Pirates of the Northatlantic: The Rovers Return

[davidbr]

I guess in all our lives there’s what we’d call a “day to forget†– 23rd July, 2002; that was mine. That was the day I went from being one of the hottest young prospects outside of the Premiership, to a drunken cripple who was one day rescued by a long-lost friend. Little did I know, the adventure was only just beginning..

First off, a bit of background. My name’s Edward Hamilton, everyone calls me Teddy, and I’m a footballer – or rather, I was a footballer. I was born in Cromer, a small Norfolk seaside town about thirty miles north of Norwich, and I grew up with a ball at my feet. My father was a schoolteacher but I had no interest in academic life, the only reason I went to school at all was because it was the one place I could always guarantee to find a few kids to kick a ball around with. No, football was my life, and I always knew what I wanted to be.

At 14 I became the youngest player to appear for East Dereham Town, at 16 I made my debut for Kings Lynn in the Doctor Martens’ League and after two seasons with the non-leaguers I got my big break; Peterborough United, then in the Third Division, had been watching me, obviously liked what they saw and came in with a £50,000 bid. I was a centre midfielder, I had an eye for goal too, and I quickly became a firm fixture in the Posh first X1. The fans had warmed to me too, and my status as a club legend was confirmed when I scored the only goal against Darlington in the 1999/2000 Third Division play-off final, that win at Wembley ending the club’s three-year exile in England’s bottom division.

Peterborough kept their Second Division status with relative comfort, finishing 12th in 2000/01 and then 17th the following season, and in that 01/02 campaign I was an ever-present, scoring 17 goals in 46 league appearances, and was voted Supporters’ Player of the Year for the second year running.

I’d also earned a call-up to the Wales squad the year before (my mother was Welsh) and had just won my seventh cap. The proudest moment of my entire career was scoring for Wales against Italy in the San Siro and listening to 60,000-odd screaming Italians go silent; we lost 4-1 that day, but those memories will never leave me. My international adventures had brought me to the attention of several top clubs, and finally in July 2002, the day after my 21st birthday, I moved to Tottenham for a fee of four million pounds; at the time, a record for a lower-league player. Sadly, I never got to play for them; just as my life should have been beginning, it very nearly ended in the blink of an eye.

[davidbr]

I guess in all our lives there’s what we’d call a “day to forget†– 23rd July, 2002; that was mine. That was the day I went from being one of the hottest young prospects outside of the Premiership, to a drunken cripple who was one day rescued by a long-lost friend. Little did I know, the adventure was only just beginning..

First off, a bit of background. My name’s Edward Hamilton, everyone calls me Teddy, and I’m a footballer – or rather, I was a footballer. I was born in Cromer, a small Norfolk seaside town about thirty miles north of Norwich, and I grew up with a ball at my feet. My father was a schoolteacher but I had no interest in academic life, the only reason I went to school at all was because it was the one place I could always guarantee to find a few kids to kick a ball around with. No, football was my life, and I always knew what I wanted to be.

At 14 I became the youngest player to appear for East Dereham Town, at 16 I made my debut for Kings Lynn in the Doctor Martens’ League and after two seasons with the non-leaguers I got my big break; Peterborough United, then in the Third Division, had been watching me, obviously liked what they saw and came in with a £50,000 bid. I was a centre midfielder, I had an eye for goal too, and I quickly became a firm fixture in the Posh first X1. The fans had warmed to me too, and my status as a club legend was confirmed when I scored the only goal against Darlington in the 1999/2000 Third Division play-off final, that win at Wembley ending the club’s three-year exile in England’s bottom division.

Peterborough kept their Second Division status with relative comfort, finishing 12th in 2000/01 and then 17th the following season, and in that 01/02 campaign I was an ever-present, scoring 17 goals in 46 league appearances, and was voted Supporters’ Player of the Year for the second year running.

I’d also earned a call-up to the Wales squad the year before (my mother was Welsh) and had just won my seventh cap. The proudest moment of my entire career was scoring for Wales against Italy in the San Siro and listening to 60,000-odd screaming Italians go silent; we lost 4-1 that day, but those memories will never leave me. My international adventures had brought me to the attention of several top clubs, and finally in July 2002, the day after my 21st birthday, I moved to Tottenham for a fee of four million pounds; at the time, a record for a lower-league player. Sadly, I never got to play for them; just as my life should have been beginning, it very nearly ended in the blink of an eye.

[davidbr]

At the time I was dating a girl who I thought was the love of my life, she obviously thought differently and on the evening of July 23rd we’d been out for a meal when she told me it was all over between us. I was devastated, polished off more than a bottle of Grouse and then decided it was a good idea to drive home. I can remember skidding across the road, then pain, then darkness, then nothing.

I woke up nearly two months later, in the Intensive Care Unit at the Royal London Hospital. Doctors told me I’d “died†three times on the way to hospital and had needed four operations and thirty pints of blood just to stay alive. They left the really devastating news until later, though; in the crash I’d shattered both my legs, my right arm and my three lower vertebrae. I’d need extensive surgery but they said I’d probably never walk again let alone play football again.

And so it was that, nearly fourteen months and twenty-one operations later I walked, or rather hobbled, out of that hospital, hid in a whisky bottle and stayed there for as long as I could. But I missed football so much that, when I’d got myself as fit as I could, I signed up with one of the Sunday teams that play on the Hackney Marshes, just for the sheer love of having a ball at my feet again. And then came the moment I hit rock-bottom, when one day the manager told me he didn’t think I was “up to it†and that I was dropped for the next game. I mean I’d played in internationals, I’d played at the San Siro and the Bernabeu in my Wales days, and now I was being told I wasn’t even good enough to play against a bunch of fat pub regulars on a Sunday morning?

That, for me, was the final straw. I went home, opened a bottle of pills, and waited for darkness to engulf me.

[davidbr]

I’m not sure who it was, some philosopher or another, who said it’s when you’re at your lowest in life that your opportunities occur. And so it happened to me. I came round a week after my suicide attempt (apparently one of the neighbours had found me and called an ambulance) to the sound of the familiar monotonous bleeping of the Intensive Care monitors, and the unmistakeable sight of Richard Moore standing over me.

Richard, or Ratty as he’s universally known, and I go back a long way. He was a senior pro at Kings Lynn when I first signed for them, I roomed with him for a while, and we’d become firm friends. After my accident, though, we’d kind of lost touch, and it’d been the best part of two years since we’d spoken. Now, having heard about my overdose in the press (it was one of those “ex-pro hits troubled times†tales so beloved of the tabloids) here he was standing at my bedside. A no-nonsense Yorkshire lad, Ratty never was one to stand on ceremony.

“Think you’re ****ing clever, do you, all this attention??â€

Like I say, Ratty had always been a sensitive soul. It’s just as well he’d never considered a career in the Samaritans; you wouldn’t be able to move on London Bridge for falling bodies. I tried to mumble an answer, but was immediately interrupted.

“Shut the **** up. I’ve got an offer for you, now listen hard.â€

[davidbr]

And so I led there in silence, as Ratty mapped out his vision of my future. Much of it was stunned silence; in the time since we’d last crossed paths, a lot had happened to my old mate.

What had happened? 7, 18, 21, 34, 41 and 45, that’s what had happened. Those were the six numbers that flashed up on the BBC one Saturday night, and those were the six winning numbers on that evening’s National Lottery draw. Yep, that’s right, my former team-mate, a man who’d been living above a kebab shop in Kings Lynn and never had two brass farthings to rub together, had gone and won the f**king lottery!!

“How much?â€

“Twelve and a half million!!â€

By now, several nurses had stopped work to eavesdrop on our conversation, and I distinctly saw one pretty young thing undo the top button on her uniform to display just a hint of cleavage.

“Jeez, congratulations, mate. What’re you gonna do with it?â€

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.â€

Ratty began to explain. Unlike me, he’d never had much of a playing career to write home about, had spent a few seasons around various lower-division clubs without making much of an impression before eventually dropping down into non-league football and, at 36, he’d retired from the game altogether at the end of the last season (we were in June 2005). His unexpected windfall had spared him the life of monotonous drudgery that awaits most ex-footballers who retire without much of an education or a Beckham-esque bank balance to fall back on, and he’d always had one over-riding dream; to own a football club.

Now, even with an eight-figure sum in the bank, buying up a football club isn’t all that easy to do. It cost Malcolm Glazer almost a billion to buy up Man U and you’d need a good fifty or sixty million to even come close to getting your hands on a Premiership side. No, Ratty was going to have to lower his sights, and here again luck was on his side.

Bristol’s a long way from Kings Lynn and even further from Ratty’s native Sheffield, but it was here he’d finally achieve his dream. Gripped by a power struggle and heavily in debt, League Two strugglers Bristol Rovers were prime candidates for a takeover. Geoff Dunford and the other board members didn’t put up much resistance when Ratty came calling with his cheque-book, in the end it cost him nearly half his Lottery cash but at the start of June, 2005, Richard Moore had been proudly unveiled as the new owner of Bristol Rovers Football Club.

And, what part would I play in this revolution? I was going to be the manager!!

[davidbr]

Right, time for some technical drivel. This is being played on FM06, v.6.03 (minus the data update) and we've got loaded the leagues of England (all divisions), Scotland (all), Wales (all), and Northern Ireland (top two only). Database size is set to Huge.

[davidbr]

So that’s how, one hot summer’s day in early July 2005, I came to find myself on a train from London, heading west towards unfamiliar territory. I’d never been to Bristol before, the one season Hartlepool had been in the same division as Rovers I’d missed the trip through suspension, never had to face Bristol City either and had never seen any good reason to make a special journey. And, as my train pulled up at Temple Meads Station, a good hour late as per usual, I would admit to feeling more than a bit apprehensive. I mean, from what I’d heard the West Country was full of strange folk, who spoke an unintelligible dialect based on the words “ooh†and “aar†and spent their evenings listening to the Wurzels whilst knocking back vast quantities of fermented apple juice powerful enough to kill an elephant at ten paces.

In fact Bristol’s a thoroughly modern city, and when I stepped onto the platform there wasn’t a farmer, Wurzel or a pair of wellies in sight. Ratty had been living down here for a month or so, he’d bought himself a flat smack-bang in the middle of the city centre, and for the time being at least I’d be lodging with him; it was a great relief that my new beginning in a new city didn’t have to include a spot of house-hunting.

Since, given Britain’s wonderful rail network, I had no idea what time I’d finally get here, I’d arranged to meet Ratty in a pub, the Bay Horse, in the centre of town; from the sounds of it he’d already found his “localâ€. Right now, after a hellish train journey, I was hot, bothered and fed up so the idea of a pint or five suited me fine. Deciding that some fresh air would help revive me, I decided to walk the mile or so from Temple Meads to the town centre; given that I’m a man who could get lost on a straight road, what happened next was all too predictable. Yep, I got lost.

Still, I made it in the end, ordered a very large whisky from the attractive young girl behind the bar (I couldn’t fault Ratty on his choice of pub so far) I wandered over to join my new boss at his table, where he was finishing off the dregs of his third or fourth pint. He’d brought along some papers for me to have a look at, just basic stuff about the club and the like, and the rest of the afternoon into evening were lost in an alcohol-fuelled discussion of our grand vision for Bristol Rovers Football Club.

Author's note: Something that I missed off the "technical guff" post. I don't live in Bristol (although I have visited the city), any pubs/clubs/casinos etc mentioned by name are taken from Net sources and should be regarded, detail-wise, as entirely fictional.

I guess what I'm getting at is, if you should go to Bristol, end up in a bar where Teddy & co had a whale of a time and find it's a dump - don't blame me!!

[sherm]

got to say i like this start

very informative, writing is good and bodes well for rest of the story kutgw pal

[davidbr]

<BLOCKQUOTE class="ip-ubbcode-quote"><div class="ip-ubbcode-quote-title">quote:</div><div class="ip-ubbcode-quote-content">Originally posted by sherm:

got to say i like this start

very informative, writing is good and bodes well for rest of the story kutgw pal </div></BLOCKQUOTE>

Cheers for the comments, sherm

The first part of this story has been posted on another site, but that one appears to have died a death.

[davidbr]

First, perhaps I’d better start with a brief introduction of Bristol Rovers, and of Bristol itself. Bristol’s a city in the South-West of England, in fact it’s the main city in the South-West of England, and the population’s somewhere around the half million mark; in other words not small, but not exactly overwhelmingly large either. It’s a city with a long and varied history behind it; not all of it positive, mind you – Bristol’s main claim to fame is as a leading centre for the slave trade - but on the whole it seemed to be a pleasant enough place, with a pace of life that was far more sedate than the London I’d just left behind.

However while the city itself may have made its impact on history, Bristol Rovers FC most certainly have not. The club’s nickname, as you’ve probably gathered from the title of this story, is “The Piratesâ€, and consequently their badge features a pirate and the club mascot is also, you’ve guessed it, a six-foot blue and white pirate. A pair of Third Division championships, in 1990 and way back in 1953, is all there is to show for more than a century’s existence, Rovers have never played in the English top flight and, until fairly recently, they’d never played in the bottom division either.

That all changed in May 2001, when just a year after narrowly missing out on a play-off spot a 2-1 defeat to Wycombe Wanderers condemned them to relegation to the Third Division, or League Two as it is now. In the four seasons since they’ve never threatened the top of the League Two table, finishing 23rd, 20th and 15th, and even last year’s 12th place couldn’t hide yet another season spent glancing over their shoulders towards the Conference trapdoor. Managers, in that time, have come and gone, but it seems to have been Geoff Dunford who’s borne the brunt of the Pirates’ fans vitriol. A lack of investment and bad managerial appointments by Dunford and his board have been blamed for Rovers current desperate plight, financially the drop down the leagues had taken its toll. Faced with a club in debt and growing hatred from the fans, which apparently included attacks on Dunford’s business interests and family, he didn’t hesitate to accept Richard Moore’s (Ratty’s) takeover offer. The fans seemed to have welcomed Ratty on board, then I guess right now they’d have seen Ronald McDonald as a positive change.

So, what were our, my, aims for the season ahead? Ratty just wanted mid-table respectability, I wanted to prove a point. Since I had no managerial experience, I wasn’t expecting my appointment to receive a universal welcome, but some of the things that have been printed in the local rags over recent days, dredging up incidents in my past and, especially, the crash, have been very painful for me. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help taking some of the comments personally.

So, I’m gunning for promotion, I’ll show the bastards what I can do. Realistic? I don’t know a lot about the squad I’ve inherited (pre-season training starts in a couple of days) but looking at their form last season there doesn’t seem to be a huge amount of talent here. Transfer-wise, Ratty’s agreed to make available £500,000 should I need it, but this isn’t going to be about a club with a sugar daddy. Once we’re back on our feet, Bristol Rovers is going to have to pay its own way, and I’m anticipating most of the players I bring in will be on free transfers. Still, I’m confident. I’ve got a plan.

[davidbr]

6th July 2005

“Giggs cuts inside, finds Hamilton. He’s past Cannavaro, away from Nesta. Hamilton on his left foot..1-0!!! That’s a lovely finish from Teddy Hamilton, and Wales take a shock lead at the San Siro!â€

Just as I prepared to run to the travelling support, my arms aloft… I was shaken rudely awake. My greatest career moment, and one that crops up frequently in my nocturnal thoughts. Back in the real world, though, my head was throbbing like a Russian wrestler was doing a war dance on it, and a glance towards my bedside table and the bottle of Jack Daniels showed just why; Ratty and I had decided our new partnership deserved a celebration, and the way we chose to celebrate was with vast quantities of alcohol.

Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I glanced up to see a vision of dark-haired loveliness standing over me, clutching an equally welcome cup of coffee. Very strong, and very black (the coffee that is, not the girl).

“Thanks, darling.â€

Given my current state of alcohol-induced amnesia I had no bloody idea what her name was, so for now “darling†would have to do.

[davidbr]

That coffee, and the three cups that came after it, were certainly reviving, and by a quarter to nine I was on my way to have a look over the club’s facilities and coaching staff for the very first time. Bristol Rovers’ home ground, the Memorial Stadium, is in the suburb of Filton, about seven miles from the city centre, and what it’s named in memorial of will forever stay a mystery. The capacity is around the 11,900 mark, although fewer than 3,000 are seated, and I guess that for a club at our level the facilities aren’t that bad.

Once I’d taken a look around the stadium and the training ground, it was time to sort the coaching staff out. There’s only two coaches on our books, plus a player-coach, and the first thing I had to do was choose an assistant manager; when Dunford and the previous manager left, most of the staff had gone too.

The choosing of my assistant wasn’t the hardest of tasks. Tony Fawthrop was a hard-working ex-pro, he had a shrewd tactical brain and that, together with the fact he was a born optimist - to Tony, the glass wasn’t merely half full it was about to refill itself by magic - made him the perfect choice. Yes, here was a man I could work with.

The only other coach was Paul Molesworth, he was another retired pro and he was, personality-wise, the complete opposite of Tony. Despite being born in London he spoke with a broad Geordie accent and was a stickler for discipline; he’d have the job of keeping the players on the straight and narrow.

As for the other staff, we had two physios, Paul Kite and Simon Dodd. I was of the opinion that was one too many for a club the size of ours and had planned on letting one of them go, but when I found out it’d costs us £45,000 to cancel their contracts I thought what the hell, let ‘em both stay.

[davidbr]

As far as the coaching side of the club went, I was happy, and I walked out of that staff meeting with a beaming smile. A smile that soon vanished, however, when I watched Tony and Paul put the squad through their paces in training. My doubts about the quality of the players proved to be all too accurate, and there’s no hiding from the fact that I’ve inherited a very poor side. We had one half-decent striker in Ghana-born Junior Agogo but otherwise there was a whole load of complete dross.

There was also one face that I wasn’t exactly too happy to see. Paul Trollope was the player-coach I’d mentioned earlier, he was also a Wales international, and he’d been in a couple of squads with me during my playing days. We’d never exactly hit it off, and things had come to a head when he’d lost his place in the starting line-up to me; though as I pointed out at the time, it was hardly my fault he was crap. Since he was on £1,400-a-week, possessed very little playing ability and even less coaching talent – and had a dodgy haircut – he’d be on his way out.

It was clear that if my hopes for promotion were to be anything other than a pipe-dream I’d need to make big changes and make them fast. So, by the end of my first day in charge I’d released no less than seven players, including one senior pro in Marc Swift, and told another eight their futures here weren’t exactly rosy; those eight included my old adversary Paul Trollope.

[davidbr]

The trouble was, after a few years out of the game I was hardly awash with contacts, and I can’t exactly lay my hands on top-class players at the drop of a hat. But, I was hopeful that I knew a man who can. It was time for a little help from a friend.

Like me, Gary Smith is from Cromer and, like me, he used to be a footballer. Actually he was a bloody good footballer, played in the top flight with Norwich for a few seasons when they were actually half-decent. But it wasn’t for his playing abilities that I needed Gary’s help now; he’d retired from the game donkeys years ago. But, after hanging up his boots he’d carved out a good living for himself as a football agent; surely he’d be able to point me in the direction of the next Ronaldinho or Rooney? We were about to find out.

“Gary? It’s Teddy. Teddy Hamilton.â€

“Well f**k me. I haven’t heard from you for so long I thought you were dead!!â€

“Not quite, mate. Look, this isn’t just a social call. I’m in a spot of bother, and I need some help.â€

With that, I went on to explain my “spot of botherâ€. Or actually my 23 spots of bother, all about as much use as the Pope’s penis and all on the books of Bristol Rovers.

“Come on, Gary, you’re into this agent lark, you gotta have a few future stars stashed away somewhere.â€

“Well, what’re you looking for??â€

“Cheap, two legs, can kick a ball. Let’s start from there.â€

[davidbr]

22nd July 2005

With that Gary was off trawling the globe (well, Europe anyway) in search of anyone reasonably talented and who was willing to come to Bristol Rovers. I was determined that as few as possible of my current squad would be required to play any part in our season, and I needed my old pal to come through for me.

And he did; in style. In training this morning, there were five new faces, and all for a combined cash outlay of bugger all.

Contestant number one was Souleymane Bamba. Bamba was actually born in the Ivory Coast, but he holds a French passport so I wasn’t hampered by any daft work permit laws. He’s an U-21 international, and was released by Paris St. Germain at the end of last season; somehow Gary persuaded him to swap Gay Paris for, erm, not-so-Gay Bristol. He can play either centre-half or right back, where he starts out depends on who else we can bring in.

Next, we had 21-year old striker Francesco Milano. The Italian youngster had been released by his home-town club Palermo without playing a game, but he’s fast, good on the ball and his finishing, while still in need of a bit of improvement, isn’t nothing that can’t be polished up on with some hard work on the training ground. Unfortunately Francesco spoke not a word of English; that was another thing we’d have to work on.

Jean-Christophe Cesto is only 18, and as you could probably have guessed he’s French. He’d come through Lyon’s youth programme before being discarded at the end of last season, physically he’s not the strongest but he’s a very versatile player and, even at this young age, has every chance of being a regular in my first X1.

And, last but not least, we had Ryan Hartslief. Ryan, a 26-year old centre-half, was born in and had spent his entire career in South Africa yet somewhat bizarrely held an Irish passport! Along with a taste for Guinness, that also gave him the right to work freely in both the EU and, thankfully for me, Bristol. He’d start the season as first choice at the back.

So, things were looking up. I had a striker who could, sometimes, make contact upon an elephant’s arse with a large wooden banjo, a couple of defenders who could actually defend and a midfielder whose first touch didn’t send the ball five yards in front of him.

Of course I also still had a goalkeeper who couldn’t catch an STD in a whorehouse but, hey, it’s a start!!

[davidbr]

25th July 2005

“Who? Never heard of him. Is he any good?â€

“Mate, this guy’s going to be hotter than Scarlett Johansson naked in the Sahara Desert one day.â€

I wasn’t about to ask Gary why, if he was that good, he was firstly without a club and secondly interested in a move to Bristol Rovers. Quite frankly I didn’t care, and so 21-year old midfielder Dean West was on his way down to show us whether Gary’s faith in his abilities was justified. When Dean told me he’d turned down a move to Manchester City to sign for us, I was bloody impressed; he said he just wanted somewhere he’d be guaranteed to play. He’s found somewhere.

Two other players had also arrived over the last few days. Mark Worthington was another English midfielder, he was 23 and since being released by Torquay had been knocking about the lower leagues. He was a recommendation from my assistant Tony; Tony had seen him play a few times and reckoned he was a good bet for the right-sided midfield role. He couldn’t be any worse than what we already had.

And, we’d also signed a player for cash. Real cash. Yep, for the princely sum of £24,000 there’d be another Hamilton at the Memorial Stadium – Gary Hamilton, a 24-year old striker and Northern Irish international no less, was on his way to us from Portadown. I remember thinking that Northern Ireland must be in a right f**king state if they’ve got to call up players from Portadown, but that’s hardly his fault I suppose.

We’d also played four, yes four, friendlies, and guess what? We’d only gone and bloody won them! Mind you, the displays weren’t exactly what I’d call convincing, and the opposition was, well, weak! A brace from Junior Agogo had seen us scrape a 2-1 win over local amateur side Bristol Manor Farm, going in level at half time against a side five rungs below us in the football pyramid was pretty embarrassing though. Agogo was also on target two days later as we struggled again against another local side, Brislington; a 2-0 win but again we were held by the part-timers at half time.

Three days later we’d beaten League of Wales side Port Talbot 3-0, I’d been forced to start with Paul Trollope in midfield and he’d shocked me by scoring twice; while I don’t like the man, maybe it might be worth keeping him around for a while. And lastly, two days ago Gary Hamilton netted on his debut in our 2-0 win over Burnham Ramblers, yet another mob of part-timers I’d never heard of before.

No, hardly what you’d call inspiring stuff, and it only served to confirm that I’d been right about the quality, or lack thereof, the players we had here; save for Hamilton’s cameo in the last game, none of our new signings had been fit enough to take any part as of yet. That’d change when we took on the A Team in our last two matches; Arundel and Aldermaston would be our guests on the 27th and 30th respectively.

[Spav]

<BLOCKQUOTE class="ip-ubbcode-quote"><div class="ip-ubbcode-quote-title">quote:</div><div class="ip-ubbcode-quote-content">Originally posted by davidbr:

The first part of this story has been posted on another site, but that one appears to have died a death. </div></BLOCKQUOTE>

Hopefully that site will be up and running again soon. I've seen no indication that it was intending to close down.

[davidbr]

<BLOCKQUOTE class="ip-ubbcode-quote"><div class="ip-ubbcode-quote-title">quote:</div><div class="ip-ubbcode-quote-content">Originally posted by Spav:

<BLOCKQUOTE class="ip-ubbcode-quote"><div class="ip-ubbcode-quote-title">quote:</div><div class="ip-ubbcode-quote-content">Originally posted by davidbr:

The first part of this story has been posted on another site, but that one appears to have died a death. </div></BLOCKQUOTE>

Hopefully that site will be up and running again soon. I've seen no indication that it was intending to close down. </div></BLOCKQUOTE>

The display on the site's up and running tonight, it's just that you can't darn well post anything!! (which it doesn't tell you until you click the "Post Reply" button, very annoying if you've already coded and imaged your post...)

Yes, hopefully it's just a minor technical fault or maintenance. Shame, though, it was just starting to pick up again lately.

[davidbr]

“Ecuador? Didn’t they beat Argentina not all that long ago?â€

“Yeah, 2-0. He played in that game.â€

“Come off it, Gary! What would an Ecuadorian international want with Bristol Rovers?â€

“Just wants to play in Europe, apparently. For a grand and a bit a week, plus £60k up front, he’s yours.â€

The fans had been more than a bit sceptical since I’d come here, but if this didn’t win them over nothing would. Yes, about to join Bristol Rovers Football Club was (drumroll….)

12-times Ecuador international Franklin Agustin Salas!! For £60,000 and on a four-year deal, he’d apparently been delighted to swap the high altitudes of Quito for the high life of Bristol. I wonder if he even knew where it was? In the press conference, when he was asked why he’d signed for us he said he wanted to play at a higher level. If this was a higher level, God only knows what he’d consider a lower one. Highland League, perhaps?

Anyway the fans were happy, Ratty was happy and I was f**king delighted. Salas made his debut, along with the rest of our new signings, as we won 3-0 against both Arundel and Aldermaston; Dean West and Francesco Milano both scored in those games. The next time we stepped out onto the Memorial Stadium’s turf we’d be taking on Barnet at home, in League Two on August 6th.

[davidbr]

5th August 2006

Well, the time for talking, for friendly run outs against overweight part-timers, is very nearly up. This time tomorrow it’ll be Barnet who stride out onto our home turf at 3pm, and this time it’ll be for real. And, I can’t deny those bloody butterflies in my stomach are getting more and more energetic; the club needs a good start, the players need a good start, and I sure need a good start else the media vultures will be circling. Training ended early today, I wanted to give the players a good rest ahead of the game; as for me, I needed a drink! So early evening saw Tony, Ratty, Paul and myself sat outside a bar in the city centre, sipped iced whisky and gave our tactics for tomorrow one last going-over.

Yes, tactics; the bane of every manager’s life! I think this is the one area of the game where you can define bosses into two clear categories – on one hand you’ve got the likes of Arsene Wenger, cool as a cucumber and astute enough to outwit a chess Grand Master blindfolded. And, on the other hand, you’ve got your Kevin Keegans, who play the game “how it’s meant to be†and think tactics are those little round minty things you use to keep your breath fresh for the press conference.

And, I had to admit, there was something rather Keegan-esque about the way I’d been chopping and changing things around. In the last fortnight I’d gone through more positions than you’d find in the Karma Sutra - 4-4-2, 4-3-3, 4-5-1, 4-1-3-2; you name it, I’d tried it. At one point, I’d set my heart on what I thought was an ingenious 4-1-4-2 formation – that’s until Tony helpfully pointed out I had 12 players on the pitch!! I suggested we just send them out anyway and hope no one noticed, but he didn’t reckon the referee would fall for it.

So, in the end, we’d decided to go with a 4-1-4-1. To make that work, I’d need a decent holding midfielder, and the choice was between two teenagers I’d added to my squad over the last week. Johannes Djourou, an 18-year old Swiss midfielder, and Sebastian Larsson, a 19-year old Swedish utility player, have both come west from Arsenal to join the happy Rovers family. Of course we couldn’t afford to buy a Gunner, not even a young one, but Wenger was happy for his starlets to come on a season-long loan deal. They’re both decent players, lacking experience of course but more than good enough for League Two.

[davidbr]

As far as transfers go, it’s been a busy few days down here. Another Premiership kiddie, Lee Grant, has also joined on loan, this time from Aston Villa; Grant’s a holding midfielder, too, but he’s been disappointing in training and needs to improve big time if he’s going to be any more than a bench player for me. Mike Simpson, a 21-year old centre midfielder, and Stuart Fergus, an 18-year old left-footed player, have both signed on free transfers until the end of the season; they’re players with potential for sure, but a season in the reserves beckons while they improve their technique and physical fitness.

I’d also decided to take a chance on 26-year old centre half Mark Earnshaw; Mark had spent last season with non-league Frickley, but my scout Gary had convinced me the lad had talent so in he came on a free until the end of the season.

And, just this morning, I completed the final piece of pre-season business, as Jeroen van Staveren put pen to paper on a two-year contract. Jeroen, a 24-year old Dutch left-sided midfielder, was released by MVV Maastricht last season after making over 50 appearances for them; I haven’t a clue what standard of football MVV play at, but it’s got to be better than we play down here. Anyway, he’s got pace and he looks assured on the ball, his crossing and passing are a bit wayward but he also fancies himself as a bit of a dead-ball expert. We’ll see.

So that’s the comings-in rounded up, what about the goings-out? I’d promised to clear out the dead wood, and the last month had seen a cull of Foot-and-Mouth Disease proportions as no less than 14 players went through the exit door for the final time. Most of them were youth and reserve players, but strikers Jamie Forrester and Richard Walker, centre-half John Anderson and left-back Robbie Ryan were also surplus to requirements; how the hell Ryan had ever managed to hold down a regular spot in that Millwall side that reached the FA Cup Final was one of football’s great mysteries. Thankfully, although they all left on frees I’d managed to find clubs interested in taking them off our hands and so avoiding us having to pay any compensation.

[davidbr]

6th August 2005

Bristol Rovers vs. Barnet, League Two from the Memorial Stadium.

Bristol R; (4-1-4-1); Scott Shearer, Chris Carruthers, Souleymane Bamba, Ryan Hartslief, Mark Earnshaw, Johannes Djourou, Franklin Salas, Dean West, Aaron Lescott, Sebastian Larsson (Ryan Williams 60), Gary Hamilton (Francesco Milano 60)

Well then, this was it! In ninety minutes time, I’d know for sure whether the players I’d brought in had what it took to bring success to this club. The big decision I’d had to make was who to start as lone striker, in the end I’d given the nod to Gary Hamilton (and not just because he had the same surname as me) but it was to Franklin Salas I was looking for the magic to emanate.

At the start, maybe unsurprisingly considering four of these players had never before played a senior match, we looked more nervous than David Beckham on Mastermind and it was Barnet who carved out the first two serious chances, both falling to Jason Norville and both coming to zilch. Franklin Salas showed his class with a few neat touches and a 30-yard drive that had keeper Tynan scrambling back across his goal, and Dean West maybe should have done better with a header from a Salas corner, but on the whole Barnet had the better of the first half. It was us, though, who should have gone in leading.

In the final minute of the half Seb Larsson wriggled free down the left, feigned as if to cross but instead played a square ball into the feet of Dean West. West tried the shot from the edge of the area, Tynan got hands to it but couldn’t hold on, and there, with the goal gaping, was Gary Hamilton. On the bench, Tony and I had already started our celebrations before we turned back and realised the net wasn’t rippling! The stupid bastard had skied it over the bar; if NASA ever discover a football on Mars, that’ll be the one!

Half Time: Bristol Rovers 0, Barnet 0

My half time team talk would have had to be heavily censored for daytime television, but the abuse seemed to have worked for we looked far more composed in the early moments. Without, though, seriously threatening Tynan’s goal. Until the 56th minute, that was.

Again the move started with Seb Larsson, he found himself in space on the left wing and this time he did opt for the cross. The Barnet defence made a terrible mess of it, neither Salas nor West could get a touch, and the ball came right the way through to Gary Hamilton who’d arrived on the far post. Given what had happened earlier my heart was in my mouth, but he could hardly miss and this time he didn’t – we had the lead at home! It lasted, though, all of four minutes!

Barnet’s equaliser was a terrible goal for us to concede. Johannes Djourou was forced to give away a corner on the right, Nicky Bailey swung it in, our defence stood still as if frozen in time, and Louie Soares climbed highest at the far post to nod the Londoners level. My reaction was unrepeatable.

It was clear we needed some different options, we needed some more pace up front, so off came the ineffectual Gary Hamilton, on came the livewire Francesco Milano, and while we did straight away look more threatening Barnet had decided to close out for a draw – and as stoppage time arrived it looked certain they’d get it. The fourth official had only signalled three added minutes, but we were already well into the fourth when Franklin Salas picked the ball up in midfield and set off on a run. Francesco Milano did likewise. Salas’ through ball was inch-perfect and suddenly Milano was in the clear. Tynan came out, Milano looked up, and his finish was low and accurate down to the keeper’s left. Barnet couldn’t believe it; we’d won it with almost the last kick of the game!!

Full time: Bristol Rovers 2 (Hamilton 56, Milano 90+4), Barnet 1 (Soares 60)

[davidbr]

Walking down the tunnel at full time, I breathed a huge sigh of relief and so did the rest of us. If it was drama you were after, this was the place to be, but these were three very fortuitous points and I knew it. First half, I thought we’d been the better side and with a bit more composure in front of goal it could all have been very different. Second half, well that’s best forgotten. Our movement was on a par with that very drunk uncle who’s always first on the dance floor at a wedding, the marking for their equaliser, well, there wasn’t any, and we just generally looked short on ideas.

As for individual performances, we were left with a lot to think about. Gary Hamilton might have scored the opener, but he could hardly have missed that one and on the whole today he couldn’t have finished the Sunday Sport crossword. Salas and West looked threatening early on but faded, Larsson didn’t ever settle in on the left of midfield and I was worried by several unforced errors from Souleymane Bamba at right-back. On the positive side, Johannes Djourou looked a natural in that midfield holding role, he was probably our best player, and Aaron Lescott did surprisingly well in the middle of the park. Plus of course Francesco Milano took that winning goal wonderfully well.

[davidbr]

It was gone six before I was ready to leave the stadium, I’d arranged to meet Ratty in a pub in town and a soothing drink or two seemed just the ticket. Lost in thought as I wandered towards the car park and my waiting cab, I was jolted back to reality by the sound of a woman’s voice calling after me.

“Mr Hamilton? Laura Matthews, Bristol Evening Post. Would it be OK to have a few words with you – about today’s game I mean?â€

I turned round, and my mouth fell open. Laura was I’d say, mid-twenties, shoulder-length blonde hair, pretty face, figure to die for…She must have sensed I was staring at her, for she smiled back rather awkwardly.

“Erm.., I’m sorry to bother you, it’s just my editor, you know, and Mr. Moore said it’d be alright if I could find you, and..â€

I did my best to regain my composure. “No, that’s OK. I’ve got a cab waiting outside, so do you mind if we talk here?â€

“Sure. Congratulations on the win today, I just wanted to ask you what you thought of the team’s performance?â€

“Thankyou Laura. I thought we did OK, I’m not going to try to kid you it was like watching Brazil out there, ‘cos it wasn’t. But we controlled the first half, probably should have scored, I brought Francesco on and he took his goal very well.â€

“Mr Hamilton, I was talking to some of the fans after the match and they weren’t too impressed with the way you played in the second half. You were a bit nervous, weren’t you?â€

“Yes we were. But don’t forget I had eight players making their debuts out there today; four of them had never played a senior game before! We’ll sort the nerves out. Oh, and please, call me Teddy, “Mr Hamilton†just seems so formal.â€

She smiled again, and this time it looked more genuine. “One final question. It’s Darlington on Tuesday, do you think you can keep the momentum going and will you be making any changes to the team?â€

“There’s no reason why we can’t win that game, but as far as the team goes you’ll have to wait and see – I honestly don’t know myself yet!â€

“Mr Ham..er, Teddy, thanks for your time, and good luck on Tuesday.â€

“Laura, it was a pleasure. Now, do you mind if I ask you a question?â€

“Yes??â€

“I’m on my way out for a few drinks and something to eat. It’s nothing special, but.. I was wondering whether you might like to join me?â€

“Thanks, I’d love to. I’m starving, haven’t eaten all day.â€

That’s the way to do it, Teddy, as smooth as a snake’s arse. Well, Ratty had said he wanted us to build a relationship with the local media; I was just doing my bit..

[davidbr]

Sunday August 7th 2005

Ding dong, ding dong dong, ding dong dong..

I woke with a start, then realised it was just the sound of the church bells behind our window and slumped back into the pillow, cursing under my breath. It was Sunday morning, and it was ten o’clock. Bloody church, why can’t they just give the regulars an alarm clock or something?

Still, as much as I hated being woken up early on a Sunday, even I couldn’t stay miserable today. It was a lovely August morning, the sun was streaming through the window, and I had company. I rolled over, smiled at the head of blonde hair resting peacefully next to me, and scrambled to my feet.

By the time I got back from the shower, and had managed to find some clothes, Laura was awake and sat up in bed. Somehow, despite her smudged make-up and ruffled hair, she looked even more beautiful than she had yesterday, and I reached over for a kiss.

“Morning, love. Have a good night?â€

“Yeah, lovely. Didn’t sleep much, but we had a good time all the same! You mind if I grab a shower?â€

“Sure. Take your time, I’ve finished in there and Ratty’s still fast asleep, the lazy git. I’ll get you a coffee.â€

I went to the kitchen to make Laura a coffee and was about to make one myself, then thought better of it and reached for the Jack Daniels. Ratty chose that moment to surface, so I poured one for him too.

“Morning, Teddy. See you’ve been doing your bit for press relations, eh?â€

“Let’s just say. I’ve been keeping in close contact with the local media! Anyway, what time’s kick-off today?â€

“Three I think. Is whatsername joining us?â€

“No idea, and her name’s Laura. She’s in the shower, I’ll ask her when she’s out.â€

In the end Laura did decide to join us, and 3pm saw us in Hogshead (a student-type bar in the centre of the city, and the only one we’d found so far that served a decent pint of Hoegaarden) watching Chelsea and Arsenal take to the field for that most traditional and pointless of pre-season matches, the Charity Shield.

Ratty fancied Chelsea to win, me and Laura had plumped for the Gunners, and it was Ratty who was left crying into his beer as first half goals from Thierry Henry and Gilberto Silva saw Arsene Wenger’s men race into a 2-0 half time lead; Mickael Essien’s 63rd-minute strike couldn’t prevent Arsenal lifting the first trophy of 2005/06 and Chelsea’s Special One receiving an early kick in the proverbials.

[davidbr]

Tuesday August 9th 2005

Darlington vs. Bristol Rovers, League Two from the Darlington Football Stadium

Bris R (4-1-4-1); Scott Shearer, Chris Carruthers, Souleymane Bamba, Ryan Hartslief (Jean-Christophe Cesto 45), Mark Earnshaw, Johannes Djourou, Franklin Salas, Sebastian Larsson, Aaron Lescott, Dean West, Gary Hamilton (Francesco Milano 45)

I’d warned the players that if they started here today the way they’d played the second half against Barnet on Saturday we’d be in serious trouble. Needless to say my worst fears came true, the opening minutes saw continual home pressure and we were behind just eight minutes in. Johannes Djourou was forced to concede a throw, James Kendrick took it quickly to catch us napping and Carlos Logan found himself in space on the left. Logan’s ball was meant as a cross but he badly mis-hit it, Scott Shearer couldn’t get there and it sailed over his head and into the back of the net. Fluky maybe, but I couldn’t deny Darlington deserved it.

Five minutes later it got even worse for us, and this one had nothing to do with luck. A flowing move between Kendrick, James Beaumont and Oliver Heald again saw the ball with Logan out on the left, this time his cross was perfect and Congan striker Guylain Ndumbu-Nsungu buried a diving header past the outstretched Shearer.

Darlington continued to dominate the first half, and Nsungu could easily have made it three when he shot wide when one-on-one with Shearer, but in the last minute we were handed a welcome lifeline. Dean West played in Gary Hamilton, Hamilton’s touch was far too heavy but then so was David Duke’s challenge and Hamilton went tumbling to the floor. The referee pointed to the spot, to my surprise Chris Carruthers stepped forward to take it, but it was a poor effort and an easy save for keeper Davy O’Hare.

Half time: Darlington 2 (Carlos Logan 8, Guylain Ndumbu-Nsungu 12), Bristol Rovers 0

My dressing room fury resulted in a double change, and Francesco Milano came on for the ineffective Hamilton with Jean-Christophe Cesto making his debut at centre-half in place of Ryan Hartslief. Straight away we looked a better, and more threatening, side, and Dean West had already come close with a 25-yarder when we finally got our reward. West picked the ball up in midfield, he stepped away from his marker and found Sebastian Larsson with a precision pass out on the left. Larsson looked up, picked out the run of Francesco Milano and the substitute buried it beyond O’Hare with an emphatic finish. 2-1, and game on.

We had the better of the last 40 minutes but Darlington battened down the hatches, Franklin Salas, Dean West and Francesco Milano all came close but the best chance fell to Mark Earnshaw, the centre half sent a free header well over the bar from six yards out. That was to cost us, the home side held firm and held out to take the three points. I was bitterly disappointed with the start we made and especially with Carruthers’ missed penalty, we were much better after the break but by then the damage had been done and it was a long, miserable trip back south to Bristol.

Full time: Darlington 2 (Logan 6, Ndumbu-Nsungu 12), Bristol Rovers 1 (Milano 53)

[davidbr]

Saturday 13th August 2005

Bristol Rovers vs. Shrewsbury, League Two from the Memorial Stadium

Bris R (4-1-4-1); Scott Shearer, Souleymane Bamba, Chris Carruthers, Ryan Hartslief, Mark Earnshaw, Johannes Djourou, Franklin Salas, Sebastian Larsson, Aaron Lescott, Dean West, Francesco Milano

As promised there was just the one change to the side that lost at Darlington in midweek, Gary Hamilton really hadn’t impressed me and so Francesco Milano was rewarded for his goals with a place in the starting X1. The visiting Shrews hadn’t started the season well, they looked totally lacking in confidence here and we were at them right from the start. Two minutes in Dean West danced away from his marker in midfield, he found Franklin Salas in space but Salas shot straight at keeper Joe Hart and the chance was wasted.

Not long after Francesco Milano was inches away from the edge of the area, Dean West also sent a half-chance well wide and Salas was denied by a last-ditch challenge in what’d been a backs-to-the-wall effort from the visitors. Salas was calling the shots in midfield, at times Shrewsbury couldn’t get near him, but a combination of bad luck and desperate defending meant we just couldn’t find that killer ball and half time saw the scoresheet still blank.

Half Time: Bristol Rovers 0, Shrewsbury 0

The second half saw more of the same, Shrewsbury were making no effort to go forward and actually switched to five at the back, leaving Nathan Blake as the increasingly isolated loan striker. The first real chance of the half came on 55, after a goalmouth scramble defender Richard Hope made a mess of his clearance, the ball dropped kindly for Francesco Milano but Milano rather slashed at it and his shot flew high over the bar.

That’d just about summed up our afternoon, as stoppage time crept ever nearer we’d still drawn a blank and a stalemate looked increasingly likely. Since the Shrews had offered so little going forward, I decided to take a chance by throwing men forward, I knew this was a game we needed to win.

And, in the 88th minute, we struck it lucky. Sebastian Larsson hit a hopeful cross-field ball towards Souleymane Bamba on the right wing, Bamba was seeking out Milano in the middle but, just as had happened against us in the week, he sliced his cross and it looped wickedly over keeper Joe Hart into the Shrewsbury net! We had the lead almost at the death, there was no way back for the Shrews and we closed out the last five minutes for a late, but I felt well deserved, three points.

Full Time: Bristol Rovers 1 (Souleymane Bamba 88), Shrewsbury 0

[davidbr]

For the second home game in a row we’d left it bloody late, but this time I was pretty happy with the overall performance, our lack of composure in front of goal was a bit worrying but Shrewsbury’s keeper Joe Hart had an excellent game and he was the only reason we didn’t win that one by four or five. I’d taken a gamble in not making more changes to the team after the dreadful display at Darlington in midweek, and on the whole I was pleased with the efforts of the players today.

I’d noticed Laura Matthews in the crowd at half time, and sure enough as I made my way out of the dressing room there she was waiting for me. Ratty, who was following behind me, whispered something in my ear, I didn’t quite catch all the words but I could guess at the level of smut involved; I replied with a two-fingered salute and waved him off towards the car park.

“Hi, Laura. You here on business?â€

“Kind of. I’m a season ticket holder anyway, so I’m usually at every home game. I didn’t really have to cover this one, guess I really came to see you though.â€

We hadn’t seen each other since we’d parted in Hogshead last Sunday, I’d been really busy anyway what with having to prepare for two games in a week as well as the long trip to Darlington, and I’d told myself that the time we’d spent together was just a bit of fun. I’d only just come down to Bristol, I had a hard job to do, and I certainly wasn’t looking for a serious relationship right now. Yet, somehow, I was genuinely pleased, relieved even, that she’d shown up today.

“Well, shall we do it here or do you want to go to my office?â€

“Pardon!!??â€

“The interview. I mean, I assume you want a few words with me about the game?â€

“Yeah, I suppose.. look, Teddy, I..â€

“I know what, let’s get the hell out of here and go for a drink. I might be more inspired with my post-match comments with a large Jack Daniels in front of me.â€

I’d already arranged to meet Ratty in the Horn and Trumpet at seven, he seemed a bit surprised when I turned up with Laura in tow but he resisted the temptation to make any smart-arse comments. So we drank, played pool (I lost badly – blame the gammy arm), drank some more and generally had a very enjoyable evening. Ratty had been trying his luck all night with a crowd of northern students, eventually he disappeared into the night with one young lass and we were left all alone. After a while we made our rather drunken way back to the flat, where our night reached its inevitable conclusion.

Later, lying in bed together, I realised how much I’d enjoyed the time we’d spent together, and not just because of the sex. Laura was a beautiful girl but she was also funny, relaxed and good company, and her cheerful nature seemed to somehow rub off on me. I stopped myself right there; it couldn’t be, could it? We’d spent all of two nights together, could I actually be falling for her? Immediately I told myself no; after my relationship with Sarah, my would-have-been fiancé, ended the day of my accident, during my recovery I’d sworn to myself that I’d never allow anyone else to hurt me like that, I’d never allow myself to get that close to anyone ever again.

Staring into the darkness, I hadn’t realised Laura was awake.

“Teddy, where are you? And don’t say right here, you know what I mean.â€

“You don’t want to know, sweetheart. You really don’t want to know.â€

[davidbr]

Tuesday, August 16th 2005

“Bastards. Just.. bastards!!â€

This morning, as you’d probably guessed, hadn’t brought with it good news. Ratty and I were sat in the office (and yes, down here, it is “the office†– there’s just the one, I’ve got one desk and Ratty’s got the other) and we’d just received a couple of faxes through.

They were from the national associations of Sweden and the Ivory Coast, and it was bad news ahead of Saturday’s trip to Torquay. Sebastian Larsson and Souleymane Bamba had both been called up to their respective countries’ Under-21 squads for meaningless friendlies at the weekend, I’d asked for them both to be withdrawn and the messages we’d just received were carrying a firm response of “up yours†to that request. I was going to be without both of them on Saturday.

Later in the day I had a date with Laura, and it was the stuff a girl’s dreams are made of; who needs dinner on the Orient Express or a weekend in Paris when you can take in Rovers Reserves vs. Rovers Under-18s! Actually she’d asked if she could do a piece for the paper on the “future of Bristol Roversâ€, if this was indeed our future then it’s bloody worrying. I think I need to teach my players the difference between “friendly†and “comatoseâ€, for what we watched was without a shadow of a doubt the worst 90 minutes action since some Victorian guy kicked a round thing and said hey, we could make a game out of this.

It finished 0-0, thankfully I wasn’t actually in charge of either side (Tony had the Reserves and Paul manned the U-18s) but I’d come along hoping to see some talent shine. Talent?? You’d have found more talent on display amongst the bridesmaids at a Viking wedding. As if I wasn’t fed up enough.

“Sorry about that, love. I tell you what; if you write in your article that you’ve just seen the next Pele playing for Bristol Rovers Under-18’s, I’ll take you out to dinner.â€

“Dinner sounds lovely, but I don’t think I can lie that muchâ€

Fair enough.

[davidbr]

Friday August 19th, 2005

This week just goes from bad to worse. As if losing my first choice right back and left midfielder wasn’t bad enough, now I’ve lost two of my strikers too!

Gary Hamilton was already doubtful, he’d twisted his groin (doing what, I was afraid to ask) and my physio Phil Kite confirmed yesterday that he wouldn’t make tomorrow’s game. Now I wasn’t too bothered about that, Francesco Milano would have been first-choice anyway. And that’s where the real problem starts; in training this morning Milano pulled up awkwardly, it’s not as serious as it first looked but he can hardly walk and there’s no way at all he’ll be fit to play any part against Torquay. Tony suggested we give him a pain-killing injection and see if that’ll get him through, but I’d decided he’s such a vital player to our season it’d be madness to risk worsening his injury.

So, I’ve got some decisions to make, although to be honest options were rather limited. Before all these problems hit us Tony and I had already decided that Ryan Hartslief would be dropped and Jean-Christophe Cesto come in to replace him at centre-half, we’ve decided not to change that and so Aaron Lescott, a midfielder by trade, will deputise for Bamba at right-back. Jeroen van Staveren will get his chance at left midfield, and since I’ve got no real choice but to push Franklin Salas up into the lone striker role Ryan Williams, one of the players I inherited, will start on the right side of midfield.

[davidbr]

Saturday 20th August 2005

Torquay vs. Bristol Rovers, League Two from Plainmoor

Bris R (4-1-4-1); Scott Shearer, Aaron Lescott (Ryan Hartslief 57), Chris Carruthers, Mark Earnshaw, Jean-Christophe Cesto, Johannes Djourou, Ryan Williams, Jeroen van Staveren (Gary Hamilton 57), Sebastian Larsson, Dean West, Franklin Salas

With my much-changed side I wasn’t really too sure what to expect here, and the lack of understanding looked like it might prove to be our undoing as we struggled badly to string two passes together early on. Torquay weren’t much better, mind, but they had the vocal Plainmoor crowd to inspire them into creating the first chance of the afternoon; Johannes Djourou was forced into conceding a corner, Tony Bedeau’s delivery was dangerous and midfielder Alan Connell was only inches wide with a spectacular bicycle kick.

Franklin Salas came close just past the quarter-hour mark with a 30-yard drive after good work down the right from Aaron Lescott – I think keeper Marriott had it covered though – but on the whole neither side managed to find any real fluency in what was a desperately dull first 45 minutes. The only other half-chance came when Dean West just failed to get to Jeroen van Staveren’s through ball, but as the whistle went neither keeper had even had a save to make.

Half time: Torquay 0 Bristol Rovers 0

The opening 10 minutes were dire, and I had to face facts that the 4-1-4-1 just wasn’t working; van Staveren and Williams were being well-marshalled down the flanks and Salas just wasn’t seeing enough of the ball to make a difference. So, just before the hour on came Gary Hamilton and Ryan Hartslief, Hamilton went up to support Salas in attack and we switched to a standard 4-4-2.

Did it work? Did it buggery! I can honestly say I’ve never seen a worst half of football in my life, for some reason Torquay seemed happy to settle for a point at home and we just didn’t have the invention to break them down. I’d been looking for Dean West to shine for me in the middle of the park, but he seemed to have left his magic boots at home today and the nearest either side came to a goal was a late drive by Torquay’s Tony Bedeau that went closer to the corner flag than the bottom corner. The phrase “bore draw†could have been invented for this one, 0-0 it ended.

Full Time: Torquay 0 Bristol Rovers 0

[davidbr]

“Come off it, what the f**k was that all about? I know we’re missing quite a few players, but that was f**king pathetic. People actually paid money to watch that, y’know. Christ, it was bad enough for me having to sit through it on the bench but at least I got in for free.â€

Yes, we were pretty awful today, but we hadn’t lost, there was that, and at least we had our first away point on the board. And, if someone had offered me a point at the start of the day I’d have probably taken it; Torquay were only relegated from League One last season and they’re among the bookies’ favourites for promotion this time out. I took a deep breath..

“OK, rant over. Let’s put this one behind us, I want an improvement at Swindon in the week though. We’re staying down here overnight, and I’m not one for curfews or any of that crap – but I’d better not hear about any trouble. Hey, smile; we’re at the seaside.â€

I turned to Tony; “Come on, I need a drink. Let’s see what the clubs are like.â€

“It’s only half-past five, Teddy.â€

“So what. Time’s just a number, eh? And after watching that crap I think we’ve earned a few beers.â€

[davidbr]

Wednesday 24th August 2005

Bristol Rovers vs. Swindon Town, League Cup 1st Round from the Memorial Stadium

Bris R (4-2-3-1); Scott Shearer, Souleymane Bamba, Chris Carruthers, Lee Grant, Ryan Hartslief, Johannes Djourou, Jean-Christophe Cesto (Aaron Lescott 45), Sebastian Larsson, Franklin Salas, Dean West.

So a change of formation, then, in an attempt to deal with Swindon’s pace through the middle I’d brought in Jean-Christophe Cesto to play alongside Djourou in the midfield holding role, leaving Franklin Salas to play what was effectively a free role in behind Francesco Milano. Mark Earnshaw wasn’t 100% fit either so that meant a first start of the season for rookie Lee Grant at centre-half.

Swindon are of course a league above us, but for the opening minutes at least you wouldn’t have guessed it as first Franklin Salas and then Johannes Djourou came close with shots that flashed a foot or so wide of the post. Francesco Milano then sent a free header well over the bar from a Salas corner as the chances continued to go begging, and little by little Swindon began to take a grip on the game.

Jamie Cureton had already missed a sitter for the Robins before our luck finally ran out 23 minutes in. Right-back Patrick Collins had been a constant thorn in our side and it was his fine run and inch-perfect cross that was met with an emphatic header by on-loan Man Utd midfielder Colin Heath; Swindon had the lead. Five minutes from the break it was 2-0, this time a slip by Lee Grant let in Jamie Cureton and the former Pirates favourite gave Scott Shearer no chance from 12 yards.

Half time: Bristol Rovers 0, Swindon 2 (Heath 23, Cureton 41)

That second goal seemed to drain the confidence from us, I brought on Aaron Lescott for the tired Cesto at the break but it couldn’t inspire any kind of fightback; Dean West came closest with a 30-yard tester that fizzed just wide of the left-hand post, but Swindon dominated the second period and both Tony Thorpe and Cureton had chances that they’d have felt they should really have taken.

So that was that as far as our League Cup campaign went, I couldn’t pretend it was a priority but given the bright start we’d made I was still bitterly disappointed with the tame way we eventually surrendered, and my players just hadn’t got to grips with the new formation I’d introduced today.

Full time: Bristol Rovers 0, Swindon 2 (Heath 23, Cureton 41)

[davidbr]

Thursday 25th August 2005

“There’s not a lot we can do about it anyway, it’s a competitive game. Then when we signed him we knew he’d probably be in the squadâ€

“Guess not. Anyway, we should be proud; I mean, when was the last time Bristol bloody Rovers had someone involved in the World Cup?â€

Ratty and I were discussing Franklin Salas, and the fax we’d received through today from the Ecuadorian FA confirming that Franklin had been named in the squad for their World Cup qualifier against Bolivia. It means he’ll miss our game with Mansfield on September 3rd and it’ll be a bit of a bugger to be without him, but should Ecuador win that game they’ll almost certainly qualify for the World Cup Finals and we could have a player in action over in Germany next June!

Since after yesterday’s game quite a few of the players appeared to be very tired, Tony has suggested we call a premature end to today’s training and I was more than happy to agree – it was an unusually hot day for late August and our office doesn’t have any air conditioning. Ratty had business to attend to this afternoon, a meeting with his bank manager about something or another, I needed to get out and I didn’t especially feel like being on my own. I reached for the phone.

“Good afternoon, Evening Postâ€

“Hi. Can you put me through to Laura Matthews please? It’s Teddy Hamilton.â€

“The Bristol Rovers manager?!â€

“Yes.†I’d never called her at work before, and I had a feeling I might have just triggered a fair bit of office gossip. She was only a junior reporter in the sports section, in other words not someone who’d be expected to get a call from the boss of a league football club!

“Hold on, Mr Hamilton, I’ll just put you on hold.†Great. Robbie f**king Williams, just what I needed on a sweltering autumn’s day. After what seemed like an eternity, an abrupt male voice came on the line

“Mr Hamilton? Paul Johnson, Sports Editor. What can I do for you?â€

“I’ve already told the other girl that. I want to speak to Laura Matthews, please.â€

“What about?â€

“It’s a personal matter.†This guy was starting to seriously annoy me.

“Sorry, Mr Hamilton, Laura says she doesn’t want to speak to you. Now, unless there’s anything else, I’m a very busy man. Good day to you.â€

I was totally baffled, I mean we’d been fine on Tuesday and I couldn’t think of anything I’d done in two days that might have upset her that much. Feeling the anger rising inside me, I grabbed the phone from the desk and hurled it towards the office window; it shattered, sending a shower of glass down onto the car park below. I tried to pull myself together; I had to get out of here or else it’d be raining office furniture.

An hour later, I was leaning against the bar in the Horn and Trumpet nursing a very large glass of whisky and a great deal of confusion. I just didn’t know what was happening to me, I’d never been one to get all gooey over a girl, well, not since … no, that was different, wasn’t it? I was so totally lost in my thoughts, I barely even registered the few autograph-hunters who’d wandered over, or the girl who’d just sat down beside me.

“Hi, you’re Teddy Hamilton, aren’t you?â€

“What if I am?â€

“I’m Melissa. D’you mind if I join you?â€

[davidbr]

Saturday 27th August 2005

Bristol Rovers vs. Grimsby, League Two from the Memorial Stadium.

Bris R (4-1-4-1); Scott Shearer, Jean-Christophe Cesto (Ali Gibb 71), Sebastian Larsson, Ryan Hartslief, Johannes Djourou, Ryan Williams (Lee Grant 71), Dean West, Jeroen van Staveren, Franklin Salas, Gary Hamilton (Francesco Milano 71).

The build-up to this one had been far from smooth, injuries had forced me into a major reshuffle at the back as well as costing me on-form striker Francesco Milano, but somehow I was just relieved to be able to get my mind back onto the football again.

That relief though didn’t last long, it was clear Grimsby were a class act and their three-pronged attack of Gritton, Palmer and Reddy caused us problems right from the off. Just three minutes in Michael Reddy whistled one inches wide of Scott Shearer’s right-hand post, after 10 minutes midfielder Paul Bolland saw a header from a corner cannon back off the upright and with less than a quarter of an hour on the clock centre half Andy Parkinson, who’d been a colossus at the back, forced a fine save from Shearer with a low right-foot drive.

Dean West sent our best chance of the first half high and horribly wide after a good ball from Jeroen van Staveren, Franklin Salas came within a foot or so from a 30-yard free kick and had Gary Hamilton possessed more than the one brain cell he’d have been clear through thanks to Salas’ excellent defence-splitting pass. Signs of hope? No, as on 43 Gary Jones played in Jermaine Palmer, he side-stepped Sebastian Larsson and buried it past Shearer into the bottom left corner. Grimsby would lead at half time.

Half Time: Grimsby 1 (Palmer 43), Bristol Rovers 0

My half-time team talk consisted of more swear words than you’d get from a Tourette’s sufferer having a very bad day, but it still didn’t seem to have sparked any life into us. For some reason Grimsby eased off on the attack and went back to a 4-4-2, if they’d have kept going they could have murdered us, but Michael Reddy still should have doubled the advantage on 59 when he was put through by Cesto’s slip; he shot high, wide and ugly though, and we lived to fight another day.

Due to all those injuries I’d mentioned options on the bench were limited to say the least, but I knew I had no choice. So, with 20 minutes left I gave the signal, and as part of a triple change the not even half fit Francesco Milano came on to replace the completely brain dead Gary Hamilton. Well, I felt I was due a bit of luck – and I got it.

Firstly, a couple of minutes later Grimsby defender Andrew Ward went in late on Dean West; it wasn’t exactly pretty, but didn’t deserve the red card that referee Sharp was quick to produce. That opened up space for Salas to work in, and eight minutes from time my magician unlocked the door. Picking the ball up in midfield, he went as if to send it out wide towards van Staveren, but instead lifted a super ball over the top to Milano; his control was perfect, Mildenhall came out and Milano drove it powerfully into the roof of the net from twelve yards out. An excellent finish, and one that was to salvage a point we barely deserved.

Full time: Grimsby 1 (Palmer 43), Bristol Rovers 1 (Milano 82)

[davidbr]

Even though we hadn’t lost I was still too angry with the performance to trust myself to deliver the post-match team talk; that was left to Tony, though from the sounds of it he wasn’t any more gentle. I did, though, make a special point of going over to congratulate Milano on his equaliser, he’d been nowhere near fit but still sweated blood for the team when he’d come on and that was one very calm finish indeed.

As I stormed off down the tunnel and towards the car park, someone called out after me

“Teddy,..wait!!â€

Laura. I hadn’t seen her at today’s game, although to be honest I was so busy having a fit on the touchline that the Pope could have turned up with Elvis and I doubt I’d have noticed. My heart told me to turn around, but my head told me I wasn’t about to be made a fool of.

“Teddy, please. We need to talk. I’ve been trying to get hold of you for ages, why didn’t you return my calls?â€

“Maybe it’s because I don’t have anything I want to say to you.â€

“Look, I’m sorry about what my boss said but it didn’t come from me. I wasn’t even in the office on Thursday, the first I knew was when Jane on reception told me you’d called. I’m not even on the sports desk anymore, they’ve banished me off to cover f**king public interest stories; hell, I spent today going out to some ****-hole of a council estate to interview some woman whose bin hadn’t been emptied on time! Look, can we at least go for a drink and talk about it?â€

I felt a smile flickering across my face; “Yeah, I guess so. I could sure use one after that bloody performance. There’s a cab waiting outside, let’s get out of here!â€

“Oh, by the way – what happened to the window in your office??â€

“It had a close encounter with a U.F.T.â€

“ A what??â€

“Unidentified Flying Telephone. It’s a long story.â€

[davidbr]

After my adventures in there on Thursday night, I decided it’d be safest to avoid the Horn and Trumpet, so instead we made for Hogshead, ordered a pint of Hooegarden each (plus a whiskey chaser for me!) and proceeded to have a heart-to-heart.

“So, what’s the score with you and this boss of yours? Ex-boyfriend or something?â€

“No!! Jesus, he’s 45 with a bloody great beer gut!†She took a sip of her pint, and began to explain.

“All I’ve ever wanted to do was be a writer, a journalist, even as a kid. But I couldn’t go to University, my folks couldn’t afford it, and without a degree and God-knows what else none of the papers I applied to would even look twice at me.â€

“So??â€

“Well, one day I saw an ad for a junior reporter at the Post, so I applied. I didn’t have any of the qualifications they said I needed for the job, but I got an interview and Johnson was on the panel. I knew he’d only hired me because I look good in a short skirt, but I just needed to get my foot in the door and anyway I just thought he was a pervy old manâ€

“And he wasn’t?â€

“Well yeah, he is, but he’s just so, creepy. He’d fix it so we’d both end up working late when everyone else went home, he’d brush up against me and run his hands up my top, send me all these pervy e-mails. That kind of thing.â€

“So that’s why he tried to get rid of me, then, he must know we’ve been seeing each other. Look, love, there’s laws against that sort of thing. You don’t have to put up with it, you know!â€

“What, report him? Then what; he denies it, or says it was just a “bit of a laughâ€, the most he’ll get is a slap on the wrist and as for me I’m out of a job. Look, Teddy, you’re sweet but you just don’t understand what it’s like.â€

“OK, then tell me.â€

“Journalism’s a man’s world. If you’re a girl you have to work twice as hard just to get accepted and if you’re a girl like me who left a ****-hole of a school with less qualifications than a Big Brother winner, well.. If I can just stick it out, get some experience under my belt, then I can move on, the Nationals maybe.â€

She wiped a tear from her eye and suddenly I felt incredibly angry, There must be something I could do to help, but somehow I didn’t think that dragging Laura’s boss up to the top floor of our flats and seeing whether the EEC had changed the laws on gravity would do either of our careers much good!

Then it hit me. Bristol Rovers, like most clubs, have a match-day programme, and we needed someone to edit it. Actually we were bloody desperate for someone; my old foe Paul Trollope had been doing it up until now, I figured we had to make him do some work for his grand and a half a week, but he couldn’t write his own name without looking at his passport first.

“So, how about it? It ain’t the Times exactly, but you’ll still have a couple of thousand readers and who knows, when we’re in the Champions League maybe you’ll be famous.â€

Sorted! I reckon that deserves another pint or two to celebrate!

[Dimony]

KUTGW, a bloody good read.

[BobBev]

<BLOCKQUOTE class="ip-ubbcode-quote"><div class="ip-ubbcode-quote-title">quote:</div><div class="ip-ubbcode-quote-content">Originally posted by Dimony:

KUTGW, a bloody good read. </div></BLOCKQUOTE>

What he said

[davidbr]

Thanks for the kind words, Dimony & BobBev, glad you're enjoying it

Like I said before, I'd already posted the first part of this on another site which appears to have died, so I'm just trying to catch up to the point I'm currently at without going (I hope) too fast. Oh, and sorry about the asterisked words; where it'd been posted before they didn't have the darn swear filter to worry about

[davidbr]

Monday 29th August 2005

Carlisle vs. Bristol Rovers, League Two from Brunton Park.

Bris R (4-1-4-1); Scott Shearer, Jean-Christophe Cesto (Lee Grant 33), Chris Carruthers, Ryan Hartslief, Souleymane Bamba, Johannes Djourou, Ryan Williams, Sebastian Larsson (Gary Hamilton 74), Dean West, Franklin Salas, Francesco Milano

Carlisle were in 23rd ahead of this game, but given the long trip and our dodgy form on the road I was in a less than confident mood as we took to the field at Brunton Park. And inside the first two minutes my heart rate took an early rise as Cesto slipped, Brendan McGill found space down the right and his cross was headed narrowly over by veteran defender Zigor Aranalde; not the start I wanted, and it earned Cesto the first four-letter volley of the evening.

Thankfully after that early scare we settled down quickly, Dean West and Franklin Salas were producing some clever link-play which was keeping the home defenders on their toes and Johannes Djourou mopped up superbly every time the ball found its way towards our goal. But our big problem so far this season has been the inability to turn possession into goals, and when Dean West skied one clear over the bar from ten yards out my hands went to my head yet again. But this time we were not to be denied.

Francesco Milano still wasn’t fully fit but he’d badgered me into letting him start, and on 21 he showed why I’ve got such faith in him. Sebastian Larsson found space in the centre circle, he quickly released it wide to Ryan Williams and Williams picked out Dean West thirty yards out. West shaped as if to shoot, but instead slipped a perfect through ball and Milano was onto it in a flash to drive the ball past keeper Anthony Williams; it was a super finish, Williams didn’t even move. Things went from bad to worse for Carlisle when midfielder Peter Murphy was sent off for a two-footed lunge on Salas in the last minute of the first half, and we trooped off the field leading by the only goal.

Half time: Carlisle 0, Bristol Rovers 1 (Milano 21)

With a man down (Murphy was Carlisle’s holding midfield man too) Salas was finding increasing amounts of space, Dean West was making a nuisance of himself too and Johannes Djourou now had more license to come forward and join in attacks. We should have been out of sight by the hour mark, West missed another decent chance and Salas hit the post and the crossbar with low drives from the edge of the area, but as the match moved towards the final quarter-hour the killer second goal just wouldn’t come. Mind you Carlisle were hardly any threat – they’d yet to manage a shot of any description all half – but at 1 – 0 it’d only take one daft mistake to undo all the hard work.

Sebastian Larsson hadn’t really got going in the second half so, looking for attacking options the Swede was withdrawn and Gary Hamilton entered the game; Hamilton had been very poor against Grimsby and I’d given him a right bollocking (that’s a telling off by the way, not a bizarre Norfolk sex ritual) – this was his chance to prove he wasn’t actually winding me up about being an international footballer. And while he hardly lit up the stage, it was from his boot that we finally put this game to bed.

Two minutes from time Chris Carruthers made a foray down the left wing and picked out Dean West in space, West slid it across to Gary Hamilton and Hamilton tried his luck from 25 yards. He hit it well and the keeper was beaten, but his shot cannoned back off the left hand post. I’d started to curse our luck, but this time the hand of fate was kind as the loose ball came straight back out to Franklin Salas; he doesn’t miss those and that was 2-0 to Bristol Rovers. That was also how it finished, a job well done and the journey back passed far quicker than the journey up.

Full time: Carlisle 0, Bristol Rovers 2 (Milano 21, Salas 88)

[davidbr]

Tuesday 30th August 2005

Yey, an away win! OK it was only Carlisle, they’d lost all three games they’d played up until yesterday and the bookies had them down as among the favourites for the drop, but we’d still broken our duck on the road with a very solid display and I was f**king delighted.

I was still cursing the authorities for their fixture scheduling though, I mean it’s far from ideal to have to make your longest away trip of the season on a Monday night and especially a Monday night after you’ve already played on the previous weekend. We’d done a professional job, but the coach hadn’t got back into Bristol until well after 4 a.m. and since we were at home to Mansfield on Saturday I’d decided to do the safe thing and give the players a day’s rest. All except Jean-Christophe Cesto, that was; we’d arranged for him to have a scan at the local hospital to make sure he hadn’t done himself any serious damage.

I still had work to do, so by a quarter to eleven I was bounding (well, crawling would be more accurate – I’d decided a few celebratory early-morning Jack Daniels had been in order!) up the stairs to the Memorial Stadium office.

[davidbr]

Today, the office would be even more crowded than usual; Laura had yesterday told her sex-pest of a boss at the Evening Post to stick his job where his mother never kissed him, and as of today she was now editor of that most revered of literary works, the Bristol Rovers match-day programme! God knows how we’d manage for space, as it is there’s barely room to swing a very small cat in there, but I was definitely looking forward to having her around. Well, it was better than staring at Ratty’ s ugly mug!

“Morning, sweetheart. Settled in OK?â€

“Yeah, though it’s a good thing I’m not claustrophobic or anything. Christ, Teddy, how do you two ever manage to get any work done in here, it looks like a f**king bomb’s hit it!â€

“We manage, or we did ‘til you came along. If you want to tidy the place up, feel free!â€

“Oh, and what’s with the computer? Ancient or what? I swear, a few days back I was watching National Geographic and they found a P.C. just like that inside Tutankhamen’s tomb!â€

At that point the ringing of the (newly repaired) telephone halted any further discussion on the merits of Bristol Rovers’ IT network. It was Gary Smith, my Norfolk super-agent, and he had a few more recommendations up his sleeve. Trouble was, this time there was a catch..

“Portugal? Well, I could use some cover in those positions, and since they’re on a free why not. Sure, invite them over for a trial and I’ll take a look.â€

“No can do, Teddy. These guys have got Porto and Sporting Lisbon sniffing around, there’s no way they’ll agree to hop on a plane on the off-chance they’ll get a deal at a crap English club. Now I’ve spoken to them and they’re interested, but if you want them you’re going to have to come up with a permanent deal and then come over here and persuade them.â€

“What, come to Portugal?? I can’t just leave the f**king country, Gary; in case you’ve missed it, I’ve got a football club to run!â€

“Seriously, Teddy. If you miss out on these three, you’re going to be kicking yourself.â€

I put down the phone, and turned to Laura.

“How does a few days in Portugal sound, darling? It’s not a holiday, exactly, but..â€

“Just say the word, and I’ll get packing!!â€

So far, Gary had done me proud with the players he’d recommended, and if he thought these three Portuguese youngsters were worth the effort then that was good enough for me. We’d be flying out on September 4th, the morning after the Mansfield game, and all being well I should be able to make it back to Bristol for the following Thursday to prepare for the home clash with Wrexham.

[davidbr]

Friday, 2nd September 2005

So, what’s been happening down here since Tuesday? Injuries, that’s what, and f**king lots of them! Actually, “injuries†doesn’t really cover it; “epidemic†would be more accurate!

Yep, with temperatures still hovering around the high seventies and after a week of perfect sunshine, no less than six of my squad of pansies have come down with a bloody cold! And, it’d be fair to say I wasn’t all that sympathetic; I can see no good reason why an attack of the sniffles should prevent a professional footballer from doing his job.

I’d considered forcing them to play, but Tony reckoned that might be a killer for squad morale. So, we’ll have to do without them, but the four first-teamers (Chris Carruthers, Souleymane Bamba, Johannes Djourou and Sebastian Larsson) have got their cards well and truly marked. I know Mansfield’s hardly a dream destination, but even so.. Lazy bastards! One player with a genuine excuse is Jean-Christophe Cesto; turns out he’d pulled a thigh muscle against Carlisle, the medics say it’ll be a fortnight before he’s fully fit but even so he was badgering me in training to let him at least be on the bench tomorrow! He won’t be, but his commitment hasn’t gone unnoticed.

All this means that, for the first time since pre-season, I’ll be forced to start with five from the squad I inherited in the first 11. Even worse, one of those five will be my old Wales buddy, ex-coach and ex-programme writer Paul Trollope! I’d already made it very clear to Paul that his future here is about as bright as an Iranian porn baron’s, but with his contract up at the end of the season maybe he’ll be out to make an impression.

Amongst all this doom and gloom, we have had one major slice of luck though; Ecuador’s World Cup clash with Bolivia has been moved back three days to Wednesday September 6th, which means that we’ll have Franklin Salas available for tomorrow! I’m going to need him.

[davidbr]

Saturday, 3rd September 2005

Mansfield vs. Bristol Rovers, League Two from Field Mill

Bris R (4-1-4-1); Scott Shearer, Ali Gibb, Paul Trollope, Steve Elliott, Ryan Hartslief, Lee Grant, Jeroen van Staveren (Stuart Fergus 82), Dean West, Ryan Williams (Aaron Lescott 82), Franklin Salas, Francesco Milano (Junior Agogo 82)

So my much-changed team took to the field on a warm September afternoon at Field Mill, and they surprised me by making a very bright start indeed. Dean West was clearly up for this one, he was giving Mansfield’s midfield the run-around, and Mansfield were only saved from going one down by one veteran helping out another; Gus Ulhenbeek slipped, Francesco Milano got the shot away but keeper Kevin Pressman got down well to turn it around the post.

Lee Grant then sent a free header well over the bar after 12 minutes, Franklin Salas and Ryan Williams both went close as well with low drives from the edge of the area, and with Mansfield finding themselves pegged back inside their own half it only seemed a matter of time before one went in. Finally just before the half hour Franklin Salas was cynically hauled down by defender Jon Olav Hjelde, Jeroen van Staveren had always claimed to be a dead-ball expert and he backed that up with a brilliant curling free kick which flew past Pressman and into the top left corner. 1-0, we were on our way.

The pressure continued to mount on beleaguered Mansfield, and Franklin Salas was drifting through the midfield like a shadow they simply couldn’t touch. On 41, Salas danced away from Mitchell and Dawson, slipped the ball out wide to van Staveren and the Dutchman’s inch-perfect cross was met with a stunning volley by Dean West, a moment of pure class from the 21-year old. There was still time for West to clip the crossbar in stoppage time, but this had been a superb display from us and we were firmly in command.

Half time: Mansfield 0, Bristol Rovers 2 (van Staveren 29, West 41)

I’d sent my players out with orders to produce more of the same and they did exactly that; from our first attack of the half Dean West ran at the Mansfield defence, Hjelde backed off and backed off and West shaped as if to shoot from the edge of the area. Instead, though, he slipped it across to Franklin Salas, and my Ecuador star sent it flying into the roof of Pressman’s net from 18 yards. 3-0, and just 48 minutes gone!

Mansfield as of yet hadn’t managed a shot on goal, they did put that right a few minutes later when some slack marking allowed Colin Marrison to get away a shot on the turn which Scott Shearer had to be lively to, but they knew they were beaten. The home fans were already streaming out as the hour approached, their side had opted for damage limitation in the form of a 4-5-1 and although we were still in complete control the extra bodies back made it harder for Salas and West to work their magic.

Eight minutes from time I opted to rest some tired legs, a triple change included a debut for 18-year old Stuart Fergus and a first appearance of the season for Junior Agogo, and it was Fergus who almost lived the ultimate dream as a mazy run took him away from three Mansfield defenders only for his shot to thud back off the upright. It’d have been a special moment for the youngster but in the context of the game it didn’t matter one bit; 3-0 was how it ended, three points were in the bag and for the first time since the opening day we were back up in League Two’s top seven.

Full time: Mansfield 0, Bristol Rovers 3 (van Staveren 29, West 41, Salas 48)

[davidbr]

Friday 9th August, 2005

Well, Gary Smith’s eye for talent has proved to be as sharp as ever, and we’ve returned from our five days in Portugal with three new players signed safely on the dotted line. Two of them are really hopes for the future, and will likely spend most of this season in either the reserves or the Under-18s, but I’ve also filled a gaping hole in my first-team squad.

So far in all of our games, my big worry has been at left-back. Chris Carruthers has been first choice by default (he’s the only left-sided defender we’ve got) but he possesses the first touch of a drunken virgin and the pace of a 1970’s Lada. The only other left-footed players in the entire squad are Paul Trollope, and we all know my feelings about him, and Stuart Fergus; he’s a promising midfielder but tackling certainly isn’t one of his strong points. In short, I needed a good left-back. And guess what; I’ve found one!

The lucky lad is 23-year old Jose Pereira, or as he prefers to be known, Kipulo. He started out at his home-town club Vitoria Guimaraes but was released at the end of last season, hasn’t been able to find a club and jumped at the chance of a fresh start in England. To be honest I’m amazed no-one’s come in for him already, he’s a very solid all round player and a vast improvement on the crap I’ve currently got for his position. He’s now Bristol Rovers’ first choice left back.

The other two new boys are 21-year old right midfielder Fabio Silva and 15-year old Brazil-born goalkeeper Nando. Silva, who made a handful of appearances for Estrela Amadora in the Super League, is a very skilful player but is also very slight, and until we can bulk him up a bit the rough bastards of League Two would eat him alive. Still, he’s got pace so he could be looking at a few late cameo appearances against tiring legs. Nando will go into the Under-18’s for now, but I can really see him challenging for a senior spot in the not-too-distant future.

Of course, it wasn’t all work; in fact hardly any of it was work! All three of our trialists had agreed to come to Lisbon to meet with me, since I wanted them and they wanted a club there wasn’t a lot to haggle over and I’d completed all three deals by mid-afternoon on Monday!

But I was in no hurry to leave; so Ratty told me the hot weather back home had turned into torrential rain, and the chance to spend some quality time with a beautiful girl wasn’t one I was about to turn down. In any case, Tony was taking care of training and he could probably do it a lot better than me.

We’d based ourselves right in the centre of Lisbon, and while we did spend some time touring the attractions we spent rather more time propping up the bars! Neither of us spoke a word of Portuguese, but my Spanish and Laura’s frantic hand gestures were enough to get us by in the places where English wasn’t common, and generally we had a great time. Wednesday night saw us travel out of the city to the Casino Estoril, said to be among the largest in Europe, where Laura was delighted to win 5,000 Euros on the blackjack and I was less delighted to be stung for 150 by the robbing taxi driver for the half-hour round trip. Still, at least we showed a profit!

Right now, as we made our way across the tarmac at Bristol Airport against a howling wind and driving rain, and prepared no doubt to find out which planet British Airways had teleported our luggage to, I bloody wished I was back there. But all good things have to come to an end, at least we’re at home tomorrow and at least, after Kipulo received his international clearance through, I won’t have to play Paul Trollope at left back!

[davidbr]

Saturday 10th September 2005

Oh, I almost forgot one final piece of news that happened during our week away. Franklin Salas was in the starting line-up as Ecuador took on Bolivia last Wednesday night, it wasn’t one of his better performances really but that didn’t matter; Ivan Kaviedes’ goal gave the Ecuadorians a 1-0 win, and that was enough to guarantee Franklin’s mob a place in next summer’s World Cup Finals! Yes, there’s every chance that at Germany 2006, alongside the stars from Chelsea, Milan and Barcelona, there’ll be a player from Bristol Rovers strutting his stuff on the biggest stage of all!

There was good news on the international front, too, for the two nations closest to my heart. Wales returned from their trip east to Poland with an excellent 2-0 win, Neil Roberts and Rob Earnshaw got the goals, and though England were nowhere near as impressive Michael Owen’s 47th-minute strike was enough for three points away in Northern Ireland. Of course after their dreadful campaign Wales were only playing for pride, but England now need only a point next month to make sure of their place in Germany. Now, back to our own exploits…

[davidbr]

Bristol Rovers vs. Wrexham, League Two from the Memorial Stadium

Bris R (4-1-4-1); Scott Shearer, Ali Gibb, Kipulo, Ryan Hartslief, Souleymane Bamba, Johannes Djourou, Jeroen van Staveren, Ryan Williams, Dean West (Mark Worthington 4), Franklin Salas, Francesco Milano

Salas had returned from his adventures in South America still on a high to take his rightful place in the starting X1, and with Djourou back and Kipulo in for his debut the spine of the team looked strong. Things didn’t start well, though, when after just four minutes Dean West went down clutching his ankle, West couldn’t continue and so Mark Worthington made an unexpected early debut from the bench.Bugger!

Thankfully it didn’t seem to throw us too much, and Franklin Salas had already forced an excellent save from Wrexham keeper Michael Ingham before the early breakthrough came. 17 minutes in, sub Mark Worthington wriggled free of Andy Holt’s challenge, Francesco Milano’s forward run was perfect, Worthington’s pass found its target and Milano’s low drive found the back of the Wrexham net for 1-0 Bristol Rovers. Five minutes later Darren Ferguson, son of Man Utd’s resident miserable bastard Alex, up-ended Salas and from the resultant free-kick Jeroen van Staveren rattled Ingham’s right hand post; his free-kick claims appear to be well founded.

There was a brief scare when towering centre-back Dennis Lawrence headed just over from Darren Ferguson’s corner, Ferguson himself sliced another half-chance well wide for Wrexham but other than that it was constant Rovers pressure. Franklin Salas was having an excellent game, his trickery coupled with Milano’s testing runs were pulling the visiting defence this way and that but the closest we came to a second was a low drive from Milano which fizzed just wide of the left-hand post.

Half Time: Bristol Rovers 1 (Milano 17), Wrexham 0

The visitors came out strongly after the break and could have had an equaliser inside the first minute; Andy Holt’s through ball released Drew Talbot, but Talbot’s first touch was way too heavy and Souleymane Bamba was able to get across and clear. Not long afterwards some poor marking gave Rob Davies a clear sight of goal, but he didn’t use the time he had and sliced his shot wildly over the bar.

So a couple of let-offs, and ones Wrexham would come to regret. We regrouped and regained control, and three minutes before the hour Franklin Salas won a free-kick out on the right, Salas took it himself and his floated ball was set on a plate for Mark Worthington to head home his first ever goal in league football. Francesco Milano was inches away a minute or so later after more good work from Salas, but then at a crucial moment we let our composure slip.

Our problems started when Robbie Foy released Lee Roche down the right, it seemed a nothing situation but Ali Gibb mistimed the tackle, Roche had time to cross and our defence parted like the Red Sea to allow Darren Ferguson a free header inside Shearer’s near post. I think the thought of Darren’s f**king father smirking at that one in the Ferguson family home tonight actually annoyed me more than the goal itself did.

The last laugh was on us, though, as despite a triple late change and a switch to four, yes four, up front, Wrexham couldn’t create anything else worthy of being called a chance. We could, and did, though; nine minutes from time Ryan Williams on the right found Jeroen van Staveren on the left, the Dutchman’s cross was flicked on by Franklin Salas and there was Francesco Milano waiting to pounce at the far post for his second of the afternoon. Up yours, Fergie!

Full Time: Bristol Rovers 3 (Milano 17,81, Worthington 57), Wrexham 1 (Ferguson 61)

[Terk]

Re-opened and upped by request

[Amaroq]

Welcome back, davidbr. Glad to see you re-opened this; it was one of the stories I was sad to see abandoned.

A piece of advice, you say you've got quite a bit written - take your time about posting it, so that if you hit a point where your motivation falters, you've story saved up to post for a week or two without having to write new material.