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[FM15] Malone Again, Naturally


tenthreeleader

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Gentlemen, thanks so much. I appreciate your words and your readership. As for updates, I update as often as time permits. My style of writing does tend to take awhile (and I tend to write fairly deliberately) so all I can say is I'll do the best I can!

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I’m in a bit of trouble with the press for what I said about Rösler, but I could hardly care less. Emotions are still high after the match on a number of fronts.

First things first – McClean wrote a quite eloquent letter about why he didn’t wear a poppy yesterday to Wigan chairman Dave Whelan, which was published on the club’s website. It read, in part:

“I am not a war monger, or anti-British, or a terrorist or any of the accusations levelled at me in the past. I am a peaceful guy. I believe everyone should live side by side, whatever their religious or political beliefs which I respect and ask for people to respect mine in return. Since last year I am a father and I want my daughter to grow up in a peaceful world, like any parent.

“I am very proud of where I come from and I just cannot do something that I believe is wrong. In life, if you’re a man, you should stand up for what you believe in.

“I know you may not agree with my feelings but I hope very much that you understand my reasons. As the owner of the club I am proud to play for, I believe I owe both you and the club’s supporters this explanation.”

He’s chosen quite a way to make his statement, though. Two years ago at Sunderland, McClean got a death threat on Twitter for not wearing a poppy on Remembrance Day, and yet he stuck to his beliefs. I find that impressive, even if I don’t agree with the entirety of his position. I’m of the opinion that a lot of good men died to give McClean the right to express his opinion on his desire to live in a peaceful world.

So, while I respect his opinion, I wore a poppy. And I always will.

And speaking of not agreeing with a position, my friend Uwe Rösler has a peck of trouble on his hands.

As my flight left Manchester Airport for Madrid, the news broke that after the match, the Wigan manager fined poor Leon Burnett a week’s wages for unprofessional performance against us. Clough dominated him, and when he was switched to Davies, my veteran striker burned Burnett for a penalty.

That left a bad taste in Rösler’s mouth – and at the same time he defended his actions to the press, he sarcastically admitted that I had a point about Wigan’s rough play.

“You don’t want to see players injured,” he said. “It looked bad and that’s something we have to watch out for. But I’m not about to ask Bobby Malone whether it’s all right for one of my players to try to win a ball when we’re playing his team.”

Reductio ad absurdum isn’t funny, but the statistics don’t lie. Wigan have had five players sent off already this season, in only seventeen matches. They’ve also earned 31 yellow cards, tying them for second in the league. We aren’t exactly choirboys in that department either, having been carded 29 times, which is sixth, but have had only one player – Spearing, against Norwich – sent off, and none for violent conduct. Aggressive tackling is part of my match plan, but we aren’t out to hurt players.

There were a lot of fouls in the match – 39, in fact, with 20 of them going to the visitors. Yet, perhaps surprisingly, there was only one card awarded. With the exception of the penalties, referee Sarginson let the teams play. Naturally, my team got the card, which seems to be the rule these days.

But my point is made. And as I flew to Madrid, I was making notes for the UEFA class on dealing with the press. Rösler is in it pretty deep, as I mentioned. Burnett has already asked for a transfer and there are rumblings that the PFA might get involved.

I thought Burnett was exposed by us, but not to the extent that Rösler needed to lighten his wallet for him. He hadn’t played well, but that happens to professionals now and again. For example, I told Mark Davies before I left for Madrid that he needed to buck up his ideas, because he’s making too much money for me to be sitting him on the bench for lack of performance. That seemed to get his attention.

I did wish I could have taken Kim with me to Spain. Unfortunately, she’s not my PA but Gartside’s, and as such I couldn’t bring her on a field trip.

But once I reached the Barajas International Airport about eight miles from the stadium, everything was absolutely first-class. A club representative was at the airport to meet me along with a UEFA delegate and instructor, which was a lovely touch.

A quick cab ride deposited me at the Hotel VP Jardín Metropolitano, with my room facing the Santiago Bernabéu less than a mile away. Another nice touch.

My first evening there was spent in conversation with the UEFA representative, a kindly gentleman called Álvaro Margas Olmedo. We held that conversation in the hotel’s restaurant, which was a third great touch.

We talked quite a bit about how the course was going and the conversation eventually got around to my team.

“I see you are top of the table,” he said, looking like he actually was interested in England’s second tier league.

“We’ve played well,” I admitted. “So in the event we keep playing well and get ourselves promoted, it would be nice to successfully finish this course if I want to keep my job.”

“I’m sure even if you are not done, a waiver would be granted because you are already enrolled,” Olmedo said, missing what passes for my Midlands humour.

“I’m sure you’re right,” I said diplomatically, taking a sip of wine as I smiled to myself.

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“By the time you swear you're his,

Shivering and sighing.

And he vows his passion is,

Infinite, undying.

Lady, make note of this --

One of you is lying.”

- Dorothy Parker

Madrid is a wonderful place, and now I really wish I was here with Kim. She isn’t happy, and I’ve got work to do in my relationship while being entirely too far away from home to be able to do it in a timely fashion.

I had the opportunity to visit the Santiago Bernabéu for the first time, and the place is as magnificent as it’s always been billed, but the distraction from home overshadowed the fun of the event.

First things first, since it seems to be dominating my thinking.

Amanda is at it again on Twitter. She seems to know where Kim is vulnerable, and, in fact, actively solicited me online.

“Won’t you come home, Bobby Malone?” she asked, posting the picture of us taken at the Bolton contest gathering. She even followed Kim, since I’m not a member of the Twitterverse and probably never will be after today.

I didn’t know what to make of it, but I’m quite sure I want to put a stop to it. So, reluctantly, I phoned home to ask club counsel to deal with the matter.

Gartside, not surprisingly, was receptive. He promised to handle it and within the hour I was speaking with Theresa Lyons, Bolton FC’s club counsel.

At the same time, I heard from Kim, and asked Ms. Lyons if she wouldn’t mind terribly if I turned the conversation into a conference call.

“Bobby, I’m shocked,” Kim began. “I thought you were through with her!”

“Kim, let’s take a step back,” I said. “Also on the line with us is Ms. Theresa Lyons, the attorney who represents Bolton Wanderers FC. I’m sure you know of her. In this case, she also represents me, and by translation, you.”

Kim didn’t say a word, which was Lyons' to begin speaking.

“Mr. Malone, Miss Pickering, I’ve been briefed by Mr. Gartside on the matter of Ms. Caldwell and her online activities,” Lyons said. “I want you to know that I’ve been assigned to put a stop to it. I just need to verify that Mr. Malone says the activities are unwelcome.”

“He had better,” Kim snapped.

“Honey, don’t,” I warned before continuing. “Ms. Lyons, that is correct. I’m asking you to please put a stop to this on behalf of me and my girlfriend. Mr. Gartside of course represents the club’s wishes in this area and I am sure he shares this sentiment.”

“He does,” Lyons responded. “We take harassment very seriously, as you know, and we have no wish for either of the club’s employees to suffer harm or discomfort.”

“She followed me,” Kim said.

“Which is not a violation of any service terms for any social media we’re aware of,” Lyons said patiently. “However, if you have indication of harassing behaviour, you should let us know immediately so we can put a stop to it in cooperation with the provider and, if need be, the authorities. I promise you, you’ll be well looked after.”

That seemed to mollify Kim, which was good since I was much too far away to have any kind of calming effect otherwise. This was her fear showing through, and I felt it my job to try to walk her back from the cliff’s edge.

It shouldn’t have come as any great surprise that Lyons was the person who did most of the calming. My followup conversation with Kim was less strained, and at least from my point of view, much more patient.

It also told me, to a lesser extent, what I’m in for. I love Kim, but she can be very high-maintenance at times. I’m going to have to work on that with her – not to change her, but to understand her. That’s something I never got right with Holly, and if Kim and I are to have a future it’s something I need to understand sooner than later.

It was a distraction I clearly didn’t need as I prepared to see how Real Madrid operates.

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Usually, I hate it when Leather texts me. Today, he did it twice.

The first time, it was to tell me that Neil Danns hurt his hammy on international duty and that both he and Mason would be on the shelf for at least 14 days.

The second text made me genuinely angry – Medo had played for Sierra Leone despite a thigh strain and not only had he played, he had played for all ninety minutes in a 4-1 loss. As such, I’m considering denying permission for him to travel internationally next time it’s legally possible for me to do so.

As a result, when I arrived at what is known as the Ciudad Real Madrid, I was in a vile mood. But after looking around the place, that bad mood quickly vanished, replaced by a sense of awe at the raw financial power I was seeing in action.

Opened in 1995, the Ciudad is enormous. It’s over 1.2 million square metres in size, which is 16 times bigger than Red Square and nearly three times as big as Vatican City.

Our party was greeted by club representatives at the door, and Olmedo was watching faces for reactions. He got what he was expecting, I guess – it was amazing to look at.

The entrance hall to the facility is right next to one of the club restaurants, known as La Cantera, which overlooks most of the ten training pitches contained within the facility.

Seven of those pitches are for the youth teams, which play on the same type of grass used to turf the Bernabéu. Only club employees are allowed into the youth rooms.

From there, it’s on to the first team training facilities. Offices are located there, along with physiotherapy facilities which are both massive and impressive.

The hydrotherapy area has four swimming pools, two baths, a sauna and a Turkish bath, which I guess comes in handy when playing Galatasaray. Upstairs from that is a VIP room and a media space of 2,000 square metres, which is about 1,900 more square metres than I’d give some of them.

The first team training room is obviously large, and leads directly to the three training pitches which contain seating for 11,000 spectators. For training.

And it was there where we met the man in charge.

Carlo Ancelotti is the latest to occupy one of world football’s hottest hot seats. The Italian is at his seventh club, four of which were Juventus, Milan, Chelsea and PSG, before moving to Madrid.

He and Bob Paisley are the only two managers to have won the European Cup three times – twice with Milan and last season right here in Madrid.

So the man knows what he’s talking about.

He’s also an interesting fellow in that he is recently married, having wed Canadian businesswoman Mariann Barrena McClay four months ago. I’m wondering how he managed to do that. I can’t even go out in public without getting my picture splashed all over the papers and here’s the manager of Real Madrid finding time for a personal life that has somehow stayed out of the media.

He’s further a rarity in that his win percentage has increased with every club he’s managed – from Reggiana to Parma, Juventus, Milan, Chelsea, PSG and Real. He also spoke English, French, Italian and Spanish during his unveiling news conference as Real Madrid manager, so it’s hard not to feel intimidated around the man.

That said, there are people who have issues with him. He’s not known as a terribly ‘hands-on’ manager and in his eighteen years in the managerial game, he’s won ‘only’ three league titles despite having some of the better teams in Europe to handle. Look, here’s me saying this – I’d give my eyeteeth to have one league championship – the one I’m in.

The other members of my class were introduced one by one, and I was last in line. That was a bit annoying because I hate being last in anything. However, another member of my cohort, Blackburn manager Gary Bowyer, was right in front of me in line so we stood and took it all in together.

Despite the fact that Blackburn is a heated rival – up there with Wigan in terms of pure vitriol between fans – Gary’s a decent chap and we had spent a good part of the morning comparing course notes. Derby managers aren’t supposed to act like that, I guess. Gary met Ancelotti just before I did.

But when my turn came to meet him, I shook his hand firmly and immediately felt better.

He then surprised me.

“You’re playing very well at the moment,” he said, and that caught me off my guard.

“So are you,” I smiled, “but then I should think more people notice your club than mine.”

“In football, as they say, ‘you never know’,” he replied, with a ready smile that somehow didn’t look patronizing. He then turned to the group.

“Shall we take a look around?” he asked expansively. For the moment, it was his to show.

It was breathtaking. I really didn’t know what this was supposed to teach me about club structure other than “Real Madrid can spend so much money it is able to build a city without batting an eyelash”, but it was a great day of life at the very top.

After watching the Madridistas train, which was in itself an exercise in organization and to-the-second timing, we had lunch at La Cantera and then sat in a briefing room for a round-table discussion with the UEFA staff and Ancelotti, who under other circumstances could be said to have given up a decent portion of his day to sit with the class members. Yet, with his reputation for ‘hands off’ management, he had highly capable assistants handling his training and he could watch what he needed to see on video after the fact.

We covered handling top-class players – of which I have a few. I also have a few who would like to be, and a few who just think they are. We also talked about some elements of club structure in a nation where club presidents are elected in wildly political atmospheres.

That’s an element of the Madrid life I couldn’t really imagine. Davies runs Bolton FC and for all practical purposes bankrolls the club through his companies. Ancelotti’s personal pressure cooker comes from Florentino Pérez, the flambouyant club president who gets money from wherever he gets it, in addition to the club’s gigantic turnover.

Of course, as I took notes and watched Ancelotti talk, the spectre of Francisco Franco hung over the conversation, as it does virtually all talk about Real Madrid outside the country. It’s one of the great mysteries surrounding the world’s greatest game.

There’s no hard evidence that El Caudillo helped Real Madrid win matches by fixing them, though his dislike for the Catalan club, Barcelona, was well known. And, it’s very true that the club didn’t win a league championship until Franco had been in power for sixteen years. So the famed ‘special relationship’ between Franco and Real Madrid is very difficult to prove.

That said, the undeniably brilliant Madrid teams of the 1950s were the best thing for Franco, running a country ostracized from the community of nations by the brutality of its civil war and subsequent dictatorship. The Puskas-DiStéfano-Copa sides – the three of whom were foreigners all – lent an air of legitimacy to a nation which badly needed it.

Football writer Simon Kuper has noted that every club that has won the European Cup from a nation in dictatorship played in that country’s capital city – and six of Real’s famed La Decíma were won when Franco was in power. And perhaps that was the biggest benefit of all for Franco, who could show off his showpiece team in his most advanced city. Kuper speculates that Franco didn’t fix matches because he didn’t need to.

Yet that kind of talk takes away from some remarkable football and remarkable football players. For example, Real’s legendary Spanish winger Francisco “Gento” Lopez, known as “El Supersonico”, is still the only man to have won six European Cup winner’s medals. That’s an unparalleled record of success which may well never be broken.

The grandeur that is Real Madrid is arguably greater than ever, in one of Europe’s greatest cities. The Ciudad Real Madrid is the centre of community revitalization in Madrid, with Franco dead for nearly forty years.

And as I took notes from the great man himself, Ancelotti, I was left to remark that sometimes in life, as in football, the more things change the more they stay the same.

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There were a couple of major developments in the footballing world while I was away.

Two days after I arrived in Madrid, Manchester City sacked Manuel Pellegrini, another pretty decent manager in his own right. The Champions of England are tenth in the table this season, with a record of 5-1-5, and since Louis van Gaal has Manchester United topping the table for the time being, the Citizens made the move.

United is interesting – Wayne Rooney hasn’t played all season due to a broken leg suffered in pre-season training and Van Gaal still has them top. So to be outpacing City with their best player and highest wage earner on the shelf is really grating on the blue side of Manchester.

The Premiership is a tight contest at the moment. United lead with 25 points, followed by Chelsea with 24 and Liverpool with 22. United have an advantage in that they are the only club in the top three with no European commitments, so van Gaal can concentrate on the league while Jose Mourinho and Brendan Rogers have other concerns.

Arsenal, Newcastle and Southampton are joint fourth with 21 points, but the news here is that Jürgen Klopp of Dortmund came right out and said he wanted the City job.

Klopp has made great hay of the fact that he’s never broken a contract, and so to hear him say this is rather stunning. BVB are seventh in the Bundesliga at the present moment, and languishing a bit behind rivals Bayern Munich, so perhaps both City and Dortmund might benefit from a change of leadership.

However, City opted to raid Europa League champion Sevilla for its manager, hiring Unai Emery two days later. Sevilla then brought Frank Rijkaard out of temporary retirement to take over their club, so the La Liga managerial circus had at least three rings and I got to watch all the fun in the press.

The other story of note came from Scotland where Rangers gave a P45 to Ally McCoist after a 2-1 loss at Ibrox to Alloa Athletic that left Scotland’s most successful club in the playdown places in the Championship.

Rangers are ninth in the ten-team table but there’s good news and bad news there, as only six points separate top from bottom in a league that appears well and truly devoid of class.

How bad is it? Well, Queen of the South tops the table – not a bad thing in itself, but when you consider they’ve won only four of their twelve matches, that’s a bit jaw-dropping. Their seven draws have them top on 19 points. Raith Rovers are bottom only six points back, with their 3-4-6 mark and 13 points placing them one behind Rangers. There’s so much work to be done in the Blue Room it’s frankly ridiculous.

And, Sir Alex Ferguson’s son Darren was sacked at Peterborough, with the Posh 18th in the League One table. That ends his second stint at the club, which was promoted three times and won a Johnstone’s Paint Trophy under his management.

So the wheels are beginning to turn, with chairmen and owners already losing patience with managers before the middle of November.

Coppell also did what I consider to be an extremely smart thing when I was gone, signing Clough to a two-year contract extension at a rate that is sure to rise soon if he becomes anywhere near the player he’s got a chance to be. The lad is in terrific form at the moment, with seven goals in thirteen senior matches and another six in friendlies.

So it really frosted my shorts to see Blackpool’s Belgian manager, José Riga, slate the boy as a “weak link” to our team on the day I returned from Madrid in the run-up to our Lancashire derby match against the Tangerines.

My first news conference after returning was therefore a bit frosty to the Bloomfield Road boss.

“Completely inappropriate,” I snapped when I was asked about Riga’s comments. “You people ask me questions about other clubs’ players all the time to try to stir up the kind of crap Riga gave you and we don’t bite on that here at this club. Zach has more goals than any player José has save one, and I think Mr. Clough will be ready for a performance on Saturday.”

That ‘one’ was Nathan Delfouneso, who leads Blackpool with nine goals, the same amount as Beckford and one fewer than Mason, who has played a total of nineteen minutes in the last five weeks. “Weak link”, indeed.

We also got David Wheater back in training, and that will boost us too. Dervite has done well when called upon, but we need numbers at the back too and David as vice-captain is an important part of our team.

That said, returning internationals are going to gut us a bit for the visit to the coast. Chung-Yong won’t be ready, which means Hall moves to the right and Moxey will get the start on the left side of midfield where I’m coming to prefer him. Beckford will be the only spare striker with Mason on the shelf again, and Clough leads the line.

Young man, do yourself proud.

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Love a good Turkish bath joke and a mad stalker of a character so two thumbs up from me. You did a good job at showing that despite the fact you're almost in the Premier League, Bobby Malone is still in awe of people like Carlo Ancelotti. Looking forward to the Blackpool match now the pot has been stirred by their manager.

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22 November 2014 – Blackpool (7-3-7, 11th place) v Bolton Wanderers (13-2-2, 2nd place)

Championship Match Day #18 – Bloomfield Road, Blackpool

Once again, we woke up in second place in the Championship, due to Fulham’s 2-0 win at Brentford the day before. This was our match in hand, and we needed to win away to regain the pole position.

It’s only a forty-minute drive on the M6 and M55 to the Irish Sea coast, so we didn’t have to worry about travel arrangements. We stayed at the Whites Hotel the night before the match and took a coach to Blackpool at 8:00 to play.

There was a real air of anticipation outside the ground, and among the Blackpool faithful who gathered to jeer at our coach as we wound our way from Park Road to Bloomfield Road, which is about three kilometres from the Irish Sea coast.

The street which gives the stadium its name virtually bisects the city’s Central and South piers, reaching the sea at the famous Blackpool Promenade.

But today, though, the natives along the Golden Mile were starting to get a bit restless. It was my job to make sure they stayed that way.

After a surprisingly strong start to the season, the Seasiders have fallen upon comparatively hard times, as I have previously mentioned. Yet Riga isn’t the guy who is taking the fall – it’s owner Owen Oyston and his son, chairman Karl.

Somehow, Blackpool started the friendly season with only eight players under contract, forcing the club to cancel its pre-season tour of Spain. The fact that Blackpool is anywhere but dead last in the table at this point is a minor miracle, and the Oystons took great heat for it.

It’s been bad enough that some supporters walked out of Bloomfield Road in the 53rd minute of the club’s 0-1 home loss to Cardiff in October, with the reference being to 1953, the year of the famous “Matthews Final”, in which the club last won the FA Cup. Unfortunately for the Oyston’s optics, the 53rd minute was four minutes after the Bluebirds’ Anthony Pilkington scored the only goal of the match.

So the supporters weren’t happy. And this was when the club was still playing well. Since that date, they’ve won once in six matches and scored four goals.

Owen Oyston has been accused of siphoning money out of the club, a charge he steadfastly denies. As proof, he points to midfielder Jose Cubero, one of only two players the club spent money to purchase in the last two years. Oyston claims Blackpool have no debt, and he’s probably right – but the club training complex at Squires Gate is considered substandard and, laughably to a Bolton man, still carries a sign over it which reads, and I kid you not, “Blackpool Football Club Centre of Excellance.”

Poor spelling aside, we lined up this way to take on another of our local rivals:

Bolton Wanderers (4-1-3-2): Bogdán: McNaughton, Dervite, Mills, Tierney, Spearing (captain), Hall, Vela, Moxey, C. Davies, Clough. Subs: Lonergan, Vermijl, Ream, Pratley, M. Davies, Chung-Yong, Beckford.

I was pleased to have Pratley on the bench. He’s battled injuries all season and he’s finally at match fitness so in the young man came. Wheater will join him as soon as he’s able to make it through a reserve match without setback.

I should have figured that, for all his bluster about us having a ‘weak link’, Riga would set out a side that was largely negative in scope. They played a 4-2-2-2 with two anchor men, and that was apparent from the kickoff. They were going to wait for us and then try to counter.

But the two behind the strikers were wingers with a backtracking mentality, so with no one in the centre of the park, they ceded dominance in an important area fairly early on. Their plan seemed wholly defensive, and minute after minute passed in almost complete, stultifying boredom. It was going to take something special to wake up the fans and, to a lesser extent, the players.

My repeated cajoling to wake up and concentrate didn’t seem to help much, until it became apparent that the first player on either team who snapped out of it would give his team a huge advantage.

Thankfully for us, it was Moxey. With Chung-Yong on the bench resting from his international exertions, Hall had been moved over to the opposite side and made things happen despite playing on the side opposite his stronger foot.

His cross found Moxey in space in the penalty area and he hit what is now one of his trademark volleys into the lower left corner of Joe Lewis’ goal four minutes before the interval.

We had controlled play, but a goal was just what the doctor ordered because it allowed me to give an upbeat team talk at the intermission.

I was especially interested in firing up Clough, who had worked hard but been bottled up by the Blackpool defence and one of the holding midfielders.

“They don’t think you can do it,” I chided. “They’re wrong, but you need to show them. Now, go do it.”

The teenager smiled and prepared to get to his task. His confidence is high and even if he couldn’t score, I wanted him to have a strong performance so I could publicly back him against Riga’s charge after the match.

The second half kicked off and it took us exactly nineteen seconds to threaten. Spearing found Craig Davies through the middle and the veteran forward strode forward, drawing both holding midfielders onto him.

That opened up space and immediately Davies slid the ball right, onto the very intelligent diagonal run of … Clough, who whipped a quick shot past Lewis and home for the goal vital to his confidence and our chances.

That’s one of the things I love about young players. Sometimes, they not only do what you tell them to do, they do it quickly.

The second goal was a punch to Blackpool’s solar plexus and it did serve to wake them up a bit. They moved to a flat 4-4-2 and started to get forward a bit, trying to get Delfouneso and Nile Ranger free in our area. We had bottled them up pretty easily due to lack of service in the first half, and what Fulham had failed to do to Blackpool in ninety minutes, we had done twice in 46.

But then they came forward with purpose, and midfielder David Perkins found space down the right to get to the byline. He crossed for Delfouneso, who was well marked by Dorian Dervite.

Too well, as it turned out. The cross went off Dorian’s outstretched leg and my defender put through his own goal to get them back into the match in 52 minutes.

Dervite looked devastated. Bogdán, for his part, took it with good grace.

He picked the defender up off the floor and gave him a swat on the behind and a muss of his hair to get him back into the match. We still led, but anything that got them back into the match was anathema to me and obviously to Dervite as well.

Yet, the defender held up well mentally despite his own goal. That was very gratifying to see. He stood tall against Ranger and against his eventual replacement, Tom Barkhuizen. Their 4-4-2 was really no match for us as our strength and depth eventually began to tell.

It didn’t take long for us to restore order, though, as well as our two-goal lead. Just before the hour mark, we got a corner to Allen’s right, in front of the new Jimmy Armfield Stand. Spearing took it, and instead of going into the six-yard box as I generally prefer, he pulled the corner back to Vela at the top of the eighteen.

The midfielder controlled the ball with a very deft first touch and rifled an unstoppable right-footed shot between Allen’s fingertips and Tony McMahon, who was guarding the right goal post but had no chance to react.

It was a super strike, Vela’s second goal of the season, and it restored us to a 3-1 advantage. With Blackpool looking toothless, I was able to get Moxey out of the game in 69 minutes after he took a good, hard whack from Dion Charles that saw him slow to get up.

Able to risk it because of the score, I simply switched Hall from right to left and brought in Chung-Yong, asking him for twenty good minutes which he gave with no problems at all.

When it was done, it had been easy. In fact, we had scored all four of the goals, and since we had won, we could (gently) kid Dervite about his finishing skills.

Match Summary: Bogdán: McNaughton, Dervite, Mills, Tierney, Spearing, Hall, Vela (Ream 84), Moxey (Chung-Yong 69), C. Davies (Beckford 84), Clough. Unused subs: Lonergan, Vermijl, Pratley, M. Davies.

Blackpool 1 (Dervite o/g 52)

Bolton Wanderers 3 (Moxey 41, Clough 46, Vela 58)

H/T: 0-1

A – 17,000, Bloomfield Road, Blackpool

Man of the Match: Dean Moxey, Bolton (MR 8.9)

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“Well, I think Mr. Riga’s ‘weak link’ did pretty well. In fact, by my scoresheet, he had the game-winning goal, I do believe.”

I don’t get many chances to not only rub it in, but twist as well, and this was one. Clough was on cloud nine and I was going to do nothing to damage the lad’s feeling.

“You look happy with yourself.” That was King, who should have known better.

“I’m happy for Zach,” I responded. “As I would be for any of my players who is publicly criticized by an opposing manager and then makes them pay for it.”

“You aren’t letting this go, are you?”

“I said at the time I didn’t think the criticism was appropriate and I’m sticking to it,” I said. “There are lines, even with rivals, that you don’t cross, and that is one of them.”

I realized that I was going to come off sounding like a headmaster but that was fine with me. We had schooled Riga’s team and proven a point. So I felt entitled to instruct the class. Someday, I’ll be the one being instructed, though. That’s football.

I knew my words would be all over Lancashire in the morning, and so that was where I chose to let it lay. Many of the 17,000 fans – which was the largest crowd since the “new” Bloomfield Road had been opened in 1999 – had reacted to the final whistle with a mixture of outrage and resignation. In short, the perfect sounds for a visiting manager to hear on derby day.

The ride home was short and loud, as the players let off some steam after a solid win against a big and longtime rival.

I thought about getting ready to play Huddersfield Town with a whole week to prepare for the match. That’s a luxury I’m not used to having, and it means most of the first-choice eleven will be gassed up and ready to go for that one. That will also be a luxury I’m not used to having.

We maintained our one-point lead over Fulham too – and it looks like that is going to be a race that will last for the long haul. They’re probably the most talented team in the Championship while we have been the team that has played at closest to top form.

And so, while we enjoyed the short coach ride home, I was already working on the advance report on Huddersfield, managed by Chris Powell. He’s a top bloke and he really has his team doing all the right things. He’s up to eighth in the table and just out of the playoff places with a side that really wasn’t fancied to do anything quite like that.

We will have our work cut out for us. And they’ll be ready.

But I had work to do with Kim when I got home. I wanted her to completely understand that there’s nothing more between me and Amanda and it’s very important that she gets that message in as kind but as thorough a way as possible.

I figured that perhaps the best way to do that would be with a bottle of wine and some roses, but since the flower shops were closed by the time I got back to the Macron, I had to settle for a nice Merlot to go with dinner.

She looked surprised. That was a good thing. Then she looked happy, which was better still. Even Holly’s phone call that night didn’t bother me – that was how nice it was.

She called at exactly the right time – after we had snuggled into bed and were watching Casablanca, so I was able to draw some inspiration from Humphrey Bogart while dealing with someone I really didn’t care to talk to.

“Blake is ready for this weekend,” she told me, in the same tone of voice she might use to say, “Blake is ready to stick his head into a vise.”

Kim nuzzled into my shoulder as I acknowledged Holly’s comment, and suddenly I forgot all about the ill feeling I had toward her.

“That’s wonderful, but if you don’t mind, Holly, I’ve other things to do at the moment so I’ll see you Friday, yeah?”

Kim giggled, and I hung up the phone.

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A note before we move on: thank you to the voters of FMS for selecting this work as the 2015 FMS Best English Story and 2015 FMS Story of the Year. There's a lot more to come!

___

Blake Malone seems to like to get stuck in when he plays football with his little mates.

I had to laugh when I saw him, a determined looked on his face, as he carried his overnight bag to me when I met Holly and Darin.

He climbed into the front seat of my Jaguar and I buckled him into the car seat before driving him home. Kim was working late and wasn’t with me, as she was preparing for the December board meeting a few days hence.

Blake was limping a bit from a kick on the foot he received while trying to score a goal (which was something he promised he’d never try again) and I wondered how the referees at his level let kids play in such a rough way.

But it’s a rough game sometimes, and a few bumps and bruises are part and parcel of the national game. So off we went, while I worried about what was coming up a few days hence.

The hot rumour is that the directors were going to pump some cash into the club but that I’m going to be asked to sell in January so we can meet Financial Fair Play requirements. Kim’s being very close-mouthed about it, and I can understand that, but here’s the kind of situation I’m sure Gartside wanted to avoid when Kim and I started our relationship.

She knows what’s going on in the boardroom, and the manager isn’t supposed to be privy to all that. She also won’t tell me, and in this particular case it would be a good idea from my personal standpoint for me to know. I have to cull certain areas of the squad, and the fact of the matter is that there may well be offers made for players I don’t want to lose but will have to sell due to the club’s financial situation.

That’s what worries me the most about winning the league. As a recently relegated Premiership side, Fulham do not have to sell whereas I almost certainly will in order to make the books balance at the end of the season.

That’s why the first person I met with after the Blackpool match wasn’t Spooner but rather Coppell.

There are players who may simply have to go. Mark Davies is one – a nice footballer but one who makes well over a million pounds per annum and has a valuation of about £3 million at last glance. Selling him at valuation would virtually wipe out our financial issues for the rest of the season – and hopefully, promotion would wipe out the rest.

And the truth of the matter is, he’s not even my first choice in the centre of the park any more. That, for the moment, is Vela, who has itched for this chance all season and has grabbed it with both hands. I like how he handles the position and he seems to work well with Spearing, which is another good thing.

There are others I wouldn’t mind moving on. Medo is starting to annoy me with his requests to play ahead of the club captain and I can’t find a place for Pratley, even as patient as he’s been. The fact that all three of those players play the same position isn’t lost on me either.

Danns is making noise about wanting to supplant Chung-Yong in the eleven, and at age 32 and with a decent pay packet the chances of that happening are frankly two – slim, and fat.

So there is room to cull in the squad, but again, I have to be mindful of others’ desire to poach my players at the same time. Coppell and I went over our shortlists to replenish the squad in certain areas if and when the axe starts to swing. It’s going to be an interesting January.

I don’t want it to lead to friction between me and Kim, or nearly as importantly, between Kim and her boss. She holds confidential information in her gorgeous head, and I have to balance my need to know some of that information with my relationship with her, and with her job. I can’t risk the latter two but the former might be helpful in staying employed myself.

So, I'm stuck. I’m not best pleased, but I don’t want to give up my job and I positively will not give up Kim Pickering, so I will have to make do as best I can.

After returning from Madrid, she and I spent a day on the town getting re-acquainted, if you will, and ironing out any issues Amanda created with her latest missive.

Kim is a great lady, don’t get me wrong, and I am growing to love her very much – but she’s high-maintenance and that’s understandable given her situation. I’m willing to be more patient with her than I am at the moment, with, say, Medo. For completely different reasons.

But as Kim and I relaxed together watching Blake play a video game on the television in front of us, I thought, for the first time, that we looked like a little family. There’s not a thing wrong with that.

I get to be happy too. So far, that’s the lesson of my time at Bolton Wanderers.

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29 November 2014 - Bolton Wanderers (14-2-2, 1st place) v Huddersfield Town (8-5-5, 8th place)

Championship Match Day #19 – Macron Stadium, Bolton

It felt odd, picking from a virtually full squad to put a first-choice eleven out there.

Mason made it through 90 minutes with the u-21s two nights before without a setback but was still regaining fitness so he made the bench. The red-hot Clough started up front again with the equally red-hot Davies playing in the hole behind him.

McNaughton lost his place after losing a bit of form, replaced by the champing-at-the-bit Marnick Vermijl. Tierney was the preferred option at left full back with the disgruntled Medo once again backing up the club captain, Spearing, in the holding position. Imagine that.

Huddersfield’s coach arrived punctually at the Macron and I waited for Powell outside his team’s changing room, nodding to his players as they made their way into their temporary home one by one.

Finally, the five-times-capped England man arrived and we shared a handshake. The former Charlton and Leicester manager is on his third assignment with Town, and we had been teammates for a time with the Three Lions. In 2001, Sven-Goran Eriksson made him at age 31 the oldest England debutant since Syd Owen in 1954, and it couldn’t have happened to a better guy.

His major accomplishment was to be voted Southend United’s greatest-ever “cult hero” in a 2004 BBC poll, where one of the voting fans described him as “one of the nicest men in football”.

It was in that vein that we talked. Some interplay between us in the media during the week had been blown out of proportion in the press – I had said that Huddersfield’s overperformance in the table had been due to Chris Powell, and the press had said I was being patronizing. Chris told them where they could stuff that kind of talk – nicely, of course – and we talked to make sure everything was still okay between us.

“Of course, mate,” he said with his usual smile. “Meet you after the match for a glass?”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” I said. “Good luck.”

Bolton Wanderers (4-1-3-2): Bogdán: Vermijl, Dervite, Mills, Tierney, Spearing, Chung-Yong, Vela, Moxey, C. Davies, Clough. Subs: Lonergan, Wheater, McNaughton, Medo, Hall, Mason, Beckford.

Friendship aside, Chris’ side was a first-class pain in the backside to break down once the match proper began.

We started well enough, but didn’t have the chops to put one behind Alex Smithies in the Huddersfield goal. Davies and Chung-Yong came close in the first ten minutes but Huddersfield seemed quite content to put ten men behind the ball and let Jesse Lingard support James Vaughan up front – until Vaughan pulled up limping after only twelve minutes of play.

That forced Powell into his first substitution a lot earlier than I’m sure he’d have liked, and it made us deal with Nahki Wells, their Bermudian striker and a player we hadn’t planned on facing until closer to the end of the match.

We finally broke through them just over ten minutes from the break. Spearing was the provider from deep, and that was pleasing, hitting Davies in stride about thirty yards from goal. What was even more pleasing was the blazing pace the Welsh international showed in striding powerfully between defenders Joel Lynch and Jack Robinson. Three long, powerful strides and he was gone, in alone on Smithies, whom he beat with no difficulty.

Davies’ fleetness of foot at first stunned the crowd and then brought it to its collective feet in appreciation of a player who is clearly in peak form.

“Bloody hell.” That was Spooner, as slack-jawed as I was on the bench. “What a run.”

Davies’ brilliance got us to halftime a goal to the good, and my talk was reassuring since Huddersfield had hardly threatened us.

The second half kicked off and we kicked off right where we had left, surging forward with confidence and threatening almost immediately. Smithies was called into action against Clough in 51 minutes but this time the teenage striker was denied at feet by the keeper and this time, unlike in the previous few matches, you could see it affect the lad.

He wants to score. He hasn’t quite yet realized that you can’t always do that. His drive for excellence is profound but so are his expectations, and that is something that has to be worked on over time.

That said, we were comfortable, and Clough turned provider just after the hour when his square ball found who else but Davies across the opposite edge of the six from his strike partner. This ball was even easier to direct home than his first had been, and it was 2-nil to us just after the hour.

That was even more comfortable. Huddersfield were well and truly behind us, and since Tierney was not having one of his best days, I took him and Clough off as part of a double swap in 66 minutes, with McNaughton and Beckford entering the fray.

The former was struggling for form so I wanted him to try to find it with a lead to protect, and the latter simply needed playing time on a day when Clough was overthinking.

I called Mason to me and asked if he were up to a short stint. He said yes, and I said I’d consider putting him in if the score was right. He understood that, and began his warmup.

Moments later, we were celebrating again as Moxey turned in a cross from Marnick Vermijl to make it 3-nil in 74 minutes. The fans were singing, the crowd seemed content, and it was just in the bag.

Then, we stopped playing.

Medo came on for Spearing, which is what he said he wanted, in 75 minutes, and Mason sat down since we were out of substitutions. But what happened after that was the kind of thing that got players roasted after the Brentford cup tie.

It started innocently enough, five minutes from time, as Paul Dixon, who had come on as a substitute for the ineffective Jack Robinson, shook loose down the right and beat Bogdán from a sharp angle to the right. So, big deal, yeah?

As it turned out, yeah.

We just shut down. Simple as. Four minutes later we were again picking the ball out of our goal thanks to what can only be described as a wonder strike from Jesse Lingard, whose thirty-yard rocket found the top right corner of Bogdán’s goal.

That had their bench up and screaming. What had me up and screaming was that we had simply stopped defending. Good defensive football is about denying the opposition time and space, and we had done neither. We were ball-watching, asleep, and suddenly we were in real trouble.

They rushed the ball back to the centre of the park and we kicked off. Suddenly, they were all over us, my shouts to defend deep seemed to fall on deaf ears, and I was starting to wonder if we were going to throw away two points by conceding three goals in the last five minutes.

It damned nearly happened. In the first minute of added time, Wells, who had been virtually silent, nutmegged Medo and roared in for a shot that he put cleanly off Bogdán’s right goal post, the rebound coming straight back into play. Dervite scrambled it away, and we were on the counter, with Lynch’s rather wild and frantic back pass eventually giving us a corner.

Chung-Yong took it – and Vermijl headed it home for his first goal for the club, finally killing off a match that should have been put to bed long, long since.

I was not a happy bunny as the whistle sounded. I commiserated with Powell, told him I had a few things to say to my boys, and that he should wait fifteen minutes after the cooling-off period to meet me in my office.

“Gentlemen, most football matches I’ve seen lasted at least ninety minutes,” I began. There was much more to come.

Match summary - Bogdán: Vermijl, Dervite, Mills, Tierney (McNaughton 66), Spearing (Medo 75), Chung-Yong, Vela, Moxey, C. Davies, Clough (Beckford 66). Unused subs: Lonergan, Wheater, Hall, Mason.

Bolton Wanderers 4 (C. Davies 34, 62, Moxey 74, Vermijl 90+2)

Huddersfield Town 2 (Paul Dixon 85, Lesse Lingard 89)

H/T: 1-0

A – 21,166, Macron Stadium, Bolton

Man of the Match: Craig Davies, Bolton (MR 8.8)

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“The players didn’t look happy.”

That was King, and he was right. They didn’t, and they shouldn’t have.

My talk had been to the point. “You made it hard on yourselves and you’ll have to be better if we want to reach our destination,” I said.

Some of the players took that as a challenge. Others, on the other hand, did not. As a result, I have my first mini-crisis as Bolton manager.

Huddersfield was missing 46 appearances lost to injury in the centre of their midfield and we should have done better. We nearly fell apart in the last five minutes of the match, on our own ground, and nearly threw away two points because we stopped concentrating and we stopped playing.

As I mentioned, some of the players took my words as a challenge. Others did not.

One who didn’t was Vela, who had played well in his run in the side right up to the Huddersfield match, and another was Medo, who thinks my high-performing captain should sit on the bench so he can play.

But as I talked first with King and then with the other regional media, I noticed that Medo and Vela were talking too. That was not good. I was very curious to hear what they had to say.

In the evening editions, I found out. And I wasn’t happy.

In fact, I was incandescent.

The News, as well as the Press Association and various football websites, had run quotes from Vela saying I had been too hard on the team and by Medo suggesting that I didn’t like him. And this time, he may just be right.

“The manager needs to understand the players are trying their best,” Vela was quoted as saying. “Our squad selection is understandable but perhaps could be better at the end of the match when we are trying to close out the game. He was too harsh on us after the match and a lot of my teammates agree with me.”

To make matters worse, not two weeks ago Coppell, on my instructions, had signed Josh to a new contract. If this is how he thinks it’s a good idea to repay his club, maybe a little time on the bench wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world for him.

Medo was even more insulting. “I didn’t see the logic in how we ended the match and to a point even in how we started it,” he said. “We had players who could have helped sitting on the bench. He wasn’t happy, he criticized me in front of my teammates and I think he’s trying to force me out of the club.”

By “players who could help”, I think he meant Mason, who wasn’t ready for a full return as yet, and perhaps his fellow youngster Hall, who had sat the match so the red-hot Moxey could continue his brilliance on the left and Chung-Yong could make us go on the right flank.

Either way, it sounded like two members of the squad were very unhappy and had gone public with their discontent, with both of them playing in the match and the team topping the table.

I was furious. Even Kim, known for her temper, wouldn’t go near me as I read the evening editions. Only Blake could mollify me, and he did, even though he didn’t know it.

I tried to rationalize. The players cared enough to say something. But at the same time, I couldn’t allow such a public challenge to my authority as the manager. I expect that my players will keep what is said in the changing room in the changing room.

Both players had failed in that basic task and there was going to be a consequence for it. Spooner texted me that there were players openly grumbling.

As Kim, Blake and I ate an early Sunday breakfast, I was composing a reply message to Spooner.

“Text the senior squad. There will be a mandatory meeting in the Macron Stadium changing room at 9:30. All senior squad players, injured or not, will attend and will be on time. There will be sanctions for anyone who is late.”

I hit ‘send’, finished my breakfast and drove to the stadium in silence. It was going to be a bloody Sunday.

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“Good morning, gentlemen. I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve asked you all here today.”

The expression on my face could have left no doubt, but I was looking at the senior squad players for reaction. There was none. They all knew.

“It has come to my attention, through the press, that some of you are not best pleased with my observations on how we closed out yesterday’s match,” I continued. “And others of you are not best pleased with me. I’ve asked you all here to let those players have at me in front of the team. If anyone has anything else to add above and beyond what’s already been in the news, now is the time.”

This was a calculated risk, and I knew it. I believed from watching the players all season that I had the vast majority of them with me. I was about to find out if I was right.

The American baseball manager Casey Stengel once said that “the secret to managing is keeping the five guys who hate you away from the five guys who are undecided.”

I knew when I called the meeting that there were fewer than five guys who hated me, and I had just called them out. As a result, there was not a sound from the players. I gave them a few moments and then took charge again.

“Hearing nothing, it’s my turn. Mr. Kamara, we’ll start with you.” Medo looked at me with an expression of surprise he shouldn’t have had.

“You said in the press that I criticized you in front of your teammates. I’d like to know --”

“I didn’t say that, I was misquoted,” he interjected.

“A player in your situation who interrupts his manager is pants-on-head stupid. I’m talking, which means you’re not,” I said just as quickly. “I don’t care if you were misquoted, I did not criticize you in front of the team and more importantly, you talked about a general conversation that was held in confidence among the members of this team without permission. That violates my media policy and is unacceptable.”

“And another thing,” I added. “You said you think I’m trying to force you out of the team. If that day ever comes, I’ll tell you to your face. But for now, you aren’t in the team because you’re training with the u-21s tomorrow.”

He didn’t look happy but I wasn’t done.

“Mr. Vela,” I said, and the midfielder looked at me like I had kicked his dog.

“So your contention to the press is that I’m too hard on you lads, is that right?”

“I thought your team talk was harsh,” he replied.

I admire a brave man.

“Let me tell you something,” I answered. “I happen to think that this team is promotable. To that end, I’m going to give you tough love whenever I decide you need some. I’m not your bloody dad, I’m not going to pat you on the arse and say ‘honey, you’re the best in the team’ when you don’t deserve it. If you think I’m being hard on you now, wait until you lose a lead against a better team and it costs you promotion. That’s nothing compared to how hard you’ll be on yourself. Am I clear?”

The looks on the faces of the players when I told them they are promotable told me immediately that I was in absolutely no danger of losing the squad. But now I had a point to prove to Vela.

“You are clear,” he said quietly.

“Now, Mr. Vela, what would you have said?”

“To the team?”

“We already know what you said to Brandon King,” I snapped. “Yes, Josh, to the team.”

“Well, I don’t make the team talk.”

I pounced.

“Oh, you don’t?” I asked, clipping my words for added emphasis. “You…don’t…make…the team talk. I wonder who in this room does make the team talk, and who does pick the eleven?”

My eyes had turned to steel blue with a gaze sharp enough to cut wrought iron. There was no answer. I began to pace back and forth in front of the room, which told the players that I was just warming up.

“I do,” I said. “Look, I’m not here to give the hair dryer to a lot of guys who don’t deserve it. I am here, though, to address what Mr. Spooner says is discontent among the squad. I don’t see a lot of it here, and if there is any, let’s get it out in the open. This is your second chance.”

Again, no one responded.

“Mr. Vela, you’re invited to train with Mr. Kamara tomorrow,” I said. “If you both get your heads down, I will still consider you for selection and you can consider yourselves damned fortunate that’s all that will happen to you this time. But if you two, or any member of this club goes public again like this, there’s going to be trouble and there’s going to be people on the transfer list. It’s not fair to the people in this room who are working hard and playing well to have to put up with backbiting. It’s not fair to your teammates to accuse the manager of playing the ‘wrong eleven’, and it’s not fair to your teammates to suggest that some of them aren’t good enough.”

“Again, this team is promotable. On its day it is the best team in the Championship. That is what our goal ought to be and if I see something that may stand in the way of the promotion your play deserves, I am going to tell you.”

I paused a third time to wait for anyone to say anything. A third spell of silence told me that the ‘discontent’ in the room was the figment of someone’s imagination. There are enough winners in that changing room to make that the case.

“Good,” I concluded. “And if anyone wants to talk to me they know my door is open. I’m sorry to have taken up your Sunday mornings for what is evidently a trivial matter.”

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My eyes had turned to steel blue with a gaze sharp enough to cut wrought iron. There was no answer. I began to pace back and forth in front of the room, which told the players that I was just warming up.

I like this, I like this a lot. Sounds like Bobby may have his work cut out, which is only fair really :D Great work as ever, very much enjoying this 10-3.

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Thank you, gentlemen. Interesting times at the club. Those who aren't playing aren't happy and those who are ... well, read on.

___

I should have seen it coming, I guess.

The first day of December brought about an avalanche of news, the majority of it bad.

First the interesting news: an upcoming opponent has sacked its manager.

Ipswich Town – our opponent on the 13th December, two matches from now – dismissed Mick McCarthy after a run of one win from nine dropped the Tractor Boys to 23rd in the table.

They won once in November – on the first day of the month, against my friend José Riga and Blackpool, and not since. Since they were also winless in October, that meant change was necessary, and they’re now looking for a new manager. Terry Connor is the caretaker for the moment while they look for a permanent replacement.

There was better news – to the surprise of virtually no one, Craig Davies is the Player of the Month in the Championship for November. He’s been magnificent, and paired with Young Player of the Month Zach Clough, they have placed us where we are in the table.

Neil Adams of Norwich won the manager award for running the table in five matches including their win over us. That was fully deserved.

At the board meeting, I was informed that the directors have given the club £2.7 million to bring us without shouting distance of compliance with FFP rules. We’re still short, though – and that was where part of my long day came in. We’ll need to sell in January.

I took good notes. My licence testing will receive a significant enhancement thanks to what happened today, and it’s all part of the modern game. A parade of players wanting to explore options was waiting for me. Quite carefully, they explained they weren’t angry with me, but golden spires are golden spires and a guy’s got to think of his career, doesn’t he?

First through the door was Tierney, a player who has been getting a run in the side in recent games but who hasn’t performed all that well when he’s been in there.

Turns out he was distracted by the same club that turned Chung-Yong’s head – Leicester City.

“My agent says they’re interested and I’d like to have a look at them if they offer,” he said.

I was quietly wondering whether I should ask Gartside to look into a tapping-up charge against a club that evidently wants at least two of my players.

“They are a Premiership club,” he reminded me.

“I’m aware of that,” I responded. “I read the papers. But they’ll need to match the club’s valuation and if they do, then I’ll allow you to explore the option.”

He left, apparently pleased, and at the same time telling me all I need to know about him in a loyalty sense.

Next in was Adam Bogdán, which was disappointing. Coppell has been trying to extend his contract with us, and Adam turned it down. His head was turned by Liverpool.

“They’re where I want to be,” he said. “Surely you can see that.”

“My vision is 20-20 according to my doctor, so I see just fine. But, no disrespect to you, why would they move for you, given that they seem quite happy with Mr. Mignolet at the moment?”

“They’re in the Champions League,” he said simply. “That’s the kind of football I need to further my international career.”

“But I repeat to you, Adam, at best you’d split time there. That’s not a knock on you, but they’ve put good money into Mignolet and if you stagnate, that will affect your international ambitions just as greatly as not playing in the Champions League.”

“I’d need to get my head down, I recognize that,” he said. “But if they bid, I want to go.”

“Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it,” I replied. “I understand your desires and of course I can’t really stand in your way as you’ve been a good servant to the club. You’ve kept your mouth closed to the press and you’ve performed very well when called upon. I can see why they want you but I think you’d be better served here.”

He left, and there came a third knock on the door. This was the cruelest cut of all.

Jay Spearing entered the office. My captain.

My bloody captain.

“Jay, I’d better not hear from you that you want to leave,” I began, but he simply shook his head.

“Swansea are interested so I want to explore it,” he said.

“And why is that?”

“Of course, it’s the Premier League.”

I told him to sit down across from my desk, and I sat on the other side to have an important talk with my captain.

“You do realize that you have a special role at this club,” I told him. “You are the captain, which means you’re my bridge to the players, and the bridge between the players and the fans.”

“Yes,” he said. So far, so good.

“More is expected of you. And, Jay, with all due respect, have you looked at the tables lately? We’re in promotion position and Swansea may just have a dogfight on their hands. Would you like to switch a team that is heading upwards with a team that isn’t?”

Swansea are off to a disappointing start – their 17 points so far leaves them just two points out of the drop zone. That said, it could be worse – neither Burnley nor Crystal Palace has yet won in the Premier League and both clubs are almost certainly doomed before Christmas.

“I want to play in the Premier League, but I hear you,” he replied. That was good. “And yes, you know I love the club and I’d prefer not to leave.”

“They why are you in here, Jay?” I asked. “What gives? Why am I seeing people lining up today wanting to leave the club?”

“Gaffer, we’re a victim of our own success,” he said, and I knew immediately that he was right.

We’re the high flyers at the moment and that means Premiership clubs are looking at our better players. It does go on at successful clubs, and I wondered if Kenny Jackett was having similar conversations with some of his boys down in Southwest London.

“Well, I’ll tell you again what I said on Sunday. This team is promotable, especially the way it’s playing. If you stick with it, you can captain a team in the Premiership and not everyone can say they’ve done that. If you will stick with it, the task will be that much easier.”

“Can you promise me Premiership football next season either here or somewhere else?”

“I won’t be held to ransom,” I said immediately. “But I am very confident that this club is capable of winning promotion. From my standpoint, I think the captain of this club owes it to his teammates to stick around and make the attempt.”

A smile slowly spread across Spearing’s face.

“Good enough for me, boss,” he said, extending his hand across the desk. We shook hands, and at least that part of the day ended well for me.

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I've been on holiday for a week and I am happy to come back and see a few updates!

A bit of tension isn't always a bad thing and you seem to have controlled it well .... and the players wanting to leave might get a shock if they do!

Already looking forward to the next update :)

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Thanks very much, dap! Glad to see you are enjoying and reading along. Greatly appreciated!

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December 6, 2014 – Reading (7-7-5, 11th place) v Bolton Wanderers (15-2-2, first place)

Championship Match Day #20 – Madejski Stadium, Reading

The trip to Berkshire was pleasant enough, though a wet drizzle upon my awakening today promised a difficult day.

Biscuitman Way is the last road before the stadium, paying tribute to one of the home side’s more colourful nicknames, and as we arrived the night before to stay in the Millenium Madejski Hotel attached to the ground, it looked welcoming enough.

The Royals are a solid side – better than their record, in fact, with only five losses in their nineteen matches to date.

They have good talent throughout the side, but they haven’t achieved under Nigel Adkins in the way I’m sure Sir John Madejski and co-chair Sasima Srivikorn might have liked. Relegated two seasons ago from the Premiership, their parachute payments are drying up too, just like ours did, so Adkins is under some pressure to get his team back to the top flight.

We have our own worries, though, and one of them was how the players would react to the last Huddersfield team talk in our first match since that late near-collapse. The players’ reaction from the team meeting was that they hadn’t stopped buying into the program, so I had reason to expect a decent performance.

Clough dropped to the bench in favour of Beckford and Vermijl got another shot at right full back while the former Reading captain, Mills, got the start against his old team in the centre of defence alongside Wheater, who was fully ready to play after recovering from his injury.

The question of what to do with Mason still lingered, though, because with Davies playing as brilliantly as he has been, I couldn’t take him out of the eleven:

Bolton Wanderers (4-1-3-2): Bodgán: Vermijl, Mills, Wheater, Ream, Spearing (captain), Danns, M. Davies, Moxey, C. Davies, Beckford. Subs: Lonergan, McNaughton, Medo, Hall, Vela, Mason, Clough.

And yes, you did read right – both Medo and Vela were in the eighteen but after what they did in the press last week there was no way I was going to start either one of them. Of the three players who came to my office to talk about golden spires, Tierney, was left out of the eighteen while Spearing and Bogdán, who had responded the most professionally to me, kept their places.

Beckford looked like a colt out there in the early going, which was interesting since none of the ‘young guns’ who have performed so well through the early part of the season were even in the eleven. Neither was Chung-Yong, as Neil Danns got a start on the right side of midfield in place of the South Korean.

And there was the colt, heading the ball into Adam Federici’s goal just six minutes into the match, courtesy of a perfect Moxey cross. The two veterans have been quite brilliant – Moxey all season and Beckford in streaks – but what mattered most was that they were brilliant at that moment beyond doubt, and we led 1-0.

It was the kind of high flying start that managers dream about, especially away from home, and as we settled in with the lead, we expected an immediate Reading riposte. We held them off fairly well, but Oliver Norwood was looking dangerous in the centre of midfield from the start, with Hope Akpan and Jordan Obita providing extra help on the wings and in the channels.

Obita buzzed Bogdán’s tower in sixteen minutes, barely missing the top right corner and forcing my number one into a fingertip save to nudge a rising shot over the bar.

Reading challenged us strongly in the midfield after our goal and since we were playing three wide with a holder, they had a numerical advantage in their 4-2-3-1 alignment. Norwood was starting to control things, and their second holding midfielder was making it very difficult to get the ball into scoring positions as they routinely defended six deep with deep-tracking help from all their midfielders.

In short, they were very well organized and I felt a bit fortunate to score against them as early as we did before they got settled in. Mark Davies missed a decent chance for us five minutes before the interval and when the halftime whistle blew, I was still well pleased with our lead.

Mark Davies still didn’t look like he was anywhere near peak form, but Reading had also done a nice job on Craig Davies as well. In fact, they had started to make some real noise toward the end of the half so I told the players to be prepared to go to our second formation, the 4-3-1-2 counter, if they started to press us again.

Adkins made one change at half, taking off Jake Taylor in favour of Pavel Pogrebnyak. Taylor had played more like the Jake Taylor from the old movie Major League than the midfielder we knew he could be, and in my mind the substitution was fully deserved.

Unfortunately for us, it was also the correct move for them. Reading moved to 4-4-2 and it didn’t take long for them to press us hard.

Akpan, Obita and striker Simon Cox all went close within the first ten minutes of the second half, and before long I knew what needed to be done if I still wanted to hold the lead.

Since I did, I motioned for Clough and McNaughton, who were finishing warmup runs, and brought them both on as I switched to 4-2-3-1. Zach’s job was to front Davies, who was playing as a shadow striker in a counter-attacking alignment. McNaughton replaced Ream, who simply hadn’t been very good.

I liked our shape a lot better once we had five in the midfield, but then Pogrebnyak wrecked everything by making a simply terrific play.

Norwood started it, as he started almost everything for them, with an inch-perfect ball to the right for the run of Akpan, who found himself against McNaughton in a footrace he was the strong favourite to win.

He did, and pulled the ball back beautifully to the middle of the park but I sighed with relief as I saw the ball would beat Pogrebnyak to the spot.

Or, so I thought. The striker dove at full stretch and headed the ball, which was about a foot off the ground, past Bogdán and home to get them level in 63 minutes.

Frankly, their play had deserved an equalizer, but to see it come on such a superb individual effort was both good and bad. It was good in that we couldn’t have prevented it and bad in that it had happened in the first place. It was a very brave play to make and Pogrebnyak had made it count, to the delight of Adkins and the Mad Stad faithful.

At that point, they upped their game again. They would surge forward, but we were in a much better position to absorb their pressure, and we would hit them for pace on the counter.

Ten minutes from time I brought on Hall for Danns in the hope that fresh legs would enable us to steal a goal that would get us three points.

Yet it was Royals substitute Jamie Mackie who got the first good chance after the substitution, thrashing a low drive that Bogdán managed to stop with a full-length dive to his left, with McNaughton there to steer the rebound to safety. He sent Moxey away on the left and right back we came, with the midfielder’s raking cross-field ball hitting Hall in full flight at the halfway line. In he came, with an early pullback looking for Mark Davies just outside the area – and his shot was beaten behind by Adam Federici for a corner.

It was good, solid, end-to-end stuff. And when the final whistle blew, it was a richly deserved draw for both teams – but I was just as interested in learning about how Fulham had done at home to Watford in a matchup of the Championship’s second and third-placed teams.

Match Summary: Bogdan: Vermijl, Mills, Wheater, Ream (McNaughton 59), Spearing, Danns (Hall 80), M. Davies, Moxey, C. Davies, Beckford (Clough 59). Unused subs: Lonergan, Medo, Vela, Mason.

Reading 1 (Pavel Pogrebnyak 63)

Bolton Wanderers 1 (Beckford 6)

H/T: 0-1

A – 16,924, Madejski Stadium, Reading

Man of the Match: Oliver Norwood, Reading (MR 8.0)

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Watford didn’t disappoint us. They didn’t thrill us, but they didn’t disappoint us, either.

The team we thrashed 5-1 on opening day went to Craven Cottage and held Fulham to a goalless draw – so being held ourselves in Berkshire had not cost us the top spot.

The match was our first away draw of the season, perhaps a bit surprisingly, and our first draw of any kind since the 27th September 3-3 split against Derby at the Macron.

Yet, today’s match marked the end of the line for Brighton manager Sami Hyypia. The former Liverpool legend had come over from Bayer Leverkusen, where he first finished his playing career and then managed, but was unable to get the Seagulls up the table in the Championship.

Brighton fell 1-0 to Derby County today, which completed a stretch of games that saw them win just one of their last five, falling to 21st place in the process. They are now in a relegation struggle, one point out of the drop zone, with Christmas fast approaching.

Speaking of which.

I need to figure out what to give the girl who has everything, so to speak. As a rule, I’m spectacularly bad at the romantic stuff, so I am at a bit of a loss as to what to get Kim for Christmas.

So I’m poking around. I asked Dell, who knows Kim fairly well, about the kinds of things she might like, and my PA promised to look into it. Quietly, of course. That’s nice of her.

We’re doing very well and we both like the place our relationship is in at the moment. There are no plans to change it – either by expanding it or by dialing it back.

We have our reasons. Hers is because she’s gunshy. Mine is because … well, because I’m gunshy.

And I want to make sure Blake is completely comfortable around Kim before we talk about any ‘next steps’, as it were. Having Kim in the house is change enough for the boy. Having a stepmother? Well, that’s a horse of a completely different colour.

So, we’re taking it easy. I want Kim to know I care for her and love her, and I want to strike the right note. Preferably without causing more trouble for myself, which is something I seem to excel at doing.

Kim also heard from Theresa Lyons today – the club’s general counsel had the good sense, and foresight, to report to Kim before she reported to me – to say that Amanda Caldwell’s representation had agreed to stop making online references to their client’s past relationship with me.

This was an important thing. Harassment and stalking is a serious offence these days and people have been known to take drastic action – against themselves as well as against others – because of it.

Lyons was very gentle with Kim given her known sensibilities toward Amanda Caldwell but was more businesslike when she spoke with me.

“Bobby, I think it’s handled,” she said. “Her representation was told in no uncertain terms that we considered her actions to be harassment and that we wanted it stopped before the authorities had to do it for us, and they were responsive to that.”

“Does Amanda even run her own account?” I asked.

“It appears that sometimes she does and sometimes someone does it for her,” Lyons answered. “There is a difference in her writing on some posts and it seems pretty obvious to me that either a publicist or a friend handles the other posts in her account.”

There’s load off my mind.

Another load off my mind was Mason’s performance with the u-21s on the Sunday, when he scored four goals against Bristol Rovers and came through the match with nary a scratch. He’s ready to return to action and he will, when we play Ipswich in a week’s time.

We also got a stroke of luck in our FA Cup draw, now that the Third Round is here. We were drawn away to League One Sheffield United for a match which will be played on 3 January and this is good for more than one reason.

Obviously, we’ll be fancied to win, and the board’s minimum for this event is the Fourth Round. Yes, we’re away, but if we simply do the business, we’ll have accomplished that goal. I haven’t forgotten the sting of the League Cup loss to Brentford, and the board hasn’t forgotten the sting of having that loss come one round too early from their point of view.

I personally wouldn’t mind seeing a Cup run. It would allow for more playing time for certain people who have been demanding more of it, and that’s never a bad thing.

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13 December 2014 – Bolton Wanderers (15-3-2, first place) v Ipswich Town (2-8-10, 24th place)

Championship Match Day #21 – Macron Stadium, Bolton

When Ipswich Town’s coach arrived at the Macron, I was not ready for what I saw.

Brian McDermott led them off, having been hired the evening before. The former Reading manager would have a side very keen to impress their new boss, having drawn 1-1 at home to Leeds the week before under caretaker Terry Connor and falling into 24th and bottom place in the Championship in the process.

Brian spent most of his career with Arsenal though he did play briefly for Oxford United in their Premier League days before finishing his career in the lower leagues. His first managerial job was at Slough before he went into scouting for nine years. Then he took over Reading and won the Championship Manager of the Year award in 2012 as he got the Royals promoted for the second time.

A year later, though, he was gone, and went to Leeds for a year before losing that position. Now, he’s at the Macron opposing me.

This match, from my point of view, had “trip wire” written all over it. Ipswich would be desperate to impress their new boss, we had a one-point lead over rampaging Fulham to protect, and we were going to be heavily favoured to do the business at home.

In short, it was going to be a challenge.

In fact, the match was already into the players’ heads after I shook hands with McDermott and headed to the changing room to speak with the players.

The attitude was different. Players were quiet, sullen even, with headphones on and staring into space. I had to get this stopped and in a hurry.

“Listen up, fellows,” I said as I entered the room, and the players still had the presence of mind to stop what they were doing. “I know this is not going to be an easy match. They’ve got a new manager as of this morning who is going to be on the bench with them and will be keen to get off to a flying start. We have to make sure that doesn’t happen. But here’s the thing; you have to understand that you’re top and they’re bottom for a reason. You’re a better club than they are. So relax. The result will come because we’re prepared and ready for what we’ll see. Now, get loose and let’s have a good day today.”

That seemed to help, especially in the case of Mills, known for his tendency to drift in concentration.

Bolton Wanderers (4-3-1-2): Bogdán: Vermijl, Mills, Wheater, Tierney, Spearing (captain), Chung-Yong, Vela, Moxey, Mason, Beckford. Subs: Lonergan, McNaughton, Ream, Medo, Hall, C. Davies, Clough.

The key changes: Tierney back in at left-back since if he played well he might showcase himself for one of the clubs he says wants him; Vela restored to midfield after a good week of training and keeping his mouth shut; and Mason in the hole position because, even after his time away he was still my leading scorer.

That, and he was ready to come back. That involved dropping Craig Davies to the bench and I didn’t like that much given his recent form, but one does what one has to.

But when the match started, it was the visitors who were the better side. We were flat, sluggish, everything you wouldn’t expect from a table-topping team facing the bottom side at home.

At times, it didn’t look as though we could complete a simple pass. We were slow on the ball, slow off the ball, and ridiculously easy to catch in possession. Tierney was the first one to get burned, coughing up the ball in nineteen minutes with only Mills between Bogdán and forward David McGoldrick, with the late-arriving Stephen Hunt chugging up the middle on an angled run from his left midfield position.

Mills charged down McGoldrick, who simply squared for Hunt. But, shooting off his weaker foot, the former Reading man screwed his shot wide to the left of Bodgán’s goal and I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

We weren’t ourselves, that much was plain. It was a full half hour before we started to generate any form of meaningful attack, but then we came close twice in quick succession.

Moxey was first, barely missing the top left corner of the goal when in reality trying to cross for Beckford, but even that accidental foray was better than anything we had managed previously.

Soon afterward, it was Mason, and that was welcome. His rasping effort from twenty yards glanced of the crossbar and over, though, which was cause for dismay but not despair.

For the remainder of the half, we were better and when the halftime whistle went I could legitimately tell the team I thought the result was on the cards.

“You’ve got out of the stupor you were in,” I said. “Good teams are able to do that and you were right on the mark for the last fifteen minutes. You did everything but score, so if you keep working hard the points are out there for you.”

With that, I let Spooner handle the individual talks while I sat in my office trying to figure out how to help my players break down the Tractor Boys.

I watched video on an iPad and saw essentially what I had seen at field level: a solid, organized defence and just a hint of desperation in their play that meant they’d be devilishly hard to break down. In short, barring a lapse in concentration from them in the second half, we’d just have to be patient and find a way through.

We were getting uneven play from our wings, though, and that was disappointing. Moxey was his usual solid self on the left but for a change Chung-Yong wasn’t having his usual game on our right. The Ipswich alignment tried to close down both our wingers – which should have meant more space for Vela as the attacking half of our central midfield duo – but he wasn’t having the greatest match of his life either, and it did make me miss having Mark Davies in the eighteen. However, the veteran’s play simply hasn’t warranted his inclusion, and that’s unfortunate.

So it was Vela or sink, and as such the best I could do was encourage the young man to actually play the kind of match he has been telling me for weeks he can play. After his incident with the press, I felt he owed the club at least that much – never mind me, the manager who he had slated.

In this case, though, patience was not a virtue. Beckford and Spearing both went down with injuries just after the start of the second half and I took them both off at the same time in 54 minutes, bringing Medo and Clough into the game. Spearing got his foot stepped on hard and was really hobbling, while Beckford left more alarmingly, clutching his left hip.

So, there they both were, The Malcontent Twins, running my central midfield into the ground and unable to find a way through the bottom team in our league. The fans were starting to get impatient and I suddenly remembered today’s “Stat of the Day” as printed before the match by the ever-helpful Brandon King:

“Wanderers have scored in every match – friendly, cup and league – since Bobby Malone took over in August.”

Right then, it didn’t look good for us finding a goal, and even though Ipswich was almost literally no threat at all to us, we just couldn’t break them down.

The match ticked last sixty … seventy … seventy-five minutes without a goal anywhere in sight. I took off Chung-Yong of all people since he was starting to look jaded, hoping Hall’s fresh legs, even though on his off-wing, could give us a spark.

The thought of only gaining one point on Fulham with their match at Leeds still to be played really started to raise my hackles on the bench, but the more I pushed and cajoled, the more it looked as though the players just didn’t have anything left to give -– an alarming state.

The fourth official held up his board for four minutes of added time, for the substitutions and the injuries to Beckford and Spearing, and the crowd finally got into the match, urging us to try to find a winner from somewhere.

Three minutes passed before we finally got forward, and then Hall got fully into the match, getting deep to the byline as the last moments of the match played out.

His cross narrowly missed the sliding Clough’s boot.

But it didn’t miss defender Jack Collison, who watched in horror as the ball glanced off him and into his own net for an own goal.

The Macron crowd exploded with joy and relief, Collison looked like he was near tears, and most of the Ipswich players sagged to the turf in frustration. It was, pure and simply, a gift, and the last kick of the match wasn’t even ours.

All I could do was shake McDermott’s hand and tell him he deserved a better fate. We had still scored in every match in my charge – but this time, a Bolton player hadn’t done the scoring.

Match Summary: Bogdán: Vermijl, Mills, Wheater, Tierney, Spearing (Medo 54), Chung-Yong (Hall 80), Vela, Moxey, Mason, Beckford (Clough 54). Unused subs: Lonergan, McNaughton, Ream, C. Davies.

Bolton Wanderers 1 (Jack Collison o/g 90+5)

Ipswich Town 0

H/T: 0-0

A – 20,004, Macron Stadium, Bolton

Man of the Match: Marc Tierney, Bolton (MR 7.1)

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Thank you, Bobby! This story continues to be fun to write and will be around for a long time yet.

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“This is what I was trying to warn you about, gentlemen,” I said as I paced back and forth in front of the senior squad.

“This is a win and I’m not going to rip into you for winning a football match like I did after Huddersfield. That said, my message is still the same: you’ve got to be better. This match had ‘banana skin’ written all over it. You played a desperate football team and in the end they were desperately unfortunate not to get a point. Millwall is going to look at that and smile.”

I waited for the desired impact and was happy to see that it came.

“We’re going there next week, they are a top-five club now and after they see video of this match, they’re going to think they can handle you. It’s up to you to show them otherwise. Now, think about how you’ll each work to disappoint those Millwall fans next week and get into your post-match routines. Day off tomorrow, see you all here at 9:30 Monday morning. Enjoy your night.”

With that, I invited McDermott into my office. He looked philosophical, and I tried to ease his pain a bit.

“You play like that the rest of the season and you’ll keep them up,” I observed.

“We needed a point today for their morale, Bobby,” he said. “They didn’t get it and I’ve got a long ride home to try to lift them up again.”

“Well, I liked your work defensively,” I said. “We never did find a way through. My heart goes out to Collison, he didn’t deserve that.”

“Damned right he didn’t, poor lad,” McDermott said. “But you’re finding a way to pick up points every weekend and that is a good sign.”

“They tell me that’s what good teams do,” I smiled. “For me, though, the trick is to keep them playing well. We’ve had a couple of decent runs but keeping them focused is hard.”

“If we could all do that, we’d all be managing at the Nou Camp,” he smiled. McDermott finished his glass and rose to leave.

“We’ll look forward to getting another shot at you,” he promised, extending his hand. We shook hands, and he headed out with his team.

I headed home for an evening with Kim, and the start of some of what might just be our own Christmas traditions. I feel a bit uncomfortable about that, in a way.

It’s not that I don’t love Kim. I’m pretty sure that I do, in a way that is a bit frightening to think about for a once-burned divorcee. But I might have grown a bit too comfortable with the single life and having someone of her beauty around me is almost a bit threatening.

I arrived to find a Christmas tree carefully placed in a corner of our sitting room, carefully and beautifully trimmed, with a single present underneath it.

“That’s for Blake,” she said, greeting me with a happy kiss as she pointed to the present.

“I figured,” I smiled. “I’m getting coal in my stocking, I think.”

“I should say not, Bobby Malone,” she remonstrated, hugging me tight. “The manager of the Championship’s table-topping club does not get goal in his stocking.”

I grinned, but she wasn’t finished.

“And neither does my boyfriend,” she said, tracing an imaginary line up and down my chest with her right index finger. “He has been very good to me so I’ve asked Santa to bring him something special.”

We moved to the couch and she sat in my lap, curling up to me.

“And what is Santa bringing for me?” she asked, her blue eyes widening just a bit as her gaze met mine.

“Something special,” I smiled.

No pressure, Malone.

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No matter what we do, we can’t seem to shake Fulham.

That isn’t really surprising. They are at least our equal in skill and deep down it’s hard to argue against them as the best team in the Championship. Our lads have bought into my system and it’s working for us, but in terms of pure skill – and occasional grit – it’s hard to beat them.

Leeds found that out during a pulsating 2-1 loss to the Cottagers at Elland Road on Saturday.

It was a full-blooded affair. Both teams finished the match with ten men and in fact, both teams had players sent off within the first twenty minutes of the match, so the overwhelming majority of the contest was played ten against ten.

I watched video of Fulham in passing on the Monday we returned to training because I had another London fish to fry first.

That would be Millwall, a rather shocking fifth in the table under Ian Holloway’s leadership. When we head to Southeast London on Saturday, we’re taking on a team that is notoriously difficult to play on its home patch and some of whose supporters have a rather fearsome reputation.

The second incarnation of The Den isn’t in New Cross like the old one was, but is close to it in Bermondsey, and it’s still less than seven miles away from the Boleyn Ground, home of Millwall’s über-rivals West Ham. We are going to see Millwall this year; if we do well on Saturday, perhaps we’ll see their neighbours next season.

The Lions are going to be a handful. Holloway has them playing very well with wins in two straight, and three of their last four matches including wins over Charlton, Middlesbrough and Brighton with the first and last of those matches away from home.

They don’t score a lot of goals – Australian Scott McDonald leads them with five – but defensively they’ve been very good, second only to Fulham with 20 goals conceded. That’s better than ourselves. So we are mindful, especially since we aren’t playing at our top level of form.

And, I’ve got another issue that needs addressing: Clough doesn’t like Beckford any more.

When Jermaine showed up to take his therapy for a hip injury that now looks like it will shelve him for at least two months, I witnessed a row between the players at first hand, and since Beckford is Clough’s club tutor, that forced me into action.

I called Clough into my office and said what I felt – he had shown disrespect to a senior member of the club while he was injured, and while I didn’t find the former appropriate, the latter made it doubly so since Beckford had been injured while wearing the shirt.

“We just aren’t getting on, boss,” Clough said.

“That’s apparent. I’m ending the tutoring right now. Do you think you can work with Craig Davies?”

He said he could. I didn’t have much choice but to believe him.

With Beckford out, we’re down to three healthy senior strikers again and that’s something I really need to avoid given the tactic we’re playing. Iliev, who looked so good in his debut before going down with an injury, is still about two weeks away from resuming training and that means Max Clayton is now with the senior squad thanks to his nine goals from seventeen matches for the u-21s.

Still, though, it’s not optimal. Beckford won’t be ready to play again until the spring, and that means I may need to hit the loan wires for a striker. There are several names out there, but if we have to pay anything for a player that will only be trouble for me since Gartside has strongly hinted that we’ll be selling rather than paying for players starting next month.

Newcastle youngster Adam Armstrong is a loan target, and at age 17 that would keep the Morris Vaughans of the world off my back since his biggest problem wouldn’t be adjusting to the Championship, it would be diaper rash.

Sunderland has made the physically imposing but chronically misfiring Yankee Jozy Altidore available for loan, but I don’t see a good fit even though many American fans see him as the second coming of Emile Heskey or some such. This from a people who think the letters J-A-G-U-A-R somehow form a word pronounced “jag-wire”.

Then there’s my preferred target, Arsenal’s Costa Rican frontman Joel Campbell, who is also listed as available for loan. He’s twenty-two years old, faster than anyone on my front line, and it’s not January yet so I can’t put in a loan bid for him. Olympiakos has already said they’d like to buy the player, though what folks are using for money in Greece these days is anyone’s guess.

That said, there’s no way I can buy him – I’ve got even less money to spend than the Greek Government. Besides, I’ve already asked and the Gunners said he’d look great in Bolton colours for the bargain price of just £4.3 million.

I’d negotiate – and perhaps I will if the proposed player sales in January give me anything like a transfer budget – but right now the board would simply question my sanity and that isn’t good.

And then there’s Ream, who made the unfortunate error of letting his face get in the way of former Lion Liam Trotter’s elbow during Tuesday’s training. The resulting rearrangement of my American defender’s mug means he won’t be able to play this weekend while his stitches set. Lovely.

And, if that isn’t bad enough, Chung-Yong has not surprisingly been called up by South Korea for the Asian Cup of Nations, which means he’ll be gone for most of January.

Danns wants a run in the side – well, now he’ll get one. And, if Lee doesn’t come back from the Cup still wearing our colours because Gartside sold him while he was gone, then Neil will probably get a lot more playing time.

Oh, and then there’s Stuart Pearce. Forest sacked their manager on Wednesday, with a side once tipped for promotion sitting 20th in the Championship, just out of the relegation places and winners of only one of their last seven matches. The last straw was Forest’s inability to win at Rotherham, grinding out a goalless draw on Saturday which was every bit as bad as it sounded.

The Millers are playing much better than earlier in the season, having won four times, but they’re still bottom, and much better is expected. Steve Wigley will be the caretaker until a permanent solution is found.

And I still don’t have Kim’s present, which is really starting to annoy me.

Blake is no problem – I’ve got clothes for the boy and of course, his football gifts including a brand new pair of boots to replace ones I noticed were worn through and damaged last time I saw him.

There’s really no need for that. I give Holly plenty of money to look after the lad, and it’s not like Darin is hurting either. The boy should have nice boots and that’s that.

But Kim, I’m just not sure what I’m going to do. It would be the easiest thing in the world to go into Manchester and buy jewelry, but I want to show some imagination.

Not too much, mind you – I am a football manager after all and as a group we’re really not known for our great brains with the ladies – but enough to let her know I care while not making myself look like a complete clot.

Good luck with that too, Malone.



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20 December 2014 – Millwall (10-6-5, 5th place) v Bolton Wanderers (16-3-2, 1st place)

Championship Match Day #22 – The Den, London

Staying in London before the match was a good thing. It gave the team a night away for bonding and it gave me a chance to do some online shopping.

It also allowed me to remark on an upcoming sad anniversary for me.

The holidays have always been a bit of a bleak time for me since Dad passed away during them. I know, I was very young at the time but I was sure old enough to remember him, and our festive schedule will allow me time to do what I do every year, which is visit his grave in Birmingham.

It will be 34 years in ten days, and that will also mark a sad phone call with my mum, with whom I talk regularly but always, without fail, on the 30th December.

The Lions were my priority on the way to London, of course, and how to crack their stingy defence. I think they can be had for pace, and if we get the opportunity I intended to have my players try.

One of the things we’ve done very well is attack with pace and power – similar to some Premiership sides, in fact. Hopefully there’s a bit of foreshadowing there. The plan called for us to take the ball right at Millwall and let the forwards deal with their defence.

The striker shortage – and frankly, Clough’s petulance in dealing with Beckford – meant I needed to make a bit of a statement up front. Mason moved out of his number-ten-style position and into the striker’s spot, a place I haven’t yet placed him. In essence, I had both my number tens on the pitch at the same time and one of them needed to step forward.

Spearing hadn’t passed a fitness test after getting his foot stamped on against Ipswich, so Medo went into his place as the holder.

Bolton Wanderers (4-3-1-2): Bogdán: Vermijl, Mills, Wheater, McNaughton, Medo, Chung-Yong, M.Davies, Moxey, C. Davies, Mason. Subs: Lonergan, Tierney, Dervite, Hall, Vela, Danns, Clough.

We lined up and entered the pitch to one of the more enjoyable traditions in English football, the singing of Millwall’s official club song, recorded in 1985 by Roy Green and performed before every match. It ends with:

Let ‘em come, let ‘em come, let ‘em come

Let ‘em all come down to The Den

Let ‘em come, let ‘em come, let ‘em come

We’ll only have to beat ‘em again

It’s the best team in London, no, the best team of all

Everybody knows us, we’re called Millwall

Let ‘em come, let ‘em come, let ‘em come

Let ‘em all come down to The Den!

You can’t help but smile when you hear it. Entering the pitch behind my players, I shook hands with Holloway and took my place in the visitors’ dugout in front of the Barry Kitchener Stand.

We attacked from my right to left in the first half – toward the North Stand and our support, which had shown up fairly strongly in response to our lofty league position. The Dockers Stand across from us was mostly filled with Lions supporters, but I was a bit disappointed that a match of first versus fifth was only played in front of about 75 percent capacity. In terms of attendance we aren’t any great shakes at home either, unless we’re winning, so I guess I can’t really complain.

Two minutes into the match I had my head in my hands as Mark Davies, desperate for a strong match, put a thundering drive squarely off David Forde’s crossbar from about twenty-five yards. It would have been a wonder goal and just the thing for his confidence, but he hit the bullseye instead of the target, in a manner of speaking.

Five minutes later though, we were all square in a sense as Millwall’s Swedish striker, Mathias Ranégie, put one off a startled Bodgán’s left post on the Lions’ first foray into our defensive third. Then hearts went to throats as Alan Dunne whipped a beautifully taken free kick home for the first goal of the match in nineteen minutes, only to see referee Carl Boyeson correctly waving off the goal for Scott McDonald’s foul on Bogdán as he reached up to try to claim the ball.

It was the right call, and we soon reassessed our authority on the match. Twenty-five minutes in, we got a corner that Chung-Yong took. It was long, and rather ugly – but there to sweep the ball home from a sharp angle past the far post was none other than Matt Mills.

The central defender looked like Wayne Rooney as he did the long slide on the grass to celebrate his first goal of the season. Our strikers were invisible in the early going but the central defender wasn’t, and we led.

Thus buoyed, we played a solid remainder of the first half with one minute of added time. Off another corner, Chung-Yong’s entry was headed clear by McDonald, but only as far as Medo, who cycled play by feeding the South Korean again down the right. Again his cross was overcooked, sailing over the strikers to the far post – and there to head the ball home was none other than the other central defender, David Wheater.

Forde had done the best he could, but even getting a piece of the ball wasn’t enough to stop it flashing home for a two-goal lead at half that was as much fun as it was fortuitous, coming in front of the away support. It led to quite a happy halftime talk indeed.

In the second half, we turned to attack the Cold Blow Lane Stand, which was an entirely different proposition, at least in terms of the direction we were attacking.

Two minutes into the half, we stormed loose down the left with the ball at the feet of Moxey, which always makes me feel good these days, and I saw him controlling the ball with his head up, and that made me feel even better.

His cross was long, as the first two had been – and why in the hell was Mills that far forward anyway? Never mind, as he finished again on the full volley, running backwards to the corner flag in celebration as he called his teammates over for a celebration for the ages.

I turned to Spooner, seated at my left before the goal but jumping around like a crazy man after it, and couldn’t help but grin.

“Did we change the match plan somehow to tell the central defenders to get forward?” I asked.

“Beats hell out of me, Bobby, how about we just enjoy it?” was his reply. At three-nil to the good it was certainly hard to argue with him.

We were all enjoying our football, from the manager on down, and the screams of outrage coming from the Cold Blow Lane Stand were both loud and, occasionally, profane depending on the number of drinks inside the protestor. We were rampant.

But it got better. Just after the hour, we got forward again, and again it was Chung-Yong given entirely too much space down the right. It was ridiculously easy, and his cross to the middle, where we could have any ball we wanted in the air, was headed right for the forehead of Mark Davies.

Like a flash, another white shirt muscled in front of him. It was Wheater, and he didn’t miss, giving us a 4-0 lead and me two central defenders on hat tricks. I hadn’t seen anything quite like it before.

Five minutes later, Craig Davies, who had been virtually invisible in the number ten position, shook loose and his shot was blocked at feet by Forde, with the rebound sliding invitingly into the path of Wheater, whose eyes got as big as dinner plates as he contemplated the defender’s dream – a hat trick.

He got there first. He shot. And Forde dove to turn it behind, giving my vice-captain a sheepish little grin as he got up off the turf.

It was amazing. I couldn’t put it any other way. And at the end, it was a four-goal day where we didn’t need either of our strikers. How can you beat that?

Millwall couldn’t.

Match summary: Bogdán: Vermijl, Mills, Wheater, McNaughton, Medo (Vela 87), Chung-Yong, M. Davies (Danns 74), Moxey, C. Davies (Clough 74), Mason. Unused subs: Lonergan, Tierney, Dervite, Hall.

Millwall 0

Bolton Wanderers 4 (Mills 25, 48; Wheater 45+1, 63)

H/T: 0-2

A – 14,190, The Den, London

Man of the Match – Matt Mills, Bolton (MR 9.4)

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I was very well pleased and more than a bit surprised!

___

Ian Holloway hardly knew what had hit him. And it was from my central defenders, no less.

We had hit the best defensive club in the Championship for four goals on their home patch, their worst performance of the season. Clearly it annoyed him, though he tried not to show it.

“You’ve done this before,” he observed, as we sat in his office after the match.

“We’ve done very well in front of goal,” I admitted. “I can’t deny that. Sometimes I have to pinch myself and I just hope we can keep it going.”

Holloway scanned a printout of the league table, which a staffer had placed on his desk, briefly interrupting our conversation.

“Fifty-nine goals,” he mused, sliding the piece of paper across the desktop to me after he had finished. “But you still can’t shake Fulham, can you?”

“They’re good, I daresay better than we were when we played them,” I admitted, ducking what some might have considered an insult. “But really I hadn’t realized we had scored that many.”

Our Boxing Day matchup with Blackburn would mark the official halfway point of the campaign and if we keep scoring goals at our current pace, we might set a few records before it’s all said and done.

We’re no threat to break the all-time English record for goals, which is 134 by Peterborough United in 1960-61. But we’re very good away from home and it’s entirely possible that if we keep our heads down, we might well threaten Arsenal’s record of 60 goals away from home set in 1930-31.

Just then my phone buzzed and I looked at a push notification from Sky Sports. I looked at Holloway.

“Nigel bought it today,” I said, and Holloway shook his head.

Nigel Clough has evidently been unable to resurrect the fortunes of Sheffield United, which fell from grace more quickly than you can say “Carlos Tevez” after the club’s controversial relegation from the Premiership in 2006-07.

This is important for us because we’re playing the Blades in the Third Round of the FA Cup on 3 January, so once again we will probably have to face a side looking to impress a new boss. The last time we did that, at home to Ipswich, we nearly paid for it with the lead in the Championship.

“I don’t understand Sheffield,” Holloway admitted. “They went about it all wrong when they got relegated, they admitted it, and now they let Nigel go. He was the best thing they had going for them.”

“I don’t understand it either,” I said. “But we do get to play them soon.”

“Then it ought to be easy for you,” Holloway said. “Sort of like today.”

“Well, today was a bit odd, you surely must see that,” I said. “But who knows?”

I know that the board expects the Fourth Round out of this team, so victory at Bramall Lane is a requirement, especially after the disappointment of the League Cup. It may even affect the side I put out there, since the FA Cup weekend at this stage means everyone in the Championship is playing out of the league, and with no midweek game the next week, I can put out nearly a full-strength side if I choose.

Yet that doesn’t do justice to people like Pratley and Medo and Danns who want and need games and should surely be able to prevail against lower-league opposition.

Bolton haven’t won the Cup since 1958, on a day when everyone else in Europe was rooting for Manchester United after the tragedy of the Munich air crash three months prior to the final.

That day, none of the eleven Wanderers in the team cost the club a transfer fee – including the iconic Nat Lofthouse, who scored both goals in the match and created a bit of controversy when he bundled United keeper Harry Gregg over the goal line while he was holding the ball. It was a much different game then, of course, but Nat’s first goal three minutes into the match – which had nothing to do with Gregg – was enough to secure victory.

It’s enough to make the romanticist in the fan base wax poetic. It’s also enough to make the serious fan wonder what it will take before the club can make another run like that again.

In this day and age, though, the deeper and bigger squads are the only ones who can make runs like that in the Cup competitions. The days of romance are pretty much over, when these days an Arsenal or a Chelsea or a United or a Liverpool can put out a second team that outclasses the first teams of 95 percent of the clubs in England.

Still, though, that doesn’t mean you don’t try, and it doesn’t mean that clubs can’t realize what they know is the bigger gain of the FA Cup – extra home gates, television money and, if there’s any kind of a run, a publicity bump for the club that might lead to added merchandise sales.

Yet, as I got up to take the team back to the Northwest, I had to put the FA Cup out of my mind and figure out how to get three points off another arch-rival – Blackburn – in the match which would mark the official halfway point of the Championship season.



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  • 2 weeks later...

I didn’t have Blake for Christmas Day, and that was both expected and a shame, at least from a dad’s point of view.

In fact, I didn’t even have the lad for Christmas Eve. I had him for the Monday and Tuesday after the Millwall match, which wasn’t nearly long enough to suit me but which was what I was allowed.

Kim, though, was magnificent in every way. On the Tuesday night, we had an early Christmas for him, and that was completely heartwarming in every respect.

He opened his present from Kim – a football autographed by my entire squad in a hard plastic case that Blake treated like it was made of gold – and then his presents from his dad, which were somewhat more sedate. In addition to football, Blake also likes race cars. That’s not surprising.

He enjoyed everything, moving from one gift to the next with the reckless abandon that is so heartwarming in small children. And, of course, when he opened up a new desk he had been saying he wanted for months, he wanted to play in the box. Naturally.

So it was a great Christmas for him. And after he went to bed, I did my best to make it a happy one for Kim as well.

I wanted her to have something that showed she was going to get my best. After all, that was what she had demanded of me (nicely, of course) and it was certainly the least she was entitled to expect.

I’m a believer in visualization. I want my players to be able to imagine themselves scoring goals, making tackles, making saves, and doing the small things that win matches and lead to trophies and accomplishments. I decided to try the same tactic on my girlfriend.

It was in a different way, of course – but the diamond necklace with intertwining hearts I gave her was designed to achieve the same end.

Judging by the reaction she gave me, I think I might have succeeded. I’d call it something crass like ‘one-on-one management’ or some such thing if I were feeling uncouth, but I really am not. She deserves something very nice for how she’s treated Blake alone, never mind how she’s treated me.

For her part, she bought me a new touchline suit, which I thought was a marvelous gift. I’ve never been much for dressing up while working, but she evidently thought there was some sort of menswear model hiding in the skin of her boyfriend, so I decided to play along.

If there’s one thing I hate more than a case of the stomach flu, it’s trying on clothes. I can’t stand it. But with Kim sitting so prettily on the couch urging me to do and put on a beautiful new black silk suit, there was really nothing else for it but to do as she asked.

I had to admit, she dressed me well. She had even had the equipment managers sneak into my office to get my sizes while I was off at training about a month ago, so she could have the suit tailored before I opened the box.

It looked good. I’ve never been really comfortable wearing a coat and tie on the touchline – I’ve always been more of a tracksuit sort – but she had a look in mind for me and she wanted me to look the part.

“When you bring us to the Premier League, I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you do it dressed like Tony Pulis,” she giggled, and I had to smile in return. If Tony ever hears about it, I’m liable to get his death stare, but it was good for a laugh at any rate.

But after that sweet moment, it was time to get ready for Boxing Day and the matchup against another arch-rival – Blackburn.

Jordan Rhodes has 14 goals for them already, putting him third on the marksman’s list. The influential Corry Evans won’t play for them, having suffered a broken wrist after a nasty fall in training last week. That’s the kind of “Flying Fickle Finger of Fate” injury that can really hurt a side, and since Rovers are solidly mid-table at the holiday, his absence isn’t going to help them make their run.

After the Millwall match, nearly half the Team of the Week – Bogdán, Mills, Wheater, Moxey and Chung-Yong – wore our colours. That was exceptional and I think it shows where we are at this point in our season.

However, we have a difficult little stretch here as we play twice in three days – on Boxing Day at home to Rovers and then again on the 28th December away to Huddersfield, so there’s going to be a lot of squad rotation there.

Huddersfield owes us one after the way our match ended at the Macron – but then, I think we owe them one for the way our match ended at the Macron. We’re going to be a couple of tired teams in search of points – they’re still lurking just outside the playoff places and my friend Chris Powell probably can’t wait for another shot at his friend Bobby Malone.

But the other present I got that night – my beautiful girlfriend emerging from her evening bath wearing nothing but a Santa hat – made me forget about the fixture list and concentrate on something else much more important.

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Thank you for the kind comment -- given the way the rest of the league is shaking out, right now this is a very promotable team. The gap to third-placed Watford is eleven points entering play in this match and it's a drop of 24 points to seventh-placed Millwall. The team is on a great run of form and they have a tactic which seems to suit everyone but the strikers. We'll see if that changes as they gain fluency.

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26 December 2014 – Bolton Wanderers (17-3-2, 1st place) v Blackburn Rovers (9-3-10, 11th place)

Championship Match Day #23 – Macron Stadium, Bolton

Yes, it had to happen sooner or later. We had to play football, and on Boxing Day there’s really nothing better than taking on your arch-rivals.

We knew the Macron would be sold out for the contest and that certainly was an encouraging sign. The way we had played against Wigan with the joint full of people, I was looking forward to a repeat performance against another club we needed to beat.

Rovers have been, shall we say, indifferent in recent weeks so we thought straightaway that it was a good time to be playing them. But in the tunnel, I had a nice chat with Gary Bowyer, for the first time since I had seen him in Madrid, and that seemed to diffuse my own tension a bit.

I didn’t want the players’ tension level to drop, though – I liked the edge we brought to the proceedings and with Fulham trailing us by just a point, dropping our edge was something we dared not do.

With two matches in three days coming up, though, I had to give more than a bit of thought to team selection. Spearing was slightly better in terms of his health but still wasn’t one hundred percent so he started on the bench while Medo got another start in the holding role.

And, sadly for us, Chung-Yong was done, headed to the Asian Cup of Nations. That will mean a lot of Neil Danns in the midfield for us over the next few weeks – an idea he certainly liked but which gave me a bit of indigestion. If I had wanted Danns to have that much playing time, I’d have made him first choice in the first place. Now he is, by default.

And young Max Clayton started on the bench too, mainly because I’m running low on strikers again. My hope was that Mason would find his old magic playing off Clough’s shoulder, and I hoped that magic would some sooner rather than later.

Bolton Wanderers (4-1-3-2): Bogdán: McNaughton, Mills, Wheater (captain), Moxey, Medo, Danns, M. Davies, Hall, Mason, Clough: Subs: Lonergan, Vermijl, Ream, Spearing, Vela, Clayton, C. Davies.

Magic did come, but it was for the red-hot Clough rather than for the on-loan Bluebird.

It took just under twenty minutes in a match we controlled easily from the start. Their forays forward never seemed to find much purchase and Bogdán was called upon only once in the first quarter hour to do anything like make a difficult save, but when he cut out a sharp cross in seventeen minutes, he started our counterattack with a quick throw to McNaughton on his right.

Three passes later, the ball was in their goal, with McNaughton’s lead ball to the right finding Danns in full stride, his pullback to the centre finding Mark Davies, and the playmaker’s glorious little chip onto the run of Clough leading to the striker’s rising drive into the top left corner of Paul Robinson’s goal.

So far so good, with the majority of the sellout crowd at the Macron well pleased with a fluid play and a sterling finish. Clough’s form is excellent and from that point of view I was well pleased to see it continue, even as I hoped for a bit of that goal dust to shake off onto Mason, who needs one.

Medo wound up in the book for a highly awkward challenge on David Dunn, and also managed to nick himself up in the process – a rather unique double that distressed me on more than one front. He soldiered on until halftime, at which time we still led comfortably by a goal to nil, and at the break I took him off in favour of Spearing since Medo didn’t really seem able to continue.

He was still for it, though, and that was a good thing given our recent differences of opinion – but I thought he wouldn’t do us much good in his injured state, so off he came. Thankfully, he seemed to understand that.

The energy of the match seemed to be all flowing toward us. It was a difficult feeling to describe. Bowyer’s pleadings to his players from the visitors’ technical area nothwithstanding, his side weren’t getting much going and it was starting to rankle the traveling support by the time the first half ended.

Mills and Wheater were a very comfortable pairing in central defence again and really, Blackburn never looked like scoring in the first half. In short we were grinding them to dust and that was just what the doctor ordered from my point of view.

And then there was Jordan Rhodes, the poor lad. He’s third in the Championship in goals with 14, but also leads the Championship in offsides, and he was nailed four times in the first half, bringing his total to a rather stupendous 67. That’s eighteen more than anyone else in our league. If you could score by standing in an offside position, he’d be right up there with the greats of the game. Instead, we simply took the free kicks and got on with the game.

Meanwhile, Bournemouth were holding Fulham 1-1 at halftime and that score, if it held, would be highly beneficial to us if we could stay good value for our lead.

Two minutes into the second half, we got a set piece about forty metres from goal on our right wing and Danns stood over the ball to take the effort.

His ball was long, to the edge of the six-yard box on the opposite side of the pitch – but there to rise for the ball was none other than that goal-scoring wonder Matt Mills.

Rising over a rather surprised Grant Hanley, he headed the ball down into the ground, with the bounce sailing over the diving Robinson’s arm for a two-nil lead that looked as safe as the Bank of England.

With nearly forty-five minutes to play we obviously couldn’t let up but you could see Rovers sag as our second went into the goal. If I were Bowyer I’d have been furious. His team just seemed to switch off, and in a derby match there really can’t be any excuse for that.

To make matters worse, Jason Lowe got himself sent off seventeen minutes from time for a high challenge on Tim Ream, who had just come on for Davies and gotten a set of stud marks on his leg for his trouble.

Lowe took the long walk, Bowyer headed to the trainer’s kit for an aspirin, and since we were two up playing against ten, I eased us into a 4-2-3-1 counter formation to seal our victory in cement.

We were comfortable enough for me to give Clayton his senior debut eight minutes from time, and it wasn’t for lack of running around that he failed to become the third Bolton teenager to score on his senior debut. The lad enjoyed the runout, the fans enjoyed the win, and then we got more good news.

Just before the final whistle, the tannoy announced that Bournemouth had scored in the 73rd minute and had held on to defeat Fulham. That got the crowd into things again, and it was a “twofer” – victory over our rivals and an expansion of our lead to four points.

As the final whistle went, it was a very good day indeed.

Match Summary: Bogdán: McNaughton, Mills, Wheater, Moxey, Medo (Spearing 45), Danns, M. Davies (Ream 72), Hall (Clayton 82), Mason, Clough. Unused subs: Lonergan, Vermijl, Vela, C. Davies.

Bolton Wanderers 2 (Clough 18, Mills 47)

Blackburn Rovers 0 (Jason Lowe s/o 73)

H/T: 1-0

A – 28,723, Macron Stadium, Bolton

Man of the Match – Dean Moxey, Bolton (MR 9.0)



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As I prepared to face the media I checked my phone quickly to find that Bournemouth had in fact deserved their win.

Matt Ritchie did the deed for them, and they played against ten men after Scott Parker got his marching orders seven minutes from time. That hardly mattered – Bournemouth had had 26 attempts at goal and were clearly good value for their win.

The other big news was Middlesbrough’s managerial change. Aitor Karanka is gone after a dreadful spell that saw Boro earn only seven points from 36 since October 18. A 1-nil loss at home to Forest today spelled doom for him.

It’s an odd time to change – the festive period is also packed and that means they’ll be managed by caretaker Craig Hignett as they look for a new boss.

“Bobby, that looked boring in a lot of ways,” King smiled as he stood next to me.

“I suppose it probably looked that way, but we were in control of the match from the first kick to the last,” I said. “I’m very proud of the way my team played today and they are getting the reward they deserve, which is to lead by more than a single point.”

“Breathing room is nice,” he added. That was an invitation to continue my current train of thought.

“Fulham is still an excellent side and we have to be mindful,” I said. “Just because we opened a bit of space today is no indication we’ve won anything. Let’s bear that in mind. I intend to be sure the players do.”

“You turn right around again and play on Sunday,” I was reminded, “and Huddersfield gave you a scare last time.”

“I’m not thrilled about two matches in three days, I’ll admit that,” I said. “But lots of clubs are in that kind of fixture mess and we will have to make do. We aren’t terribly deep at certain spots right now, striker included, so we’re going to have to dig deep and find a way to get points away from home on short rest.”

“Will we see rotation?”

“I don’t see how we can avoid it, frankly,” I said. “We are going to have to have some people step up, and I mean really step up, over the holiday period.”

“Such as?”

“Anyone who puts on the shirt,” I replied. “I expect that every time we play, but over the festive period, when everyone has to give just that little bit extra, we need it more than ever. Fulham aren’t going away, Watford and Norwich are very good sides and we have a job on to stay with them or ahead of them. We will need all hands on deck.”

“Because of the striker shortage, will we see different players or a different alignment for the trip to Huddersfield?”

“Why don’t you watch the match and find out?” I asked, before heading upstairs to a rather raucous celebration in the owner’s suite.

It’s always fun to beat your arch-rivals. It keeps the wolves away for another day.



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I'm having some pretty significant browser issues on forum recently, so I apologize for the double post. But it's nice to know after all this time that folks are still reading. :)

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28 December 2014 – Huddersfield Town (10-7-6, 7th place) v Bolton Wanderers (18-3-2, 1st place)

Championship Match Day #24 – The John Smith’s Stadium, Huddersfield

“Weren’t we just here?”

Spooner smiled as he sat next to me in the visitors’ dugout at the John Smith’s Stadium, which used to be known as the Galpharm Stadium.

As trips go, this one hadn’t been bad at all – just over an hour eastward on the M62 to a lovely little ground near the River Colne – but I was more concerned about playing for the second time in 72 hours.

We were sat in front of one of the four sponsored stands – The Direct Golf UK Stand was behind us, the Brittania Rescue Stand was across from us, and we attacked left to right in the first half toward the John Smith’s Stand which contained a large and raucous away support. The Fantastic Media Stand was to our left and Bogdán stood alone in front of a good-sized group of Terriers supporters who were waving things at him in what appeared to be good-natured fun.

The team was a lot different: I had made five changes from the side that beat Blackburn including all four of the defenders.

Vermijl returned to the full back role in place of McNaughton, who dropped to the bench. I changed out both centrebacks, which I am loathe to do usually, because neither Mills nor Wheater were fully fit to play twice in three days, so Dervite and Ream started in their place. There was a Tierney sighting too, with him slotting in at left fullback while Moxey was restored to his usual playmaking place on the left side of midfield.

Hall got a second consecutive start since he seemed to rebound well from the Blackburn match and I had little choice but to start Mason and Clough up front due to the injury situation. Max Clayton again made the substitute’s bench as we continue to search for healthy options up front.

Bolton Wanderers (4-1-3-2): Bogdán (captain): Vermijl, Dervite, Ream, Tierney, Medo, Hall, Vela, Moxey, Mason, Clough. Subs: Lonergan, Mills, McNaughton, Spearing, Pratley, C. Davies, Clayton.

From the start of the match, it looked like a contest between two teams full of dead legs. That shouldn’t have been surprising, I guess. It took us a fair bit of time to work our way into the match but Huddersfield had the same problem so as the teams slogged through a staid first half, I couldn’t really complain. Rare enough for me, I suppose.

All that said, we did manage to find the range just before the half and it gave us a huge lift. It came off the boot of the red-hot Clough, which pleased me almost as much as it pleased Zach.

Hall provided this time, with his early ball finding the feet of the teenager as he wiggled past veteran defender Peter Clarke. Quick as a flash, the ball was past Alex Smithies and home one minute before the interval – perfect for me but annoying as hell for Powell in the opposite technical area.

When the halftime whistle went, things looked pretty good. The squad I fielded for this match was weaker than for Blackburn – and had the matches been played in reverse order I’d have done the same thing. Winning the derby was very important to the club and it deserved the stronger side.

That said, when we took the pitch for the second half, I was left to remark that our two matches against Huddersfield featured one thing in common: there was a stretch in each match where we simply stopped playing.

In the home fixture, it was the last ten minutes. In this one, it was the ten minutes right after the hour mark.

We were abject as the half began and midfielder Jonathan Hogg made us pay for it in 61 minutes. While we were standing around, they executed not one but two cross-field passes in quick succession, carving us open with ridiculous ease for Hogg to finish with aplomb past Bogdán and get them level.

Disgusted, that brought me to the touchline – only to see Medo undressed in a footballing sense by former Manchester City trainee Harry Bunn, who first turned him to the right and then to the left before leaving him for dead just outside our area in 65 minutes. Bunn’s ball to the right found Hogg, and the return ball found the striker’s boot before it in turn found the back of Bogdán’s net.

The keeper had been hung out to dry twice in four minutes and I had seen though. Fuming, I pulled Medo right there on the spot, substituting Spearing for him and hauling off the ineffective Mason in favour of Craig Davies at the same time.

“Show me you want to move up a league,” I growled at the captain, and he nodded. Nobody likes watching his team lose.

Three minutes later, we were celebrating an equalizer of our own, as Davies did a very nice job to find space at the top of the Huddersfield area. His shot was slapped aside by Smithies, but right onto the boot of Clough, who couldn’t miss. His brace got us level at 2-2 and the teams had scored three times in seven minutes.

But, there was more. And it wasn’t good. Literally right from the ensuing kickoff, Town stormed forward once more, and James Vaughan squared for an utterly unmarked Nahki Wells to restore their lead just 39 seconds after we had tied the contest.

Red-faced, I tried to calm myself as I watched my defence torn to bloody ribbons right in front of my eyes. They had all been awful, and the calculated risk I had taken switching out all four defenders turned out to be folly in eight pathetic minutes. But we had time to try to come back.

Getting Davies higher up the park to harry the Huddersfield back four was important and the Welshman did his best, setting up Clough for a drive over Smithies’ crossbar in 76 minutes that briefly had hearts in throats.

Ream came off in favour of Mills in 81 minutes. The American has been fairly steady for us this season but today was not his best day, and he knew it as he sat down. I even told Mills to get forward if he saw the chance because of his recent goal-scoring form.

And so it was that I was incandescent as Mills received a straight red card just four minutes after his introduction for a two-footed challenge on Wells. It was as plain as the nose on your face, and my love-hate relationship with my central defender was never more sorely tested.

Down to ten, I went to a back three in order to preserve the two strikers, hoping against hope that we could get a break. As the match rolled into added time, we got one as Joel Lynch earned a second yellow card for Huddersfield, putting both teams at ten men for the finish.

That promised much. But sadly, we didn’t promise anything at the end. As we left the pitch we learned that Fulham had embarrassed Brighton four goals to nil at Craven Cottage. Our four-point lead had lasted exactly 72 hours.

Match Summary: Bogdán (captain): Vermijl, Dervite, Ream (Mills 81), Tierney, Medo (Spearing 65), Hall, Vela, Moxey, Mason (C. Davies 65), Clough. Unused subs: Lonergan, McNaughton, Pratley, Clayton.

Huddersfield Town 3 (Jonathan Hogg 61, Harry Bunn 65, Nahki Wells 69, Joel Lynch s/o 90+2)

Bolton Wanderers 2 (Clough 44, 68, Mills s/o 85)

H/T: 0-1

A – 18,757, The John Smith’s Stadium, Huddersfield

Man of the Match – Zach Clough, Bolton (MR 8.8)

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Clough has been a revelation. Some of the other FM sites list him as one of the better bargain buys to start a save, even though he's not officially a wonderkid. But that said, if you had told me I'd get this kind of production out of a 19-year old striker at this level before the season I'd have said you were nuts. :)

___

“You remember what I told you gentlemen the last time we switched off playing this team? And do you remember how people reacted? Sometimes your manager is right. Now get your treatments and get on the coach.”

Powell and I had a pleasant enough chat after the match, with the two sides splitting the points in two contests, each defending its home patch.

He needed the points more than I did – he’s just outside the playoff places while we were still top though we had squandered most of our advantage – and he’s a class enough bloke to make losing to him seem almost palatable.

But the point of the matter for me was that I had players who needed a rest and they got it. While we had a four-point lead, it was a gamble worth taking and had we not shut off for those vital ten minutes in the second half we might even have gotten away with it.

But I had other fish to fry. One of them was named Matt Mills, and the day after the match I issued my first formal warning for a violent conduct red card. Matt will miss the FA Cup match on the 3rd January against Sheffield United, and perhaps more if the FA isn’t kind to him.

I can’t have that. He’s too valuable to the team, and I let him know that his enforced rest on the part of the FA hurts our efforts all across the board, as I handed him notice of his formal warning.

He hated the news. I would have expected nothing less, but he knows he hurt the team. Even though he has a distressing tendency to switch off even during games, when he’s on his A-game he’s as good as any defender in this league. So he did the professional thing and accepted what he had coming to him.

To make matters worse, Coppell’s initial canvassing of players in the final year of their contracts showed Chung-Yong and Bogdán are unwilling to consider new deals with us, even with promotion looking like more than a pipe dream.

But this is why we scout players, and if those players leave, especially for transfer fees, we have to be ready. We have players in mind in case we lose either or both of them, but I think the one more likely to leave is Lee.

I can’t put my finger on it. I can’t seem to give him a role that he feels is suitable for his talent, even though there’s no doubt that when he’s on his game he’s as valuable to us as Moxey is.

Sometimes there just isn’t a good fit, and sometimes a player just doesn’t want to play for the club. If some of the things Lee has told me ever got to the press, he’d be untenable here in a heartbeat. He just doesn’t seem to want to stay and if that’s the case I risk squad harmony by standing in his way.

Bogdán is a bit of a different case. I like his play for us, but if he thinks Liverpool is going to sit Simon Mignolet to let him play, he has another guess coming. MIgnolet is having a fine season, Liverpool are doing just fine in their goalkeeping situation, and I don’t see them lining up a move for him. And if Adam really wants to further his international ambitions, he should do it here and play in the Premier League with us if we manage to get promoted.

If for some reason we don’t get promoted, I’d expect him to leave and since we’re ten points clear of the playoff places at this particular moment, if we don’t get promoted I expect people would look at goalkeeping as one reason why. So we may well be inseparable.

There’s other news too. Veteran manager Dave Jones is the new man at Nottingham Forest. The former Sheffield Wednesday, Cardiff, Wolves, Southampton and Stockport boss has a job on, but he’s got a club with more than enough talent to get out of danger.

Meanwhile, Wednesday, the club Jones got promoted to the Championship, has sacked Stuart Gray with the club second bottom and five points from safety. They’ve won only five of their twenty-four matches to date and the new man will have to win and win fairly quickly, whoever he is.

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At least it wasn’t raining. That’s better than on some days where I observe a sad anniversary.

Every December 30, I go to Birmingham. That’s when I visit Dad.

I was only six when his life was taken from him, and my own life was changed forever. My mum never remarried and so I grew up without a dad throughout my formative years.

What I remembered of him was happy and loving. Why not have that memory, when your dad was a footballer and the town (or at least, the Blues part of it) thought he could do no wrong?

The night he died, it had been raining. He was returning from the team Christmas party and was T-boned in the driver’s side of his vehicle by a drink driver at a red light. Dad didn’t look to his right, and it cost him his life.

I remember a lot about that night. I remember being awakened from bed by my frantic mother and taken to the hospital. I was told that Dad had been in an accident and the doctors were going to make sure he was all right.

Only, he wasn’t all right. He died on the emergency room operating table while surgery was being performed to try to fix a massive haemorrhage in his chest.

And a six-year old boy’s world came crashing down on his shoulders.

I was told later that I was my mother’s reason for living after Dad passed. They had been very much in love and since I was an only child, my mother and I naturally grew very close. I still talk with her daily and it’s as though my day isn’t complete until I’ve heard her voice.

Due to his local celebrity, Dad is buried in the old Lodge Hill Cemetery, and it’s there that I go on this day every year to pay my respects.

It’s in the south central part of the West Midlands and it’s in a fairly industrial area, in keeping with Dad’s blue-collar reputation.

I drove onto Weoley Park Road, the journey seeming a bit more familiar each year, turned left to enter the grounds and stopped where the road ended just shy of the crematorium.

This time, though, I wasn’t alone. Kim came with me.

I thought that was right, and she wanted to go to support me, so she took a day and drove with me from Bolton. She got out of the car to my left, and handed me a bouquet of flowers. I thanked her, and we held hands as we walked to a back section of the ground.

There we came upon Dad’s headstone, a granite memorial sloped from back to front at its top so the brass nameplate could be read:

Roger Cameron Malone



11 July 1951 – 30 December 1980

Aged 29 years

“And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes;

and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying,

neither shall there be any more pain:

for the former things are passed away.” – Revelation 2:21

Not surprisingly, I still get a catch in my throat every time I read the words from Revelation, and I expect I always will. Instinctively, Kim’s grip on my hand tightened, and I noticed that some thoughtful soul had draped a Birmingham scarf over the back corner of the headstone.

So someone else remembered, too. That’s always good to know.

Low clouds raced over us, the December wind bracing in our faces. I took the flowers, bent to turn over the vase to the right of the headstone, and replaced it in its holder with the flowers shifting slowly back and forth in the winter wind.

“Does your mum come here?” Kim asked.

I shook my head. “Not since the day Dad was buried,” I replied. “She’s just never been able to do it. You’ll meet her later – I always visit her on this day.”

“It sounds trite, but I wish I had known him,” she said after a long moment’s pause.

“He was a good man and a great dad from what I remember,” I said. “There was nothing he wouldn’t do for me or for Mum and the support we got after he died was something I remember pretty well.”

“What happened?”

“Well, it was very respectful. Lots of people brought us food, so much that we couldn’t eat it all, and I remember Aston Villa sent a wreath and a card. That meant a lot, obviously. But mainly I remember people just looking after us. We’d walk on the street after the funeral and people would get out of the way to give us space. It was almost as though we were radioactive, but people just wanted to be respectful. It was very hard, because I felt alone and when I wasn’t with Mum, I really was alone. I just needed people, I guess.”

We fell silent again for a few moments. She let me be, while I said a prayer and remembered my dad.

Then, we turned and walked slowly back to the car.

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My mum just turned 65 years of age. Small and slight, Sara Malone has strength her physical frame does not show.

As a young lady, she wore her hair long, in the “big hair” style of the day, and the pictures that exist of her from the eighties show a vivacious woman that people enjoyed being around.

The Irish side of my family, from which my family name originates, is naturally my Dad’s. But my mum had what you’d call an Irish temper, especially when anyone crossed either of the men in her life.

As such, she doesn’t read newspaper reports about my work at Bolton. She says she’d just get angry, and she’s probably right.

But when I brought Kim to meet her after visiting Dad’s grave, my girl friend saw a completely different person than the stern lady I had told her about.

Obviously, I had tipped off Mum, so when Kim met her for the first time, it was quite amicable.

I wouldn’t have expected anything less. Mum had always been good to Holly – better than she deserved at times, especially during our divorce, I felt – but then it was always in her nature to be nice.

Kim talked easily with her, and as they sat for tea, I allowed my mind to drift a bit.

The two most important ladies in my life seemed to like each other, even if they were both on their best behaviour, in a manner of speaking.

Mum is protective of her time with me. Kim is too, and that leaves me caught squarely in the middle. As problems go, I suppose I could have worse ones, but at the moment, one obviously gets a lot more time than the other, but equally obviously it wasn’t always that way.

Mum neither married nor dated after Dad died. We spent a lot of time together but I think it would be hard to classify me as a ‘mum’s boy’, because I was so dedicated to my football for so much of the time.

When I stepped into my father’s shoes leading Birmingham’s line, it seemed natural, and it seemed that once again Mum faded into the background. I’m not sure she liked that very much, but she knew the drill, as the phrase goes.

Her conversation with Kim quickly devolved to our future plans. Kim answered honestly – she didn’t really know and couldn’t predict, but she loved me very much and that was where things stood. I couldn’t argue with that. I don’t know if I’ll be in a job from one day to the next, so constants are fairly hard to find in the modern game.

But there is one constant we can all agree on. That would be the next generation of Malone boy.

Mum always – always – asked about Blake. She loved it when I could bring him for visits, but obviously there hasn’t been one for quite some time now with him in school and me with my club.

She gets the latest pictures, stories and drawings, though, as every good grandmother should. And so it was that when my phone buzzed with notice of a new picture from Holly, I knew there would be another picture to show Grandma.

I saw Blake’s face in the thumbnail, and opened it. What I saw was no picture to show Grandma.

His chest was covered in bruises. He was in pain. Holly was next to him, a bright bruise on her jaw, holding our son close to her. The picture was captioned. I recoiled in horror, crying out at what I read.

“Bobby, please help us.”

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Thanks, friends. It was sort of a difficult post to write, but believe me, it will get worse before it gets better.

___

That *******.

That dirty, rotten *******!

I fumed for two straight days at the thought of Blake – and yes, Holly too – being maltreated by that lump of garbage she’s married to. I felt desperately sorry for both of them.

But my buddy.

Blake.

Oh, my God. Blake!

I felt helpless. And if there’s one thing in the world I hate, it’s feeling helpless.

A call to the authorities had Blake removed from the house the next day, but I did wonder why Holly hadn’t simply made the move herself. I decided that she had her reasons, and hopefully they didn’t involve enabling behaviour.

Kim was quiet as we drove home to Bolton, and she simply did her best to prop me up emotionally. When we started talking, suddenly it all made sense. Immediately, I began to excoriate myself for being so damned stupid.

Those bruises from “football”. His “injuries” from football. Not ‘wanting to score a goal’.

The injuries were from Darin. I was sure of it.

But the lad didn’t say a word about how he had really been injured. And as a result of my lack of foresight, better-trained people than I am in the subject were gently trying to figure out what had happened.

Holly, for her part, was very quiet as well. She called that night, and she, Kim and I had an open and honest conversation about her situation, and that of the boy who had endured so much and said not a word. But no voices were raised, no accusations were made, and the three of us tried to band together for everyone’s good.

She wanted to leave Darin, she said, but she couldn’t just up and leave because she was scared of him. That was perfectly understandable and I promised to help find her a battered women’s shelter to go to in the short term while she found an attorney who could help her.

The problem, at least from my point of view, was that in situations such as these, people talk a better game than they play.

Darin Wagner was the worst kind of man – a wife-beater and child beater – but he held a great deal of control to be able to stay in such a situation, and sometimes the victims in such situations simply endure their trauma rather than make a break which would benefit everyone.

Even Wagner, the ape. Prison would do him good.

Kim was very kind too, which helped a lot. She and Holly are just short of open warfare at times and to see her rise above the conflict was a big help.

But sleep was hard to come by that night. I kept thinking back to Blake, in pain from his stepfather’s cruelly inflicted beatings, and a feeling of helpless rage rose in my chest.

The option I’d like to entertain in the deepest reaches of my soul is of course unthinkable. But it would be no less than Darin Wagner deserves.

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Thanks so much, dap, I appreciate your readership and thanks to everyone who reads and comments!

___

3 January 2015 – Bolton (18-3-3, 1st place Championship) v Sheffield United (8-9-6, 11th place League One)

FA Cup Third Round – Bramall Lane, Sheffield

Outside of my home, I had a lot on my mind as well. The turn of the New Year opened the transfer window, and immediately Lyon made a bid for Chung-Yong, who I now suddenly needed to try to retain rather than lose him on a Bosman.

If Lee wants to go, as he clearly does, I’d prefer a fee for him. He’s one of the club’s most marketable assets, but if he goes on a Bosman at least I’ll have him for the rest of this season to try to get us promoted. I expect nothing in terms of a fee, but it would be nice.

Of course right now, I don’t have him for anything, as he’s playing in the Asian Nations Cup at a grossly inconvenient time for us. And speaking of grossly inconvenient, veteran keeper Paddy Kenny, who had been in the reserves, also left the club on 1st January. Since I expect to lose Bogdán in the transfer window, a veteran backup to Lonergan would sure be nice. But now he’s gone too, in search of playing time.

The cruelest cut of all, though, came from the stricken forward line.

Max Clayton strained his knee in a reserve match and will miss about ten days – meaning the only senior strikers I have who haven’t been injured this season are Craig Davies and Zach Clough. And one of those wants to leave.

Davies entered the visiting manager’s office the day before we left for Sheffield to say that he wanted to go to Huddersfield, where they had promised him a better role in the lineup.

Right now the list of players who don’t want to play for the Championship-topping team seems longer than the list of players who do. I thanked Craig for his opinion, told him that we had made him an international player, reminded him that he’s under contract and not going anywhere, and left him out of the eighteen for the Cup tie.

He’s angry. But he’s not as angry as I am.

And we arrived at Bramall Lane to see another team hiring a new boss on the day they played us. Dean Smith, hired away from fellow League One members Walsall, was waiting for me as the coach arrived at the ground for a handshake and a “welcome to Bramall Lane.”

“Well, imagine my surprise,” I smiled, shaking his offered hand as we headed to the dressing rooms.

I played a strong side. The board expected the Fourth Round out of this group of players and I dared not disappoint them twice in the Cup competitions without a solid fight.

Bolton Wanderers (4-1-3-2): Lonergan: McNaughton, Ream, Wheater, Tierney, Spearing (captain), Hall, M. Davies, Moxey, Mason, Clough. Subs: Bogdán, Vermijl, Dervite, Medo, Vela, Danns, Ball.

I was in a dark mood, but I dared not show that to the squad. This was a match where there were real expectations on us and as a result, a kinder, gentler Bobby Malone sent his eleven onto the Bramall Lane pitch despite the calumnies I was feeling against Darin Wagner.

We didn’t expect to be seriously threatened by United, and for the first ten minutes, we weren’t. And then we found the breakthrough, which really helped everyone in our colours, most especially the manager.

Mason didn’t score it, but he almost did. His rising drive from the edge of the eighteen was brilliantly parried by Mark Howard to his right, but he’d have to have been Blades legend William “Fatty” Foulke to have had a chance to stop the rebound, which fell at the feet of Clough. The teenager had most of the net to shoot at and he didn’t miss.

Clough had taken advantage of a momentary lapse in marking in the Blades defence and made them pay. Getting off to a quick start on the road was absolutely vital and it did loosen us up quite a bit.

What I was hoping to see was a team that slowly tightened the screws on inferior opposition, and to a large extent we did that for the rest of the first half. We did everything but score, but then we really didn’t need to at that point in the match.

Ream was doing a nice job paired with Wheater, and the Tierney sighting at left full back was also working out as intended. The irreplaceable Moxey was still making us tick on the left side of midfield and when the halftime whistle blew, we had done a great job keeping them away from Lonergan in virtually every important respect.

Jose Baxter and Jamie Murphy had been kept quiet as churchmice, and all I wanted to see from the players in the second half was a second goal that would have tied everything up in a nice, neat little bundle.

However, the Blades were out to impress their new boss. Smith had his players in a deep-lying counter formation to absorb our pressure and hopefully hit us on the break. He did this well into the second half and I saw the wisdom in that.

He was looking for one goal and a replay. I was looking for a second goal that would kill off the tie, but seeing his tactic allowed me to set up my own.

On came Medo on the hour as we moved to 4-2-3-1. On came Danns for Clough, to slot off Mason in a shadow striker position. And finally, on came Vela for Davies to give us fresh legs in the centre of the park.

There weren’t really any great chances over the last quarter of an hour, but then the plan was for there not to be any. By the time Smith brought on a third striker, his players bumped up against a well-organized and deep-defending Bolton team that wasn’t going to let them find a way through.

That is, until we went down to ten through injury again, through another player I can ill afford to lose.

Hall went down with two minutes of regular time left, grabbing at his groin after a very awkward change of direction. Jokes aside, that was not fun at all to contemplate. Groin injuries are tricky and he had to be stretchered off quite carefully and straight into treatment.

All kinds of bad thoughts rushed through my head from the League Cup as the fourth official signaled five minutes of added time with us down to ten men.

This time, though, we were much more stable at the back. The players on the park thought back to the same moments I did and were determined not to have to live through a repeat.

We made it through. It wasn’t the prettiest football match I had ever seen. But it was an away victory in the FA Cup and those are worthwhile no matter how you earn them.

Match Summary -- Lonergan: McNaughton, Ream, Wheater, Tierney, Spearing (captain) (Medo 63), Hall, M. Davies (Vela 77), Moxey, Mason, Clough (Danns 70). Unused subs: Bogdán, Vermijl, Dervite, Ball.

Sheffield United 0

Bolton Wanderers 1 (Clough 13)

H/T: 0-1

A – 13,999, Bramall Lane, Sheffield

Man of the Match: Rob Hall, Bolton (MR 8.4)

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”It wasn’t our best match but it surely wasn’t our worst,” I said afterward, trying not to sound evasive. “It came at a difficult time in our fixture list so the players stepped up and did a job. We aren’t quite as deep in some places as I’d like us to be, so we’ll have to be careful going forward.”

I was handed a note regarding Hall as I talked with King and a modest gaggle of journos.

“We’re looking at 5-6 weeks,” the note read. “It’s a tear. Not a bad one, but we shouldn’t take any chances.”

I tucked the note away in my pocket as King asked me what it said.

“An injury note on Hall, and beyond that I’m not prepared to discuss it much further,” I said. “He’s going to be on the shelf for a bit but that’s football. We’ll need to figure out a few things as we get ready to play Leeds.”

The coach ride home was a good one, even if it was a tender one for Hall, who sat stretched out with an ice wrap quite near a sensitive part of his anatomy. He was able to walk with the aid of crutches, but he certainly wasn’t pushing it very hard and that was at all of our insistence.

The other hammer blow fell on the way back to Bolton, where I got a text from Gartside indicating that Chung-Yong’s agent had informed the club that his player had signed a pre-contract agreement with Lyon. That means he’s gone for nothing in June, and it means I have some decisions to make.

There are managers who simply sit down players who they know are leaving the club. I’m not one of them, not least because I don’t have a deep enough squad to be able to get away with it. Lee is still playing for South Korea in the Asian Cup of Nations anyway, so for us it’s just like he’s hurt. I’m down two of my top three wingers – only Moxey is healthy out of the original group and that means the disgruntled Neil Danns is about to get a prolonged run in the team.

There is a good side to this, though – he’s tutoring Josh Vela, who has really come around since getting his attitude adjusted earlier in the season. The two get on famously and if they’re on the park at the same time as they might very well be in the coming days, the partnership might really blossom.

The personnel matters kept piling up in the days after the FA Cup tie. Mills received an additional two-match ban for his sending off which continues to hurt the team, so it’s a gift that keeps on giving in that respect.

That didn’t stop Coppell from recommending an extension for Mills, and it didn’t stop me from accepting the idea. He’s in the fold for two more years with us, and that’s good from my point of view. Despite my love-hate relationship with him, he’s one of the best defenders in the Championship on his day and we need him.

And we got offers from Burnley and Swansea for Spearing, both of which I rejected despite the club’s need for cash. I’ve promised the Premier League for my captain, and he accepted the promise. Now I expect him to hold up his end of the bargain and help us get there.

I also placed Pratley on the transfer list, since he’s yet to figure in a senior match for me and deserves to play. I hated to do it, but we’ve got so many central midfielders and it’s the only spot on the park where we never seem to get anyone injured (knock on wood), so we have to cut someplace. We’ll see if Coppell can find Darren a place to play.

I was very happy when Bogdán came into my office the day after the cup tie and told me that he wanted to stay. Liverpool seems to have cooled off in terms of interest for him and I told him the same thing I told Spearing – his international ambitions can certainly benefit from playing in the Premiership wearing a number one instead of some other number.

I’m also looking for striker depth. I’m tired of riding the ragged edge of disaster there, and as such I placed formal requests to Arsenal and Sunderland to loan Joel Campbell and Jozy Altidore respectively. I don’t know if we’ll get much play because Gartside is adamant that I can’t take on much more salary, but neither are playing for their respective clubs and Campbell especially would look good in our colours. Beckford is still several weeks away from being ready to return to action and I need the bodies up front.

The Fourth Round of the FA Cup draw has us playing a Premiership side for the first time. Hull City will come to the Macron on the 24th January, as solidly mid-table in the Premiership as they could possibly be. They’re 9-1-10 for 28 points and that’s good for tenth place.

And Boro has found a new manager. Billy Davies is headed to the Northeast to take over one of the league’s problem clubs, one that shouldn’t be as low in the table as they are. He’s got work to do.



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Well, now, we can't have that, can we? Thanks for the kind words :)

___

10 January 2015 – Bolton Wanderers (18-3-3, 1st place) v Leeds United (8-7-9, 13th place)

Championship Match Day #25 – Macron Stadium, Bolton

This was one we needed.

In the fifth game of our Championship fixture list, we went to Elland Road on the 30th August and thrashed our illustrious visitors by five goals to one. While we’ve been good offensively throughout the season, we haven’t put five past a team since.

Any team that expects to do such a thing is asking for the trouble it will surely receive, but doing the double against United on our home ground was now more necessary than ever with us clinging to that one-point lead over Fulham.

The Cottagers were at Cardiff today with Russell Slade’s head reportedly on the chopping block if the home team didn’t get a result. I’m sure it hasn’t helped him that two players he loaned us – Mason and McNaughton – are both integral parts of our success. If he had either one, he might well be in better shape than he’s in.

The atmosphere outside the ground was a little different as the players arrived for the match. There’s an air of excitement around the place, as in-form Bolton is starting to stake a legitimate claim for promotion. Even though we’re only one point ahead of Fulham entering play, we were ten points clear of third-placed Watford, meaning that just after Christmas, two strong favourites for automatic promotion have already arisen. We happen to be one.

I’m also trying to showcase Mark Davies. He’s a good footballer, but one area where we’ve really lacked for production is in the attacking midfield spot behind the strikers, and Mark’s valuation is enough to dig the club out of its financial constraints if someone bids for him. Vela has played better than Mark in a head-to-head comparison this season, so my hope was that Mark would put in a performance worthy of that valuation today.

Of course, I didn’t tell him that. Vela knows the score, and he knows that he’s the player of the future in that position, so for the time being he’s keeping his mouth shut. He learned his lesson last time.

Bolton Wanderers (4-3-1-2): Bogdán: McNaughton, Ream, Wheater, Vermijl, Spearing (captain), Danns, M. Davies, Moxey, Mason , Clough. Subs: Lonergan, Dervite, Medo, Vela, Feeney, C. Davies, Ball.

But the difference in atmosphere at the ground also seemed to affect the players as they reported to the changing room. There was an intensity there – and that’s good – but also an air of nerves, which most certainly is not.

I watched the interaction between players closely as they prepared for the match, carefully forming my team talk in my head as I did. Watching through the window of the home manager’s office, I could be away from the squad while still making my observations, and thankfully nobody seemed to notice the gaffer staring at them while they played their music and otherwise got ready to play.

Warmup was sluggish at best. I watched from the entrance to the tunnel and the players looked like a group nervous enough to drop points. That made my mission clear, and as they sat for the talk just prior to retaking the pitch for the match, I eased up substantially on them.

“You know, this is a fun game,” I began. “We play it because we love it, and you happen to be playing it pretty well at the moment. That’s why you’re top and why the team you’re playing today is not. But what I’d like you to remember is what happened the last time you played this group and why it happened.”

“You were better – a lot better – than they were, and on their ground, too,” I added, starting my now-traditional pace up and down the front of the room as I warmed to my task. “Nobody expected anything from you back then, and you responded as brilliantly as professionals can do. That’s the team I’d like to see today – the loose, good group of lads who went out and had a lot of fun playing the game. Don’t let league position get into your heads, don’t let anything else get into your heads except for one thing – this game is fun. Go and have fun, put on a show for the fans today and when we’re done, we’ll have three more points to celebrate. Hands in and let’s go.”

We gave a quick cheer and lined up. I wondered if it would be enough.

The start was decent enough. Clearly we were dealing with a Leeds outfit that was out to show it was a better side than the one we had dismantled in October, and eleven minutes into the match they got a chance to prove it.

A slashing diagonal run by Mirko Antonucci gave possession in the top left portion of our penalty area. He cut back to the top of the eighteen for Casper Sloth, faked a cutback to the top of the eighteen and they drove for the byline, where he was brought down by a sliding tackle from McNaughton.

Unfortunately, it was a pretty clear penalty, Phil Gibbs pointed to the spot, and they were ready to cement their early strong play with a goal.

Antonucci put the ball on the spot, took his run and smashed a shot directly off the base of Bogdán’s left goalpost. Somehow we had survived from the penalty spot again, as Spearing was first to the ball, putting it out of play for a throw.

Bogdán gave a sheepish grin as we prepared to defend the set piece, having stopped the last two penalties he had faced even though this time he had had really nothing to do with it.

Obviously we got a lift from the missed penalty and a few minutes later Clough headed Moxey’s cross just wide of the post, and Mason matched Antonucci by hitting a post in seventeen minutes, but from open play instead of from the penalty spot.

The pressure paid off two minutes later, through another unlikely source. Wheater was the scorer, but this time it was from range and frankly that was rather unbelievable to me. His left-footed strike found the range from fully twenty-five yards and I could only marvel at the confidence he must have been feeling at that moment.

He nearly doubled his tally just two minutes later, putting a solid head on Mark Davies’ lead ball and heading just wide in twenty-one minutes. I could really feel something happening.

But Luke Murphy responded with a pair of chances just after as Leeds got their feet on the ground, only to see us grab the game by the scruff of the neck again just before halftime. Spearing won a ball about thirty yards from goal on our right flank and fed a ball ahead for Davies. His square ball found Joe Mason, who gleefully beat Marco Silvestri to his near post on the left ten minutes before the break.

That was better stuff, and when Gibbs blew for halftime we were very good value for our lead.

Which is why I was upset to see Bogdán fishing the ball out of his goal two minutes after the restart. Alex Mowatt had done the deed, courtesy of a near wonder-strike from twenty yards – a Thunderbastard, if you will – and our lead was halved while Leeds was suddenly alive.

It was Goal of the Month stuff from the Leeds man, and it was just what the doctor ordered for them. We needed possession to cool them down, and thankfully that was what we got for the next few minutes. Moxey scraped the top of the crossbar in 58 minutes and Clough barely missed again just four minutes later.

We were profligate, but we were also wasteful. But with a one-goal lead, I wasn’t too perturbed as long as we didn’t let Leeds have the ball. For the most part, we didn’t.

Bogdán only had one difficult save, collecting after a solid effort off the boot of substitute Souleymane Doukara, but Leeds couldn’t find a way through.

In the end, it wasn’t five goals. But it was three points, and that was the goal after all.

Match Summary: Bogdán: McNaughton, Ream, Wheater, Vermijl, Spearing (captain), Danns, M. Davies (Vela 81), Moxey, Mason (Feeney 81), Clough (C. Davies 74). Unused subs: Lonergan, Dervite, Medo, Ball.

Bolton Wanderers 2 (Wheater 19, Mason 35)

Leeds United 1 (Alex Mowatt 47; Mirko Antonucci m/p 11)

H/T: 2-0

A – 21,518, Macron Stadium, Bolton

Man of the Match – Mark Davies, Bolton (MR 9.0)

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Another great win! And another great update!

I think you might get a call from the real Bolton board at this rate ... actually it seems like real life Bolton didnt take too kindly to their manager having "relations" with another member of staff, unlike this story!

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  • 1 month later...

It's a single point, Mark. Fulham won't go away! And dap, thanks for the comment ... those workplace relationships can be tricky, can't they?

___

After the match, though, my thoughts were again with Blake.

Usually he would have been with me after the match, but a note from Holly saying that his still black-and-blue little face wouldn’t let him be seen in public said all that needed to be said.

The thought of him injured like that at the hands of a cretin like Darin Wagner filled me with rage, as it would any father who loves his child. I wonderedif the guy thought he was being some sort of a big man by beating up his family.

And then I thought about Holly, which filled me with a sense of foreboding. I started to overthink. That’s never good.

If we had made it as a couple, Blake wouldn’t have been hurt and neither would Holly. We had had our differences, but if I had just worked a little harder…

…and then Kim came to my arms in the directors’ suite after the match and I forgot that kind of talk for the time being.

A quick check of my phone for the news showed a rather remarkable day at Old Trafford. Wayne Rooney still hasn’t played for United yet this season but after the game Robin van Persie had against Spurs, they hardly need him.

Van Persie set a Premier League record with a double hat trick as United overwhelmed Spurs 8-3. He also personally scored the last five goals of the match in the second half in a performance for the ages.

Billy Davies made his debut with Boro today and his new team left it late but still managed to snatch a 2-2 draw at Reading thanks to goals in the last six minutes from defender Damía and striker Andrew Halliday. They stay in 20th place but at least they got a point.

For the third time this season, an opponent of ours will have a brand new manager when we face them. Phil Parkinson has left Bradford City to take over Sheffield Wednesday, our opponent in a week’s time.

And by the time we face our friends from Wigan again, they may have a new boss too. Uwe Rosler is now under threat after losing yet another player to a red card. Lee Collins showed two yellow cards to James Perch today as the Latics fell 2-1 at Birmingham. Perch’s red was Wigan’s eighth in 25 matches– double the number of any other team in the Championship.

By contrast, we have two red cards, and if I didn’t have Matt Mills out there we wouldn’t have any. I know, that’s a cheap shot, but Matt has hada very solid season when he’s been out there. The problem has been in keeping him out there.

I was very happy to get a note from the financial department today saying that our FA Cup tie with Hull is going to be televised. That will net us £140,000 andthat will make Gartside smile, especially since the board injected £220,000 just this morning to help with short-term cash flow.

However, I’m sure he’d probably rather that I sell a couple of players. Nouha Dicko has reportedly attracted a bid of just under £4 million from Burnley, who really needs firepower up front if they’re to have any chance of staying in the Premiership. I’m trying to do the same thing with Mark Davies but so far there are no takers.

But these things are secondary now, atleast on the personal front.

I’m going to talk with my attorney about how to get custody of Blake, but the way things are going right now I’m not optimistic.

When Holly and I split, the issue was with me being gone so much due to my profession, and that obviously hasn’t changed – and in fact, may have gotten worse due to my job. So I do the best I can, I worry about my son and I try to carry on.

That’s hard in a way I can’t even describe.

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