The Lions of Barcelona

[tenthreeleader]

There has indeed been a change in ownership in the SPL, but not at Rangers.

It’s in the capital, as Hibs has a new owner. Businessman Gregg Snodgrass has taken over from Rod Petrie. That is a news story, since Petrie’s parsimony has been a topic of conversation among the club’s supporters for some time now.

I won’t say I mind that – Thomson and Whittaker are just two examples of how Rangers have benefitted from the Hibees’ need to sell players – but Snodgrass is promising change.

“That’s just the point,” said one Hibs supporter on The Scotsman’s comment board this afternoon. “Change is what we got from Petrie. I’d rather have a whole quid.”

Bad joke aside, no one likes to see his club feed other clubs, especially if the clubs are in the same league. The financial travails of their crosstown rival Hearts is well known, so if Snodgrass is true to his word, perhaps the green side of Edinburgh will have more to smile about than the red.

The fellow who is sweating now is the manager. Mixu Paatelainen is probably wondering about his job security, despite having his club in third place behind the Old Firm. Former Derby County manager Billy Davies is rumoured to be in line to succeed Mixu if and when Snodgrass decides to make a move.

I had some of the same feelings during the takeover saga between Sir David and Martin Bain. The first thing a new chairman wants to do is put his mark on the club and there’s no more public way to do that than to bring in a new manager.

So, my turn to sweat is over for the time being. Mixu’s is just starting, and he spent his afternoon media briefing defending the job he’s done.

I was asked about the Hibs situation this afternoon and I steered as wide a berth as I possibly could. “There is just no way I’m going to be drawn into that conversation,” I said, more than once, when the scribes wanted to dig into the issue this afternoon. “We’ve got an international break coming up and right now we’re concentrating on other things. I like Mixu and get along pretty well with him but I’m sure he’d say the same thing if the roles were reversed.”

Unfortunately, the change Snodgrass is promising may not come until January. He can buy players now, but obviously they can’t join the club until the window opens. I’ve got players I want to bring in now – especially since the financial situation has improved – and the thought I may have to race not only Celtic but Hibs to a few of them makes things a little more challenging.

I wouldn’t mind trimming a few off the squad as well, but for the time being there are people I want to add, and they must be Scotsmen. The one I’m keenest on is Scotland u-21 midfielder James McArthur of Hamilton Accies. We’re a bit confused on the wings at the moment, without a true wing player on either side of the pitch when we don’t have Beasley in our lineup.

DaMarcus is a true wing player, but in the all-Scottish lineup he takes a back seat to Adam. The problem is, I already prefer Adam in the center of the park due to his lack of pace. There, we already have Thomson, Ferguson, Mendes and Davis. The latter sometimes plays the right side of midfield despite not being a true wing player, alternating time with Novo, who would much rather play up front.

So, it’s a mess, since I’m also dealing with a glut of strikers. Novo is desperate to play and he’s a fan favourite as well, adding to my decision-making woes. I can’t sit Miller or Boyd most days, and the fans are screaming for a place for young Fleck in the eleven as well. So people really do need to move to make this all work out.

Trouble is, when half of them are hurt, I can’t make decisions that will both satisfy Murray and be the best thing for the club. That is my paramount concern, despite all the talk of an all-Scottish eleven. I’m starting to wonder if it’s really possible for me to win.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

Rangers v. Dundee United – SPL Match #9

Some of the injured players are making their return, but this afternoon we lost one and a half more Scotsman to the trainers’ table.

This time it was at Ibrox, so at least there were howls of indignation this time. One of the injuries will really smart, while the other will play a significant role in our upcoming SPL matches.

My day started with a terrific little text from Heather – inviting me to London to watch a little shooting the next time I can make a day trip.

That will be next week, I hope. After today’s match against our perennial trouble club, Dundee United, we’ve got Spartak Moscow in the Champions League on Tuesday night, also at Ibrox. Then it’s off to play Hamilton Accies at the weekend and Wednesday will be a light day at Murray Park.

With two matches in four days, squad selection for this match was of course vital. A meeting at Ibrox with McCoist prior to the match ironed out the rotation not only for today’s match, but for Tuesday.

“We should save Miller if we can,” he had advised, and I agreed. His partnership with Boyd against Moscow was a priority, yet with the league a priority, we were going to have to play them in both matches.

Yet with Murray now wanting Scotsmen to play, I put out an eleven with eight and a half Scotsmen. Mendes and Bougherra of course didn’t qualify, but Novo sort of did. In the process of switching his citizenship away from his native Spain, “McNovo” was also raring to go.

Without Europe to worry about and a shot at the Old Firm staring him in the face, Craig Levein threw his best at us. Ex-Ranger Maurice Ross took his place at right fullback to appreciative applause from some of the Bears with longer memories. The 27-year old is fresh from two years at Viking Stavenger in Norway, and stepping back onto the Ibrox pitch seemed to invigorate him.

So off we went, McNovo in the lead. Four minutes after kickoff he took off down the right with a turn of pace that was as pleasing to the eye as it was troubling to the defense. Just like that, the United defense was bunched up around him, with three players giving futile chase.

The last was Paul Dixon, who fell victim to a wonderful little shoulder drop move that sent him free all the way to the byline. He crossed on a line – and there was Thomson, who had timed a run perfectly through what was left of the United defense. Gleefully, he headed home past Lukasz Zaluska to get us the early lead we craved.

There wasn’t much of a fan reaction behind the goal as we were attacking the Broomloan Road Stand, where United had used up a large portion of its ticket allocation. The rest of the stadium, though, was in much higher feather.

McCoist’s smile and bounding leap of joy off the bench was enough for me. Suddenly I could understand why Walter Smith spent so much time in the director’s box. McCoist’s enthusiasm was something even I have a hard time matching.

Fists pumping, he was first to the touchline to congratulate Thomson as he headed back to the center circle, and again I let that go too. Now it was just me and McDowall, side by side on the bench.

“Ally just loves to be out with the lads,” he observed.

“Indeed he does,” I answered. “Let him be the good cop today.”

# # #

[gavrenwick]

Good luck against Dundee United, Phil. I must admit tenthree, I now find myself reading this story not just as the great work it is, but also scout reports for (hopefully!) Tina's opposition next season!

[tenthreeleader]

Just six minutes after that, though, we got more bad news. That was when our ‘half-Scotsman’, McNovo, went down under a heavy challenge from Willo Flood, who landed on top of our player, knocking the wind out of him.

It was a heavy challenge but a fair one, and Novo was very slow to get up. Out came the physios, and off went my winger on a stretcher, fighting for his breath after only eleven minutes of play.

That was cause enough for concern, and as our physios assisted him to the dressing room, I got the ever-popular word over the shoulder as they passed.

“Worried about a cracked rib, Phil,” I heard. “We’ll let you know.”

# # #

It’s funny, in a way. Coisty is the first to the touchline when we score and I’m the first one there when we concede.

I know, I know, bad cop. That was me, as we conceded two minutes before the interval.

Prior to that time, Levein’s 4-4-2 diamond formation, a direct challenge to the 4-1-3-2 I used to start the match, was giving us a sum total of zero trouble. Willo Flood was playing the high midfield role and, matched up against Mendes, my guy was getting the better end of the deal.

The ex-Porto man stood as tall as his five-foot-eight frame would allow, and in this case it seemed to be plenty tall enough. But even he couldn’t control John Underhill.

Unfortunately, that would be the referee. I’m not talking about the official’s book, here, though. I’m talking about his body.

That’s because it was, quite simply, in the way. Papac had the ball on the left flank and was slowly moving it toward midfield to help try and kill off the half. Under gentle pressure, he moved the ball to the middle, looking for Thommo.

As my goalscorer took the ball, he turned sharply and ran directly into the official. Underhill’s shoulder presented Kevin with his toughest obstacle of the day, and he fell as he tried to avoid the official. Flood picked up the loose ball, passed it ahead for Daly, and he blasted an eighteen yard shot past McGregor to get United level.

As one, the vast majority of the crowd of 49,000-plus screamed bloody murder. And I beat McCoist to the touchline.

The shot was well taken, and Daly had done a great job to position himself between Bougherra and Weir. But as Underhill allowed the goal to stand, everyone in a blue shirt was irate.

The fourth official heard it from me. “What the bloody hell is that?” I yelled, pointing to the growing conflagration around the referee and moving the level of the conversation from zero to sixty in just one sentence.

“Mind your language,” was the response.

“Forget my language, answer the question!” I snapped. Now McCoist was at my side, and really, what I didn’t need was to turn this into a two-on-one conversation. One of us would get sent to the stand and it wouldn’t have been Coisty.

“Ally, get the players settled,” I said, and my deputy reluctantly turned away from the argument to comply. He knew the situation as well as I did.

So he was the one yelling for the players not to surround Underhill. Too, with all the breaks we’ve gotten from officials in the first part of the season regarding red cards, I didn’t want him deciding to even the score by sending a couple of my boys off the pitch. Stranger things have happened in Scottish football.

So, by the hardest, we returned to play while I continued to work the fourth official.

There does come a point, though, where it’s best to stop arguing. Sometimes that point arrives when half ends, or an official warns the manager that he needs to shut up or something drastic will happen.

Or, it can end with a goal, which happened in the first minute of injury time. While I was giving an earful to the fourth official, Adam looped toward the middle, took a short ball from Thomson and blasted a long shot past Zaluska with the last kick of the half.

It did dampen the argument. We were back where we should have been – which is to say, ahead – but the perfectionist in me wanted to be two goals to the good.

# # #

[Offspring8]

but the perfectionist in me wanted to be two goals to the good.

Alas, it's just never good enough for you, is it?? Brilliantly written (as always:p) and I'm looking forward to more. Keep it up, 10-3!

[tenthreeleader]

Offspring, you're kind. And yes, Phil Sharp is someone who likes to take the game to the opposition!

___

I could have picked just about anyone on my senior squad, with the exception of Boyd, that I wanted less to see rolling on the Ibrox pitch in pain than Kenny Miller.

Not that I wished injury on anyone, of course. Yet, there Kenny was, down and well and truly crocked thanks to Flood’s hard challenge on 67 minutes. The worst part of it was that I had Fleck warming up to replace him, and the substitution was about to be made.

Miller had the ball at the top of the Dundee “D” and was looking for options. Unfortunately, he did it with his head turned away from Flood, whose charge toward the ball might as well have been signalled with a blast of trumpets. Down everybody went, and now Miller was clutching his ankle.

This time Underhill was the subject of my ire, friendly officiating of late or no. Flood had hurt Miller – the only question was how badly, and as the physios were finally given permission to tend to my striker, even I could see the blood on Kenny’s hand that had soaked through his socks.

This time I was actively intercepted by the fourth official, and I waved McCoist back to his spot on the bench as having two coaches arguing would be a very bad thing indeed, especially since it had happened more than once today.

“Let’s see the red card,” I said, over the din of the crowd. “The man drew blood.”

Underhill had whistled for a foul, but produced no card of any kind, as Miller was carted off the pitch. I turned Fleck to me and put my hands on his shoulders so he wouldn’t miss what I was saying.

“Play off Boyd and look for passes through the center channels,” I said. “And mind your ankles, please. I don’t want this to get any rougher than it already is.”

He nodded, promised me that he’d try to come off the pitch in one piece, and took his position. Meanwhile, the Ibrox crowd was howling for some sort of revenge against Flood, which would have sent the whole match over the boiling point.

My task was to prevent that. Playing with the lead, I didn’t fancy any tactic that might let Underhill reverse some of the red-card joy we’ve received in recent matches. So I told the lads to dial it down.

I did that through a screamed message to the captain, Weir. The fans behind our bench heard the instruction and some whispering started to make its way through the stands.

Rangers turning the other cheek? It couldn’t be, could it?

Yes, it could. I wanted to finish the match with eleven men and I also wanted to play keepaway from United for as long as we could. They were chasing us all over the ground in a futile attempt to win back possession and that meant a series of late challenges.

Underhill was a spectator. Mendes and Daly came to a flashpoint a few minutes later, when the two clashed in a shoulder to shoulder challenge chasing a 50-50 ball.

The Portuguese’s ire was up, and though he gave up some strength to Daly, he gave up nothing in intensity. This, at least for the fans, was enough to show we had some fighting spirit, and as teammates pulled the players away, their bloodlust was sated for the time being.

The scoreline did more to satisfy than anything else, though. We needed it.

Rangers 2 (Thomson 5, Adam 45+1)

Dundee United 1 (Jon Daly 43)

A – 49,022, Ibrox Stadium, Glasgow

Man of the Match – Charlie Adam, Rangers

# # #

[gavrenwick]

Hard fought win there, tenthree. Seems your midfield pulled you out of it too.

[Dickie12]

I hope Millers not gonna b out 4 too long! Although hopefully it might get Flecky in the mix a bit more!

[Bennico]

Just finished reading another supreme story from you, TenThree.

You've somehow managed the incredible feat of making Scottish Football sound interesting.

Have you got any more stories I've not seen yet?

[Jibby123]

Just finished reading another supreme story from you, TenThree.

You've somehow managed the incredible feat of making Scottish Football sound interesting.

Have you got any more stories I've not seen yet?

Seconded.

First time I've seen this.

Imvho....If you don't write for a living you should!!

[tenthreeleader]

All: Thanks for the great comments. Bennico, you and I have had discussions about this and other writing and all I can say is I'm looking forward to your effort. Jibby, thanks for your post! I appreciate it ... as you might know, 'Rat Pack' is my other current story, and the prequel to it is linked in the first post. I'll be debuting my FM10 effort on 30 October when the game is released.

___

It’s all coming fast and furious now.

The fixture list is heavy without a break anytime soon. As a result, I stayed up far into the night at Murray Park after the match watching video of Spartak Moscow for our Champions League matchup on Tuesday night.

The Dundee United match had pleased me for various reasons, and displeased me for reasons that were perhaps more important.

Obviously, three points are three points especially in the league, but we’re down two more forwards for a couple of weeks. Novo and Miller, both crocked in the match, had just left the training facility after treatment when I sat down to watch another video of our Russian opponents.

Novo does indeed have cracked ribs, and Miller has a gashed ankle that required seven stitches to close. So he’s on the shelf again.

They’ll each miss up to two weeks. As a result, we’ll be stretched to the limit up front for the visit of Spartak, and as a result I’m going to need to reach to the reserves for some reinforcements.

Jean-Claude Darcheville hasn’t played much this season and I’ve quietly been searching for clubs for him to get him back to France. He of the sweeping bow celebration after goals and the rather portly midsection hasn’t been able to break into the first eleven, but with so many forwards injured, he’ll probably make the bench.

I also have a significant decision to make regarding Fleck. I’m seriously considering giving the boy the start on Tuesday night to play off Boyd. Obviously, Miller is my first choice but what I’m seeing now in training is a kid who wants more chances with the first team. Now’s his chance and he knows it.

Down two strikers (if you count Novo in that position), I know Davis will move to the right side of midfield for Tuesday’s match. That will open up the middle, but since Thommo is playing so well I have no reason to remove him. The left will belong to Beasley for this match – I like his pace and frankly our lack of depth in the wide positions means he’s going to wind up there as often as not.

As I’ve already related, I’m starting to prefer Adam in the middle due to his comparative lack of pace, but the issue of playing Scotsmen is coming up as well. Murray won’t like seeing Beasley out there but you know what? It’s my team and I need to get a result. Meantime, I need to see who’s out there flying the Saltire who can help me get over this problem.

It’s a headache. I’d love to give Fleck the start, which would be popular with the fans unless he didn’t score, in which case I’d be an idiot. So, I’m just not sure it’s a good idea on this particular stage.

I watched Spartak against Liverpool in our group from the night we played Bayern, and tried to take notes as best I could. My mind was racing, and I hate when that happens.

Unlike some people, I do my best thinking when I’m calm. The raw pace of managing a team was making itself readily apparent to me. I’m obviously not used to that.

I sighed heavily and resumed playback of the video. It didn’t look like anything too special – it was a plain, ordinary 4-4-2 I was looking at – but I had to force myself to concentrate on the screen.

The events of the match were spinning through my head as I tried to concentrate on the next one. Suddenly I understood why players and coaches alike prefer to simply unwind after the match. I didn’t feel I had that luxury.

My mobile phone rang. Without looking, I snapped it open and answered.

“Hi, handsome.” It was Heather’s disembodied voice and I missed the entire package terribly.

“Well, what a nice surprise,” I answered. “Tell me some good news.”

“Okay,” she replied. “How would you like to come visit the set on your next day off?”

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

That stardom thing really isn’t for me, I guess.

I stayed up most of the night thinking about what it might mean to visit Heather on the set of her movie. In the end, I told myself that it didn’t mean anything other than a day in London, but the nerves that soon started to surface in my stomach were telling quite a different story.

I’m trying to prepare this club for the Champions League visit of Spartak Moscow on Tuesday night and it won’t do for me to be distracted. In a way, Heather’s call and offer couldn’t have come at a worse time. We have the chance to really make a dent in our group, especially since Liverpool is playing Bayern and one or both of them will naturally drop points.

Preparation is vital. Today, I spent a part of my day watching Manchester United playing Grasshopper from last season – not because I cared about the outcome of the match, but because I cared about the referee.

It was the German, Thorsten Kinhöfer. He will be in charge for the match at Ibrox and I wanted some idea of how he operates. I saw an official who will let players play but who won’t stand for any nonsense. In short, perfect for this club.

I like the idea of being able to close down the Russians and to do that I want a referee who will let us try. Defensively we are pretty good at the moment and playing at home, I want to play aggressively.

So, Kinhöfer might just be what the doctor ordered.

We get a bit of a break in the league after the Spartak match as well. We’re travelling to newly promoted Hamilton Accies in a match we’ll be expected to win, so my hope is that we won’t need all our top players to come up with a result.

Hubris? Probably. We aren’t good enough to simply show up on a visiting ground and win. However, if we’re going to be champions, this is the kind of task we have to handle.

Meanwhile, I was distracted. I’ve got the eleven in mind for Spartak. Unfortunately, Miller won’t be one of them and neither will Novo, but the rest of this team is as strong as I can make it.

I couldn’t get my mind off the thought of Heather sitting on her set, looking wonderful and glamorous. In short, she was everything my upbringing was supposed to be against.

“Phil Sharp, you are losing your edge,” I finally said aloud to myself. “Pray it doesn’t come back to bite you.”

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

In the area of losing my edge, Bond arranged for me to fly to London – in his Gulfstream, no less – after the Spartak match. There’s now even less edge for me to lose.

As a result, I shut myself in my office this afternoon after training and pored over team sheets. The big question, as it always seems to be in the Champions League, is Boyd. At least, it is for the supporters, who are in full voice about what I ought to do.

At a time when casualties were very high in the American Civil War, Abraham Lincoln once said of his great general, Ulysses S. Grant, “I can’t spare this man; he fights.”

I am of the same mind about Boyd. I can’t spare him; he scores goals. Okay, so he’s not the fastest man in the world and sometimes he runs like he’s got pockets full of sand weighing him down. But you can’t tell me there’s anyone better in my club’s uniform, or in the SPL for that matter, who’s better at putting the ball where it needs to go for you to win a match.

I also had a good, long talk with myself about Fleck. The boy is working himself ragged in training, but I don’t know that he’s the answer for the match. The inner debate helped give me a bit of that edge back.

Spartak loves to play a high line and loves to force the issue even away from home. I have no doubt they will attempt to do that here, which means we might wind up in a counter game. If I’m serious about that, then Fleck is the man, no question about it. His pace is the closest we have to Miller’s up front and springing the boy loose behind their defense might be just what the doctor ordered for his confidence.

Yet, you have to be patient to play a counter game and what I’ve noticed, even on the training ground, is that Fleck is anything but patient. Coisty has had a couple of minor run-ins with the lad about playing time and if there’s one person you don’t want to mess with on my staff about how much you are or aren’t playing, it’s Ally McCoist.

He and I have a lighthearted relationship on the bench sometimes, but when the match starts the man is all business and 100 percent emotion for Rangers Football Club. Should he succeed me as manager, that is the sort of attitude that both endears and endangers. There’s no doubt he’s tactically astute and Walter even had him running the club during cup matches before I was hired. I may well give him that opportunity myself when we play Caley in a couple of weeks.

But you can’t always wear it on your sleeve in this game. So he does require a bit of reigning in from time to time. He’ll get it and he’ll excel. It’s what he has always done.

So as I fought with myself on the team sheet, I thought of McCoist and Fleck at training. It made up my mind for me.

I pencilled in the name of the ex-Jambo, Andrius Velicka, alongside Boyd in our 4-1-3-2. It’s not the perfect strike pairing, but with Andrius desperate to impress and experienced enough a player to handle high pressure, he’s an option I have to consider.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

Rangers v Spartak Moscow - Champions League Group E Match Day #3

My boys were handling Spartak just fine, thank you.

It was a typical European tie, from a player’s point of view. From a manager’s, it was the kind that leads to ulcers.

The match was, as they say, ‘finely balanced’. What bothered me was the possession.

We didn’t have much of it, and at home, that was annoying.

We aren’t a bad counterattacking side, but I’d prefer to play that strategy when we’re away. At home, the fans get impatient pretty quickly and even though I was pleased with the way we absorbed pressure and with McGregor for standing tall in the goal, the harder-to-please elements of the Rangers support were angry we weren’t up two-nil.

Sometimes you just have to give the opponent credit for being halfway decent. We never admit to that when the opponent is wearing green and white, of course, but that’s part of the game here. Spartak, for their part, were doing a fine job of keeping us out of the game I wanted to play.

That said, we were doing an equally good job of keeping them away from the parts of the ground we didn’t want them to see. That meant closing down the midfield and ability of their captain, Mozart, to make plays.

Passes in his general direction were soon surrounded by a sea of blue shirts, and even though tried manfully to get the ball to a fine player, it was obvious before long that we had taken that option from them.

So, the chess match continued. Now it was Radoslav Kovac getting into the action, followed by Alexandr Pavlenko, as they probed and tested our flanks.

Papac and Broadfoot handled the pressure well, though, and soon our play began to flow through Beasley on the left. One of our paciest players, he was soon taking the play to the Russiasn side, hugging the touchling and giving us badly needed width.

We generated a decent chance through Beasley, but it took us 27 minutes to do it. He shook free down the touchline, and whipped in a cross from deep that found Velicka in full flight. He launched himself at the ball but got under his header by a fraction of an inch, sending a dart just over Stipe Pletikosa’s crossbar.

The crowd oohed and finally sighed in disappointment, as the chance went begging.

“Wish he was Scottish,” I said, loudly enough for McCoist to hear me on the bench.

“Come again, Phil?” he asked. “Beasley or Velicka?”

“DaMarcus,” I said. “It’s this Scottish thing. When Run DMB plays like this, it makes me wish he had dual nationality.”

“Oh, that.”

“Can’t be helped,” I said. “When we get back to full health, it’ll be interesting to see how it all works out.”

“Can’t think about that now,” he said simply. “We’ve got a match to win here.”

As we spoke, Spartak generated its best chance of the half as Mozart finally shook free from the attention of Mendes long enough to slide a wonderful little ball ahead for Welliton. His drive from twenty yards was parried smartly by the diving McGregor, and the Russians had shown they could generate a chance from their chosen player despite our defensive scheme.

That was disquieting.

As referee Thorsten Kinhöfer blew for halftime, the fans reminded me of that fact as well. Their sullen silence spoke volumes.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

You are expected to win here. I’ve been over that before, but taking the pitch for the second half was quite an experience.

The silence of the first half was greeted by an equal silence as the teams took the park for the second. Much has been made of the fabled ‘Ibrox Roar’ – and frankly, I don’t think there’s a sound like it in sport when it’s in full-blooded prevalence – but it was as far away as it could be from my players.

Personally, I thought it petulant. I sat on the bench beside McCoist as the second half kicked off and was stung to the center of my blue-colored pride.

“For the love of God, we weren’t that bad,” I sniped, and McCoist just smiled.

“No worries, Phil,” he replied. “It’ll come good. The lads are playing all right and they’re finding their feet. It’ll come.”

I saw no reason to disagree with him, quite frankly. We had held them away from goal with comparative ease in the first half and as the second began, we continued to do so.

The problem was that we were now having equal difficulty ourselves. Shifting to a flat 4-4-2 didn’t really help us, though the added stability in the center of the park didn’t hurt either.

Again, the visitors tried to focus their play through Mozart, which wouldn’t have been a bad idea if we were talking about projection. They needed a maestro, but their captain was being shut down.

The crowd slowly started to warm back into the match but didn’t get into things until the 65-minute mark. Velicka, who hadn’t had a noticeable impact on the match, finally got himself into gear with a neat little flick-on for Beasley in full flight down the left.

DaMarcus fairly flew to the byline and his cutback was delicate. It was also right on the head of Boyd. His bullet header, unfortunately, was aimed directly at Pletikosa’s chest. The keeper didn’t even have time to put his arms up before the ball was off him and bouncing free in front of goal.

The resulting ten-car pileup going after the loose ball was really something to see, as players from both teams flung themselves after the rebound. Thomson and Welliton went after it in a 50-50 challenge and the ball spun crazily to the right – back to Boyd, who had time to square and shoot from ten yards.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to control, and the spinning ball didn’t come flush off his boot. Boyd’s rocket hit the side netting to Pletikosa’s left, driving the fans in the Copeland Road end to distraction, driving me to a water bottle for a quick aspirin, and allowing the folks on the Spartak bench to breathe again.

Beside me, McCoist looked like he had swallowed a whole grapefruit. His eyes were bulging and his mouth hung open.

“How the hell could he miss that,” he muttered, but as play resumed all either of us could think of was that those were often the types of chances that won or lost European ties.

We weren’t bad after that. The chance, and the unlucky bounce, seemed to drive us a bit. But Velicka had slowed down into his ‘slower’ gear and this wouldn’t do.

Sitting down the bench, young Fleck had taken a quick run up and down the touchline to the general delight of the crowd. I looked at him and nodded.

“For Velicka,” I said. “Run your...well, run your socks off.”

I also motioned to Adam, who I wanted into the midfield for the flagging Mendes. Thomson would drop to a holding role for Charlie, who would head in behind the strikers.

The general reaction to the Champions League debut for Fleck was one of wonderment. There have been those in our support who have been baying for him to play, and now they were getting their wish. I heard a few cries of ‘what’re ye playin’ at, Sharp?’ from experts behind the bench, but I knew this: John Fleck was the fastest man in my colors who was both capable of playing up front and not injured. I wanted pace on the pitch and didn’t want to take off Boyd. So Fleck was it.

The lad stepped out there on 72 minutes alongside Adam, and looked like he really wanted to tear around. So he did. It gave us a different look, and gave a suddenly tired-looking Spartak defense a fresh set of legs to deal with.

Just six minutes after his introduction, Fleck had the crowd up and out of its collective seats, and Adam had provided for him with a cute little lead ball that found the channel on his side of the pitch. Fleck raced onto the ball, took his time – and smacked a shot squarely off Pletikosa’s crossbar to celebrate his introduction.

“We are cursed,” McCoist groaned as he slumped back into his chair. “Two great chances and nothing to show.”

Happily for us, the players didn’t share my deputy’s unusual foray into pessimism. Davis stole the ball in the center of the park from Mozart and simply strode forward, his stride lengthening with each step. Gaining speed, he took the ball straight home, and disappeared under a stern challenge from Filipenko.

He was on the edge of the area, and our bench was up and shouting along with 49,000 onloookers. Kinhöfer approached at a dead run, and looked at his assistant to the right, who simply nodded.

The referee pointed to the spot, and Ibrox at last came alive.

Boyd took the ball and this time he didn’t miss, wrongfooting Pletikosa ten minutes from time to give us a vital goal.

Our visitors then cleaned out their bench, making all three substitutions and heading into a 4-2-4 alignment to find an equalizer they thought their play deserved.

Naturally, that opened up holes for our counter game and while the Russians piled forward looking for a tying goal, we were letting their attack founder against the rocks of nine men behind the ball. Fleck and Boyd hovered just at the halfway line looking to be sprung long, and finally it happened.

Thomson beat substitute Ivan Saenko to a loose ball just outside our area and lofted a ball about thirty yards for the run of Fleck. The youngster took after it with wings on his feet and outpaced the defense about ten yards beyond the midfield stripe.

He and Boyd took off, with the target striker trailing the fast striker, showing me I had chosen wisely on roles for the two. Defenders Roman Shiskin and Martin Stranzl huffed and puffed for all they were worth to catch up, but at the critical moment, Shiskin made the critical error.

He joined his partner in the chase for Fleck, leaving Scotland’s most dangerous striker untended at the edge of the area. Fleck simply squared for his strike partner, and Boyd thrashed a shot home as the match ticked over into injury time.

It was over. It had been a tactical battle that the fans had hated, but in the end, all had come out right. McCoist was right.

Rangers 2 (Boyd 80 pen, 90+1)

Spartak Moscow 0

A – 49,435, Ibrox Stadium, Glasgow

Man of the Match – Kris Boyd, Rangers

# # #

[minisav]

Fantastic stuff as always 10-3

[tenthreeleader]

thanks, minisav! Phil is off to get a reward for all his hard work ...

___

I have one day. That’s great.

In the morning, I’m headed off to visit Heather on the set of her movie and for me, it’ll be a welcome, if short, break.

She gave me the happy news this evening, as I sat at home watching the French League review show. What a life, huh?

“You saved me from an awful fate,” I joked, as I picked up the phone and curled up on the couch under a light throw. The first touch of the wet fall chill was in the air and I was a little bit cold.

“Which was what?” she asked.

“Having to watch the French league on television,” I said.

“I can’t wait to see you,” she said softly. “You will love visiting the set. It’s a great place and Neil is so good to work with!”

I smiled at her obvious excitement. She really sounds like she is in her glory and I’m looking forward to the chance to see her in that glory.

She has already remarked that when I’m on the touchline I look like a different person. When I am involved in the heat of the match, that’s certainly true. When I’m talking with a player, making a strident point to a fourth official or a referee, or when I’m hip-deep in a tactical conversation with McCoist, I am different.

Heather says it’s a confidence issue. In most areas of my professional life, I have never lacked for confidence. But I can see her point – when I’m driving the bus, so to speak, I have always felt my job is to lead. That means from the front, and I take the heat come what may.

And if I’m going to take the heat, I’m going to take the heat my way. So the “persona” I already seem to show on the touchline is really little different from that of other managers around the world. I’m intense, but at the same time I try my very best to be reasonable.

The result has been quite good, on the pitch and I think off it as well. We aren’t at the stage of the season yet where players who aren’t in the first team start to get disgruntled, but I hope the grumbling – especially from the Scots – will be kept to a minimum.

But I really can’t wait to see Heather down to business. I miss her a lot and I would really love to be able to just cuddle her for awhile.

I do have a job to do, but the fact of the matter is pretty plain: Heather’s a huge part of me now and not to have her near me – or to be near her – is starting to hurt.

She could tell it in my voice tonight. “I miss you,” I finally said, and she nodded.

“I miss you too, my love,” she answered. “I can’t wait to see you. I promise, you won’t forget it.”

Now how on earth am I supposed to concentrate?

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

I was impressed as soon as I hit the jet way at Heathrow’s commuter terminal. One of Bond’s assistants had been dispatched to meet me and he recognized me, not having to hold up a sign with my name on it. He approached and introduced himself.

“Todd White,” he said, shaking my hand. “I’m supposed to bring you to the set.”

I smiled. “Lead on,” I answered, happy that I wouldn’t have to weave my way through London on my own looking for my destination. GPS tracking makes that easier but even after all this time I sometimes have to remind myself that over here I’m supposed to drive on the left side of the road. That’s a little more basic.

I put my bags in the car boot and let him drive. It took about twenty minutes and we had a fine talk about the ‘other’ football as he drove. American football, that is. I haven’t had much opportunity to deal with the NFL, and I suppose that’s for the best.

The talk was about a rash of players winding up on the police blotters. I hadn’t heard of it, but was glad that those types of discipline problems are pretty rare over here.

“Different world back home,” he said in reply, and I had to agree. Over here, players tend to be more temperamental and public with their media promouncements than many in the States, but at the same time they tend to keep their passions limited to the field of play. In today’s NFL, character counts for everything and it seems that the team with the fewest players arrested during the season is usually the one you can bank on at the end.

That’s an oversimplification, of course, but the NFL has a serious problem with player arrests that just does not exist in European football. Sure, sometimes a player is involved in a bust-up at a bar or something but when that happens, sanction from the club is quick and severe and the result is usually no repeat offense. And in England, that’s with a player’s union, the PFA.

Too, our teams over here are a real reflection on their managers. Sir Alex Ferguson would never tolerate some of the shenanigans you see in American sports. The system of the boss being the boss has never really left this game and that is a great thing, especially from my standpoint.

Turning away from the court docket, we talked about the possibility of another New England Super Bowl appearance and that helped the time pass quickly. Soon we were at the studio gates and after Smith flashed a pass we were through into the central area.

He parked the car and we got out. “I’m not sure where Heather is at the moment,” she said, referring to my sweetheart by her first name, “but today’s shooting schedule is right on the inside front wall of the commissary. We can go look there.”

I motioned for him to lead on, he told me I could leave my things in the car for the time being, and we headed inside.

She wasn’t there, but the schedule posted told us she had a scene she was shooting in fifteen minutes.

“Good timing,” White grinned, and led me to the schoolroom soundstage, built to exactly replicate the real classroom in which Heather had sat for her original “sunlight” shots. Through the advanced lighting technology now available, Bond could manufacture virtually any sunlight effect he wanted and you could hardly tell the difference.

The reason the original scenes were shot in the original classrooms were due to the exterior shots Bond also wanted. The special effect of the glowing sunlight off Heather’s face, while something that could have been replicated in the studio, was a welcome bonus and even more wonderful for being absolutely authentic.

We headed toward the soundstage and then I saw her, sitting in her desk chair, taking a touch-up of her makeup from the chief of the staff.

I stood at the opposite end of the set and just drank her in. In that regard it was not unlike the night we met, when I stood and watched others hovering over her at the King’s Theatre in Glasgow.

But this time I smiled, knowing that unlike the first time, I could afford to wait.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

I watched the professionals on the set make everything ready according to pre-printed directions. Bond’s assistants were on the ball and as I looked, I noticed that he wasn’t in or near the director’s chair. That was because this was his scene too.

In fact, it was the first scene the two of them would shoot together in the movie.

Heather looked calm but inwardly I thought she might be a little nervous. I knew then was as good a time as any to let her know I was there.

I approached cautiously after getting a nod from White, and soon I stood at the right side of the director’s chair. I caught her eye, and gave a soft little wave.

Her eyes lit up with joy even as she held her head still for the makeup artist to do her work. “Honey!” she announced to the entire set, and I blushed bright red. “You’re just in time!”

If I could have dug a hole to hide myself in, I would have. Seeing the floor was solid cement, I unfortunately had to write off the idea as a non-starter.

She smiled broadly and I had to laugh at her innocent expression of love. That was only because I couldn’t hide. I adore her, but her outward expressions are going to take some real getting used to.

Then Bond, already made up and ready for the scene, heard what was going on and approached. He stuck out his hand as he neared.

“Hi, Phil, great to see you again!” he offered, and we shook hands.

“Neil, great to see you too,” I said, still somewhat awed that he had gifted me the use of his first name. But then I had to remember, my sweetheart was on a professional basis with this man and I needed to not be overawed.

I knew meeting and managing against Gordon Strachan wouldn’t overawe me, and I had been teammates with some of the best-known players in the world in my day, but this was a little different.

“Ready to watch and see what Heather does for a living?” he smiled, and I nodded.

“Just tell me where I shouldn’t be and I’ll do my level best not to go there,” I said, and he took a moment to put me at ease.

“Look, Phil, you’re here to have fun,” he said. “Don’t worry about making impressions. Enjoy the moment and let us look after you, okay?”

I nodded. “I keep forgetting,” I confessed.

“Don’t worry,” he repeated. “We like you just fine and I’ve heard tell my leading lady happens to love you.”

I laughed out loud and that broke my tension. Heather giggled in response and I loosened up nicely. White, by that time, had procured a chair and he showed me where I was to sit.

“This ought to make everything clear,” he said, and I looked at the chair. He was right.

It had my name on it, just like the old-fashioned director’s chairs did. I laughed heartily at the sight and that broke down the last of my apprehensiveness.

“I think you made this pretty easy,” I said, settling in to watch the show.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

They shot the scene where Jill and Bond’s character, named Steve Finch, meet for the first time. It’s at a conference called by Jill to discuss behavior and emotional issues regarding Troy.

There’s also a little of Steve’s backstory. He has been divorced. The two have moved to England for a fresh start in Steve’s business and it’s not surprising that the boy would be having difficulty in adjusting to a new circumstance.

There’s also a plot twist that you might think would be unusual for a Bond movie due to his international stardom and boyish good looks. For Steve Finch, meeting Jill is love at first sight – but it isn’t for Jill. Therefore, the subplot in the movie is that Bond’ character works his tail off to earn Heather’s character’s love.

Heather sat in her chair behind her desk, looking every inch the prim and proper schoolmarm, as she prepared to shoot the scene. That prim attitude, it was being revealed, was Jill’s defense mechanism in dealing with her husband’s death. When she was in her schoolmarm “armor”, she felt safe.

Bond’ first assistant director called for quiet on the set and the clapboard dropped to start the scene. I leaned in to watch, fascinated by what I was seeing.

The two worked through their dialogue easily and correctly, getting a good take on the first try. It went so well that Bond went to take a look at the “rush” video, or the film right out of the camera, to see if it hadn’t actually gone too well.

He looked for about ten minutes and that gave me a chance to greet Heather properly. She motioned me to the set, stood, and slipped into my waiting arms.

“I love you so much,” I whispered, kissing her very softly so as not to wreck her makeup.

“I’ve missed you, Phil,” she whispered in reply. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

“I love watching you,” I said, as we released each other from our embrace. “You are such a joy to see!”

“I have to ask,” I added, looking over at Bond as he pored over the video shot during the scene. “Were you at all nervous doing that?”

She gave me a rueful smile. “Inside I was shaking like a leaf,” she answered. “Outside, I hope I didn’t look quite so frightened.”

After a few moments, Bond stood straight up.

“Print,” he called, which indicated it was good enough for him. Then he looked at my sweetheart.

“Well done, Heather,” he said. “I hope they all go like this!”

# # #

[gavrenwick]

They shot the scene where Jill and Bond’s character, named Steve Finch, meet for the first time.

I am so sure I have heard the name Steve Finch... either that or I'm just imagining the two American Pie characters being combined together!!

[minisav]

Cracking stuff this. Can't wait for more

[tenthreeleader]

Thanks, all! Been a bit since I've been able to update this one, so I shall rectify that now

___

Heather only had one more scene to shoot that day and it was also with Neil. This one was a little more involved and it involved a phone call.

Back in the day, many phone scenes were shot twice, once from each character’s point of view. Through modern technology, and timecoding in cameras, this scene was shot in two different locations with Heather and Neil placing an actual call.

The point of the scene was to show Steve’s growing feelings for Jill. It’s a ‘nothing’ kind of call – no real reason for it, in other words – and he simply wants to hear her voice. The scene called for Neil to try to mask his apprehension and sound like he has a valid problem.

Jill, on the other hand, can’t really figure out what Steve is playing at, and her reaction is one of quizzical wonder.

The end of the scene has Steve hanging up the phone and burying his head in his hands. “I just made a complete ass of myself,” he says, leaning back sadly in his chair to end the scene.

This time, though, it didn’t go quite as Neil hoped it would, upon viewing the rush video. He took Heather aside and spoke with her briefly, and I saw her green eyes locked on him, taking direction well and finally, nodding her head.

I wished some of my players took coaching like Heather had just done, and even though she is a tremendous actress she obviously knew that she needed to listen to Neil. There are actors and actresses – just like athletes – who don’t take direction well and Heather was determined not to be one of those types.

The egos involved in the entertainment business – and let’s face it, football is as much entertainment as anything else – can be tricky to manage. When you find a true professional, often the boss is inclined to utilize him or her in place of people who are perhaps more talented but harder to manage.

The first thing I want in a player is loyalty. The first thing a director wants in a leading role is someone who will listen. So in that regard we are very much the same.

Neil turned to the assistants and said simply that the scene needed to be reshot. Camera operators and sound people reset the shot without a word. They do get used to this sort of thing, I guess, just like players do when I restart a training drill.

They shot the scene again and this time, in the middle, Neil cut it.

“That one’s on me, Heather,” he said simply. “I asked you for a facial reaction and then I didn’t give the one I wanted in reply. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay, Neil, I’ve got all day,” she called out, and those who knew Neil razzed the star with a gentle wave of laughter.

They shot the scene a third time, Heather evidently gave Neil the look he wanted, and this time after watching the scene, he was satisfied.

The shooting being on schedule, people started to move cameras and equipment to another part of the soundstage. Their quiet professionalism showed not only how good they were at their jobs, but the conversations I heard on the set showed they enjoyed their work as well.

Heather crossed behind me on the way to her dressing room, gave me a devastatingly beautiful smile, and touched my arm.

“I’d love for you to come in, but people would talk,” she teased, rubbing my arm gently for emphasis.

“We’ve got all night,” I finally said, and the impish look of pleasure she returned told me she was thinking the same thing.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

The rest of the afternoon went sort of like a whirlwind. It really was fascinating to watch, and a portion of it was spent watching with Heather, who held my hand while we watched Neil shoot a scene with young Richard Norwood, who was being brought along quite slowly by his director.

The boy looked happy to be where he was but also as precocious as you might expect a seven-year old child to be. After a few moments to let him blow off a little steam, the scene was carefully shot.

I say carefully because ample time was given to shoot it. Neil cut the scene three times to allow the cameras to change angles – and to give Richard bite-sized portions of script to remember.

The shooting day ended at about 5:30 p.m. and finally, we walked to her dressing room to pick up her things. Neil stuck his head into the room to wish us a good night.

“So, Phil, did you enjoy your visit?” he asked.

“It’s fascinating,” I said. “I’m really impressed by how organized everything is.”

“That’s the job of the assistants,” he said. “They do a great job and they keep things on time and most importantly on budget.”

“Well, this is a tremendous operation,” I said. “You’ve got $100 million to spend on this picture and that’s about three times the entire payroll of my organization.”

“The goal is the same, though,” he said. “And you get instant reaction from the fans while I have to wait to see what the box office says.”

He was certainly good at finding parallels. “Can’t argue with you there,” I replied. “I hope to be able to come back and see you again soon.”

“You two have the weekend off for now,” he smiled. “Enjoy your time and Heather, I’ll see you Monday morning for makeup call.”

“Bright and early,” she answered, and unlike me, to her those terms were not mutually exclusive.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

Arriving back at Murray Park after a too-short day away, I was a bit surprised at some of the news. You go away for a day and they change everything around.

One item was surprising to me. Birmingham, which had sunk as low as 18th in the Championship before winning two in a row to move to eleventh, has sacked its manager.

He’s a familiar name at Ibrox – Alex McLeish is gone after yesterday’s 1-0 loss to Wolves at Molineux, with the team sitting 13th in the table.

Relegated last season from the Premiership, chairman Peter Bullock had put McLeish under enormous pressure to bounce straight back up. So far, it hasn’t worked out like anyone had hoped – and now McLeish is gone.

It’s a bit early to be sacking managers in my mind, but Bullock obviously disagreed. Alex has been replaced by the Marble Man himself, former Reading boss Steve Coppell. The new man has a mandate. Win immediately, if not sooner.

Now for the not-at-all-surprising news – Jimmy Calderwood is out at Aberdeen after his Dons lost seven and won only one of their first ten in the league. They aren’t just last, they’re dead last, and assistant Jimmy Nicholl will take the first team in their upcoming match against Hearts while a new manager is hired.

Calderwood reached his nadir during the 6-0 thrashing to Celtic about a month ago – but they hadn’t won since, with a solitary win over Dundee United to his credit in the league. They’re out of the “Diddy Cup” – erm, I mean the League Cup – as well, at the hands of Caley Thistle, who seems to excel at knocking teams out of Cup competitions. Just ask John Barnes about that.

Oh, did I say that?

Jimmy has been a decent guy to work with in my experience, and he’s even got a soft spot in his heart for Rangers, which might have caused him some trouble up north. However, Aberdeen hasn’t yet found a manager who can fill Sir Alex Ferguson’s shoes, and that’s a sticking point. Not that most managers can have a a prayer of that – I’ve got a long way to go myself, of course.

But for now, Aberdeen has no manager, so now’s the time you wouldn’t mind playing them. Hearts gets the first poke at them. We don’t see them again for another month or so, and we get to go there for the privilege.

# # #

“What’s with all this gallivanting around Europe, lad?”

My dad was joking, but in his way I guess he had a point. Between matches against Bayern, Liverpool and Spartak, there was precious little time to work on that elusive SPL championship, and that was evidently the first thing on his mind.

“Just hold your pants on, Dad,” I smiled. “We’ve got two matches in the league plus a cup quarterfinal to play before we worry about Europe again.”

“Just want ye to know I’m makin’ my travel plans,” he said, slipping into the usual brogue he maintains whenever his blood is up. “Comin’ over for Christmas.”

“That’ll be good,” I said.

Obviously, Dad can read a fixture list – he knows full well we get Celtic at Ibrox as part of the holiday schedule. We also play Hibs at Ibrox and make the hell trip to Caley during the holiday fortnight, so we’ve got a lot to do.

“There’s nothing I’d rather see than my boy managing the Rangers over Christmas,” he said.

“Unless it’s seeing us play Celtic from the directors’ box,” I laughed. “Bring your kit, by the way – I’m taking you to Murray Park and I’m going to manhandle you from the spot. You watch.”

That seemed to light Papa Sharp’s fire. Like it needed stoking.

“I’d like that chance,” he said. “But I’m over fifty years old, you may need four or five tries to beat me. It’s not like when I was younger.”

“Lots to do over Christmas,” I said. “I’d like you to meet Heather, too.”

“In time, lad, in time,” he said. “First things first. You need nine points out of nine over Christmas. Celtic won’t go away just because you want me to meet a lady.”

“I don’t expect they will,” I admitted. “But maybe we can kill two birds with one stone, yeah?”

# # #

[gavrenwick]

I love Papa Sharp's approach to his son. It's so like my own father. Same rough age group too!

[crowsus]

this is fantastic, inspiring, hilarious and a little disturbing all at once!

im doing a career kind of along the same lines, but without the film star girlfriend! Was thinking mine was maybe a story instead but what an effort you guys put into your work! I didnt realise! Absolutely laughs at what most people (full stop, not on this forum) can come up with! I dont know what you got your awards for (i might have a look at one point but i would rather actually play FM at the moment) but I can see they were well deserved!

There is an angle to the Rangers story which I can't help but feel has been glossed over somewhat... Mo Johnston?... Why all those charming supporters got so annoyed at a quality international player signing for their club?...why it was such a significant event...? You did briefly mention Souness and Murray after all!

I guess it is all in the past as far as the club itself goes, if not amongst some of the fans, and you're well past the club background part of the story. Maybe if you were to sign a player like McFadden, O'Connor, Maguire or Diamond the issue could be brought into your superb prose? Religion's not an issue that affects most people, but if you're keeping the squad Scottish it would become quite a big issue for large numbers of Ra Peepel...