Luton Town : Staring into the Abyss

[BobBev]

Scott - I am so impressed with how you have maintained the quality of this story. It is very detailed with so many story lines and great characters. Hats off to you sir!

[tenthreeleader]

Scott - I am so impressed with how you have maintained the quality of this story. It is very detailed with so many story lines and great characters. Hats off to you sir!

I agree. He has done a terrific job with this story.

[MarkC1984]

I agree. This thread is a permanent bookmark of mine and always the first page I go to each morning to see if it is updated. Whilst I used to be good at telling stories I don't think I could do one even half as good as this one. KUTGW!

[ScottleeSV]

Thanks, Tenthree, Bob, and Mark. The kindness of the comments in this thread never ceases to touch me.

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02/12/09 - I spy with my little eye

Today, after constant reminders from the eager beavers in the office, I finally made my move to recruit Katrina for the inter-office football (or whatever they’re calling it). Katrina of course is the dark haired Serbian lovely stationed outside Dilic’s sanctuary on the second floor. She’s his personal secretary, having apparently been flown across from the troubled regions solely for the purpose. I’d never had much to do with her before today. This afternoon, that would change.

“Afternoon, Katrina” I said, turning the corner onto her desk.

“Hello, James. How are you?”

“I’m just fine thanks”.

I was much the better for looking at her, that’s for sure. It’s easy to forget just how attractive she is. Six foot tall with long black hair and a strong figure, I reckoned she’d be an absolute bitch of a card to come up against in a Top Trumps edition for gorgeous secretaries. If she has a downside it’s the fact she’s Serbian, which makes her slightly awkward to communicate with.

“Are you here to zee, Mr Dilic?”

“Actually I’m here to see you”.

“Um?” she replied awkwardly, looking left towards Dilic’s double doors. By the sounds of it The Man was raising his voice at someone inside the room.

“Who’s he in there with?” I asked curiously.

“Zat is confidential. I am forbidden to answer ze questions about Mr Dilic’s business”.

“Oh come on. Telling me who’s in the room with him won’t sink the empire. If I wanted I could just wait here until whoever it is comes out”.

“You are welcome to do that. That way, I won’t have said anything bad”.

She tapped her mouth twice with her outstretched fingers as she said this as if feeling the need to attach sign language to what she was saying. It was all friendly and cheerful though, and the front seemed genuine enough to me. Forgetting about Dilic for a moment I began to explain as clearly as I could what the 5-a-side entailed and what she’d have to do – train, hang with the others etc.

Katrina listened as best she could, occasionally interrupting with a question. On the whole I’d say she was 'moderately keen'. Would that be enough to secure her signature though? I was about to find out.

“So what do you say? Can I tell the others we’ve got a full team now?”

“I not sure. My friend says I zud always work my job and not take myself into things which are not my job”.

“You mean like social things?”

Before she could answer the double doors opened and Erica Hunt emerged from within. She wasn’t the one Dilic had been shouting at because he could still be heard venting his spleen even after she’d left. Erica’s eyes looked surprised to see me (the second floor is generally only for important people) but she didn’t say anything as she passed. For that I was glad.

“Um” Katrina mumbled.

“Look” I said pleasantly. “Ignoring your friend for a moment, give me one good reason why you shouldn’t take the offer to play”.

Um again. Did she even understand what I was saying?

“Okay, I get the hint. I guess I’ll – “

“Did you veeally hit ze doctor?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Ze doctor who was hurt. Over there”.

She pointed towards the double doors, low towards the double doors. At first I didn’t know what she was referring to, but then a certain image from the past came to me just in the nick of time.

‘Doctor Jorkic’.

It’s not every day you knock someone out cold and then drop them in front of your superiors’ office. As such, you tend to remember the times you do. I’d always presumed Dilic himself had found Doctor Power Drill propped up against those doors. Either that or nobody had found him, and Jorkic had simply woken up and walked off. It hadn’t occurred to me Katrina would have made the discovery.

“It was me who did that to the doctor” I admitted. “I had to though. He was treating people down in the medical room when he didn't have the necessary clearance. He might have done my best player some serious harm if I hadn’t stopped him. Don’t think I’m a dangerous guy or even a dodgy guy though, Katrina. You’re perfectly safe joining us for the football. Nobody’s going to get knocked out or anything. You have my word on that”.

“Okay, I believe you” she said, albeit after a searching pause.

“You’ll play then?”

“I guess I vill try. I never try to play ze football before though”.

“That’s okay. Neither has Brenda or – “

Cue another interruption, and this time the doors opened far more forcefully. It was Brute this time; in a nutshell he was dragging poor Bill Tulip (The Bedfordshire Bulletin’s finest) out by his left leg. Visible for the briefest of seconds meanwhile, before Brute first closed the doors with one hand and then began dragging Bill down the corridor with the other, was the smouldering sight of Dilic in his office. To say he looked incandescent would be an understatement.

“Get the hell off me!” Bill cried. “You can dress it up any way you want, but the press has a right to know!”

Brute didn’t look in the mood for discussing it. He dragged the distressed journalist straight around the corner without even pausing for breath. Next thing I knew I could hear bumping and cursing coming from the stairwell. Katrina, it has to be said, looked remarkably calm throughout the whole thing.

“Well” I said, brushing a speck away from the reception desk. “Wonder what that was about”.

“Mr Dilic az ad problems wiz journalizz spying on him. Zat one vos caught taking picture inside izz car in ze car park earlier today”.

He also possibly has problem with secretaries listening through keyholes, but mum's the word until after the 5-a-side.

“Well, he’s a fascinating man isn’t he? I guess people are interested in what he gets up to”.

A shrug from Katrina. Sensing it was perhaps time to move on now I’d got what I’d come for, I told her to keep an eye out for my 5-a-side email and then left her to it.

‘And there we have it then – Brenda, Caroline, Nicky, Darren, and Katrina. Gladiators, I salute you’.

[ScottleeSV]

04/12/09 - Speck on the horizon

I’ve had some pretty dark dreams over the years, the types that have you waking up sweating. They only come now and again but when they do I remember every single gory detail. If they happened all the time I’d seek some kind of help – pills, medicine, even a quack maybe. An output of one every few months though makes the situation just about acceptable.

One time I was being chased by a robot like the one in Short Circuit, only this one was anything but friendly. It was chased me around a weird labyrinth which had bookshelves for walls. I did manage to escape into a nearby street but the robot just kept on coming.

Another nightmare played on my fear of heights. Have you ever seen those pirate ships at fairgrounds that swing precariously from side to side at very steep angles? Well just picture a scene where you suddenly start riding an invisible one all by yourself. Oh, and the arc is bigger too. As in goes-right-up-through-the-clouds bigger.

Last night’s episode was the first to occur at Chantelle’s house. It was even Chantelle-related; although why it happened to me last night of all nights I have no idea. In the dream, I woke up in the small hours but couldn’t move my arms and legs. I was literally spread-eagled on my side of the bed and unable to move. Chantelle meanwhile was sleeping like a baby. I tried to call out to her but my voice was frozen too.

Then the sound of the front door opening downstairs, followed by footsteps growing ever closer. Instinctively I knew who it was. It was Chantelle’s ex - Luke’s father. He was creeping his way towards the bedroom. Furthermore, he had murder on his mind. Furiously I squirmed but to no avail. Invisible forces had me as pinned to this bed as they’d had me pinned to that damn invisible pirate ship all those years ago.

Soon he arrived in the room. He was dressed in a soldier’s uniform, one of those greyish ones you see them wearing on the Afghanistan news coverage. I seemed to remember Chantelle telling me he’d been in the army, and here was the proof. Anyway, soldier boy was approaching my side of the bed now with a grin on his face. Then with a sudden movement he was ripping his top open to reveal a hidden Watford shirt.

“Hello, Mr Manager” he said, but in a voice probably not his own. “This is what you get for stealing my family”.

To my acute horror, the sound of a power drill filled the room (soldier boy’s right hand had morphed into one). And still Chantelle remained unmoved. Mere moments from now I’d be getting sliced in half like Sean Connery almost did in that old Bond film. How had it come to this? Why was I going to check out in such a macabre way? How could anybody possibly get themselves into the same very hopeless situation twice? Didn't make sense.

-----------------

“S__t!” I exclaimed, rising up from my pillow. The real world had returned, thank God. Soldier boy had disappeared. So had the drill.

Roused by my sweaty gasps and heavy breathing, Chantelle sat up too and tried to open her eyes. She failed in this endeavour, settling instead for resting her head on my right shoulder.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“Nothing. Go back to sleep”.

“Jesus, you’re sweating like anything! What was it – a dream?”

For almost a minute I didn’t answer, choosing instead to first cool down and gather my thoughts. A glance at the alarm clock told me it wasn’t as deep in the middle of the night as I’d first guessed; it was 6.56am. That made sense actually because there was light to see with and it was coming through the curtains.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course”.

“Your ex. Luke’s dad. What’s his name?”

“Why?”

“I’m just curious. I might have to meet him one day won’t I?”

Now she opened her eyes, blinked awkwardly, and lay back down again. She also dragged the sheet back with her in order to keep her dignity. Why women do that – when you’ve already seen them bare a hundred times – I will never know.

“His name’s Stuart”.

“And he left here four months before we met? Was that right?”

“Yeah, about three or four”.

“And he never comes back to visit Luke or anything like that, or calls up? Anything?”

“No. He’ll probably start doing that one day though, if I know him. He won’t just disappear forever”.

“Does he know about me?”

“Well duh, of course not! I just said I haven’t spoken to him since I met you”.

Slowly I rubbed my upper torso and was happy to note I was no longer sweating. I was however still curious about Chantelle’s ex.

‘Why now though? Why suddenly ponder him in my sleep in the middle of the night?’

“God, you’re not worried about him are you?” – Chantelle.

“No. I’m just curious about him so I know for the future what to expect when I see him”.

“Fair enough. You might not have to see him though. Even if he does ring up wanting to see Luke, I’d probably arrange it so you weren’t there at the time. No point having any awkwardness for the sake of it”.

“I suppose”.

Drearily she slid over to me and put her hand on my chest, half lying half sitting. Sensations of a different nature were suddenly starting to engulf me.

“Just forget about him” she smiled.

“I will, babe” I replied unconvincingly.

My last thought on the subject, before Chantelle began to do more than just touch my chest, was actually a kind of minor regret. It was a regret that soldier boy, AKA Stuart, wasn’t something other than a damn soldier. Why couldn’t he have been a butcher, or a paperboy, or the owner of a small souvenir shop inside a port-a-cabin? Why a soldier? Soldiers carry guns, and sometimes war makes them go crazy and do things they wouldn’t normally do.

‘Relax, you paranoid bastard. They don’t let them take the guns home with them’.

Fair point.

[WelshWolf]

I know it has been said countless of times, but you truly are a writing genius. To keep this going with such skill as to captivate us all is just pure talent. I actually love the quirky, sarcastic - whatever they are - comments that have popped up to end the last three posts. I really think that they add that bit more to your writing style, was this intentional? Or was it just something that came about?

Either way it's brilliant, your story is brilliant and I thank you for continuing to share it with us

[ScottleeSV]

I think genius bit is stretching it lol, but cheers anyway Welsh.

To answer the quirky endings question - Maybe yes and no would be the answer. Sometimes I write paragraphs on the fly without much planning, and other times certain paragraphs have been in my mind all afternoon. I guess it's always different.

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05/12/09 - Bettering for Kettering

A corny title but not without substance; I arranged the resigning of Scott Spencer last night. You can only imagine my surprise when, halfway through the latest lacklustre romantic comedy I was being forced to watch, David Moyes phoned up. Apparently Spencer isn’t having the best of times at his new loan club – Chesterfield. He’s not been getting much first team football and wants out. Everton (and indeed Spencer) think it would be best for him if he goes back to where he was prospering at the beginning of the season i.e. Luton.

Spencer will be rejoining us on the 1st of January 2010. Thus, we’ll still have to play a few more games without him before he comes back. We’re also going to have to survive without Michael Bridges for much of that time. Our leading marksman has picked up a minor injury in training and will be out for approximately three weeks.

In other news, fringe player Harry Hogarth has gone for a loan spell in the other direction. He’ll spend the next three months at Blue Square South contenders Chelmsford where hopefully he’ll sharpen his skills and come back an altogether better player. At the moment though, the likes of Pilkington, McCracken, James, and even Richie Byrne, are way ahead of Hogarth in the pecking order.

I made two changes for today’s game at Kettering, one forced and one not so. Firstly I purposely reintroduced George Pilkington in place of David McCracken. The Scot hasn’t done badly but the time has come to make way. The other change is up front. Obviously Bridges can’t play so there was a spare slot alongside Danny Cadamateri. After careful deliberation said slot went to Dean Bowditch and not James Lawrie. It was touch and go this one but ultimately Bowditch, of the two, is a fully contracted player and maybe deserves the shot for that reason.

It’s been a while but I was back on the tourist trail today. Kettering isn’t a big town (population only 80,000), but I did find one attraction of note – Rockingham Castle. The contradiction about this place is that it’s apparently nine hundred years old yet strangely looks brand new. I also found the guided tour irksome, preferring as I do to explore such places in my own time. Still, it was worth the visit on the whole. There were lush gardens, a courtyard, huge spacious rooms, impressive battlements, and surrounding scenery worthy of the centrepiece.

Kettering as a football club are about middle of the road when it comes to Conference National football. Indeed they’ve spent most of their existence in the top flight of the non-league, finishing runner up no fewer than four times. They’ve never gone up to the league though. In recent times they famously hired Paul Gascoigne as manager only to sack him after thirty nine days. They play in red at home and are nicknamed The Poppies. And that’s about all we need to know really.

The club play at the Elgoods Brewery Arena. I can’t say we were that blown away by it when we first saw it in July. It’s a 6200 capacity stadium with 1800 seats (again, middle of the road, for the conference). The friendly we played here before the season started ended 0-0. We mostly dominated that match and the home side were fortunate to get a draw out of it.

“Friends, Romans, countrymen” I began, addressing my troops before kick-off. “Lend me your ears. Now then, unlike most away games we have a point of reference today. It is of course the friendly we played here back in the summer. Repeat that performance and we should take all three points away with us. Do bear in mind however that we are away, and what happens when we play away? Will anybody tell me?”

“We get kicked” Dean Brill answered.

“Good lad. Yes we do get kicked. So what do we need to do then?”

“Not play like fairies” – Derek Niven.

“Yes, Derek. Anything else?”

“Assert ourselves. Use our muscle. Take the middle of the park by the scruff of the neck”.

“Within reason, yes that’s right”.

Still with Wimbledon very much on my mind, I nodded at Keane and the stand in skipper knew then to start leading them out. It was a cold afternoon, dry but cold. Not much sun. The crowd of course were out in their numbers. We’d actually sold our allocation out. The Poppies had granted us 1200 tickets and they’d all gone by Thursday lunchtime. Quite frankly, why we were only allowed that many when the ground still looked half empty is beyond me. No wonder non league clubs lose money.

As the two sides began to warm up, their red against our white, I blew my hands together and took my place in the dugout. A good result today and we might be top again by 5pm. With Rushden playing at home to Stevenage however, I wasn’t counting on it.

“Darren is in place” I said to Brian. “He sent me a text during the team-talk”.

“He’s going to keep us updated on Rushden?”

“Yep. He can get the internet on his phone”.

Too early in the season to be doing such things? Nope. I didn’t think so.

[tenthreeleader]

The R&DFC in my heart wouldn't mind a good bashing administered to the arch-rival Poppies.

As long as they don't play like fairies, mind.

Ongoing good stuff, sir!

[ScottleeSV]

Is this a subtle hint that you'll be rooting for the Diamonds in this title race?

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05/12/09, League Match 22

Kettering Town v Luton Town

GK – Dean Brill (76 apps, 0 goals)

DL – Richie Byrne (15 apps, 0 goals)

DR – Claude Gnakpa (70 apps, 2 goals)

DC – Tony James (25 apps, 2 goals)

DC – George Pilkington (70 apps, 2 goals)

DMC – Derek Niven (17 apps, 1 goal)

MC – Keith Keane (62 apps, 7 goals)

ML – Charlie Daniels (25 apps, 3 goals)

MR – Michael Taylor (15 apps, 0 goals)

FC – Danny Cadamateri (18 apps, 6 goals)

FC – Dean Bowditch (3 apps, 0 goals)

It was very airy-fairy the first ten minutes, cagey, uninspiring. Kettering didn’t try and kick us like Wimbledon but they were playing 4.4.2 and employing it rigidly. Getting the ball down and passing wasn’t easy, especially on the uneven surface of Rockingham Road. Just as I was pondering some shouted instructions, a text from Darren arrived.

“Still 0-0 at Rushden. So far so good!”

‘Bloody Idiot’ I thought, before beginning my reply.

“Only text me when there’s a goal or a sending off! I’m busy trying to like, you know, manage the team here?”

No response, and thank God for small mercies. I swear on my life, if he’d texted an okay boss at that point I think I would have terminated the arrangement right there and then.

In the 16th minute of our own game we finally achieved action. Michael Taylor was the architect, Dean Bowditch the poacher, Poppies’ keeper Harper the party pooper. It was dribble-cross-head-parry, good football all round. From the resulting corner Keith Keane almost found the same striker again towards the far post but the wind picked up and Bowditch only achieved the indignity of heading thin air.

According to the league table Kettering are in 20th place, four points and one position above the relegation zone. There was definitely a mild layer of gloom about the place today. This wasn’t necessarily because the locals think their side are Blue Square North bound, but more likely because they’ve stopped believing Kettering will ever be anything better than a mid-table outfit in this division. The dearth of ex-league clubs coming down over the years seems to have further and further diminished the Poppies’ standing as annual championship hopefuls.

Still, the noise did buck up briefly in the 22nd minute, Galbraith going on a wander and pulling a shot into the stanchion. It was a far cry from the bubbling Kingsmeadow a week last Tuesday though. The vibe running through the veins of both fans and players seemed to be one of quiet negativity, the feeling that 0-0 would be more than enough considering who Kettering were pitted against today.

Desperate to see us banish our Dons demons I waved my arms around and gestured for us to take more risks. Why the hell not? It might have been only the first half still but from what I could see the opposition were there for the taking. Towards the half hour mark we penetrated with more purpose, Taylor glancing a header wide from a Bowditch tee-up. Then Bowditch himself (all over the place today) swept one inches wide after build-up from Niven and Keane.

I’ve noticed Bowditch has a fantastic banana shot quality to his shooting. He doesn’t always get it right but it’s certainly captivating viewing. Watching him shoot is like watching an in-swinging bowler dart one sharply away from a bamboozled batsman. Sometimes he out-swings too. Maybe it’s the boots he wears and I’m giving him too much credit? Note to thy self – check what Dean wears on his feet next time you see him.

Cadamateri on the other hand possesses no such add-ons. What Cadamateri does is toil, sweat, and ride his luck. With 34 minutes on the clock he latched onto a wallop from Pilkington and trapped the ball awkwardly. Then he went on a mission straight for goal, a sight made doubly intriguing by the fact the keeper wasn’t covering all of his goal. Cadamateri noticed this and elected to go around him.

The touch was heavy, but hey, better than under-hitting it and letting the keeper dive down and take it (that’s just embarrassing, when that happens). Danny raced after his heavy touch as the Luton fans stood up to probably greet a goal. Unfortunately his side-foot finish with the left peg was under hit and defender Guy Branston got back to whack it off the line. You know you’ve under-hit something when this happens; Branston is slow. And I mean slow.

As the half’s final ten minutes came into focus, I received another text from Darren. This one had a goal to boast about, although I think I preferred his original to be honest.

“1-0 to Rushden. Red card for Stevenage too. Professional foul”.

“Well isn’t that just f__king perfect?” I said to Brian, showing him the message.

“Let’s just make sure we win this one” he replied.

Claude Gnakpa would almost put us in position to do so. His run and subsequent one-two with Taylor put him deep in enemy territory as the clock hit 41. Gnakpa though lost his balance on the corner edge of the six yard box and fluffed his attempted pullback. The ball hit the post and went out for a goal kick. Would have been a good fluke if he’d got it. As it was, enjoy your one hundred yard sprint back into defence ready for the restart, sunshine.

Half time then and scoreless in this dreary and disappointing presentation of the beautiful game. Definitely some work to do in the dressing room.

“Shouldn’t you be letting us win so we stop Rushden winning the title?” I asked the Poppies boss as we came together between the dugouts.

Rushden, if you don’t know, are Kettering’s local rivals. Supposedly anyway. Although I doubt it’s Rangers and Celtic knives in the toilet stuff.

“Sorry!” my adversary replied. “We desperately need the points ourselves”.

[pooman2279]

I can attest to Guy Branston and his lack of any pace whatsoever. I still remember his first (and only) appearance for Notts County. Gets booked, argues with everyone including his own players, falls over several times and was never seen again.

Loving the story still. Keep it up.

[ScottleeSV]

Thanks Pooman. I've had Branston on one or two other FM games and he's never delivered much

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“We’ve got the bite of a house cat out there. A house cat can’t bite for toffee. Hell it probably can’t bite toffee period! It’s high time we changed into a pit-bull, or a lion, something which does bite. I’ll be mightily peeved today if we drop three or four points behind Rushden. In fact I’m going to smash my first ever teacup if that happens. Don’t get me wrong, I will warn you before I throw it – maybe a three second warning - I don’t want to hurt anyone after all. But I will throw one. Of that you can be sure”.

We began the second half looking far more effective. Charlie Daniels has apparently developed the idea of dribbling forwards sometimes in a more central position rather than doing it only near the touchline. He executed his new trick to great effect in the half’s second minute, receiving a reverse ball from Keane and ghosting forward eloquently. Bowditch called for the ball to be slid into him and Daniels managed that too. Alas, keeper Turner was out of his goal like a whippet smothered at the striker’s feet.

Better was to come in the 50th minute. Daniels again bombarded forward, first weaving one way and then the other. His eventual release was a cross-field pass in front of Cadamateri over on the right. The striker shaped to cross but turned back inside when close to the by-line. Defender Eaden stayed on his feet but when Danny turned towards the by-line a second time, Eaden finally got tangled up and left for dead.

The cross was low and like a knife through butter. Bowditch wrapped a foot around it and burst the net from a yard out. Get in! But no, hang on. Offside flag in the air! It wouldn’t count! Frustration setting in I walked briskly around Brian in an odd kind of circling movement and swore loudly. I needn’t have worried too much though; the momentum was about to carry forwards into yet another dangerous raid.

52 minutes were on the clock now. Sensing blood, Taylor stormed into the opposition half and fed Bowditch, hanging on the arm of the last defender. Bowditch looked like he was going to play it square to Keane but then an odd thing happened. The grapple between Bowditch and his marker, a player called Boucard, resulted in Boucard falling over theatrically and Bowditch keeping his feet. Boucard clearly wanted a foul but hadn’t got one, and now Bowditch could go for goal instead of passing.

His shot was accurate and hard but also at a nice height for the goalkeeper. Unfortunately for Harper his parry was weak. He stopped it going in but the ball veered left at a slow pace towards the far post. Cadamateri was quicker to react than Branston, rushing in him to hammer the ball home. The follow-through carried him into the post and for a moment I was worried he’d hurt himself. Thus, the celebrations weren't as frantic as they'd normally be.

“He’s alright” said Brian, thumping the air. “Look. He’s getting up. Yep, he’s alright”.

“Thank God for that”.

As the happy Luton players jogged back to the touchline, I checked my phone and realised I’d missed two more updates from Rushden in the midst of all the excitement. The Diamonds had not only scored a second goal but also added a quick-fire third. Game over at Nene Park, I suspected.

The only redress from Kettering over the next ten minutes was a stinging twenty five yarder from Wrack a yard over the bar. Apart from that we looked comfortable. Our intense outlook up front had subsided somewhat, but we looked comfortable. Just after the hour mark I took Daniels off and put Easton on. This was an admittedly negative substitution made in light of the fact we were leading. I also had to recognise we had another big game coming up midweek.

65 minutes and a big moment. Keith Keane made some good infield progress from the right, sidestepping two players as he made his way more central. Then a sharp little ball found Cadamateri five yards in front of the penalty area. Cadamateri immediately flicked it left between two defenders in a perfectly weighted attempt to send Bowditch in on the keeper. Bowditch should have scored here. His attempted lob though landed on the crossbar and went behind the goal. That was so close to game over!

The 70-80 period was something of a dirge. Recognising that Bowditch might not yet be ready to play a full games, I took him off after 73 and put Will Buckley on. Yes I prefer Lawrie to Buckley but the latter gives me an additional right wing option. That’s why I have him on the bench. As any fan knows, there are only five substitute berths at this level of football compared to eight different playing positions on the pitch (in a 4.4.2 formation). Thus, if a squad player can play two positions, chances are he’ll make the bench at least.

Kettering were only generally troubling us from outside the box, and that was fine with me. In the 81st minute Boucard hit a good low one which Brill had to palm around the foot of the post. That was as close as they’d gone all afternoon. A minute later I had to take Richie Byrne off with a knock. George Beavon wasn’t on the bench. Neither was Charlie Daniels still on the pitch. Thus, McCracken had to go on and play left back for the remainder.

Sod’s law, I was about to almost lose my hair. With three minutes until the end of normal time, Gareth Seddon (big non-league reputation but anonymous all afternoon) won a fortuitous corner off Gnakpa. The curling cross found the head of Swan who tried to flick it behind him into the danger zone. Swan mistimed it though, flicking it higher than intended and also towards the far post. Guess who didn’t have a man on that particular post for this particular corner? That’s right – Luton Town.

The ball landed actually ON the post and bounced back out. Pilkington then reacted quickest and thumped the ball away. Brian and I looked at each other but didn’t say anything. We knew how close we’d come to blowing it. Kettering fought gamely on but didn’t come close again. Neither did we. Injury time was played out with a series of throw-ins, fouls, and somewhat bizarrely, time-consuming substitutions by the home side.

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FINAL SCORE (Att - 3095)

Kettering Town 0

Luton Town 1 (Cadamateri 52)

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(other results)

AFC Wimbledon 0-1 Mansfield

Burton 0-2 Histon

Cambridge 0-2 York

Droylsden 2-2 Northwich

Forest Green 2-0 Macclesfield

Oxford 5-1 Crawley

Rushden 4-1 Stevenage

St Albans 2-3 Grays

Tamworth 0-1 Salisbury

Weymouth 1-2 Kidderminster

Woking 0-0 Ebbsfleet

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(Table after 22 games. We have 16 wins, 4 draws, 2 defeats. The teams marked with # have played 23 games)

1 - Rushden (53)

---------------------------

2 - Luton (52)

3 - York (44)#

4 - Grays (43)#

5 - Oxford (38)#

----------------------------

6 - Salisbury (37)

7 - Stevenage (37)#

8 - Histon (37)

9 - Forest Green (37)#

10 - Crawley (36)#

[ScottleeSV]

07/12/09 - Education, education, education

Despite the new forty two inch plasma TV in the canteen, not to mention the fact we finally had Sky, Nicky and Caroline were the only people in there this inaugural lunchtime. They were sat side by side eating hot food and watching a music video. I didn’t know what channel it was but the song playing was that annoying one that goes – If you steal my sunshine – only about a thousand times in the space of four minutes.

“This being a football club” I announced myself with, sitting down at their table. “I had kind of hoped we’d use the new technology to have Sky Sports News on. As in constantly. Throughout the day”.

“Shame you haven’t got the remote then isn’t it?” Nicky grinned. Devilishly she lifted it up from her lap, wiggled it around in triumph, and then put back again.

“Just to warn you, whenever the footballers come in here, they're going to want to watch sport. And technically speaking, you know, it's my television anyway. I’m also footing the Sky bill”.

“Seriously?” Caroline asked. "You paid for it?"

“Oh. Well in that case”. Nicky sportingly lifted the remote up again only this time to place it on the table.

“No no” I said, waving the offer away and changing tone. “You watch what you want. I’m not going to be here long anyway. I only came up to eat my sandwich and then I’m off back down again. I’ve got a lot of work to do”.

My cucumber and salad cream sandwich looked rather miserly next to the bumper portions of fish and chips the girls had. They must have nipped to the chip shop down the road. Had I really left it for so long after 1pm before taking my lunch? I guess I must have done.

“I should have known this club wouldn’t have splashed out for a TV like that” Caroline remarked. “Didn’t you ask anyone if you could get one on the club’s money before you went and did it yourself?”

“No. No point for as long as Erica’s in charge of the accounting. Did Brenda tell you she took that Save-The-Tigers tin of hers up to her office the other day? Do you know what Erica said to her? She told her to go back downstairs and if she wanted to see her then make an appointment over the phone”.

“B!tch” – Caroline.

Nicky didn’t comment.

As the music on the station mercifully changed to something less repetitive – Your Woman by White Town, I turned my attention back to the food.

“It must have been a trek down to the chippy. What made you go for fish and chips today?”

“Well” said the Nickster, between mouthfuls of cod. “I started telling Caroline about fish and chips and how good they are back where I grew up, so we just kind of decided to get some from that. Even though they aren’t the same ones”.

“You’re from Southend originally aren’t you?”

“Well, close. Shoeburyness. It’s just down the beach from Southend”.

“Beach fish and chips are always better than inland fish and chips” I agreed. “I remember getting them in Morecambe. I don’t know whether it’s actually the case that they’re better on the coastlines or whether it’s just a psychological thing, but they do seem better”.

“I can’t remember having them much in Peterborough” Caroline contributed. “But these aren’t bad”.

“How’s the saving for the festival going?”

Caroline made to choke on the chip she was eating but saved herself with a swift pat to the heart. I didn’t reckon that was a good sign (for the saving up thing I mean).

“We’ve decided we’re not going to start saving until January now, what with Christmas being so close”.

“The festival isn’t the only thing we're planning to do next year either” Nicky announced. “Tell him, Caroline”.

“Oh yeah. Me and Nicky have decided to register with the local college and do some A-Levels”.

“Really? Well, Nicky I can sort of understand, but as for you, I thought you were already well past that stage. You did most of a degree didn’t you?”

“Only that useless Pagan Studies one which was never going to get me anywhere. And you don’t even want to know what other outlandish subjects I did for my A-levels the first time around. This time I’m going to do some serious subjects, and Nicky’s going to join me. We’re literally thinking of doing Maths, English, and Science, or maybe just one or two of those. It depends what we can fit in with work. We’ll still need to work, sadly”.

Impressed with the ambition, even if the logistics of how they’d do it were far from clear, I sat back in my seat and eyed them both. How they’d become closer these last few months – Caroline and Nicky. First the festival and now this rebellious leap into education unknown (no doubt born from Caroline’s frustration over salary, not that they’d say it out loud). Still, it was impressive.

It warmed me to know that a hardcore goth like Caroline could take someone like Nicky so much under her wing, just as it warmed me to know that Nicky could take to someone who doesn’t care about fashion or looking chic. I do them both a disservice though. There’s far more to Caroline than rock bands and Twilight, and I haven’t seen Nicky reading dross like Hello probably since she broke up with Keane. To be fair the girl has grown up a lot since the early days.

“Well girls, looks like your plans for the next two or three years are really falling into place”.

“I’m going to do driving lessons too” Nicky chirped.

“Really?” I asked, noticing that Caroline was now looking away. Obviously for her this was one expense too far.

“Yeah. Not straight away, mind. Probably after the festival next year when I don’t need to save for that anymore”.

“Have you got anybody giving you some lessons for free first?”

“What do you mean? You do have to pay don’t you?”

“Yeah of course you do. What I meant was, have you got any friends or anybody lined up to take you out in their car and give you a kind of head-start for when the proper lessons start? My Dad did it for me. He took me out in his car, let me drive it, taught me some cool stuff, and then when my proper lessons began I felt like I already knew some useful things. Do you see what I mean?”

Nicky chewed it over for a moment but ultimately shook her head. Not that it’s important but she had her hair in braids today. If I’m honest they didn’t suit her. Hopefully it’s a one-off thing.

“Anyway I suppose I could be your guy for that, if you want me to be. I could give you a few trips out and about. Maybe find some quiet places you can practice in. Country lanes, that kind of thing. What do you think?”

“Yeah I’d really appreciate that! Thanks, James!”

“Cool”.

“When then?”

“Well, I could give you a quick lesson tomorrow. I’ve got a meeting just after lunch but that won’t take long. Say, 2pm? I’ll come get you from the office. You can make your time up another day. We could always do it after work but with the darkness being the way it right now, not a good idea”.

“Okay! Sounds good. Tomorrow at 2pm it is then”.

I glanced at Caroline. Her attention had returned to us now and she didn’t seem annoyed. That was good.

Just as the three of us finished our meals and began rubbing our bellies in satisfaction - me less than those two - in walked George Pilkington and Charlie Daniels.

“Wow, look at the new TV!” George pointed out.

“Yep” I piped up. “Now we can have Sky Sports News on and everything”.

“Nah, screw that” said Charlie. “Keep the Lady Gaga on! I love this song!”

“Yeah” agreed George.

Sighing I twisted back to face the girls. Nicky was stroking her neck and looking upwards, lips in the whistling position. Caroline was merely smiling.

“Not a word” I said, rising to leave. “And just remember, girls, every dog has its day. Every dog has its day”.

[ScottleeSV]

08/12/09 - Gunning for Tommy.

“Okay then” said the guest, taking his seat opposite us. “I’m sure you’re both busy men so I’ll get right to the business in hand. My name, as you already know, is Carl Merrill. I’m the presenter of the Spiritseekers TV show. I don’t know how much you know about the show – “

“It’s similar to a show called Ghosthunters” I broke in.

“Yes. You’ve seen us then?”

“No. I just – “

“Well you’ve got the gist anyway. That saves me from giving you a lengthy overview”.

“Actually” Bob interrupted, holding up his hand like a North American Indian. “As much as James might be familiar with the concept, I don’t believe I am. Perhaps if you are willing to give the overview....”

Carl switched his gaze and paused, seemingly wondering where to begin. He was a tall man, not thin though. He wore big thick glasses and was probably in his early thirties. Secretly I thought his body language showed a surprising lack of enthusiasm for the ‘business in hand’, as he put it. His voice was practically deadpan.

I’d expected more a Cyril type, someone geeky and unapologetically frothing at the mouth over the potential ghost sighting we were here to discuss. Maybe then this fellow was just an uninterested presenter-for-hire, someone treading the studio backwaters as he bided his time for the bigger break?

“Here’s how it will work. Me and my camera crew need only be here for about eighteen hours. We’ll arrive in the afternoon and spend whatever daylight is left setting up our equipment. We’ll also interview one or two of your employees we happen to bump into. That doesn’t have to be anybody in particular. It can be anybody – toilet cleaner or managing director – doesn’t matter.

“Once darkness falls, that’s when the meat of the broadcast begins. We’ll spend all night hunting around for footage of this Tommy Wiggins kid. Then, whatever we find, if anything, we’ll pack up in the morning and leave. Once we’ve edited our programme and we’re ready to air it, if you want to view it before it goes out, that can be arranged. Now that’s the short version I’ve given you there. Any questions?”

“Yeah” I said, putting my hand up. “Nothing’s ever been substantially proven when it comes to the whole Tommy thing. I came up here myself one night with an ex-employee. We sat here for ages and we never saw anything. Not that I’m saying I don’t believe the person who did see Tommy, or the ghost that’s believed to be him. What I’m saying is; what if you’re just as unsuccessful as I was? Will you still put a show out?”

“Yes” Carl answered, stroking his chin. It then occurred to me he reminded me of a young Harry Palmer (mainly due to the raincoat and glasses). “We at Spritseekers pride ourselves on making a very realistic type of ghost show. This isn’t made up guff like Most Haunted. We’re very serious about what we do. If Tommy Wiggins is here, we’ll find him and put him on television. If not, we’ll film an empty stadium and put that on television.

“Strange as it sounds, we actually don’t mind the odd show where nothing happens. We believe it adds more believability to the episodes where we don’t find stuff. We’re not just going to be looking for Tommy either. In my experience, spirits often attract other spirits. If Tommy is here, other ghosts may have followed him here. And then of course there’s the possibility Tommy might not be here but other ghosts are you didn’t know about. Who knows? I remember one of the first shows we did up on the Yorkshire moors – “

“Okay” said Bob, doing the Indian hand thing again. “I think we get the picture”. Then turning to me – “James, speaking on behalf of the club, I can’t see any problem with this show going ahead. Unless you have any reservations yourself I propose we get on with signing the contract”.

“I’ve no reservations, Bob”.

“Okay then” said Carl. “Let’s do it”.

Before this meeting got underway, Bob had explained to me how the fee for the show (the one Luton Town FC will get from the network) had already been agreed over the phone prior to today between Channel Five and someone from our board of directors. Today’s meeting apparently was just to go over logistics. If there was no problem there, all was a go.

I tuned out a little bit as Bob and Carl began swapping paperwork. My concentration instead switched to the window, where a torrential downpour was rat-a-tat-tatting for all it was worth. I hadn’t seen a rainstorm like this in England for quite some time. All it needed was a couple of thunderbolts and I might have thought it rather spooky given the topic of conversation.

“What day are you going to do the show?” I asked, as Carl prepared to depart. “Obviously it can’t be on a match day”.

“Don’t worry we’ll do our homework as to Luton Town’s fixtures before we arrange a date. We won’t be doing it before Christmas anyway. Without checking my schedule of the forthcoming shows, I imagine we’re probably looking at a slot sometime in January”.

“Excellent” Bob smiled.

Personally I settled for a subtle nod.

“Good. Well then, it’s not far to the door. I’ll see myself out”.

“Right you are” – Bob.

“Cheerio” – me.

And that was that. I’d hardly call it a meeting where any serious logistics were discussed but we got the job done; that’s the main thing.

‘Tommy’ I called out in my mind, as I walked down the corridor to the toilet. ‘If you really are here, you better not disappoint when the time comes’.

Privately however I reckoned Tommy would probably turn out to be holiday somewhere. Ghosts, I’ve always found, are kind of awkward that way.

[ScottleeSV]

08/12/09 - Driving school

“NICKY!” I screamed, as the timber truck missed us by about inch going in the opposite direction. One of its logs didn’t survive the swerve, rolling off the top and falling down the embankment by the side of the road.

“Sorry, I didn’t see it coming!”

“That’s because you were half in the other lane! Always stay in your own lane, and especially stay in your own lane when you’re going around a bleedin’ bend!”

“But I’ve seen you go slightly into other lanes when you go around bends!”

“I’m allowed to! I’m an experienced driver! For now, as far as you’re concerned, stick to your lane ONLY!”

“Okie-yokey”.

I was already regretting giving Nicky lessons. I just wasn’t trained for this, and my pupil was proving more than a little kamikaze with the clutch. I hadn’t even planned on letting her drive today. Not only were the roads wet from the earlier downpour, but I didn’t think it was wise for someone to get behind the wheel on their very first lesson. Years ago when my dad had given me the benefit of his know-how, I’d spent the first two sessions strapped firmly in the passenger seat.

Eager Nicky though had apparently spent the entire previous evening studying Sally’s car inch by inch (with overview from Sally herself) and was thus already ready for the acid test. I’d had my doubts but, well, Nicky’s smile has a certain knack of casting the deciding vote in a standoff.

‘It’s the sound of the underground. The beat of the drum goes round and around!’

“And I don’t think this is helping either” I said, turning the radio off.

“Aw but I love that song!”

“You love every song. The noise won’t be helping you though. If we survive this day in one piece, I might let you have it back on the next time. Might!”

----------------

Half an hour later, just after a brief pit-stop at a cafe, Nicky began attempting some parking manoeuvres. I felt much safer throughout this process because we weren’t in danger of a high speed crash. Unfortunately, for a truly double-edged experience, read seasickness.

“What did you say this manoeuvre is called again?”

“The three point turn”.

“How many points have I done?”

“So far? Seventy seven”.

Struggling to complete the final move which would get us back on the road, Nicky paused for a moment and gave the problem some additional thinking time. As she did this I raised my orange squash bottle to my mouth trying to sneak a quick mouthful. Too late. Nicky jerked us forwards against the kerb again and the orange went all down my shirt.

“Oh! Sorry!”

“That’s okay. It’s an old shirt”.

Actually it was relatively new.

----------------

I once again found myself using my mental abacus at the roundabout just up from The Haunted Cow. Nicky had circled around the wretched thing thirty seven times whilst trying to remember the one thing she needed to remember to do before turning off. I was all up for giving her a chance but if the earlier seasickness hadn’t been bad enough (and prior to that - the fear of death by log), I was now suffering from dizziness.

“Indicator, Nicky! I’m sorry but you’ve had long enough to remember”.

“Oh yeah! Indicators. Here goes then”.

“No, those are the windscreen wipers”.

“Oops. Hang on. There we are. Shall I turn the wipers off?”

“Yes. It’s not raining”.

-----------------

A few miles from the ground, just when I thought the suffering was over, we ran into an awkward situation with another driver. To be fair on Nicky some of the blame for this one must be borne by yours truly. I’d insisted she drive at fifteen miles per hour on a fairly straight country road where the limit was fifty. Right up our arses though came someone in a hurry and next thing we knew we were getting honked at.

“He thinks we’re taking the p!ss here. Go faster. Take it up to forty”.

“Okay”.

Nigella Mansell though put her foot on the wrong pedal. The car came to a screeching halt and the guy behind us couldn’t slam his own breaks on in time to avoid locking bumpers.

“Oh dear” said Nicky, peering into the wing mirror. Both cars had now stopped dead.

Right at this moment it would have been very nice to see an old granny emerge from the tailing vehicle shouting - ‘Don’t worry, dear! My Fred does the same thing all the time. England should go back to using the horse and cart; that’s what I say! Anyway, do pop along now. Poopy-doopy-do'.

Alas, out of the driver’s side came a Phil Mitchell a-like sporting tattoos on both arms. And he looked p!ssed.

Then another even bigger guy got out of the passenger side. He looked p!ssed too. They both looked p!ssed. Two p!ssed men. Two.

“Nicky, floor it!”

“Shouldn’t we swap insuran – “

“GO! GO! GO!”

She got us moving again just in time. The two guys ran towards us but couldn’t catch up. Close call. Strictly speaking of course Nicky was right; we should have got out and swapped insurance details. Looking at the muscles on those two though, I made an executive on-the-spot decision to settle in court rather than out of it. Sometimes you just gotta go with your instincts.

To say I was relieved when we finally pulled back into the Kenilworth Road car park would be stating the fecking obvious. Nicky though had a question.

“So when’s the next lesson?”

“I’ll err check my schedule”.

“How did I do?”

‘Well, I have a damaged back bumper, nausea going from my head down to at least my stomach, and at some point over the next week I’ll probably be hearing from the solicitors of not only a logging firm but also two fat thugs who knowing my luck probably support Watford’.

“Nicky” I smiled. “I think you’ve found your calling”.

“Really? Awesome! Wait till’ I tell Sally! I told her hitting the dustbin outside our house last night was just a one-off”.

[ScottleeSV]

09/12/09, League Match 23

Luton Town v Weymouth

GK – Dean Brill (77 apps, 0 goals)

DL – Richie Byrne (16 apps, 0 goals)

DR – George Pilkington (71 apps, 2 goals)

DC – David McCracken (15 apps, 1 goal)

DC – Tony James (26 apps, 2 goals)

DMC – Kevin Nicholls (44 apps, 13 goals)

MC – Keith Keane (63 apps, 7 goals)

ML – Charlie Daniels (26 apps, 3 goals)

MR – Michael Taylor (16 apps, 0 goals)

FC – Dean Bowditch (4 apps, 0 goals)

FC – James Lawrie (5 apps, 2 goals)

Tragically I was laid up at home for this rearranged midweek clash. No it wasn’t the after effects of Nicky’s driving lesson which had done for me. It was merely a simply dose of flu, probably caused by all the rain and cold we’ve been experiencing. Brian then would take charge of first team duties on a one-off basis.

“No there’s no need to send me updates” I told him over the blower. “BBC Sport does live text commentaries of Blue Square Premier games. I want your concentration solely on the match”.

I still took it upon myself to pick the team, mind. Claude Gnakpa was down with the same thing I’d got. He was still well enough to put his boots on but just to play things safe was relegated to the bench. Therefore George Pilkington moved over to right back and David McCracken came back in at centre half.

The really big news was in midfield where Kevin Nicholls returned after eight matches out (Derek Niven made way). There was also an alteration up front; Danny Cadamateri had a slight knock so stepped aside in favour of James Lawrie.

It should be firmly noted that my involvement with the match completely ended once the starting eleven was finalised. From that point forwards Brian was given the authority to conduct all tactical changes and substitutions as he saw fit. The last thing I wanted to do tonight was lie on the couch reaching for my phone every five minutes. And it would have been a bit pompous wouldn’t it, ringing Brian up advising him to do stuff based on my interpretation of a text commentary?

I’ve never watched a text commentary before. In fact I’ve never even looked at one. The first meaningful update though filled me with intrigue.

‘1.10 – Corner from the right taken by Kevin Nicholls’.

Okay. Then what?

I must have clicked that damn refresh button about twenty times before the screen finally updated. When it did there was no mention of what came from the corner at all.

‘2.29 – Josh Webb is ruled offside. George Pilkington takes the direct free kick’.

Right, I get that, but what happened at the corner?

Blowing my nose like a madman, I followed the match for about twenty minutes this way. It soon got frustrating though. I wanted to be there, at the game, under the lights, barking my orders. I wanted to actually see what was going on with my own eyes, not be miles away reading what somebody was typing on a laptop. For the first time in years tonight I remembered why I used to be critical of glory-hunters who live a million miles away from the team they ‘support’. How can anybody enjoy football like this? It doesn’t make any sense to me.

Briefly I opened another window to look for a potential radio station I could listen to the game on. It then dawned on me that despite having managed the team for practically a season and a half now, I still didn’t know which station(s) covered us! Would it be something with Luton in the title? – Bedfordshire maybe? I didn’t know. I might have found something had I truly gone to town on the task, but my heart wasn’t really in it. I found the prospect of being able to hear but not see what was going on rather frightening - Less frustrating than the commentary, probably, but frightening.

Thankfully on 35 minutes we scored a goal, not that there was much emotion in the recording of it.

‘James Lawrie finds the back of the net with a headed goal from close in’.

Just as good was the news from Histon, where the home side had taken an unlikely 1-0 lead over Rushden. My evening was starting to get good now. If the scores stayed the same we would go two points clear at the top. The only other game being playing tonight was Salisbury against St Albans, for which the result held no interest.

When the first goal went in I punched the living room air but remained mostly stationary. There were still sixty five minutes to go at that point; the game was far from over. When the second goal went in however, scored again by Lawrie just before the interval, I finally cut loose. Shouting at the top of my lungs I danced around the back of the settee in my dressing gown and then did a Klinsman actually onto the couch.

I am honestly thirty one years old. I have my birth certificate to prove it.

[ScottleeSV]

Halfway through making another Lemsip, I came up with the idea of ringing Darren for a halftime terrace analysis. I didn’t want to call Brian because I knew he’d be busy with the team-talk.

“So how’s it looking then” I asked eagerly, once I’d explained why I wasn’t at the game.

“Yeah top notch. We look really comfortable tonight”.

“Do we look any different from when I’m the manager?”

“To be honest, no. I didn’t even notice you weren’t here until late in the half. Sometimes I look at you for reactions and things but the game was quite quiet until we scored the first. Don’t get me wrong, we were the better side before then but it wasn’t exactly gung-ho pressure or anything. Anyway, Lawrie’s been ace. Nicholls has looked good on his return. Him and Keane are just bossing the middle of the – “

No doubt the next word was park. I didn’t hear it though because by the sounds of it the teams had come out for the second half. My throat was too sore to shout a closing message down the phone so I simply ended the call without warning. Darren would understand.

The first ten minutes of the second half were relatively quiet. My mind even began to drift onto other things; I opened a few other internet windows up and checked some other scores from around the leagues. I also flicked through a few TV channels to see what was on. I even texted Chantelle.

57 minutes and Weymouth almost pulled one back. Such was the stunted English on the text commentary it wasn’t easy to figure out precisely what had happened. As far as I could gather, someone called Clarke had shot from 20 yards and Brill had saved it. Then the ball had hit the post. That might sound simple enough but I had trouble picturing it. The imagination just isn’t as flexible when you’re ill (I find).

Brian clearly wasn’t worried about the Weymouth chance. He spent the next few minutes throwing substitutes on, and they weren’t the changes I would have made at this stage – I’ll tell you that for nothing. On came Will Buckley for Michael Taylor and Matthew Gill for Kevin Nicholls. As much it was expected that Nicholls wouldn’t complete ninety on his comeback, I couldn’t understand why Gill was coming on in his place and not Niven. The latter has been a reliable mainstay the past few weeks and has surely earned the right to be centre midfield man number three behind Nicholls and Keane.

Also, half an hour for Buckley? What’s that all about? It’s not as if we need rest players for Weston Super Mare on Saturday. I’ve never been convinced by Buckley as a right winger and I wasn’t entirely comfortable with him coming on at this stage if the visitors were going to be mounting a comeback attempt. One couldn’t help considering the possibility Brian was trying to put his stamp on the game, maybe make a name for himself.

The minutes between 60 and 70 were the most frantic of the entire match. Chances for either side were commonplace. Bowditch had one saved by the legs of goalkeeper Barnard, and Keano apparently headed over from six yards out. Conversely, Racchi hit a low one just wide for Weymouth and Robinson forced Brill to tip one over the bar.

After 72 minutes the penny seemed to drop in the land of Fox that there was no need for the game to be this open when we were 2-0 ahead. Thus, he took Pilkington off and threw Gnakpa on. Immediately Gnakpa got himself booked for a bad challenge on Robinson. Then however the action seemed to dry up; and the commentary began to fill itself full of throw-ins and goal kicks. It wasn’t until the 79th minute when the next shot occurred, Daniels smashing a volley two yards wide from a Lawrie cross.

Remarkably I’d completely forgotten about our Rushden friends throughout all this! In the 84th minute (of their game, not ours), the non-league vidiprinter coughed up the news they had equalised away to Histon. Thankfully though there were no more goals after that so they still dropped points. In our match the action slowly began to tail off after Daniels’ volley. Weymouth hit a couple of fruitless long balls into our box late on but that was about it. Brian had done it – he’d won me three points.

Just as the full time scores on the vidiprinter were starting to come in, including comfirmation that Rushden had drawn and we were thus now top, the idea hit me to nip on Hatters Online and see if there was an active match thread. Why I hadn't thought of this before kick-off I do not know. I could have followed some of the armchair fans’ comments throughout the night and seen what they had to say! It’s not like they would be saying anything negative in the face of such a comfortable win.

The topmost thread on the page though was NOT the match thread.

‘Martin defo not at game! Is he really joining Lincoln then?’

Now that might sound ridiculous on the face of it but 189 people had replied.

“Damn rumour factories” I told Bambi.

(woof)

-----------------

FINAL SCORE (att - 4359)

Luton Town 2 (Lawrie 35, 45)

Weymouth 0

------------------

(other results)

Histon 1-1 Rushden

Salisbury 4-1 St Albans

------------------

[font=Calibri][font=Courier New][size=2]| Pos   | Inf   | Team          |       | Pld   | Won   | Drn   | Lst   | For   | Ag    | G.D.  | Pts   | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 1st   |       | Luton         |       | 23    | 17    | 4     | 2     | 51    | 21    | +30   | 55    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 2nd   |       | Rushden       |       | 23    | 17    | 3     | 3     | 54    | 20    | +34   | 54    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 3rd   |       | York City     |       | 23    | 13    | 5     | 5     | 42    | 28    | +14   | 44    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 4th   |       | Grays         |       | 23    | 12    | 7     | 4     | 49    | 24    | +25   | 43    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 5th   |       | Salisbury     |       | 23    | 10    | 10    | 3     | 39    | 27    | +12   | 40    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 6th   |       | Oxford        |       | 23    | 11    | 5     | 7     | 47    | 29    | +18   | 38    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 7th   |       | Histon        |       | 23    | 10    | 8     | 5     | 39    | 28    | +11   | 38    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 8th   |       | Forest Green  |       | 23    | 10    | 7     | 6     | 31    | 23    | +8    | 37    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 9th   |       | Stevenage     |       | 23    | 9     | 10    | 4     | 41    | 38    | +3    | 37    | [/size][/font]
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[font=Courier New][size=2]| 10th  |       | Crawley       |       | 23    | 11    | 3     | 9     | 40    | 38    | +2    | 36    | [/size][/font]
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[font=Courier New][size=2]| 11th  |       | Weymouth      |       | 23    | 9     | 8     | 6     | 35    | 29    | +6    | 35    | [/size][/font]
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[font=Courier New][size=2]| 12th  |       | Burton        |       | 23    | 9     | 7     | 7     | 32    | 32    | E     | 34    | [/size][/font]
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[font=Courier New][size=2]| 13th  |       | Mansfield     |       | 23    | 8     | 8     | 7     | 35    | 38    | -3    | 32    | [/size][/font]
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[font=Courier New][size=2]| 14th  |       | Cambridge     |       | 23    | 8     | 7     | 8     | 29    | 29    | E     | 31    | [/size][/font]
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[font=Courier New][size=2]| 15th  |       | AFC Wimbledon |       | 23    | 9     | 2     | 12    | 36    | 40    | -4    | 29    | [/size][/font]
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[font=Courier New][size=2]| 16th  |       | Kidderminster |       | 23    | 8     | 5     | 10    | 31    | 37    | -6    | 29    | [/size][/font]
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[font=Courier New][size=2]| 17th  |       | Woking        |       | 23    | 7     | 5     | 11    | 19    | 25    | -6    | 25    | [/size][/font]
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[font=Courier New][size=2]| 18th  |       | Ebbsfleet     |       | 23    | 6     | 6     | 11    | 22    | 34    | -12   | 24    | [/size][/font]
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[font=Courier New][size=2]| 19th  |       | Macclesfield  |       | 23    | 6     | 5     | 12    | 24    | 40    | -16   | 23    | [/size][/font]
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[font=Courier New][size=2]| 20th  |       | Kettering     |       | 23    | 4     | 7     | 12    | 28    | 40    | -12   | 19    | [/size][/font]
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[font=Courier New][size=2]| 21st  |       | Northwich     |       | 23    | 3     | 5     | 15    | 18    | 45    | -26   | 14    | [/size][/font]
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[font=Courier New][size=2]| 22nd  |       | St Albans     |       | 23    | 3     | 5     | 15    | 21    | 50    | -29   | 14    | [/size][/font]
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[font=Courier New][size=2]| 23rd  |       | Droylsden     |       | 23    | 3     | 4     | 16    | 30    | 53    | -23   | 13    | [/size][/font]
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[font=Courier New][size=2]| 24th  |       | Tamworth      |       | 23    | 3     | 4     | 16    | 16    | 40    | -24   | 13    | [/size][/font]
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[ScottleeSV]

03/12/06 - Floating into the abyss

Once I’d jumped out of the plane I forgot about Charlotte for a few seconds and switched my focus to staying alive. That’s the worst part of freefalling right there – the initial plummet. Only when you open your chute and begin the slow float can you truly start to enjoy it. On this occasion though, my second (and last) as a solo jumper, the fear of dying didn’t end once the chute opened. That’s because a certain maniac had jumped before the supervisor had told us we were over the safe area. And I’d followed her.

You only need to see the film Drop Zone to know why parachuting over any old random area is a no-no. In Drop Zone, a jumper floats down onto the top of a power plant and fries to death. Never mind the fact Britain is also full of motorways and lakes. Generally, knowing when to jump = good. Charlotte though evidently equated it when something else i.e. boredom.

Thankfully when I got my first sight of the ground it was mostly green. During the twenty or so static line jumps and tandem jumps we’d negotiated before winning the right to go solo, we’d learnt how to alter our course of descent in midair. That said; I still didn’t particularly fancy my chances of avoiding anything too big if it appeared beneath me. Changing direction if you’re a novice is frustratingly awkward.

“Left, left, left!” I shouted to my parachute, realising I was coming down near a line of trees.

For a horrible moment I thought I was going to land squarely on top of one. Then with about thirty yards to go, I just about managed to move myself left enough to avoid the fate. Even then my chute still brushed the outer most branches of a large oak. When my feet touched the grass it was with a stumble and a curse.

Now to find Charlotte. Where the f__k was she? Surrounding me were open fields separated by lines of trees, some of them several lines thick. As I unstrapped myself from the chute, it suddenly dawned on me how pointless it was to have followed her out of the plane. I’d only been a few seconds behind her but that alone could have put a fair bit of metric distance between us. I might as well have just left her to her devices. It’s not as if I could have plucked her out of the air like Superman if she'd been heading for trouble.

“Charlotte!” I shouted, gathering my parachute up and beginning to walk nowhere fast. “It’s James! Are you there?”

‘Come on you stupid psychopathic dumbass bitch – where are you?’

“Charlotte!”

And then I saw it, a chute protruding over a tree fifty yards away like a goddamn rice pudding skin. She’d done what I’d avoided! She’d landed on a tree! With great haste I ran over to that particular tree belt and began locating the one she’d hit. When I got there however there was nobody there. If that was her chute, and I was pretty sure it was, then somehow she'd not only squirmed out of it but also dropped down fifty yards to the ground before apparently wandering off somewhere.

‘Unless she got badly hurt and she’s crawling around nearby or – ‘

“Can I help you, stranger? You look lost”.

Almost startled into a heart attack I spun around on the spot. It was her, peeking out from behind another tree, a different one. And she was smiling. She was f__king well smiling. Well I’d show her.

“You stupid f__king clown!” I shouted, as the two of us approached each other in the clearing. Around about the word 'clown' I gave her a shove. Not a big one, just enough to force her over.

“What the – “

“What the hell were you doing up there? Why did you jump?”

For now she was too stunned to reply. Slowly, and keeping her distance, she gradually returned to her feet.

“Was that thrilling for you?!” I hurtled at her, tears as well as ironic laughter appearing on my face. “Well? Have you any p!ssing idea how dangerous is it to jump before they tell you?”

“What’s your problem?” she retorted. “You didn’t have to follow me if you didn’t want to. And I presume you followed me”.

“Damn right I did! I had to push the damn guy out of the way too! That’s me and you kicked out of the club! We might even get done by the police for this too! Who knows? You’ve just ruined this whole f__king hobby for us and for what - one stupid irresponsible jump?!”

“Oh shut up! It was getting boring long before today. I knew this would be the last one if I went through with it. Who cares though? You don’t like jumping anyway. Now we can do something else”.

Her composure restored, Charlotte circled around me and examined her chute up in the trees. Possibly she was wondering how she was going to get it down. Judging by the amount of cuts in the straps and lining, I imagined she’d freed herself by using that big f__k off knife of hers. From there a skilled shimmy down the trunk and she would have been home free. Hallelujuh. Praise the lord.

“F__k’s sake, Charlotte! This was meant to be our one safe activity, the thing we enjoyed between holidays. A nice supervised hobby we could both enjoy I said; something nice and English and safe. Thrilling but safe! You can’t leave it alone for two f__king minutes though can you?”

“Oh I’m sorry!” she shouted, but completely unrepentant. “You want to be safe do you?! Well maybe we should have stuck to doing those stupid little jumps where the supervisor was stuck up our backside. That was nice and safe. Or even better, why don’t we go home and play chess, or go out and have a nice little cosy meal in that sad little boring restaurant you took me to the other night! We could order a meal, and whilst we’re waiting, you can show me that stupid table football game with the ten pence coin again! My God!"

Exhausted she broke off, re-examining the chute, or least pretending to.

“We agreed that all the mad s__t would STAY inside the holidays!” I blurted out, unable to stop crying.

"Oh p!ss off!"

It was unlike me to cry, but freefalling makes me emotional. Oh what the hell, maybe she made me emotional too. Right here on this spot I was losing her and I knew it. Looking back, I think I did lose her that day.

We didn’t split up over it. But I still lost her at that moment. I think so anyway. Lost her soul I mean.

Not that it mattered. It wasn't long after this I lost all of her. Was only inevitable really.

[ScottleeSV]

10/12/09 - Step out

Do people really still watch plays and musicals these days? I guess they must do, because the procession of cars and pedestrians outside Luton’s main town theatre tonight was like something you see at Leicester Square just before a new Tom Cruise flick. The surrounding area was rammed, and I mean completely choc a bloc. Chantelle and I weren’t even in town to go to the damn theatre; we wanted to grab a meal at this little Italian place I’d been referred to by Brenda.

“I don’t believe this” I said, leaning forwards to peer through my windscreen. “I was going to park in the theatre car park around back. The restaurant is right next to the theatre, see?”

“Let’s just park in there anyway. Nobody will care”.

“He will. Look, that guy there is demanding to see people’s tickets for whatever show it is. He’s not going to let us into the car park without one”.

Sighing irritably I tapped the wheel with my index and tried to see beyond the queue. Such was the scale of the jam, if I had to find another car park at this late stage we’d probably be running it mighty find to make our reservation.

“Try and get in there anyway” Chantelle insisted. “Just tell him who you are. He might let you by”.

“Oh come on that crap never works”.

“Why not? This is Luton and you’re the manager of the town’s team. Use it to your advantage”.

“Yeah but – “

“Oh go on!” she grinned, rubbing my shoulder. “Don’t be boring. I bet we get in”.

And that was the moment I caved. Admittedly, unchecked I almost certainly would have made straight for another car park. However I did think there was at least a slim to moderate chance Chantelle’s plan would work. Coyly and coolly, once it was my turn, I rolled the car up to the entrance and wound the window down. The ticket checker had a florescent yellow jacket on to help drivers see him in the dark.

“Hey mate. Have you got your tickets handy?”

“Errr, we’re actually going to the restaurant”.

“Sorry, car park’s only for theatre folk tonight. Unless you’ve got a ticket I can’t let you park here”.

“You don’t seem to understand” I said with a nervous laugh. “I’m err, James Martin? Luton Town manager?”

“I don’t care if you’re Bobby Charlton, mate. Nobody gets in here tonight without a theatre pass. Now I’m going to have to ask you to reverse slowly out by the side of the queue and go park some place else”.

Feeling embarrassed, I was just about to follow the guy’s command when Chantelle whispered something in my ear. Not that I heard it.

“What?”

“Offer him some money?” she repeated a second time.

“Oh”.

Just as I reached down for my wallet, the first of the car horn beeps sounded out from behind us.

“Look” I said casually to the security guy, sighing and holding out a folded ten pound note. My fake smile was back too. “I’m sure there’s errr some way we can work this out. What do you think?”

Now it was his turn to sigh, leaning down and placing both arms on top of my barely visible side window. With subtle but assured control he took the money from my fingers and scrunched his fist around it.

“I’ll tell you what, in exchange for this very kind gift, I’m going to give you a little tip which should leave you both in fabulous stead for the rest of the evening. On the other side of town there’s another car park, a gravel one with no parking lines. It’s near the supermarket and it’s open well past midnight. You’ve probably seen it before. Anyway, the best thing about this particular place is, there are hardly any lampposts inside it, which should give you a good chance of dodging the paparazzi”.

With this he gave us a little wink and pulled away. The money went with him.

“Dickhead!” Chantelle commented, but I was already reversing backwards by the time it came out of her mouth.

---------------

It took so long to get parked at the other place we ditched the restaurant idea and went to Burger King. If we’d tried to get back to the restaurant on foot I reckon we would have been twenty to twenty five minutes late. Best not to risk it, especially with the mood I was now in.

“It’s Ron from Harry Potter” I said, bringing our tray of food over. It was cheeseburgers, chips, and coke all round.

“Eh?”

“The reason why every man and his dog were at that theatre” I elaborated. “It’s because the guy who plays Ron in Harry Potter is appearing in a play there tonight. The guy who served me at the tills just told me”.

“Oh. I’ve never seen Harry Potter. I’ve no idea who that is”.

“You’ve never seen Harry Potter? What about Luke? He must have seen it. Everybody’s seen Harry Potter”.

“He’s only seven. Maybe he’ll get into it when he’d older”.

Biting through four chips at once, I looked at Chantelle intently. Wearing a red dress with her hair all dolled up for what she’d thought was to be an evening of sophistication and elegance, she looked very out of place for Burger King. The realization made me feel like a bit of a dick for messing it up actually. Could I have known Ron was in town though? Hardly.

“Sorry this night turned out a bit pants”.

“Don’t worry about it. I like a good Mcdonalds or Burger King now and again. Besides, we’ll just go to that restaurant next time. We’ll get into town earlier or something”.

“Yeah” I said, my eyes on her, her eyes on her food. “Or we could start doing other stuff?”

“Like?”

“I don’t know. Anything. What I mean is - I don’t want you to get bored of always doing the same things all the time. You know, nights out, dinners, nights out, cinema, dinners, nights out, etcetera. If you ever wanted to do something else, anything you can think of then – “.

“Hey” she interrupted, finally looking at me in the midst of her chewing. “I like nights out and I like restaurants. What’s not to like? I don’t think I’ll ever get bored of doing that stuff. Except when I get to sixty; then I might not fancy as many nights out. But I’ll still like eating out”.

Pursing my lips I kept my glare on her as she turned her attention to thirst replenishment. By the time she’d put the straw down though my train of thought had finally pushed on from whichever station it had been dawdling at.

“Okay, cool” I said softly. “Just so long as you’re happy”.

“I am”.

“Good”.

Out the corner of my right eye, I suddenly saw the kid from behind the till looking over. It was a bit late in the day for me to be recognised tonight but hey, at least it was something.

“Don't look now” I said under my breath. “But the guy from the till is looking over. I think he thinks he recognises me from somewhere, IF you know what I mean”.

Chantelle immediately set about acquiring verification, slyly rotating her left eye around the side of her raised coke tube.

“Nope” she laughed, turning back. “He wasn’t looking at you he was looking at me”.

“What? Come off it!”

“No, he was! He was looking straight down at my legs”.

“Oh. Lovely” I replied, throwing my napkin down on the table.

'The 5000 who come to the games - do they drive in from out of town or what?'

Not that I'm especially bothered. Not really. But you do have to wonder.

[FlownCanary]

Hey, dude!!!!! Been without internet for a while, but I'm back and all caught up now!!! I gotta say, I am still loving this story dude, I've got a lot to comment on so here goes;

First, congrats on your wedding!!! I hope you have a great time being married.

Secondly, I wish that goth festival was real. I'd so totally go.

Thirdly, I thought it was Alison in the strip joint. (But whether or not I'm just saying that, you'll never know!!!) But really, I did.

Fourthly, The ultimate deathmatch had me on the end of my seat!!! No, literally.

and finally, This story is as captivating as ever, and it just keeps getting better. Keep it up dude, you are one the ultimate storytellers!

[ScottleeSV]

Hey Canary. Good to see you back and reading. Hope you're well

I guess I'll have to believe you on the Alison thing heh

------------

12/12/09 - It's all a question of aerodynamics

It was only this morning the day of the actual match I found out which round of the FA Trophy it is. Apparently it’s the first round proper, or if you like, the last 64 stage. This means that in order to satisfy the board’s request of going on to triumph in the thing, we’re going to have to win six matches. That’s not a small amount when you’ve also got a forty six game league season to negotiate. Still, once more into the breach and all that.

As early round draws go we haven’t been handed a bad one here. Weston Super Mare are a mid-table Blue Square South side. On paper we should beat them hands down. Not only that but as an away trip Weston is attractive for both players and fans alike. It’s a seaside town, located in North Somerset on the Bristol Channel coast.

Despite having a population of 71000 the town football team is poorly supported, with attendances regularly being along the lowest in the Conference leagues. I imagine that nearby Bristol City and Bristol Rovers are more attractive propositions for football fans growing up in the area. Despite that, the Seagulls have never been relegated in their history, an amazing statistic when you think about it. They also have a nice tidy little ground called Woodspring Park. It’s small but very modern.

Previously unbeknown to me, quite a few famous people have lived in Weston Super Mare; Jeffrey Archer, John Cleese, Roald Dahl, and the ill-fated Jill Dando have all resided here at various points in their lives. I found this out thanks to a staff member at The Helicopter Museum, one of two museums I managed to squeeze in on the one trip today. You’ve got to love random conversations with random outcomes haven’t you? Ask about helicopters and you get Jill Dando. Remarkable.

Admittedly I have no interest in aerodynamics. Seeing eighty choppers in the one gigantic warehouse though stoked my attention for a good forty five minutes or more. This being a seaside town I would have thought they’d more likely have a maritime museum or something to do with boats. Anyway, the other place I went to was the North Somerset Museum. This was blander, less memorable. It felt like one of half-hearted city council projects green-lighted purely to add one more half star to the resort rating.

I didn’t go the beach. The wind was blowing a gale even in the urban spots, so God knows what it would have been like out on the promenade. It’s winter anyway. Some of the players braved it but didn’t have a good time by all accounts. Once everyone had reassembled at the ground by 1.30pm the novelty of playing away at the seaside had well and truly worn off.

We didn’t need to worry about resting players today. Curiously we don’t have another league match now until Boxing Day. If the players can get the job done today (or if they lose) we’ll have two full weeks off from all competitions. The team therefore is largely unchanged from that which beat Weymouth. The only change is Claude Gnakpa coming back in for David McCracken. The former has recovered from his man flu just as swiftly as I have, which is good.

There wasn’t much of a crowd today considering the David v Goliath flavour in the air. You really can’t compare the FA Cup with the FA Trophy. When I was growing up the FA Trophy was massive, a much anticipated highlight of the non-league season. These days its popularity seems to have subtly diminished in the same way the FA Cup has for Barclays Premiership sides. I’d say there were no more than 900 fans at this match, about half of them from Luton. Not a great setting when compared to the Wingate affair back in October.

“It’s blowing a gale out there so make sure you keep it on the deck” I told the players at ten to three. “Any high balls today are probably going to swirl around in the air, fly away, and then land on the beach somewhere. The last thing we need right now is some kid getting knocked off her donkey ride by a stray football and suing the club”.

“It’ll be windy on the deck too” James Lawrie piped up. It’s a good job he was sat close to where I was standing or I might not have heard him. “The stands here aren’t that big, so the wind will get in through the gaps and swirl around on the inside, therefore creating concentrated wind pockets”.

“What kind of rubbish is that?” I asked.

“It just is what it is. I think so anyway”.

“Who are you, Michael Fish? Look, I’ve got no doubt there will also be some wind interference down the near the ground. There’s not going to be as much of it down there though as there will up high will there?”

Lawrie shrugged. Some of the others sniggered and shook their heads.

“Just be sensible with your passing – that’s all I’m asking. F__king wind pockets! Now get out there and win the game. Kevin, lead them out”.

[ScottleeSV]

12/12/09, FA Trophy Round 1

Weston Super Mare v Luton Town

GK – Dean Brill (78 apps, 0 goals)

DL – Richie Byrne (17 apps, 0 goals)

DR – Claude Gnakpa (72 apps, 2 goals)

DC – Tony James (27 apps, 2 goals)

DC – George Pilkington (72 apps, 2 goals)

DMC – Kevin Nicholls (45 apps, 13 goals)

MC – Keith Keane (64 apps, 7 goals)

ML – Charlie Daniels (27 apps, 3 goals)

MR – Michael Taylor (17 apps, 0 goals)

FC – Dean Bowditch (5 apps, 0 goals)

FC – James Lawrie (6 apps, 4 goals)

If I was worried I’d over-egged the whole wind thing, I shouldn’t have. Straight from the kick off Keane sprayed a diagonal ball out to Taylor that zigzagged all over the place like a burst balloon. The issue then became not whether the winger could trap it and move on but if he could even touch the thing before it floated out of play. Option B prevailed on this occasion.

After five minutes I think I’d garnered a reasonable understanding of Weston’s game-plan. The general idea seemed to be whack it up into the tornado and see if it landed favourably somewhere in the opposition final third. Interesting.

With 6 minutes gone Pilkington found himself underneath one such up and under. The way he swivelled his feet back and forth as the plummeting ball changed directions reminded me of one of those circus clowns who scurry around holding their pants open trying to catch whatever’s being lobbed at them. Unfortunately Pilkington’s judgment on this occasion was err clownish. The ball glanced off his head and Bryant went to retrieve it near the dead-ball line.

We were suddenly outnumbered at the back here and Weston weren’t about to pass up the opportunity of making us pay. Bryant’s low ball was swift and accurate. It caught Brill square and Marvin Brown had the easiest tap home to give the underdogs the lead. Except not really, because the linesman’s flag was up for offside. The issue wasn’t whether or not there was a covering defender because there wasn’t. The issue was whether Bryant’s ball was a square or forward pass. Hard to tell from where I was standing, if I’m honest. Weston though protested vigorously.

Thankfully this let-off was just the wake-up call we needed. Over the next twenty minutes we set about adjusting to the conditions and doing it well. For the most part this meant using our skill on the deck. When that didn’t work, Nicholls and Keane were more than adept at winning the ball back in a ‘who dares wins’ kind of a way. Keane had even discovered the art of the gale-assisted shoulder barge. He looked like he was enjoying using it too.

The first serious Luton chance came on 15 minutes, Lawrie collecting a through ball from Nicholls and advancing on goalkeeper Northmore from the slightest of angles. After hearing rave reviews of the lad for his goals against Weymouth (although to be fair I had seen him score a double myself prior to that – away to Grays), I was keen to see if he could stick this one away. Alas the shot was beaten into the ground by Northmore and Keane couldn’t wrap his leg around the follow up.

More was to come. Charlie Daniels’ low free kick into the middle on 19 minutes deflected out to Richie Byrne. Despite having never scored for the club, Byrne didn’t hesitate in spinning and whipping one through the crowd. The ball swerved at least a yard in the air and flew a foot over the crossbar. Even though we hadn’t scored, the Hatters fans down that end waved their beach inflatables and sung their approval of the pressure being applied.

Michael Taylor’s turn to enter the fray next. The right winger danced away from Wells near the halfway line and showed good touch to carry the ball forwards at pace. His centre was sensibly played low rather than high. The only thing it lacked was speed; I saw straight away the cross would likely be intercepted by the first defender. Said defender though stumbled and deflected the ball against the goalkeeper’s knees!

Out it rolled to Bowditch, six yards out. Golden chance this. Enter however an untimely upsurge in the wind, causing the striker to misfire and slice the ball impossibly wide from where he was standing. Cue groans from all around the away contingent. Hardly Bowditch’s fault we were playing in a tornado though was it? I was starting to feel that James Lawrie's babbling weather bulls__t might actually have some merit.

“Brian, take a memo”.

“Sorry, come again?”

“Take a memo. To Sepp Blatter. And kindly request of him that retractable roofs becomes mandatory for all Step Ten clubs and above”.

As I babbled, Mullings somehow robbed Keane in midfield and surged forwards. There wasn’t much on so the midfield man shimmied left then right and decided to go himself. At first his twenty five yard shot didn’t look to carry much bite. It bobbled and swerved though and just caught the outside of the right hand post on its way out for a goal kick. Some Weston kids in the crowd nearly had an orgasm at that one.

Gnakpa’s similar effort up the other end five minutes later was a much sweeter strike, Northmore having to watch it all the way into his arms with more than a little skill. Then came the chance which probably summed up the first forty five. Dean Bowditch, five matches back from injury and still without a goal, collected a return pass from Nicholls and ghosted past Senior. He was on his favourite right foot here and only just outside the area, so what the hell, why not have a pop?

Oh dear. Up up and away! The ball cleared the stand by a mile and disappeared over yonder. Huge cheers around the ground greeted that one. Even some of the Luton fans looked amused. Bowditch however looked nothing sort of utterly f__ked off, placing hands on hips as he walked back towards the halfway line for the goal kick.

“Better call the airport” I heard a home fan say behind me. “They might wanna ground all commercial flights until that one comes down out of the clouds”.

We were in Weston Super Mare. What airport could he possibly have been talking about? I guess that’s the trouble with jokes you come out with on the fly.

‘For once in my life, I have absolutely no idea what to say at half time’.

[FCArizona]

This story has me wanting to turn back on FM10 even with FM11 coming out soon!

BTW, do you watch the whole match when your team plays? Or is it on extended highlights? You create a pretty good picture of what is happening on the pitch.

Great story!

[ScottleeSV]

This is actually being played on FM09, and good job too, because I suck at 10.

Traditionally I'm an extended highlights person when it comes to Football Manager. In this story I do apply some poetic license to key chances though, otherwise the match reports might seem a bit robotic (as I felt they were in Season 1).

Cheers for reading, mate. Glad you like it overall.

------------

“I’ll be frank with you all; I don’t really know how to combat what’s going on out there. We were still the better side though, regardless of the wind. Play the same way second half and we should be okay. We just need to make sure we don’t make any silly mistakes in our own half, because that’s how both their chances came about”.

“It’s hard though” Pilkington protested. “You can never tell where the ball’s going”.

“Be that as it may, it’s often said that the hallmark of a great team is coming to a place like Weston Super Mare and leaving victorious. It’s just the same when Brazil go away to Bolivia two thousand feet above sea level, or however high it is. Brazil cope with natural adversity so try and be like them”.

And cope we did, seeing out the first fifteen minutes of the second half without creating a bloody thing. We had a few crosses into the box and the odd corner, but nothing worth describing in any detail. Nicholls went into the book for a challenge on Hodges and that’s about your lot. Oh, and someone accidently let go of their large inflatable lobster. It briefly glided across the stadium and then went off in search of that lost football from the first half.

On the hour mark I turned to my substitute options. Danny Cadamateri was ready for action again so on he went in place of Taylor. I also brought Matthew Gill on for Kevin Nicholls. Yes, I hear you cry, I did make a big song and a dance in the Weymouth diary entry about Brian using Gill instead of Niven. This is the FA Trophy though so why not give the fourth choice a run out? It’s not as if Gill is actually any worse than Niven.

With 62 minutes gone Cadamateri embarked on a little sideways run deep in Weston territory. His attempted reverse pass to Bowditch was marginally short, but Dean managed to poke it back to Keane at least even if he couldn’t take it on himself. Keane shaped to blast one but then rolled it through to Lawrie. The youngster span away from his man brilliantly and was once again in on the keeper, only this time he shot over. Oh lordy lord.

I thought the wind might actually be starting to die down a bit now but I wasn’t sure. Neither was I sure if Weston were starting to back off further and further. Strange though how Gill managed to find Bowditch as far up the field as the penalty spot and the striker not be offside. Luton players were calling for it all over the place here. The man Bowditch opted for was Daniels, but Daniels immediately squared it back to Bowditch. Good chance this but Bowditch leant back and spooned it over.

Cue a flurry of bookings, Holgate and Mullings for the home side and James for ours. The match was drifting into its final portion now and the scoreless draw was a distinct possibility. On 72 minutes I hoisted Lawrie off and sent Will Buckley on. The temptation was to send Cadamateri up front and put Buckley on the wing. I don’t trust Buckley as a winger though even if Brian does. Thus I left a man with seven goals to his name hugging the touchline and a decidedly less proven guy up top.

That might sound illogical but the fact is, as annoying as the wind was, I didn’t have to win today. A draw would do. Any potential replay would probably be on Tuesday, which would still leave us a week and a half to rest up for Woking. Tuesday though is strip club night for some. Perhaps knowing this, Keano lurched forwards in the 77th minute with a view to a kill. Out the pass went to Cadamateri and then in went the cross. Gah! Just ahead of Bowditch – diving forwards like a fish.

Then in the 80th, a nice steady build-up down the left involving Byrne, Daniels, and Gill. When Bowditch received the ball in the area he held it up nicely and laid it off for Nicholls. Was the skip about to save the day? No; his rolled shot went just wide of the post with Northmore scampering across. Our final effort came four minutes later when Bowditch forced the keeper into a comfortable save after a header from a corner. For all his huff and puff, Buckley never had an effort on goal.

The game’s final big moment went the way of the home team, Wilson deflecting a pass off the referee into the path of Wells thirty yards out. That might sound lucky but from here on in Weston carved us open with some neat little triangles. Where had this been all match? Wells fed substitute McKeever who in turn played a one-two with Mullings. Back the ball went to McKeever, and he had a golden chance to shoot here!

The shot was right footed and across the goalkeeper. For two seconds all time in the world stood still. Then the ball hit the inside of the far post and some more time stood still. Then the ball somehow ended up in Brill’s arms on the line and time started up again. So did my pulse. Around the ground at least four hundred local seamen had hands on heads. Luton fans simply looked ready for home, one way or the other.

As I’ve already alluded to, we didn’t create another attack of our own after that. I think we were too shell-shocked to. Back to Kenilworth Road then we go.

---------------

FINAL SCORE (Att - 903)

Weston Super Mare 0

Luton Town 0

----------------

[ScottleeSV]

14/12/09 - Daddyo

“Ah yes” replied the pretty redhead receptionist, peering at her screen. “Here it is - Mr Martin, 2pm”.

“Cool. So which way is it to his office?”

“Well actually if you’d just like to take a seat, Mr Martin, I’ll let Mr Ternent know that you’re here”.

Redhead reached for her telephone. Just as she was lifting it though, I put my hand on hers and gave her one of my best sultry looks.

“You don’t seem to understand. I’m err - James Martin? Luton Town manager?”

“Oh of course!” she replied after the briefest of pauses. “You were the Blue Square Premier Manager of the Month for September weren’t you?”

“That’s right, yeah”

“And more recently, you guided Luton to the quarter finals of the Live Bunny Cup!”

“Jeez, you know your stuff”.

“ - after two successive four goal hauls against Grays and Stevenage in the rounds of Last 32 and Last 16 respectively, unless I’m mistaken!”

“It’s been quite the journey” I admitted.

Smiling, her recounting of all recent James Martin achievements complete, the cute redhead returned the phone to the hook and adopted the head on fist position. Then she gazed straight at me. There were no other people currently in occupation of this rather extravagant Norwich City reception room. If there had been I think they would have agreed that the redhead was rather taken with me.

“So in light of you now knowing who I am, do I still have to wait here, or can I just go straight up?”

“Oh, sorry I was miles away! Straight up, of course!”

“Thanks” I said, winking as I passed.

It was a bigger building than the one at Kenilworth Road but I still knew exactly where to go to reach the manager’s office. I don’t know why I knew; I guess it was just God’s way of telling me I would definitely be at home in an environment like this. Completely at home.

The moment I first saw him was on the final stretch of corridor. He was carrying some folders at the time, but when he saw who it was he dropped them and stared open-mouthed.

“James” he said in disbelief.

“Stan” I replied. “Or is it Dad, I wonder?”

Stan smiled. So did I. Then we ran towards each other, arms outstretched. From somewhere overhead (the air vent?) dramatic music began to play. Then we hugged, and twirled each other round on the spot.

“This meeting has been too long in coming, son”.

“Yeah I guess it has”.

Heartedly he clamped his hand down on my shoulder and began leading the way to the office.

“Come on, let’s grab a coffee. Then we can talk about the timetable for you inheriting my job. I’m stepping down at the end of the season. Did you know that? What’s more, there’s a sixty million pound war-chest available for the start of next term. Delia’s cashing in her chips, going for glory, boom or bust. I told her my son was just the man for the responsibility and she agreed”.

“Cool! And yeah I guess I could take over at the end of the season”.

“Atta boy! Daphne will be so pleased – that’s the girl in reception – she’s very taken with you”.

“Yeah. Shame I’ve got a girlfriend though”.

“Ah, girlfriend smirlfriend! Sleep with them both, and at the same time too if you must! It’s your dream!”

“Yeah I think I’ll do that, Dad! Good plan!”

-----------------

“Mr Martin? Excuse me, Mr Martin”.

Groggily I lifted myself up from the couch. How long had I been out?

“Live Bunny. Quarter finalists” I muttered.

“I’m sorry what?”

“Nothing”.

Coming to my senses now; slowly but surely coming to my senses. It was a swirly room but I was getting there.

‘Jesus, it’s half four!’ I thought, looking at my watch. ‘I’ve waiting here two and a half goddamn hours!’

“Sorry it’s been so long but Mr Ternant will be down any moment now. He’s just set off from his office this very moment”.

“About time. Thanks”.

The cute redhead walked back to her desk, leaving me to wipe the crap from my eyes. It was game time, I guess. The big moment was here. Any moment now Stan the Man would appear and I would finally get to meet my biological father. In preparation I rose to my feet and re-straightened my shirt. Then I began to nervously pace up and down.

‘Now play it cool, James. Play it cool. If he didn’t want anything to do with you he wouldn’t have paid all that money so you could manage Luton. And even if he doesn’t want anything to do with you, so what? You’ve already got one good Dad. You only came here today because you’ve got nothing in your schedule, and also because it’s Norwich. It’s not like you would have bothered if it was Newcastle. Or somewhere else really far away’

I could hear his steps from behind one of the doors. This was him coming now, wasn’t it? It had to be. Yep, it was him all right. What's more, I recognised the silver hair the moment he came through said door. By the looks of it, he recognised me too.

“Hi” I said sheepishly, offering my hand.

“Hi back” said Stan, accepting the shake. He did so rather pathetically though I thought. Then he walked past me towards the entrance.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“Outside for a breath of fresh air, and you’re going to join me”.

“I am?”

“Yup”.

I looked at him searchingly (the back of him that is, as he continued to walk) and then the other way towards reception. Daphne was glumly playing with a pencil. She wasn’t smiling anymore. Had she actually smiled even once since I’d got here? I wasn’t sure she had.

“Okay, hold up” I called out, turning back the other way again.

Like a dog catching up to its master, or so it felt, I scurried after Stan and joined him out on the tarmac. It was quiet out here, vast but quiet. No sad little port-a-cabins out here. They probably don’t allow such things at clubs like Norwich.

“It’s hard to know what to say” I began, trying to appear pleasant. “Obviously you know now that I’m aware that you’re my – “

“Okay, that’s as far as you go!” Stan said, raising his finger at my chin. “Now you listen to me, James, and you damn well listen good!”

Listen good? He didn't have to worry about that. I was all ears.

[ScottleeSV]

14/12/09 - Daddyo (part 2)

“You shouldn’t have come here today. If the press finds out I’m your Dad it’s all me and my family’s going to hear about for the rest of my career, not only that but the rest of your career is going to be tainted too. Is that what you want?”

“No”.

“How did you find out anyway? Wheelie?”

“Yeah”.

“The damn fool. I should have known he’d let it slip at some point”.

“If you didn’t want to see me then why pay him to give me the job? I didn’t need any favours”.

Stan’s finger was back down by his side now but he was still shuffling around on the spot aggressively. He looked like he needed a wee, only of course, that wasn’t it.

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to see you. What I actually implied was that it’s best I don’t see you. Not in the flesh anyway. I only agreed to see you this one time because I got fed up of waiting for you to leave. And yes you did need the Luton favour! Believe it or not I’ve followed every move you’ve ever made throughout your life, everything from SAT papers to right now. You were heading down a dead end just before you got the Luton job. You needed a shove to get you back in the right direction. So that’s what I gave you”.

“Hell of a shove”.

“You needed it”.

“No I didn’t” I reiterated, and now it was my turn to mooch around on the spot. I’d been Cool Hand Luke up to this point, but now my body temperature was starting to rise. Not that Stan the Man appeared to notice.

“Oh you didn’t did you? So I take it you didn’t really go for that interview at Ashton United then? And I suppose that trip to Hednesford Town you and your buddy went on was just a road trip?

“Everybody has to start somewhere. I wanted to earn my stri – “

“You even put your hat in the ring at ruddy Glasshoughton Welfare! What are they in, step twenty?”

“So what the f__k was I supposed to do with no experience, apply for the England job? I went for Luton didn’t I? Give me some credit”.

“You only went for Luton because I told your mum to slip it into conversation with you! I wonder if she hadn’t done whether you would have just jogged on with your non-league crusade and been none the wiser”.

I needed some air. His glare was just too close to my face. Holding my hand up to indicate time out, I moved a few yards away from him and reached into my pockets. I’d hoped there might be an old pack of fags in there somewhere but there wasn’t; I hadn’t had a smoke for days so why would there be? Stan meanwhile finally sensed he was pushing his luck a little bit and toned it down.

“Look” he continued. “I was sorry to hear about that Charlotte girl. You’ve got to understand though that with the qualifications you had you were aiming way too low. It’s not just that either. Football managing is in your blood! I’m a not a world beater but I’m still a professional in the football league. It might sound arrogant but ever since I found out you wanted to be a manager – and believe me I was both shocked and chuffed at the same time when I found out – I never considered you would be anything less than football league material”.

“Just stop! I’ve been through this analytical s__t over my Luton appointment before, with my assistant. You can save your breath because I’ve already learnt to live and accept my little head start in life. Only time will tell though whether I’m football league material, as you put it. Just a shame you had to pay a quarter of a million to that slime bag to find out”.

“It was actually three hundred thousand. I paid him two hundred and fifty to get you in the hot seat, and another fifty to keep on ice for you in case you got sacked. If you’d been forced to walk away I didn’t want you walking away with nothing”.

Wheelie that sneaky little s__t! Had he told Dilic’s interrogation team about the additional fifty thou? Probably not.

Noticing the cogs ticking around in my head, Stan watched me for a minute and stayed quiet. As tempting as it was however to tell him all about Dave and his Watford allegiance, together with his subsequent banishment from Kenilworth Road, I decided against it. For one thing I couldn’t be bothered and for another I didn’t reckon ole Pops had yet earned the right to hear my workplace gossip.

“So what happens now?” I asked instead.

“You go home and you carry on with your work, that’s what you do. We’ll stay in contact but only on the phone. Don’t come to Carrow Road again. One day maybe we’ll meet and talk in the flesh properly, but that day is a way away yet. Maybe when I’ll retire – maybe that will be the time. We’ll see”.

“Fine. Whatever”.

“Don’t be like that. You go on now, and have a safe journey back”.

“Bye”.

“Cheerio”.

Time to go; and I really didn’t mind going either. I only managed ten paces though before turning back around again.

“Doesn’t it feel at all weird seeing your son for the first time?”

“It’s not the first time I’ve seen you. I came to the hospital when you did your leg. You were asleep though, and I lost my nerve long before you woke up”.

I stood and thought about this for a moment and then carried on to the car. I didn’t need to beep it open because someone was inside it. Stan meanwhile waited until I’d reached my door and then heading to his own. It appeared he was leaving for the day.

“Two and a half hours?” Caroline asked from the passenger side.

“Sorry. Lost track of time”.

“It’s okay, I had a good time listening to my music. Entrails Banquet sound awesome on your stereo system”.

“That’s nice” I replied, starting the car up. “Come on then, let’s go see that old school friend of yours. Whereabouts around here did you say he lived?"

[ScottleeSV]

15/12/09 - Tonight is not about the result

This evening was the inaugural practice session for the five a side team. The playing quintet, plus Brian and I, all met up at the local sports hall just before 7pm. I’d booked one of the indoor pitches.

Even aided by the Luton home strips I’d presented to them in the car park, they still looked a bedraggled bunch as they lined up in the hall. Darren looked okay; the kit seemed to match his body shape in a Sunday morning pub player kind of way. The others though were a different story.

Brenda for one looked about five years older than she did in her work clothes. Only now, with her wrinkled scabby legs in view for the first time ever, did I realise the enormity of what I was asking of her. I doubted I was going to get anything even resembling a jog out of Brenda during this session (or indeed any other session to be honest). Talk about carrying dead wood.

I’d deliberately given Caroline a shirt two sizes too big for her so she wouldn’t feel self-conscious about her weight. The silly girl though quickly exposed herself to a different problem, that of looking stupid courtesy of having pulled her shorts up so far towards her stomach it just looked ridiculous. I didn’t want to say anything, again, because of the self-confidence thing.

Katrina and Nicky looked okay, blessed as they are with slim attractive figures. Katrina was calm and yet somehow twitchy at the same time, Nicky grinning and ready for anything. Only now, stood next to other females, did I realise how tall Katrina is. She must be touching six feet or close to it. She dwarfed Caroline and Nicky either side of her.

“Okay, team” I began, clapping my hands together. “Let’s get this show on the road. Nothing serious today, just a nice gentle practice session so I can see what you’re good at and what you’re not”.

“Hey, what are these kids doing in our section?” Caroline asked.

She was referring to the five youngsters of the 7-9 age range who had just emerged from the changing rooms. They had a ball with them (not to mention a bored looking adult coach) and appeared intent on setting up camp in and around the goals down the far end.

“Those little guys are your opposition. I invited them here today from the Wigmore school to be your sparring partners”.

“Uh, okay” said Katrina.

“This is going be well easy!” claimed Darren, busy with some stretching exercises.

“Not for you it’s not. You’re going in goal to begin with, Darren. I already know what you can do. Tonight I want to see what the ladies can do mainly”.

“Well this here lady won’t be doing much, I can assure you that” - Brenda.

“Brenda you’ll be fine. Just do your best and try not to fall over”.

“Just stick close to me, Brenda” Caroline offered. “I doubt I’ll be doing much either”.

“No you’ll need to spread out, not stick to each other’s hips” I replied. “That’s how football’s played. You spread out and you pass the ball”.

I had more to add than just that but was interrupted by the opposition team coach, asking when we wanted to start. Enthusiastically I told him we were ready to kick off forthwith. Thus, Darren begrudgingly took his place between the sticks and the four outfielders all spread out nervously in front of him. Brian and I retreated to the bench by the door. Within seconds the opposition were ready too and it was showtime.

“I got ten pound that says the kids whip them” Brian offered.

“Definitely no bet” I replied with a guilty laugh.

My caution was proven justified as early as the first five minutes. Of the ten shots that rained down on the Luton goal during this period, Darren to his credit saved eight of them. Two slipped through though and our motley office crew were already facing an uphill struggle.

What I saw from the girls throughout the match didn’t surprise me much. There were no hidden starlets here. Nicky was fast and nimble but had trouble controlling the ball. She could also only dribble in a straight line. Caroline was the opposite; to her credit she could trap a ball and turn on a sixpence with it, even look up and evaluate her options. Only problem was, and it was a biggie, she couldn’t run for toffee.

Brenda of course mostly stood and watched from afar, occasionally making a token shuffle from left to right on the halfway line. Or right to left. Either way it didn’t bother whichever kid was dribbling past her to begin the next assault on our goal.

Katrina was a curious mixture – big leaping bounds, powerful whacks of the ball, and heavy challenges. At least she was trying to tackle, mind. None of the other girls were. When the fairer sex brigade finally did have what could be constituted as an attack, Katrina was the one who took the shot. It was from twenty yards out and slammed into the wall about a yard above the crossbar. Nicky went ‘ooh’, and then ball-watched as some little gingernut gathered up the rebound and dribbled right by her.

The rest of the game (which ended 18-7 to the kids, if you’re interested) can probably be summed up by snippets of my touchline encouragements. I must admit I only properly became verbally involved once Darren went outfield. It was only then could we compete properly!

“Pass it to Darren! – Darren’s free! – Look up, Darren’s making a run! – Nicky, track back! – Come on Caroline, five more minutes of effort! – No, you should have picked out Darren! – Good shot, Katrina! Try and keep it down next time though – Katrina, don’t pass it to Brenda! Darren was free! – Caroline you’re not allowed in the penalty area! How many times? – Good goal, Darren! – Whoops a daisy, Nicky. Come on now though; put your trainer back on. Quickly now - Good tackle, Katrina! Now look up and see where Darren is!”

By the end everybody was shattered, and I mean sweating buckets. I didn’t bother waiting for everyone to come out of the shower rooms because I knew they’d take all night. I know what women are like. If there was going to be any post match feedback it could be done back at the office.

“What do you think?” Brian asked in the car afterwards.

“What do I think? I think woman’s football still has a long way to go. That’s what I think. And thank God there aren’t five thousand fans expecting us to win this tournament, that’s all I can say”.

[ScottleeSV]

Thanks, Bang. Good you're still following. I'll likely have a nostalgic re-read myself one day.

------------------

16/12/09, FA Trophy Round 1 Replay

Luton Town v Weston Super Mare

GK – Dean Brill (79 apps, 0 goals)

DL – Richie Byrne (18 apps, 0 goals)

DR – Claude Gnakpa (73 apps, 2 goals)

DC – Tony James (28 apps, 2 goals)

DC – George Pilkington (73 apps, 2 goals)

DMC – Kevin Nicholls (46 apps, 13 goals)

MC – Keith Keane (65 apps, 7 goals)

ML – Clint Easton (9 apps, 0 goals)

MR – Michael Taylor (18 apps, 0 goals)

FC – Danny Cadamateri (20 apps, 7 goals)

FC – Dean Bowditch (6 apps, 0 goals)

I made a couple of changes tonight. The main one from a talking point perspective was keeping Bowditch and dropping Lawrie. Cadamateri was always going to replace one of them when he was ready to start again; the question was who. With four goals to his name Lawrie should, on paper anyway, have been the one to retain his place (Bowditch prior to tonight had yet to net).

Ultimately however, Lawrie will be going back to Port Vale soon where as Bowditch is a fully contracted Luton player earning over a grand a week. I have to show some persistence with him and who better to break your duck against than a side from a lower division? Not only that but Bowditch is seriously good in training day in day out. I’m sure he’s good enough to make it here in the Blue Square Premier. He just needs a break or two.

My other change was Easton for Daniels. This was enforced upon me due to the latter picking up an injury in training. According to Joe Dunbar I probably won’t have him back for three or four weeks. With the big six pointer away to Rushden coming soon on January 2nd, this is potentially a major blow. Ideally I really don’t want to go up to Nene Park with anything but my strongest side.

“What’s all the giggling about?” I asked, taking my place at the front of the changing rooms.

“Sorry” Pilkington grinned. “It’s just that we’ve heard a rumour you’re thinking of moving into ladies football”.

More giggling. Calmly I pressed clipboard to chest and crossed my arms.

“Actually yes I am. If you must know, I got my inspiration from watching you lot play Weston on Saturday. One minute I was sat there watching and enjoying it, and next minute I was thinking to myself how I definitely needed to watch more women’s football in the future”.

Silence around the room. Good. Now I could get on with the team-talk.

-------------

Away from the windy surroundings of Woodspring Park, I always expected Weston to struggle against a team such as we have. So it proved straight from the kick off. Clint Easton, refreshed from all that time on the bench and desperate to make an impression, made himself central in a move also involving Nicholls and Keane. The final ball went out to Taylor on the right who tried to cross for Cadamateri. He got this all wrong but in such a way that he almost scored, Northmore having to carefully tip over the bar.

The pattern soon began to set – Western passing the ball short and not moving forwards much, Luton passing with variety and bustling forwards a lot. In the 14th minute Keane dropped deep and retrieved a clearance from Wilson. Then he turned and curled a long forward pass in the direction of Bowditch, hanging off the shoulder of the last defender. The ball bounced awkwardly for both players but Bowditch managed to shrug his man away (legally) to create an unexpected opening.

He went for power over accuracy, coupled with an emphasis on keeping it low. The ball made a beeline straight for the onrushing keeper but arrowed through his legs and into the net. Get in! Bowditch had his goal! Delighted with himself he wheeled away to celebrate, albeit with a home crowd about half the usual size. Behind the end where the goal was scored, fifty or so travelling Weston supporters hunched their shoulders and looked glum.

The goal came exactly 142 minutes since our previous one – away to Kettering. The next goal however took only 6 minutes. A corner on the right was launched into the area by Nicholls and panic sprung up all over the back ranks like a bad case of fungi. I can’t even begin to recall the exact order of what happened next, but after at least half a dozen players seemed to touch the ball or get hit by the ball, Pilkington lifted a leg up over to the side somewhere and swashed it high into the net.

It felt great to have the double cushion. We spent the rest of the half showboating, almost adding to our tally on several occasions. There wasn’t any response from Weston Super Mare. McKeever and Mullings looked reasonably useful in the middle of the park but not in any way that was going to trouble us. The fact they only had one striker playing ahead of them didn’t help either.

After twenty five minutes Bowditch almost got his second, rifling a volley into the legs of Northmore after a cross from Taylor. Said right winger almost registered himself shortly after that. His shot though was first parried up in the air by the goalkeeper and then headed wide by Cadamateri. Skipper Nicholls, Easton, and Bowditch again, all missed headers of their own throughout the half. Weston on the other hand didn’t manage a single effort on goal.

How the visitors made it to half time without suffering further wounds I don’t know. We certainly deserved more than two goals though. I just hoped we wouldn’t live to regret it, although secretly I doubted it.

And as for the half time team-talk, what can you seriously say?

[ScottleeSV]

“Don’t get too cosy” I reminded them. “It’s only 2-0. The game’s far from finished yet. Don’t make the mistake of going out there only giving 75%. Do that and you’ll end up with egg on your faces. Continue to play hard but also be sensible. If you get the third goal, I seriously don’t want to see any yellow cards or injuries coming from that point forwards. Watch your tackling and don’t take risks. Keith, that means you”.

What the Weston boss said to his troops I’ll never know. It didn’t do much good though - as early as the 50th minute we put the game to bed. Taylor received a pass from Nicholls and began to torment his marker down the right wing. His eventual cross wasn’t a good one but it deflected off the left leg of the unfortunate McKeever and span across the line. Three-zero, surely the end.

Not long after, the midfield overpowered the yellow shirts once more thirty yards out. Keane initially made to feed Taylor again but saw his avenue blocked. Cleverly, he feigned the other way and slid Bowditch in. The pass was perfect, the room between Bowditch and the keeper not so. The striker tried to flick the ball over the advancing Northmore but could only elevate it as high as the man’s chin, and the opportunity deflected elsewhere.

Time for the substitutes then. There might not have been another game after this one for ten days but I still wanted to give other people a chance. In the 62nd minute I took Bowditch off and brought Lawrie on. In truth Bowditch might have gone on to score a brace or better against this shambles. There was also potential though for him to miss a few and re-damage his confidence. At least this way he could go off and enjoy his Christmas dwelling on the goal he’d scored rather than a spate of missed chances.

Making way at the same time was Taylor, to be replaced by Buckley. Taylor, despite performing consistently well for us, has still to score for the club. As he came off for his early bath he tried to make the point that McKeever’s own goal was his.

“Not a chance” I replied. “The cross was dead square, clearly an O.G”.

“Aw come on boss”.

“Beat it. And don’t put too much bubble bath in the bath like you did last time. You don’t want Keane holding your head under the water again”.

“Okay”.

In the 68th minute I thought Weston not-so-Super Mare might be in danger of taking a shot, but then James tackled striker Marvin Brown at the last minute and the – danger? – was over. George Pilkington, ever the professional, shouted at the midfield not to let the ball get so far down the pitch again. Quite a brave thing to do that; shouting at Nicholls and Keane.

With twenty minutes remaining I made my final change, bringing Matthew Gill on for Nicholls. El Skip took his usual applause from the usual faithful with the usual amount of modesty i.e. not much. Gill meanwhile didn’t seem to know how to go about his task. The guy is predominantly a midfielder of the more defensive ilk, and here we didn’t have much to defend against.

At the risk of killing the 'will they/won’t they hold on?' suspense of this diary entry, I can reveal right now that Weston failed to score in this match. They even failed to take a shot on goal. In all my matches as boss so far, I can’t remember any other game where this has happened. Even back in the League Two days when we were getting beaten more than we were winning, I don’t think we ever went a whole game without pulling the trigger.

The only question remaining was whether we’d rack up a cricket score or let the game peter out. As it transpired, we tried to get the cricket score but couldn’t execute. Lawrie lowered the value of his stock twice in the final ten minutes. First he lifted one over the bar after a pull back from Easton. Then from a free header he put one straight into Northmore’s arms with the goal once again gaping. Still, when you’re 3-0 up against the wind boys on a not very windy day, it scarcely matters.

Matters even finished on a sour note, Gill going into the book despite all my warnings to watch the tackling. That said; I do have a smidgeon of sympathy. The victim of the tackle, Holgate, went down like he’d been blown down – ho-ho.

“Hard luck that” I said to my opposite number at the end.

“Bugger off, we were s__t”.

“Oh. Fair enough”.

I didn’t want to jinx it before we won through but on Monday ourselves and Weston were drawn at home to Stalybridge Celtic in the round of 32. That’s a good draw to get and one that hopefully we’ll get through without an unwanted replay. Celtic are probably better than Weston but they’re still based in the lower reaches. We’ll be hot favourites to progress.

--------------

FINAL SCORE (att - 2019)

Luton Town 3 (Bowditch 14, Pilkington 18, McKeever o.g 50)

Weston Super Mare 0

--------------

[tenthreeleader]

Congratulations both on another strong post and on passing five figures in views. The number of stories on the new board that have done so can be counted on the fingers of two hands. Truly well done!

[ScottleeSV]

Thanks, Tenthree. Ironic it should be you receiving my pre-post message today because there's a Reading reference.

---------------

17/12/10 - Another fine mess he's got me into

It occurred to me before the meeting that I’ve never seen Bob and Glynn in the same room together. That alone told me I had to be facing something at least semi-serious.

“If this is about funding for the forthcoming Christmas staff party” I began, letting myself into Bob’s office without knocking. “Then you can tell Erica she’s got nothing to worry about. I’m paying for the do out of my own pocket. Not only that but Gav’s giving me the place for mate’s rates”.

“It’s nothing to do with the Christmas party” Bob replied. “Sit down”.

“Oh. Okay”.

Keeping my eyes glued to the two suits, I took the weight of my feet in front of Bob’s desk and made myself comfortable. Bob was in his usual enormous chair the other side, Glynn in a smaller guest seat just off to the right of him. I couldn’t help thinking the marketing manager had a certain gleam back in his eye I hadn’t seen since before Mickey went up in smoke.

“I’ll get straight to the point, James, and then we can go from there. Glynn here has managed to secure an exciting new signing for us. We’re still in the process of sorting out his registration but all going well he should be available for selection as early as January”.

“A new signing as in an actual player, who plays football?”

“Yep, that’s the idea”.

“Well, who is it?”

“His name is Henry Rhodes-Chatto”.

‘Now stay calm, James. Stay calm and hear them out first’.

“Never heard of him. Who is he?”

“Glynn” said Bob, raising an arm to his companion. “You’ll probably sell the idea better than I would. The floor is yours”.

“Thank-you, Bob”.

Faking a cough and straightening his tie, no doubt because he knew I was already on the simmer, Glynn rose awkwardly and put on his best ‘now this car might look knackered but it’s a real runner!’ smile. I already sensed potential disaster in the making and we hadn’t even got past the name.

“Henry is a nineteen year old local lad. Well, Buckinghamshire. He’s apparently a fine young talent and we’re very lucky to get the chance to snap him up. He’s been playing for a Sunday league side recently but the change in registration shouldn’t be a problem. At least, Bob assures me anyway”.

“Okay, I’m waiting for the punch-line”.

“No punch-line, James. You haven’t heard the best part yet. Henry is a Royal!”

“A Reading fan?”

“No, an actual Royal! He’s seventeenth in line to the throne!”

“So?”

“So?! Are you kidding?”

Glynn certainly wasn’t. That much was obvious. In response to my ignorance he wiped his brow and glanced at Bob for support. Bob just smiled and took a sip from his wine glass. Surrounded by all the Christmas decorations on the wall, it dawned on me he’d make a great pretend Santa Claus.

“Before you go off at the deep end, let me give you a bit of background. Sixteenth in line to the throne is a woman called Lady Sarah Chatto. It was thought until recently she had only two sons, Samuel and Arthur. A third however, our boy Henry, was discovered to be living abroad with his aunt. Late last year after turning eighteen he returned to England. As the oldest of all three siblings, he automatically replaced Samuel as seventeenth in line”.

“That’s a nice story. Good for Henry”.

“James, don’t you see? We could have an actual Royal playing for Luton! Imagine the publicity! Imagine the extra bums on seats! Think of the revenue streams! The Royal Family are famous worldwide! This could make Luton a famous brand name all over the globe and beyond!”

“Yes but can he play football?”

“Well, a bit, definitely. He might need coaching up a bit but this is hardly the Premier League is it? I'm sure with a few keep-me-ups and a few laps round the field you'll be able to lick him into shape in no ti – “

“Jesus H!” I exclaimed, joining Glynn on his feet. “Bob, you can’t seriously be going along with this? Even without seeing him play, I can tell already he’s not going to be good enough. Nobody goes straight from a pub side into this league and makes it. It’s not the way it works!”

“Look, nobody’s saying you’ve got to build the team around him” Bob mediated. “Even if he turns out to be the world’s worst player, just give him one game and then you can get rid. By that point we’ll have had all the publicity we need”.

I seriously didn’t think things could get any worse than Multicoloured Mickey. At least that dastardly thing had stayed on the side of the pitch and hadn’t interfered with the team. What was being proposed now however was going to interfere BIG style. I couldn’t let this happen. I just couldn’t. Not even for one game.

“And which game do you propose I play him in exactly?”

“As long as it’s a league game, pick any one you want. I know what you’re thinking but if he only plays in some irrelevant cup competition the press are likely to accuse us of using the whole thing as a gimmick”.

“But you are using it as a gimmick! And have you two even looked at the league table recently? I can’t afford to sacrifice three points at this stage just for some marketing crap! We’re in a ding dong battle for the title, neck a neck! Every point counts!”

“You’re really not seeing the potential scope of this are you, James? This kid is seventeenth in line to the throne of England!”

“Seventeenth?! Seventeenth is rubbish! Nobody even knows who’s fourth and fifth once you get past Charles and his kids. And it’s not like he’s even going to rule is it? Not unless there’s a Kill Bill style massacre at the next royal wedding, and this Henry kid just happens to be sat on the bog when the assassin wanders in”.

“James” Bob sighed. “Like it or not, this is going to happen. This goes beyond Glynn and I. Glynn did all the donkey work in securing the signing, sure. It’s his baby. However, we’re too far down the road to turn back now. The plan has already been discussed and approved at board level”.

“Let me guess – Erica”.

Tellingly Bob and Glynn looked sheepishly downwards.

“Unbelievable!” I shouted. “Over my dead body is this going to happen! I’ll take a look at him in training, sure, but if he’s not up to scratch he’s not playing. I won’t let anybody ruin this team’s chances of going up! Not you guys, not Erica, not anybody. Son of a bitch!”

My cool well and truly blown, I turned around and stormed out.

----------------

“You never know” said Darren back in the communal offices. “He might be good”.

“You haven’t heard his name yet. It’s Henry Rhodes-Chatto”.

“Ooh, definitely not then”.

“Exactly what I thought”.

[tenthreeleader]

I wish Sidney Richmond had thought of that.

Great idea, well-executed, your customary fine post, sir.

[ScottleeSV]

I think Sydney's probably a lot more savvy than Glynn, sadly.

-------------

20/12/09 - Rock on

I was relieved to see a good turnout at The Hatters Arms for the Christmas party. If only ten or fifteen people had turned up it would have been embarrassing. As it was I’d say the attendance was close to sixty, consisting mostly of office staff, players, together with the friends and partners of both. The pub was a closed shop for the night with absolutely no outsiders getting in without approval from yours truly.

The DJ was a young eccentric called Dave Dynamite. He came across all hip and down with the streets when he walked in and set up his gear, then blew it all to hell by opening with Bananarama. Right now he was entertaining Caroline, Nicky, and some others I didn’t recognise (the wags of various players?) on the dance floor, encouraging them to Cha Cha Slide. I find this particular song completely cringe worthy. When a bunch of mostly attractive women in dresses and short skirts are doing it though; I can live and let live.

Chantelle was here but she wasn’t yet tipsy enough to show her jiving hand. At the moment she was chatting with Nicky’s housemate Sally over by one of the walls. Brenda, Darren, Katrina – they were all around somewhere. Brian was here with his wife Alice, Glynn with his wife, Cyril and Lee with just each other, and even Fred had come for a quick tipple. No Erica of course but then I’d accidentally forgotten to invite her. Silly me. Not that she would have come anyway. Bob was also absent.

“Hey boss”.

“Hey”.

It was James Lawrie, sliding up to me along the bar looking a little lost. He had some cheese on the corner of his mouth from eating buffet food but I couldn’t really be assed pointing it out.

“Good party” he followed up his introduction with.

“Yep. You not hanging over there with the other players?”

“Not so much. I just can’t get immersed in their banter really, especially in a loud atmosphere like this”.

“What about a girlfriend? You bring anybody?”

“No, not so much. I guess you could say I’m looking. Probably not many single women in here tonight though. It’s all wives and girlfriends”.

“Not necessarily” I said, now pointing out the cheese. Lawrie quickly caught on and wiped it away with his sleeve. “My girlfriend’s friend over there – Candice – She’s not with anyone. Oh, and Michael Taylor’s girlfriend has brought about three women with her. Some of those might be single. There’s probably a dozen women in here you could go for if you wanted to”.

“Yeah maybe” he replied, glancing around.

“Look, just chill out. You look a bit lost. It’s Christmas. Even if you don’t know many people, just talk to folk. Talk to some guys, talk to some girls. Maybe try it on with some girls. Whatever you want, James, just have fun”.

“Yeah you’re right, boss”.

He was looking over my shoulder now. On twisting around I saw it was probably Nicky who had caught his eye, stationed as she was at this moment in time over by the DJ writing a request slip out.

“Not that one” I said. “Pick another”.

“Oh. Okay. Yeah. Oh, and thanks boss”.

“Anytime”.

Bouncing his head subtly to the music, Lawrie took his pint and his nerves and began a slow circle of the pub looking for someone else to talk to. I watched him for a minute or so before then getting distracted by two more people. The first was Brenda, telling me she was leaving for the evening.

“I’ve had two gin and tonics and that’s one more than I’d planned to have”.

“Okay, Brenda. See you back at work”.

On her way out she passed Steve Fairclough coming the other way. I’d been starting to think he wasn’t going to make it. Still, here he was, dressed to the knives in a fancy chequered shirt and black trousers. Briefly we shook hands and then leaned back on the bar side by side.

“Took your time”.

“Hey, I’m new to this place remember? Besides, the traffic was horrible”.

“Yeah, yeah. Excuses, excuses”.

“Seriously, it was bloody horrendous”.

“On the motorway roads or once you were in Luton?”

“Hang on”.

Briefly he switched his concentration to Gav behind the bar, ordering himself a lager. As he did this my eyes checked up on Lawrie and saw that he’d joined the table of Nicholls, Buckley, plus a few others unknown to me. That was good. At least he’d quit moping around on his tod.

“Both” Steve replied after a three minute delay. “Particularly bad in Luton though”.

“Oh come on. Like London’s any better. And don’t lie and say that it is better. I was in Merton to see for myself recently; remember?”

“James, you can’t seriously tell me you drive through Luton town centre much with those jams? At one point I didn’t move for about ten minutes! And some of the drivers are dickheads too, honking at this, that, and the other. Oh, and this one guy. This one guy in the lane next to me – get this – he was only driving around in a pink sports car. Who the f__k drives around in a pink sports car?”

“You’d have to wonder wouldn’t you?”

Suddenly Darren appeared next to us out of nowhere, grinning and clutching a half finished pint. At roughly the same time, Dynamite Dave decided some music of the more seasonal variety was in order. Or maybe it was just Nicky's request kicking in? I'll never ask.

'Well tonight thank God it's them instead of you, and there won't be snow in Africa this christmas time, the greatest gift they'll get this year is life'.

“Hey James” shouted Darren. “Keep your eyes on Cyril!”

“Why? Oh, and this is Steve Fairclough by the way, Wimbledon manager and an old friend of mine. Steve, this is Darren, Luton’s main website man”.

“Y’alright, mate”.

“Pleasure mate”.

Darren could barely shake Steve’s hand fast enough so keen was he to return to whatever point he had to make about Cyril. The souvenir shop manager, accompanied by Lee, appeared at this moment in time to be making his way across the dance floor.

“Where are they going?”

“Cyril’s completely tanked up already. He says he can do a perfect impression of the robot dance, so now he’s going to do it in front of Nicky. He’s totally besotted with her you know”.

“Oh no. Don’t tell me you encouraged him?”

“Me? What do you take me for?”

As Steve chuckled to himself on my other side, Cyril finally reached Nicky. Without warning he jumped straight into the dance, and Lee next to him did exactly the same. I had to admit they were both quite good at it. It was as if we had two Peter Crouch’s right here in the room. Two much shorter Peter Crouch’s of course.

On seeing the two robots, Caroline and Nicky stopped dancing themselves and put hands over mouths, dying with laughter. Steve and Darren didn’t hold back either. And yes, okay, maybe I laughed a little bit too. It truly was a pathetic sight to behold. I glanced over to Chantelle but she either didn’t find it funny or was pretending she hadn’t seen it. In all honestly, and perhaps fortunately for two the souvenir shop workers, only a small portion of the pub cottoned onto what they were doing before finally packing it in.

Caroline and Nicky then did that thing a lot of women do when faced with dancing partners they’d rather not have; they went off to the toilets. When they re-emerged a few minutes further down the line I fully expected them to head for a completely different part of the dance floor. It’s politer than simply moving to a different part without the loo break in-between.

‘Feeeeeeed the woorrrrrrld! Let them know it’s Christmas time!’

“That was awesome” Darren laughed, turning to the bar. Steve and I did the same. “Let’s get some shots in!”

“Not for me. I don’t do that stuff anymore”.

“Oh come on, James. It’s Christmas. And we’re top of the league! That’s worth celebrating!”

“We won’t be top once Henry Ebanks-Fawcett turns up, or whatever his name is”.

“That’s a worry for another day”.

“Yeah, listen to your colleague” Steve interjected, putting an arm around my shoulder.

“Oh go on then. I suppose it can’t do any harm. I’m only having a couple though, at most!”

“Yeah baby!”

Darren rat-a-tat-tatted his hands on the bar and beckoned Gav over. Next minute a big plate full of shot glasses were out in front of us.

I had a feeling I was going to regret this in the morning.

[MarkC1984]

This story continues to be my favourite; and whilst I'm switching BB suppliers I'm going to miss this story.

[ScottleeSV]

Thanks, Mark. Good luck with the supply change dude

--------------

20/12/09 - Rock on (part 2)

By the time Dynamite Dave passed me the karaoke microphone just after 1am, I was ready for anything.

‘I’m like a shooting star leaping through the skies! Like a tiger, defying the laws of gravity! I’m a racing car passing by like Lady Godiva! I’m gonna go go go! There’s no stopping meeeeeee’.

There absolutely was no stopping me. As the other party goers at first laughed in my direction, only to then resume their bopping and swaying around drunkenly, I danced around at the front almost completely believing I was Freddy Mercury in concert.

‘I’m burning through the skies yeah, two hundred degrees that’s why they call me Mr Fahrenheit! I’m travelling at the speed of light, I wanna make a supersonic man out of you!’

Out the corner of my eye I saw two of Chantelle heading for the exit. It was probably just one of her actually - my vision playing tricks. Still, one or two, it was her. She was probably just going out for a smoke. It couldn’t be she was embarrassed to be seen with me; I was too convincing a Freddy for that (I think).

‘Don’t stop me now! I’m having such a good time! I’m having a ball, don’t stop me now!’

When finally done I received a rapturous round of applause from the thirty or so hardcore people who still hadn’t gone home yet.

“You f__king clown!” Brian shouted over the interim music, slapping my back as I walked off.

“Way to go, Freddy!” – Charlie Daniels.

“Next up it’s errrr Darren Simmons” said Dynamite. “Is there a Darren here?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll find him” I called out.

“I think he went to the loo” Steve shouted across to me. Mr Fairclough seemed had been joined to the hip of George Pilkington the past half hour, hopefully not trying to talk him into a move to Kingsmeadow. The two were residing at the bar drinking bottles.

Acknowledging Steve with a raised hand, I left the crowded dance floor area and went to the toilets.

“Darren, are you in there?” I asked, pushing the outer door open. “It’s your turn to si – “

The reason I didn’t finish was because Darren was behind the door in a passionate clinch with Sally. They didn’t stop once I was in the vicinity either.

“Oh. I’ll errr tell the DJ you’re having a number two”.

The Love God raised an approving thumb in the air but didn’t go as far as to disconnect from Sally’s lips. Sharply and quietly I made my leave.

As Brian bravely got up to sing Bat out of Hell, I stood far back for a few minutes and talked to Dean Brill and his missus about Glynn’s whole Royal thing. Then when that came to a natural end I was rejoined by Chantelle.

“The babysitter wants to know what’s going on” she informed me, putting her phone away. “I was supposed to be back at twelve”.

‘So that’s why she went outside. I knew I needn’t have worried’.

“Aw it doesn’t matter. Just tell her you’ll pay her loads more than you promised, double time if necessary. It’s too good a night to go home yet”.

“I sort of already did tell her that. Hope that’s okay”.

“It’s fine. Like I said, whatever it takes. Want another drink?”

“Yeah, same again. I’ll be over there with Candice. Oh, get her a vodka and coke will you?”

“No sweat”.

Probably smelling like a beer factory but what the hell, I leaned into her and gave her a kiss. She reciprocated and then waltzed away towards her table, looking decidedly delicious in the purple glittering dress she was wearing.

Once I had the drinks I quickly took them over to Chantelle’s table but forgot my own, so went back for it. It was here I bumped into Cyril, hair all over the shop, his eyes practically red from alcohol consumption.

“Hey, James!” he slurred. “How’s – how’s – how’s – you?”

“I’m good. I just forgot my drink, that’s all”. And then, just for conversation’s sake - “Errr, you were really good with that robot dance earlier”.

“Not really. I tried it on this other girl – Sally – but now she’s gone off with – with – errr – this guy – gone off with him. Darren. That’s the one – sucks to be me, right?”

I mean what can you say? Really, what can you?

“Hey, don’t worry about it! Plenty more fish in the aquarium. Where’s Nicky anyway? Why don’t you try and have a dance with her? I'm sure she wouldn't mind. Too much”.

“Well, I would, but – “

“But what?”

“I think she’d rather dance with somebody else”.

“Who?”

“Keith”.

Cyril pointed over my shoulder. Sure enough, just in front of the overexcited Brian (still doing his best Meat Loaf), Keith was dancing around Nicky with a pint in his hand. Nicky looked horrendously uncomfortable, and kept trying to shuffle herself away from him. Caroline looked concerned. Keith just looked p!ssed out of his face.

“Son of a bitch” I whispered, hurrying off towards the disaster-in-waiting.

Before I could fight my way through the dancers though, Nicky was saved by Dynamite Dave.

“Next up, singing a bit of Alanis Morrisette, it’s Caroline Smith! Do we have a Caroline here?”

“Ooh, that’s me!” Nicky cried, putting her hand up.

“Excellent! Come up here then, Caroline. Watch the step now. That’s it. Okay, on three!“

To her credit, the real Caroline didn’t make her fuss at the sight of her song going west. She was too busy watching the disappointed Keane stumble off the dance floor with the aid of David McCracken’s arm. David seemed to be saying to Keith that maybe it was time to call it a night.

Once I was satisfied order was restored (if it had ever got out of hand in the first place), I turned around to head back to the bar. I think I still had a stray drink up there. I think. Before I could do that though, Darren slammed into my back. Sally was by his side.

“No you don’t! It’s dancing time, dude!”

"Errrr".

Oh go on then. So be it.

And anyway, what’s the fun of a lock-in if you can’t have a dance and a singalong? Incidentally it's worth noting as an amusing aside I almost tripped over Danny Cadamateri attempting a break-dance as I stepped into position.

‘It’s like ray-ee-ain, on your wedding day! It’s the free riiiiiiide, when you’ve already paid! It’s the good adviiiiiiiice that you just didn’t take, and who would have thought it figurrrres?’

She wasn't bad actually, a bit too high-pitched maybe, but not bad. At least it was in tune.

In fact she was so credible that nobody seemed to even notice the police lights pulling up the other side of the nearest window.

‘And who would have thought, it figures?’

[ScottleeSV]

22/12/09 - Grin and Bear it

Such was my satisfaction at getting my Christmas shopping done in a record one hour thirty four minutes; I decided to stop in at The East Side Dojo before the parking ticket ran out. I seemed to have caught Bear and his students at lunch, as they were all sat cross-legged on the floor in the far corner eating rice out of a bowl (using chopsticks, naturally). Curiously, in the middle of the hall there was a stretch of sizzling hot coals separated from the floor by some kind of hard matting. It looked about two yards wide, twenty yards long, maybe.

I hadn’t noticed at first but Bear was not among the eating crowd. I realised this when he suddenly crept up behind me through the door I’d just come through.

“You were admiring our temporary coal strip?”

“Oh. Yeah. I was just wondering what it’s used fo – “

“In order to fully recognise his feet as infallible utensils of cold destruction, a ninja must first believe in his own invulnerability. I was going to save this exercise for after lunch, but as you have chosen this precise moment to grace us with your presence, Skunk, I will interpret this development as a sign I have let my fledglings rest too long”.

Bear banged his hands together and shouted something in a foreign language. Immediately all the students put their bowls down and lined up in an orderly fashion by the side of the coal. As they did so, I noticed there were absolutely no Christmas decorations in the entire hall.

“Behold your challenge for this afternoon!” the leader announced, reverting to English. “One by one you will cross the coal pit in your bare feet. It is not enough however to simply reach the end, bruised and sore. When you reach wooden ground, you will then dismantle one of your fellow students in less than sixty seconds. Who will volunteer to be that student, guarding the end?”

Every single hand in the room immediately shot up. I guess they all figured the guy playing the guard might get out of crossing the coal himself.

“Llama, you are chosen. Now, who will volunteer to go first?”

No hands this time. No sir.

“What about you, Skunk?”

“No I’m alright cheers, Bear. I’ve already had one roasting this week - from the old bill”.

“Pah!” Bear exclaimed. “The higher powers will not favour all this pitiful lack of courage. So be it. Eagle! Come out here and show everyone how it’s done”.

Begrudgingly the dojo’s aging legend emerged from the back rooms and slithered into the start position. A delay of thirty seconds accompanied this process, by which point Llama was already in position flexing his muscles. He looked a lot perkier at the prospect of taking on The Legend rather than one of his humble peers.

“I’m ready, Bear”.

“Okay, Eagle! Go!”

Off he went, and straight away I could tell he wouldn’t make it all the way to the end.

“Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah” he cried, stumbling along awkwardly. A painful hissing sound seemed to come out of every piece of coal Eagle trod on. Eventually, about halfway down the track, he finally slipped off to the side and collapsed in agony.

Thankfully for his sake, Bear didn’t seem as cross with The Legend as I suspected he would had this been one of the protégées.

“Obviously the coal hasn’t cooled down enough yet; he would have made it otherwise. Okay everyone, go back and finish your lunch. We’ll resume this in ten minutes”.

“And I’d better be going” I said over the sound of students scuttling back to their chopsticks. “I’ve got a lot of Christmas presents to wrap up this afternoon”.

“Pah, Christmas!” Bear exclaimed. “The fact you would so willingly conform to this decadent western tradition is something I find disappointing, Skunk”.

“Oh I totally agree that it’s a waste of time. I’m only doing it for my girlfriend’s sake. You know what women are like. I’m just going along with it to please her. We’re off down to Croydon on Christmas Eve to stay with her mother, so you understand today and tomorrow are the only days I’m going to have to – “.

“Croydon?” Bear interrupted, his expression changing. “The South Side Dojo is located in Croydon. It’s run by a man called Rattlesnake, a good friend of mine. Unless I’m mistaken his brood are doing a very interesting exercise in the art of fear control on December the twenty fifth. If you and your whore are going to be in the neighbourhood perhaps you might find the time to take a look?”

Most men I would deck in an instant for using that sort of language in reference to Chantelle. Bear though is one of two men I daren’t ever raise my voice to. A blown up Polaroid of the other, ironically, may well still have pride of place on the wall of the Dojo’s closest back room. I don’t know.

“Yeah sounds interesting” I lied. “I’ll have to see what we’re doing though”.

“Good”.

“Bear, just out of curiosity, I feel compelled to comment on something. I don’t mean any offence by this but I’m pretty sure Luton is north and to the left of Croydon on an English map. Thus, if Luton is Dojo East, it seems odd that Croydon would be Dojo South. Do you see what I mean? It’s a bit lopsided. Shouldn’t the dojo for the south be somewhere like Brighton or Portsmouth, somewhere more central?”

“Fool! We are not concerned with this island’s maps and boundaries! Our directional sense operates on a far higher plane. Do you think the ninja, when pursuing his enemy in the dead of night, has the luxury of being able to spark a match and check a compass? Or a road map? Pah! He must rely on his sense of smell, his sense of instinct, to find the way”.

“Yeah you’re right. Sorry. I’ll be off then. Right, December twenty fifth, South Side Dojo, Fear Control Day; we’ll see if we can make it”.

Swiftly I turned on my heels and headed for the exit.

I think my honour demanded it.

[ScottleeSV]

24/12/09 - Croydon

As planned, Chantelle, Luke and I set off for the delights of Croydon today. We went early because I was anticipating bad traffic in and around the London area, especially with it being Christmas Eve. To keep ourselves entertained on the journey we played some Eye Spy. Luke though wasn’t much of a challenge.

“Eye spy with my little eye, something beginning with R” he tried.

“Road?”

“Yep”.

“Get in! 4-0 to me”.

-----------------

Chantelle’s mother was called Hilary. She lives on a little council estate in the middle of an area where everywhere looks the same and landmarks are at a premium. Still, she was pleasant enough when greeting me at the door. To begin with the four of us sat down in the living room and had a little drink and a chat. Despite being fairly gruff and deadpan, Hilary commendably found a good balance between getting to know me and catching up with Luke.

She also seemed to have an acute talent for winding up her daughter with the smallest comment. The best example was when the subject arose of where everyone would be sleeping.

“I’ve cleaned up your old room, Chantelle. Your bed’s all made, and I’ve put the blow-up bed on the floor for Luke. James, I’ve done the spare room out for you. It’s the one next to the bathroom. You should find it comfortable enough in there”.

“Mum!” Chantelle exclaimed. “Luke’s seven now! He’s past the age he needs me to sleep in the same room as him. He can go in the spare room”.

“I don’t think so, madam! I know your game. Just because you’re all grown up now, it doesn’t mean the rules have changed around here. They’ll certainly be no rumpety-pumpety going on in here tonight. It’s Christmas. James goes in the spare room, and Luke goes in with you”.

I can’t even began to describe how red Chantelle looked after this little motherly stance. Hilary though continued onwards unashamed.

“You know, James, I never did quite buy the whole 'I need my independence' act. If you ask me, she only moved out when she did so she could have her boyfriends around. And they were never short on tap, I’ll tell you that!”

“Oh my god! Mum!”

“Don’t worry, Mrs Jackson” I laughed. “I’m sure the spare room will be fine. If you ask me there’s simply not enough old fashioned values going around these days. You do right!”

“Well!” Hilary said, rising to make a cuppa. “Looks to me like you’ve finally found a man with some decency, not like those other little blighters”.

“Yeah well he won’t be around much longer if you carry this on”.

“Oh pipe down”.

When the darkness came we settled down and watched The Goonies on ITV. It was more a film for me and Luke to enjoy though really. Chantelle and her mum kept ducking out at various intervals to prepare the food for Christmas Day. There wasn’t going to be any turkey ("I didn’t really believe she was coming you see – she didn’t last year!") but apart that it all looked promising; buffet, fry-up food, chicken, chocolate, Christmas pudding, crackers, the works.

Later on when Luke and Hilary had settled down to sleep, I was just unpacking some bathroom items on my bedside table when Chantelle walked in wearing just a t-shirt. For a moment I thought she intended to right years of teenage angst being forced not to commit naughtiness in the family home. Alas, not so.

“He’s been fast asleep for half an hour now. I’m going to put some of his Christmas presents out. Wanna help?”

“You mean like a Santa Claus Christmas presents thing, at the foot of the bed? I thought you already put all the presents under the tree?”

“Not all of them. Some he gets in a pillow”.

“Oh. Okay. But it’s not even midnight. Aren’t you supposed to wait until like 3am or something?”

“Nah, I tried that once when he was about three and I ended up shattered all Christmas Day. He’ll be alright. He doesn’t usually wake up once he’s asleep”.

“Okay”.

Creeping quietly, the two of us tiptoed downstairs to retrieve Luke’s pillow. It was all prepared ready so I can only presume Chantelle had sorted this out whilst me and Luke had been watching The Goonies hunt down One-Eyed Willie’s rich stuff.

“I forgot to tell you before - avoid the fourth step up” she told me, as we prepared to reverse our journey. “It creaks loud”.

“Fourth step up. Gotcha. I take it you’ve gone through all this shenanigans at this house before then?”

“No, but that step almost caught me out once when I sneaked my first boyfriend into the house”.

“Ha, you little terror! You mean you actually – “

“Shush! You’re too loud! Keep it down”.

Down here it didn’t really matter. Back on the top landing, mind, things got serious. I was convinced we were going to wake Luke up at every turn once we entered the bedroom. Ultimately however the mission was successful. Chantelle gave me a silent kiss goodnight in the dark and I left for the spare room thereafter.

I lay awake for quite some time before dropping off, mostly thinking about the present drop. Something about the experience didn’t seem quite right to me. I think it was the fact I was doing it for the first time but the child I was doing it for was already seven. My desire to be part of Chantelle and Luke’s life has never wavered once since the whole affair began three months ago. However, the step-dad aspect feels forced, engineered, and even just plain troublesome in some aspects.

It’s like I’ve cheated God in some way by skipping all the early years stuff you’re supposed to go through. I feel like I’ve had some kind of IVF baby after jumping the queue, or dare I say it, been given the job at a football league club before grinding my way through the early years at places like Croydon Athletic.

And who the hell is the Dad anyway? And where? Not once tonight did mum or daughter mention him.

‘If the soldier thing was a ruse, and it turns out this is another one Stan the Man is responsible for, I’m walking out. No questions asked’.

[salkster2102]

You mean Santa doesn't exist?

[ScottleeSV]

Of course he does. In my fictional world though, it's all one big myth

-----------------

25/12/09 - Seven by age, seven by nature

It was a sea of presents the following morning, and quite the contrast to last Christmas when I woke up alone and then trundled down to Kenilworth for something to do. This year I had a miniature adopted family, lots of gifts, food, banter, joy, everything I could want really.

The process began of course with Luke opening his Santa sack. He received a fair few items to his approval, in particular Grand Theft Auto 4 for his Xbox. What pleased him the most however was the note I wrote in his Christmas card promising a trip to Stamford Bridge sometime in January. I didn’t have the tickets yet but promises are good enough for kids (until you start breaking them, which I have no intention of doing).

Chantelle’s one present to me was The Shield Season Three, which might have nicely complimented the Seasons one and two she’d got me for my birthday had I not already bought Season Three about two weeks ago. Still, what can you do? She doesn’t live with me full time; she doesn’t know what I watch on the nights we’re apart.

I didn’t tell her she’d messed up of course. Neither did I tell her how many hundreds of pounds the gold necklace cost that I gave her. I don’t want her getting an inferiority complex when it comes to money. There hasn’t been any development on the job interview front recently, by the way, nothing to coax her into that sexy white suit. Whether she’s actually looking I don’t know. I haven’t really asked much.

Never the less, such was her excitement at receiving the necklace, I chose the moment of helping her put it on to tell her I loved her. It wasn’t pre-planned but then I’ve been planning to say it without planning it for quite some time, if that makes sense. I really didn’t want the nerves that come with pre-planning.

Her response was immediate reciprocation either side of twisting her neck and giving me a kiss. Then she said we’d better go back down and set the table. She had a big smile on her face all the way down the stairs so I guess she was happy with her lot – both present and declaration. That’s good.

Do I actually genuinely love her? I think so. No, I know so. I think anyway. Look, it’s like this. Either I do love her or I’m right on the verge, and even if it’s the latter, a person only stands on the verge for so long before they fall off. Oh, except it’s immaterial anyway because I’ve already fallen off the verge. I think so anyway. Ah screw it, moving on..

Predictably enough we gave the South Side Dojo a miss. I didn’t even mention it to Chantelle actually. I don’t know what Bear’s chum had in store today as part of his 'fear control' exercise, but I can’t imagine it was all that pleasant. For some reason, the image of students strapped up inside glass cages filled with poisonous arachnids came to mind. For some reason.

Highlight of the other presents was a combined offering from Caroline and Nicky. It was a framed photograph of the whole office gang (me included) taken at Alton Towers last summer. The moment I opened it I made the snap decision to take it back to the office and put it on the window sill. The picture is something all of us should be able to look at, not just me. We didn't have a secret Santa this year because we all wanted to buy for everyone.

A faint tickle of snow was in the air as the three of us said our goodbyes to Hilary. We had to drive back this night though because I’ve got a match tomorrow at Woking. I couldn’t very well have hightailed it from Croydon to Woking first thing in the morning; I just wouldn’t have felt comfortable doing so.

“We’ll come watch tomorrow if you want” Chantelle announced on the way back, unobtrusively resting her hand on mine as we stopped at some lights.

“After all this time you’re finally going to come? Whatever could have had that effect?”

“Probably something you said today”.

“That’s good then. I’m glad you’re coming but you do know the match is away? You’ll have to get up early”.

“That’s fine”.

“What match?” Luke asked from the backseat.

Oh bugger. I think we’d both momentarily forgotten about him in the back.

“Woking versus Luton” I replied. “I know it’s not Chelsea but I haven’t got the tickets for that yet. We’re definitely going to go and watch Chelsea soon though; it’ll probably be next month though like I said this morning”.

“I don’t wanna go and watch Woking and Luton! They’re both rubbish”.

“Hey!” Chantelle shouted, turning her head. “Don’t talk to....him like that! He was only offering”.

‘Right there. What did she begin to say and then didn’t?’

“Oh forget it” she continued, crossing her arms in a huff when Luke didn’t respond.

“It’s okay” I butted in. “Forget about tomorrow. We’ll go watch Chelsea first, and then after that maybe we’ll see about a Luton game”.

“No I’m never going to Luton. They’re embarrassing!”

What Chantelle then shouted into the back seat I shall not repeat, but I had sympathy for her. What an ungrateful little sod her son was being! I mean after all the stuff I’d bought him today too! He’d been alright the whole trip up until now. What had changed since we’d got in the car?

‘Don’t know, don’t care. I really just need some football now, to be honest. I just can't tolerate these ten day breaks'.

[ScottleeSV]

26/12/09 - The legend of Buzaglo

Come Boxing Day, relations were still sufficiently sour enough between Chantelle and Luke for them to stay behind. Therefore I drove to Woking by myself. It didn’t matter really. I’d never been to Woking before but I doubted it was a hidden Las Vegas full of touristy gems. At least it was closer to home than last year’s depressing round trip to Exeter, which culminated in a 3-1 defeat.

Woking FC are nicknamed The Cardinals and play at The Kingfield Stadium in Woking, Surrey. If you don’t know on a map where that is, I can tell you it’s roughly south west of London by not very much. Nearby towns Guildford and Esher don’t really play football so Woking have a nice little niche in the nearby area. The closest teams that I can see are Aldershot and Farnborough going west and then all your London clubs not far to the north east.

The Cardinals were just a relatively small non-league outfit until 1991. It was then they suddenly shot to prominence with their magical fourth round run in the FA Cup. The 4-2 win at the Hawthorns isn’t just a memorable game for old time Woking and West Bromwich Albion fans; it’s engrained in the memory of every football fan across the boards who has a long term association with FA Cup football. Seriously, who over the age of thirty doesn’t remember Tim Buzaglo lighting up Match of the Day with his deadly second half treble?

Life was never the same again. Woking emulated their cup glory by leaped into the Conference National the very next season, and it’s been home for them ever since. They won the FA Trophy an incredible three times between 1994 and 1997. In the nineties as a whole they also achieved five successive top five finishes in the league, including two in a row as runners up.

Since then, despite always retaining fifth tier status, success has been much harder to come by. Woking were FA Trophy runners up in 2006 but that’s been about the highlight of a generally unremarkable past ten years. Last season they finished 18th with 57 points. This season, as we prepare to enter the second half of the campaign, they're 17th. Struggle then has become the norm for them. They did however play solidly to draw 1-1 at our place on the opening day.

The team news from our point of view is hit and miss today. First the good; Michael Bridges comes back in and replaces Cadamateri. It was a tight call between Cadamateri and Bowditch to partner the main man but one that had to be made. On the down side, Tony James needs a rest so in comes David McCracken. Charlie Daniels is still out so the less speedy Clint Easton continues on the left of midfield.

So what about Woking the place? Well, it’s got a modest population of 62000 and was apparently the setting for the novel The War and the Worlds, or near enough. If you walk down the main high street you’re likely to come across a huge sculpture of a Martian tripod. That aside, there isn’t much to see and do. It’s a nice but fairly indistinctive town.

On a different note, it’s worth mentioning a decision I came to over my pub lunch regarding Dave Wheelie. After much deliberation I’ve decided to go see him again. I don’t know precisely when but it will be soon, probably in the next few days. I didn’t realise it until my meeting with Stan recently but Dave holds potentially destructive information about me and my real father. If he was to release it to the press we’d both face an awkward little period of media intrusion.

I sense though Dave may be keeping his hand back for the future when I’m more famous than I am now. And who’s to say I’m not on the fast track? Luton are top of the pops. I might personally be heading for big things, even if Luton themselves are not (beyond the inevitable reunion with Leagues One and Two).

There isn’t much money to be made exposing the secrets of a Conference boss, or a League One has-been. A Premier League or Championship blue-eyed boy though is a different matter. Dave might be holding onto mine and Stan’s secret a bit like a director holding onto weak shares, patiently waiting for the value to rise of what he’s selling. Out of principle I’m not going to let that happen. So I’m going to see him. Soon.

“It might well be a low-scoring match this one” I told the players before kick-off. “Woking don’t score many but then they don’t let many in either, a fact we know only too well from the opening day. It could be a bit like the Kettering match this, which is fine, because we won that day. Anyway, stay composed, stay tight, and don’t panic if the goal doesn’t come early. We were patient at Kettering and it paid off. Good luck”.

The Kingsfield Stadium, dominated largely by the colour red, is a decent place for Conference Football. It boasts 2500 seats and that’s not bad compared to some of the other grounds we’ve been to down here. It was a cold day for football but there wasn’t much wind. Christmas songs were in the air, gloves being worn on every hand, and the steam from a hundred warm drinks was floating around in the gloomy sky.

“Come on Luton, come on Luton, come on Luton!” droned the away fans in good voice, as the referee prepared to get us underway.

Glancing to the red players on his left and then the white ones on his right, get us underway was precisely what he did.

[ScottleeSV]

26/12/09, League Match 24

Woking v Luton Town

GK – Dean Brill (80 apps, 0 goals)

DL – Richie Byrne (19 apps, 0 goals)

DR – Claude Gnakpa (74 apps, 2 goals)

DC – George Pilkington (74 apps, 3 goals)

DC – David McCracken (16 apps, 1 goal)

DMC – Kevin Nicholls (47 apps, 13 goals)

MC – Keith Keane (66 apps, 7 goals)

ML – Clint Easton (10 apps, 0 goals)

MR – Michael Taylor (19 apps, 0 goals)

FC – Michael Bridges (18 apps, 10 goals)

FC – Dean Bowditch (7 apps, 1 goal)

There are four match days in the English football calendar guaranteed to produce outlandish results; the opening day of the season, the closing day, New Year’s Day, and Boxing Day. Some might say that’s just talk, but if you look at some of the score lines from the dates in question down the years I’m sure you’ll see an unusual amount of high scoring thrillers and red cards. Today however I wanted to avoid any yuletide craziness. A one-nil win would do just nicely.

We began looking calm and composed, keeping possession well and spraying it around nonchalantly. The first corner inevitably went to us, Nicholls finding the head of McCracken only for the Scot to miss by a yard. Then Nicholls stung the hands of Gindre from thirty yards out. It was all positive. I was happy.

Our defence has been excellent recently. Coming into this game we had achieved four clean sheets in a row, albeit including two against the toothless Weston. In the 11th minute though we suddenly looked like a defensive shambles. Woking’s first corner was swung in by Quamina and Lorraine headed home under absolutely no pressure from anybody. If the goal hadn’t been ruled out because the initial cross apparently curled behind the by-line and back again, I wouldn’t have been happy.

As it was, we soon forgot all about it. Three minutes later Keith Keane played a lovely ball into the path of Easton, sprinting down the left wing. The pass was so precise, so hidden, so penetrating, Easton found himself yards clear of his nearest marker without even having run that fast to get there. It was right here the former Norwich man showed his worth. He’s not blessed with enough pace to ever truly threaten Charlie Daniels’ mantle as first choice leftie, but the quality of his other attributes remain top notch.

Easton’s centre was low and intended for Bowditch. In fact he had to aim for Bowditch because no other white shirts had kept up with play. Surrounded by four defenders as Bowditch was, the pass had to be 100% accurate. It was. The ball landed plum on the striker’s right foot six yards out and without fuss he side-footed it past Gindre for the opening goal. Cue a strange Santa’s sledge celebration over in the corner.

Goals really are like buses aren’t they? All those dodgy games without scoring for young Dean and now he had two in two! Bridges had gone through a similar experience earlier in the season. For ten or fifteen minutes after the goal we threatened to go on and make an easy afternoon of it. Bowditch might have made it a quick-fire brace but a juggling catch by the keeper from a looping header.

Whether we got too comfortable too quickly I don’t know, but at some point Woking started to come back into the game. I couldn’t tell you exactly when it happened; it was very much frog in a pan syndrome. On the half hour mark, and this much is fact, Pattison jinked forwards and swiped one a foot wide from twenty yards. Then Brill dropped the ball amongst a crowd of bodies from a corner and the referee’s whistle had to rescue us from uncertainty.

It was just starting to sink home that all wasn’t as it should have been when Quamina won a free kick level with the area. The very same player swung it over and the ball ricocheted hither and thither before falling onto the boot of El Kholti. He sounds like an Indian meal that lad and his finish was definitely hot and spicy, scissor-kicking the ball past Brill at waist height.

As the eruption was heard all the way around Kingsfield, I checked my watch and saw we had six minutes to go until the interval. 1-1 away from home isn’t a disaster at half time but I was conscious of the cluelessness which had ensured after the last time Woking equalised against us. Half time words would have to be chosen carefully today.

Who was to say though we would even make it that far on level terms? Long before the board for injury time went up, Lambu headed to Marum deep in our half. The bubbly Cardinal spread the ball out to Meneil and there was time and space from a cross here. Meneil chose to whip it in early and this was a good decision, as Sole was well positioned to beat Pilkington and McCracken to the ball.

He had to dive to get his head on it and when he did it was a good connection. I thought it was a goal at the moment of contact but the header fizzed inches over and behind. We had survived. Sole put hands on head, perhaps wondering if that was the game’s key moment right there. Then he jogged back up the pitch and got on with it.

“It’s 1-0 to Crawley” a kind Woking fan shouted out from behind me.

The Red Devils are away to Rushden today. What a result that would be if it stayed the same! Still, we’ve got our own game to concentrate on. There was no way I could let Rushden’s poor first half influence what needed to be said in our dressing room.

Moments after Taylor went into the book for a foul on Pattison, the referee finally blew for half time.

[ScottleeSV]

“You started well but you’ve completely lost your grip. From the looks of it, I’d say there are too many players in this room who’ve overdone it on the turkey this year, too many who’ve overdone it on the old Christmas pudding and brandy combo. Don’t you think so, Brian?”

“Errr, yeah” he replied, looking up from his match programme. “Too much Christmas pudding. Definitely”.

To the faintest of background giggles, I swiped the programme off my assistant and dropped it on the nearest bench.

“Now pay attention” I continued. “A lot of you know only too well what happened on Boxing Day last year. I don’t want a repeat today, and I swear to God, if my Boxing Day gets ruined for the second year running, anybody still here this time next year will be doing extra training on Christmas morning. Now get out there and assert yourselves!”

Assert ourselves was the last thing we did. If anything we became even worse at the start of the second half. In the first five minutes both Pattison and Marum tried long range shots, one of which needed a full length save. Then in the 54th minute Sole turned Nicholls in centre midfield and curled a random ball through the inside channel. McCracken moved to intercept but caught his foot on a divot. The ball went past him and into the path of Menail.

The guy was through on goal here. Okay, it was from angle. He was still through though. As most of the ground rose to their feet and beckoned Menail to score, Brill shuffled out towards the corner edge of his six yard box and made himself look big. Menail made to shoot right-footed but delayed his shot by half a second, coaxing Brill into going down. Then Menail skilfully adjusted his feet to swish the ball above the keeper and into the centre of the netting. Goal.

As the Woking players gathered to celebrate an unlikely turnaround, our bunch looked at one another and marched dejectedly back to the centre circle. Before today Woking had only scored 19 goals in 23 league games, an average of 0.82 goals per game. Now, against us, they had 2 in one match. Talk about depressing.

The psychology of the match however had changed. The home side’s position had transformed from one of underdogs with nothing to lose into game leaders with all the world to try and hang onto. As a result, they dropped back. Initially our attacking response still didn’t look very threatening. But then the foraging Gnakpa won a free kick over on the right. Nicholls swung it in and from the resulting pinball, the ball fell to Keith Keane near the penalty spot.

Keane isn’t usually the most accurate of shooters but today his effort not only found the gap between Lorraine and Edworthy, it also flew into the top right hand corner. As I clenched my fist and breathed a sigh of relief, Keane ran towards the away fans slapping his chest. In this moment his facial expression seemed to bear a striking resemblance to Diego Maradona just after his goal against Greece at USA 94’.

Two each then, and still half an hour to play. The spirit of silly season was well and truly in play here at The Kingsfield Stadium. Had the balance of power swung back in our favour? I hoped so. After a further frantic ten minutes in which both sides had half chances, Easton and Byrne joined forces down the left wing. There didn’t look much on at first, but Byrne’s final little jink to Easton (the seventh between the two players in this one move) provided him with space to cross.

Like in the first half he aimed for Bowditch. And once again he found him. This time there was more space for the target-man, who attacked the ball on the half volley from six yards out and deflected it into the same top corner Keane had managed to find. Unbelievable! We’d gone from being behind to going ahead again! This time I couldn’t resist celebrating - punching the air, clasping Brian, you name it.

No sooner had I digested that, Quamina found Menail on the right wing with a wonderful cross-field pass. We looked loose here and had to be careful. Menail though made our life difficult by whipping it in first time. Remarkably the ball went straight onto the airborne foot of Marum like a target missile, and Marum caught it sweetly. The ball rocketed past Brill and Woking had equalised. What in the bleeding sweet Jesus was going on?

Three goals each and still seventeen minutes to go! At this juncture I hastily made some substitutes. Buckley replaced Taylor on the right wing and Lawrie came on for the ineffective Bridges. The ground was rocking by now, both sets of supporters chanting and jeering each twist in the tale. After a further few minutes in which – shock – not much happened, I went ahead and made a third change. This time it was Niven for Nicholls.

83 minutes played and Keane on the ball. The scorer of our second found Easton with a measured pass out left. Easton looked tired but determined to penetrate. Shuffling infield he found Niven, who then fed Lawrie with his back to goal. Lawrie’s attempted backheel was poor but the ball deflected back to Niven (just!), and the Scot now went through Bowditch. Marking was tight but Bowditch did well for himself and found some space to shoot. It would have to be a curler on his left foot.

Gindre saved it, tipping it around the post to great cheers everywhere. That would turn out to be our final big chance too. It was Woking who had most of the play in the final five but without troubling Brill for a winner. Honours even in a truly gut-busting encounter. I didn’t know whether to be happy or p!ssed off. How do you measure a performance like that?

------------

FINAL SCORE (att - 1289)

Woking 3 (El Kholti 38, Menail 54, Marum 73)

Luton Town 3 (Bowditch 16, 69, Keane 59)

------------

(other results)

AFC Wimbledon 2-0 Northwich

Burton 2-3 Cambridge

Droylsden 2-1 Macclesfield

Forest Green 1-3 Salisbury

Histon 4-2 Stevenage

Kettering 2-1 Kidderminster

Oxford 3-0 Ebbsfleet

Rushden 2-2 Crawley

St Albans 2-3 York

Tamworth 1-3 Grays

Weymouth 5-0 Mansfield

[font=Courier New][font=Courier New][font=Courier New][size=2]| Pos   | Inf   | Team          |       | Pld   | Won   | Drn   | Lst   | For   | Ag    | G.D.  | Pts   | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 1st   |       | Luton         |       | 24    | 17    | 5     | 2     | 54    | 24    | +30   | 56    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 2nd   |       | Rushden       |       | 24    | 17    | 4     | 3     | 56    | 22    | +34   | 55    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 3rd   |       | York City     |       | 24    | 14    | 5     | 5     | 45    | 30    | +15   | 47    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 4th   |       | Grays         |       | 24    | 13    | 7     | 4     | 52    | 25    | +27   | 46    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 5th   |       | Salisbury     |       | 24    | 11    | 10    | 3     | 42    | 28    | +14   | 43    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 6th   |       | Oxford        |       | 24    | 12    | 5     | 7     | 50    | 29    | +21   | 41    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 7th   |       | Histon        |       | 24    | 11    | 8     | 5     | 43    | 30    | +13   | 41    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 8th   |       | Weymouth      |       | 24    | 10    | 8     | 6     |  40   | 29    | +11   | 38    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 9th   |       | Forest Green  |       | 24    | 10    | 7     | 7     | 32    | 26    | +6    | 37    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 10th  |       | Crawley       |       | 24    | 11    | 4     | 9     | 42    | 40    | +2    | 37    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 11th  |       | Stevenage     |       | 24    | 9     | 10    | 5     | 43    | 42    | +1    | 37    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 12th  |       | Cambridge     |       | 24    | 9     | 7     | 8     | 32    | 31    | +1    | 34    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 13th  |       | Burton        |       | 24    | 9     | 7     | 8     | 34    | 35    | -1    | 34    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 14th  |       | AFC Wimbledon |       | 24    | 10    | 2     | 12    | 38    | 40    | -2    | 32    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 15th  |       | Mansfield     |       | 24    | 8     | 8     | 8     | 35    | 43    | -8    | 32    | [/size][/font]
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[font=Courier New][size=2]| 16th  |       | Kidderminster |       | 24    | 8     | 5     | 11    | 32    | 39    | -7    | 29    | [/size][/font]
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[font=Courier New][size=2]| 17th  |       | Woking        |       | 24    | 7     | 6     | 11    | 22    | 28    | -6    | 27    | [/size][/font]
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[font=Courier New][size=2]| 18th  |       | Ebbsfleet     |       | 24    | 6     | 6     | 12    | 22    | 37    | -15   | 24    | [/size][/font]
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[font=Courier New][size=2]| 19th  |       | Macclesfield  |       | 24    | 6     | 5     | 13    | 25    | 42    | -17   | 23    | [/size][/font]
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[font=Courier New][size=2]| 20th  |       | Kettering     |       | 24    | 5     | 7     | 12    | 30    | 41    | -11   | 22    | [/size][/font]
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[font=Courier New][size=2]| 21st  |       | Droylsden     |       | 24    | 4     | 4     | 16    | 32    | 54    | -22   | 16    | [/size][/font]
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[font=Courier New][size=2]| 22nd  |       | Northwich     |       | 24    | 3     | 5     | 16    | 18    | 47    | -29   | 14    | [/size][/font]
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[font=Courier New][size=2]| 23rd  |       | St Albans     |       | 24    | 3     | 5     | 16    | 23    | 53    | -30   | 14    | [/size][/font]
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[font=Courier New][size=2]| 24th  |       | Tamworth      |       | 24    | 3     | 4     | 17    | 17    | 43    | -26   | 13    | [/size][/font]
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[ScottleeSV]

27/12/09 - The pain tunnels

The last time I hired Towzer and Garry it cost me two thousand pounds for the privilege. This time the fee was only half that.

“You must be f__king kidding!” Towzer roared down the phone. “You can’t just set a price and then drop it the second time round. You’ve got to keep things consistent. If anything it should go up, inflation an’ all that”.

“It was only so much last time because I needed you to show me where he lived. You were essential to the trip. This time you’re not. I only want you two along to make me look threatening. If I don’t have you though, I’m sure I’ll still manage. Your presence this time is an optional bonus and not an essential, hence the price drop. Take it or leave it”.

The Two Ronnies decided to take it. A grand is still a grand.

I didn’t want Dave to see us coming like last time. Thus, once we were in range, Garry parked the car up half a mile short and we sneaked the rest of the way on foot. A knock on the door though told us Dave had either made us anyway or was out.

“Kick the lock in” I told Garry, glancing up and down the fourth floor corridor.

“With pleasure”.

Moments later we were in, and at first I thought we’d either got the wrong place or Dave had moved out. Boxes upon boxes were piled up everywhere; someone was definitely in the process of moving out or moving in. A slow scan with my eyes told me it was thankfully the former. Some of this stuff definitely had Dave’s stamp on it (the box full of sex toys for instance, just next to the coat stand).

“It’s still his place. Looks like we were just in time – he’s in the process of moving out”.

“Why would he do that?” Garry asked. “He can’t be that long ago since he moved in”.

“He probably decided to move after the last time we came. He probably wants to live his life without the likes of you guys knowing where”.

“He’s definitely not here though” Towzer confirmed, emerging from the main bedroom. “Looks like you’re out of luck. There’s no mobile phone lying around this time either, so it doesn’t look he’s planning to call you”.

“Maybe not, but have a closer look around anyway, see what you can find. And if you find any cash, keep it. Dave owes me a fortune”.

Towzer and Garry needed no incentive to go on a treasure hunt for free money. To begin with Garry went into the bathroom and Towzer joined me in the living room. Some of the boxes on the sofa were filled with porno DVDs, which was typical Dave. One though surprisingly wasn’t.

“Lassie versus Black Beauty 2: Requiem” I read out loud. “I didn’t know they’d made a sequel to this”.

“Yeah, came out a few months ago. Went straight to video”.

“I thought they both died at the end of the first one when the mineshaft roof collapsed and they fell inside?”

“No” the moustached one informed me, peering under the settee. “Turns out they survive the fall. Then they have a fight underground at the start of the second one and then both find different ways out”.

“Oh”.

Curiously I peered at the back of the box. There were three photos. In the first one, Lassie had her choppers around Black Beauty’s neck whilst they rolled down a hill together. In the second picture, an attractive woman in jodhpurs was running away from a barn as it burned to the ground. And in the third all you could see was Black with her hooves in the air doing some kind of intimidation thing.

If you ask me, cinema producers are running out of ideas these days.

“I’ve got something!” Garry called from the kitchen. Immediately I dropped the DVD and went to join him, Towzer hot on my trail.

“What is it?”

“This” he replied, showing me a note. “It was stuck to the fridge door”.

Pain Tunnels – Sunday – 3pm

“I don’t get it. Pain tunnels?”

“I know what it is” said Towzer. “It’s a brothel here in the Letchworth area. Muggins here went there once”.

Towzer nodded in the direction of Garry, who sheepishly switched his gaze to the floor.

“It’s a dominatrix kind of place, hence the name” he revealed. “There’s like one big corridor inside with some rooms going off it, and each room is like its own miniature dungeon”.

“Sounds like just the sort of place Dave would spend his time in” I opined.

Thinking fast, I checked my watch. It was already just after 3pm.

“If three o’clock is when his session starts then it’s literally just started” I continued. “Come on, if we go now we can catch him there”.

“You wanna actually go to The Pain Tunnels?” Towzer asked incredulously.

“Yes. If we come back another day he might have already moved out, and then we lose him. No, it has to be today. Come on, let’s move”.

Swiftly the three of us headed back to the car. Thanks to Garry’s razor-sharp recollection of where The Pain Tunnels was located, it didn’t take long to get there. Predictably the establishment was down the back alley of a little strip of shops on a rundown council estate i.e. it’s not the sort of place that relies on impulse business. Put simply, if you’re not actually looking for The Pain Tunnels, you won’t find them.

The front door was made of steel and covered in graffiti. Not wasting any time, I pushed my way through it. Beyond was a little makeshift reception area, and past that, a corridor stretching a good fifty yards. Occupying the front desk was a professional looking forty-something. She looked happy to see us.

“We’re looking for a guy” Garry stupidly blurted out.

“That's fine, we do try to cater for all tastes” smiled the woman. “Oh Timothy” she then said, pressing the button on her little intercom system. “We’ve got some new clients out here who require your loving atten – “

“No” I said firmly, putting my hand down on the console and ending the connection. “We’re looking for someone specific. His name is Dave Wheelie, and we know he’s got an appointment here today”.

“Any information about our clients is strictly confidential” the woman sighed.

“Maybe so, but if you don’t tell us which room he’s in, we’ll knock down every single door until we find him”.

The lady pursed her lips and thought it over. Then, evidently decided it wasn’t worth the trouble, she appeased us.

“He’s in with Abigail. Room Four at the very end”.

So be it.

"Come on" I said to the other two. "Let's go".

[ScottleeSV]

27/12/09 - Dave's torment

For a minute I was speechless. I think we all were. Nothing quite prepares you for the sight of a leather clad brunette stood over a naked ginger man strapped to a table. Nothing. Had Dave not been gagged with a little red ball, he might protested we had the wrong room.

“Well well” said Garry in his best P.C Plod voice.

“If it isn’t our friend, Mr Wheelie” followed Towzer.

“What’s going on” asked the woman, lowering her cane. Obviously this was Abigail.

“Relax. Just need to ask Dave here a few questions” I replied shakily.

Still not used to the surroundings, I stepped forwards to take Dave’s gag off. This place truly was a pit of sleaze. No wonder Towzer had looked resistant before we came. Around the room were shelves full of whips, masks, toys, and various other oddities. The walls were painted black too, just to give it an extra darkened feel. It truly was a masochist’s paradise. I was just grateful Dave was lying on his front and not the other way around.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Dave shouted once he was free to speak. “Get the hell out!”

“Shut up” I told him. “We need to talk and it’s got to be now before you disappear. I take it that’s what you’re planning on doing - disappearing? It’s okay; we’ve seen the removal boxes”.

“What do you want?”

“Why don’t you take a wild guess?”

“Look, I’ll admit it was my idea but I never seriously thought Randy would go through with it”.

‘What the hell?’

“Wow Dave, you’re even stupider than I thought” I exclaimed, pacing around the table. The others remained still. “I actually came to talk about my Dad, but let’s stick with this Randy thing for now. What are you talking about?”

Dave screwed his face up in disappointment. Clearly he was mad at himself, not that he could take it back now. The cat was out of the bag.

“Sometimes I chat with Begher at the strip club. One night I told him how much I hate Luton and he listened. Then we started laughing and talking about really complicated ways I could get back at the club for what they did to me. When I came out with the false rape claim suggestion, Randy said it was such a good idea I should do it for real. That was when he offered to set the whole thing up himself. Just so long as I had enough capital to pay the girls off. Which I did”.

“Hold on, just back up for one minute. Why would Randy Begher spend time drinking with you?” I questioned. “I’ve met him myself and you don’t exactly fit into his school of cool, Dave. No offence”.

“I – I spend a lot of money at Heavenly Hatters” Dave replied pathetically. “Randy likes to keep me happy, give me the best seats, the best girls etc”.

“That’s believable enough” Abigail interrupted. “He spends a lot of money here too”.

“Jesus, Dave! Dilic spares your life and this is how you repay him? I wonder what he’d say if I told him what you’ve just told me”.

“He’d kill him this time” voiced Towzer. “For sure. Absolutely. One hundred percent”.

“Please!” Dave wailed, suddenly less angry than he was scared. “Don’t tell him. I promise I’ll never do anything bad towards Luton again! I never even wanted The Royal Hotel thing to go ahead! I swear! Randy was the one who set it all in motion!”

“He wouldn’t have done though if you hadn’t paid him would he?”

“Yeah, Wheelie!” agreed Garry, a light bulb having switched on in his head.

“Look” I said, gesturing for Abigail to put Dave’s gag back on. “Originally I came here to persuade you never to tell anyone about who my real Dad is. In hindsight I was going to threaten you with Dilic anyway, I guess, but now the threat just got a lot more believable didn't it?”

It took a bit of forceful persuasion but Abigail just about managed to get Dave’s gag back in as I said all this. The red ball stretched his mouth out very wide, making him look very stupid.

“Now listen to me very carefully, Dave, because this is the important part” I continued, bending down to speak in his ear. “The three of us will keep quiet about your little role in The Royal Hotel affair, but in return, you’re going to forget you ever knew my Dad. If you ever sell the story, you’re a dead man. Understand?”

Unable to speak anymore, Dave theatrically nodded his head.

“There’s no statute of limitation on this either, Dave. This deal remains in play for life! And if the press ever find out about me and my Dad before I want them to find out, I’m just going to assume it was you who spilt the beans. Even if it wasn’t”.

Unless I was mistaken, Dave now glanced in the direction of Towzer and Garry. Was he perhaps worried they wouldn’t play by the same rules I was offering to play by? Too bad.

“Okay then, I think we’re done here. Abigail, you can errr resume whatever it was you were doing with him before. We’ll be on our way”.

“About time” said the buxom she-devil cheerfully. “I was starting to get restless”.

“Just out of curiosity” I added, glancing around the shelves. “What’s the most painful thing you can use on the clients that’s both legal and safe?”

“The Excrutiator” she replied without pause. “It’s a cattle prod. Very nasty. Dave only likes the tamer implements though. He’s a bit of a softie really”.

Experiencing something of a spontaneous afterthought, I got my wallet out and pulled from the exterior what I knew to be a wad containing two hundred pounds.

“Yeah well” I replied, handing the money over. “It’s good to try new things though isn’t it? Give him half an hour of The Excrutiator”.

Counting each bill feverishly, Abigail's eyes quickly lit up in delight. Dave’s eyes simply bulged in terror. As for Towzer and Garry, suffice to say they were now chuckling away like good uns.

“Dave” I said meanwhile, patting him on the shoulder blade. “Now don’t you worry; this one’s on me. Take care now!"

And that was that. The three of us turned around to leave. The last thing I saw as I closed the door to was the sight of Dave squirming fruitlessly on the table as Abigail scanned the shelves looking for The Excrutiator.

------------

“Ha, that was f__king brilliant!” Towzer shouted, as we marched back up the alley towards the car.

“Yeah, totally!” Garry agreed. “Give me five, Mr Manager!”

Without even thinking about it I slapped his hand. Probably still acting on the adrenalin of socking it to Dave, I then offered the same hand out for Towzer to slap.

“Get out of it” he said, turning me down flat.

I left my hand out though (and kept my grin on show with it), and when Towzer spotted this, he suddenly burst out laughing.

“That was so funny in there though!” he garbled. “Oh go on then you big tit”.

Slap!

[pooman2279]

Haha, that was brilliant. Poor Dave.

[ScottleeSV]

Poor Dave indeed : )

-----------------

29/12/10 - Rolling out the red carpet

“I’m surprised you haven’t hauled the press here for this” I said, keeping my eyes on the gates. “Isn’t that the whole point?”

“Not today it’s not” Bob replied. “Like I said earlier, today’s just a casual introduction and a quick tour of the premises. Glynn’s doing the whole press thing just before the kid’s first training session. That’s when you see every Tom, Dick, and Harry who’s ever held a camera turning up”.

“Speaking of Glynn, where is our esteemed marketing saviour?”

“On holiday – taken his wife and kids to the Swiss Alps over Christmas, I believe”.

As I briefly pondered the likelihood of Glynn accidently skiing off a cliff, the taxi bearing Henry double-barrel finally appeared on the horizon.

“Is that him?” I asked.

“Yep, that’s him alright”.

“I was expecting a horse and carriage or something”.

“Oh James!”

Bob was clearly taking this very seriously. As the taxi driver slithered into an empty spot, the acting chairman began straightening his tie and brushing invisible hairs from his trousers. Over by the souvenir shop, Cyril and Lee were peering around the doorframe in curiosity. Clearly they’d had a tip-off from somebody about who was coming. They don't pause Return of the Jedi for just any old arrival.

“I’m surprised there aren’t two British flags on the front corners of the taxi” I smiled.

"Pipe down” whispered Bob, a hint of sweat on his cheeks.

“We’d better get him inside quick in case Oswold is lining one up somewhere close”.

This time he didn’t bite.

Moments later and the newbie was in front of us, accompanied by a middle-aged woman I presumed at first was his mum. He was a thin lad, like a stick insect. And he wore glasses. It wasn’t a good start on the whole. Going purely on appearances I reckoned he be more likely suited to the five a side team I’d put together than the men’s side. If this kid could tackle professional footballers then I would seriously swallow my hat. If I had one.

“Henry Rhodes-Chatto, at your service!” he announced, holding his hand out.

“Nice to meet you” I said, giving it a good shake. Bob did the same.

“And I’m Collette, a friend of the Chatto family”.

Her voice was so snobbish, it was as if Margaret Oakenbridge Mark II was stood right here in front of me.

“Delighted” I lied, yet keeping my attention on Henry. “Now listen up. It’s good to have you here but there are do’s and don’ts at this club, and whenever we get a new signing, I always like to quickly go over some of the more pertinent ground rules– “

“Oh James” Bob grinned, cutting me off. “I’m sure Henry doesn’t need to hear all that waffle on his first visit. We don’t want to scare him off now do we?”

“But I –“

“I don’t suppose we could grab a cup of tea before we do the tour?” Collette said patronisingly. “I’m parched, and we’ve driven here all the way from Luton airport”.

‘Without stopping for a break?’ I thought about saying but didn’t.

“Of course we can get you a cuppa” said Bob.

“Oh thank the Lord for small mercies. We’ve had a ghastly journey haven’t we, Henry?”

“Intolerable” he agreed in his best Windsor of Eton accent.

As the next part of the story is far too painful to recollect – the cab driver beeped his horn so Bob asked me to go pay the fare – let’s just skip ahead to the foyer.

“So what position do you play, Henry” I enquired, as I took Collette’s coat. Bob shot me a fiery look for this but thankfully didn’t shout objection your honour.

“Well I prefer playing as a winger more than anywhere else. I find it suits me. I’ve scored one or two good goals coming in from the wing. I’m happy to play any position though really”.

“I see”.

“On we go, on we go!” announced Bob, waving everyone down the corridor like a fat Willy Wonka. “What shall we show them first, James?”

The communal offices seemed a reasonable start point. When I opened the door though (thankfully a few yards ahead of the other three) I was immediately presented with the grinning intrigued figures of Darren and Nicky. Quickly I shut the door again.

“Not the offices then?” Bob queried, as the entourage caught up to me.

“Well that’s what I thought at first, but then I thought they’re probably a bit boring. Besides, everybody’s probably working really hard in there. No sense in disturbing them. Why don’t we head to the changing rooms?”

“Oh splendid” said Henry. “Yes that sounds good”.

“Sorted then”.

When we got there I opened the door to find yet another problem; George Pilkington was lying naked on the bench that adjoins the walls with a towel over his face. I knew what he was doing. He was sunbathing. Ever since Dean Brill had first come up with the idea, it had become common practice amongst the players to turn the radiator up in the changing rooms and use the place as a makeshift sauna.

“On second thoughts” I said, quickly shutting the door again. “That’s probably a bit boring too. Why don’t we go and see the pitch?”

“Errr, right” said Bob, shooting me another look.

The other two merely shrugged and followed my shadow.

‘If Fred chases us with his pitchfork today, I might just accept that this tour wasn’t meant to be. Or the whole bloody signing for that matter'.

[ScottleeSV]

30/12/09, League Match 25

Luton Town v Oxford United

GK – Dean Brill (81 apps, 0 goals)

DL – Richie Byrne (20 apps, 0 goals)

DR – Claude Gnakpa (75 apps, 2 goals)

DC – George Pilkington (75 apps, 3 goals)

DC – Tony James (29 apps, 2 goals)

DMC – Kevin Nicholls (48 apps, 13 goals)

MC – Keith Keane (67 apps, 8 goals)

ML – Clint Easton (11 apps, 0 goals)

MR – Michael Taylor (20 apps, 0 goals)

FC – Michael Bridges (19 apps, 10 goals)

FC – Dean Bowditch (8 apps, 3 goals)

I was anticipating this to be one of our hardest home games of the season. Oxford were second favourites to get promoted after us before a ball was kicked. Since then they’ve disappointed their expectant fans, constantly flattering to deceive. In fact they went into this game not even occupying a playoff spot. That said, they were still sixth out of twenty four teams as the white and yellow shirts from either side took to the field of play.

It also needed to be remembered that in our first meeting this season the U’s performed better against us than any team has since, including the sides who have beaten us. Oxford absolutely battered us at the Kassam Stadium in August, racking up a winning shot count margin of 15-7. How we left with the three points is beyond me. It isn’t exaggerating matters however to claim that said undeserved victory probably saved my job.

With the exception of the absent Charlie Daniels, we were able to start full strength. Tony James returned in place of David McCracken and I hoped his renewing of the partnership with Pilkington would stop the defensive frailties so evident at Woking. One Henry Rhodes-Chatto, thank God, wasn’t due for this first training session until after the Rushden game. It was a problem for another day.

The first ten minutes were garbage. We set out to attack our visitors in the customary fashion but these were no ordinary opponents. Most Blue Square Premier sides come to Kenilworth Road and defend, at least whilst it’s still scoreless. Oxford however are a different kettle of fish. (I’ve never truly understood that phrase, by the way. Who puts fish in a kettle? I don’t).

Because Oxford seemingly wanted to attack as much as we did, they caught us unawares a couple of times before we settled down. On the first occasion Pilkington managed to mop up without penalty. The second time though, Murray worked some space down the left and saw Elder sneaking into the area unmarked. The cross was accurate and Elder got there with his head, the mistimed effort bouncing down on the turf and clipping the crossbar on its way over.

Michael Taylor has been getting better and better as the season has progressed. It’s not necessarily the young lad’s skills that have got better; he just seems to have learnt to run faster. Is that even possible? Regardless, in the 15th minute today he received a pass from Keane and went on a wonderful dribble on a diagonal. Left and right he weaved, tormenting poor Carruthers for all he was worth. The eventual shot, twenty or so yards out, went through the defender’s legs and skimmed many a grass blade on its way a foot wide of the far post.

Back came Oxford, passing the ball well. They score lots of goals according to the league table and I could see why. Day to Royce. Back to Day. Forward to Elder. Then a neat little triangle involving himself, Rhodes, and Murray. The home fans were getting annoyed with this. Lots of yellow shirts meanwhile were pouring forward, a great many of them calling for the ball. Amidst a shamefully wide tackle from James, the first jeer rang out. Seconds later Burnell had switched feet and slipped a ball through to Elder in the area. There was a chance here.

Brill shot out of his goal like a rabbit, but Elder was too quick of mind. Without missing a blink he poked one in the general direction of the goal and the keeper could only deflect it into the back of the net on his way to ground. Goal. The roar from the away fans was so large I was almost startled. One forgets Oxford are well supported. There must have been a thousand of the blighters behind that goal today, and they were all going ape at the moment.

I didn’t want to lose this game. Or even draw it. Wildly I shouted and bawled for certain individuals to sort their heads out. We'd hardly done anything for the twenty one minutes leading up the goal and I wasn’t best pleased about it. Depressingly however, things didn’t improve immediately thereafter. The half hour mark came and went with barely a whimper. Oxford were just too keen and hungry in midfield.

In the 34th minute, Farrell tried to swing one in from deep for Elder to get his head on. The ball was clearly going through to Brill, but Pilkington, having one of those afternoons, headed it up in the air when he didn’t need to. Murray gathered the ball outside the area and danger was imminent. At first I thought he was going to belt one. Instead he fooled the whole ground and its dog by slipping Rhodes in to his right.

Once Rhodes had taken a heavy touch, the angle was too acute for a shot. What he could still do though was chip it back across for somebody else to score. So that’s what he did. Time seemed to stand still as Elder jumped on the edge of the six yard box to finish the move off. Only he didn’t. His downwards header didn’t connect with enough head, and the ball hit the post. First to the rebound, ten yards back, was Murray. He swiped at it forcefully but miscued and sent the ball swirling out towards the corner flag.

Mother of Nora! What was going on out there?

In the final five minutes of the half we finally caused some waves down the opposite end beyond Taylor simply dribbling around and hoping for the best. First Keane into the comfortable arms of Turley before Bridges headed one wide when off-balance from a corner. They weren’t what you would call good chances though. I wouldn’t even say they were half chances. They were more like quarter chances, or even pieces-of-eight chances.

There was definitely work to do at the break. As things stood, we were in danger of losing our unbeaten home record.

[ScottleeSV]

The soundings off I dish out at half time often have the wrong effect more than the right one. Today though, somehow, was a day I struck the right chord. As soon as the ref blew to mark the start of the second half, the game changed. Sharper in the tackle, quicker to the ball, we were infinitely better in all departments. Oxford immediately retreated deep in their own half perhaps as the magnitude of the scalp they were about to claim was sinking in.

Just two minutes in, Taylor lifted the fans by winning a corner off Day. The curler from Nicholls glanced off Byrne at the near post and was headed into the net by Pilkington. Prior to this though the referee had blown for one of those invisible pushes nobody knows anything about – talk about let off for the U’s. The setback didn’t discourage us however; for the next ten minutes we pushed and probed and pushed again.

57 minutes, penetration by Keane. The midfielder somehow held off a thuggish bit of shirt-pulling from Foster to bully his way into the final third. Options presented themselves left and right but Keane probably held onto the ball slightly too long, his eventual pass out to Bridges giving the defence chance to re-fortify itself. By the time the striker had collected and shaped himself to shoot, the angle was tight, the ball careering towards the by-line. That said; his shot was still commendably on target. Turley had to beat it down into the ground and behind for a corner.

Once that had come to nothing, we soon began again. On this occasion, Nicholls and Keane swapped short passes just inside the Oxford half. The Skip was off on a run here and yellow shirts were backing off and backing off. Bowditch was calling for the ball in the area and that seemed to distract Carruthers, the man directly in front of Nicholls. With a sudden change of pace that was almost Gerrard-esque, Nicholls darted to Carruthers’ right and dribbled into the area.

Then the booming shot across the keeper. It was hit at a good height for him to save but was just flying too fast through the air. The ball arrowed in off the far post for a truly wonderful goal. Seriously, that was the stuff of Georgie Best. In gratitude I was off celebrating like a madman, fist clenching and overstepping the boundaries of my technical area. Nicholls and the players all huddled together amidst the noise of the cauldron and exchanged much love.

There was no let up for the visitors once the game restarted. The momentum firmly in our favour, we went for the kill. In the 66th minute Easton fed Taylor with a sumptuous cross-field pass. The winger took it in his stride and then tormented Day with his trickery. Taylor, it seemed, had added to his armoury the ability to force a defender backwards before making the cross. He did this now and then stood up a ball towards the back post where Bowditch was arriving.

He might have been flanked by two defenders but Bowditch’s run and leap were both perfect, as was the ball. The in-form striker headed home from all of two yards out and if Kenilworth Road had a roof it now would have come off. The scorer slid onto his knees and was joined by six or seven ecstatic colleagues. Brian and I briefly jumped/hugged and then composed ourselves - there was still just over twenty minutes to play.

Oxford almost hit back straight away, Farrell curling a vicious shot from twenty yards just to the side of Brill’s left hand post. That would have been cruel. Fearful of a potential backlash, and/or a period of complacency, I made substitutions. McCracken came on for James and Buckley for Taylor. Oxford still made a decent fistful of retaining the initiative though. Patiently they passed the ball around and asked a few questions.

However, the moment I probably knew we were going to win the game was in the 75th minute. At this point Oxford smartly exchanged twenty passes in our half before losing the ball to Pilkington. Having knocked it around so well, it was a demoralising moment for the U’s and I knew it. A couple of minutes later I subbed Bridges off for Lawrie and preyed my work was enough. I even sat down in the dugout and crossed my fingers. Yes, I’m superstitious like that.

I needn’t have worried. As previously alluded to, all the significant damage on Oxford had been inflicted. If anybody was going to add to the score-line now it would be us on the break. After 83 minutes Clint Easton broke the offside trap but didn’t have the pace to finish things off. Instead he laid a pass sideways to Bowditch under pressure from Oxford sub Trainer. Bowditch stormed into the area but screwed his shot wide.

With three minutes to go however we finally did make the game safe. It was a landmark goal too, Richie Byrne’s first for the club. A corner from the left was glanced away Carruthers and Byrne elected to smack one from twenty yards out through a crowd of bodies. It wasn’t the most cleanly struck of efforts, bouncing once on its pitiful journey into the far corner. Turley was completely unsighted and as such didn’t even bother to move. Talk about the perfect end to a perfect second half.

“Just a quick word before you all leave” I announced in the changing room afterwards. “Good win today, as you know. I’d just like to thank everyone for some terrific work in 2009; this of course is our last game this calendar year. Despite dropping down a league, I think the team is in a much better shape now than it was this time twelve months ago. So give yourselves a pat on the back.

“Make it a brief pat though. Our next game is away to Rushden, and I’m sure I don’t need to tell anybody how big a game that’s going to be. In fact it could shape our entire 2010. Therefore, party hard tomorrow night but rest up the day after. Today was a great effort but it all counts for naught if we lose at Rushden. Okay, that’s it. Well done and see you next year”.

--------------

FINAL SCORE (att - 4477)

Luton Town 3 (Nicholls 61, Bowditch 66, Byrne 87)

Oxford United 1 (Elder 21)

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(other results)

Cambridge 4-0 St Albans

Crawley 2-0 Histon

Ebbsfleet 1-2 Rushden

Grays 3-0 Forest Green

Kidderminster 1-1 Woking

Macclesfield 3-3 AFC Wimbledon

Mansfield 2-1 Kettering

Northwich 3-3 Weymouth

Salisbury 4-0 Droylsden

Stevenage 3-0 Burton

York 2-0 Tamworth

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(top of table)

Luton Town (59)

----------------------

Rushden (58)

York City (50)

Grays Athletic (49)

Salisbury (41)

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Oxford United (41)

Histon (41)

Stevenage (40)

[ScottleeSV]

31/12/09 - Gulliver's travels

There were new guest ales on today. Just to avoid the time consuming sales pitch from Gav, I chose a pint of Wobbly Hippo and Brian ordered a Bermuda Triangle.

“I hope this isn’t going to disorientate me and get me lost” my assistant said.

“Come off it” Gave replied. “It’s only 4.6%”.

“No I meant disorientate me like the real life Bermuda Tri – forget it”.

Once we were seated Brian whipped out the latest copy of the Non-League Paper. Just by the way he did this I could tell there was an article he wanted to show me. Normally he’d keep the paper hidden until I went to the bog, or back to the bar for a second pint.

“I thought that only comes out on a Sunday? It’s Friday today”.

“It’s a special edition because there was a full programme of fixtures yesterday. Anyway, take a look at this. It’s a small interview with a guy called Phil Gulliver. Remember him? Rushden and Diamonds centre half?”

“Yeah I remember him”.

The correct page now turned to and facing me, I began to read.

Rushden and Luton prepare to face off, by Aaron Simple

With only a couple of days to go until the top two meet in the Blue Square Premier, Rushden and Diamonds stalwart Phil Gulliver believes the Northamptonshire side have what it takes to make a huge statement in their bid for the title. Both Rushden and Luton have held narrow leads across the course of the season, but going into Sunday’s gargantuan encounter, it’s the Hatters who hold a one point lead over their rivals.

Speaking yesterday from Rushden’s training camp near Nene Park, Gulliver told The Non-League Paper all about his side’s chances of winning the game, together with his perhaps unknown personal obsession about television zappers!

“We’re in good spirits, very good spirits" he said of camp confidence. "We probably didn’t do ourselves justice when we last played them. Everybody’s desperate to put that right on Sunday though. We need to win the game and we think we can do it. Everything’s set up for us, to be honest. We’ll have home advantage, a big crowd, lots of confidence coming in from the Ebbsfleet game. It’s all good”.

Of opponents Luton, Gulliver was respectful but certainly not intimidated.

“Obviously they’re a good side. Away from home though they’ve had one or two dodgy results now and then, so hopefully they’ll be on the end of another one when they come to our place. They certainly don’t scare us that’s for sure”.

So what is this about the centre half’s strange obsession with telly remotes? The beans were spilled to The Non-League Paper by goalkeeper Alan Marriott and the story simply begged to be followed up on.

“Oh” laughs Gulliver. “Well, that’s kind of a weird thing. Basically, I accidentally brought the telly zapper to a match one day; it got in my sports bag somehow when I left the house. Anyway, from that day forwards we went on an amazing run of wins. So now, I always bring the remote with me and then kiss it in the tunnel before kick-off, you know, for good luck”.

Rushden will certainly be hoping to zap Luton on Sunday. A win will take them two points clear. On a closing note, local police have advised both home and away fans to arrive early due to the unusually high numbers who have tickets for the game. Both sets of supporters are close to selling their entire allocations with the match expected to be a 6400 sell-out.

“What do you think?” Brian asked, folding the paper away.

“I don’t know. This match scares me, I think. I’d forgotten about the probability of a huge crowd. It’s going to be a hell of an atmosphere. Now that I think about it, I think Caroline mentioned something about us getting two sides of the ground. If that’s true then it’s going to be roughly three thousand fans against three thousand others fans. It’ll be like a cup final atmosphere. I’d take a draw though. God knows I’d take a draw”.

“Me too. Oh, and I can’t be assed getting the paper out again but the Live Bunny draw’s been made”.

“Who’ve we got?”

“Salisbury at home”.

“Hey, that’s not a bad draw”.

It most certainly wasn’t, especially when you looked at some of the other ties in the last eight. Rushden were at home to York, Macclesfield at home to Histon, and Forest Green were at home to surprise package Team Bath. Brian had all the pairings memorized.

Okay so our draw probably wasn’t as good as Forest Green’s, but when you consider we could have got Rushden or York, it really wasn’t that bad. We’d also managed to avoid being drawn away – another important bonus.

“We might avoid Nadine and her crew this time” I speculated, knocking back some Wobbly Hippo. “Rushden against York will surely be tie of the round? That’s second against third right there”.

“Yeah you’d think so. Hell, even Forest Green against Team Bath is more interesting than our match if only because it’s two teams from different divisions. Us against Salisbury is just a home banker. Well, if we’re on our game it will be anyway”.

I completely agreed, although why we were deep in debate about the Live Bunny Cup when the big game against Rushden was only two days away, I just cannot explain.

Maybe it was that Wobbly Triangle?

No that doesn’t sound right.

What’s wrong with me? I only had one.

[ScottleeSV]

December 2009 round-up of the divisons

----------

Premiership

Top – Chelsea (47), Liverpool (46), Man City (42), Arsenal (40), Man Utd (38), Aston Villa (31), Everton (31)

Bottom – West Ham (22), Ipswich (22), Blackburn (21), Bolton (21), Charlton (16), Stoke (13)

The Blues lead was cut to just one point in December, Liverpool doing a respectable job of hanging onto their coat-tails. Man City will be happy enough with third. Arsenal and Man Utd meanwhile are in danger of missing out on the Champion’s League.

The ever reliable Fernando Torres is now top sharpshooter with 11 goals. At the bottom, Stoke and Charlton are beginning to get left behind. Ipswich though had a very good month and climb narrowly out of the relegation zone. I suppose you would have to say West Ham are currently the biggest club in danger of going down.

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Championship

Top – Birmingham (50), Portsmouth (49), Wolves (49), Fulham (40), Hull City (40), Bristol City (40), Q.P.R (39)

Bottom – Preston (28), Nottingham Forest (27), Leicester (27), Doncaster (27), Millwall (25), Sheff Utd (22)

Birmingham have leapfrogged local rivals Wolves into top spot. To add further to the woes at Molineux, Portsmouth have come out of nowhere to snatch second. It’s any two from three, you feel. At least Ebanks-Blake is still top goal scorer; he’s netted 11 times.

Down in the basement, Sheff Utd have plummeted to unknown depths. They now prop up the league. Forest and Leicester are arguably the other big guns in the mix. Plymouth had a good December and are now clear of the bottom few.

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League One

Top – Norwich (51), Blackpool (43), Brighton (42), MK Dons (42), Crystal Palace (40), Southend (38), Tranmere (36)

Bottom – Hartlepool (25), Rochdale (25), Oldham (24), Huddersfield (23), Stockport (23), Darlington (18)

It was a fantastic month for Pa. His Norwich side have gone from only leading the division on goal difference to being a massive 8 pts clear. Surely they won’t be caught? Lots of seaside towns are still fighting it out to join them – Blackpool, Brighton, and Southend all have a sniff.

Much better stuff from Oldham Athletic - rising from bottom to fourth bottom. They are replaced by Darlington, out of their depth at this level and surely going straight back down. Huddersfield are conspicuous by their presence in third bottom. The league’s top scorer is Rickie Lambert with 15.

--------------

League Two

Top – Notts County (46), Morecambe (45), Port Vale (43), Gillingham (43), Cheltenham (39), Bury (36), Exeter (35)

Bottom – Brentford (25), Bournemouth (24), Torquay (24), Dag & Red (22), Wycombe (20), Wrexham (20)

Not good times at Vale Park. The Valiants fall from first to third after a torrid month. Shooting past them are in-form Notts County, whilst Morecambe hold steady in second. Exeter are the new kids on the playoff block. Top marksmen at this level is Morecambe’s Diamuid O’Carroll with 13 goals.

It’s a right old scrap at the bottom and no mistake. Wrexham have hauled themselves up a little bit but remain at the foot. They’re joined by struggling Wycombe. Nobody’s drifted away though. Things could still change in big ways as far as this little battle’s concerned.

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Blue Square North

Top – Altrincham (41), Southport (37), Blyth Spartans (36), Hinckley (35), Stafford (33), Worcester (33), Gainsborough (32)

Bottom – Barrow (23), Redditch (21), Workington (21), Kings Lynn (21), Solihull (19), Boston Utd (19), Leigh Genesis (7)

Recently relegated Altrincham really showed their mettle in December. They accumulated 13 pts to move top ahead of Southport and Blyth. Aside from that, the positions really didn’t change much. Danny Holland of Harrogate tops the scoring charts with 10 strikes to his name.

Leigh Genesis continue to be one of the worst performing sides I’ve ever been privy to. They didn’t pick up a single point last month and now trail their nearest rivals by 12 pts. It’s going to be a long rest of the season for them. Barrow, Kings Lynn, and Boston are all still seriously underachieving.

-------------

Blue Square South

Top – Chelmsford (42), Eastbourne (40), Welling (37), Braintree (37), Basingstoke (35), Newport (34), Bognor Regis (33)

Bottom – Merthyr Tydfil (22), Fisher (21), Bath City (20), Bishops Stortford (19), Farnborough (13), Sutton Utd (9), Ashford of Middlesex (9)

Another side to suddenly spring up out of the pack is Chelmsford. They were third at the end of November but now lead the way. It looks like being between them and Eastbourne for the title. Former Conference Premier sides Welling and Newport may still have something to say about that though.

This division has the most clear-cut relegation ‘battle’ of them all. You might as well stop all bets now because Farnborough, Sutton, and Ashford are going down. Oh okay, maybe Farnborough still have a chance. Not much of one though. Top scorer in the Blue Square South is James Lawson of leaders Chelmsford with 11 goals.

[banglared]

Liverpool never seem to do that well when controlled by AI funnily enough....

BTW, Wolves' stadium is spelt 'Molineux'.