Rob Ridgway's "Rat Pack"

[tenthreeleader]

Thanks, everyone ... I don't know what it is about FM08 and late goals. I've tried several different formations and player combinations but I seem to have a horrible time against 4-2-4 for whatever reason, regardless of who is playing it. This time I tried for actual numerical advantage on the back line and that didn't help either. The only consolation is that I'm not losing games because of this - but not winning them either. Viper, you're right, it's the Reverse Curse Of The Lita

___

You’d have thought we had lost. So, I had a decision to make.

The players took it very hard, as you might have expected. Yet, getting a draw out of this place was still a highly credible result.

Our issue was the same as last year – conceding goals, especially late goals, away from home. The difference was that Alves had scored a truly special goal. It wasn’t like we had conceded through a fluke.

Lobont was crestfallen. Clearly, he blamed himself for the third goal but there was really no reason to blame anyone. Sometimes the other guy just makes a hell of a play.

That’s what I told them. “Yeah, this hurts, and it should, because we played well enough to get three points out of this place today,” I said. “Yet, we learned we have things to work on, and one of those things is tightening up the shop when we’re in the last five minutes of a half. The only issue I’ve got is that we conceded too close to halftime and too close to the end of the match. If we fix those things alone, we win 3-1.”

This hardly came as a news bulletin to the players, so I finished up. “I don’t want to hear blame, I don’t want to hear anyone blaming themselves. I want you to work hard on the training pitch this week to fix those issues. Then we won’t have to have this discussion again. Let’s get out of here.”

I guess I was in a bit of a bad mood when I headed off to face the media, but tried to take the same line with the press.

“Sometimes you just concede because the other guy is good,” I explained. “Alves had one place he could put that ball to get it on target, and that’s just where it went. I’m not going to fault us for that. It’s hard to hold down Chelsea and we have to learn to close out quality teams as the next step in our development. But sometimes they’re just going to score.”

“So you had no hope of stopping them?” Emiliani asked.

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” I snapped. “Of course we did, which is why we have to go back to the drawing board to give us the best chance of stopping a late equalizer next time we have the chance. But it’s a cruel game sometimes. I thought we did well enough to get three points out of here and we didn’t get them.”

“Rob, what’s the latest on Beckham?” Weatherby asked. “From your point of view.”

Talk about a leading question. “Where we’re at is that a bid has been tabled, or so I’m told,” I answered. “I know Los Angeles has a lot of marketing money tied up in David Beckham, and I can’t see them being keen on letting him go, but I guess we’ll see.”

“You’ve changed your tone,” Weatherby said.

“The bid was tabled without my knowledge,” I admitted, saying nothing that wasn’t common knowledge in the board room. However, that was news to the scribes, so they started writing. “Still, though, there’s a lot of water to go under the bridge before we worry about that issue so I’m going to get my team ready to play Arsenal and figure things out from there.”

With that, I left the press sitting there. I was in no mood to discuss Beckham.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

Thursday, August 20

I figured there was a reason Ricardo Carvalho didn’t face us yesterday. Turns out he had been sold to Valencia before the match and was on his way to Spain.

The purchase price of £12 million is probably chump change to Roman Abramovich, but Carvalho is a player I have long respected and to see him out of the league is a good thing from my perspective.

That was the third headline in the papers this morning. Unfortunately for me, the first one had to do with conceding in the final minute yesterday, which still had me in a bad mood.

We dropped to tenth place with the result, on a win and two draws. We earned third place last season by making ourselves hard to beat, but somewhere along the line you have to win if you want to be anything other than a show pony.

The surprisingly negative “Same Story, Different Season” greeted me on the pages of the Post this evening. I thought back to my conversation with Dillon before the Everton match, and wondered if Weatherby hadn’t somehow snuck a wire into my matchday suit.

I suppose I’m not surprised, but the pattern that has developed surrounding us is disturbing. We can’t seem to close off the spigot when it matters the most, and despite all the late-match heroics we got from Lita last season, we might not have needed them had we been just a little better at the back.

My mood was matched by Huth’s this morning as the players reported for training. With Arsenal coming up, the back line has to shore up in a hurry.

The “Berlin Wall” didn’t like letting the team down after being brought in to shore up our back line. He’s adjusting well, but his attitude was certainly welcome as we reported to the video room to look at the Gunners. I used Huth to set an example.

“I want chips on your shoulders today, gentlemen,” I began. “The sooner we realize that we are in fact good enough to hang close to the top of this league, the better. I want you thinking that we should have done better yesterday. I don’t care if it’s the champions and I don’t care if it’s on their ground. We were about three minutes from beating them yesterday and it didn’t get done. I want you thinking today about what has to change to get a result against Arsenal.”

I took Huth aside after the video work was done and reminded him that even though I was looking for intensity, self-blame was not what I wanted to see.

“Robert, I always want you thinking about how to be better than the other guy,” I said. “But at the same time it does take eleven men to win and I don’t want you taking that responsibility solely on yourself.”

The German nodded. “I wanted that win yesterday,” he explained.

“As an ex-Chelsea man, I can certainly understand why,” I replied.

“It wasn’t that they treated me badly,” he said. “It’s just that…”

“…they let you go,” I finished. “I understand how that feels, Robert. It happened to me at every club I ever played for until I retired. They just let me go. It’s nothing new. Now I want you focused on how to beat Arsenal and when Chelsea comes here you can get another shot at them. Fair?”

“Fair,” he answered. Then he ran off to training.

# # #

[copperhorse21]

languishing in 10th place despite no losses? Sounds like Ridgway's suffering like Hughes this season....in real life (grrrr....don't get me started). Anyway, yet another wrinkle how cool this game is at mirroring real life football. And all for 50 bucks American. Brilliant!

[tenthreeleader]

Three points are better than one, darn it all. This happened last seasons and even a couple more wins would have changed the table dramatically. And yeah, Copper, it's $50 well spent!

___

“We can make how much?”

McGuire sat at his desk, and put his feet up on the mahogany. His face wore a self-satisfied expression.

“Last month, it was £18 million,” the accountant explained. “And she’s not even being marketed like she could be. With the right push, she’s worth a whole lot more.”

It was a rainy morning in London, but the new CEO of Sidney Richmond’s holding company hardly cared. Someone had waved money under his nose that smelled like perfume, and the result was akin to that of ringing the bell in front of Pavlov’s Dog.

Happy Day LLC was one branch of Richmond’s new group but it was the one McGuire most wanted to run. Yeah, he got to look at all the pictures of the up-and-coming new models the agency attracted, and that was fun, but he had bigger fish to fry.

“Oh, believe me, I know how much Patty is worth,” he answered. He lit a cigar, and immediately took a too-deep drag.

He coughed, and took a sip of coffee to soothe a burning throat.

“You don’t look like you’re used to Cuban cigars,” the accountant smiled.

“Never you mind that,” McGuire snapped. “But I do want you to mind how she’s being marketed in terms of the bottom line we generate. We do have a contract with Patty Myers and her agency and we will expect her to do what she’s told.”

“I thought her name was Ridgway.”

“That’s not how I remember her, and it’s not how you’ll remember her when you’re in this office. Understand?”

“Very good, sir,” the accountant said, rising to his feet. He had worked for bean-counters before, and there was nothing about his new boss that suggested he was any different. “Am I dismissed?”

“You may go,” McGuire answered, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “But leave those figures behind. I want to look at them again.” He dropped his feet off the desk long enough to pick up a printed spreadsheet that contained some very large numbers.

The number-cruncher did as he was told, and soon McGuire was back in his former position, feet up on the desk. This power thing seemed to agree with him.

He thought back to a time when he was happier. Patty was his and Kate didn’t suspect a thing. Life was good and everything was going his way.

A lot of water had gone under the bridge since that time. He saw his children every now and again, when the court said it was all right. That was hard to take – imagine some idiot in a black robe telling him, Peter McGuire, how he had to live?

The payments to Kate had hurt at first, but the salary he was now able to take from Richmond more than covered it. It was the principle of the thing that bothered him. He wasn’t married any more, Kate had the old agency, so why should he have to pay anything?

In spite of it all, though, he was regaining his financial stability, and that gave him a good feeling that had nothing to do with inflatable entertainment. He felt so good, in fact, that he was feeling cocky about his prospects.

“She’ll do what she’s told,” McGuire repeated to an audience of no one. “And then she’ll do what I tell her.”

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

Friday, August 21

It seems that Arsene Wenger is a bit tired of hearing about Reading. I won’t say I mind that.

Every team has a ‘trouble club’, one they just can’t seem to handle. Until last weekend, ours was Everton, though the Toffees still have the kind of squad that can reach out and bite us.

For Arsenal, though, the trouble club is now Reading. They did the double over Coppell’s last Reading side in 2007-08, but last year we beat them at the Emirates, knocked them out of the FA Cup at the Mad Stad and then drew them at home in the league to win two and draw one out of three.

Today he was asked – by no less a Grand Inquisitor than Emiliani himself – why he had such bad mojo against Robbie Ridgway’s Reading but not against Steve Coppell’s Reading.

“It can’t be Coppell,” the Italian opined. “After all, United beat you twice last season as well.”

Stung to the center of his Gallic pride, Wenger responded sharply. “As always, the press are in a position to know better,” he snapped. “You do not know the preparation, you do not know the squads and you do not know the managers.”

From the Frenchman, those were cutting words, but there were more to come. “Yet, if football fans do not read your papers, you do not have jobs so you write what you think you know,” he said. “We respect Reading and what they have become. Any football fan with eyes would.”

“I believe Rob would agree with me when I say that for his team, this season is one where he must prove to everyone that he truly belongs,” Wenger said, continuing his monologue. “But I also believe that they like to play football, as we like to play football. You cannot say that about every team.”

“We believe we are better than Reading, we finished second in the league and they finished third. Yet it cannot be denied that they beat us twice last season including the Cup, and we must play well to avenge those losses. I believe we will. You experts in the media such as Mr. Emiliani have your ideas but you do not know the plan of either of our teams. So you are in the dark as much as your readers.”

He was doing what he had to do for his team, and starting the mind games at the same time. I have an awesome amount of respect for what Arsene has accomplished, but the fact of the matter is that we’ve done well against him and will continue to do so until they figure out how to stop our counter game.

It’s not rocket science. If you figure out a way to beat someone, you keep doing it until the other guy either bleeds or stops you. Maybe someday I’ll figure out how to do it against Avram Grant, but for now my players have the upper hand against Arsenal.

To try to fix that, Wenger turned the screws on my old rival, Emiliani. It’s almost worth wishing he succeeds.

Almost.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

“He may be a complete clot at his job, but he’s got good taste.”

Richmond sat across from McGuire, with a set of Patty’s beach pictures spread across the desk between them.

“Well, so did I,” McGuire said defensively.

“You were married at the time,” Richmond reminded him. “You do know that caused trouble for me at the end, at the club.”

“Kate was doing it too,” McGuire charged. “She wanted Ridgway back, remember. I know she did.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Richmond replied sharply, and McGuire bristled at the insinuation that his marriage didn’t matter to his boss. Of course, the fact that it didn’t matter to him after he met Patty never entered his mind.

“When I had to go to Sir John to try to save your job, he asked me why I should want someone with your past in a position of responsibility with the club,” Richmond said. I couldn’t really answer him, now, could I?”

“Didn’t my business sense mean anything to you? You certainly could have said something,” McGuire said. It was as though he was rising up on his hind legs to impress his master.

“I am trying to purchase the club from this man,” Richmond said. “That means I can’t very well stand up to him and explain away immoral conduct by one of my associates. I need this purchase, and those involved in it, to be the pictures of perfect conduct until the sale is complete.”

McGuire, his chin now on his chest, looked up.

“Until the sale is complete,” he smiled. Richmond squinted at him.

“Peter, don’t think about it,” he said. “You need to be clean and you need to stay clean. It’s going to be hard enough in the press when Jill Weatherby writes about the holding company and your association with it. She’ll find out about it because eventually, Ridgway will tell her. Of course, once it’s all done we’ll do as we please, but I need you to not make this more difficult than it has to be.”

“I have value to you,” he repeated.

“Yes, Peter, you do,” Richmond answered, beginning to lose his temper. “But you are of no use to me if you will not do as you are told. I am the boss here and you need to remember that.”

“And I know how to get to Ridgway,” McGuire countered, refusing to back down in the face of what passed for reason even as his mood swung all over the board.

“I know him. I can hit every one of his hot buttons. I can make his life miserable. When he figures out that I control how much money his wife makes, and where and how her pictures are distributed, it will drive him absolutely insane.”

“Why should that be of benefit to me?” Richmond asked.

“Because if I do this right, and there’s no reason to believe I won’t, Ridgway will explode. When he does, even the great Sir John Madejski won’t be able to save his sorry arse. He’ll be gone, the supporters’ boy will be out the door and nothing will stand in your way as you go after Sir John.”

Richmond thought it over. “You really are an evil little man,” he finally said, taking a long cigar from his inside coat pocket.

McGuire looked at him. “I’m used to getting what I want,” he answered. “Since you and I want the same thing, we’re a good team.”

“I want Reading Football Club,” Richmond said, as he lit his cigar. “I’ll have what I want. I could care less about Rob Ridgway, but you want to destroy him. That might be a much harder task.”

# # #

[WelshWolf]

I must say that this goes from strength to strength.

Your writing is brilliant, right up to the point where I feel true hatred towards Richmond and McGuire, so much so that if they were to die suddenly I actually think I would do a jig around the room in pure joy

As for your management skills, they are to be envied. Keep it up.

[Balthazars]

Evil little man indeed...

You continue to be one of the best in the business. Also enjoyed your little piece of insight into how you craft storyarcs. Plenty I could take on board for my own work, as I like longer involved storyarcs but tend to play and write in patches, meaning my storyarcs feel more like life-rafts.

Anyway, it's great, as usual!

[tenthreeleader]

Fellows, thank you very much. This continues to be a lot of fun to write and with the following the story has now generated I don't see it ending any time soon. At least, as long as Rob is at Reading. If he ever leaves for whatever reason I'd have to find some other way to write him.

___

Saturday, August 22

Today was a light day today for the players.

With the Arsenal match tomorrow and more exertions in the Champions League qualifiers ahead, discretion was the better part of valor in our case.

However, with sixteen of the twenty teams in action today, it wasn’t a day off. With our next league match after Arsenal against Middlesbrough, I watched Harry Redknapp’s team in action against Portsmouth on television.

I know, that doesn’t sound like work, but I did want to see how they would attack Pompey before we go to see them. Like most every Premiership team, Boro has made a number of changes and Redknapp is now getting his chance to make his imprint on the club.

Pascal Chimbonda and Clint Dempsey were the only new arrivals on display today, though, as both teams played good old-fashioned English 4-4-2.

They also played a highly entertaining game of football, which was a bit surprising for two teams that finished where they did last season.

Evenly matched, it was simply fun to watch. You couldn’t say that about Boro for much of last season and you could rarely say it about Pompey either, after the first couple months of the season.

Charles N’Zogbia started the scoring with a goal after only nine minutes, but the back-and-forth of the match always made a second goal likely. It didn’t come until after halftime, though, when Darren Bent equalized for Boro one minute after the restart.

Referee Mike Riley put Portsmouth on the penalty spot four minutes later but man of the match Oswaldo Sanchez saved Hugo Viana’s attempt and 1-1 was the way it ended.

Boro looked much more fluent in the attack than they ever seemed to under Gareth Southgate last season – and I say this as the manager of a team that lost at the Riverside. They were frankly unfortunate to only score one. So, we’ll have our hands full.

I’ve got other problems, though. One of them is Manchester United. More and more, I’m thinking we were really fortunate to hold them off the scoreboard in our opening match, because they dismissed Bolton 4-1 this afternoon with almost ridiculous ease. Ji-Sung Park, who struggled to get into last year’s United side, scored a brace and Wayne Rooney added a third before Tranquillo Barnetta got himself sent off for Bolton. Febian Brandy finished the scoring for United while Oscar Trejo scored the home team’s only goal.

United looks very, very good. It’ll take some doing to stay with them.

Chelsea needed a goal nine minutes from time from Giuseppi Rossi to sink stubborn Villa at Villa Park, while Derby needed a goal two minutes from time from Nenad Kovacevic to earn a draw with Newcastle. The Magpies opened the scoring through Alan Smith on 18 minutes.

Spurs got a brace from Yakubu and a third from Jermaine Jenas to handle West Brom at White Hart Lane, and Blackburn got goals from want-away former Royal Kevin Doyle and Maceo Rigters to beat West Ham 2-1. Dean Ashton scored for the Hammers.

The other two matches today were draws. Everton and Sunderland failed to find a goal between them, while two of the Premiership new boys played an entertaining 2-2 draw at Craven Cottage. Fulham scored twice in the last ten minutes through Collins John and David Healy to haul back Wigan. The Latics had taken a 2-0 lead through Malik Mouath Al-Hassawi and Emile Heskey but couldn’t hang on.

Wigan is a bit of a curious case in the early going. Their record is about as average as you can get – five played, with five draws. They’ve played Liverpool (1-1), West Brom (1-1), Sunderland (0-0), Manchester City (2-2) and now Fulham (2-2) and haven’t found a way to break through – or get beat.

To make it even more odd, they also drew their first four friendlies of the season against Marek, Red Star Belgrade, Sligo Rovers and Huddersfield Town before beating Southend 2-0. Their overall record in all matches including friendlies is thus 1-9-0.

Given the way we seemed to attract draws like files last season, perhaps we won’t even need to bother playing the Latics.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

It was a light day for the players, but not so much a light day for me. After the Boro match was over, I watched our VEGA analysis of Arsenal’s 3-2 win against the same Portsmouth team from the week before.

The score wasn’t the least bit indicative of how the match went. Yes, they conceded two goals, but they were consolation strikes in the last ten minutes of time.

Arsenal, when they wanted to be, looked well nigh invulnerable. They were almost frighteningly efficient, putting seventy-five percent of their sixteen attempts on target and cashing three times. Despite having less of the possession, they only committed eight fouls while Pompey had nineteen. They also clogged up the passing lanes, forcing the visitors to miss on 35 percent of their attempts.

Those were some sobering numbers against a club that has now established itself in the Premiership. Most teams don’t get the better of possession against Arsenal at the Emirates, but the Gunners were able to take the foot off the gas after Emmanuel Adebayor’s second goal of the game on seventy minutes made it 3-0. They played keep-away from Portsmouth after that, with the two goals they conceded coming far too late to do much good.

They are a handful. They are Arsenal. We expect a great game out of them as they try to take out their ‘trouble team’.

Watching them run with effortless ease through the Portsmouth defenders, I couldn’t help but think that England’s second-placed club appears at least as good as Manchester United and Chelsea. We’ve already seen the first two and will be able to make direct comparison twenty-four hours from now.

# # #

Sunday, August 23

Reading (1-2-0, 10th place) v Arsenal (3-0-0, 2nd place) – EPL Match Day #4

Rain was in the forecast. When I saw it falling this morning, I thought it an equalizer of sorts.

While we try to play the game like the Gunners, we don’t always match their level of technical accomplishment. So, to see a little rain falling as I woke up seemed like a pretty good omen to me.

Patty prepared to start her own day in her own way. She thinks she’s just about done with morning sickness now, and we’re both grateful for that. However, now she’s wondering when she’s going to start to show. Then the cat will be out of the bag.

By a minor miracle, mainly due to the fact that she hasn’t had any other high-profile shoots, her pregnancy has been kept quiet.

Considering all the people who have access to her each day, that’s rather incredible. So far our security has been air-tight, and that makes me feel pretty good.

Eventually, of course, it’ll become public but for the sake of Patty’s privacy, not to mention my own, I prefer it this way.

Her parents know, of course, but I think Martin would be embarrassed to admit he’s the grandfather of a child that’s half me, so he’s not saying anything.

She walked silently behind me as I sat at the breakfast table. On some days I will head to the stadium early but more often I will go with her. On those days we eat early, and together.

After all this time, she’s learned to stay out of my way on match morning. It was that way in Serie C1A when we first met, though we didn’t spend many match mornings together. It’s that way in the Premiership and I’m sure it will be that way in Europe as well.

We’ve got issues, to be sure, but thankfully they haven’t gotten in the way of our marriage. At least, I think they haven’t.

She’s been pretty quiet the last couple of days, but a visit from a special guest yesterday seemed to help her quite a bit.

Steven Hardcastle is the head of a private security team from the firm I hired late last year to shadow us on our public appearances. That work is now set to begin.

He stopped by last night – making a dent in his own weekend to talk with my wife.

The thing that finally made Patty feel better was Hardcastle’s physical bulk. He’s a bear of a man, six-foot-five and strong as an ox with blond hair and blue eyes. I’m glad he’s on my side.

“I think I’ll just call you Thor instead,” Patty said, which made the big man actually blush.

“I’ve certainly been called worse by people who got in my way,” he explained. He’s a veteran of the fabled SAS, and took part in ops around Basra during Operation Iraqi Freedom that he can’t talk about. In short, two more reasons to simply not mess with the man.

Patty explained her situation to him, and Hardcastle nodded with understanding. “People like that can be frightening,” he said. “But don’t you worry, Mrs. Ridgway. I’m here to keep small fry like that away from you.”

I thought that an interesting promise, considering Britain’s highly restrictive gun laws. Yet, Steven Hardcastle knows his business, and I will trust him with our lives.

# # #

[copperhorse21]

Hardcastle...

An absolutely brilliant name for the security force...!

Hardcastle...

[Panpardus]

Makes me wonder if he has a partner named McCormick

[tenthreeleader]

Probably not ... but I must admit I was pleased with the name my random generator came up with in this case

___

She was still thinking about him when we drove to the ground.

“I hope you feel better,” I offered.

“Oh, I do,” she said. “Honestly, Rob, I do feel better. I know you’d do whatever you had to do to protect me, but Thor’s just more qualified to do the job.”

I wasn’t sure how to take that, decided it wasn’t an insult, and further decided to concentrate on our child growing inside her as we drove. That gave me the opportunity to shift my mind off Thor and onto something else.

I’m paying the man. I did my homework on him and his firm and I’m completely satisfied that he’s on the up and up. So I’m not going to worry.

And if it makes Patty feel better and happier to know that ‘Thor’ is protecting us, great. She still sleeps with me at night and that’s what matters the most to me in any event.

Life has changed quite a bit since the Padua days. Before, she could, and did, walk all the way across the piazza on a Valentine’s Day without laying eyes on a man so I could be the first one she saw. That was to fulfill an Italian tradition stating that the first unmarried man an unmarried woman saw on that day would be the man she would marry.

Now, she can’t step outside without being buried by an avalanche of men who think she looks wonderful in a bikini.

The fact that those men are right makes me feel good, but for her I’m sure it’s secondary to the more important fact that Hardcastle is on the up and up.

That will probably provide a bit of release for Patty. That’s good for her, it’s good for her health and I have every reason to believe it will be good for our marriage.

She sat back in the passenger seat of the car, her eyes closed, with a smile on her face. For the time being, she was content.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

“With Reading manager Rob Ridgway, Bobby Hopkins of Setanta Sports.”

I had heard that phrase a few times already in my tenure, but the broadcaster was here as part of the national live coverage of the Sunday double bill. He was introducing a live interview as part of his pre-match show.

I was rather more interested in watching Liverpool at City in the day’s early match, but Hopkins had work to do and I had obligations to perform under the league television contract. So, there I stood.

“Rob, no David Beckham in Reading colors as yet, but then you really haven’t needed him, have you?”

I just looked at him. He was either insane, or he was offering me the opportunity to tweak Richmond hard. Not feeling that he had a desire to be involved in Reading FC’s politics, I took the honorable way out.

“I feel I have a good squad here, Bobby,” I answered. “We’ve taken care of our business so far and with a good performance at midweek we’ll be in the Champions League. So I think we’ve done well.”

“Your pursuit of Giovanni dos Santos has grabbed a few headlines but not as much as the club’s pursuit of Beckham,” he informed me. Captain Obvious was working overtime.

“I’d prefer this not to be about new players but rather about the ones I already have getting ready to play Arsenal,” I said. “This stuff has been done to death over the last few weeks and the players are ready to move on to other things, like our league position and getting points today. If you want to ask me about that, it would be great.”

“All right then, Arsenal,” the reporter said, realizing he was getting nowhere. His annoyance was showing.

“No changes for today?”

“No real need to make any,” I said. “We’ve got a good core group here, as I’ve mentioned, and until someone beats them I see no reason for anyone to lose their places.”

“Will the team that beats your core group be Arsenal?” I love a reporter that never stops trying. Well, most of them, anyway.

“I don’t believe so, but the next ninety minutes will tell,” I said. With that, Hopkins ended the interview.

“Give me something to work with,” he said, exasperated.

“When you talk about transfer policy on camera, you have to expect that you aren’t going to get national scoops,” I snapped. “Really, Bobby, you ought to know better than that.”

“Well, how else am I going to get information?” he asked.

“Try working a beat,” I replied. “You know, you or a stringer showing up at midweek or asking questions when the television crews arrive to set up the stadium for the broadcast. You know that happens at midweek, and you know I’m always available then. You start working your source instead of expecting your source to come through for you and you never know what might happen.”

He looked at me with an expression of anger mixed with just a bit of resentment. No reporter likes to be told that he’s not doing his job, and television reporters are hardly immune from such hubris. In fact, some of them blow up like puffer fish if you even suggest it.

In fact, in some cases they’re even more egotistical. I wouldn’t call Hopkins that, but he needs to understand that interview sources don’t like to be surprised.

So I calmed him down. “Look, Bobby, you know why I’m upset, or at least you ought to,” I explained. “Try to look at this from my point of view. You’ll find the results you get will be much more pleasing, and you won’t get the kinds of interviews you just got as a result.”

With that, I headed off to the changing room and the day’s activities. It’s no skin off my nose if Hopkins has an ineffective interview, but I’d like him thinking about how he can make it up to me.

I really don’t want to tell him how to be a reporter, but he deserves the opportunity to learn a little bit about how I work. If he listens, he might get some of the information he really wants – and I might get another media outlet to use in my own battle.

If that sounds cynical, too bad. It’s a cynic’s business.

Bobby thinks I owe him one now for the way the interview went, but in fact it’s actually the reverse.

# # #

[copperhorse21]

Some bite from the leader of the Rat pack...hope it doesn't bite back, but then again, what fun would this story arc be if it didn't? (wink)

[hertzvanrental]

Not read this in a long while, spent this afternoon catching up! Love it!

[tenthreeleader]

Thanks very much! I'm glad that this story seems to be holding its 'staying power' for the longtimers. Copper, I have come across 'reporters' in my career who do indeed think things should be handed to them. Unfortunate, especially when I'm the one doing the handing.

___

There were no changes to the eleven. I like the fact that we seem to have a settled lineup, but as the season wears on that fact might come back to haunt us.

If we stay successful, that is. Building that success starts with matches like this one. So putting the ‘standard eleven’ on the board was a reminder in itself.

After meeting referee Andre Marriner before the match to exchange team sheets, I retreated to my office to determine Arsenal’s likely alignment. We came up with a 4-4-2: Fabianski, Eboue, Clichy, Barzagli, Toure, Rodriguez, Rosicky, Fabregas, Diaby, Adebayor, Eduardo stared back at me from the paper. Formidable, to be sure.

I then headed into the room for my team talk. “All right, men, here we go,” I said, waving the Arsenal team sheet as I spoke and gained their attention. It was time to get down to business.

“There’s nothing on their team sheet we don’t expect to see and nothing here we haven’t prepared to face. We’re going to play counter on them from the word go today until they show us they can stop our break. They will play aggressively because that is the way they are. We’re going to absorb that pressure and hit them on the counter because when we play them that is what we are.”

I saw a confident bunch of players looking back at me. They are jelling nicely as unit and even the new boys Dica and Huth looked comfortable in their own skins.

This was something I wouldn’t have thought possible at the beginning of last season. Big Four opposition, at home, and these players were looking like they had the situation in hand. Lots of teams would love to feel that way about an important match, but our prior success against the Gunners seemed to have helped generate a very good spirit in the room.

“Make them deal with you,” I urged. “Get stuck in when you can, slow down their game, and then when you win the ball make them respect your pace. You’ve done it before and you can do it again. This is a big match for us and it’s a chance to show the nation we belong where we finished last year. I’m counting on you. Now, let’s go.”

With that, we lined up and prepared to take the field for the match.

My eyes met Wenger’s as we stepped out of the changing rooms on either side of the hallway leading to the pitch. Wordlessly, we stepped toward each other and shook hands.

Players on both teams were following us out into the hallway and about half a dozen players on each team witnessed the moment as the managers matched intensity with each other.

Wenger may be known as the thinking man’s manager, but obviously he had sent his team a special message. That same message was now being sent to me, non-verbally.

Two rather tall men, former central defenders both, reacquainted at that moment.

It’s not often that I have to look up to greet an opposing manager – Arsene is one inch taller than I am at 6’4” – and though neither of us said a word, it was quite an interesting moment.

He’s the only non-British manager to win The Double, and frankly he’s got much of what I want in terms of career goals. However, I’ve got what he wants in terms of head to head results. So it was natural that he should feel as he did, and even as we locked eyes, there was an atmosphere of mutual respect.

The players watched in silence to see who would be the first of us to speak. The goalkeepers, Lobont and Lukasz Fabianski, also looked at each other with silent expressions, and I wondered if there was going to be a bust-up before the match. The temperature, if you will, was rising.

Taking their cue from the managers, the players stayed separated. There was no winner of the staredown, as neither of us said a word.

I motioned to Lobont, as Wenger and I released the handshake, and the players lined up to take the pitch. Marriner, who was a slightly late arrival to the tete-a-tete between the managers, now stepped between the lines of players, holding the match ball. It was time to go, and the posturing was over.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

From the beginning, it was a match to delight the purist.

Intensity from the managers aside, two teams that like to get the ball on the floor and play it really went after each other. Arsenal did what we expected them to do – they pressed forward and we immediately countered them.

Less than two minutes into the match, Ferreira broke up an attack down the Arsenal left and sent Magallón away with a ball straight to the middle of the park. Immediately, we swung into attack and our Mexican international found Kalou down the right.

This time, though, the Arsenal defense was prepared for our counterthrust, with two deep-lying central defenders to slow down the pace of any break through the middle. That didn’t stop Kalou from reaching the byline, though, and his cross for the middle found Kitson right at the penalty spot.

His header was perfectly angled for the low right corner of Fabianski’s goal – but Andrea Barzagli was there to hack the ball off the line to the dismay of the crowd. Still, though, the first good chance had fallen to us.

Moments later, it was Dicã with his first good chance of the match. As rain began to fall once again, he hit a knuckling shot that swerved right into the arms of Fabianski, who clutched the slippery ball carefully to his chest.

However, Arsenal was in full flow moments later, with Adebayor working a 1-2 with Eduardo to get the ball into a good scoring position. The latter’s shot hit Huth on its way to goal, and Lobont stretched to palm it around the post with a wonderful reflex save.

This started a period of very good and flowing play by the visitors. Maxi Rodriguez blazed over a few minutes later, with Eduardo skinning Sonko in eighteen minutes forcing another fine save from my captain.

Clearly, Lobont was in good form and just as clearly, we were going to need that good form to stay in the match. Rodriguez wound up in Marriner’s book in 21 minutes for a scything tackle on Maloney, but Eduardo soon had the ball back at the top of our area in response before screwing a shot wide to the left.

Arsenal was doing a much better job than they had previously done of working the ball into good positions. While our defense was flexible, and bending with the pressure they were applying, it was also too soft.

I soon realized that we would have have a tough time holding off their four-wide midfield in the 4-1-3-2 tactic. Abou Diaby and Fabregas were both working hard, and it was starting to show. Despite our fluency in possession, the calculus between offense and defense was starting to lean toward the latter.

So, we changed to the four-man midfield and stabilized ourselves almost immediately. Kalou robbed Tomas Rosicky of the ball on a foray down our right side, and turned it back up the park with one smooth swing of his leg.

Dicã, just as smoothly, ran onto the ball and attacked the center of the Arsenal defense. He looked to the right for the onrushing Kalou – and then flicked a blind pass to his left in the direction of Maloney, who had the extra step he needed.

Eboue moved to cover him and that gave Kitson space. The Scotsman’s looping square ball found Kitson on the move, and his aim was true.

The goal was a blow to the solar plexus for the Gunners and was naturally just what the doctor ordered. The tactical switch came at the right time and I kept us in the flat 4-4-2 for the remainder of the half.

The look of frustration on Wenger’s face was fleeting but telling after Kitson’s goal. So far, we were doing well – that is, until our trouble time came.

It also showed how fickle a thing momentum can be. Magallón won an aerial challenge with Eboue and soon the ball was headed right up the middle of the Arsenal defense, with Dicã in command. Striding forward with the air of a fully confident player, his selection for the pass was Kitson.

As Kitson started his run, Barzagli turned to match him – and stumbled. Kitson was in the clear – but fluffed his shot from fifteen yards, driving it straight at the grateful Fabianski.

Kitson threw his head back in frustration along with several other of our players – and we let down our guard. Fabianski returned the ball to play with a thundering punt up the park, looking for Adebayor.

Huth had him covered, but allowed the ball to bounce thirty yards from goal. The Togo man had the edge he needed, spinning around Huth to gain just a fraction of advantage. Lobont, seeing the ball hit, immediately moved forward to cut the angle but it was too late.

Adebayor had his opportunity, and squeezed quite a fine effort around Lobont and home from fully twenty yards just two minutes from the break.

This time, the reaction from the Arsenal bench was one of revenge – they had beaten us at our own game.

Marriner blew for halftime. We weren’t happy. That was nothing new.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

I didn’t have to say much to Huth. His icy Teutonic stare as he stalked into the changing room said all that needed to be said.

To be honest, Robert has been tidy at the back and of course everyone is human. But he knows full well how I feel about late goals and one reason he was brought here was to prevent them. His error had now allowed one and he was unsparing of himself as he paced back and forth in front of his locker.

“All right, let’s get control of ourselves,” I said, entering the room. Dillon closed the door behind us and I walked to the center of the dressing room.

“Not bad all things considered,” I said, and Huth gave me a surprised expression. “We’re in it, and in the second half I expect to see a few things ironed out that will help us keep the lead if we get it back.”

Then I turned to Huth. “Robert, you can’t let the ball bounce and you know it,” I said. “Now, that’s all I’m going to say about it because Adebayor is going to wear you in the second half like a cheap suit. Got it?”

He nodded.

“Good,” I said. “That ends that conversation. Now, the 4-4-2 is working so we’re going to stick with it. Nicolae, cheat up behind the strikers and make something happen. Play off Dagoberto and let him find you some space. Return the favor when you can.”

A wordless nod from the Romanian told me he was just as intense as Huth. So far, so good.

“Now, we’ll talk about the issues about conceding in this week’s training,” I said. “For now, though, we have to accept the fact that it’s happened again and deal with it. I do believe you can. We’ve done well, we’re playing free, flowing football and I think we have an edge in the second half if we can keep that up. Kevin, the floor is yours.”

# # #

Eboue got the first clear cut chance of the second half, forcing a fine save from Lobont to tip his cannonball over the bar nine minutes after the restart.

The game turned into a classic chess match, but it was no ordinary tactical battle. These teams were ebbing and flowing with each other and playing some truly beautiful football. They thrust, we parried. We thrust, they parried.

It was turning into edge of the seat stuff, and finally I couldn’t stand it any longer. I got off mine, heading to the touchline to pace. Wenger did too, at the same time.

The teams continued their dance and Huth was playing like a man possessed. He charged down Toure’s long shot moments after Eboue’s chance and then completely dominated Rosicky in the air as the Gunners tried to enter the area with a high ball.

Huth then charged down Diaby as well, deflecting his longish effort behind for a corner that Fabregas picked up in a limited amount of space. He hit a swerving shot that had Lobont flailing – but Magallón was the man of the moment this time, flinging himself at the shot and deflecting it behind for another Gunners corner.

We were under the cosh, but soon rallied to take the momentum for ourselves, with Kitson forcing a save from Fabianski on a header from Ferreira’s cross.

The big man’s play was starting to unsettle the Gunners a bit, and finally Diaby simply stepped in front of the targetman on a foray into the Arsenal defensive third to earn a yellow card. Dave was playing with real fire and pace, giving the back line something else to think about.

The match ticked over seventy minutes, and both teams were warming up substitutes. As good as Kitson had been, he was tiring and Lita was finishing his warmup to come on and attempt more late heroics.

Barzagli was now standing tall in the center of the Arsenal back line, denying first Dagoberto and then Magallón, who pushed forward on 68 minutes to try his luck from range.

It was pulsating stuff. Kalou then tried to sneak in a cross from the right with a cheeky little chip over the onrushing Eboue, but Barzagli headed it clear. Yet Magallón galloped forward again, playing the ball to the left for Pogatetz, who had overlapped with Maloney.

Emanuel pulled the ball over to Dagoberto, who in turn laid it off for Magallón once more. The Mexican took two strides and slid it forward for Dicã, now joined by Barzagli with his back to goal.

Immediately, Dagoberto started both a diagonal run and a rather loud scream – Barzagli had left his assignment. Dicã looked at him, and Barzagli was of two minds. He hesitated for a moment, long enough for Dicã to drop a shoulder and spin straight around him.

It was a replay of Adebayor v Huth, and in almost the same spot on the pitch. Dicã shot, and tucked a truly wonderful twenty-yard drive inside Barzagli’s right post on 71 minutes to restore the lead.

The Mad Stad understandably came unglued, and it changed everything in terms of substitution patterns.

Now it was Harper and Bikey I was pulling to me by their shirts, shouting instructions over the din of the home crowd.

Soon they were ready, while Wenger beat me to the first substitution by bringing on his £17 million purchase from Valencia, Spain u-21 international Alexis, in place of Eboue.

I pulled us to 4-5-1 and brought on Bikey and Harper in place of Maloney and Kitson, with Harper in the center of midfield and two true holding midfielders behind him.

Our three best defensive midfielders were now arrayed across the center of the park to support Huth and Sonko. If Arsenal found an equalizer, they would do it against the best players I could put out there.

There were ten minutes remaining, and our most vulnerable moments seemed just ahead of us. 4-5-1 became 5-4-1 a few minutes later, with Bikey and Sonko in their accustomed defensive partnership and Huth acting as a sweeper. They were hammering us back toward our goal in a search for a split in the points, but for the time being we held firm.

Alexander Hleb came on for Eduardo and there was even a Robin van Persie sighting, with the out-of-favor striker coming on for Maxi Rodriguez as Wenger made the inevitable switch to 4-2-4 with five minutes to play.

Immediately, they put us under heavy pressure. Barzagli started the play from the back, finding Alexis down the left. He strode forward, as it again began to rain, looking for options in the attacking third.

His choice was Rosicky, and the playmaker swerved to the right to bring the ball into a preferred position. He crossed, looking for Adebayor.

He and Huth rose for the ball in a rematch of their first half encounter. Once again, the Gunner emerged the victor.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

Adebayor rose and with Huth jumping next to him, they looked like two office buildings springing out of the ground.

My defender had position but Adebayor had started his leap a fraction earlier and just managed to get his head on the ball over Huth. The ball headed toward Lobont’s crossbar – and grazed it on the way over.

Van Persie, undeterred by his teammate’s miss, tried Lobont as the match rolled over into extra time, and Huth deflected that shot, as he had done several times already during the match.

This time, though, the deflection was fortunate. Van Persie’s effort caught Lobont flat-footed, and the tick the ball took off Huth changed the flight of the ball and directly into the keeper’s chest.

I could see Lobont’s smile as my captain collected the ball. Some days, it does go your way in the end.

Reading 2 (Kitson 3rd, 24; Dicã 2nd, 71)

Arsenal 1 ( Emanuel Adebayor 4th, 43)

A – 30,807, The Madejski Stadium, Reading

Man of the Match – Bogdan Lobont, Reading

# # #

Meeting Wenger for the post match handshake was a different experience than before. My personal record against him is now three wins and a draw in four matches, which indicates that there is one Premiership team that has found a way to play against the mighty Gunners.

He said nothing, just nodded and extended his hand.

I shook his hand and again we locked eyes. “Good luck,” I said, breaking the ice between us as the players began to walk toward the tunnel.

“Thank you,” he replied. “Now I must learn how to beat you.”

He couldn’t have had any complaints. We were pretty good, and deserved what we had earned.

Reaching the interview area, I was handed the scoresheet from the day’s other match to find that Liverpool had defeated Manchester City 2-0 at Eastlands. Fernando Torres had scored a brace within eight second half minutes and that was certainly enough for Rafa and his men.

So, the beat goes on. Our win was gigantic for that reason alone, but to take Arsenal’s scalp for the third time in ten months was pretty satisfying.

And now, CSKA is up. Barring disaster, we will reach the group stages of the Champions League with a decent performance. It’s an amazingly important match for this club and as a result I didn’t give myself the time I usually would to enjoy the win.

An hour after meeting the media, I was back in my office watching video and waiting for Patty’s phone call. We were going to have a late dinner but I had work to do.

The changing room was empty. Outside my door, the darkened locker stalls seemed to stare back at me with a baleful expression. The players were gone, off to enjoy their evenings and celebrate a truly fine victory over an excellent opponent.

The players could celebrate. I couldn’t.

# # #

[gavrenwick]

A supreme victory, Rob! Well done on that. I bet Wenger was reeling.

[Motherlover]

Nicely done :-)

Enjoying the series as always.

[Dalbeider]

Okay, two pages done, eleven more to go. So far, pure unadulterated awesomeness. I'm posting now just to see how much this grows from now until I'm done with the rest .

[tenthreeleader]

Fellows, thank you, and Dalbeider, I am glad to hear you're liking the work ... As for the result, there are some teams you really do have trouble with in the game and others you seem to be charmed against. Long may it continue.

___

Monday, August 24

The signings are starting to pick up again as we head into the last week of the transfer window.

Weatherby’s sidebar this evening, underneath the inevitable “Gunned Down!” headline, had to do with dos Santos. Amid other transfer news and speculation, Jill definitely took me by surprise.

Word from Barcelona indicates that Reading is at last getting competition for the signature of 21-year old Mexican international Giovanni dos Santos.

Juventus sent a delegation to the Catalan late last week to try to convince the forward that his future belongs in Serie A instead of the Premiership.

Manager Rob Ridgway has personally spoken with representatives for dos Santos, and a contract offer that would make him the club’s third highest earner has been tendered.

Ridgway has stated he would prefer to see dos Santos in a Royals shirt over mega-star David Beckham, who is a target for club management and is reportedly ready to sign for the club.

Reading officials are waiting for final word from MLS headquarters over the status of the transfer for the former England captain. American rules require league approval before such transactions can take place.

Beckham’s representatives do not rule out a return to the Premiership for the 34-year old midfielder, but the player himself has repeatedly refused comment to American media.

Not surprisingly, the press reaction to yesterday’s victory was strong. It was also split.

We’re starting to make believers out of some, but The Guardian asked quite pointedly this morning why Arsene Wenger can’t seem to get the best of Rob Ridgway.

That was a headline I could scarcely have thought possible even two years ago, and now I was reading it on their website. I read their speculation, and smiled. Their general belief was that I didn’t get enough respect.

That was copy I could scarcely have thought possible even six months ago.

So, that made me feel good. My enjoyment of the victory therefore lasted about twelve hours longer than it otherwise might have.

So today, with the media preparing for our midweek Champions League second leg with CSKA, we had a glow about us that exuded confidence.

As a result of that, the Battle of Beckham was rejoined this afternoon at my press gaggle. With a larger than normal assemblage of questioners from around Europe in attendance, now was the time to take the offensive and say what was on my mind.

What was on my mind was to re-assert myself.

“We were pretty good yesterday for most of the match,” I began. “Yet, there’s still plenty we can work on, particularly at the end of the half. We have had trouble for some time in that area, and part of it is that we can’t keep possession when we need to protect a lead.”

“I’ll bite,” Weatherby said. “How do you address that?”

“Part of it is having players who can win the ball and the other part of it is having players who can get the ball to where the opponent can’t reach it,” I answered. “Sounds simplistic, but you need players who can dribble and can run.”

“Sounds like a player you’re trying to sign,” Weatherby replied, getting the hint.

“Could be,” I answered. “But then, we still have to get his name on the dotted line.”

“How does that help you for the return leg on Wednesday?”

“It doesn’t,” I admitted. “But, we have a whole season to think about in addition to what we face against Moscow. We need to expand the squad, for whatever European competition we’re in, and we need the right kind of players to help us build.”

Weatherby just smiled. She gets it.

# # #

[copperhorse21]

I know that I've already commented on your news articles previously, but I have to rave again.

Your news articles are, without question, the aspect of this wonderful story I value the most. They are top drawer and unbelievable realistic. I know you've replied that you have some experience with this, but I still have to take a moment to write, "WOW!"

As a writer, I have to stop and admire the fantastic work that IS your news articles.

[JayR2003]

10-3, how many pages is this story in Word? It is quite the story, and I think it should be moved to another medium. Perhaps bound...

[tenthreeleader]

Copper, as you know I have written for print media for about fifteen years now. I think the news stories are a good way to pace the work and also to keep Weatherby's character involved and active where it needs to be. Thanks! JayR, I suppose it depends on how you set up the page, but the predecessor to this work, American Calcio, was 474 pages long in Word. The season just concluded was 895 pages long and this season to this point is 180 pages long with fifty pages unpublished so far. By my grade school math that's 1,549 pages (though I do insert a full line break between each paragraph, so formal copy would be considerably shorter).

As for your kind thoughts about publishing, I sought out a publisher for Calcio earlier this summer and am in the process of editing down that manuscript to make it a less specialized (i.e. less FM-heavy) work. If I like the end result, it may well wind up published privately. We'll see.

___

“Not bad.”

Richmond sat behind his desk, looking at attendance figures. The good people of Berkshire were coming out in droves to support their beloved Royals, and that meant the director was seeing little pound signs dancing in front of his pince-nez.

Nearly 31,000 paying customers had jammed into the stadium to see the Arsenal match - 30,804, to be exact, twenty more than for the opener – but it could be fairly said that having your first two home matches against Big Four opposition doesn’t hurt the turnstile figures a bit.

With the Muscovites on the way in next for the big mid-week clash, it shaped up to be quite a financial week for Reading Football Club. Barring disaster, more big paydays are ahead in the form of European prize money, turning the formerly sleepy little provincial club into a cash cow.

Things were looking good. The club was in its healthiest financial state ever. And Beckham was waiting in the wings.

Smiling, Richmond put the attendance figures on his desk, and turned his attention to the balance sheet. The club had made close to £300,000 in concessions alone from the Arsenal match, and doing some basic mathematics, he multiplied that figure by nineteen before nodding with even greater satisfaction.

“Think of what I’ll do when I control things,” he mused to himself, leaning back in his chair to light a cigar.

As he did, his phone rang.

“Mr. Richmond, I have New York on the line for you,” a disjointed female voice said. Going through life as Sidney Richmond’s PA, her being disjointed was probably for the best.

He picked up the phone. “Sidney Richmond,” he said, savoring the sound of his own name.

“Mr. Richmond, this is Harold Church, assistant to the commissioner, Major League Soccer.”

“A pleasure,” Richmond replied, taking his first drag from a Tabak Especial.

“I’m calling to discuss the Beckham issue,” he said, surprising no one. “Your offer was acceptable to the club but not necessarily to MLS. As you know, we have an enormous amount of marketing money tied up in Mr. Beckham and we would like to make sure that, if he does indeed go to your club, we are able to recover our financial investment.”

“That is understandable,” Richmond replied. “I have the authority to meet increased terms if that is your wish, but you must also understand that we are on a budget.”

“The world’s most marketable player bends budgets,” Church replied, smoothly and coolly shooting down Richmond in flames.

“Mr. Church, I’m a busy man,” Richmond said, caught off his guard and now scrambling. “Please come to the point.”

“I’ve made my point,” Church said. “We’ve got something you want. You’ll need to pay for it.”

“How much?” Richmond had stopped dragging on his cigar.

“Twenty million,” the American replied without missing a beat.

“I’ll look into it,” Richmond replied, having regained some of his composure. “I will have an answer for you in the morning. Good day, sir.”

Richmond forced the old-style phone back into its cradle with force. Too much force, in fact. His display of temper rearranged the shape of the phone’s metal neck connected to the frame.

“Bloody peasant!” he snapped, pushing a button on his desk. He was fuming, and now his cigar wasn’t. It had gone out, but he hardly cared.

“Peter, come in here, please,” he said. “We will need to discuss a transfer of funds.”

There was no answer.

# # #

[dechardonay]

AAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!! Suffer in yer JOCKS, Richmond!

[tenthreeleader]

dechardonay, truly a post for the ages

___

Tuesday, August 25

There are rumblings that I don’t like today. Big ones.

A story broken by you-know-who has drawn a sharp reply from Richmond, but it’s not about Beckham.

It’s about dos Santos, who is reportedly ready to sign for Juve. Weatherby had the initial story yesterday but Emiliani leap-frogged his rival by using his superior Italian connections.

However, due to Stefano’s usual hyperbole, the temperature has been turned up on me in a whole new way. They evidently made a better financial offer than we did, but the squad role we could offer would undoubtedly be better than The Old Lady could provide.

Of course, it’s all up to the player, but for the time being, the pressure is on me for making the attempt I made. Emiliani’s words were, as usual, sharp:

Giovanni dos Santos is prepared to make the jump from Spain to Italy, spurning an offer from Champions League hopefuls Reading.

The player, who drew the personal attention of manager Rob Ridgway in negotiations prior to the Royals’ recent trip to Moscow, has decided that the Italian league is better suited for his style of play.

Terms will be announced within the next 48 hours and will seal the latest high-profile transfer failure for Ridgway. He attempted, unsuccessfully, to prise Gúti and Júlio Baptista away from Real Madrid last season.

The failure will not be taken well in the Reading board room, which is upset over Ridgway’s increasingly frustrating flame-outs where big-name acquisitions are concerned.

However, Juventus will receive one of football’s most brilliant young talents and can utilize him in an environment where he is more likely to succeed than in the physical style of the English game.

Obviously, that wasn’t what I wanted to read.

Patty saw it this morning, and knew what was in store. I was going to have to suck it up – the day also called for a joint appearance with our Russian visitors in front of the press prior to our second leg tomorrow night – and some of the questioning would be uncomfortable.

“Part of the job,” she said, as we took morning coffee.

“It would have been great for this to work out for a change,” I sighed. “I put a fair amount of personal effort into this one. Maybe I don’t have the reputation some people think I do.”

“You can’t judge yourself like that,” she answered, flipping through a copy of People magazine as she spoke. “You aren’t going to get them all. And you did get some. Look at Maloney, for example, and how he worked out.”

My non-football-fan wife’s football knowledge was showing through again, and she was right to a point. Snipping the English Player of the Year off Villa for £2.5 million last year was not only a coup for me, it made Villa supporters ask Martin O’Neill a few questions in the bargain.

“You’re only as good as what you did yesterday in this business,” I said, and then repeated myself. “Maybe I don’t have the reputation that I think I do.”

“There’s a simple solution to that too,” she said, skipping past yet another article on Kate Gosselin. “You could win tomorrow night and add to that reputation you’re getting.”

“True,” I said, and suddenly my wife froze in her tracks.

I stopped too, my cup of coffee halfway to my mouth.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. Wordlessly, she turned the magazine to me and I read:

English agency Happy Day LLC has announced ambitious new plans for model Patty Ridgway, who wowed men the world over with a series of debut photographs taken last year.

CEO Peter McGuire said a new series of photo shoots is in the works for later this year, and he promised ‘more and better’ images of one of the true breakthrough models of 2009.

However, McGuire would not comment on reports that the shoots would have to wait – Ridgway is reportedly pregnant again after suffering a tragic miscarriage last year.

“I thought the baby was still a secret,” she said.

“I thought McGuire was beaten,” I replied.

It looked like a bad day all around.

# # #

[coloradogkb]

I really hate McGuire.

I've read all of your stories posted here (I think) and this series is still my favorite. I was glad to read that you've already got 50 more pages in Word waiting in the wings.

Although after marathon reading sessions of American Calcio and Rat Pack, I'm a bit sad that I have to wait for updates. I definitely like reading it in big chunks better - it reads more like a novel that way. You're writing is great, your news articles are outstanding, and you make me feel something (hate, like, envy - whatever) about your characters. Any story that doesn't make you feel something isn't much of a story...I'm just saying, in a long-winded way, well done and please, don't stop writing.

[tenthreeleader]

coloradogkb, welcome to the Rat Pack and thank you for giving your first forum post to this story. I appreciate both.

Truth be told, I usually write much farther ahead in this story than at present -- I like to have 100 or so pages in reserve to give me time to think on new arcs and be creative. I have to bend my neck and start pitching again. I appreciate your kind comments!

___

“We will meet your demands.”

A much more penitent Sidney Richmond was on the phone to America, a club account sheet spread out in front of him on the desk. He was also speaking on a new telephone – a console desk version, more able to survive ‘impact call termination’ than its predecessor.

It had to kill him to knuckle under. MLS’ demands would more than wipe out the entire transfer budget for the season and would force a change in accounting from the payroll budget as well, simply to pay the fee to the American league. There would then be the matter of trying to pay Beckham.

The balances didn’t lie. Yet, Richmond could, and now he did.

“We have budgets,” he repeated, a fib since he had just destroyed them, “but we believe Mr. Beckham is a sound business investment.”

“Twenty million is acceptable,” Church said. “You have had direct contact with Beckham’s agent?”

“Yes,” Richmond said. Then the real money would start to flow.

“Very well,” Church said. “Upon completion of the agreement, we’ll make the arrangements for the transfer of funds. Pleasure doing business with you.”

Richmond couldn’t help himself. “Lend-Lease was cheaper,” he said.

“But this is more cost-effective, for both of us,” Church answered, again leaving Richmond a smoldering hulk.

# # #

“Then it’s decided,” I said.

“Unfortunately in your case, it is,” Jimenez answered. “Your offer was quite generous, and we know you acted in the very best of faith. However, my client wants to go to Italy so that is where we are going. Perhaps someday the English league would be a better fit for him, and perhaps our paths will cross again.”

“Perhaps,” I admitted, once again feeling the shards of disappointment cutting right through me.

“Until we meet again, Mr. Ridgway,” Jimenez said, ending the conversation. For him, at least, it was a seller’s market and he knew it.

I hung up the phone. Leaning back in my chair, I sighed deeply and tried to figure out a next move.

I’d like another game-breaking player, a difference-maker who can impact a match through pure skill and pace. Every manager wants those players, of course, but I thought dos Santos would be a perfect fit for us due to the tactic we use.

We can put three offensive players out there pretty much all the time and if the situation dictates, as many as six in what I call our ‘flood’ package. If you want to be in with a shout of stretching the net, my club really isn’t a bad place to be at the moment.

Yet, the player had chosen better weather and the Italian atmosphere. Thinking back to many a pleasant afternoon at Euganeo, I couldn’t blame him for that.

Then I looked up to see Richmond standing in the doorway. Thoughts of Italy vanished.

# # #

[nette000]

That really sounds like a monday to me.

[tenthreeleader]

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said.

So, it was already coming to a head.

“I make the effort to acquire players who will work best in my system,” I said. “I have already explained this to you. Not all of them come here.”

“Another high profile mistake that hurts the image of this club,” he answered. “I can’t wait until I control this club. Personally handing you your P45 will be a great moment for me and an even greater moment for this club.”

“Dramatic to the last,” I said quietly. “But until that day comes, I’m still the manager of this club.” If he was looking for a reaction, or a show of fear, he wasn’t getting one. He stood, silent, in reply.

So, I spoke again.

“And since I’m still the manager of this club, my words to you are simple,” I said, rising to face him. “Get out of my office before I have you thrown out.”

“How dare you,” he said.

“How dare I what?” I answered. “Assert myself? How dare I do the manager’s job?”

He clearly wasn’t getting the reaction he expected.

“You’re a director, so obviously your opinion is important and you are entitled to say what you wish. But as I have explained, players choose other clubs from time to time. If your expectation is that we carry all before us and take any player we want, you’re at the wrong club. I think Madrid may have a board opening soon, though.”

“I can’t wait to shut your mouth,” he replied.

“You know what? I don’t care,” I answered. “I’ve listened to you try to be my schoolmaster for over a year now and now I’ll give you an honest opinion. It’s boring. If you really want to shut my mouth, be a man and do it. But if you’re bluffing, get the hell out of my office.”

He looked at me, speechless. I had decided to go down with my guns blazing but knew that less than 24 hours from the Champions League second leg qualifier, any move now would be as damaging to Richmond as it would have been to me.

He knew it too. Wordlessly, he scowled at me.

“I tire of you,” I said. “Now, I have work to do.”

# # #

[WelshWolf]

Way to put the foot down

Loving every minute of it, you really do have a knack for this writing malarky. Consistent doesnt even do it justice - it just gets better - if anything, its consistently better. Bravo!

[tenthreeleader]

WW, many thanks! Glad you are still reading and still enjoying. Definitely still a blast to write, so stick around and see how it goes from here!

Bit of a short post today, unfortunately ... miscalculated when posting yesterday.

___

As a result of that conversation, the Reading official party was at odds with itself as we met our guests for a formal dinner at the stadium this evening.

We were all learning. Having never hosted a European tie before, our staff wanted to roll out the red carpet for our visitors while returning some of the hospitality we had received in Moscow.

A staffer from the Russian embassy in London arrived to act as an official interpreter. I speak five languages but Russian, alas, isn’t one of them. So, our conversation was a bit stilted at times.

Several of our visitors spoke English, which spoke well – literally – for the education they had received. Despite my mastery of four other languages in addition to the Mother Tongue, I felt a bit helpless and frustrated.

Gazzaev, my opposite number, looked just as frustrated in return.

However, Patty was the great equalizer. Her presence at the event seemed to soothe just about everyone. Even though she didn’t speak a word of Russian, everyone likes a beautiful woman. But then that goes without saying.

Thankfully, Richmond wasn’t present so I didn’t have to contend with him, but Sir John of course knew what had happened between us.

He knows that Richmond and I will probably never be reconciled, so he has another significant personnel issue to deal with that I’m sure he would rather not have.

Not that it matters to me – if he keeps selling me up the river I’ll be the one to go and we both know it. I don’t appreciate living on borrowed time after what I’ve done over the last fourteen months.

Yet, that’s football.

I looked at Gazzaev, who seemed to be able to read my mind. He leaned over to me, seated on my left at the head table, and whispered in my ear.

“I can’t wait to leave,” he said. I couldn’t help but smile in return.

# # #

[Offspring8]

I stopped reading for a while so that I could read it in big chunks, but I have now caught up once more and that is frustrating Still amazing work 10-3 - it's easy to see why your story has inspired many others (Including myself) to write their own.

You should sign that Offspring8 guy though, I hear he's the next big thing at right-back/wing-back

Seriously though, keep it going, great work!

[tenthreeleader]

Happy to try, Offspring ... thanks!

___

Wednesday, August 26

Reading v CSKA Moscow, Champions League Third Round Qualifier, Second Leg

Well, things are certainly hopping now.

First, on the domestic front. Newcastle have made a significant deposit in Rangers’ bank account, shelling out £10.5 million for central defender “King” Carlos Cuellar. Fulham dipped into the coffers for Sheffield United’s Billy Sharp to the tune of £3.9 million.

And, my scouts have made a recommendation to me with regard to strengthening the squad. I may have to kill someone for it, though.

More on that later, though. This morning’s Post web article had to do with Richmond, Beckham, and dos Santos finally and formally signing with Juve.

I’m not real pleased about that, obviously, but I have to accept that the Italians made the better offer. As I read the website this morning, my Blackberry buzzed. There was a note from Weatherby on it.

“I would like comment on a story involving Peter McGuire that appeared in People magazine this week,” the note read. “Is he representing your wife’s business affairs? And are you and Mrs. Ridgway expecting again?”

I thought long and hard, starting to text her a reply and erasing it three times before finally making up my mind as to what I’d do. I wanted to call Freddie Eaton in London but decided against it.

If I am going to lose this battle I’m going to lose it my way. Finally, I snapped on the Blackberry once again, before keying in my reply.

“I suggest you ask Sidney Richmond with regard to the former,” I wrote. “After all, it’s all his company. As for the latter, my wife’s publicist will issue a statement soon.”

# # #

“You bloody stupid clot!”

Richmond was tearing a strip off Peter McGuire.

“What?” McGuire challenged. “What’s stupid about telling the world we own the rights to distribute one of the most popular models in Europe?”

“Because I didn’t give you permission!” Richmond said. “How many times do I have to tell you – the holding company is going to buy Reading Football Club and it is not the right time to announce that you are a part of it!”

“I still fail to see why I’m such a pariah,” he said. “Look at others who have had the same problems I’ve had. They all came back from it. People are willing to grant second chances in this business and you know it.”

“People are,” Richmond snorted. “I’m not always so forgiving. We are very close to agreeing a deal with Beckham, we’re going to make a pile of money, and it’s going to be split according to our agreement. That is, if I don’t sack you for being so stupid!”

“People cannot know of your involvement,” Richmond repeated. “I’ve made that abundantly clear. Your business dealings with your public relations firm, and your private relationship with Ridgway’s wife, should give you pause. I won’t have you wreck this, Peter.”

He was talking quite a bit, Richmond was. McGuire simply looked at him.

Two men who were concerned about only themselves now stared at each other. McGuire spoke first.

“Look, after Ridgway is broken, I’ll have what I want,” he said. “And I’ll control his wife, at least professionally. Why can’t you let me have that? I’m sure he went wild when he found out about that article.”

Richmond sighed, and leaned in to face his employee. “Look, Peter, let me educate you,” he said. “He can pay to get out of the contract. You will then have no power over him or his wife. You had a master card in your hand and you played it too early for yourself. You also may have played it too early for me – if Jill Weatherby puts two and two together, we may have a lot of trouble.”

“There’s a way around that, too,” McGuire said, refusing to listen. “Sidney, you just have to think big.”

# # #

[copperhorse21]

Me no likey the sounds of this....I think I need to call on the help of a certain friend of a friend to resolve my hatred of the evil, two clown posse. (departs to simmer and find his dusty Rolodex files)

[tenthreeleader]

They're scheming, those two

___

We had a different look about us. That shouldn’t have come as a surprise, given what we accomplished in Moscow.

With a trip to the Northeast and Middlesbrough waiting at the weekend, a different eleven awaited the Muscovites, though arrayed in the same formation.

Dicã was on the bench at the start, with Maloney restored to the position of his success last year, in the raider’s slot behind the strikers. Saivet got another look on the left side of midfield, and Bikey was in the holder’s role in front of the back line.

Lita was also up front, in place of Dagoberto, paired alongside Kitson. However, perhaps my biggest surprise was at left fullback.

There, the very promising Scott Golbourne would start the match, after training his hind end off for the last two weeks. With the lead we had, and with the bench I had available to me, I wanted to see him cut his teeth.

I dared not weaken the side any further, but with Kalou on the right side of midfield and the central defense pairing of Huth and Sonko unchanged, we were still strong, and I was well pleased with the side I put out.

For his part, Gazzaev started the match with the 3-4-1-2 that he switched to in Moscow – and with the same players we had eviscerated in the second half at the Dinamo. The only difference was the presence of the Brazilian striker Jo in the starting eleven.

Akinfeev glowered at us from between the sticks as the teams finished their final warm-ups. He hadn’t given up four in a match in God knows how long, so he was out for some personal redemption. If CSKA were going to go out, they were going to do it with their best players on the park.

As we took the pitch, the home fans got to hear the Champions League theme in person for the first time. That alone certainly helped intensify the already electric atmosphere in the place. They were pulling for their Royals to take the last big step into the European spotlight, and as Spanish referee Arturo Daudén Ibáñez advanced to the center spot with the ball, the noise in the place just got louder and louder.

We expected a fiery start from the Russians, and not surprisingly we got one. Four minutes into the match, Sergey Gorelov took a ball from his captain, Rahimic, and tried to make an impression on us from twenty-five yards.

Lobont waved the ball wide, though, so the chance had come and gone.

Leading by three goals from the first leg, with a pile of away goals, we could afford to feel confident, but I wanted to get through the first quarter of the match with a clean sheet. My goal was to show the Russians that the usual service from the second half in Moscow would be resumed, and some of the starch would come out of them as a result.

Saivet read my thoughts, and our French wonderkid was soon striding down the left flank like he owned it, crossing for Lita ten yards from goal. Leroy, perhaps surprised to find himself with time and space, proceeded to head the ball about twenty rows into the stand behind Akinfeev’s goal, with the keeper relieved and my striker the subject of laughter from the bench.

I turned and glared. That stopped the laughing. The tie was far from over.

Our shape was good and the very young left side of the formation was in fine fettle. Eleven minutes in, we got a corner to the right of the CSKA goal. Maloney took it, and Anton Grigorjev got above Huth, which was no mean feat, to head clear.

The ball fell to Golbourne, twenty-five yards from goal on the left. Without even letting the ball hit, he stroked a low first-time cross into the area and found Lita.

This time, the striker made no mistake, gleefully volleying past the helpless Akinfeev to do the manager’s wishes one better. Twelve minutes in, the aggregate was now 5-1 and the visitors looked deader than Kelcy’s Nuts, as we used to say in the States.

Now the youngsters on the left really started to shine. Saivet and Golbourne worked a wonderful little 1-2 just a few minutes later, with the midfielder feeding the overlapping full back to get the ball deep.

Golbourne’s pullback found Kitson, who played a simply brilliant dummy for the onrushing Maloney, who advanced to the ball with the crowd already on its feet.

The Scotsman slammed a low drive toward the goal that hit Akinfeev. I can’t say the keeper saved it because he really didn’t know much about it. By the time he turned his head to find the cross, the ball had already hit him in the chest and bounded toward the left touchline, where Grigorjev pounded it into touch.

Things were going very well indeed.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

Kitson ripped a drive over the bar just a few moments later, and we were in absolute control of the match. We couldn’t ask for better.

Unfortunately, Bikey then made his first mistake while in the holding position, holding back Milos Krasić outside the area and winding up in Ibáñez’s book in the process.

Rahimic took the free kick, and proceeded to drive it right off Saivet’s left leg at the edge of our wall. Unfortunately, Henri had jumped, and as a result the ball took a deflection past Lobont and home to get CSKA on the board at the half hour mark.

It was a glimmer – little more than that, I hoped – of hope for the visitors, now trailing 5-2 on aggregate.

We were now entering the period of worry for me – the last few minutes of the half. I turned to Dillon, and my deputy simply nodded.

After whistling to gain Bikey’s attention, I rolled my hands and pointed four fingers into the air, indicating a change of midfield. The flat four-man midfield would hopefully help us stay stable and avoid conceding again.

The best way for us to avoid conceding was of course to keep the ball, and to do that we had Maloney, bound and determined to get himself on the scoresheet.

Unfortunately, he was hitting everything except the twine in the attempt, blowing a hard shot off Rahimic and behind for a corner right after the latter’s goal. The Russian hopped up and down in pain after the ball struck him – the ball had gone directly off his left ankle and that had to hurt. That’ll teach him.

The corner came to naught, and I was now more interested in how we’d play defensively. Huth closed down Salugin beautifully in our box, throwing the striker off his stroke just enough to make him squib his shot weakly into the grateful hands of Lobont.

My captain then saved well from an Ivan Taranov header, tipping over the bar while the visitors applied some real pressure. Dimitry Tikhonov came up to take the corner, and after the ball had clattered around a bit in our area, he realized he wasn’t being marked.

The game seemed to move into slow-motion at that point as the midfielder closed in on goal. Gleefully, he closed, and Lobont came out to cut the angle. Then, from out of nowhere, Rosenior closed him down – on the wrong side of the park, no less, but there just the same – and the rebound fell to Taranov.

His followup shot hit Sonko, as we were defending desperately at this point. The ball spun crazily in the direction of Tikhonov, who had to be wondering if there was a way through us at this point.

Now wide again, he elected to cross instead of shoot – and that effort went off Kalou. The crowd loved watching it, but the manager sat there with his heart in his throat.

Finally Golbourne cleared the ball and we were on the counter, with three players across hoping to catch the visitors off guard. Kalou now was in full flight, blazing away down the right flank and somehow managing to stay onside.

I screamed for Bikey’s attention as he got the ball, and the midfielder heard me, lofting a ball to the right for the run of the Ivorian. He was behind the defense and ready to thrust the dagger into CSKA.

He closed in, Akinfeev came out to challenge, and Kalou rounded him with almost ridiculous ease. He rolled the ball toward the open goal – and hit the outside of the left post, the ball bounding behind for a goal kick.

“This is killing me,” I moaned, as Kalou showed his frustration at missing a completely open goal.

Ibáñez blew for halftime. We hadn’t conceded in the trouble time, but you could make the case that we should have either been ahead or behind.

Yet we were drawn 1-1. Somehow, that seemed fair.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

The halftime break gave me the opportunity to take a look at the scoreboard and calm down a bit. The only thing I wanted to avoid was conceding early in the second half – letting CSKA off the mat might lead to real trouble.

“Forty-five minutes to go,” I reminded the players. “So let’s go back out and play the same way we did for the first 135 minutes of the tie – keep the ball from them, put ourselves in position to score and use our pace to get what we want. They can’t catch us – so let’s use that to our best advantage.”

I wanted the ball kept from them, but in the second half it was just the opposite. They wouldn’t let us have it.

Throwing everything forward in a search for a way back into the aggregate score, the Muscovites piled on the pressure early. Jo went close twice in the first three minutes of the second half and I saw some signs of unease among my players.

There was one player I expected to see a bit nervous – Saivet. And, he was.

Turning up the heat on us, Tikhonov was starting to make some noise on their right flank and the prodigy looked wholly unable to cope. Finally, the youngster grabbed the winger by his shirt and pulled him back sharply on a foray into our half.

Both Mr. Ibanez and I had seen enough. He went to his book, while I went to my bench.

I brought Dicã on for Saivet, shifting Maloney to the left and giving me my regular midfield back.

The second player who was faltering badly was someone I didn’t expect – Bikey, who was having a dreadful time supporting the back four. I wasn’t sure what had happened to him during the interval, but he didn’t look anything like the player who had started the match.

Already on a yellow card from the first half, he wasn’t nearly as aggressive as I need the holder in my tactic to be, and a few moments later, he too was off in favor of Magallón.

Of course, removing two carded players from the mix didn’t hurt either, since at least a portion of my thinking hinged on being better able to hold off the visitors with eleven men instead of ten or fewer. And they say Americans are stupid.

Magallón celebrated his introduction by charging down and nearly eating an effort from range by Rahimic, and Huth blocked Salugin from just inside the box a few moments later. They were still putting on pressure, but Magallón’s commitment seemed to give us a boost.

Moments later, though, Krasic burst into the box and stung Lobont’s hands, with the rebound heading toward Salugin. This time, Sonko got there first and cleared, but it was soon obvious that the substitutions weren’t changing the flow of the match.

Rather, they were simply allowing us to hold off CSKA, which was the whole point. The minutes seemed to crawl by, but the more they did with the visitors’ side of the scoreboard not changing, the better it got for us.

Sonko headed a corner right up the middle soon afterwards onto the foot of Krasic, and this time Lobont bailed out his defender with a reflex save that was perhaps our best of the season so far. I didn’t like the trend, and was ready to make a tactical change since we had shown a complete inability to establish possession on the visitors’ half of the pitch.

Ibrahima then went into the book for obstruction on Krasic, and it seemed like we were starting all over again. They were handling us with ease.

Finally, Kitson managed to latch onto a hoofed ball from Magallón and give us a little breather, his effort from distance hardly troubling Akinfeev. We just needed to clear our lines for a few minutes and get some breathing space.

At that time, CSKA went to three strikers, pulling the attacking midfielder in their 3-4-1-2 into a direct role up front – as if they weren’t generating enough pressure already.

I was hoping for a chance to counter them and make them pay for piling forward, but it just wasn’t happening. It started to rain again and I headed back to the dugout to sit alongside Dillon. Neither of us were happy.

“Rob, we need 4-5-1,” Dillon said. “Not because of the aggregate, but if they get one here I’m worried about what it’ll do to our confidence.”

We were getting hammered back into our own third. Dillon was right about that, and the American in me that likes to attack all the time didn’t like the idea of being so defensive.

“We’re going to have to change,” I replied. “But not until they score, if they score. I want these players to know that they will be expected to make a plan work. We’ve done too much formation shifting due to getting overrun lately and I want them to make a go of it this way first.”

He gave me a look that indicated he sharply disagreed with my reasoning.

“I’m willing to be convinced, but what would a change right now tell you if you were a player?”

“That we’re getting our arses kicked up between our shoulder blades?” he replied, a hint of irritation in his voice.

“Right,” I answered. “Not the message I want to send right now.”

“Sometimes, I don’t understand you,” Dillon said, crossing his arms on his chest to watch the match.

“Let’s get some guys warmed up,” I said. “Pogatetz in particular. We may need some more help on the back line before this is done.”

Now he looked at me with a bit of understanding, realizing that I wasn’t thinking about five in midfield but rather five at the back. That made more sense to him.

“Emanuel, strip off and get ready,” Dillon said, turning to my Austrian international.

While he prepared to come on, Klasic shot over the bar and Lobont restarted with a goal kick that found Kalou on the right from the head of Dicã. Finally with a chance to get forward, he did, getting nearly to the byline before pulling the ball back into the box.

There, Kitson was all tangled up with Oleg Malyukov, but managed to slide on the wet turf to get a toe to the ball. It changed direction and bounded over Akinfeev’s arm to make it 2-1 and redefine the term ‘against the run of play’.

With eighteen minutes to play, CSKA was finished. And although we played a very poor second half by our standards, it was still enough.

The last twenty minutes, including stoppage time, were mere exercise. The one chance we took in the second half was enough to break our visitors’ spirit – and send them into the UEFA Cup.

Reading 2 (Lita 1st 15; Kitson 4th, 72)

CSKA Moscow 1 ( Elvir Rahimic 6th 30)

A – 29,685, Madeski Stadium, Reading

Man of the Match – Leroy Lita, Reading

Reading wins 6-2 on aggregate

# # #

[dan_simmonds]

Congrats on the group stages Mr. Ridgway. Enjoy your success and hopefully you won't need to worry about Becks with the financial windfall that will soon be heading your way!

[Dalbeider]

Damn, catched up already. 10-3, if I get fired next week due to my lack of productivity in the last two, I'm blaming you. Just a friendly FYI.

At least there's no cliffhanger today and I can start my new life as a daily waiter-and-reader without biting my nails off .

[spartans5]

Two things:

1. In stark contrast to everyone else, I think you had a rubbish season, as you didn't win. And even if you finish 2nd, that's still first losers.

2. The contents in the folder are obviously a picture showing the Richmond is Patty's father.

Easily the best response that I have ever seen, that was absolute class weeeman.

And now I am at the end of my catching up on this, and it has taken me the better part of the 4 days to catch up on this and American Calcio, now that was time that could have been spent sleeping, but who needs sleep when there is wonderful writing to read. Please KUTGW 10-3, it has really been a pleasure reading what you have written. I must say that the Richmond-McGuire dynamic, no matter how much I hate both their guts, is pretty much epic and part of me hopes it doesn't end any time soon.

[tenthreeleader]

Gentlemen, thank you. I wish I had more hours in the day sometimes to pick up my pace again but so far we're managing. As always, I'm glad to see that this story continues to hold the interest of its readers after all this time.

___

“No, I’m not real happy with how we played in the second half, but with the lead from the first leg I did make some decisions on our eleven based on our league trip this weekend,” I told the press.

Thankfully, there was no Italian present – the one of concern to me was in Turin watching Juventus qualify for the group stages with a 2-2 draw at home to Besiktas – so the questioning was orderly for a change.

“You didn’t field your best eleven,” someone from The Mirror observed.

“I fielded some players who haven’t played as much in the past,” I corrected. “The eleven I pick, I expect to perform. There were people out there tonight who played well in the first leg in Moscow and there were players who deserved an opportunity on the big stage. They might not yet be regular players for this club but I have every reason to believe some of them might be in the future if they continue to work hard. I thought Golbourne was excellent tonight, for example, and he’s just one of them.”

“So did some of the press,” the reporter admitted, looking at a match rating sheet.

“Well, there you are, then,” I said. “Some of the guys who played tonight might not play against Liverpool, some might not play against United, while others might not play against someone else. I thought we put a decent mix of players out there and again, we took our chances.”

“Still, though, you were dominated for long stretches of play, especially in the second half.”

“I would expect a certain amount of that from a team trying, as we were, to get into the Champions League group stages,” I answered. “All I know is that we came out on top and as a result my chairman is flying to Zurich tomorrow for the draw.”

“Reading will be in the fourth pot,” Weatherby noted. “You’re going to get difficult opponents no matter where you’re drawn.”

“As you should expect in the Champions League,” I said. “I would like to think we’ll be the fourth seed that no one wants to play. We’ll take a break from training tomorrow so the players can watch the draw, and then we’ll get back to work. The players have earned that opportunity so we’re going to enjoy it.”

# # #

Thursday, August 27

Today was an exciting day. The Champions League draw was all anyone was thinking about.

The front office staff gathered in the 1871 Suite for the draw, while the players watched on a large screen in the players’ lounge.

For the first time, a two-camera crew assigned by UEFA was there to record our reactions. Winthrop was in charge of them, and for a change the smug look on his face was replaced with one of a fellow who knew he needed to do his job properly.

It was a busy day from a media standpoint. I was scheduled to give an interview for Champions League Magazine, the television preview show associated with the competition, while various players were set up for face-to-face interviews at the same time.

With all the attention we were getting, my instructions to Winthrop were plain: minimal disruption.

“If I find out that you’re messing with the schedule in a way I don’t like, I won’t be happy,” I said. “And frankly, I don’t care if you like it or not. If you cost this club points or cost this club money, it’ll come out of your hide and that’s a promise.”

He looked scared. Now that we were in the ‘big show’, his sails were trimmed. At least for now.

We already knew which groups we wouldn’t be drawn in. Of the four English qualifiers, we were the only one not a top seed. And since UEFA rules dictate that clubs from the same nation can’t be in the same qualifying group, we know we won’t see Arsenal, United or Chelsea in the group stages.

Training was a bit nervous this morning as a result. The players had other things on their minds, which is why I gave them the time away from it to watch the draw.

It was a light session anyway, having played the previous night, but with a plane trip to the Northeast awaiting in the evening, it was best in my mind to have all the distractions out of the way at the same time.

So it was that after lunch, we gathered in the lounge to watch Sky Sports’ coverage of the draw.

The players, naturally, had put up an odds board as to which of the other five top seeds we’d wind up playing against. The optimists in our group were picking Bayern Munich, dethroned as German champions last season by Hamburg SV, but the fatalists all chose holders Real Madrid.

Since the good people from UEFA were in the room, the lads were smart enough not to exchange any money, but I’m sure they had side bets going out of earshot of the football gendarmerie.

“What do you think?” I asked Dillon.

“I think Sir John looks like he just swallowed a whole grapefruit,” Dillon laughed, as a shot of our delighted chairman was put onto the screen.

“Well, as long as we don’t have that same look in a few minutes,” I mused. “Personally, I think we’re going to wind up against Inter.”

Michel Platini himself handled the draw, which I suppose was in keeping with his station as UEFA president. The broadcasters reminded us of the eight top seeds:

Arsenal

Barcelona

Bayern Munich

Chelsea

Inter Milan

Manchester United

Olympique Lyonnais

Real Madrid

“The big boys,” Dillon smiled, now taking a seat next to me in the back of the room.

“That’s why we’re here, to see how we stack up," I said quietly, not caring for the camera now trained upon us.

There were highlight reels, prognostications and of course, pretty girls everywhere on our television screens. I’m not sure how much any of that had to do with the draw, but to get to the good stuff we had to get through the preliminaries.

Finally, though, there was nothing else for it. They had to start drawing ping-pong balls.

[Motherlover]

Aww man!

Halting there is simple cruelty

Being a huge fan of the 08 game engine, my reckoning is that Barcelona would actually be the easiest of the giants, seeing as their midfield isn't all that physically strong and their defence sometimes seem to have problems feeding the ball into the midfield.

Of course the disadvantage is trying to cope with the indomnitable Eto'o.

[dechardonay]

Mongrel. Damn curtain hanger.

[tenthreeleader]

Well, TV, let's see how it all turns out! Thanks for the comments, and dechardonay, there's a new descriptive phrase I've not yet used!

___

One by one, out the top seeds came: Bayern, Real, Arsenal, Lyon, Inter, Barca, United and Chelsea.

Dillon and I each had a sheet in front of us. We knew we couldn’t go to Group C, G or H. Sherlock Holmes evidently lived on in both of us.

“Well, now it gets fun,” he said, as the second set of containers was opened: Real Zaragoza, Juventus, Sporting Lisbon, Steaua Bucharest, Werder Bremen, Hamburg, Valencia and Benfica.

“Quite the Group B already,” I said.”

“Yes. Juve and Real. Want to steer clear of that one?”

“We’ll take what we get.”

A set of fishbowls containing the third seeds appeared and Platini continued his work. The next eight teams were: Feyenoord, Fenerbahce, Rangers, Zenit St. Petersburg, Rapid Bucharest, PSG, Shakhtar Donetsk, and Lazio.

Now it was fun to look around the room. There wasn’t a player present who wasn’t on the edge of his seat, and the room was completely quiet.

“We know where we’re not going,” Kitson said to no one, and no one answered. The atmosphere in the room was intense.

The fourth-seed fishbowls now appeared, and one by one, out came the names:

Dynamo Kiev.

Saint-Etienne.

“So much for Bayern and Real,” Dillon said.

We knew we couldn’t be drawn into Arsenal’s Group C, so when we saw Slavia Prague’s name drawn, we took a bit of pity on them.

There were only three possibilities left.

“Dinamo Zagreb , in Group D,” Platini said.

“Lyon. Nuts.” That was Dillon, who had hopes of being placed with them.

“We’re going in with Inter,” I predicted. Their Group E was next.

“IFK Goteborg, in Group E,” Platini said.

“Barcelona,” Dillon and Kitson said at the same time, one much louder than the other.

Platini pulled our name out of a side bowl that now contained only one name. By the rules, it couldn’t have been done any other way.

2009 UEFA Champions League Groups

Group A – Bayern Munich, Real Zaragoza, Feyenoord, Dynamo Kiev

Group B – Real Madrid, Juventus, Fenerbahce, Saint-Etienne

Group C – Arsenal, Sporting Lisbon, Rangers, Slavia Prague

Group D – Olympique Lyonnais, Steaua Bucharest, Zenit St. Petersburg, Dinamo Zagreb

Group E – Inter Milan, Werder Bremen, Rapid Bucharest, IFK Goteborg

Group F – Barcelona, Hamburg SV, Paris St. Germain, Reading

Group G – Manchester United, Valencia, Shakhtar Donetsk, Dinamo Bucharest

Group H – Chelsea, Benfica, SS Lazio, Standard Liege

# # #

[viperk1]

2009 UEFA Champions League Groups

Group A – Bayern Munich, Real Zaragoza, Feyenoord, Dynamo Kiev

Group B – Real Madrid, Juventus, Fenerbahce, Saint-Etienne

Group C – Arsenal, Sporting Lisbon, Rangers, Slavia Prague

Group D – Olympique Lyonnais, Steaua Bucharest, Zenit St. Petersburg, Dinamo Zagreb

Group E – Inter Milan, Werder Bremen, Rapid Bucharest, IFK Goteborg

Group F – Barcelona, Hamburg SV, Paris St. Germain, Reading

Group G – Manchester United, Valencia, Shakhtar Donetsk, Dinamo Bucharest

Group H – Chelsea, Benfica, SS Lazio, Standard Liege

Strange draw there - I'm guessing that the real life rule (for TV purposes) that a maximum of two teams from a single country must be in a single block (Block 1: Groups A, B, C and D. Block 2: Groups E, F, G and H) doesn't apply in FM?

Either way - ouch. That is the group of death for you.

[Motherlover]

Not by any means an easy group, but at least it isn't Group B - that group is a nightmare. Group H isn't an easy one either, though Chelsea are head and shoulders above the rest.

PS - Does Van der Vaart still play at HSV in Rob's world? He was a match winner if ever I saw one.