamed but I couldn’t tell him the truth. The truth was I was too scared to go to work. I couldn’t tell him because I didn’t want to admit it to myself yet.

***

My meeting with my assistant manager had passed off without incident or mention of that mornings lie. There had been no reason for it to be mentioned to me. He’d already told Jen, except I didn’t know.

We’d decided on a line-up of

Boruc

Hinkel

Fox

McManus

Caldwell

Flood

Brown

McGeady

McGinn

McDonald

Samaras

The only change from our previous game was, according to Parky, Scott McDonald replacing Marc Antoine Fortune due to injury.

I’d wanted to ask what approach we should take to the match but felt I couldn’t. So much had already been done for me. I had to work that out for myself. I made my excuses and left so that I could go and study what little footage of recent Motherwell games I could find.

It wasn’t long before I gave up out of utter frustration. I crawled into bed, pulled the duvet over my head and waited for the world to go away.

[Celtic_1967]

Another night with little sleep and another morning I couldn’t face. At least not alone.

‘Can I come with you to the Motherwell match?’

Jen had never been to an away match whilst I’d been in charge. Granted Motherwell away was hardly a distance but even so it was strange she suddenly wanted to go.

‘Want to make sure I actually go today?’ It was a reference to Jen having told me she knew about the previous days missed training. I felt immediately bad. I shouldn’t throw accusations at my wife.

‘No. Personally I don’t care if you never go back, however you made a promise to your best friend and I think you should at least try to keep it. I understand that you might find this hard, I thought you might appreciate knowing I was there in case you needed me.’

See, this is exactly the reason I shouldn’t throw accusations around.

‘Will you come with me? On the team bus?’ I stared at the floor half embarrassed and half nervous, like a 5 year old who is about to be left for his first day of school with no-one to hold his hand.

‘I can’t. You know that. Match squad and team management only on the coach. I’ll get a taxi.’ Jen’s hand touched my shoulder to reassure me. ‘It’ll be fine. Parky will be there and I’ll meet you in the Directors Lounge after the match for a drink.’

She took my hand and pulled me out of our room and down the corridor, out through reception and across the car park ready for the drive to Celtic Park to meet the bus.

***

The bus journey, despite all the people I shared it with, was a lonely one. There seems a strange distance between myself and my squad. There was one moment that was lonelier. It’s the time when all eyes should be on me. I’m trying to inspire my team onto victory, to get them going before they hit the pitch. They aren’t listening. Almost no-one was even looking at me. The room was silent except for the sound of my voice and all the hooped shirts stare at the floor.

‘Just don’t let the fans down.’

I’m not even sure they heard that.

It almost didn’t matter on two minutes as Reynolds headed a Samaras forward ball away to keep it away from Scott McDonald who was lurking. The ball dropped to McGinn and was immediately feed through the Motherwell defence and McDonald slammed it home after passing Reynolds just a fraction to soon.

The offside call was a wake-up call for Mark Reynolds. Scott McDonald found his space severely limited. In order to counter this Samaras takes up a slightly deeper position and comes deep to get the ball.

I sit, unsure whilst I’m even there, in the dugout and watch as we’re average. Very little gets closed down. Only Scott Brown is trying to win the ball in midfield.

Brown starts the move that gives us our next chance. Finding space he releases the ball to Samaras who squares it to Skippy. However Reynolds hasn’t relaxed his focus on the Australian and gets in front of the shot and concedes a corner.

The corner is a dangerous looking one from Niall McGinn but no-one in hoops makes any real effort to reach it and it is headed out for a further corner by Jennings.

The second corner was so poor it barely even beat the first man. O’Brien tried to clear the ball but only managed to bounce it off a team mate. The ball looped up into the 6 yard area and Stephen McManus reached it first but his lack of concentration meant that all he could manage was to head it over the bar.

I slumped into my chair. Now I know they definitely weren’t listening. I’ve seen Under-11 sides play with more heart and responsibility. I’m only brought out of my chair when, on 10 minutes, McGeady lashes a volley at goal. The ball was a surprising infield scoop from McGinn. Unfortunately Aiden doesn’t hit it sweetly enough and it flashes past the post. If it had been on target it would have been a certain goal.

I really hoped this would be the spark that lit our fuse. I hoped and yet didn’t care in equal measure. That really isn’t a good position for a football manager. I might not care but plenty of other people do. I’d better make some effort.

Following McGeady’s volley Motherwell really pulled their men back to tighten the defence. Finally on 25 minutes I’d had enough. It was like watching a kid kick a ball against a wall over and over again. Every time we went forward we were repelled, sometimes more effectively than others but always effectively enough.

‘DON’T FORCE IT. WORK IT INTO A CHANCE.’

The players closest to me looked up, one or two nodded. Then they carried on exactly as they had been before. No effort was made to stretch the opposition, to make them make a mistake. We just carried on battering away at that wall.

Something else had to change but this time I had no choice. Brown had been hurt. Typical. We lose the only player that had even been trying. I was sure things couldn’t get worse.

5 minutes after coming on as Browns replacement Barry Robson finally got his first touch of the game. It was a supreme touch, light and deft, and just precise enough to drop a perfect ball in front of McDonald who was 12 yards from goal. McDonald mis-controlled it and it was put out for a corner. It had just got worse.

I turned and headed for the dressing room although I waited until I was there before I cried.

[Celtic_1967]

I’d only left the pitch 2 minutes before the players so I’d had to dry my eyes quickly. I tried the old trick of splashing water on my face and was busy drying it off when the players walked in.

I suspected some of them knew what I’d actually been doing. One or two gave me some funny looks.

One or two funny looks became two or three, which became 4, then 6, then 8. Eventually everybody in the dressing room was staring at me. I wished I knew why.

Parky raised his eyebrows and coughed. He was clearly trying to tell me something.

Then it hit me and the realisation left me cold.

I’m a football manager. At least my job title thinks so. I’m not sure I agree. Either way the team were waiting for my half time instructions. I was frozen with fear. There were no words in my brain, so my mouth had nothing to work with.

The eternal staring match continued. Except I was currently winning the one I was having with the floor and losing the one I was having with everyone else in the room.

I was going to have to come up with something. Still no words. I wanted to tell the team where they had failed. Still no words. I needed to inspire my team on to victory. NO WORDS!!!!

I find the energy to lift my head. I can’t look anyone of them in the eye. I feel the words falling from my brain towards my mouth.

‘We can win this boys.’

That’s it? That’s all I can come up with? My brain blanks out again as if to confirm that, that is indeed all I was getting.

I turned and headed out of the dressing room towards the dugout. As the door swings shut I hear Parky marshalling the boys to the dressing room door.

[gavrenwick]

Come on Celtic, do this for Mike! *feels dirty for cheering Celtic on and instantly cleanses self*

[Celtic_1967]

Gav I know exactly how you feel. I've had 1 and a half seasons of that!

Things get off to bright start in the 2nd half. 30 seconds in Niall McGinn drops a ball into the box from a free kick. All we need is someone to get on the end and it’s a certain goal. Assuming, that is, they show some concentration and effort. Barry Robson shows neither and heads the ‘certain goal’ into goalkeeper Ruddy’s arms.

‘F*CK!’

It’s fair to say that Parky is far from happy. I shrug my shoulders. Given my inept team talk it’s hardly surprising the lads don’t care. I only seem capable of reciprocating in equal measure.

Barry Robson’s lax attitude at the start of the second half is being reflected by the rest of the team. Somehow we still seem to be in control of this match but it takes 10 minutes for us to fashion our next decent chance.

Motherwell are over-awed by the shirt; it’s the only explanation for us still having a chance in this game. Any quality side would have ripped us apart by now. Frankly though, I don’t give a toss either way.

On 55 minutes McGinn throws a ball from our left to Robson. Barry carries the ball 15 yards before putting a cross low into the box. The ball was clearly intended for Samaras but Murphy gets in first and clears for a corner. A corner that turns to nothing as McGeady delivers an easy clearance for Hamill.

Five minutes later it’s clear that Motherwell have finally figured out that Celtic are there for the taking. They don’t care that the players aren’t trying or that the manager can’t motivate them. Why would they care? I wouldn’t expect my team to care in that situation.

McGeady looked set to break down the right, however he lost control of the ball and Reynolds took it from him with ease. Once the Claret and Amber had the ball they weren’t giving it up; at least not to the poor effort of pressing them that we made. The ball was sprayed around until Forbes found himself in the Attacking Midfielder position, ball at feet, options in front of him. The ball forward set John Sutton running between our Central Defenders to collect. The shot brought a finger-tip save from Artur Boruc.

Maybe one of the team does care.

Indeed it seems that the man between the sticks isn’t going down without a fight. A flying save is next on Boruc’s agenda as Forbes tries his luck with a 30 yard thunderbolt on 67 minutes.

Artur’s fight is over less than 3 minutes later when he gets suckerpunched by Willo Flood. With Celtic defenders outnumbering Motherwell attackers by 5 to 3 as Murphy crosses, the ball comes of the shins of the backtracking Irishman and leave Boruc scrambling in vain.

I know instantly that the game is over. Well unless Boruc can keep them out for the next 20 minutes and find two goals for himself. No-one else out there is going to be much use to him.

Silently I get up and walk away.

I was right. One-nil is the final score. F*ck it, I don’t care.

[Celtic_1967]

You have to expect that if you walk away from your work responsibilities without good explanation that your boss, if he finds out, is going to be unhappy.

I work in the public domain, of course he found out. He was unhappy. I was summoned to his office. He wanted an explanation and in definitely needed to be a good one.

‘Well?’

‘John, what can I tell you? I had an off day. I was upset with the boys and the performance.’ It was at least partly true although it hardly did justice to the multitude of emotions and thoughts swimming in my head.

‘I’m sorry Mike but £8000 a week says you stay and do your job even when the chips are down.’

The chairman made a good point. I wasn’t earning over £400,000 a year for nothing. However the man in charge wasn’t finished speaking.

‘If you can’t do that then I expect your resignation on my desk as soon as possible.’

Anything but the truth about my current situation now was only going to make my position even more difficult and make keeping me on less justifiable. However the whole truth might also see me relieved of my duties. I swallowed hard.

‘In honesty John I’ve been having some personal issues the last couple of weeks. Some of the stuff with Jen from earlier in the season is starting to catch up with me. I’m still committed to the club though. I have no intention of walking away or giving you reason to sack me.’

Hopefully it would be enough to allow me to keep my job. I waited for a response. When the Chairman turned his back on me and walked away I feared it was over.

Watching the man who held my future in his hands staring out of his office window in contemplation is difficult when you know there is a 50/50 chance your next move will be to clear you desk out. I felt myself age 10 years in the 30 seconds it took for him to speak.

[Celtic_1967]

I shoved my hands in my pockets to try and hide the fact that they were shaking. If the chairman saw it he might wonder why and that might lead to me having to tell him everything. I fought hard to stop the shake in my hands spreading to the rest of me.

My boss didn’t turn around as he began to speak again.

‘Right, here’s what’s going to happen.’ The tone was such that clearly there was going to be no arguing with whatever he said next. ‘You are going to take some time off. A few days. This will give you time to sort your head out, then when you return I expect you to be fully in control. We have a title to win. If I suspect for a second that you cannot complete your duties I will expect your resignation. We’ll see you back on the training ground on Friday.’

He didn’t have to ask if he’d made himself clear, he already knew he had. Basically I had 3 and a half days to pull myself out of this mental state or I risk my job and with it, likely, my reputation.

I was now playing for big stakes and I wasn’t allowed to fold.

***

I’d left Celtic Park immediately after my meeting. I really wasn’t in a good mood. I had called Jen to let her know what had happened. She couldn’t wait to get off the phone and hung up saying she’d call me back. That didn’t appease my mood.

I turned off London Road and onto the road that ran parallel with it. Flicking on the CD player I immediately found the CD I wanted in the multi-changer. Instinctively I skipped to the relevant track. It was the one track that was certain to have the desired effect. Papa Roach – Last Resort. As soon as the drums kicked in I planted my foot. Within 5 seconds my 2008 Aston Martin DBS was doing 60mph and wasn’t slowing. It took just over a minute to travel the 2 miles to the next junction and I had to brake sharply as I reached the top of the slip road to avoid sticking the car into a concrete roundabout.

I usually avoided using that small section of the M74 for two reasons. Firstly it just wasn’t worth the effort for such a small stretch of road and secondly it let me avoid the roundabout that I’d nearly used to demolish my car. I don’t have anything against the roundabout other than whilst the first exit is the one for my hotel, the second takes you into Daldowie Crematorium; the place where the ashes of both my Paternal Grandparents are scattered. This didn’t improve my mood either.

As I swung the car off the roundabout and across Hamilton Road my car phone rang. It gave the customary two rings and then answered itself. It was my wife.

‘Jen, I’m just pulling into the car park I’ll be there in a minute.’

‘Stay where you are. I’m on my way out. We’ve got an appointment.’

Great, just what I needed.

If only I knew what was coming.

[Celtic_1967]

Jen insists on driving to wherever it is that we’re going to. Given my mood I shouldn’t argue with her about it. I do anyway and she ignores me. At least she ignores me for the first 5 minutes.

‘Look, I don’t know who ****ed on your chips but just drop it for now. We’ve more important things to worry about.’

The tone in her voice really isn’t to be argued with. Even though really the most important thing to worry about is the way my boss just ‘****ed on my chips’ I decide to take her ‘advice.’

There was no disguising the direction we were heading in. Given I’ve travelled along the M74 so many times in my life I recognise that if we keep going in this direction we’ll reach Manchester in around 3 hours. I accept this as the destination although I’m in no mood for talking so I don’t ask why.

Unsurprisingly Jen swings the car into Tebay services. We’re well over half way to Manchester given that we are now only 85 miles from my hometown but this is always the stopping point. Jen loves this place as much as anyone can love a motorway services. She often jokes about driving here to get breakfast.

I’m left wondering what’s going on when Jen exits the car and instructs me to stay where I am. I watch my wife walk into the building and turn towards the toilets. My focus is pulled back by the opening of the driver’s door of my car. A girl of about 18 slides into the space my wife just left.

‘Who the hell ar...’

The woman raises a hand to cut me off and the question trails off.

‘A friend. I’m here to help. ‘

‘With what?’

‘Mark Venus and Graham Fenton.’

The two names hit me like a shotgun blast to the gut. Who is this woman and how the f*ck does she know. I’m about to ask those questions when the woman continues.

‘I’ve spoken to Jen and she’s told me all about it. I want to help you pay them back for what they did.’

‘Why the hell would you want to do that?’ My temper was really starting to unravel. It felt like doing a jigsaw where everyone but me could see the picture on the lid.

The woman hesitated before she spoke again.

‘I heard them laughing about it. It made me sick.’

I really wished someone would let me have a look at the lid of the jigsaw box. The look of confusion must have showed through. It made the woman continue although now she was less surefooted with her words.

‘Mark Venus... he... he did the same to me. My Dad doesn’t know about this one though.’

‘Sorry, who is your Dad?’

‘I’m Grace Fenton.’

I no longer needed the lid of the box. All the pieces had just slotted into place.

[Offspring8]

Great return to posting Mikey good to see it back, mate

[Celtic_1967]

Thanks Offy, glad you're still reading along.

After the meeting with Grace Fenton Jen kept the car heading south. Apparently John Reid had called her after our meeting and told her what was happening. No doubt he was hoping Jen would help me get my head straight. My hometown and my family was Jen’s way of helping.

Unfortunately the surprise meeting of the daughter of the man who raped and beat my wife was something that wasn’t going to disappear from my head all that quickly. It posed plenty of questions and provided absolutely no answers.

My head wanted to walk away, even if it meant that Fenton and Venus ended up defeating me. Was it really worth the hassle? Trying to fight it had caused nothing but grief. My heart wanted to stand and fight. Fenton and Venus deserved to have the living snot kicked from them for what they did. They defiled the thing I loved more than anything, whose life was most important. I couldn’t care less if I lived or died but whilst I was capable of breath I would never stop fighting for Jen.

Thursday evening came around, the day before I was due back at work, and I was standing in my parent hallway waiting to leave. Not sure I was ready to go back but waiting to do so all the same when Jen appeared from the kitchen talking on her mobile.

‘Thanks John, I promise I’ll have him back with you by 11am tomorrow morning.’

I eyed my wife with suspicion, she was up to something. I found out what when I was dragged into the living room and shoved down into an armchair. I tried to protest but it was no good.

‘Mike, sit down and watch the match with your Dad!

I’d hoped to avoid the Roma game but Jen had arranged a delayed return to Celtic Park tomorrow so that I could watch it. I didn’t want to watch it; I didn’t even want to think about it. It hurt that I didn’t feel I could be out there doing my job; maybe I’d never be able to do it again. She felt she was helping. She really wasn’t. I’d have felt ashamed of myself if I even cared.

I humoured my wife and sat with my Dad and ‘watched’ the game. If looking at the screen counted as watching it.

Since the Motherwell game the news reports about Celtic’s chances in the title race were all negative. The press had in unison suggested that Celtic were not all conquering. That after a defeat and an abject performance that doubt in our abilities might start to creep in. They also suggested that if we lost to Roma that this would compound the problem.

11 minutes into the match the hacks got their follow up stories.

Cerci tamely swung in a corner, which had been needlessly given away when Boruc punched the ball over the bar instead of catching it from a Riise shot, and Mexes rose above both McManus and Flood to get a header on target. Both Celtic players were badly positioned and got in each other’s way. Fortunately the header was right at Boruc’s feet. The Pole only needed to land on it to keep it out; however he spilled it straight to Julio Baptista. One-nil.

Now the hacks would claim that the players weren’t up to it, that the team’s confidence was shot. That in itself was likely to be self-fulfilling.

The eyes that had been staring blankly were now glazed over. If our own fans were to be believed we didn’t have the fire power. They had begun demanding the club sign a prolific strike partner for Samaras. They wanted to be sure that if the big Greek striker began misfiring there would still be goals coming.

Sammy had 20 goals in 22 matches, but then our next highest scorer was Shaun Maloney with 12 in the same number of games. Sami Allagui had 3 in 11, although 10 were started on the bench; Scott McDonald had 5 in 14 (4 starts on the bench) and Fortune had 6 goals in 17 (2 appearances as sub).

It didn’t bother me right now; I might not even be about in January to do anything about it.

With one additional minute remaining before the interval my eyes stared in disbelief and hope began slowly to fill my soul. Danny fox played an infield pass that found Zheng Zhi 30 yards out. The Chinese internationalist weighted his first time pass perfectly to give Skippy room to run at the defence. The ball was placed into the gaping hole that Roma had left between Mexes & Andreolli in the centre back positions. Mexes sprinted to make up the ground but McDonald was able to hold him off long enough to fire past him and Artur in the Roma goal. We went in level at half time.

F*ck being Celtic manager, tonight I was a Celtic supporter. Now I cared. I wanted, if possible, to win.

During half time my Dad is talking at me about the game. About how we matched up to them and more in the first half and how if we do it again second half we can win. The statistics show that we created nearly twice as many shots as Roma and had more of the ball.

As the second half gets underway McGinn is replaced by McCourt due to injury but nothing else appears to have changed. Celtic dominate the game and 4 minutes in McGeady passes inside to Flood who blasts over from 23 yards instead of feeding it through to Skippy.

I’m screaming at the telly. I’m a fan again.

I shift in my seat and nervously tap my feet as the clock ticks down. On the hour we nearly take the lead as Skippy, appearing determined to be Samaras’ prolific partner, despite being one of the shortest players on the park rises above everyone in the box and very nearly gets a connection on a corner that would have given us the lead.

The near miss scares Roma into action and they tighten the game up. That kills the game off and with five minutes to play both my Dad and I are expecting, and would be happy with, a draw as the final result.

Nobody, however, has told the players that a draw is acceptable and somehow Zhi manages to nutmeg Mexes with a through ball. McDonald is on it in a flash. All the Aussie has to do is slot it past Artur and we have the lead. Skippy bottles it at the last second and manages only to hit the keeper and Mexes recovers to hoof it clear.

The clearance lands with Baptista but McManus dispossess him before he can do anything with it and the big centre back lumps it back upfield. McDonald is after it again and this time collects it a skins both Mexes and Faty before angling a pass into the box for Sammy. Unfortunately Motta gets in the way and the shot bounces away off target. McCourt collects the errant ball and from a diagonal position proceeds to slam the ball at Artur instead of past him.

We should be winning this. We should be a goal ahead with minutes to play.

The camera cuts to my assistant, in charge tonight, jumping around the technical area and frantically waving his arms telling the lads to get forwards. It seems that also no-one has told Parky that a draw will do.

The boys pile forward and with a minute and a half of regulation time left McGeady swings in a cross looking for either of the two strikers in hoops. The ball drops between both of them and Motta clears it, but only as far a Zheng Zhi. The lad deserves a goal for his superb performance tonight. As the ball drops from the clearance Zhi hits it first time and it rockets off his boot. Off his boot, over the outstretched hand of Artur, and into the back of the Roma goal. F*CK YES!!!!!

Suddenly Parky is back in the technical area and frantically waving his arms in the opposite direction. He desperately wants to pull all the boys back. 90 seconds plus 2 minutes injury time is all that remains.

Dad and I are leaping around the living room. We’re going to beat Roma.

We’re so busy celebrating that we miss Roma kicking off, we miss Taddai collecting the kick-off from Baptista and playing it all the way back to Burdisso. We miss Burdisso playing it high and long and Baptista collecting it with ease. We miss Baptista turning McManus inside out as he brings the ball down. We regain concentration on the game in just enough time to watch Baptista fire it past Boruc from 25 yards with 30 seconds of injury time remaining. F*CK NO!!!! NO!!! NO!!!

Suddenly a draw wasn’t enough and I wish I’d never cared. Bastards! Both Roma and Celtic!

[tenthreeleader]

This is superb, Mikey. One of your best posts, I do believe.

[Celtic_1967]

Cheers 10-3. I enjoyed writing that one. Means a lot for people to recognise the effort going in to the story.

Having driven back from Manchester I’d missed Friday morning training. As such Parky had taken it upon himself to arrange the Saturday morning team briefing ahead of the following day’s trip to Tynecastle. I’d just sat and listened. All I had to do was pick the team and lead them to victory on Sunday.

It shouldn’t be that difficult but I was still angry with the way I’d ended up caring and then been let down. My desire to rant and rave at the team was being dragged down by my feeling of emptiness and disappointment.

I headed home, if a hotel can be home, as soon as the meeting was finished. Jen wasn’t there but she’d left me a note.

Gone to post an envelope. Back soon.

Love you x

I’d been surprised that the envelope had still been where Jen had hidden it. I was even more surprised that the contents were still in it. Venus had claimed he knew what I’d done with it but yet he’d never gone after it. He’d been bluffing. I wondered what Jen was doing with it now. I tried to stop thinking about it; I still wasn’t sure what I wanted to do about Venus or Fenton. Although I hoped Fenton was enjoying the prison showers with his new friends.

The contents of the envelope were the keys for the car that killed Robin Horse. I could use them to send Venus to join Fenton by supplying them to the Police. However I’d need to find a way to get them to the Police without implicating myself for perverting the course of justice. I’d have to have a think about this.

***

It was about 3pm when Jen finally arrived back. She looked pleased with herself.

‘What are you so happy about?’

‘I’m solving our problems Mike. I’ve just dealt with Venus and possibly Fenton. It needs to be over now. It can’t go on any longer.’

That sounded strange coming from a woman who had suffered mercilessly at their hands. I wasn’t sure what she was driving at.

‘What have you done?’

‘The key is going to the police.’

I wasn’t sure how this was even possible without causing more problems. Jen caught the look of horror on my face.

‘It’s okay, I’ve sent it to Grace Fenton, she’s going to hand it over.’

‘Jen, that’s brilliant sweetheart!’

‘I know!’ She sounded almost smug. ‘All our problems will soon be over. Right now that’s exactly what we need. All we need to care about now is you taking Celtic to SPL glory.’

The last sentence crushed me. I’d forgotten about that and I’m not sure I’m up to it.

***

As I leave for Celtic Park to catch the team coach for the Hearts match I’m trying to look positive and happy. I don’t really feel it but I’m trying to look it. Jen’s perception is better that my acting though and she catches my arm as I’m about to go.

‘You can do it. It’ll be alright.’

‘Yeah, I know. Thanks.’

More words I didn’t mean and that I wasn’t sure I could live up to.

[Celtic_1967]

The coach ride to Edinburgh was as close to Hell on Earth as it gets without actually going to Ibrox. The boys were getting restless because they still didn’t know who was in the team and I was no closer to being able to tell them. This coupled with the doubts about my own ability that weren’t so much nagging as clubbing me around the head made for an unpleasant time.

‘Mike we’re gonna need the team line-up very shortly.’

Parky was right. I had to make a decision.

‘Same team that drew with Roma.’ Any team capable of a draw, however unfortunate, with one of the top Italian sides should dispatch Hearts with relative ease.

‘Flood isn’t fit enough... who instead?’

‘Crosas?’ It really was a question, I wanted my assistant’s opinion but he took it as a statement.

I heard the sound of scorn being poured on my selection coming from behind me. I didn’t even have to turn round to know who it was. Glenn Loovens didn’t like my choices. Apparently the lads who were in Thursday night’s game were far too tired to do an effective job today.

My dislike of the Dutch defender galvanised my position. The team was as it was but the doubt he voiced ate away at me. My confidence so low that I’d have lost an arse kicking contest to a man with no legs right now so I let the whole thing slide. He really is going to have to be sold though. If he isn’t I’ll probably kill him.

***

We’re minutes from kick-off when my phone rings. Jen wants me to take it easy on the boys in the pre-match talk as she’s worried I’ll use it as an excuse to blast them for letting me down on Thursday night. To be honest she’s probably right. Mental note to tone it down then.

Parky marshalls all the lads into their seats to hear the gaffer speak; they don’t really seem all that interested. Looven’s no doubt waiting for me to give as rousing a speech as I managed at half time against Motherwell.

Today I manage to sound as if I’m in charge and know what I’m doing. At least I thought I did. I have a rapid change of mind on that point however when, after I finish speaking, it takes a bark of orders from my assistant to get the players off their collective arses and out into the tunnel.

Really, why the f*ck do I even bother? Given that it’s December 20th I figure I’ll get Christmas out of the way and pack it in. Maybe I could get a job on Sky as a pundit. I’ve only got to be better than Andy Gray.

It’s raining hard as we emerge from the tunnel but I don’t hurry. The less time I spend in the dugout the better.

Sammy reinforces this sentiment when, in the 3rd minute, he manages to miss a fantastic header by leaping to soon. McGinn had dropped the ball directly into a small gap between Hearts two central defenders and Sammy’s poor timing meant the scores stayed level.

Parky manages to see the funny side. ‘Let’s hope that’s not Marco Negri in disguise. It he is we’ll get no more goals from him this season.’

In the next 7 or 8 minutes Sammy did his very best to prove Parky correct. He missed a couple of chances that really should have been taken better. On one occasion he managed to shot wide from eight yards when there was only the keeper to beat. I’d have got up and walked away at that point but if I did it would cost me my job and I’d be labelled a bottler. Managers didn’t walk away from their teams mid match. I might not like, or even believe it but I am a football manager. Maybe I don’t have the skill to do the job but until I resign properly I’m forced to sit here and at least go through the motions.

I’ll definitely be out of the job before February. I’m not prepared to watch my team get torn apart by Sporting Lisbon in the UEFA Cup. I’ve known for 2 days that they would be our opponents and I’ve tried not to think about it. Now with nothing interesting happening in front of me on the Tynecastle pitch it floods my thoughts.

My thoughts were brought back to the matters in hand as Templeton slid a ball between though our defence to Obua in the Hearts forward line. Despite suspicions of offside no flag came. Stephen McManus was forced to sprint back and blast the ball out for a throw in to bypass the danger of a free shot on target.

Suddenly I’m on my feet. My frustration levels have just bubbled over.

‘YOU USELESS SHOWER OF C****! GET F*CKING CLOSE TO YOUR F*CKING MAN!

With that the levels subsided and I was drained. I trudged back to my seat and sat with my chin in my hands. I can’t even get excited when Crosas appeals for a penalty as we enter first half stoppage time. He feels that McGowan pushed him as he leapt to try and get onto a corner. The referee is having none of it. Nil-Nil at half time.

Maybe I could make the difference at half time. Maybe, but I’m not counting on it.

[Celtic_1967]

Walking down the tunnel the feelings of being let down both on Thursday and today overcome me.

‘F*CKING DISSAPPOINTED DOESN’T EVEN BEGIN TO COVER IT!’ I was really letting the boys have it. ‘McDonald, McGeady, get changed. You’ve been ****! Fortune, McGinn, you’re in. DON’T F*CK IT UP! ALL OF YOU GET THE BALL UP THE FIELD. STOP D*CKING ABOUT!’

Every player has his face to the floor like a naughty child. I guess it doesn’t mean they care or that they’ve even been listening. Even if they weren’t listening they’ve been paying enough attention to realise I’ve finished speaking and head out ready for the second half. How ready is ready though?

They may as well not have bothered. They played as if they hadn’t bothered. Sammy was caught in possession time and again, Zheng Zhi went into the book for elbowing and Danny Fox fouled Laryea Kingston for a penalty when Caldwell had the clearance covered. Needless to say that Michael Steward calmly sent Artur Boruc the wrong way. A goal down with 15 minutes to play!

Again I want to walk away but I know that if I abandon my post I’ll be fired and I’ll damage my credibility.

The game is done and dusted with 7 minutes remaining when Ryan McGowan threads a 50 yard pass that cuts out 4 of my players and allows David Templeton to run onto and slot the ball under Boruc.

That’s two league defeats in a row, 8 point lead cut to two and it’s my fault.

***

Christmas is supposed to be a happy time. The last four days haven’t been happy for anyone around me. I’ve spent the whole time miserable and punishing everyone else for my failings. The players had all been in on double training sessions to make up for their abject performance in the last two games. Parky even had to go over my head and give the players this afternoon off because it’s Christmas Eve.

There are only two people I’m actively trying not to p*ss off. John Park is my best friend and I’m too scared of Jen!

I really had done my best not to p*ss my wife off but one of us was about to turn the others world upside down. The thing of it is that we both thought we were doing the turning.

***

‘I’ve had enough Jen, I’m not doing this anymore. It’s beyond my capability to manage this team. I just want to be a fan again. I’m going to quit.’

Jen just nodded, no words, just a signal of understanding. Then she pulled my world out from under me and watched me spin.

[Johnny Drama]

Just read all of this, class mate

[Celtic_1967]

Cheers Johnny, always pleased to get new readers and positive feedback.

There was suddenly so much I needed to do. A million thoughts all fought for priority place in the queue at the front of my brain. There was so much to organise.

Jen’s calm voice cut through the chaos.

‘Mike, will you stop. The baby is 8 months away.’

Jen, of course, was right. There was no need to fly into a blind panic for something that was still so far away. That stopped nine hundred and ninety nine thousand nine hundred and ninety six thoughts fighting for space and left just 4.

Suddenly we needed to find somewhere to live. A hotel is fine for Jen and I but it doesn’t really suit the needs of a baby. That means we have to decide where we want to live which means I have to be sure about what I’m doing with my job.

That covered two of the thoughts. The third was Venus and Fenton. Mainly Venus as I hoped Fenton was locked up somewhere with a large hairy man who insisted on being called Daddy. Jen and the baby would need to be protected.

It’s amazing how you can suddenly find steely determination from nowhere. Nothing would happen to my wife or child. Not on my watch.

It’s also incredible how determination in one area of your life can spread to other parts. That was fine with me, especially when it instantly solves one of the decisions you had to make. The fourth thought would be dealt with but it'd have to wait a couple of days.

[Celtic_1967]

The fourth thought was the second one I was going to get to deal with. In some regards I would have preferred to get the others dealt with first but this being the Christmas period estate agents were generally closed and nobody yet knew that Jen was pregnant so protecting her became as simple as making sure that it stayed that way for the time being.

The first thought to get sorted had dealt with itself. My determination to protect my family had also spread to include my job. I was staying on as manager of Celtic. I wasn’t even really aware of having made the decision but I was sure it was the right choice.

That meant the second issue was going to be making sure we won this title. Our recent form had been poor and that needed to change. Actually that isn’t strictly true. Our recent form in games I was in charge for had been poor. Parky had done fine.

I knew why my recent performances hadn’t been up to scratch; because I hadn’t cared about it. I cared now though. My second chance at a baby had made me see a second chance elsewhere in my life. My depression was now replaced with determination.

***

Our Boxing Day fixture was a home tie against a Hamilton team who had been bottom of the table since round nine of league fixtures. Couple that with a spell on the bottom earlier in the season and we were playing a team who had been propping up the division more that 50% of the time.

My heart told me this was the perfect fixture to get back into the saddle and resume our winning ways. My head told me that it wouldn’t be that easy. We’d need to break them down and that to do that I needed to get the boys playing. I was going to have to get the boys believing in me again. I had to show them I cared and hope they responded.

***

It was an hour before kick-off when I strode into the dressing room. I felt like I owned the place. Gone was the pale shadow of myself who, just last week, would have slinked into the room and hid in a corner. Now I was in charge, my chest was puffed out and I looked to exude an air of authority.

I knew that in itself wouldn’t be enough to get the players interested again. I was going to have to talk to them and win them round. They needed to know I was back in charge so I wasn’t about to wait for them to quieten down.

‘LISTEN UP BOYS!’ I bellowed.

A stunned hush fell across the room.

‘I know that recently the results have been mixed. I know that the poor results were in matches I had charge of. I know that these results were because I didn’t show you that I cared. I absolve the team and you as a group of players of any blame for those results. I cannot expect you to care when you see that your manager does not.’

The eyes around the room stared intently as they tried to wonder what was coming next.

‘From here your manager does care. I will be giving my all to this cause and so I will now expect the same from you. Something in my life has turned around and it has given me the strength to turn this situation around. What I need to know is ‘are we going to win this title?’ Anyone who wants to work with me and fight for this get on your feet.'

All but one man rose. It was no surprise that the man still sitting was Glenn Loovens. Clearly he would do whatever he could to undermine me. It was hardly surprising given that I had vowed that he would never play for Celtic again.

He was, however, a professional footballer and as such he was expected to act in a manner that supported the team. His refusal to do this angered me to the point where I could not control my emotions.

I raced over and pulled the Dutchman to his feet, dragged him across the dressing room and threw him out into the corridor. I slammed the door shut and turned back into the room to find all the players still on their feet and now applauding my actions.

I’d showed them that I cared and that I wouldn’t entertain those who didn’t care. I sensed I’d just earned my team back.

[gavrenwick]

Go on Mike, you show that Loovens who's boss. Sack him, never liked him anyway. Thrilled this is back in action, Mike.

[Celtic_1967]

Gav - I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of tearing up his contract.

There were 2 changes to the squad from the Hearts defeat. Willo Flood replaced young Marc Crosas to give us a little extra bite in midfield and Marc Antoine Fortune to the place of Scott McDonald. The Aussie had a genuine case of food poisoning. Maybe his Christmas barbequed shrimps had been a little undercooked.

Having gained a little respect back, not to mention the attention of my team, I made my team talk very simply.

‘Win. I expect it.’

Taking my place in the dugout didn’t make me feel nearly as uneasy as previously. In fact I felt like I had sparks falling from my fingers. The magic was back, and in a big way. So much so that I felt that had I wanted to I could have pulled a rabbit out of my arse, or even more unlikely, a European Cup from the Ibrox trophy cabinet!

Striding over the white painted line my team, to a man, looked happy and confident. This felt like it would go well.

Two minutes in and my team gave me reason to believe I was right.

A goal kick from Boruc found Andy Hinkel. With a first time ball Hinkel shifted if forward and centre to Zhi who deftly flicked it long and diagonal to Sammy. The lanky striker took one touch to kill the ball, and without looking up, threaded a superb pass through the defence for Fortune to chase.

The pass left Hastings and McLaughlin totally exposed and Fortune nipped between them and hit a first time right footed shot across his own body. Only a reaction save from Cerny in the Hamilton goal kept the score at nil-nil.

The ball was quickly cleared into touch by the Hamilton backline. My boys weren’t finished with the positive start however.

From the resultant throw in the ball was worked into the box and Zhi was there again, this time to cut the ball back for Willo Flood to take a pot shot. Unfortunately he was only able, despite a powerful drive, to force the ball into the goalkeeper’s hands.

It was, however, a very encouraging start from my team. Certainly the best they had played for me for a while.

The boys dominated the game, keeping the ball and making Hamilton chase shadows. Our passing was crisp and precise and Hamilton couldn’t get near us.

In the 11^th minute we used our wonderful passing to carve the Accies open again as we ‘passed and moved, passed and moved.’ Sammy found himself with the ball in the left hand channel and fed it into the box to Zhi. The Chinese midfielder executed almost exactly the same cut back to Flood as previously and I sighed as I anticipated another wasted chance.

The stadium erupted around me as Flood, having kept his head down and over the ball, drilled it low and under the sprawling Cerny. I was delighted with the lead.

Any manager who felt he was having to make a comeback , even to his own team, would be delighted with what I had witnessed and a one goal lead in a little over ten minutes. Especially considering the dross I’d been responsible for recently.

The goal made Hamilton pull back into a more defensive arrangement, probably fearing a mauling. That made getting the ball into forward positions even easier but made doing anything with it once in those positions even more difficult.

It wasn’t until the 33^rd minute that we came really close to extending our lead. Zhi rattling the post with a 23 yard free kick after Bonnal had tripped McGinn to halt an attacking run. At least the referee had carded the Accies player. That, hopefully, would stop him doing it again.

The near miss seemed to really spur us on. Less than 5 minutes later Samaras surges into the left channel again and pops the ball into the box. Bonnal tries to cut it out but only succeeds in pushing it into McGinn’s path. The Irish winger drives in towards goal from the left but by the time he takes his shot the angle has become just too narrow. Cerny hasn’t been able to collect the ball, instead the shot bounces off his legs.

The simple tap into a relatively unguarded goal was a fitting reward for Zheng Zhi. The boys deserves a goal after his dominating midfield display.

I’m delighted when we see out the rest of the half without incident and make it into the dressing room two goals and a stunning performance to the good.

Here is another half time break where my team don’t get a team talk from their manager. This time though it’s because they don’t need it. What they got instead was their manager standing in front of them and aupplading. Words weren’t needed. We’d been as close to perfect as I could remember in my short time as manager.

[mark wilson27]

Top notch Mike, enjoying reading the story mate

[Celtic_1967]

Cheers Mark, glad you're still enjoying it.

As I take my seat for the second half I can sense a cricket score coming. I really have to hope I’m right. It’d be a fantastic way to re-establish myself as the manager of this club.

The first half performance has left me calm. I felt absolutely no nerves and nor did I have any reason to. My team had shown me that they were more than capable of sublime passing and ball retention, even if it wasn’t exactly world class opposition. You can only beat whoever is in front of you.

My bhoys had done that with aplomb in that first 45 minutes.

As the second half gets underway we continue where we left off. Well, almost.

The passing is still crisp, we keep the ball well and, on the odd occasion that we do lose it we have men pressing and tracking back to make sure we regain it quickly. The one thing bothering me is that we now, somehow, look devoid of ideas for a final ball.

Hinkel stands a couple up in the box that are headed clear with relative ease and the midfield can’t quite get the weight of the pass right for the forwards. When they do get it right the attackers snatch at the chances and squander them.

The best illustration of these issues comes just before the hour mark as Zheng Zhi, previously unstoppable before the break, plays the ball to hard and too early after collecting a loose ball driven from Willo Flood’s boot against one of Accies rearguard.

In the first 45 that would have almost certainly given Niall McGinn a guilt-edge scoring opportunity. This time around it earns the Northern Irish winger a linesman’s flag for offside.

Shortly after this Willo Flood manages a delightful low chipped ball into the box that left Hamilton centre-back McLaughlin scrambling across to Fortune. The striker, despite the time and space, decided his best option was to take the chance to quickly and smashed it off the goalkeeper’s palms.

Like I said: devoid of ideas.

Finally on 66 minutes it goes right again when Niall McGinn cuts inside from his left hand flank and picks out, with a twenty yard pass, Aiden McGeady who has himself drifted in from his right flank into a striker’s position.

Aiden has tricky feet and a change of pace. Many an SPL defender will attest to that. Today it is Mark McLaughlin’s turn.

The plastic Irishman who had his back to goal, spun the ball round, dropped his shoulder, stepped up a gear and slid past McLaughlin with consummate ease. Finding himself in about 3 yards of space he had all the time in the world to dig the ball out from between his feet and rocket it across goal, past the flailing Cerny and into the far corner.

That was my cue. I could sense blood in the water. 3 up with 24 minutes to go gave me the confidence I needed to go after goal 4 and then 5.

‘Get forward boys. Really put them under pressure. I don’t want to see you holding back.’

I was nearly undone immediately as a long ball from James McAurther evaded Stephen McManus and Artur Boruc had to race nearly 30 yards off his line to clear the ball to Hinkel.

I was just about to change my instructions when Zhi received an infield ball from McGeady, who had collected from Hinkel, and stood up a lovely 30 yard ball to Sammy.

I waited to see what would come of the move.

I still don’t know how the gangly Samaras managed to control a ball that appeared from behind him as if it was out of thin air but control it beautifully he did. He killed it stone dead with his left foot and immediately launched it like a missile, from 25 yards, with a defender 3 yards in front of him, off his right foot and into the top right hand corner of the goal.

It was a goal of such skill and beauty that the fact that we didn’t score again didn’t matter. It didn’t even concern me when Danny Fox sent a 75^th minute penalty down the middle for Cerny to parry after the hapless Mark McLaughlin slid into Fortune and earned himself a yellow card.

I felt sorrier for McLaughlin than Fox; the lad had found this match well beyond his capabilities. My team had found the whole of the Hamilton team not up to their standard. It was a good afternoon to be Celtic manager.

It was made especially sweeter by a 1-1 draw at Easter Road between Hibernian and Rangers. That meant a 4 point lead in the title race after 17 games. It also appeared, having held my team in the second round of league fixtures, that Hibs wanted a big say in where the SPL trophy was going to end up.

[JustCantGetEnough!!]

Cracking Story mate, Il be following.

Hail Hail.