A Northeastern Lad

[copperhorse21]

A Northeastern Lad (An FM Story)

Chapter 1:

Growing up in the shadow of St. James' Park listening to the Geordie's roar their war cry on Saturday afternoons and, at their peak, even midweek as Alan Shearer led them to their greatest heights, the only goal worth pursuing was football. The rest of the jobs on offer, where they could be found, weren't worth it compared to being an idol for a region of England often neglected when it came to the football gods.

Unfortunately, my dreams of a football career were dashed long before my desire was extinguished courtesy of a bad tackle that tore my right ankle to shreds. The sod was never even carded though I was carted off the pitch by my coach and my father in the youth leagues.

Throughout the weeks of rehabilitation, the one thing my medical team couldn't fix was the realization that my dream of being a Geordie was destroyed.

The injury changed my trajectory and my replacement hobby for football became chasing girls and finding ways to get out of doing my school work. Spending late hours out with my buddies chasing prospects in short skirts and tight tops was fun and all that, but I still missed the excitement football provided.

Football matched two teams matched against one another pursuing the same goal of victory. Relationships weren't the same. One, the outcome could be predicted much of the time. Two, the value of victory differed between the two parties involved. Meaning, even though I kissed her, she might look at it as a failure because she wanted to make her boyfriend jealous, but he'd already moved on.

One of my teachers at school spent time every Monday talking to us about the results on the weekend. Only the results weren't tied to reality, but the fictional world he'd created for himself playing a game called Championship Manager. I thought he'd lost the plot and used the time to tune him out. However, after it carried on for months and he'd shared his progress about taking Millwall up the charts, I couldn't help but become a bit curious to see how the players in real life stacked up in his alternate universe.

Finally, around the Christmas Holidays, I stayed after to get some extra tutoring to keep my Mum off my back for my really bad grade in his class. We spent the first bit of it getting tutored, but the second half of the session I spent trying to get him to share more about the game.

Surprisingly, he dropped a disc on my desk and said, "Enough talk. Try it!"

"Are you sure you don't need it tonight?"

"I've got enough things to do tonight with a holiday concert for my daughter tonight. I can live without it for a day. You might like it."

I accepted it with the full knowledge I wasn't going to waste my time with it. I'd already had plans with Meghan for the night. However, as fate would have it, she cancelled because she'd gotten back together with her ex-boyfriend during last period and dumped me quick.

Angry at having an extra four hours to kill, I unzipped my backpack at home to pull out my textbooks. The disc fell on the floor and I decided, "What can it possibly hurt?"

[EvilDave]

A new tale from Copper! This is a treat indeed, great to see you writing again and an intriguing start to this one. I shall be following along with eager anticipation!

[tenthreeleader]

I think Copper has been lurking in the weeds.

Good to have you back, friend.

[mark wilson27]

To be blunt, its about bloody time we had a copper story on there boards. As with all your tales I will be looking forward to more mate

[edtheguy]

This is a surprise! I was only lurking when last you wrote, but I was following then and will be again!

[copperhorse21]

Thanks folks. Good to know that all of you are looking forward to reading something that I haven't quite figured out yet. I hope it won't fall apart before finishing it.

Chapter 2

Four hours later, I had my answer. I'd picked a team and spent the better part of my time trying to figure out the navigation menus and then attempting to push my way through a transfer window.

Transfer windows, I eventually learned much later, set the course for a push up the table or getting the sack in the months to come.

A second thing I learned immediately is that playing the game in real life and watching match action scroll across the top of the screen in sentence form are completely different. In one, I could throw an elbow when necessary. In the other, I sat helpless as my players dribbled the ball out of bounds with no pressure on them.

When pissed off in life, I could grab the ball when it came to me and skin an opponent or two to settle the nerves. Onscreen, there was nothing to do but grab my hair and spew expletives at the news scrolling across my view.

Every now and again, the tension mounted as the teams were tied late in the match. Then, out of the blue, a late winner was scored. My first match, it was for the other team and I raged. The next match, my team scored the late match winner. I'd jumped off my seat and whooped!

Yes, it was simply imaginary, but my brain didn't know any different! The thrill of a close victory still felt similar. Well, similar enough that I knew immediately, "Just one more match."

"One more match" was a phrase I'd repeated twice more that night of getting stood up.

That night, I actually dreamed about the game. I felt silly the following morning after waking up knowing that I dreamed about a computer game. I didn't tell a soul at school, even after getting teased by my mates for getting ditched by Meghan the night before.

I slipped the disc back to my teacher after class under the cover of turning in a late assignment. In actuality, it was a note I'd cobbled together in the previous class on some lined paper. It simply read, "Thanks a lot for the game. It was fun."

I left it at that. I thought it could be left at that. However, that night, after dinner was finished and my chores were done, I had nothing to do. The game nibbled at my consciousness and whispered, "What if I'd chosen a different tactic against Sunderland? Could my Magpies have won that derby?"

I shrugged it off. I didn't want to become my teacher. I had better things to do.

I called my mate, Nigel, on the phone. "What have you got going tonight?"

Nigel replied, "Nothing, want to head to the park and get in a pick-up game?"

I knew better than to accept his offer. However, I also knew that if I didn't distract myself, I'd probably think about my teacher's disc even more.

"Sure!" Came my reply. Then, once I hung up with him, another thought whispered, "What harm can it do?"

[copperhorse21]

Chapter 3

I knew it was serious immediately. I heard a "snap" and then excruciating pain followed.

Moments later, Nigel leveled the culprit with a forearm across the side of the head and hollered, "For ****'s sake, it's a pickup game!"

Instantly, Nigel was hit in the back and a melee broke out. No one bothered to check on me, but it was a good thing because when I tried to help my mate out, I went right back down without needing to be hit.

A short time later, when the pain felt by both sides was too much to accept for a pickup game, the fight stopped being physical and continued on with verbal insults catapulted across the space that quickly formed between both small teams.

"Johnny, you okay?"

"No, Nige, I'm not. I'm hurt bad."

"Why'd you have to show off today, Johnny? Why?"

I knew he was right. I took it too far for too long and I paid for it. It was a rare day when my ankle felt good and the conditions were right to slice open the defense with the moves that made me a former hot prospect on my youth team.

With Nigel's help, I was able to make it back home. As soon as I hobbled through the door, my Mum was all over me. "John, what happened?"

Nigel replied for me. "Mrs. Meyer, it wasn't Johnny's fault. He was taken down from behind in the park."

How I got injured didn't matter to Mum, only that I was injured. "John, why? Why do you still insist on playing when you know your Doctor said you should give it up?"

It was far too difficult to tell Mum that I couldn't give up the very essence of me. Granted, I was a hot prospect. Granted, some clubs had scouted me and one even talked with Mum and Dad after a tournament I'd done. How could I explain to Mum that my ankle injury wasn't just a physical injury? The injury ruptured something in me that occasionally was put back together, but only when it involved being immersed in football.

"Mum, it seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Well, Nigel, thank you for helping him hobble home. It's time to get him to the Medics to see what damage he's done this time."

Nigel accepted the words and departed home. He whacked my shoulder and offered blessings, but I knew they weren't going to be truthful. The pain was just like before. I knew it was serious.

It was another four hours to learn the truth.

[copperhorse21]

Chapter 4

Four days later, I went under the knife for the second time on the same ankle that had been injured just two years prior. For weeks, I spent time rehabilitating it with different hopes. The first time, the goal was to get back playing. This time, the goal was to walk with a limited limp.

I felt frustrated that all my hours of work, of sacrifice, of dedication were destroyed so quickly by actions so selfishly thoughtless they staggered my imagination. In both cases, my retribution was stolen because neither of the sods were penalized for destroying my future.

Granted, Nige got one in on my behalf, but that kind of retribution still rings false. It's not me dishing out the revenge with converting the free kick, scoring the match winning goal, or taking them out with my own challenge. I wanted that. I wanted desperately to be the judge, jury, and executioner all in one fell swoop. That chance at payback was the payoff I clung to the first time.

What could possibly happen to the kids in the park? Nothing. Again, the humiliation I so sorely sought was meaningless because it couldn't be the public kind of desolation for which I longed.

Cosmic karmic payback in spades was the only price my consecutive injuries could sate.

Back at school, nothing seemed to hold my interest. It was hour after endless hour watching the clock tick by slowly and wishing for something different than my present. However, I did my work with just enough enthusiasm to fool my parents that I was fine.

Eventually, my teacher wrote a note on one of my papers asking me to see him after class. When the classroom cleared, I hobbled to his desk to await my fate.

"John, you seem down. Anything you want to share?"

The last thing I wanted to do with the stranger I called my teacher was tell the truth as if he were a friend. "I'm fine."

"You're fine?" came the reply, his tone mimicking mine.

"Yeah. Fine. I've got it under control."

My teacher shook his head acknowledging my declaration. After a pregnant pause in which he sized me up and down he added in a voice just above a whisper, "You're a ****ing liar. You can leave now with your secrets or you can leave with your secrets and a challenge. Which one do you want?"

I stared in shock back at him. I'd never heard him use foul language before, despite hearing it all day long with my mates in the halls and outside of school. However, I also was curious to see if he would offer more.

My teacher matched my stare silently and after an even longer pause I finally broke it with, "What did you have in mind?"

Mr. Ashley turned towards his rucksack and ruffled through it quickly. He pulled the disc with Championship Manager printed on it and offered it to me. "Promise me you will open it only after you get home. The challenge is inside."

I reached for it without saying a word, but he pulled it out of reach immediately.

I lunged a bit for it, but he turned his shoulder. "For ****'s sake!" I blurted out.

He spun faster than expected and put his finger inches from my face and spoke quickly, "You didn't answer and you better show me some ****ing respect. I show it to you."

I was taken aback by both his sudden movement and his steady voice control. His composure unsettled me.

"Sorry." I replied reflexively. It took conscious effort, but I said, "I want to leave here with a challenge."

Mr. Ashley extended his empty hand and I took it. "John Meyer, I hereby declare that you have officially had a s**t experience with your injury. I solemnly swear that should you have the courage to accept the challenge extended forthwith, and succeed in it, your life will be changed forever. Do you choose to change the course of your destiny?"

His overly official tone certified him as having lost the plot in my mind, but my mouth uttered as best it could in a similar tone, "I do."

Mr. Ashley pulled his full hand from behind his back and offered me his disc. "Your destiny awaits." His serious demeanor remained unchanged and I held back my urge to laugh in his face. Instead, I did my best to be respectful and bowed my head slightly, "Thank you, Sir."

I turned away and walked out of his room before I was embarrassed further in front of his next class entering his kingdom.

The rest of the day my mind wandered, but only to the same destination. What could a computer game possibly do to change my destiny?

Before the end of the marking period, I had an inkling.

[copperhorse21]

Chapter 5

Dafuge's Challenge: Take a team entering the lowest level on the game and see how high you can take them before getting sacked. If you get sacked, you must start all over again with a new team at the bottom of the league and start again.

The challenge offered by Mr. Ashley's game seemed simple enough, but I learned the hard way that it was extremely tough. How do part-time players get to the point where they can outperform those playing full-time?

I'd tried all kinds of shortcuts to circumvent the situation from tactics and training methods to building a better scouting network and hiring better staff. It was really tough to do. Failure occurred regularly, especially trying to get out of the non-conference leagues and into the conference.

However, another thought started whispering in the dark recesses of my brain. "If you undertake a task with a part-time mentality, you will be outperformed by those who have adopted a full-time one."

Attempting Dafuge's Challenge altered my understanding of time. Unlike school, where the hours seemed to drag on unending, the time spent playing Championship Manager slipped by unnoticed. The pockets of time in class were filled with different thoughts. Instead of wondering what I'd do after school with Nige, I found myself planning how I could maximize my time playing on the PC after my rehabilitation was finished.

Finally, I found something that provided the kind of pleasure to sustain me that served some kind of purpose higher than partying and immersing myself in the foolish dramas that my friends wasted hours on with their own lives.

I found myself spending more time in Mr. Ashley's room after class and after school bantering back and forth about the game as equals instead of him being superior to me in his natural role as my teacher. It felt weird, at times, talking with another adult other than my parents or the parents of my mates. But, the time spent exploring playing football on a computer was a welcomed distraction from the future I knew that awaited me because playing football on a pitch was now impossible.

Over the course of the marking period, Mr. Ashley would plant kernels of wisdom he'd hoped would eventually bloom and come to harvest at some undetermined future point.

One of those kernels involved my academics, which were slipping dramatically in all my classes. "John, if you spent half as much time on your academics as you do playing CM, you wouldn't be struggling right now."

I resisted his lecture and replied with my own. "Mr. Ashley, I've got it under control. School isn't fun and school is a waste of my time. All I have to do is pass."

Mr. Ashley smiled because he knew he'd set me up perfectly for the real wisdom he wanted to plant. "Do you expect minimum work rates from the players on your roster?"

I'd never considered work rate and important attribute within the game. "Huh?"

"Work rate isn't something you turn on and off. Work rate is an attribute like determination and both are important within the game. These attributes also work in real life. Without a good work rate in real life, it's like being a part-time player on a team."

"Okay? What's your point?" Truly, I was lost.

"Did you think I gave you this game as a distraction during your rehab?"

"Yes. Why else would you have given it to me?"

Mr. Ashley chuckled and shook his head kindly. "John, I gave this game to you because I recognized two things within you. You love football. You also can't play it anymore. You were directionless like a boat in a river without a rudder. Instead of floating downstream like you are without football, I supplied you with a rudder to go where you want better."

"Huh?"

"Look, you are lost without football. You felt you had no purpose because you couldn't play anymore. However, there are many roles in football. One is to play, the other is to manage those who can play. There are more, but this game was offered to see if you had a passion for the management side of things. It appears you do. That is good. Very good."

"Why would that be good?"

"Because now you have a goal you can pursue and, if you do it right, you can get paid to do what you seek within the game. You can get paid to pursue glory!"

"But how do my grades in school tie to being capable in my role as manager?"

If you demonstrate success in one area of your life, especially in an area that you find to be a pain in your ass, then you are showing that your attributes of work rate and determination make you a better candidate than someone else."

That night, distracted by Mr. Ashley's comments, I considered them carefully. I started emphasizing work rate and determination in scouting my players. Over the next few weeks, I noticed that my teams were more successful. Did I have what it took to be a real manager?

[tenthreeleader]

This is, as usual, a cleverly spun tale. And you being king of the Northeast doesn't hurt matters either.

[copperhorse21]

Thanks 10-3. Your compliment is appreciated, but I'm not sure the newer readers remember my beginnings here on the Forum when you introduced Rob Ridgway at Calcio and I wrote about the Blyth Spartans...

In regards to the new story, also played on FM 08, I'm enjoying the beginning of it and hope to have more time to publish new entries, especially since Newcastle is struggling so much in real life this season.

Chapter 6

My success at school lagged behind those "in-game" and it caused problems with my parents who couldn't understand that my actions in real life betrayed the outcomes they expected. Instead of going out with my mates and staying out until the very limits of my curfew, I was staying up until all hours of the night at home commandeering the computer as much as possible.

The arguments I had with them weren't anymore about what I was doing outside our humble home, but about what I was doing inside it. I couldn't find a good way to explain to them that I was pursuing a project on the computer and it was more satisfying than the kissing I had achieved before Football Manager arrived in my life. They couldn't understand how my staying in resulted in grades even worse than before.

"Where the hell did you even get that game?" came the inquiry from my father.

"Mr. Ashley."

"Who the hell is he?"

"He's my teacher at school."

"I figured as much. Which teacher, Smartass?"

"He's my history teacher."

"Well, I see you aren't doing any better in his class than any of the others."

It was true. My grades across all my classes were the worst they'd ever been. I didn't care about school as much as I did because I knew that my future might involved footy instead of university or even a trade school. I was putting all my eggs in one basket--the one I felt would lead to the success I wanted in my life.

My father added, "What the hell's the problem with you? Why aren't you like the rest of your mates?"

"You WANT me to be out chasing girls with my mates and staying out like before?"

"At least I understand that. What you're doing now makes no sense. I mean, what normal lad would choose to spend their nights and weekends playing a computer game?"

"I don't want to be normal."

"You don't want to be normal? What the hell do you want to be?"

What did I want to be? It was an honest question and I'd had plenty of time since my last injury to consider it until I had resolved it. "I want to be a manager."

"You want to be a manager? A football manager? What the hell for? You don't even play football anymore--you won't play it in the future either. You heard what they said at the hospital."

"I don't give a damn about what they said at the hospital. There is another way to be involved in football. Mr. Ashley told me so. At least he's done something to help me on my way! It's not like you and Mum have helped me!"

I regretted saying what I did immediately after the words spilled out.

"Is that so? Is that bloody so? You think your Mum and me haven't helped you at all?" He approached me at the computer and shoved me out of the chair. "Tell you what, Johnny, I'm going do something to help you that I should have done a month ago when I wanted."

Without hesitation, the eject button worked when he pushed it. The disc arrived in sight as expected. Then, he grabbed it, snapped it in two and tossed both pieces into my chest before I could stop him. "Consider it step 1 of our intervention. Step 2 is meeting Mr. Ashley to set the record straight about his influence on your life."

I finally got control of my mouth that had opened and closed involuntarily during Dad's intervention and uttered my own threat. "You think that will stop me? I'll just buy another one!"

Dad picked up the desktop monitor and elevated it off the desk? "Are you going to buy another one of these?"

"STOP! YOU WIN!"

Dad lowered the monitor and put it back on the desk.

"Good choice!"

I went to my room and spent the rest of the weekend there, going on a hunger strike in the process for every meal that my father attended. There had to be a way around this. There just had to be.

After watching Newcastle lose to Liverpool in real life, I had my solution. It was just a matter of time before I could propose it to my Dad after he came back from watching the match in the pub.

[copperhorse21]

Chapter 7

Three days later, I sat in front of Mr. Ashley, my history teacher after school.

"I understand that you're father is upset about me supplying you with my challenge. Why do you think he's so upset?"

It was a fair enough question. "He's mad because my grades are crap. He sees the game as the problem."

"What, in truth, do you think is the real problem?"

"The game."

"Do you wish to try again?"

"Look, it's the game. It's so addictive, I can't stop playing it. It's not my fault."

"It's not your fault because you don't control what you say and do?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"You claim, Johnny, that the reason why your grades are poor are because you are addicted to a computer game and you shouldn't be blamed for this addiction."

Even though it seemed foolish to admit it, I couldn't help but stick by my view. "Yes."

"What the hell's the problem with you?"

For the second time is short succession, the words arrived on site, but they didn't quite register their true meaning. First it was my father, now it was my teacher. Both of them said the same things and neither time did I wish to admit that I was wrong. I believed I was right.

"There's nothing wrong with me. I want to the play the game. It's excellent. I'm learning so much from playing it. What's wrong with that?"

"What's wrong with that is your belief will make you the worst possible manager with no chance of success."

"How is my belief going to result in being a horrid manager?" Truly, I was clueless.

"Managers accept responsibility for what they say and do. In fact, the greatest managers make sure that they stand behind what they say and do--even if it results in their own failure."

"Okay? But how does this apply to me?"

"Let me put it this way. I gave you the game because I expected you to learn not only what it might take to be a good manager on the pitch, but also what it takes to be a manager off of it."

"Huh?"

"Managers have attributes too. Managers, like players, require certain attributes in order to put them in a position to achieve success. If you want to be a good manager, you will have to establish certain attributes that owners want. One of those attributes is work rate. If you have a decent work rate, then you put yourself in a better position to succeed. If you are not determined, then you will fall short when adversity pounds you senseless."

"Okay. I get it. But, I don't get it." It felt silly to not know what he meant by his lecture, but I really didn't see the whole picture, particularly in respect to how he and my father were on the same side and against me.

"I don't expect you to know all of it, yet. You are still in school and think like a child. You haven't started to think fully like an adult and when you start acting like an adult, then you'll be ready to be a manager. Until then, you will have to make mistakes and learn how to accept responsibility for what you say and do."

"I'm not a child!" I stammered more out of habit than true defiance.

Suddenly, Mr. Ashley pointed a finger at me. "You will be a child as long as you get bad grades because of a computer game. You will be an adult when you get good grades despite playing a computer game. Demonstrating a good work rate, determination in the face of adversity, and exhibiting some creativity in exhuming yourself from this hole into which you've dug yourself will prove it."

"I'm not dead!"

"You may as well be with crappy grades. All they show is you are not successful. How many managers get or keep jobs if they fail? How many managers get opportunities, even ones beyond their expectations, when they demonstrate they can succeed?"

Mr. Ashley had a point. But, I was still protective of my ego. "Are you implying that if I get my grades up then I'll be able more successful?"

"I'm stating that if you get your grades up, they will be a byproduct of you accepting responsibility for what you say and do. If you do this, you will be more of a man than many of your peers. When you stand out from your peers due to your excellence, people will notice and they will provide you with opportunities you can't predict."

Nine weeks later, Mr. Ashley's theory was proven.

[copperhorse21]

Chapter 8

When the next marking period ended, my parents were shocked by my reports. Instead of being a mixed bag of inconsistency, they were all consistent. I won't say that I made honors. But they were the best they'd ever been and my parents weren't quite sure what to make of it.

However, I used the better grades to ask them for a reward. It was a used computer one of my mates didn't need because he'd gotten a new one for his birthday. Having wealthier friends did come in handy every once in a while. My parents agreed to the purchase, but only after they got promises that my grades wouldn't slip.

I promised and when the computer was installed in my room, I played as many hours as I could. However, I'd made adjustments. I took the crap stuff in my life that I didn't want to do, but needed to still get done, and did them first. Usually, I'd wait until the last minute and then do it as fast as possible. The end result was garbage, but that was fine with me. It was done.

Now that I did the worst stuff first, I actually felt I'd earned the reward of playing for the rest of the night. The final marking period of the year wasn't all smooth sailing. After being caught napping during class twice in one week, I tried to create a deadline bedtime. Essentially, I tried to go to bed the same time every night. Having the deadline looming forced me to make decisions faster about who to bring to my clubs.

Instead of debating on the perfect player to bring to my team, I discovered that good enough was a decent strategy too. I figured out ways to work around the players deficiencies and saved myself loads of money in transfer fees too. Granted, once I got to the higher levels of footy in-game, the fine-tuned nature of transfers was more important. However, in the lower leagues, when money is at a premium, saving money on transfer fees was more important than finding the perfect player.

In real life, I also found that I was content with making faster decisions too. Instead of hemming and hawing when a mate asked me to spend time with them on the weekends, I felt better about saying "No, thanks." and spending the weekend improving my management skills.

My discussions with Mr. Ashley still revolved around the game, but they also took on a different tack. He'd asked me about my future plans and what I'd planned on doing the following marking period to improve upon what I'd already done in the last one.

"Improve? Those grades were the best that I'd ever done. I'm good with that."

Again, Mr. Ashley mentioned work rate and determination and one good, single action leading to other actions that were also good. He called it an upward spiral. "Success builds upon prior success. If you want to be successful in a major way, make sure the steps leading up to it are also successful. Take big goals and break them into smaller ones. Focus on just the next step and make that one successful. Once you succeed, plan the next step."

I tried what Mr. Ashley suggested. I started to do it first with my footy teams in-game. I'd take over a team, figure out the most pressing need and work to fix that problem first. After that, I'd find the next most pressing need and work to fix it too. I'd keep doing that until I fixed teams that were in trouble and slowly turned them around.

Mr. Ashley was still better in-game than me. Though I tried my hardest, I couldn't do better than him. It annoyed me and, one day, I let it slip.

My teacher chuckled and told me that he simply knew a lot more about soccer tactics than me because he'd been playing the game longer and he'd been alive longer.

"Well, how am I going to ever get better than you?"

Again, the chuckle. "John Meyer, there are two ways to be become better than someone. One is to have more natural talent, the other is to work harder."

"Well, that doesn't help me when it comes to you."

"It doesn't? How many hours do you figure that you play FM a day?"

"I told him that it was about 2 hours a day during the week and 8-10 on the weekends."

Mr. Ashley didn't laugh. Instead, he asked, if I play about 30 minutes a day and about 4 hours on the weekend total, how much time will it take for you to catch up with my playing time in-game?"

"How many years have you been playing it?"

"It won't matter in another year. You'll have caught me and become better than me regardless of what I know."

"How's that if you know more than me?"

"When you spend more time at something, you fail more. You learn faster from failure than from success and your failures will turn to successes sooner the more time you spend at an activity. So, because you spend more time doing this activity than me, eventually you'll get better at it because your faster failures can lead to future successes."

It took me more than a moment to wrap my head around it In the meantime, Mr. Ashley asked, "Want to help me coach football this summer?"

[Greyfriars Bobby]

I just took the time to read through your story, and I'm very glad I did. John Meyer and Mr. Ashley are both compelling characters, and I'm looking forward to seeing what will happen next.

[edtheguy]

Conflict, personal growth and an interesting topic are all hallmarks of great storytelling and it seems to me you've got it all here - with a creative twist of two - all very enjoyable, I'm looking forward to more!

[copperhorse21]

Greyfriar and Ed, I truly appreciate you taking the time to weigh in with your feedback regarding this story. I'm delighted you are enjoying it so far. I've had some delays in writing it as I was on vacation in the woods wandering on hiking trails and then returning in time to prepare my own taxes for submission. In the end, this fell down the priority list. However, I'm enjoying writing this and hope that you and the others stick with it.

Chapter 9

The team Mr. Ashley wanted me to help him coach was a u-11 boys team. The team met twice a week for just over an hour and was part of a local club, Gateshead. The team itself at the adult level was a semi-professional team. Mr. Ashley was a coach as part of their youth setup. Nothing that really led to first team footballers. He'd mentioned he'd been a part of the team because it helped to get him a discount off the season pass and reminded him of the time when he felt the most free in his life.

When I asked him what he'd meant by that, he'd informed me that after that, things started to get really serious with football or he'd needed to buckle down more on his academics so he could get to University eventually.

I'd considered my teacher's thoughts and had to agree that in my own life, just about after that time, I'd started to feel more pressure than ever before. Not necessarily with football, but with the consequences of my hormones. It was around twelve or thirteen when I started to notice girls and saw that my athletics was a way to attract their attention.

Fourteen was the worst because my hormones raged and I really didn't know what to do about it. A few girls developed faster than the rest and the lads at school were after them first. While I didn't lose out to many as I was a decent footballer, I still felt more pressure than ever before to be someone that I wasn't quite sure I wanted to be, but it seemed to be the only way to be at the time.

Kissing, some exploration, and a whole lot of rumors added to the pressures as well as the importance of my permanent grades. At the time, my grades mattered little because the other aspects of my life, sport and romance, were much higher priorities that would lead to my continued prowess and my progress.

It was a short time into 15 that I'd started having all sorts of injuries that led to trouble on the pitch and off it, especially as my injured status harmed my chances with those girls just catching up with their own physical changes.

Now, at 17, with no future in football as a player and two plus years of poor academic performances, my prospects at the dating game seemed to diminish with each passing failure as a fictional club manager in Championship manager.

So, as a result of all of that, I'd agreed to be with Mr. Ashley three times weekly in the evenings to see what I could do to restore some joy in my life as it related to football.

The first night, the young boys were all ears. They hung on Mr. Ashley's words and he worked them through the fundamentals of football with their dribbling and passing skills. Then, after two weeks of this type of instruction, he started to work them through the basic tactical formations that worked best with the players at his disposal. The thing he stressed with me when the players were away was the fact that at this age, we couldn't force players into a certain tactical formation. It was more important to create a tactical formation based upon the players natural skills.

It seemed to work. While we lost our first two matches, we ended up drawing the next 2 after that. It took five matches before the boys won their first match. While it was a narrow 1 goal victory, scoring 7 goals and allowing 6 did indeed take me back to my glory days of scoring hat tricks regularly.

Before I knew it, I looked forward to the boys' enthusiasm and I relished their success nearly as much as they did.

Mr. Ashley caught me in a blissful moment when he asked, "Like it, do you?" The wide smile on my teacher's face told me he already knew the answer, but I still responded, "You bet. This is way better than I thought it would be, truth be told."

The team won two more before drawing the last match of the 8 game season. Finishing up with a 3-3-2 record was nothing to brag about in the standings, but it did feel special to see the improvement the young kids had made under Mr. Ashley's tutelage.

When I commented on it following the end of season party with the families, Mr. Ashley drew attention to something I'd not really considered. "John, you helped them to get better too. I didn't do all this by myself. You were integral to their development too. This, I hope, was just a stepping stone and I hope you keep up with it. You do have some skill in teaching others what you already know. Did you know that?"

I didn't.

But, then again, it wasn't the first time I'd needed someone else to be my eyes for me in order for me to discover things about myself previously hidden.

[copperhorse21]

Chapter 10

In the fall, it was back to school. While the Geordies were starting off the year looking somewhat decent, it most likely would end in heartbreak. However, I also found myself paying more attention to the local side Gateshead. I watched the senior games more and noticed something about watching that I never expected to understand.

The truth was watching others do well was as satisfactory as doing something myself. I wasn't suggesting I wouldn't rather be out there on the pitch throwing myself into tackles, creating the perfectly weighted pass to send a mate through on goal, or maneuvering my body into the acrobatic positions required to shoot the ball past a keeper to score a goal. I was suggesting that since it was impossible for me to do it, I was still generating plenty of joy to see others do it instead of me, particularly if I helped them along the way.

While watching Gateshead's senior side on the weekends, I found myself wanting to do more than just coach the youth sides. While the youth sides were beneficial to my development, the parents were primarily the audience. When the match ended, they'd bundle up their kids and bustle off to the next activity on the schedule. When the senior side finished a match, the supporters lingered a bit more. A deeper sense of community seemed to flourish and the feelings kindled from that community lasted far longer than one involving 12 year olds.

Eventually, I confessed my discovery to Mr. Ashley. My teacher's eyes lit up with excitement. "Sounds like you have The Fever, if you ask me."

"The Fever?"

"Mmmm, yes. The Fever. That sickness without a cure. Where the game itself courses through your veins carried along through the circulatory system throughout your entire body. When you have The Fever, the match is more than a match. It's a life or death kind of mania."

I could understand. When Shearer finally retired, I'd felt that death wasn't far from claiming me too. I'd confessed this too with my teacher and he asked, "What happened next? What did you do with that feeling?"

"I stifled it. It wasn't good. Me moping around with such sadness for a man who wasn't even family, but who still felt that way."

"I'm sorry you stifled it. If you truly want to experience the fullness of life, stifling emotions isn't always the best response. While it may work in the short-term, you must allow them to be expressed."

"Why? I got over it. It was foolish."

"Yes, you got over it, but what were left behind in the remnants of those emotions?"

"Remnants? What are you aiming at? Surely, you've lost the plot? Yes?"

Mr. Ashley looked at me directly, solemnity slapping me across both cheeks simultaneously. "The remnants are consequences left behind which you accept without knowing it."

I was utterly lost and, apparently, it was obvious to my teacher. "Johnny, things happen in our lives and they leave a mark. Whether that mark is positive or negative, the marks remain. Without knowing it, we dig deeper with even more resolve to accomplish whatever is before us. However, more often than not, we concede without knowing it. It's a small concession that leads to other slightly larger concessions. Those concessions, eventually, stray us away from the original path we sought to traverse."

It was all too much. Too much for a young man still clinging to boyhood to comprehend.

"Johnny, do you know when you give up your dreams?"

"Not always."

"Exactly. The remnants are the source of our conceded dreams. They are the Ground Zero of the invisible explosion resulting from our stifled emotions."

"I'm still lost."

Mr. Ashley thought silently for a long time before asking, "Why does Manchester United win so many titles?"

"Easy. They spend the most money."

"On the surface, it might seem that way. Below the surface, the truth might surprise you. The truth behind their success originates with Sir Alex Ferguson. He doesn't stifle his emotions in the long-term. He holds onto the bitterness of loss and uses it as motivation to forge a new course for his future and that of the team. It's holding onto the hurt and accepting it as something which drives you forward. If he buried the hurt. If he accepted it. It would have led to the small concessions that would lead to bigger concessions. Over time, those bigger concessions would be visible to others. Becks would still be with the team harming them with his celebrity status. Instead, the club is the most important thing to consider. The emotions of the experiences are accepted as they are. Sir Alex doesn't change them to make them manageable. It's accepting emotions and using them to our advantage for a greater good."

That made sense to me. Why the f*** didn't he just say it that way in the first place?

[copperhorse21]

Chapter 11

For some reason I still struggled to fathom, I pondered my "professors" ideas about remnants, conceding dreams, and stifling emotions. When I was in class, the ponderings persisted and I stuffed them down deeper to pay attention to my boring teachers. However, when class ended and the hallway conversations began, they resurfaced with a vengeance and I wandered quietly down the centers of the hallways, people passing by on each side of me like I was a rock in the stream and they were the water coursing onwards to their destination unaffected by my presence in their path.

My best mate Nigel even noticed the disturbance and commented on it. "Johnny, what's the deal? You've been moping around with nothing to say. Wanna go out tonight with the boys? We've got a run on some drinks and a small group of us are going to knock a few down to celebrate the upcoming holidays."

"Nige, I appreciate it. I really do. I can't. I've got--" I hesitated, not knowing what I was going to say, but also knowing that I knew exactly what I wanted to say. The problem was what I wanted to say and what I ought to say conflicted with each other and the casualty in all of it would be Nigel. His feelings would be hurt. Again. But, the truth was I didn't want to go drinking.

What I really wanted, deep down in my core, was to put Mr. Ashley's ideas to the test in Championship Manager. I wanted to see if I could forge a team that was successful in moving up the leagues based upon the principles of a manager who had an iron will when it came to loss and who was so consumed with winning, that he singlehandedly led the pursuit of glory while dragging the others along with him. Would I have the courage with my fake manager to sell my best player because he put his own personal interests ahead of the interests of the club instead? If I did, would I be able to replace the departed man with a new arrival that would fill the gap vacated by his predecessor in a way that kept the club moving forward?

I didn't have to finish the hesitation. My good mate, Nige, did it for me. "Eh, f**k off, mate! I know. Ever since you been playing CM, the rest of us just aren't good enough anymore. Well, you go home, be a good little laddie for your Mum and Dad, and the rest of us are gonna try to get pissed, bloody good."

Nigel turned his back towards me and left me speechless in the hall. It felt odd to stand there knowing that my good mate had washed his hands of me over a computer game.

For some reason, it felt odd because instead of being dismissed in a crowd of people and worrying about what they might think. It felt odd because I didn't give a bloody damn about being dismissed. I had other things, bigger things than getting drunk, to which I aspired.

[copperhorse21]

Chapter 12

I wrapped the black tie around itself, weaving one end up through the gap and then pushing the head of it through the small opening back down towards my waistline to finish forming the knot. It contrasted starkly with the crisp white Oxford shirt I wore.

Today was the second day of my holidays and a Tuesday. I had a restless sleep last night trying to decide who would get the start. Next to Shearer, who was I going to put up top? Would it be Craig Bellamy who'd stayed with the club instead of being loaned to Celtic or Patrick Kluivert who'd arrived from Barcelona?

While waiting for my breakfast to finish heating up, my Mum interrupted my thoughts in the kitchen. "My, Johnny, you look dashing today. What's the occasion? It's only Tuesday and there's no school. Is there something you aren't telling me?"

Indeed, there was something I wasn't telling her. But it wasn't what she was expecting. "Mum. It's the FA Cup Final today. I'm managing against Arsene Wenger today."

"Are you banging out about that game again?"

I was, it was the truth. I'd taken Newcastle to the FA Cup Final on a good run. The team was doing slightly better under my tutelage than they had under Graeme Souness in real-life. I think it was because I'd kept the striker at Newcastle instead of loaning him to Celtic to prove a point with discipline like Souness had done in reality.

"And you're all dressed up? What for?"

"It's tradition, Mum. Lots of people do it for the big matches."

"Lots of boys like you dress up to play a computer game?" The disbelief was palpable and I almost felt foolish sharing my affinity for a computer simulation, but I wouldn't stifle it.

"Mum, it's the FA Cup Final! You have to dress up for that! Simply have to." I pushed the words out with as much conviction as I could muster in my own kitchen, the cold winds blowing rain against the window panes of our house at 7:30 in the morning.

"Eh. Boys will be boys. Off with you then! I'll fix you a proper meal instead of what you've got started. Give me 20 minutes."

I did. The meal she spread before me was beautiful. I ate as much as I could, but it wasn't enough to clean my plate. Simply, I was too nervous to really eat. I'd get one chance at this and my Newcastle Geordies were too dear to me to survive a loss.

When I pushed the plate away, finally, my Mum added. "Is that all you can eat? You hardly touched it." While it was true I'd not eaten what I'd usually consume, it was still plenty all things considered. I offered a weak smile as a response.

"Sorry, Mum. My stomach's full of butterflies."

"Nervous too? Poor boy. Come here."

I walked to her and she grabbed me tight in a hug. "Now, I don't understand what all the fuss is about a computer game, but I do know that you've spent God only knows how many hours playing that bloody game. However, I've also seen what it can do for you. Your grades have never been higher. You've stopped running around town getting into all sorts of mischief I never want to know about. Finally, you've found a bit of joy in your life again after being hurt. If you are nervous for a computer game, then I'll do my best to support you. You are my favorite Son."

"Mom. I'm your only Son."

"It doesn't matter, Johnny. You are my favorite Son and you'll always be. Today, tomorrow, and all the days after that. Maybe, just maybe, you'll get to manage in your own FA Cup Final. If you do, you should know that I'll be there and be full of pride for you and what you've done."

"And what if I don't."

"It doesn't matter. I'll still be proud of you and what you've done." She pulled me even closer and kissed my forehead, stepped away, and tousled my hair. "Now, go on. Manage your team. I won't tell your father about this. He'll be down very soon."

I hustled away secure in the promises she offered and confident she'd keep them.

[copperhorse21]

Chapter 13

In the small confines of my room, reading script running across the screen, I watched my Geordies take a 1-0 lead before halftime compliments of an Alan Shearer header to the near post off the corner kick in the 32nd minute. I jumped up from my chair and hollered loudly.

While running circles in my room, I was interrupted by my Mum knocking and calling through the door, "Everything alright?"

I threw open the door and hugged her. "We're up 1-0! Shearer with the score!"

Mum smiled and laughed. "Good for you. I'll be going now. Just wondered what the ruckus was considering a chair banged onto the floor and you yelled. Glad you are okay."

I apologized and went back to reading the script scrolling across the screen while she left and went about her business.

Forty five minutes later, Arsenal equalized in the second half with Thierry Henry finding a way past Shay Given with 35 minutes to go. I fumed and banged my hands on the desk. However, I kept my rage minimized to keep Mum from being startled again.

However, with 6 minutes to go, I couldn't contain myself after Henry scored a second to put the Gunners up by a goal. I switched to a 4-2-4, Bellamy, Kluivert, Shearer, and Shola Ameobi all in the match searching for an equalizer. It was to no avail.

When the screen finally stopped scrolling the bad news, I sat at my desk dejected. My Magpies had taken a lead, but then lost it. I was hurt, but also knew that it was a fake game. My life wasn't any different than it had been before I started the computer simulation. However, it still hurt to lose. It still felt like I'd let my team down. I'd imagined in my fantasy that I'd been the toast of the town leading the Geordies to the FA Cup Final and I'd even gone so far as to imagine the celebrations afterwards basking in their accolades following the win at Millenium Stadium in Cardiff. The only thing that would have made the celebrations complete would have been to celebrate victory at Wembley, but the stadium wasn't finished yet. Either way, I'd decided that a trophy was a trophy regardless of its place of distribution.

A few hours later, I pulled up the match report and read the news once more, rubbing the feeling of loss even deeper into the still sore wounds left behind earlier in the day. The last meal of the day, I sat silent and listened to my father grumble about his work yet again. Dad, like usual, finished up another day miserable and bitter about the circumstances surrounding his efforts to put food on our table.

In a flash, I stood up, walked over to my Dad and told him. "Dad, I'm sorry your work sucks. Someday, you won't have to work anymore because I'll be making enough money to provide for you."

Dad looked at me, said nothing for a few strained moments while he sized up my outburst. Mum immediately grabbed his hand at the table and squeezed tight as if she was willing him to reply accordingly. My father took an extra moment to look at her before replying. "I'd like that, Johnny. I'd like that a lot."

When dinner ended, I asked Mum if I could wash the dishes and clean up most of the mess left behind from the meal. She looked at me in a similar fashion to my father before saying, "I'm going to help you. But, yes. I'd like that a lot."

During the time we spent in the kitchen, I told Mum about the match. She listened without saying a word. I hugged her when the house was clean again and asked her if she'd buy me a book for the upcoming Christmas.

"Yes, Johnny. Of course, there is still some time left. Which one did you have in mind?"

"Managing My Life: My Autobiography by Alex Ferguson."

Mum said nothing immediately, just looked at me before replying, "Yes, John. We can do that."

I left her to ponder with Dad about the suddenly different direction the course of my most recent actions would take me in the months to come.

[copperhorse21]

Chapter 14:

Boxing Day arrived.  My favorite time of year because of all the football on the television.  While other countries resolved to take time off for their football so the players can catch a break and be with their families, England never did.  More football than ever, it seemed, with matches on Boxing Day, 2 days later and then a few more around the turn of the year.

What I liked even more was no school.  It left plenty of time for Championship Manager.  I'd found a few tactics that seemed to work, primarily near post corner kicks with flick-ons, but there was also the transfer market to consider.

As a fan, I hated the transfer window because the players I'd been cheering for during the season suddenly found themselves shipped out for a higher wage or better surroundings.  Sometimes it was both.  It infuriated me to watch my teams in the news media stave off the latest rumors of their primary players, especially if one's club was mid-table.  The teams with money would come snooping around with wages we couldn't possibly afford and then the star would depart with their goodbyes consisting of the generic, I've had a good time with my past club, but I've always wanted to play for my future club.

Blah, blah, blah.  In real life, the transfer window was awful, but on Championship Manager, the thrill of wheeling and dealing for players both ingoing and outgoing made that time of year very enjoyable.  Having a few players who always whined about playing time, it was refreshing to be able to unload them to other teams and get fresh players with plenty of potential to push my team to new heights.

But my holidays consisted of more than Championship Manager.  It also consisted of reading a book the entire way through for the first time in my academic life.  I didn't have to do it for school.  I'd done it for me.  Reading Sir Alex Ferguson talk about the rough life growing up and finally getting a turn at management, it became clear to me that the manager liked players slightly older than me.  The ones he said he could shape into the players he wanted them to become.  Ones that not only had the technical and tactical skills required to play the game, but also those who had the mental fortitude to make their own successes.

Another thing that struck me about Sir Alex was his emphasis on rebuilding teams every few years.  It meant he needed to say goodbye to current stars to make a way for the future stars few followed.  I kind of liked that and had tried that kind of philosophy with the teams I'd managed on my computer game.

Suddenly, the game wasn't just a game to play.  It was a science experiment to try new philosophies of management from those in the game I'd admired who were in control of actual teams instead of simulated ones.  It gave me plenty of time to try new things without risking failure.  It gave me a good idea of the kind of manager I might wish to become some day.

Unfortunately, still with graduation day ahead of me, I wasn't going to manage any professionals any time soon.  I was still working with players even younger than me with their future still undecided and young bones and joints still left to injure.

Was it possible for me to apply some of the Championship Manager principles into the youth team I helped my teacher coach in the youth leagues for Gateshead?

[copperhorse21]

Chapter 15:

Nigel called up, hoping to have one hell of a hurrah to ring in the new year.  I listened, thought about the latest career game going on and decided I should spare the game and chase the fame.  His words, not mine.

I'd informed my parents of my plans to see Nigel and Mum was fine with it.  Of course, I'd left out the truest details of the evening and was out of the house within 20 minutes.  Nigel and I caught up a bit on small talk and he'd let me on a secret crush he'd had who was going to be at the party.  He needed me to be his wing man to warm her up and get the interest going.  Again, I'd agreed.

Nigel and I arrived.  He was right about the young girl corrupting his mind.  Betsy was quite the looker, even if her name wasn't the best.  It didn't take long to warm her up, just refill the cup twice and she was quite open to any advances a guy could want.  The only problem was she had her eyes on me instead of Nigel.  He was getting angry and pulled me aside.  "Mate, she's effing mine.  We worked this out already!"

"Nige, I don't have any interest in her.  She's coming on to me.  Honest, Mate."

"You're just saying that."  Nigel finished his 4th cup and added.  "I'm getting another one.  You want one?"

I agreed, even though I really didn't want it.  My cup was taken and I leaned up against a wall.  Betsy came over right away.  "I finally see your by yourself.  It's about time."  She leaned in close and her hand reached down to the region long neglected since I'd been a CM addict and had been skipping parties like this.

I pushed her hand away and tried to reason with her.  "Look, I'm not interested."  She put her chest up against mine and leaned in close with her mouth.

"What?  You're not interested?  Are you kidding me?  Wait, are you not interested in me or in girls in general?"

"I'm interested in girls.  Just not you."  It was harsh and I knew it.  But, Nigel wanted her far more than me and I aimed to keep it that way.

"I don't believe you.  I know I can change your mind."  Again, her hand reached below my waist to rouse the soldier to action.

I pushed her hand away again and told her to stop.  She stepped back for half a second.  I thought we were done, finally.  She stared hard and then suddenly slapped me hard on the mouth.  It stung, but I refused to strike her back.  She smiled and licked her mouth.  "You like that do you?  You don't know what you're missing with me, mate."

Before I could tell her otherwise, she added, "I'll give you a sample."  Betsy leaned in and kissed me full on the mouth where the sting still resonated.  I tried to push her away from me, but she'd wrapped her hands around the back of my neck in a firm grip.  Though I could push her chest and hips away from me, I couldn't get her mouth off mine fast enough.

Suddenly, she released herself from me, but it wasn't of her doing.  It was Nigel who'd just pulled her back.  Before I could say thanks, he'd unloaded his fist into the side of my face.  Blinding white light flashed in my eyes and I heard a loud crack explode.  My whole jaw ached and I fell down.  I tried to get up, but Nigel was on me again landing blow after blow.

I could only cover my face the best I could and my jaw hurt so bad I couldn't even talk.  Betsy's screams cut through the noise and, eventually, Nigel was pulled off me with only his insults still landing blows.

My head pounded, my jaw hurt too much to move.

All I could think as I stumbled out of the house was "How am I going to explain this to Mum?"

[copperhorse21]

Chapter 16

After half the night in hospital, both parents were upset with me still, and my jaw was wired shut.  For the foreseeable future, I'd need to turn my solid food into a mushy mix smooth enough to drink through a straw.  I was angry.  Angry at Nigel for thinking that I wasn't still his Mate.  Angry at the minx who thought it right to smother me without my consent.  Angry at the whole damn situation.

Nigel tried apologizing for it in the days to come.  "Johnny, I'm sorry.  I had no idea.  I thought you were kissing her.  I was angry."

"Nigel, I wasn't kissing her.  I was trying to keep her off me.  She wouldn't take no for an answer.  She wouldn't listen."

"I can't believe how pretty she was.  Any lad worthwhile would have thought so.  If she'd come on to me, I'd have taken a chance at it for sure."

"I'm not you, Nige, obviously.  You wanted her.  You wanted my help.  I gave you my help.  You broke my jaw as thanks.  Do you know how mad my parents were having to be awakened to take me to hospital?"

"I know.  I know.  I just didn't think I'd hit you that hard."

"Nige, after what you'd put down your throat in such a short amount of time, I don't know if you would have realized it even if you had tried."

"What are you saying, Johnny?"  Nigel's apologetic tone switch to an accusatory one.

"I'm just saying that I don't think you knew how much you'd had."

"Shut your mouth right there!  Don't get all high and mighty on me.  Thinking your better than me?  Well, let me tell you something.  Ever since you got that damn game, Championship Manager, you've changed.  You're not the same."

It was turn for my tone to match his.  "What are you saying, Nige?  That I think I'm better than you?"

"What if I am?"

Trying to holler at him with my jaw wired shut hurt like hell.  I couldn't generate the force I wanted trying to move my tongue to form my words with moving my face to give it the space it needed to easily form what I wished to say.

"Nigel, you don't know what I wouldn't give to play football for real.  I've had to give it up.  I've had to find a substitute replacement.  While it's not the same as playing, the game helps."

"So, you're going to spend your life in front of a silly computer screen watching instructions scroll across the screen and chasing after players to put on your fake team?  Is that what you're going to do with your life?  Live in some friggin' fantasy world instead of reality?"

I nearly clubbed Nigel myself.

"I'm not planning on playing a computer game forever.  I plan on being a manager someday.  I plan on making money at it too, damn you!"

"You really think you have what it takes to make money being a manager?  You honestly believe some club will take you on with your experience?  Please, Sir, I've managed Forest to European glory in six seasons.  I can take your club to the top, too.  Promise."

Too angry to speak, too frustrated to club my Mate in his own damn mouth, I simply spit, "Get out.  GET OUT!  I'm done with you!  You go your own way.  I'll go mine.  We'll see who gets what they want."

Hearing my tone and seeing the venom in my eyes, Nigel replied, "Settle down.  I'm just saying stuff.  Hell, I don't know what I'm saying.  I'm just angry.  That's all it is.  Just saying stuff because I miss going out with you like we used to do.  Knock a few back, chase some tail, swap some stories we exaggerate in the coming weeks and months."

"No.  I'm not going to settle down.  You don't know what it's like to lose the chance to do what you love doing and to try to put your life back together again.  You think it's easy to lose your status and have to rebuild it?  People who looked at me before with admiration because I could play football look at me know with pity."

"You're exaggerating."

"Am I?  Do you see what I see?  Do you see the awkward looks and the uncertainty they have when trying to talk with me?"

"No, I don't see that.  But, that's just your imagination.  It's not like that."

"Then, what is like Johnny?" I spat at Nigel bitterly.  "Go on, tell me more since you already know what it's like to look at the world through my eyes!"

"You know what, Johnny?  Bugger off!  SOD OFF, you bastard!  You're not done with me.  I'm done with you.  You hear me?  DONE!"  Then, without another word, my best friend walked away and slammed my bedroom door behind him.

[copperhorse21]

Chapter 17:

Mr. Ashley knew something was wrong with me.  Finally, after getting my jaw freed from its wire prison, I was able to eat solid foods again.  The first thing I wanted was a hearty pie, not blended.  However, the joy of eating solid foods wasn't enough to release me from the funk of depression.  Northeast winters are brutal on the soul and losing most of my friends didn't help either.  No matter my efforts to be normal at school, the truth was my heart wasn't in it anymore.

It wasn't that I didn't want to be at school.  Well, I didn't want to be there, to be honest.  But, my heart wasn't into chasing the politics of it all.  The roles we are forced to play because people want to box us into small compartments of their choosing.  Talking to certain people because it was okay and ignoring others because we're supposed to do so.  I was sick of it.

When I wasn't coaching computer footy, I found myself wandering to the sport facilities to watch the 5-a-sides play in the evenings.  I hustled home, did my schoolwork, then headed off to watch grown men hold onto their youth as long as possible until it was time for me to come home and kill off the night experimenting with new tactics and transfer policies.

When spring started closing in, the time to get coaching with Mr. Ashley was filled with anticipation.  We met at Gateshead's facilities and he took me into a room I'd never been in before.  It was where they counted the money collected from the home matches.  He set me down and asked me what was bothering me.

I'd tried dismissing it, but the teacher wouldn't let it go.  "Johnny, I've been speaking with the other teachers at school and all of them tell me the same thing.  You show up, you do your work, and you leave.  You don't add anything to the class discussions unless you are called upon and your time at school is mostly spent in isolation, even if you are surrounded by a group of people."

"I don't think it's anything, Sir.  It's just that I want to be done.  After Nige broke my jaw thinking I'd stolen his girl when I didn't, and then he telling me that I was different because all I did was play computer games, I've had a lot of time to think because talking was too difficult to do most of the time.  Besides, most of what they say seems kind of trivial too."

My teacher smiled and shook his head from side to side in knowing sympathy.  "Johnny, here's a secret to life that Championship Manager has been teaching you without you really knowing it."

I waited for my newest friend to reveal the truth.  I didn't have to wait long.

"Johnny, just like teams get new players each and every year, people will flow into your life and then leave again.  Sometimes, the transitions are required due to old age, injury, or a new manager coming to the team.  Other times, it's because the players themselves want a fresh start.  Here's the lesson I wish you might learn.  People may come and go, but their roles remain the same."

"What do you mean by that?"  I asked.

"There is always someone with the most power and when they depart, there is someone else who gains the most power in their absence.  The same is true for those with the least power.  Also, when a striker leaves, a new striker replaces the first.  Over and over this cycle is repeated."

"Okay.  So what does this have to do with me, exactly?"

"You had a best friend in Nigel, I assume.  It's ended.  Who's your new best friend?"

"I don't have one."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I don't have any mates to spend time with."

"That is one way of looking at it.  But it's not the only way to look at it."

"Well, what's the other way."

"Who or what gets the most of your time?"

"Championship Manager.  Or watching footy down at the Centre."

"Exactly.  Football is your best friend.  Football has been there for you in one way or another this entire time.  It's not let you down."

"That's just plain weird, Mr. Ashley.  No offense."

"None taken.  Just think of it this way.  Do you think it's wise to spend time with people who don't respect you or your values?"

"No.  That's stupid."

"Exactly!  So, if the people at our school don't respect you or what you value, why are you still living in sadness that they have a lesser role in your life?  What do you do in CM when you have a player who doesn't do well in matches, despite the chances you give them?"

"They get transferred."

"Why can't that happen with the people in your real life too?  Why can't you look at your life like a football team?  You are the manager.  You decide what you value and you come up with a plan to overcome the obstacles in front of you, right?"

I pondered his statements for a bit.  "Yes-"

"Well, do the same with your life.  You have obstacles in your life.  You want to be a football manager.  You said so yourself.  If that is what you value, why are you giving so much value to those things or people who are obstacles in the path of your pursuit of this goal?"

Gobsmacked, I sat in the counting room at Gateshead staring at my teacher.

[copperhorse21]

Chapter 18:

Over the next few weeks, I tried to do what my teacher, Mr. Ashley, suggested.  I tried to eliminate the other stuff in my life that wasn't related to CM and school.  It meant I didn't spend time with my friends after school, especially Nigel.  It meant I came home, did my studies as quickly as possible and then disappeared into my room to play CM for the next few hours.  It also meant that I studied Match of the Day matches to study formations and see what kinds of players were needed at each position.

Of course, spending the time at the game left little time for the drama of school and the politics of maintaining friendships that seemed to go nowhere.  At first, it was difficult, but I found that if I stayed busy enough, the rest of the stuff sort of fell away.  I spent more time trying to figure out what drills might work with the youth team and making suggestions.

Giving something back to the game which had already given me so much felt good.  At least that was the message I told myself because the reality was I didn't have friends my age anymore.  I couldn't be friends with those I coached either.  Nor did the adult coaches befriend me at Gateshead.  Granted, they were friendly, but they had a job to do and their relationship with me was similar to mine with my youngsters.

Losing friends was tough and I told Mr. Ashley as much.  He replied simply, yet firmly.  "Friends are friends through thick and thin.  Unfortunately, you will find that your friends are based more upon your experiences than your ages.  Instead of thinking you need friends your age, is it possible to consider creating new experiences and seeing what develops?  While it's tough to be without friends your age, can you imagine the advantages you might be gaining over them right now because you are pursuing something different which involves more sacrifice over the long-term in search of something more gratifying to you than the short-term benefits of the weekend plans?"

The questions were good.  Challenged me even.  I'm not sure I understood what he meant by long-term and short-term benefits.  I thought it odd that I didn't drink as much as I did, just the occasional beer with my father on the weekend watching the Geordies, but it still would have been good to have camaraderie with my mates and some girls too.

The first match of the spring season was just around the corner and I hoped the team would do better than they had in the fall season.

I had some good ideas I needed implemented on the pitch instead of the screen in my room.

Time would tell if my sacrifices to pursue management would be rewarded with something more than busted relationships with my peers.

[copperhorse21]

Chapter 19:

Three matches into the season and my youth team was struggling to score.  The team camaraderie wasn't there and I'd hoped for more wins than what had happened.  It wasn't like the officials cost us matches.  Simply, we were bad.  Their technical skills weren't as good as our opponents and when the other team scored, we folded emotionally.

Determination seemed to be lacking and I was at a loss to explain how to get it.  I spoke of it with Mr. Ashley in one of our after-school sessions.  He informed me that coaching a team was quite similar to teaching a classroom.  Each player on the team had different reasons for being on the team--same as the classroom.  The difficult part was getting all the players to see a new goal for being on the team--just like the classroom.  If I could convince them of the merit of what I wanted them to do, they might be more determined to give extra effort.

The second thing he suggested made even more sense.  "Johnny, players are willing to work harder if they believe they will succeed.  You must change the horizon they see so they realize they are still a long way off.  They need to know this is a long journey and they can succeed over the long haul, not just a short-term goal."

"Mr. Ashley, are you suggesting that the players on my team need to look at the season as a long-term journey instead of just winning the game?"

"Yes, in a sense.  They need to know the right habits required to be successful, not just the right tactics.  The mentality must be right too.  If they have an attitude of success, they can develop a habit of it.  If they develop a habit of successfully doing the right things at the right times, eventually the successful results will follow."

"Stop focusing on winning?"

"Yes.  Stop focusing on winning being the end product.  Winning is something outside their control.  Doing the right things when they are in control is vital.  If they are in the right position as a striker, they put themselves in a position to successfully score.  However, they are not in control over whether or not their teammate can pass the ball successfully to them or if the defense is marking them properly.  They can only make good decisions for those things they can control."

"So, what do I emphasize in training?  Technique?  Tactics?  Physical training?  Mentality?"

"Pick one and work on it.  But, don't, whatever you do, focus on winning.  Instead, focus on developing the right habits in all those areas and success will follow."

"We'll win?"  I asked, hoping for a simple answer.

"No, you'll be successful.  The end goal isn't winning.  That is a byproduct of being successful.  Being successful is the end goal.  Keep reminding them of what successful players do on the field in the areas of tactics, technique, physicality, and mentality.  That is their new horizon.  It's a finish line much further forward than being the best on your team or even being the best in your league."

I left his office wondering if it would work on the training pitch that night.  Up until this point, the end goal was winning.  Winning is what all managers needed to do if they wanted to stay employed.  If I changed the end goal and focused more on being successful, would it really result in success on the field?

I questioned it, certainly.  But, I also trusted Mr. Ashley.  I recalled sitting in his class and hearing him mention what successful students did regularly.  Heck, I even tried some of them after a while.  Remembering how he'd gotten me to work harder without me even realizing it struck me like a lightning bolt.  Damn!  I hadn't even noticed!

I could hardly wait to get to training that night.

[copperhorse21]

Chapter 20:

It had been two weeks since I changed my focus from the short-term of simply winning matches into the long-term of developing players to be successful on the field.  It helped me be more patient with the youngsters and it also gave me something to consider for myself.

Instead of being upset that they didn't do everything right exactly the first time, it helped me to pause an extra second and realize that I might need to give them the benefit of the doubt in the moment and try teaching them something for the future.

I also learned that they were more receptive to suggestions because I stopped telling them they needed to do something and asked them to try something risky to see if they could be successful at it.  It seemed to work.  The players were less tense on the pitch, more willing to take risks, and it resulted in more goals getting scored.

Granted, we still allowed too many goals for my liking, but a 5-4 win and and a 6-3 win were nothing to complain about, especially as those were the highest scoring matches of the season.  With two more wins, we moved up the league table with a single match to go.  It was against the league leaders and if we managed to pull a victory out of the hat, we might have a chance to go second in the table, but that was only if the 2nd placed team lost to the 5th placed team.

I was a bit nervous entering the final match of the season, but grateful for the chance to test my new mettle on tough competition.  It might be nice to knock the second placed team off their perch even if we couldn't unseat our opposition who would remain champions regardless of the outcome.

The match was a rainy one.  The kids were more distracted by the mud than they were the opposition.  It irritated me, but I tried to focus on the long-term objectives of playing well instead of winning the match.

We went down early 2-0 and the other team seemed to relax thinking they had it won already.  We battled back on a set play the keeper mishandled.  We equalized just before the half.

I was excited in our short break, but refrained from mentioning winning.  It would have been the focus of what I'd have said three weeks ago, but I was trying to avoid talking about winning as the end goal.

Instead, I mentioned to the players that we needed to pinch more in the middle to stop the opponents on a muddy day from going route one up the middle on us.  I limited what I wanted them to do to this simple exercise.

In the second half, I watched my starters do their version of crowding the middle, but it still left a lot to be admired.  However, the effort was there.  I praised them for it and waited for the momentum to shift.

It didn't.  Both teams couldn't gain an advantage and most of the shots were relatively harmless.  It ended a 2-2 draw.  While we didn't score a lot of goals, it was the fewest we'd allowed all season.

I used this as praise for them in the post match discussion which lasted less than two minutes.  Two of them had to leave immediately to attend a siblings' match nearby.

I was satisfied.  I wasn't delighted with the result because I'd wanted the win, but my team finished the season doing something they hadn't done all year.  It was a moral victory, I guess, but I couldn't help but want a bit more.

I was lost in my thoughts when I heard a familiar voice ring out nearby.  I spun my head towards Mr. Ashley and beamed.

"Johnny, nice adjustments out there.  It was good to see.  The team played well in the second half and there's nothing to complain about considering they were the first placed team."

Mr. Ashley knew they were in first place?

"Thanks Mr.  Ashley, I appreciate it."  I really did, especially hearing the compliment from him.

"Johnny, I'm proud of you.  You really looked like you were enjoying it out there."

"I was, Sir.  I was, though I did want the win."

"We all want the win.  But that shouldn't be the only goal.  You should also want them to get better each game.  It seemed like a fair result all things considered."

"Thanks, Mr. Ashley, I appreciate that."

"Tell you what Johnny, I have a meeting with the club Chairman later this week.  Do you mind if I mention the result to him?"

"Do I mind?"  The mere fact he was asking me a question seeking my input rattled me.  "Um, sure.  That would be fine.  Not sure why he'd like to know, but whatever you want."

"I do want that very much.  Again, I'm proud of you.  I will let you know what happens after our meeting."

I could hardly wait!

[copperhorse21]

Chapter 21:

A month passed before I heard anything regarding feedback from the Chairman.  Not that I expected anything to come of it, but the young lad in me figured optimistically that things would have moved faster than reality.

While I finished up my year at school, I was pretty much friendless and the only teacher I cared about was Mr. Ashley.  In my imagination, via Championship Manager, I was doing great things.  I had taken Newcastle to the Champions League Final, defeated AC Milan 3-1 and had won the Treble the following year winning the League by 4 points over Manchester United, Champions League Final (this time over Real Madrid), and World Club Championship Final (over some Japanese Club I'd never heard of).

Graduation was to arrive soon when my parents informed me that Gateshead's Chairman had inquired as to scheduling a meeting with me.

I was shocked.  Took some time to overcome my thoughts and replied to Mum, "Honest.  I have no idea what he wants."

A week later, Mum walked beside me into the club offices at Gateshead.  Mr. Ashley, my teacher, greeted us in the lobby unexpectedly.  Then, after a round of greetings, walked beside us down the short hallway to the Chairman's office while the Secretary led.

Inside, the Chairman greeted all of us warmly, offered us tea.  Mum accepted, along with Mr. Ashley, and we sat down in the comfortable leather chairs available.

"Johnny, I've heard very good things about you from my good friend, Mr. Ashley."

I nodded mutely.

"I'm grateful that you are such a fan of football and are becoming quite the student of the game on the coaching side of things.  Mr. Ashley's got some faith in you."

Again, I nodded instead of talking.  I hadn't realized how nervous I'd been, but it was more than I'd expected.

"Well, I've got some faith in Mr. Ashley too.  What I'd like to offer you is the chance to become an intern with the senior team here at Gateshead.  Just follow around the manager when he's working with the squad this coming July and do whatever he asks of you."

I couldn't believe my ears.  Working with the Seniors at Gateshead?  It was way more than I imagined, but also something I couldn't believe was falling in my lap.  I had no experience.  What could I possibly offer them?

I finally stammered out the words too.  "I've no experience.  I'm not sure what I could offer."

The Chairman chuckled warmly.  "We're not asking you to offer us anything at all.  At least, not yet."

I must have a puzzled look on my face because he added, "I see you are not quite certain what I mean.  Let me put it another way.  We have youth players who we hope will stick with us and make it to the senior team eventually.  Mr. Ashley convinced us that we should do the same with a member of our coaching staff.  He recommended you to be the first apprentice!"

I was gobsmacked.  I looked at Mr. Ashley, whose smile matched that of the Chairman.  Mum, just as surprised as me added, "I'm not sure what either of you mean.  He's not even licensed.  He's not even graduated for that matter either.  Surely, you are getting ahead of yourself."

"Indeed, we are getting ahead of ourselves, but we are willing to pay for him to become licensed.  We just need your consent and his ambition to be more than a player can become a potential reality."

I looked at Mum.  She stared back at me.  I looked to Mr. Ashley, whose warm eyes seemed a bit teary (was that really what he felt or my imagination).  Finally, I looked once more at the Chairman whose eyes never seemed to leave mine.

"Gateshead will pay for my license this summer?  All I have to do is intern with the senior team?"

"Yes.  That's all.  At least for now.  It's to get you a sense of what real management is like.  If you do like it, then we'll get you enrolled when the next class opens up.  Once you complete the coursework, depending on how you do, we can see if there are openings at Gateshead where you can assist the staff in a more important staff role.  Of course, the jobs are part-time so if you do decide to be with us, you'll also need to find a job that is without us too."

I looked to Mum, whose expressions seemed to match mine.  "Mum, can I do it?  Please?  Can I do it?  I'll promise whatever I need at home.  I just want the chance.  You know how much it'd mean to me.  You know how hard I can work.  You know how much I love football.  Please?  You can work Dad over for me, can't you?"

The pleas poured out as soon as they became conscious thoughts.  The possibilities of being involved with a real team was too much to ponder and too dear to ignore.  I just had to do it.  Just had to.  Surely, Mum was on my side.

Mum looked beyond my eyes and deep into the secrets I'd tried to keep like the many times when I was out with the boys up to no good and tried to avoid trouble upon our return to the house.

Her silent interrogation seemed to last forever.  Eventually, I saw the shift in her eyes and knew she'd made up her mind.

"Johnny, is this what you want?  I mean, really want?  I know it's been a rough time for you with your own football.  But, seriously, is this what you want for your future?"

"I don't know what I want for my future.  That's too far away.  But, I do know that I want this.  At least for now.  I want this more than anything right now and I promise I will work so hard to do right by you, by Dad, by Mr. Ashley, by anyone willing to take me on and help me."

The Chairman interrupted our private moment.  "That attitude is the kind we want around here.  If only more of our players felt the same way, we might accomplish something unique here."

Mum ignored the Chairman's comment, but I didn't.  I looked at him briefly and smiled once more, trying to hold back my own tears now as I predicted the decision Mum might make soon would fall in my favor.

"Johnny, I don't know why I'm saying this, but I agree to talk with Dad about your opportunity."

I hugged her.  I hugged Mr. Ashley.  I even hugged the Chairman.

I couldn't believe my good fortune.  Mum could work Dad over.  It was only a matter of time.

We left Gateshead, arrived home, and Dad heard all about it at the table during our meal.  He pondered it briefly.

"Is that so?  He really said that?  They truly believe in him like they claim?  Well, Son, is this truly something you want?"

"More than anything Dad.  More than anything right now.  You know how hard I worked on my fake football on the computer?  I will work that hard on real football too.  Someday, mark my words, I'll make you proud of saying yes.  Please, say yes Dad.  Just say yes!"

"Then yes, Son.  Yes!  Yes!  Yes!  Make me proud!  Make all of us proud!"

And with that decision, on that fateful night in May, my life changed forever and I was no longer a Northeastern Lad, but had somehow transformed into a Northeastern Man.

The End

[mark wilson27]

Another excellent story has come to an end, copper as usual top notch work from yourself which has been duly added under your name in the FMS Archives.

 

[EvilDave]

Copper, this has been excellent from start to finish, and that final post is beautifully written. Part of me wants to hear more from Johnny, but another part is thoroughly satisfied with leaving things here. Top notch as Mr Wilson said, a great story.