Rob Ridgway's "Rat Pack"

[tenthreeleader]

Nathan, welcome back! I appreciate your readership and your kind words! Weeeman, Alba came up in my random name generator and I thought it was a pretty name so what the heck and Balty, evil is as evil does

___

She wore her brunette hair short, not even to her shoulders. Her uniform blouse was open to the second button at the collar and despite that sop to comfort, she appeared to be completely in charge.

My knowledge of Spanish told me that her name means ‘sunrise’ in that language, and I thought it was fitting in her case.

Unlike me, though, Ms. Fulton was all business.

“Mr. Becker, we would prefer you use discretion in your reporting,” she said simply.

I bit my tongue, hard. My mind was in the wrong place.

“Ridgway, you idiot,” I snarled at myself, reminding myself to keep my gaze high. “Your pregnant wife is prettier and you better straighten up and fly right!”

I missed a few sentences of the conversation while trying to regain my composure. Eventually, my mind sort of drifted back into the now-burgeoning discussion.

“You can’t stop us, surely,” Becker answered.

“Mr. Becker, we don’t seek to stop you,” Fulton answered. “We do seek to persuade you not to blow up our case before it starts. If you are truly interested in protecting your reporter, you’ll understand the wisdom in this.”

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. Being first on its own beat was something that hadn’t happened as much at the Evening Post as Becker would have liked, mainly due to the annoying persistence of Emiliani in covering us as well.

Now, though, he had a story no one else had. The question for him was how soon it would be before someone leapfrogged him again in coverage – if he didn’t write what he knew.

It is the age-old conundrum of journalists. They don’t always show concern for those they write about, but they do show concern when a competitor passes them in coverage quality. It is the way of the world, especially in today’s hyper-competitive markets.

Now, though, Becker had to be concerned for his reporter. It did put a different spin on things.

“Call me privately, Inspector,” the editor said. “I need a frank exchange of views with you, out of the earshot of those who don’t need to hear.”

At that, both Sir John and I frowned. It was like stereo with facial expressions.

“I object most strenuously,” my chairman said. “We brought this to your attention and it is our hope that the club’s interests, and those of my employee Rob Ridgway, will be taken into consideration before any decision on publication is made.”

“Sir John, you have my word on that,” Becker said.

“Under ordinary circumstances, I would take you at that word,” he said. “Now, however, I must insist that our club counsel be party to the conversation, with the understanding that we will not attempt to influence coverage in any way.”

Becker thought it over and thankfully agreed. Sir John nodded to our counsel, and he walked with Fulton into a side room.

I turned to the owner. “My patience is getting pretty thin with these people, Sir John,” I said.

“Which people? The list seems to be lengthening by the day.”

“Sidney, for starters. I really don’t see why you keep him around.”

“I’ve told you before, Rob, it is purely for financial reasons as well as to indulge my simple preference of keeping my friends close and my enemies closer.”

I reacted at Sir John’s first outright admission to me that Richmond was in fact his enemy. I hadn’t always thought that, especially during the Beckham saga. The news was definitely something to tuck away in the memory bank for future reference.

“All right, then,” I responded, suddenly growing weary of fighting the same old battle at the same old time with the same old people.

“We have to get to the bottom of this and I am quite sure the police will do that,” Sir John said. “I have the information I need so if you will excuse me, I need to write down a few thoughts for when the police have finished their enquiries.”

With that, he was gone. With that, I moved my operation to the video room so I could work without wondering who was listening.

Maybe.

# # #

[mametz1536]

Fantastic story - really enjoyed reading the latest posts - Women and uniforms fatal combination!

[Motherlover]

Fantastic story - really enjoyed reading the latest posts - Women and uniforms fatal combination!

Yes, it's probably a good thing that Japan isn't included in the FM database. Rob wouldn't stand a chance

[JamboJen]

My knowledge of Spanish told me that her name means ‘sunrise’ in the Catalan dialect, and I thought it was fitting in her case.

Also means Scotland in Gaelic. Probably a little less poetic than sunrise, though.

[Dalbeider]

Also, "Alba" is "sunrise" in Spanish, too, not just in Catalan. And Catalan is not a dialect of Spanish but a different language. Which happens to be in the worldwide Top 20 for number of articles in Wikipedia, by the way .

[coloradogkb]

I'm just going to imagine Alba looks a lot like Jessica Alba...and I'm going to encourage Rob to work closely with her to solve this case.

[tenthreeleader]

Dalbeider, thanks for the correction. Clearly, you are at least as smart as both Rob and his creator. Jen, in looking up the meaning of the name, I saw that too so I had a choice to make. TV, that's just plain naughty and that's only because your comment was probably accurate colorado, if you were to cut Jessica Alba's hair so it was worn off her shoulders, you'd have a pretty good idea of how I'm painting the picture of DCI Fulton.

Mametz, thank you for your kind words and welcome to the Rat Pack!

___

Saturday, September 5

I am pleased that the Post doesn’t publish on weekends.

Having to read more about the situation in which I found myself would have been distressing today. I’m still steaming mad and since you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to find out who probably bugged my office, I figured the first of McGuire, Winthrop or Richmond who crossed my path would be wearing my knuckleprints embedded in his face.

It being a non-playing weekend, though, the club staff wasn’t working. That saved Winthrop from my ire.

It also saved Richmond, who rarely darkens the doors of the stadium when we aren’t playing. I’m sure he was doing whatever it is he does when he’s not thinking about money. Whatever that would be, I’m sure he was using something inflatable.

As I’ve mentioned, to be blunt my mood was foul. Thor had arrived late yesterday afternoon to do a sweep of my office for any further objects and, finding none, I decided now would be a good time to clear the air with him regarding Patty.

It was a bad day to cross me, and even the ex-SAS man knew that.

“Surely you don’t have suspicions, Mr. Ridgway,” he said. “If you do, I shall resign my position with immediate effect.”

He was laying it right out there, that was obvious. However, it didn’t solve my problem. If Patty really was sweet on Hardcastle, the fact that he didn’t work for me any more wouldn’t change that.

“I don’t doubt your integrity,” I said. I really didn’t, even thought for some reason my better judgment was screaming at me.

I had no proof. “I’ll be honest, though. I think the security that you provide for Patty is something she appreciates to the point where she just starts gushing over it.”

“I can’t prevent that,” he said quickly.

“Actually, you can, and as a gentleman you know you can,” I said. “Look, I don’t have an argument with you and even if I did, settling it with you would probably hurt me a lot more than it would hurt you. I am asking you to please make a special effort to avoid unneeded physical contact with her.”

“Are you going to tell her this too?” he asked.

“It’s none of your concern if I do,” I said, suddenly not caring for his inference. “And if it gets back to her from you, there’s going to be a heap of trouble you won’t want. So please help.”

“I’m not going to be your marriage counselor,” he said.

He was waving a red flag in front of me, but I didn’t know if he had the diplomatic sophistication to know what he was doing. So, again giving him the benefit of the doubt, I didn’t tear into him. Much.

“I don’t need a counselor,” I said, my voice deliberately maintaining a level tone. “What I need is an employee who will do what he’s asked to do. Now, if there’s not a problem, we’ll go back to square one and get to work. If there is a problem, Mr. Hardcastle, you had better tell me now.”

We stood in the center of my office, two tall men squared fully to each other.

If we fought, I’d lose. There would be no doubt of that. But the tension in the room made me entertain the thought.

Sometimes, the guy you don’t want to fight is the guy who doesn’t care if he loses. At that moment, I didn’t care.

“I have no designs on your wife,” he said, as we locked eyes. “Now, shall we resume our work?”

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

Still stewing over the conversation and the events of yesterday, I was bad company with Patty.

“You need to relax,” she said.

“Easy for you to say,” I said, with enough of a smile on my face to remove the sarcasm from my tone.

“It is,” she agreed, “because I am not so wound up in what’s going on that I can’t see the good things in life.”

I started to speak, but by a Herculean effort stopped myself from doing so. No, this time it was far better to listen.

I sat back in my chair, and she expounded.

“You’ve got a good situation,” she said. “So do I. I’m here, and even though we aren’t communicating for some reason, I’m content. I’m safe, I don’t have anyone trying to horn in on my life or my situation, and I can come and go as I please for the first time in I don’t know how long.”

That, I knew, was due to Hardcastle.

“Well, it sounds good,” I admitted. I was trying to sound diplomatic.

“What’s not good about it?” she asked. “I know you’re jealous, but you don’t have to be.”

“Oh, I don’t?” I asked. “I hear how you talk about him, I hear how you talk to him, and I see you darned happy to see him whenever you go out.”

“He keeps me safe, Rob, and that’s important to me,” she said.

“I did the same,” I said.

“To a point,” she replied. “But you didn’t do it all the time because you simply couldn’t. No professional man could. Steven can, and he does.”

At least she wasn’t calling him by his new nickname.

I kept thinking back to Venice, and how Patty had reacted when she saw Kate throwing herself into my arms after learning of her ex-husband’s infidelity. Evidently different folks got different strokes, so to speak.

“Of course, that’s why he was hired,” I said, now really hoping to change the subject. With the mood I was in, it didn’t seem to be a wise course of action to follow that line of conversation any further.

Naturally, part of being married is working through things like this, as long as being married is on your list of things to do. It certainly is on mine, so I elected to defend myself.

“You do know how all this looks to me, of course,” I said.

“Yes. You’re jealous.”

“Wouldn’t you be?” I asked. “Haven’t you been? Weren’t you jealous, in Venice?”

“Yes, I was,” she said, “but there was an important difference. You loved Kate. You loved her enough to ask her to marry you. I, on the other hand, don’t have that issue with Steven.”

I bit my tongue. A little too hard, which wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

“Patty, this is driving me insane,” I finally said. “After what we’ve been through, to see you with him like that really bothered me, especially after what you said about him.”

“I appreciate an attractive man,” she said. “I see plenty of them on my photo shoots, that’s for sure. But I married an attractive man too, and he needs to lighten up starting right now.”

Saying nothing, I instead chose to eat my breakfast grapefruit.

# # #

[MokBull]

You should be an underground rappa'. "Weren't you jealous, in Venice?" "Didn't you have enough, stuff?!?!?"

[tenthreeleader]

I think that choice of career is probably 4,922nd and last on RR's 'Bucket List'

___

Sunday, September 6

Happy Day for Reading FC?

Analysis by Jill Weatherby, Reading Evening Post

Have you ever had a favourite car that you regretted selling? Or, have you ever wished you could take back a moment in your life?

For one former employee of Reading Football Club, the answer to the latter question appears to be ‘yes’, but in a slightly different context.

Peter McGuire, who was employed by the club last year as a marketing and public relations consultant, is part of a consortium that plans to purchase the club from owner Sir John Madejski after the start of the new year.

I can reveal exclusively that this consortium, which is headed by current board member Sidney Richmond, has in mind a complete, top-to-bottom makeover of the club. According to documents obtained by the Evening Post, this makeover includes the redundancy of most club staff and replacement by individuals friendly to the consortium.

The ‘sack list’ includes manager Rob Ridgway and all of his staff.

“It is my intention to remake the club through a business model that will maintain our growing profile within the world of football and allow even greater profitability,” Richmond wrote in one of the documents. “It is fair to assume that any staff member who does not contribute to this model would be made redundant.”

Obviously, Richmond’s strategy will cause great unease at the club. Last season, primarily due to merit money from the third-placed Premiership finish, the club made over £12 million in profit.

That does not appear to be enough for the prospective owner, who has identified overseas marketing as a key untapped source of revenue.

“The club has done virtually nothing to begin work on a global brand,” Richmond continued in the same document earlier referenced. “This must change and it will change when the new consortium controls the club.”

Richmond would not return a phone call seeking comment for this story. This is unusual for him, as in the past he has been quite communicative with this reporter on matters relative to the future of Reading FC.

Ridgway would not comment on matters relative to the club’s ownership.

However, McGuire appears to have an integral role in the takeover bid. His new company, known as Happy Day LLC, is part of Richmond Holdings Ltd, owned by the Reading director.

Other companies believed to be part of the holding group include Richmond Manufacturing Worldwide, the company from which the director made his personal fortune, and Special Security Group, a high-profile security firm owned by former British Army officer Steven Hardcastle.

McGuire’s firm owns the worldwide distribution rights to images of Ridgway’s wife, model Patricia Myers Ridgway. According to testimony from McGuire’s recent divorce, the two had an illicit relationship prior to the Ridgways meeting, in which Mrs. Ridgway claimed entrapment.

The relationship is believed to cause great unease not only with the Ridgways but also with Mrs. Ridgway’s public relations advisers, the firm of Eaton and Company of London.

“We have no comment on any internal matter related to Reading Football Club or the personal relationships of any member of the group with either Rob or Patty Ridgway,” said Freddie Eaton, the firm’s principal owner, in a prepared statement. “We will have no comment until the appropriate time.”

It appears as though quite a tangled web is being prepared in which to ensnare Reading Football Club. Sir John would not comment for this article but it appears that he will have a stiff fight on his hands to maintain control of the club.

The easy answer would simply be for Sir John to say the club is not for sale. That is his right as the owner. However, the consortium prepared by Richmond appears geared to take out Sir John’s allies at the club, including Ridgway and other club staff, to leave the owner isolated.

That may well lead to the sale of the club. Richmond is preparing his frontal assault with great care, and is attempting to control the affairs of those allied to Madejski to the greatest extent that he can.

Get ready for a long winter, Reading fans. It’s around the corner, and chances are it’s going to be cold.

# # #

[Panpardus]

Hmmm, does the mean Rob hired one of Richmonds goons to look after his wife.

Nice move, now you can bump her off and go after Alba!

[mametz1536]

There's always a job in switzerland - if he needs it!

[coloradogkb]

Other companies believed to be part of the holding group include Richmond Manufacturing Worldwide, the company from which the director made his personal fortune, and Special Security Group, a high-profile security firm owned by former British Army officer Steven Hardcastle.

How safe does Thor make you feel now Patty? I'm really not one of her biggest fans. Even if I do imagine her looking like Christina Hendricks.

[Balthazars]

As that old, classic phrase goes: "and the plot thickens..."

[tenthreeleader]

Well, gentlemen, it ain't good, I can tell you that. An early post today as I am out of town traveling and may not have internet access right away in the morning here when I usually post.

___

Monday, September 7

Not surprisingly, the mood around the club is black.

It’s almost as black as the mood around my house. I showed Patty the article from yesterday and when she saw that Hardcastle really works for Richmond, her face turned white as a sheet.

“Oh, Lord, no,” she said. “How awful.”

I resisted a supreme ‘I told you so’ urge and simply tossed the paper to the other side of our kitchen table.

“What’s the problem?” I asked. “You didn’t have personal conversations with him, did you?” I asked.

She cut to the chase. “I did,” she said.

“About what?”

“About you, and about Richmond.”

My headache had already started prior to breakfast, so there really wasn’t any need to take another aspirin. It wouldn’t have helped.

“Suppose you tell me about those conversations,” I said. There was no need to be angry. From my point of view, simply asking the question would make the point I wanted to make.

She looked at me with an expression of shame. “Rob, I told him how you dislike Sidney and some of the things he’s said to you,” she said.

“Well, that wouldn’t be anything Dracula doesn’t already know. Anything else?”

“I told him about how scared I’ve been at times, and how much it bothers me that those two thugs might be released from prison back in Venice.”

“He ought to know that,” I countered. “But I don’t want you to tell him anything more about my board relationships, if you please.”

“I’m sorry, Rob,” she said, a tear running down her cheek.

My frustration with my wife has been overarching over the last week. Yet, there’s never a thought that I don’t love her. I’m frustrated with her because I love her, not because I don’t.

Unfortunately, it took a newspaper article for her to realize that I’ve got issues with the way she speaks with Hardcastle. The article wasn’t related to her conversations, but it allowed her to bridge a very important recent gap in our relationship.

“What will I do, Rob?” she asked.

“You’re a smart lady, so I’m sure you’ll know what to do when the time comes,” I said, finally crossing over to her side of the breakfast table. “We’ll figure it out together, if you like.”

“Of course I like,” she said. “But I have something to show you.”

With that, she got up from her chair and walked into our bedroom. “Come on,” she smiled, beckoning for me to follow her.

I did, and she stopped in the entryway. She pulled her blouse up past her stomach and grabbed my hand.

“I’m starting to show,” she said proudly, placing my hand on her slightly expanded tummy.

That finally broke the iceblock that has encased her husband for the last few days. I smiled down at her and she looked up at me.

“This is senseless, Rob,” she said. “I love you. Can’t you see that?”

I opened my arms and Patty nestled softly against me. It was another of those instances where talking wouldn’t have solved anything. This time she was speaking to me with her body and as she cuddled up against me, it spoke volumes.

She looked up at me again, green eyes wide with emotion. “I can’t do this by myself, Rob,” she said. “I need help.”

Patty tilted her head slightly and kissed me deeply. Slowly, she backed me up to our bed and in a flash, she had placed a leg behind one of mine and pushed, dropping me heavily onto the mattress.

Smiling at me, she lifted her blouse fully over her head and tossed it aside before sliding next to me.

“Forget him,” she said, kissing me again. “Please.”

# # #

[viperk1]

So much for these stories being suitable for children

I don't think I even need to say how good this story is - mostly because everyone else has done it so often.

Keep it up, 10-3!

[copperhorse21]

This story is so good, even real life mimicks it....check out the matching story arcs regarding "bugging"

http://soccernet.espn.go.com/world-cup/story/_/id/752899/ce/uk/?cc=5901&ver=us

wink!

[tenthreeleader]

Well, viper, the top of the thread does mention adult themes ... and Copper, sometimes I wonder if it's a Rat Pack world and I'm just living in it!

___

Arriving at the office was a bit of an experience. I mentioned a black mood, but the issue I had today was one of fending off gallows humor.

I walked past Dillon’s office to find it draped in black bunting. That wasn’t good.

Neither was my earlier foray past Waters’ office, which revealed a tiny guillotine placed on one corner of his desk.

Staff morale is going through the floor due to Weatherby’s article and that meant only one thing could fix it. That would have been a word from the owner.

Sir John was irritated, but happy to provide that word. It was a measure only he could have taken, and he was the only one from whom such a gesture would have been accepted.

His company-wide message this morning said that Weatherby had raised issues that were not intended to be made public but that since they had been leaked to the press, he wanted to assure all staff at the club that their positions were in no danger.

“I fully intend to be the owner of this club for many years to come,” he wrote. “Provided work is being done well and in a timely manner, no staff member of Reading Football Club need fear. I know that this talented staff has always shown a great work ethic and my fervent wish is that we all return to our jobs as usual.”

It was said. Whether people would believe it or not was quite another matter.

I myself had a talk with Dillon, who was considering drastic action in the form of his resignation.

“Rob, I did tell you that I wanted to manage in the Premiership someday,” he said as I sat opposite him, sipping from my morning cup of coffee. “I’m actually thinking of resigning my post.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t,” I answered. “Kevin, we’re on the verge of good things here and you helped build them. It would be a shame from the club’s point of view.”

“I don’t want to get caught in the undertow between you and the board,” he said. “Surely you understand that. I know it’s not your doing, because Mr. Richmond wants to buy the club and you fight the battles with the board that the manager sometimes has to fight. But there are good people here, Rob, and they don’t need the worry that Mr. Richmond is creating.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” I said. “That’s why I’d like people to at least consider staying the course before doing anything drastic.”

“Or before it’s done to them,” Dillon said darkly. “It never used to be like that here, Rob.”

“We were never in the Champions League before, and we were never a cash cow before,” I said. “It’s amazing what will happen to men who love money when they figure out they can make a bit more of it than they used to.”

“Don’t I know it,” he answered, sighing heavily after he spoke. “There are reputations at stake here, Rob, and not just your own. I’m sure that comes as no surprise to you.”

“It comes as no surprise to Sir John either,” I replied. “This is the kind of stuff I seem to put up with every day, and there’s no fun in it. But then, I suppose that comes as no surprise to you.”

# # #

For me, it was then time to look at video of Newcastle and Paris St. Germain.

The VEGA work our scouting department did on the Magpies was clear and concise. Sam Allardyce has them playing well and they’re eighth in the early table despite having two games in hand on us.

Meanwhile, the Frenchmen aren’t playing especially well. They are off to a slow start, just above mid-table in Ligue One, and not scoring many goals either.

Of course, I have heard that in order to win, you have to be able to dent the twine at your opponent’s end, so I suppose that should come as no great surprise.

Mika Aaritalo, a very versatile Finnish attacker who was on my shortlist for a time last year, is probably their most fluent offensive player. The matches I watched showed a side that hasn’t quite hit its stride, so now’s the time we want to be playing them.

It’s our first Champions League group match, it’s at home, and from what I can tell it’s against a club we can be reasonably expected to handle. In short, it’s the ideal matchup.

Meanwhile, Hamburg and Barca will beat on each other in their first match and we’ll get the Germans after the Catalans are done with them. I don’t see a downside to that.

Of course, we have to do the business. We surely can’t take it for granted.

It’s going to be a busy couple of days, with so many of the players away for mid-week internationals and then flying in for games this weekend. Our squad is going to be depleted and even those returning from the international matches who don’t play will be on short preparation for an important match.

Really, it’s another argument for squad expansion. I’d much prefer to have a squad of rested players from which to choose for Newcastle but that isn’t going to be possible.

One of those players I’d love to have at his peak is Dagoberto, who is on a purple patch that can help carry this club. However, he’s in Dunga’s team for Brazil and I dare not mess with that.

He has worked long and hard to get into A Seleçào and deserves whatever opportunity he gets. So, I sit and hope he doesn’t get either hurt or jet-lagged, while being happy for his opportunity.

That is, while I chew my fingernails.

# # #

[gavrenwick]

That is, while I chew my fingernails.

Awful habit to get into, that.

[tenthreeleader]

Sadly, it is. But life is full of bad habits, unfortunately.

___

Tuesday, September 8

Well, here we go again. Again.

The national press has now had one full news cycle to digest Weatherby’s article and as a result, my media briefing was full of vim and vigor this morning.

It also marked the return of Emiliani, who has been badgering Arsene Wenger for the last couple of weeks. You’re welcome, Arsene.

Looking like a man who knows he has work to do, Stefano showed up today looking like he had been slighted. He also stayed on the opposite side of the press room from Weatherby, and I thought that was a good thing.

While taking questions about Newcastle, I watched the body language of the two journalists. I found it refreshing to see that someone else has the same general opinion of Stefano’s tactics as I do.

Now, I should say this: personally, he’s not really a bad guy. I just don’t care for his journalism. Some of the stuff he writes makes me want to rip his arms off and beat him with his own flabby appendages. That does tend to put a damper on things from a relationship standpoint.

While listening to the press nattering on this morning, I wrote his full name down on my notes sheet in front of me and started re-arranging letters. I like to do the daily Jumble puzzles from time to time and soon I realized his name is an anagram for “A Menial Notifies”.

With a half-smile, I played around with the words some more in between questions.

“A Menial Softie In.”

“A Alien Emits Info.” Pardon the poor usage.

“A Salient Foe Mini.”

Now the smile on my face was getting harder to hide.

Finally, he asked.

“Rob, what has you in such a good mood?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned about the week coming up?

“It’s good to have you back, Stefano,” I said, to a confused expression from the Italian. “Having you here is salient to what I’m thinking at the moment.”

# # #

[mametz1536]

Here an Anagram - Mother-in-law - Woman Hitler

[tenthreeleader]

I love the internet anagram generator

___

“I don’t know why I keep you in this group.”

Richmond was fit to be tied. Reaction to Weatherby’s piece had been uniformly bad for the director, and it came at the worst possible time.

“I’ve said it before, Sidney. It’s because I have things to offer you and I can get at Ridgway.”

“That silly little slip you made to People magazine led to all this,” Richmond snapped. “Weatherby would have had no idea what we plan had you not slipped and told them you controlled Patty Ridgway’s modeling contract.”

“Bad fortune,” McGuire said, with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Stupidity,” Richmond said icily. “You need to leave your personal affairs, if you will, out of my business.”

“Ours,” McGuire corrected.

“Don’t push me, Peter,” Richmond replied. “I have no use for people who push me. I control this enterprise and you had best be reminded of that.”

“Of course you do,” McGuire answered, finally getting run over by the clue bus.

“No more slips,” Richmond said. “Honestly, Peter. We can’t afford another round of bad publicity. When I get into the community and start to show people why from a financial standpoint it’s best if I run the club, things will change. All we need is to get through to the knockout stages of the Champions League, or even drop down into the UEFA Cup, and the pedigree will be established.”

“Don’t you need Ridgway for that?” McGuire asked.

“Not necessarily,” Richmond answered. “Though, he is in the position for now. When we run things, of course that will be different. How would you like to look at our touchline and see Louis van Gaal or Jose Mourinho there instead of that American side of beef called Rob Ridgway?”

“I’d like it,” McGuire admitted. “After all, I am a fan as well. But I think we’d need to be a little farther along before we could attract someone of that caliber.”

“The Champions League brings in real managers,” Richmond said, now pontificating on a subject he knew little about. “I can’t wait until someone of that stature is under our employ. We’ll win big, and the money coming in will be more than you can count.”

“I can count pretty high,” McGuire said.

“Bright boy,” Richmond mused before turning back to his balance sheets.

# # #

There are other news items in our league. We don’t make all the news, even though it sometimes seems like it.

Manchester City’s Micah Richards is the subject of an inquiry from – wait for it – Chelsea.

I know that will come as a complete shock. I myself was stunned to read the news. Well, okay. Not actually stunned.

Evidently Roman Abramovich doesn’t have enough players to field three complete Premiership sides, so he is after the Citizens’ ace full back.

After the story in this morning’s Telegraph, Sven-Goran Eriksson nearly ruptured himself getting to the microphones to deny speculation, making him, by default, the fastest-moving Swede since Ingemar Stenmark.

He said all the right things about his England performer, and noted that he is in fact under contract to City past the January window. In short, he said the things that matter to the fans of his club but which don’t matter at all to the club that wants the player. That is the law of the jungle in this game.

So Sven did what he had to do. And again, as I watched him on the morning news shows, I wondered why Reading, which was the pick of the media to finish second in this year’s Premiership and earn an automatic berth into the Champions League, doesn’t have this kind of trouble.

It’s because in the eyes of the footballing world, we still haven’t ‘arrived’ yet. That’s fine with me, because I really don’t want the kind of speculation that comes along with being in Sven’s situation, but over the long run it might change.

If Richmond succeeds in buying the club, it more than likely will change. That won’t be to the benefit of the manager, whoever he is, because that will be the guy who has to make sure it happens.

That isn’t to say that I don’t have a mandate to do the same thing. It’s just that I think Sir John will be a little more realistic in how that goal is reached. It’s certainly not difficult to imagine which individual I’d rather call my boss.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

Wednesday, September 9

DCI Alba Fulton was back in my office. She was on the prowl. So to speak.

As I have opined previously, that in itself wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Had I not been married, she would have been even easier on my eyes.

Hers are brown and rather attractive, by the way.

Dropping everything for another visit from the gendarmerie wasn’t high on my list of things to do this morning, but the police wait for no man. Fulton had a good reason for being in my office and once I got up the nerve to approach her, I asked what it was.

She was doing another sweep of my office. The revelation in Weatherby’s story that the private security firm protecting my wife was connected to an individual owned by a person of interest in this case meant that she just wanted to be sure.

“I have no problem with Mr. Hardcastle,” Fulton explained. “But I have to make absolutely certain. We have worked with him in the past without trouble but it is important that we make our own judgments here.”

She was telling me something without telling me something. The mind games were beginning, and I could tell right away that she was better at them than, say, Rafa Benitez.

I thought I knew the answer to the question in my mind, but asked it anyway.

“Why would he be anything less than professional when I am paying him?” I asked. “His reputation would be ruined if it turned out he wasn’t truthful.”

“In the beginning of an investigation, you can’t rule out anything,” the inspector said, supervising another officer using a detection device to sweep the room. “Or anyone.”

If she intended to pause for dramatic effect, she had a sense of theatre that was keen.

“I’ve seen instances where people are promised more money than they could make in their own private business – buyout arrangements being the most popular method of doing this – in exchange for doing the work they want done,” she added.

“Do you think anyone would really do that to Hardcastle?” I asked. “Could anyone do that to Hardcastle?”

“As you say in the States, ‘you just never know’,” Fulton said.

That was a frightening thought. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time a good man had been turned, and for a moment my thoughts turned to something other than my job while I was in my office. It was a disquieting feeling.

Stepping down the hall, I headed into the video room to prepare for the first session with the players regarding Newcastle, which will be tomorrow.

Some of the more far-flung players such as Dagoberto won’t be back until Thursday, but then he already knows the nuances of what we’ll try to do so he won’t require quite as much preparation work. For him, the big issue will be leg rest.

It was a bit of an imposition for me to have to move like that, but the cause was obviously just. I just don’t like disruptions to my routine, and this certainly qualified.

I took out Shorey’s report. Even though he’s not the advance scout, he is the chief scout which means all reports flow through him. A series of Newcastle reports greeted me, followed by a smaller series on PSG. I’m going to watch video on them myself later on in the week.

As I’ve mentioned, they are playing well. I was about twenty minutes into a video when I saw two more police constables heading toward my office at a hurried pace. One of them carried a clear plastic bag.

That brought me out of my chair at a leap, and I nearly beat the officers back to my office.

There, Fulton was staring at one side of my desk, on the right-hand side of the room as a visitor enters it. That side faces the wall, and that side of my office furniture had attracted everyone’s attention.

“Pictures,” she said, and a constable handed her a camera. She peered into the crack between the desk and the wall, and an object was visible. You just had to know exactly where to look.

When the photos were taken, she motioned to the three men.

“Right, let’s move the desk,” she said, and soon the heavy oak object was pulled away from the wall. Strong men, those cops.

There was a second device, but now the red light on it was extinguished.

“Gloves,” she reminded the men, and soon the offending device was in an evidence bag.

“Mr. Ridgway, judging by the dust on it, I’d say that device has been there for awhile,” Fulton said. “I would guess your conversations in this room have been monitored for about six months.”

“Strong batteries,” I mused, to no one in particular.

“Probably voice-activated,” she said, noting that the red light was again on as she spoke.

“Charming,” I replied. I picked up my phone to notify the chairman.

“We’re going to do a complete sweep of the building now,” she said. “Also, we’re going to ask Scotland Yard for help. It’s quite possible that with the persons of interest we have idenfitied, this may qualify as a financial crime as well.”

“Inspector, you are definitely the boss,” I said, and Fulton gave me a wan smile in return. “Tell us what you need done, and I am sure the chairman will see to it.”

Soon other officers were doing their jobs in offices all around the building.

As Fulton left, it never occurred to me to ask why the police – and Hardcastle – had both failed to pull my desk away from the wall during the initial search of my office.

As I headed back to the video room, I thought long and hard about that.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

There was only one problem. Having that many squad cars parked outside the club offices was bound to attract attention.

I went to visit my friend Waters. “Andrew, we are going to have an issue this afternoon that will require your immediate and undivided attention,” I told him. “Be ready. I don’t want Winthrop anywhere near this and I am going to the chairman to make sure of it.”

“What happened?” he asked.

“In my office, you will find DCI Fulton of the Thames Valley Police,” I said. “She will either tell you what is happening or will direct you to someone who can. Do what she says. That’s all I can tell you.”

Nervously, Waters got up and headed down the hall toward my office. He did have work to do.

# # #

BREAKING NEWS EXCLUSIVE

Listening devices found in Ridgway's office

Jill Weatherby

The Post’s Football Reporter

The struggle in the corridors of power at Reading Football Club has taken a new and bizarre twist as listening devices have been found in the office of manager Rob Ridgway.

Thames Valley Police visited the club offices this morning.

A statement released by police said simply that ‘multiple devices have been found in the manager’s office and police are sweeping the entire club office space to ensure the security of employees in the performance of their duties’.

The Post can reveal that at least one such device monitored a conversation between this reporter and Ridgway. The Post has retained counsel to deal with any issues that may arise from this incident, which is under active investigation by Thames Valley Police.

The club is preparing a statement this afternoon. Owner Sir John Madejski has communicated with staff regarding the issue and assured them that their privacy will be protected.

We will provide further information on this breaking story as it becomes available.

# # #

It was a circus.

Anyone who hadn’t a clue as to what has been going on in our boardroom certainly did now. And since the English press excels at jumping to conclusions, the television cameras lined up outside the club offices certainly gave the impression that there would be plenty of speculation on the news channels.

The headlines were already starting to appear on the news websites – everything from Bug in His Ear to Micro(phone) Management. Some of them were good, some of them weren’t.

While sitting in the lounge this afternoon simply trying to hide, I saw Sky Sports open a half-hour segment with video of the police constables moving in and out of the office to the tune of The Beatles’ Do You Want To Know A Secret:

Listen, do you want to know a secret? Do you promise not to tell?

‘Witty’, I thought as I turned back to the sheaf of papers I had in front of me. I had given Fulton the evil eye when she suggested searching my personal documents, but my office was now being turned upside down by the constables and had been roped off as a place of evidence.

I finally got to ask the question that had come to the front of my mind. Fulton’s answer was simple, elegant, and not exactly confidence-boosting. She had given the assignment to search my entire office and it hadn’t been followed. She was as unhappy about that as I was.

The annoyance that the search was causing was profound. As Fulton cleared various parts of the room, Waters would bring certain mission-critical items to me – such as the laptop computer on which I keep the overwhelming majority of my records and notes. The computer had to be swept by a special machine that scanned the hard drive for nasty electronic programs. The machine appeared far more advanced than anything I had seen commercially.

Of course, there’s a reason for that, so when the report thankfully came back negative, I could be as sure as I could be that there was nothing bad on the machine.

My preparation was being interrupted, which was the really annoying part of it all. Most of the players won’t be back until tomorrow, of course, but the problem is that I may be as ready as I usually am for the start of the squad preparation.

That would really be too bad, and just makes me angrier at the person who placed the devices. And since I think I know who that person is, he had better not cross my path any time soon.

# # #

[gavrenwick]

Do You Want To Know A Secret is a favourite tune of mine. I'm still stuck imagining Jessica Alba as DCI Fulton. It's like Rat Pack is playing in my head as a movie now.

[stoehrst]

Say, 10-3, just watching your Grammar and such like a hawk...

I thought Waters' first name was Andrew? Rob calls him William at the beginning there.

Also, fourth paragraph from bottom, second sentence must be missing a word or two, because it doesn't make sense, though I know what you were trying to say so it didn't interrupt flow too much.

And now, back to my base of operations in a small cave on Easter Island!!!!

[Dalbeider]

Also, fourth paragraph from bottom, second sentence must be missing a word or two, because it doesn't make sense, though I know what you were trying to say so it didn't interrupt flow too much.

My bet is on "being" -> "bring". That makes it make sense, at least.

[tenthreeleader]

Apologies for a sub-par post yesterday. That was obviously a part of the text I hadn't sufficiently proofed. Continuity errors drive me nuts and of course the garble did not help either. Thanks to all.

___

Thursday, September 10

“I am telling you, I did not bug Ridgway’s office!”

Peter McGuire was on his phone. And he was defending himself.

He sat in his townhouse in London, just prior to making his morning commute to the office. The drive wasn’t too bad, but then, he didn’t have to make it, did he? That was why he paid a driver, so he could sit in the back seat and plot ‘business strategy’.

“You know how this looks,” Richmond said. “Peter, I said no more mistakes.”

“Well, I didn’t make one!” McGuire said. “I don’t know how that happened, perhaps it went back to last season.”

“Well, you remember that you were involved with last season,” Richmond said. “And you were involved with our planning regarding Ridgway. Everyone is going to think you had the bugs planted, and you know what that means to the business side of the operation.”

McGuire disagreed. Anyone with knowledge of the situation would suspect that Richmond had planted the devices, but now was not the time to argue.

“I admit it wouldn’t be good,” he started to reply, before Richmond cut him off.

“Peter, this morning I am issuing a statement that says I am assisting police with their enquiries,” the director snapped. “I can do no other thing. You claim you had nothing to do with this. You had better be right.”

Richmond took a deep breath. “Our takeover is on the knife’s edge because of this and I will not allow anything to jeopardize it,” he said. “We are quite clear, are we not?”

“We are,” McGuire said. Richmond broke the connection.

# # #

The Day After began, not surprisingly, with the press.

I was more interested in what happened last night in the international matches, to be quite frank. There’s nothing I can do regarding the investigation and if I had tried, Fulton would have tied me in a knot. That would have provided an interesting mental picture, but little in the way of new information.

So, I must have said “I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation” about a dozen times during what was now a packed media briefing.

“I just can’t talk about it, fellows,” I finally said. That made Weatherby frown, but I can’t have everything.

“I won’t say anything that will jeopardize an investigation and I won’t speculate on anything that may harm this club or its mission. That’s pretty simple and it is the only comment I have.”

It was disappointing to the press, but they had to have me saying something.

At that moment, Winthrop appeared, with a sheaf of news releases in his hand. He started passing them down the rows of reporters.

My annoyance bubbled over the top. “Mr. Winthrop, what are you doing?” I asked.

He stopped at the last row of reporters, having worked the room from front to back. “Statement from the board,” he said simply. “Apologies for not letting you know about it.”

Trying very hard not to say what was on my mind, I simply nodded. There was a very good reason Winthrop had ‘forgotten’ to talk to me.

“Comment on this, Rob?” Weatherby asked.

“Obviously, I haven’t seen it, have I?” I asked, trying to keep my temper. “I’ll have no comment on anything I haven’t had the chance to read. Next question.”

# # #

[copperhorse21]

Do You Want To Know A Secret is a favourite tune of mine. I'm still stuck imagining Jessica Alba as DCI Fulton. It's like Rat Pack is playing in my head as a movie now.

You have that image stuck in your memory...but from which Alba movie? Sin City seems like a good choice. Of course, Richmond and Maguire remind me more of the bald yellow guy who gets it at the end...

[tenthreeleader]

Well, mental imagery can be a good thing (Alba) or bad (Richmond). Your choice

___

Since nobody wanted to talk about the topic, I went to my ransacked office to pick up my laptop and catch up on the international events of the night before.

The reason I wondered if someone would ask me about those games was because of what happened to Frank Lampard.

Chelsea’s talisman sprained his ankle late in last night’s 5-0 away win for England over Israel in World Cup qualifying. That may have a profound impact on the race both in the short and long terms.

The injury occurred just eight minutes from time, which made it all the more heartbreaking for England and for Chelsea’s fans. He actually made a hard challenge, and twisted his ankle underneath him. There was just no reason for him to be doing that in a game well and truly won.

Yet, in a moment of madness, that’s just what he had done. Now the champions will be without the services of one of the world’s best midfielders for several weeks, which helps everyone involved in their pursuit.

Meanwhile, the co-leaders of Group 5 are Portugal and Scotland. The Tartan Army is enjoying success like it hasn’t seen in ages.

Last night, Garry O’Connor fired a hat trick home in front of a joyous crowd at Hampden Park as the Scots dismissed Albania 4-0. There’s World Cup fever north and south of the border, with England cruising to a 100 percent record so far in its group – and so far, haven’t conceded so much as a single goal in the process.

Dagoberto played for Brazil last night, and is winging his way here as I write. Dunga brought him on as a 78th minute substitute, but that wasn’t enough time for him to make an impact in a 1-1 draw with Colombia.

That result will heap even more pressure on the manager, as the fans of the Samba Kings expect better and better each time out.

My squad is starting to come home in dribs and drabs. The morning session was a bit better in terms of attendance with some of the youth players back in the fold, but we’re still a long way from full strength.

# # #

I actually took training myself today. That was due in part to lack of numbers to fill out drills but also because I just felt the need for a stress reliever.

Reporting to the pitch in full kit for the first time since my retirement at Frosinone caused a bit of a stir.

I wore Reading workout shorts and my old Rat Pack shirt with the crown on it. I hadn’t worn mine since the day I gave the shirts to last year’s squad as a motivator for being the underdog.

Now we are no longer the underdog, at least not in the eyes of the pundits, but I personally feel like one. My privacy and work conversations have been violated and during the time Fulton suspects the bugging took place, I’ve talked about players, strategy and any number of other topics related to running a football club.

I think McGuire is the person who bugged me, of course, but honestly it could be anyone. All I know is that whoever did knows a lot about Reading Football Club that they ought not to know, if they have been paying attention.

So, I was plenty frustrated as I reported to the training pitch.

Dillon, Kitson and Lita all did simultaneous double-takes as I approached.

“What have we got here?” Lita asked as I approached.

“Your manager, who is looking for a scrap,” I said. “I want to see if you’ve still got it, while playing against the old man.”

“Oh, no, you don’t want to do that,” Lita laughed. My look in reply told him that he was, in fact, mistaken.

“I want my turn with the defenders,” I insisted.

“Okay, boss,” Kitson replied, a characteristic grin crossing his face. “But don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

The players arrived in dribs and drabs, finally assembling for instructions five minutes before the start of the scheduled training. I like my players to be early to the training pitch and am clear in my expectations in that regard, so thankfully we haven’t had some of the training issues other clubs have had.

This time, though, when I gave the talk, I was dressed like one of them.

“Just get the legs back,” I said. “Easy stuff today but I want to work on defending set pieces since Newcastle have done very well with them of late. Our VEGA shows us some things they like to try and today you’ll learn both what those tricks are, and how we’re going to defend them.”

Newcastle has a full bag of tricks. So we went through them one by one.

Along the way, I had the opportunity to mark both Kitson and Baptista at various times. To say they were both handfuls for my 39-year old body would be an understatement.

I know there are people like David Weir who play on and on in my old position on the park. Unfortunately, it’s people like David who remind me why there are so few people who play on and on in my position on the park.

It’s because he’s a physical marvel and I’m not. I wasn’t good enough to play in the Premiership, so to take my turn against a world-class player like Baptista and a striker on the fringes of the England squad in Kitson was a real education.

It was also a classic beatdown and I don’t mind saying it. I was there for the exercise, while my strikers were there to humiliate their manager. In fun, of course.

The person who actually gave me the most abuse wasn’t any of the strikers, it was poor Adam Federici, who got to face the onslaught that his manager’s malfeasance in central defense helped create.

It all served to keep the squad loose. Many of them were squad players anyway, so to see the manager among them kept me humble while it showed the players I hadn’t forgotten about them at the same time.

Of course, as I age I’m going to be less and less able to do this sort of thing, but for today, I had the opportunity to forget what might be going on in my office for a few moments. There was nothing wrong with that.

# # #

[JimT]

Nothing like some fresh air and exercise to clear the mind.

Like many I am awaiting with bated breathe the outcome of the Richmond/MacGuire scrap.

Probably more so than the league results as, given a decent break of the ball, I believe you will end up Champions ready to strut your stuff in Europe next season.

[tenthreeleader]

But no pressure, eh, Jim? Thanks for your optimism!

___

“If you don’t want to be called a bloody stupid clot, then don’t act like one.”

“So they found the microphones. Big deal. We have the information we want anyway and we know Ridgway well enough to be able to take him out when the time comes.”

“We could have done that anyway, even without the microphones. You bloody stupid clot.”

“I tell you, stop that. I haven’t been stupid, and neither has anyone who works for us. It’s only people like you, who lack vision, who haven’t seen the advantages of what we’ve done.”

“Advantage? What advantage is that? Just sympathy for him.”

“Where we are going, no one will have any sympathy for poor Rob Ridgway. If you want to call anyone stupid, it may as well be him. He never saw it coming, but he’ll pay the price. He’ll learn, sooner or later, that when we speak, he listens. Or he pays.”

“We’ve brought in some new muscle.”

“I’ve seen the picture. Quite the physical specimen. I think he’s the third one in from the right on the evolution chart.”

“Clever. But it will be over soon. That, I promise.”

# # #

Friday, September 11

There must be games going on this weekend. The managers are starting to play mind games.

To paraphrase Monty Python’s John Cleese, ‘it’s people like them what cause unrest’. And that’s the way it’s supposed to be.

Today’s missives came from Sammy Lee of Bolton and David Moyes of Everton. Their targets, respectively, were Arsene Wenger and Avram Grant.

The lower-placed managers have matches coming up of some importance and the bosses are trying to instill some self-belief.

Lee doesn’t believe Arsenal have the quality to win it all. Judging purely by their performance against us, he may be right. But judging by their performance against everyone else, he may have another guess coming.

Meanwhile, Moyes says he doesn’t think Chelsea will defend their title, which is sort of like rooting against Microsoft. It’s possible someone will beat them out, I suppose, but it’s not terribly likely. Everton will get the first chance to prove themselves, as Moyes and Grant go head to head this weekend.

So, if those two clubs won’t win the title, who might? Well, I suppose United and Liverpool.

The optimist might also add ‘and Reading’, but we’re fourth heading into tomorrow’s match and we have plenty of ground to make up.

When discussing legitimate title contenders, I don’t know that it’s really safe to include us at this point in time (or, ‘at the present moment’, as my friend Walter Smith would say). But the jockeying is beginning.

Before the morning was out, both Messrs Lee and Moyes had been politely advised to mind their own business by Messrs Wenger and Grant respectively.

Frankly, I don’t really like to get into the sort of situations where I am actively playing mind-games against other managers. I’d prefer to let my team’s play do the talking, and the fact of the matter is that some day I might need something (or a player) from any one of my competitors. It’s best therefore, from my point of view, not to antagonize.

So I always smile when managers do it to each other. Someday, though, if we stay close enough to the top, someone may well try to do it to me. As I showed last year with Moyes, at that point it’s ‘game on’ because I won’t back down from anyone. I just don’t want to start it.

# # #

[copperhorse21]

"...because I won't back down from anyone. I just don't want to start it."

Reads like some foreshadowing to me, but with different characters, namely the ones listed in the top half of the previous post..and I'm loving every arc of it.

[tenthreeleader]

Sometimes foreshadowing takes awhile to develop ... and sometimes it doesn't Sometimes, it's a false alarm too Who knows?

___

With Premiership matches coming up tomorrow, it’s certainly good to see the media already looking past them and toward the Champions League at midweek. Or, perhaps not.

SkyBet released its odds for the European Cup this morning. I may have to deal with increased expectations that we frankly are not ready to assume.

Holders Real Madrid have been installed by the bookmakers as the likely favorite to retain the Cup, at odds of 15-2. That’s barely ahead of archrivals Barcelona and Juventus, both at 8-1.

What I find interesting is this: we have been placed alongside Arsenal in the odds, and better than Manchester United. We’re at 12-1, just a pip behind Chelsea. The contenders are, supposedly:

Real Madrid 15-2

Barcelona 8-1

Juventus 8-1

Inter 9-1

Valencia 10-1

Chelsea 11-1

Arsenal, Reading 12-1

Manchester United 14-1

The fact that no English teams are at single-figure odds shows the balance of power shifting in the European game, according to the experts.

Tonight on television, no less an authority than Mark Lawrenson said so. Pretty much in so many words.

I don’t want to take those comments and put them on a bulletin board or anything, but I did say last season that we were at least a year away from being able to put on a European run of any significance. I want to see where we go in this year’s Champions League and, assuming I’m around long enough to enjoy the fruits of my labors, to see where we wind up going in the future.

Yet the oddsmakers feel differently. Perhaps my own expectations have been set too low.

# # #

Oh, by the way: training with the team yesterday was not a good idea. I woke up this morning in considerable pain.

Not from soreness, mind you. I keep a fastidious workout schedule in addition to everything else I do, usually right after I arrive at the training center in the morning. I’m in shape, but this was different.

I made a very sharp cut trying to defend Kitson in the last drill of yesterday and felt something move in my left knee. It didn’t hurt too much at the time, and I continued on thinking I had taken a simple misstep.

Yet this morning, I realized as soon as I tried to move that I was quite wrong.

Feeling a deep soreness in the joint as I got out of bed, I wound up supporting myself against the wall on the way to the kitchen table.

I didn’t want to disturb Patty, who was still sleeping. She needs her rest. I, on the other hand, simply felt stupid.

Derek Wright was the first person I wanted to see today, and judging by my gimp, he was expecting me.

“You don’t look good at all, Rob,” he said. “Let’s get some time with you after the players are done this morning.”

That was fair. I couldn’t go ahead of the players in my treatment and when I sat down at my desk it didn’t hurt quite as badly. So I could live with that.

Yet, at the start of training, with Dillon running the team, I went to see my England physio.

He palpitated the joint in ways I didn’t think it could be moved. That’s why he gets the big bucks and has the foolscap hanging from his wall. When I didn’t say anything to a particular movement, he moved on to the next. When he had to scrape me off the ceiling, he had his answer.

“You have injured your MCL,” he said, referring to the medial collateral ligament. “I don’t believe it’s ruptured or anything like that, but it could be a tear.”

“Oh, great,” I moaned. “Surgery?”

“Possibly,” he said.

“Will it take me away from the team? This is a bad time for it.”

“Shouldn’t for more than a day or two,” he answered. “You’ll need time to let things settle down afterward, but before any surgery you’ll of course need an MRI to make sure my diagnosis is correct.”

“How long will that take?”

“We have access to specialists,” he said. “It’ll be a few days yet but the thing to know here is that if you brace up the knee you ought to be able to get around. It’s just going to hurt.”

Leaning my head back in frustration, I cursed myself for not thinking it all through. Any medical procedure – MRI or otherwise – was going to take me away from the team at the time I could least afford it.

The Big Four minefield at the start of the season has been cleared with acceptable results. The time is now for us to make a real move and stake our claim to a top place. We’re getting ready for the Champions League proper.

And I screw up my knee because I work out when I’m angry.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. If I were still an active player I would have expected my manager to round on me for such a thing. Except I’m the boss. I have to round on myself.

And believe me, I’m doing it.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

I gave the pre-match briefing this afternoon – seated, unfortunately – but the message the players got was the same.

“Tomorrow is statement day,” I said. “We’re entering play in fourth place and we’ve got a chance to solidify that position if you keep our bottle and do what is required at home. And believe me, what is required is a solid win. We want the momentum heading into the PSG match this midweek and there’s no better way to find it than to kick a little tail tomorrow.”

“I like how we’re playing now,” I added. “If we play the way we can play, we’ll have no trouble.”

I thought for a minute and the players looked in at me intently.

“And as for all the stuff going on around here,” I said, rising to my feet even though it hurt like hell to walk, “I want you to understand something.”

You could have heard a pin drop in the room as, ignoring that pain, I began to pace.

“The reason there is so much crap to contend with is that you players are really doing well. You are doing what has been asked of you, you’ve bought into our scheme and the way we do things here, and you are succeeding. Therefore, the club for which you play is in great demand.”

It was an unusual tactic, but I felt the moment called for such.

“I want you to take all this garbage going on as a compliment, not as added pressure,” I added. “The expectations for all of you as players are not set by the papers, they are not set by the board, they are not set by the chairman or by anyone who wants to purchase this club. Your expectations are set by me and by me alone.”

“So, tomorrow, play as freely and easily as you always do. The rest of it is just window dressing. I know you can do it.”

I would like to think the players know it too.

# # #

Saturday, September 12

Reading (4-2-0, 4th place) v Newcastle (2-2-0, 8th place) – EPL Match Day #7

The HobNobbers are exploding with conversation today, or so I’m told.

The Independent has a piece on its website, an exclusive question-and-answer interview with Lobont by chief football writer Ross Gordon, and the captain really sounded off about the extra stuff surrounding the club.

The timing wasn’t exactly ideal in my mind. The match today was frankly important to staking our claim, as I said yesterday, but Lobont felt the time was right to speak. Evidently he had been inspired.

I hadn’t counted on the captain talking to the press, which broke one of my cardinal rules; what is said in the changing room stays there.

To make it more interesting, my number one didn’t mince words, which is why people were talking.

“It is almost as though some people at the club want us to fail,” he said, which gave them a headline that traveled around the country in fairly short order and made all the morning preview shows.

When Gordon asked him to elaborate, Lobont gave it to the reporter with the bark still on.

“The manager is doing all he can, but what he must endure is unprofessional,” Lobont lectured. “It does distract the players and even though the gaffer has told the players to take the controversy as a compliment, you cannot help but think the people who are destabilizing the club do not have its best interests at heart.”

Naturally, Gordon wanted elaboration.

“I do not know all the details, they are not for me to know,” he was quoted as saying. “I am a player and my job is to play rather than worry about who is in charge in the board room. But I am the captain of this team as well and it is my responsibility to speak out regarding those issues which affect us as as players. This affects us. How could it not?”

The writer pointed out that the results of the intrigue hadn’t been effective so far, so how bad could it really be?

“The players are under pressure,” he warned. “We do not wish to be used as pawns in a battle to control the club. That is not proper and it is not right. We want to win football matches and we want to do well for ourselves and our club. The manager believes in us so we want to do well for him also.”

That was certainly nice to read.

“Why do you think there is trouble?” Gordon asked.

“Because, as I said, I think there are people inside the club who want to see us fail. I cannot say who that is, but I believe it is designed, for a purpose.”

Unfortunately, Lobont cast more heat then any corresponding light he hay have shed. It was good to have people talking, though, and as a result when Patty and I reached the ground this morning we saw a very encouraging sight.

A large banner was strung alongside the boundary railing of the players’ car park on the opposite side of Biscuitman Way from the stadium.

“Richmond out!”

# # #

[copperhorse21]

Borrowing a famous quote from Keegan...."I would love it. Love it!" (...if Richmond were to be sacked.) Hoping my wish goes better than it did for King Kev...

[Motherlover]

Lobont is a legend

[coloradogkb]

I hope Lobont just got tenured. I might hang a "Richmound out!" sign up on my office door.

I was wondering if you ever look in on your old club and players?

[tenthreeleader]

Yes, indeed, Bogdan Lobont = legend. This entry is to reflect his new-found status on the club's favored players list.

Colorado, yes I do check in on Padova. There is a fair bit of writing on it from last season's writeup including some correspondence between Rob and his former player Stefano Sacchetti.

I didn't tie up that loose end, though, from last season, and I regret that. Padova finished 9-12-21 in its season in Serie B and was relegated back to Serie C1A after finishing 22nd and last. At the time of this writing, they are eighth in their old competition, three points off the playoff places.

For those who remember from Calcio, players still with the first team include Antonio DiNardo (don't ask me why), Andrea Rabito (same story), Vasco Faisca (who wants to leave), Mario Donadoni (?!) Angelo Antonazzo, and young keeper Jeremy Busarello, who was an RR youth signing. Oh, yeah, and Massimiliano Caputo, who helped get Padova promoted two seasons ago.

Andrea Bovo, Andrea Gentile and Rob's last signing for Padova, Massimo Margiotta, are in the reserves.

Eder Bau returned to Spezio after his loan with Padova and has scored two goals in 44 games. Poor guy, he was always one of my favorites in this game. His listed value is over two million pounds and if he could distribute the ball a little better he'd be worth even more than that.

Sacchetti retired after the end of last season and is an unemployed coach. Padova's manager remains former Palermo boss Francesco Guidolin, despite his being in charge through a relegation season. And another note: Padova employs more physios than Reading. Who knew?

___

I pulled into my reserved parking space, parked the car, and looked over at Patty.

My wife simply smiled in unspoken reply. We were having a conversation using only our eyes, as we used to do in Italy, and the moment was wonderful.

Finally, she spoke.

“You’re going to be fine, Rob,” she said, reaching over to smooth the collar of my touchline suit, a royal blue double-breasted silk job that I had been wanting to wear for some time. Now that we had a nice late summer afternoon, now was the time to show off. Hopefully in more ways than one.

She leaned over and kissed me tenderly. “Go and do your job,” she said. “I’ll meet you in the 1871 Suite afterward. Let’s have a nice dinner at the stadium and we’ll see where the night goes from there.”

Her volte-face in recent days has been both wonderful and rewarding, and for me it was just like days of yore in Padua. Her mood has been different in recent days, and I’m starting to think that I may have actually done something right with her for a change.

Or, I may have just given her a chance. Either way, it’s better than I’ve been doing.

We stepped out of the car and I offered my arm to her. Softly, she took it and looked up into my eyes as we walked.

“I never left, Rob,” she reminded me as we walked. “That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

I looked sheepishly at her.

“Honey, let’s not go there,” I began. “We’ve been through it all.”

“Nothing like a gentle reminder,” she said, matching me stride for stride down Biscuitman Way. Her entry into the stadium with me was now a comparatively rare thing, and it certainly looked good from a public standpoint to be together in such a happy way.

We reached the entryway, where the early arrivals had gathered, notebooks and programmes in their hands, extended looking for autographs.

I smiled at Patty and she stepped forward, into a gathering of young men who were plainly standing in adoration of her.

I smiled again as she took the first book, neatly signing “Patty Ridgway” in a margin and handing it back to the first man. Not surprisingly, he didn’t offer the book to me. I’d have cheapened it.

Standing outside the little klatch of people, I watched her move easily and effortlessly as I waited to enter the stadium.

As I did, Hardcastle appeared from inside the double doors leading to the reception area. He stood at Patty’s side, peering into the crowd.

He was doing his job.

He then decided to steer her into the stadium, ending her impromptu autograph session. He whispered a quiet word into her ear, and she looked at him, nodding with a very slight bow of her head.

She turned, and his hand dropped surreptitiously to the small of her back to guide her toward the door. Standing not ten feet away, this could not have been lost on me.

He then turned toward me and nodded. As he did, I thought I caught a hint of a frown.

It must have been my imagination.

# # #

[MokBull]

First time I've ever heard of or seen the word "klatch". In that example, though, you could put together any string of syllables and the meaning would be conveyed!

[tenthreeleader]

"Rob Ridgway ... expanding vocabularies since 2008"

___

“With Reading manager Rob Ridgway, Bobby Hopkins reporting.”

It was time to see if the young man had learned anything since the last time he interviewed me live before a match. He dove right in.

“Julio Baptista, will we see his first start for you today? Will we see him in this match?”

“Well, Bobby, if the situation calls for it, yes, you’ll see him. He isn’t starting the match today as he is still regaining match fitness but he’s not far off and we may see him at midweek too.”

“Against Paris St. Germain in the Champions League.”

“According to my fixture list, yes, that’s who we play next.”

I looked at him and smiled. The reporter was trying to keep from blushing.

“But you’re surely glad to have him.”

I let him off the hook. “Yes, no doubt about that,” I replied. “He brings us added options in attack and of course he’s physically quite an imposing player on his day so we need to find places for him to make a difference. Today, though, we will put out the eleven I feel give us the best chance knowing we also have a key match at West Ham next week that we need.”

“Does the midweek Champions League match enter into your thinking on this match?” A better question.

“It does,” I admitted. “I think we’re deep enough to handle both matches but we will have to see because obviously we’ve never tried it before. Our priority is our league.”

At that, Hopkins looked at me like he had been poleaxed.

“Really?”

“Look, we try to win every match we play,” I said. “But if we have to choose, yeah, we want the league. Any manager would, to ensure the growth of his club.”

He said nothing.

“So, we’re using what we would term our standard eleven for today’s match and we’ll see what happens when we play PSG this week.”

“Thank you, Rob,” he said, and the red light on the photographer’s camera went out. Another light seemed to go out for the reporter.

# # #

It was one of those games that took a few minutes to get going.

Makoun’s first appearance on the park drew a few whistles – he is yet to appear on the same pitch with Magallón, who missed the match for us after flying in from Mexico late last night – but other than that, the start to the match was pretty slow.

Antonio Valencia, the winger who has played only 13 first-team matches for Newcastle since his £7.25 million purchase from Villareal last January, was the first player to do anything meaningful. Unfortunately for him, he gained his relevance by hauling Maloney back by his shirt and finding his way into Uriah Rennie’s book just nine minutes into the game.

Thinking about it, perhaps there’s a reason Valencia has played only 13 matches for Newcastle in that time. Beaten badly already, he appeared to be looking for motivation. So, it might not be so hard to think through after all

Belözoglu Emre, who had created such a stir last season by expressing his desire to leave the club on the day we played them at St. James’ Park, put aside his differences with Sam Allardyce long enough to put the first shot on target a couple of minutes later.

Makoun’s lead ball found Emre on the right, but without support, he elected to hold the ball. When no other Magpie moved up at sufficient pace, he gave his teammates a sort of ‘oh, hell’ look of disgust and took off himself. His shot was easily held by Lobont and the veteran Turk had a look of malice in his eyes as he headed back up the park. Newcastle was not firing on all cylinders coming forward.

That was hardly my concern, though. My greater concern was kick-starting my players in the place it would both do them the most good and cause the greatest discomfort. I didn’t like our start either. Newcastle, frankly, were pants and we weren’t much better.

We were ceding far too much possession, especially on our own ground, in the opening minutes. Bikey was off to an especially tentative start, misplacing two early passes that gave up possession in the center circle.

Finally, I got up from the bench and headed out to the touchline, to the general approval of the crowd behind our bench. Limping slightly but braced up, I reached my destination and decided upon my course of action.

As Bikey passed on his way up the park behind the play, I whistled for his attention.

“André!” I called. A second call got his attention.

I smiled at him, and pointed at Shay Given standing across the way.

“We go that way,” I said, motioning toward the Newcastle goal with a sweep of my arm.

Sheepishly, he grinned back at me, and turned back to his job.

So, onward we moved. Bikey’s play stabilized somewhat, and I found myself silently wishing for Magallón’s superior ball-distribution ability. As a primary link between the midfield and the back four, the holder is often called upon to make that critical first pass to start our counter-attack and André has at times struggled to provide it.

Newcastle was begging to be hurt by a quick strike. They weren’t moving their feet, they weren’t playing with pace, and their lack of aggressiveness finally attracted our attention.

Our first good chance, though, had nothing to do with him. It came off a throw-in from the left side where Rosenior, deputizing for Pogatetz, found Sonko higher up the park than I would have expected to find him.

He passed to the right for Ferreira, who worked a neat little wall pass with Kalou and suddenly the Portuguese was loose down the right and looking for options.

His choice was to drop the ball back for Kalou, and the midfielder swiveled beautifully with the ball. He knocked it cleverly past Emre to get to the byline. His cross was true and found Dagoberto.

One reason my striker has been spending time training with Dunga lately is because he hasn’t been missing gift-wrapped chances like that one, and he didn’t miss this time either. Our first serious attempt at goal was behind Given and we led in 18 minutes.

# # #

[Marchie]

Fantastic, as always!

[tenthreeleader]

Many thanks, Marchie! I'll try to get a table posted after the weekend's games too, haven't done that in awhile.

___

There was no doubt all the players who had touched the ball had performed their tasks perfectly, so there was nothing else to do except celebrate sublime execution in every phase.

“Could be fun today, Rob,” Dillon offered at my left on our bench.

“Maybe.”

“Pessimist.”

“Oh, me of little faith,” I admitted.

That started the fans singing, though, and I hadn’t counted on the energy they would create. The chants of “Richmond Out!” started to echo through the place and it was all I could do not to look back over my shoulder at the 1871 Suite and directors’ box on the second terrace level.

It would have brought some satisfaction. Richmond, in actual attendance today but perhaps wishing he wouldn’t have been, sat stone-faced while the people he hopes to win over as chairman of the club expressed their hope for his footballing demise.

While I listened, Newcastle climbed back into the match with Emre providing for Jefferson Farfán. The Peruvian sized up his options at the left side of our penalty area, took careful aim because Huth was slow in closing him down, and calmly blazed over.

Allardyce sat in the stands, watching and trying to be impassive. It was a good chance and his player had muffed it.

Now Bikey reverted to his earlier form, earning a well-deserved booking for trying to read the size tag on the inside of Emre’s shirt by pulling it to his nose.

The Turk was none too pleased, and since the infraction occurred 25 yards from goal, we had to sweat out a nervous little free kick as part of the bargain.

In general, though, we stabilized nicely after the goal. Just after the half hour we earned a free kick to the right of Given’s goal when Francisco Javier Rodriguez knocked Dagoberto over, earning an indirect for his trouble.

Dicã and Dagoberto sized up their options, and the Brazilian moved quickly, rolling a little pass onto the path of the Romanian. Immediately, he tried his luck from 35 yards.

And scored.

It was absolutely stunning, a first-time bender that must have moved a full three feet in the air, twisting past Given’s despairing dive to his left but tucking itself neatly inside the keeper’s left post. He couldn’t have struck it more accurately using a gunsight.

The place just went wild, and Dicã shrugged his shoulders in a confident fashion as he headed off to the right hand corner flag for a little dance and shimmy.

Even I had to react positively to that effort. They’d have had to check me for a pulse if I hadn’t.

Two goals up, the singing began again, as Dicã celebrated his goal by teeing up Maloney for a drive that went off Juan Pablo Garcia and straight to Kitson. The targetman in turn cranked off a shot that went off Farfán, now coming back to help out his hard-pressed defenders.

We kept up the pressure. Bikey, now again turned into Dr. Jekyll, held up the ball after winning it near the center line. He moved the ball to the right for Kalou, who was now the fulcrum of our attack.

They couldn’t stop him, so Kalou took the ball straight to the byline and hooked it back to the right edge of Given’s six-yard box. There, Rodriguez was waiting.

However, Dicã was also waiting, and he timed his leap better. Given had come all the way across his goalmouth to play the angle and Dicã headed the ball back across the goalmouth to the keeper’s left.

Given stood, rooted, as the ball reversed direction over him and home for a 3-0 lead six minutes from the break.

This was just superb stuff. Our best first half of the season was already in full flow and Dicã had scored with his head for the first time in our shirt. The confidence seemed to be flowing out of his pores and with all the momentum on our side, we surged forward looking for a killer blow.

We didn’t find it, but the Magpies didn’t get near us during our trouble time, either. It just goes to show what a little self-belief can do.

Rennie blew for halftime and we headed to the changing room in command of the match. If we had played a better half-hour since I’ve been at the club, I couldn’t remember it.

It was magical. But unfortunately, we had to stop at the time we were ready to blow our visitors out of the stadium.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

It was music to my ears.

“Richmond out! Richmond out!”

The chants rang in our ears as we headed back into the changing room and before the players entered, I sought out my captain.

“We’ve still got 45 minutes left,” I reminded him before he stepped into the room. “You are responsible for making sure they understand that, because you’re the one that energized them. And by the way, I thank you for that.”

He looked at me and gave a wan smile. We shook hands and I motioned for him to precede me into the changing room.

“Okay, fellows, one more half to go,” he called out, every inch the man in charge.

Except when he sat in his locker stall, he wasn’t the man in charge. I was. And I had a message for them all.

“Great half, once we got it started,” I said. “Now, I want you to go for their nuts. And I want you to cut them off. We are making a statement today, gentlemen. Let’s finish the job and do it with some style.”

Pausing for a bit of dramatic effect, I then made my point. “You guys are frustrated, and I don’t blame you,” I said. “Show that being left to your own devices is a good thing. If you want the bulls**t around this club to stop as badly as I do, you’ll see this job done.”

I motioned to Dillon, who had the lion’s share of the halftime talk, while I pulled up a chair in a corner of the room to listen to what was being said. I didn’t want to leave anything to chance.

Unfortunately, Bikey did once the second half kicked off.

Already on a card, André sent my heart straight to my throat with a rather ugly looking trip on Lucas Castromán five minutes after the restart. I could see all the positive momentum we had built disappearing in a single referee’s decision, but Rennie mercifully decided that Bikey’s challenge wasn’t late enough to warrant a second yellow.

Rennie’s refusal brought the predictable howls of derision from Allardyce and his bench staff. I know it was predictable because I’d have done the same thing myself. Bikey was fortunate to still be on the park, and it was enough for me to get James Harper up and warming up along the touchline a bit earlier than I otherwise might.

The vice-captain has seen his opportunities reduced this season, but he is always ready to stand in the gap and frankly I was afraid that our gap might soon show up in the center of our midfield if Bikey committed another hard foul.

Rodriguez then pulled back Dagoberto, who was really flying by this point in the match. They couldn’t stop him legally, so they did what they had to do. Rennie did card that infraction, which resulted in another, equally predictable, outburst from my opposite number.

“Quite like this,” Dillon said to me as I leaned back in my seat. Harper was ready to come on, but Bikey was showing signs of settling down again.

To my right, Downes had an observation.

“I’d stay with him, Rob,” he said. I thought it unusual – not for the advice Wally gave but for the fact that he so rarely says anything on the touchline unless he’s asked to do so. He’s very quiet that way.

He had read my mind. For the purposes of Andre’s confidence in a position he hasn’t played much of this season, it seemed like a half-decent idea, provided he could keep his nose clean for a bit.

Maloney lined up our free kick, looking to rediscover his scoring touch. He didn’t do it, but it wasn’t for lack of trying.

His effort was strong, and Given couldn’t collect cleanly after moving quickly to his right. One dive later, he had it at the second time of asking and I could see the thrice-beaten keeper heaving a sigh of relief at having arrived a moment before Kitson.

Yet, when the time came for Big Sam’s first substitution of the match, it wasn’t for any of his carded players. It was for Carlos Cuellar, not exactly majestic in defense but still better than Rodriguez. The giant defender Christopher Samba replaced him, evidently with the goal of bottling up the already bottled-up Kitson in addtion to giving them an additional presence up front from set pieces.

Samba is one of the strongest players in the Premiership and an excellent leaper and header of the ball, on par with Huth. But since he was already on the pitch for us, we had no need for a similar substitution.

So, I matched strength for strength, and brought on Baptista.

Before I did, though, I elected to stoke him up.

As he stood next to Marriner, I ambled up to him and stood at his left.

“There’s a place in the eleven waiting for you for PSG if you show me you’re getting this,” I mused in Spanish.

He looked at me with a smile. He said nothing, and he was waved onto the pitch in short order.

[mark wilson27]

Can't remember last time I commented 10-3, but I'm sure you know I read every update.. looking forward to alot more from the Rat Pack

[Twizted_seed]

I am not sure I have ever been so eager to hear the second half of a second half before.

[Balthazars]

"I want you to go for the nuts and cut them off" Eeeouch, bit violent there from RR!

[tenthreeleader]

Fun match, this one. While playing it I likened the feeling to the scene in the baseball movie 'Eight Men Out', when the Black Sox are playing their only game of the 1919 World Series on the square. If you've ever seen that movie, you perhaps know what I mean.

And yes, Balty, RR is in a bad mood.

__

Another mistake by Bikey – heading a lofted ball from Emre in the wrong direction and onto the path of Emre for an opportunity Lobont needed to save – didn’t help matters. We were still comfortably in control of the match but we weren’t as sharp as we had been for that stretch of the first half.

Someday we’ll put those ninety good minutes together and when we do, there won’t be many teams who will want to play us. But that day, alas, appears to still be in our future.

Baptista was trying, though. He zoomed past Emre four minutes after his introduction and the Turk just reached out and grabbed him, accepting his booking without so much as a second glance. Julio looked over at the bench in a sort of ‘good enough?’ gesture, and I just grinned at him in return.

Newcastle was starting to show a little resistance, to Allardyce’s belated satisfaction. Carlos Salcido sent Valencia away moments later, and the latter took a shot that extended Lobont for the first time in the half.

However, that was the end of the line for Valencia, who came off on 73 minutes as Allardyce used his last two substitutes at the game time. He was replaced by the Brazilian, Vagner Love, while the ineffective Castromán took a seat in favor of Geremi. It was a last throw of the dice but we really looked to be good value by this point.

We weren’t burying them, but we were choking them off, which was the next best thing.

Now, though, it was time to prepare for PSG. I removed the brilliant Dicã, to momentary disappointment from the faithful but also to a standing ovation when he finally left in favor of Saivet.

I made sure to pull him aside as he approached, still applauding the crowd.

“I want you fresh for Wednesday,” I explained. “Great job.”

No player likes to come off, at least no player that wants to play for me. He nodded, and stood aside for Bikey, who I finally removed in favor of Harper.

Bikey wasn’t as happy. He hadn’t played well by comparison to his teammates, and he knew it.

As the new players came on, I took a seat next to the disappointed Cameroonian. I was in the second row of the bench now, a place I rarely visit during a match.

“André, shake it off,” I advised him, as we watched the match together. “You have a part to play here and I trust you know that.”

“I know,” he said. “My role is different, though.”

“It is. I’m asking you to do more things and to be more versatile. This is a role I really think you can play for us and we need you in it.”

He looked out at Huth, who had taken his spot in the eleven alongside Sonko, and nodded. I could tell where he would rather have been, but it’s a team game and he knows that.

Still, though, he couldn’t hide his disappointment. A little of that is a good thing. Too much is not.

“Look, Andre, shake this off,” I said, slapping his leg before returning to my spot. “There’s a place for you in this team if you keep working. Don’t feel you have to press or play outside your capabilities to do that. Okay?”

He took the offered lifeline, and his mood lightened a bit.

“Okay, gaffer,” he said, before returning to watching the match.

I headed back to my spot in time to see Bikey’s replacement, Harper, loft a cute little ball to the left for the run of Saivet. The whizkid was off to the races, into space left by the rear triangle of the 4-3-3 Allardyce was now playing to try to find a goal from someplace.

They let him go, Newcastle did, all the way to the byline. Saivet’s pullback was sublime, and the ball arrowed into the Magpies’ six-yard box.

There Baptista found it, having shrugged off the blanket of Samba. His bullet header found the back of the net with some style nine minutes from time.

That started the singing again. This time, I allowed myself the pleasure of a look over my shoulder into the directors’ box. I wanted to see if Richmond had done his would-be customers the honor of sticking around to the end.

He had, to his credit. He sat on the terrace of the box, arms folded on his chest, listening to the invective directed at him.

His face showed no expression. Which told me that the chanting moved him not at all.

The words echoed through the stadium and had I been Richmond they would have been bouncing off the inside of my skull. Yet, money is money, and Richmond sat impassively watching the team close out a strong match.

That was what made the most difference to me. Baptista is hot and Reading is red-hot. So, now, toujours l’audace!

Reading 4 (Dagoberto 7th 18; Dicã 5th 32, 6th 39; Baptista 2nd 81)

Newcastle 0

A – 28,663, Madejski Stadium, Reading

Man of the Match – Nicolae Dicã, Reading (MR9)

# # #

[viperk1]

Unless there is some unknown Americanism in this sentence, I think there should be an edit:

Which told me that the chanting moved him not all.

That. Makes. No. Sense.

Other than that, exceptional writing once again, 10-3

[gavrenwick]

Any other time I'd have frowned upon that scoreline. Ridgway's Reading for the title.