Pirates of the Northatlantic: The Rovers Return

[Peacemaker7]

Read that as one of the stories you were glad to see abandoned, thought you were being unusually cruel

[chesterfan2]

Glad this one's been reopened. It makes for a very good read.

[davidbr]

Thanks, Terk - and thankyou Amaroq/Peacemaker7 for the words of advice!

The problem with this one was that originally the save wasn't meant as a story - merely a way for me to learn a bit about FM06 tactics. I suddenly had an idea, and decided to run with it... only to find it's bloody hard to motivate yourself to write match reports about games you've played six months ago!

Season two should (I hope) be easier...

[davidbr]

“Excellent stuff, lads!! Francesco, those were two quality finishes, but you all did your bit out there. No training tomorrow, so I’ll see you bright and early Monday morning.â€

I turned to Tony; “An arse-kicking for the prodigal son, that’ll wipe the ****ing smile off Alex Ferguson’s face.â€

“You really don’t like him, Teddy, do you?â€

“No, you remember what happened when we tried to sign Luke Steele on loan? The arrogant red-nosed **** didn’t even have the decency to reply to our fax!â€

It was true that seeing Darren Ferguson traipsing off the pitch a loser just added to the satisfaction. I’d never been a great fan of “Sir†Alex anyway, but the way he’d dismissed our bid to loan his reserve goalkeeper meant he sure wasn’t getting on my Christmas card list. I doubt he cared, but then..

Amidst all the back-slapping, though, I made a point of having a few words of consolation with Dean West; Dean had been devastated at being forced off so early in today’s game, and though we wouldn’t know for sure what the damage was until later (Tony was going to take him to hospital later on for an X-ray) it didn’t look good.

At that point, Ratty wandered in; “****ing quality. Now come on, I need a pint. I take it Laura’s joining us?â€

“Yeah, she’s just nipped up to the office to pick up some papers or something. Bay Horse alright with you?â€

[davidbr]

The Bay Horse it was, and the drinks flowed as we celebrated today’s win. It’d been an excellent performance against a Wrexham side above us in the table at the start of play, and the Pirates fans who came over to talk to us (and there were quite a few, it was a busy night) all shared my delight at the way the last few games had gone. Laura seemed to have settled in nicely to her job as programme editor too, and Ratty had obviously noticed the smile that spread across my face whenever she was around.

“You really like that girl, don’t you?†Yes, I liked her; she was pretty, intelligent, good company.., I guess I just wasn’t ready to admit to myself that there might be something more to it than that.

“Oh come off it, Ratty, it’s just shagging. I mean, you wouldn’t say no, would you?â€

“Bol*ocks. I know you too well, Edward Hamilton, I can read you like a ****ing book. That gooey face, the way your eyes follow her every time she gets out of her seat. Last time I saw you like that, you were just a kid up at Kings Lynn, remember?â€

“Th..that was different!â€

“Yeah, sure it was. And I ain’t got a hole in my arse. Come off it, I can see you like her; what’ve you got to lose?â€

I looked across at him, but no words were necessary; we both knew the answer to that one. I’d just begun to rebuild my life after the nightmare of the last three years, and I just wasn’t sure I was ready to let anyone get that close to me yet.

Just then Laura wandered back over, and looked at us quizzically;

“What’s up with you two?â€

“Oh, nothing, just club business that’s all. Ah, **** it, let’s head off down the Grosvenor. They’re open until 6am, and I feel like losing some money.â€

The Grosvenor Casino, down by the dockland area, seemed to be Bristol’s premier gambling venue and it was a place Ratty and I had been to several times since we’d first arrived in this fair city. We won some, lost some, won some and drunk even more, I guess we finished a few quid in front but no-one really cared and the sun was already beginning to poke its head above the horizon by the time we staggered back to our flat, swaying from side to side like a palm tree in a hurricane.

Ratty passed out on the kitchen floor, Laura and I just about made it into bed, and it was well into the afternoon before we surfaced again; just in time, as it happened, to watch Paul Jewell’s Wigan stun Martin Jol’s Tottenham with a 3-1 win at White Hart Lane in the live Super Sunday fixture.

[davidbr]

Friday, 17th September, 2005

We’re at home again tomorrow and we’ll never get a better chance to extend that winning run to four matches; Rushden & Diamonds are the visitors, they’re currently rock-bottom of League Two with just a solitary point to show for their efforts and they’ve yet to score a single goal on their travels this season.

Of course, no week at the Memorial Stadium would be complete without its little problems. Monday morning didn’t bring good news, the scans taken on Dean West’s thigh showed he’s pulled a muscle and could be out for anywhere up to a month. My physios did suggest we could give him a steroid injection to get him through the next few games, but there’s no way I’m going to take a chance with Dean – if we’re going to build on our good start then he’s going to be vital and I’d much rather miss him for a few games early on while he recovers than for him to struggle on, make the injury worse and then be out for months at the business end of the campaign.

Mark Worthington will replace him; Mark scored on his debut off the bench against Wrexham, I’m hoping he can show that was no flash in the pan. I’m also going to be without left-back Kipulo, this time it’s not as serious but he picked up a dead leg in a practice match on Wednesday and hasn’t managed to shake it off in time; Sebastian Larsson is likely to fill in.

Off the pitch, Paul Johnson, Laura’s former boss at the Evening Post, called to ask if he could have an interview with Franklin Salas about his country’s qualification for the World Cup; I took great pleasure in putting him on hold for half an hour, then telling him that Bristol Rovers Football Club has “instigated a policy of non co-operation†with his rag of a newspaper before slamming the phone down.

Childish? Yes, totally; yet somehow bloody satisfying!

[davidbr]

So, here we were, Friday afternoon. Training had finished at noon, Ratty had gone out for dinner with that northern lass from the university he’s been knocking off for the last few weeks, and me, Paul and Tony were just running over a few final points for tomorrow before heading off down the pub for a session. When, from the direction of the office, there came an almighty scream. The three of us dashed in, to find Laura up on the desk and pointing madly to the corner.

“What’s wrong??â€

“Over there!!†She pointed to the corner of the room. “RAT!!â€

Sure enough, happily poking its head out from the wastebin, was a bloody great brown rat!

“How the **** did he get in here, we’re on the third bloody floor?†But I was talking to myself. For my assistant manager and my coach, both grizzled ex-pros who could have put the shakes up Hannibal Lecter... had legged it out the office door like sh*t through a goose!

In the end the offending critter was dispatched with the aid of a sharp broom, Laura finally agreed to get down from the table, Paul and Tony were officially a pair of yellow bastards, and I finished my Friday afternoon on the phone to Rentokil trying to arrange an urgent call-out.

I bet Jose Mourinho doesn’t have to put up with this!!

[davidbr]

Saturday 18th September 2005

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

Bris R (4-1-4-1); Scott Shearer, Ali Gibb, Sebastian Larsson, Souleymane Bamba, Ryan Hartslief, Johannes Djourou, Jeroen van Staveren (Stuart Fergus 73), Mark Worthington, Ryan Williams, Franklin Salas, Francesco Milano (Gary Hamilton 73)

Our good recent form was rewarded with our best home attendance of the season – 8,996 – all eager to see us chalk up that fourth straight win. But, despite their lowly position Rushden clearly hadn’t come here just to make up the numbers and they unnerved us with their positive, physical start.

Seven minutes in we survived a huge scare when Alton Thelwell found Peter Hawkins down the left. Hawkins sent the cross in, Simeon Johnson moved but Ryan Hartslief, who was supposed to be marking him, didn’t and I was bloody relieved to see Johnson make a total mess of what turned out to be a free header. That didn’t put Rushden off, though, as Hawkins and David Savage both had half-chances in an opening 20 minutes that Rushden totally dominated.

Finally, after 25 minutes, we managed to string more than two passes together and create something resembling a chance. Johannes Djourou powered forward with the ball, he hurdled David Savage’s challenge before finding Jeroen van Staveren in space on the left; sadly though Francesco Milano couldn’t quite get to van Staveren’s cross. Before half time Milano missed a much clearer chance, scuffing the ball wide after he’d been sent clean through on goal, Franklin Salas also headed over when in a good position, but as half-time arrived the scores were as blank as a Royal’s mind.

Half Time: Bristol Rovers 0, Rushden 0

I was furious with the way we’d started the game, my half time team talk was one long four-letter tirade, and where gentle persuasion had failed good old abuse seemed to have done the trick. Because after the break we looked like a different side, Franklin Salas was terrorising the Rushden defence and the chances began coming thick and fast. Francesco Milano missed again when clear on goal in the 50th minute, Salas cannoned a 30-yard free kick off the crossbar in the 57th and Jeroen van Staveren wasn’t much further away with a free kick in the 64th. Then in the 72nd minute of the match Franklin Salas set off on a mazy run, defenders Allen and Jones couldn’t stop him reaching the byline and from there he cut the ball back to the far post where Ryan Williams was waiting to hammer home from six yards out; 1-0 to Rovers, and Rushden’s brave resistance had been broken.

I chose that moment to make a double change, Gary Hamilton replaced the tired Francesco Milano and Stuart Fergus came on for Jeroen van Staveren (the Dutchman had picked up a knock earlier in the game). That proved to be an inspired change, as it was the two substitutes who combined for the last-minute clincher; Stuart Fergus with the weighted through ball, Gary Hamilton with the low finish, and Bristol Rovers had the fourth straight win. I don’t take a lot of notice of league tables at this stage, but we’re up to third after today’s result!

Full Time: Bristol Rovers 2 (Williams 72, Hamilton 90), Rushden 0

[davidbr]

Back in the safety of the dressing room, I turned to Tony and breathed a huge sigh of relief;

“**** me, that was a close one!â€

“Not the greatest, Teddy, but don’t forget that’s still four straight wins.â€

“Yeah, guess so. Look, I’ve got a few things to do upstairs. D’you mind doing the team talk?â€

I didn’t really have anything of great importance to take care of, I just figured that the interests of team morale would be better served by a few words of congratulation from Tony on the win, than by a rant from me about the ****-poor first half display. That could wait until Monday’s training session.

Anyway, didn’t someone once say the sign of a good team was being able to grind out results on the days you’re not playing well? That was the view we decided to take anyway, and another exhausting week at the Memorial Stadium was put to bed over a steady stream of refreshing pints in the bars of the city centre. It was just as well we had Sunday off!

[davidbr]

Grr - damn swear filter...

Monday 19th September 2005

“OK then, send them inâ€

It was the start of another week, and I had a few problems to contend with. On Saturday night, whilst Laura, Ratty and myself had been celebrating the Rushden win by getting extremely drunk, two of my first-teamers had taken their celebrations a tad too far.

Jeroen van Staveren and Stuart Fergus had finished up their night as guests of the law, after being arrested following a fight in Lloyds Bar (a supremely tacky nightclub near Bristol Docks, popular with students and one Ratty and I had so far avoided like the plague). They’d been let off with a caution once they’d sobered up, and now Jeroen and Stuart stood in front of me sporting a very colourful set of matching black eyes!

“So, what happened?â€

I didn’t need to ask that really, the barmaid from the Bay Horse had been in Lloyds herself and when Ratty and I popped down for a pint yesterday she enthusiastically filled us in with the details. Apparently Stuart, after a vodka or two too many, started hitting on a young stunner from the university, and the lassie’s boyfriend didn’t appreciate Stuart’s advances!

As far as I was concerned, it was a nothing incident, just a couple of kids getting carried away. Only trouble was, the local rag had got hold of the story, and I’d been reliably informed they were planning to splash it all over this evening’s edition. Paul Johnson, the editor, still hadn’t forgiven me for shattering his illusions with Laura, and I knew he’d be out to cause trouble at every opportunity.

“You go fine us, yes??†Jeroen enquired in his broken English.

“No, Jeroen, I’m not going to fine either of you, or drop you. To be frank I don’t really give a f**k, it’s only so I can lie to the paper that I’ve taken some action that we’re even having this conversation. Just be careful where you go, OK? Now get your arses down to training.â€

[davidbr]

Friday 23rd September 2005

“So, what’dyou think?â€

“Too early to say, Teddy. He’s got talent, but from what I’ve seen he’s way short of match fitness.â€

A bit of a bugger, but it’d have to do. Paul, Tony and myself were discussing Adam Green, a 21-year old full-back and the latest addition to the squad down here. Adam was on a three-month loan from Premiership strugglers Fulham, and even though he’d only met his new team-mates for the first time this morning he’d have to start tomorrow’s game against Rochdale. Kipulo’s dead leg has proved to be a stubborn so-and-so, we’d done all we could to get him ready in time but Phil Kite, my physio, had just confirmed what we’d been fearing; Kipulo was out of tomorrow’s squad.

Dean West, of course, would also be missing, but other than that we were in full strength ahead of tomorrow’s long trip north. A win could, in theory, send us to the top of the table, but my biggest motivation was getting one over on Steve Parkin; Rochdale’s loud-mouthed manager had come out and said, amongst other things, that he was confident his side would pick up an easy win. I’ll let us do our talking on the pitch.

[davidbr]

Saturday, 24th September 2005

Rochdale vs. Bristol Rovers, League Two from Spotlands

Bris R (4-1-4-1); Scott Shearer, Jean-Christophe Cesto, Adam Green, Ryan Hartslief (Mark Earnshaw 45), Souleymane Bamba, Johannes Djourou, Jeroen van Staveren, Sebastian Larsson, Mark Worthington (Paul Trollope 45), Franklin Salas, Francesco Milano

I’d been confident ahead of kick-off that we could make Steve Parkin eat his words, but the opening minutes at Spotlands saw that confidence drain away. For it was the home side that made by far the brighter start, and after only five minutes they should have led when Danny Woodards skied Jamie Clarke’s cross over the bar from six yards. Not long after midfielder Gary Jones was a few inches away with a 25-yard drive, and on the 20-minute mark Grant Holt’s cushioned through ball sent Rickie Lambert free on goal; thankfully for me, though, Lambert’s finish was weak and Scott Shearer gathered it easily.

22 minutes in we finally created our first chance of the match, Franklin Salas wriggled free down the right and put in a cross which Francesco Milano steered a foot or so wide, but if I’d thought that would be a turning point for us I’d have been mistaken. On 25 Lee Cartwright combined well in midfield with Gary Jones, Cartwright found Grant Holt and his cross was perfect for Steve Jennings to slam home from 12 yards; Rochdale had the lead.

The last 20 minutes of the first half were pretty even, the nearest Rochdale came to a second was a low drive from Holt that Shearer saw comfortably wide, but we never even managed that and as the half time whistle sounded I couldn’t deny Rochdale deserved their lead. And that made me angry. Very angry.

Half time: Rochdale 1 (Jennings 25), Bristol Rovers 0

[davidbr]

It’s just as well there weren’t any nuns in the away dressing room at Spotlands, because my half-time team talk would have made them blush redder than a baboon’s arse. Whatever I said seemed to do the trick, though, as we looked a completely different side at the start of the second period. And, just two minutes had passed when that bright start got its just rewards; Johannes Djourou made a foray forward, his through ball was perfect for Franklin Salas and the Ecuadorian maestro smashed it past Rochdale keeper Matthew Gilks from the edge of the box.

I’d been forced to make a double change at half time through injury; one of the two subs was none other than my old foe Paul Trollope, and although I don’t like the bloke I couldn’t deny the key part he’d played in our second goal. It was Trollope’s delicate chipped pass that opened the way to goal for Francesco Milano, and our top scorer did what he does best with a fine finish down to the keeper’s left. Rochdale’s heads dropped and our dominance grew, but we just couldn’t make that count as several decent opportunities went begging. And it looked like we might live to regret that when, in the 70th minute, Jean-Christophe Cesto was put under pressure by Grant Holt, tried to find a way back to Scott Shearer but played the backpass woefully short and Rickie Lambert was able to take the ball round Shearer and into an empty net for 2-2.

But then came the game’s biggest talking point. On 77 Francesco Milano found a burst of pace which took him past Tommy Jaczscun and into the eighteen-yard box. Defender Colin Miles came across, slid in and (I thought) made a good, clean tackle. But, to the amazement of just about everyone, referee Shoebridge pointed straight to the spot!; at best it was a very harsh decision and if I’d been in Steve Parkin’s shoes I’d have been just as angry, but there’s no room for sentiment in football and Franklin Salas showed none as he calmly stroked home the spot-kick low to the keeper’s right. 3-2 to Bristol Rovers, and Rochdale had a fight on their hands again to salvage something from the game!

It was a fight they never looked like winning, Grant Holt did cause Scott Shearer a nervous second or so with a 30-yard piledriver that fizzed a yard or so wide, but other than that we closed out the last minutes comfortably. The Rochdale bench were still fuming at that penalty, Parkin refused to shake hands after the whistle, but although we’d left it late I felt our performance in general deserved maximum points.

Full time: Rochdale 2 (Jennings 25, Lambert 70), Bristol Rovers 3 (Salas 47, pen77, Milano 51)

[davidbr]

“OK lads, we made hard work of that, but a win’s a win. Franklin, you’re now our official penalty taker; very nicely done!â€

It had been a long day so far, it was going to be a long trip back south, and so I was keen for us to get changed, get on the coach and get moving; I had no wish to spend any more time in Rochdale than was absolutely bloody essential, the place hadn’t exactly endeared itself to me so far. But first, there was one more piece of business to attend to; before the game, I’d been approached by a reporter from the Rochdale Gazette wanting a few words afterwards, I’d hoped to sneak out unnoticed but he was waiting outside the dressing room for me, worse luck!

“Mr Hamilton? Thankyou for sparing us the time. Congratulations on the win, but wouldn’t you agree your side was more than a bit fortunate today?â€

“No, I wouldn’t agree. Sure we were poor first half and Rochdale had their chances. But they didn’t take them, we stepped up several gears after the break and but for some poor finishing and defensive errors it could easily have been four or five.â€

“Steve Parkin made a point of refusing to shake hands at full time, and there have been a few comments in the press over the last few days as well. Is there a problem between you and Parkin?â€

“Not as far as I’m concerned, but that’s something you’d best off ask him; I’d never met the guy before today and I won’t even be thinking about him until the return game at our place. As for the handshake thing, I offer like I always do and yes I was disappointed he felt it necessary to refuse. But then his side had just lost at home and no manager’s going to be in the best of moods at that.â€

“What was your view on the penalty? The Rochdale players and the crowd seem convinced Milano had dived, and I’ve just heard Steve Parkin’s post-match interview in which he’s been very outspoken in his criticism of the referee’s performance.â€

“Well I guess that’ll cost him a few quid then! There’s no way it was a dive, but I’d agree it looked very harsh and I thought Francesco just lost the ball and the Rochdale lad made a decent tackle. But that’s football, sometimes decisions don’t go your way and you’ve just got to accept them like a man. What did Parkin expect Salas to do, miss the f**king thing on purpose?â€

“Your side’s made a very good start and you’re in fine form at the moment. People are already talking of you as potential title-winners, do you think that’s realistic?â€

“All we can do is do our best to win every game we play, and see where that takes us. Now we’ve got a long trip ahead of us, and the team coach is waiting to leave. Thankyou.â€

And with that I was off, out of Spotlands (hopefully) never to return!!

[davidbr]

As it turned out the journey back to Bristol was trouble-free, and by 11pm I was safely back in the Horn and Trumpet clutching a large whisky and accompanied by the beautiful Laura and, erm, rather less beautiful Ratty (he’d decided not to travel up with us today, the lazy bastard preferred to get ****ed instead!). And Laura had something to ask me.

“Teddy, next week is my dad’s 50th birthday, we’re having a party and all that, and I was wondering, would you come with me?â€

I didn’t really know what to say, I was a bit surprised to be honest. I mean she’d never mentioned her family, or much about her life at all really, hadn’t even told me where they lived (Bath, apparently, wherever the hell that was.) I’d never pushed her on it, given my previous I was happy to steer clear of the subject of personal lives, and though I liked Laura a lot I wasn’t sure I was quite ready for the whole meet-the-family thing. That was serious stuff, wasn’t it?

“I’m not sure, love. I’m not much good at family gatherings, always say the wrong thing. Anyway, I wouldn’t know anyone, would I?â€

“You’d know me, you daft bugger. Please, Teddy, it’d mean a lot to me. And my dad’s dying to meet you.â€

I thought for a second. Ah, **** it, why not?

“OK, it’s a deal. You’d better make sure your Dad’s got some Jack Daniels in, though! Now it’s my round, what’dyou want?â€

I made my way to the bar, humming contentedly as I went. Yep, things were going pretty well right now. The team was winning, Ratty and I had settled in pretty well to Bristol life (well, Bristol pubs anyhow!) and as for Laura, well although I was still wary, I was beginning to realise she was a very special girl and thinking maybe, maybe, it was the right time to take things a step further.

That smile vanished from my face, though, as I heard the voice from behind me;

“Hello, Teddy. It’s been a long time.â€

[Welwyn]

great story!

[Wegason]

Terrific story

[davidbr]

Thanks, Welwyn & Wegason - and I promise I'll one day get the hang of this bloody swear filter

.............

I spun round, and even though it was pretty warm inside the pub I could feel a chill running up my spine. Surely I was imagining things; surely it couldn’t be true? But I wasn’t, and it was.

Standing there in front of me was none other than Sarah Morley, the girl who’d broken the heart and, indirectly, the body of that hopeful young footballer more than three long years ago. I could feel the blood drain from my head, and my face went white.

“Come on Teddy, say something! You look like you’ve seen a ghost!â€

And what’s more I felt like I had too. You see, Sarah and I had been childhood sweethearts. We’d first met when I was a naïve 16-year old, just after I’d signed for Kings Lynn. She was the first girl I’d ever properly been with, she’d followed me down to Peterborough and on the fateful evening of my crash I’d been just about to ask her if she’d be my wife. No, Sarah had been the love of my life, if I’m honest she still was. I’d tried so hard to put her out of my mind, and had started to rebuild my life with Ratty’s help these past few months. But seeing her now, all the painful memories came flooding back to me.

“You don’t look too pleased to see me, Teddy.â€

“Well, what the hell did you expect, hugs and kisses? I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, Sarah, and you really hurt me. Why did you have to come here now?â€

“People do change you know, Teddy.â€

“Yeah, well most people don’t.â€

At that point Ratty wandered across to see what had happened to his drink, and when he saw who I was talking to his face dropped. Even when we’d been together he’d never liked Sarah, said he didn’t trust her, and as it turned out his judge of character had been spot on. And unlike me, Ratty’s never lost for words.

“What the f**k are you doing here?â€

“Calm down, Richard, I didn’t come to cause trouble.â€

“Well you’d be best just f**king off now, then. It’s OK, Teddy, get the drinks back to the table. I’ll take care of this.â€

I couldn’t quite hear what Ratty said to her, but I could guess, and as she went to leave I thought I saw a tear or two glistening in the corner of her eye. By now the whole bottom floor of the pub had stopped to watch the spectacle, including of course Laura.

“What was that all about?â€

“Oh, just ancient history. Just ancient history, that’s all love.â€

I don’t know whether or not I convinced her, because I sure didn’t convince myself.

[Amaroq]

<BLOCKQUOTE class="ip-ubbcode-quote"><div class="ip-ubbcode-quote-title">quote:</div><div class="ip-ubbcode-quote-content">The problem with this one was that originally the save wasn't meant as a story - merely a way for me to learn a bit about FM06 tactics. I suddenly had an idea, and decided to run with it... only to find it's bloody hard to motivate yourself to write match reports about games you've played six months ago! </div></BLOCKQUOTE>

True enough! I don't always feel like writing, so I will let myself play a match or three out in advance, but by the time its four matches ago, its real tough to motivate myself to go back to it.

Anyways, love your style, great blend of football and human emotion. Looking forward to more!

[davidbr]

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

True enough! I don't always feel like writing, so I will let myself play a match or three out in advance, but by the time its four matches ago, its real tough to motivate myself to go back to it.

Anyways, love your style, great blend of football and human emotion. Looking forward to more! </div></BLOCKQUOTE>

Thanks, Amaroq; I've just finished catching up with your own adventures in Sheffield, and praise from a writer of your quality is high praise indeed

There will be more to come, as I said before I've finished writing season one and now I've refound my motivation there'll no doubt be a second season as well

[davidbr]

Sunday, 25th September 2005

It had been a very sleepless night for me. Laura had stayed at our flat as per usual (Ratty had gone off later in the night with his student girl), but for the first time since we’d met nothing actually happened. I’d said I had work to do and fired up the laptop, but in truth all I’d done was sit on the sofa clutching a bottle of Jack Daniels, drinking and, as much as my state of consciousness allowed, thinking. I didn’t get very far before I slumped onto the floor in a drunken stupor.

The birds (well, the pigeons) were singing when I eventually woke; I remember thinking to myself whether pigeons really have what could be called a song, then thinking what a bizarre subject that was to be thinking about on a Sunday morning. Well, I say morning; it was almost mid-day, even the cathedral bells hadn’t woken me. Laura had gone, she’d left a note; it said simply, “call meâ€.

I met up with Ratty and his young lady friend, who I’d discovered was called Gemma, in Hogshead just after one o’clock. She seemed a very pleasant girl, but my conversation today was hardly riveting. Even the early Premiership game couldn’t catch my interest, which may have been just as well as it saved me from watching Fulham draw 0-0 at home with Aston Villa. David O’Leary sat through it wearing a gormless grin as usual. We stayed for the 4pm kick-off to see Arjen de Zeeuw’s late header take the three points for Wigan against Charlton, but it was hardly edge-of-the-seat stuff.

Biting the bullet, I gave Laura a call at about 6ish, surprisingly enough she wasn’t upset with me; she’d obviously just thought I’d been drunk and tired yesterday. We met up for a few drinks, went back to the flat where nature took its course, and for the first time all day I felt myself smiling, Sarah showing up like that had awakened a lot of uncomfortable memories, but I told myself that was all they were; memories. I’m not sure I really believed it, but that’s what I told myself.

[davidbr]

Monday, September 26th 2005

The first fax message that greeted me this morning brought precious little to smile about. It was from the Ivory Coast FA, they’d arranged some Mickey Mouse friendly on Friday and they were demanding Johannes Djourou flew out to join up with the squad tomorrow; that’d mean he’d miss the Wycombe game. I cursed loudly, but there was nothing I could do about it; Johannes is an Arsenal player, as such it’s Arsene Wenger not me who has the final say on such matters.

As the day went on the news just got worse. Ryan Hartslief had concussion and wouldn’t play, neither would Ryan Williams; his problem was a dodgy ankle, and though he’d done OK at Rochdale he was hardly irreplaceable. The trouble was, I was desperately short of centre midfielders, and that would mean only one thing; Paul Trollope would have to play! Dean West will also still be missing, that we already knew, but at least I did get some good news from Phil Kite; Kipulo, my first-choice left back, had finally got over that ****ing dead leg and was raring to go tomorrow.

Laura was pretty pleased with herself today, the sales of the match programme had risen by a quarter since she took over as editor, and we’d decided to go out tonight to celebrate. I was hoping her company would cheer me up, and Ratty and his girl Gemma were coming along to make it a foursome (no, not that kind, you dirty bastards). Talking of Ratty, he could probably use a dose of cheer himself; he’d just had his credit card bill through!

“Now I know why they call themselves Virgin f**king Money. You sign up with the c**ts, you’re about to get screwed. A hundred and fifty quid in penalty charges!!â€

“Ratty, you’re a millionaire! You probably earn that in half an hour!â€

“So what? If I wanted to get f**ked by a piece of plastic, I’d be giving Elizabeth bloody Taylor a callâ€

Fair point, I suppose.

[davidbr]

Tuesday September 27th 2005

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

Bris R (4-1-4-1); Scott Shearer, Jean-Christophe Cesto (Mark Earnshaw 61), Kipulo (Adam Green 61), Steve Elliott, Souleymane Bamba, Sebastian Larsson, Jeroen van Staveren, Paul Trollope, Gary Hamilton, Franklin Salas, Francesco Milano

Win this, and we’d set a new club record of six straight league wins (or at least that’s what Laura had told me, I’d just taken her word for it). Whatever the historical significance, there was no hiding from the fact this was a really makeshift side, as well as Trollope I’d been forced to bring Gary Hamilton in as an emergency centre midfielder, so I wasn’t all too sure what to expect.

I needn’t have worried. Wycombe were a very poor side, and we went at them right from the off. Ten minutes in Franklin Salas picked up the ball just inside our own half and set off for goal. He strolled past Philo and Williamson in the Wycombe defence and feinted inside as if to shoot but instead slipped the ball cleverly through for Gary Hamilton to slam home from 12 yards out; we were on our way. Eight minutes later it was 2-0 and again Salas was involved; this time it was his ball that picked out Jeroen van Staveren by the left touchline, the Dutchman had time and space and his pinpoint cross was headed in at the near post by an ecstatic Gary Hamilton; I’d told him he had to start proving he had a future here, and so far today he was accepting my challenge.

Paul Trollope was another one who clearly felt he had a point to prove; he’d missed a sitter already, but when Franklin Salas swung in a 24th-minute corner the Welshman’s header was true and accurate, and former Swindon keeper Frank Talia was picking the ball out of his net for the third time this evening; it hadn’t been a happy return to the West Country for him. Talia’s night would soon get worse as well; Franklin Salas again turned provider, his clever lofted through ball totally deceived the Wycombe defence, Francesco Milano was through on goal and he calmly lobbed Talia from the edge of the area; 4-0, and only 39 minutes gone!

Those four shortly became five, and it was a hat-trick from the most unlikely of sources. Again Salas was involved in the build-up, he laid the ball off for Jeroen van Staveren to have a pop from 35 yards, van Staveren’s strike was on target but weak but Talia’s misery was complete as he palmed the rebound straight into Gary Hamilton’s path. A first career hat-trick for the Northern Ireland international, and he grabbed the match ball before wheeling off towards the Pirates fans to celebrate. Sadly he got booked for throwing the ball into the crowd (!) but this had been an awesome performance from him and from all of us thus far.

Half time: Bristol Rovers 5 (Hamilton 10, 18, 43, Trollope 24, Milano 39,), Wycombe 0

My half time team talk was mainly comprised of varying combinations of the words “f**king†and “brilliantâ€, and I sent an unchanged side out hoping for more of the same. Of course we were never going to be able to maintain that level of performance; Wycombe stuck ten men behind the ball and Talia, when called upon (which was still pretty often) made a better fist of it than he’d done in the first half.

Francesco Milano and Sebastian Larsson both forced good saves from Talia before, with an hour on the clock, I decided to go safety-first and replace the tired Jean-Christophe Cesto and not yet fully match fit Kipulo. On came Mark Earnshaw and Adam Green, I didn’t change the formation so Earnshaw had to slot in on the right of defence and maybe that was a mistake; it was Earnshaw’s slip that opened the way to goal for Roger Johnson to grab a 71st-minute consolation for the visitors; not that it was much of a consolation, but it still denied Scott Shearer a clean sheet and he screamed blue murder at Earnshaw for his mistake.

It could have been worse for Wycombe, Franklin Salas hit a 40-yard screamer on 88 that nearly took the crossbar off, but I was bloody delighted with the evening’s performance. And, guess what? We’re top of the f**king league!

Full time: Bristol Rovers 5 (Hamilton 10, 18, 43, Trollope 24, Milano 39,), Wycombe 1 (Johnson 71)

[davidbr]

Wednesday, September 28th 2005

“Well, how bad is it?â€

I was on the phone to Phil Kite, and we were discussing Scott Shearer – my keeper had fallen down the stairs at home last night and had been taken to hospital by ambulance.

“Nothing too serious, Teddy. They just kept him in for observation, no broken bones and he’ll be going home this afternoon. He’s going to be out for a fortnight at least, though.â€

Bugger!! Scott was my only first-team keeper. In fact, he was my only senior keeper full stop. I turned to Tony and Paul, who were waiting anxiously next to me.

“Well, Scott’s out for Saturday. Who’ve we got in the under-18’s, Paul? How about that Danny kid?â€

“What, Hughes?? Come off it, Teddy, he couldn’t catch a f**king virus in an epidemic!â€

That good, eh? Well then, this was a crisis situation. I was three days away from what will be an emotional return to my former club Peterborough, and I didn’t have a first team goalie. What I did have, though, was a good idea of who might be able to help me find one. I reached for the phone.

“Gary? It’s Teddy here, mate. Teddy Hamilton. Look, I need some help.†And with that I explained to Gary Smith the current goalkeeping crisis that was facing me. He paused, and took a deep breath.

“Well, Teddy, it might just be your lucky day. Ever heard of Jorg Stiel?â€

He may have sounded like a German porn star, but Jorg was in fact a 38-year old Swiss goalkeeper. He was actually an international goalkeeper, had been capped 25 times for his country, although as Gary pointed out his glory days were well behind him. He was also available on a free transfer, and he happened to be already in the country having failed to win a deal at Southampton a few days back.

“Fine. Can he make it down tomorrow?â€

“I don’t see why not. There’s just one thing, mate; he’ll only accept a player-coach deal. He’s retiring at the end of the season, see.â€

“Gary, the state we’re in down here right now he can be player- coach, mascot, groundsman and f**king cheerleader if he wants to. Just talk him into it. Please!â€

[davidbr]

Friday, 30th September 2005

“Ah, there you are you lazy bastard! So, then; how did it go?â€

“Jesus, Ratty, I wouldn’t know where to start!â€

Yes, last night had been the night of Laura’s father’s 50th birthday party, and as I’d faithfully promised I’d gone along to, as she put it, “provide some moral supportâ€. From that I’d guessed we could be in for a tense evening, and I wasn’t bloody wrong.

Laura’s dad (and his new partner, plus her three kids!) lived in Bath, which was somewhat ironic since they all were in some need of taking one. The whole house smelt very strongly of wet dogs, again quite an achievement for a family who didn’t have any pets, and Laura’s father bore a quite uncanny resemblance to Doctor Evil, he of Austin Powers fame.

His partner (who I’ll just call Red Rum, because I’ve forgotten her name and she looked like a horse) and Laura clearly didn’t get on. In fact they hated each other with a passion, and by 8 o’clock a full-scale screaming match had developed; Laura was in tears and one of Horse-Creature’s kids had stolen the hip flask of Scotch from my jacket pocket and promptly threw up all over the carpet. Judging from the state of the carpet, it would be an improvement. That was our cue to leave, and not a moment too soon!

Thankfully Bath had a few half-decent bars so the evening wasn’t a total disaster. Laura eventually calmed down, and we got extremely drunk before I remembered that we weren’t in Bristol, and 15 miles was a bit far to stagger home inebriated. In the end we found a cheap B&B, crashed out on the floor and got a cab back in the morning.

“So, where is the lovely Laura today?â€

“Oh, the cab dropped her back at the flat. She was emptying her guts into the toilet last I saw!â€

[davidbr]

Anyway, back to the important stuff. First off, I’m pleased to say that our goalkeeping crisis has been resolved; there’d been a few nervous moments after he’d failed to show up yesterday as planned, but bright and early this morning Jorg Stiel pulled into the Memorial Stadium car park in a Sierra that had seen far better days. Ratty dealt with the contract talks in my absence but they went without a hitch (from the state of that car he needed the money), and it goes without saying that he’ll go straight into the side for tomorrow’s trip to Peterborough.

For someone who’s played in the European Championships this must be quite a comedown, but he seemed strangely enthusiastic about it all and also looked to have a few useful ideas on the coaching front. At only 24, and the youngest manager in the Football League by quite a distance, I’ve leant quite heavily on the old(er) wisdom of Paul and Tony at times, and I’d be daft to ignore someone with the kind of experience in the game that Jorg has.

Later that afternoon I wandered down to the training ground to take in the second half of a pre-arranged practice match between our Reserves and Under-18’s (there weren’t any senior players in action, but young midfielder Mike Simpson scored twice for Tony’s reserves) before Ratty and I took a cab back to the flat. Ratty had a date with Gemma, but for Laura and me it was a rare quiet night in; she was still feeling rather delicate after yesterday’s adventures! She was also clearly a bit embarrassed.

“Look, Teddy, I’m really sorry about how it turned out. Now you know why I don’t see much of them!â€

“Listen, love, just forget it. We had a good time in the end, didn’t we!?â€

[davidbr]

Later, as we led exhausted in each other’s arms, I found my thoughts drifting ahead to tomorrow, and the butterflies began to grow inside my stomach.

Now I always get a little nervous ahead of every game, haven’t been in this business for long enough to learn how to switch off, but this will be totally different. The few years I spent at Peterborough United were probably the happiest of my life; childhood in Cromer was hardly idyllic, I’d never really settled in Kings Lynn either despite Ratty’s friendship, but in Peterborough, and with Sarah, the players and the fans became like a substitute family and I finally felt I’d found somewhere I could call home. Yet tomorrow would be the first time I’d been back since the crash; I just couldn’t bring myself to do it, it was as if reliving the happiness I’d felt then just underlined the darkness that’d followed it over the last three years.

I shook myself back to reality, and turned to look at Laura who was sleeping soundly next to me. She didn’t normally travel to away games, and it’d be a long coach trip, but she’d offered to come tomorrow and I’d happily said yes; she hadn’t pried, but I think she understood how difficult this was going to be for me. There was no point denying it any longer, I was falling for this girl in a big way, and if I’m honest it bloody scared me. The physical injuries from the crash had largely long since healed, but the mental wounds from my split with Sarah were still raw even after three long years. After all, they say you never forget your first love, don’t they?

Eventually I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep, thoughts still spinning in my head. Tomorrow was going to be a long, hard day.

[davidbr]

Saturday, 1st October 2005

Peterborough vs. Bristol Rovers, League Two from London Road

(Bris R (4-1-4-1); Jorg Stiel (Aaron Lescott 30), Jean-Christophe Cesto, Adam Green, Steve Elliott, Souleymane Bamba, Sebastian Larsson, Jeroen van Staveren (Mark Worthington 45) Gary Hamilton, Paul Trollope, Franklin Salas, Francesco Milano)

Well, this was it; my first return in three years to the place I’d once called home. I wasn’t quite sure what sort of welcome I’d get, but as it happened I needn’t have worried; as I led the Rovers team out onto the London Road pitch, the home fans stood en masse to applaud me, and the watering of my eyes as I acknowledged them only served to raise the rafters further.

On the pitch though, the current side were in no mood for sentiment, and they looked dangerous in the opening stages. The first clear chance went their way in the 5th minute, Egyptian international Said Hany’s cross was headed just wide by Leicester reject Trevor Benjamin, and their other former Premiership star Phil Babb also went close from distance not long after; the home side meant business, and they had the players to hurt us too. With Hamilton and Trollope as my central midfield pair we couldn’t gain control of the middle of the park, but 12 minutes in Francesco Milano missed a glorious chance after he was set free by the boot of Franklin Salas; it was a sitter and he knew it.

That, though, seemed to give us confidence, and on the 20-minute mark Gary Hamilton rattled the left hand post after some more good work from Salas. Jeroen van Staveren also came close with a 25-yard free kick, Francesco Milano forced a fine save from keeper Mark Tyler in the Posh goal and Hamilton again fired just wide as we gradually began to seize control of the midfield.

Then, on the half hour, disaster struck. Jean-Christophe Cesto played a routine backpass, Jorg Stiel came out to clear and made a decent connection with the ball, but as he did so he dropped to the turf clutching his left thigh. Physio Phil Kite ran on, but you didn’t need any medical training to see that there was no way Stiel was going to be able to continue. I didn’t have a reserve keeper available, so it was Aaron Lescott – a holding midfielder by trade – who came off the bench to take Stiel’s place between the sticks. As Graham Taylor might have said; do I not like that!

My aim was just to hold out until half time and then regroup, but we couldn’t manage even that. To start with we kept control of the play, but on 37 James Quinn wriggled free of Steve Elliott’s attention, Quinn slid the ball across to Trevor Benjamin and he showed his Premiership class to fire low and hard down to Lescott’s right. It wasn’t Aaron’s fault, no keeper in the world would have got to that one, but it was just what we didn’t need in the run up to half time.

Half time: Peterborough 1 (Benjamin 37), Bristol Rovers 0

[davidbr]

The half-time instructions were simple; keep things tight at the back, close down quickly to restrict shooting chances and above all don’t let your heads drop. We were still in this game, and Franklin Salas came oh so close to proving that with a thunderbolt from 40 yards that went just the wrong side of the crossbar. Aaron Lescott also made his first save of the afternoon from Posh’s Angolan midfielder Bernardo, it would have been bread and butter stuff for a natural keeper but Lescott held on well and that’d give him confidence.

Coming up to the hour we were still holding our own against a side peppered with internationals, but that all changed thanks to three minutes of utter madness from Adam Green. Firstly, my left back lost Franck Mosizyan on the left wing, lunged in with a wild challenge and was lucky only to escape with a yellow card. I screamed from the touchline for Green to calm down, but he took not a blind bit of notice; a minute from the hour he hacked down James Quinn in midfield, it was an awful tackle and this time the referee had no room for leniency. Down to ten men and with a midfielder in goal, I’d love to be able to say we rallied and fought the good fight against impossible odds. There would be no fairytale endings for me today, though.

Our fate was sealed late on in the space of two dreadful minutes. Firstly, a combination of great vision from James Quinn and some terrible marking from my defence allowed Peterborough’s young midfielder Matthew Delicate to sneak in at the far post for probably the easiest goal he’ll ever score. Then, with a quarter of an hour remaining Jean-Christophe Cesto lost his cool, swung out an elbow at winger Karl Henry and my young Frenchman became the second Pirate of the afternoon to take the walk of shame to the dressing room. With ten men it’d been hard enough, with nine it became impossible and in the 78th minute Said Hany came up with the cross, Matthew Delicate was again on target with the finish and Peterborough had a third.

Lithuanian international Vidas Dancenko came off the bench and added a fourth just to cap my miserable afternoon, Gary Hamilton did miss a sitter for us in stoppage time but even if he’d scored it would have done nothing to ease my misery, and as the final whistle sounded I just wanted the ground to open up and swallow me.

Full time: Peterborough 4 (Benjamin 37, Delicate 73, 78, Dancenko 80), Bristol Rovers 0

[davidbr]

Back in the away dressing room at London Road, you could have heard a pin drop. The players had no doubt been expecting a volley of expletives, but I just felt totally drained; I slumped down onto one of the benches, my head in my hands, and it was all I could do to stop myself from crying. Tony came across, and put his hand on my shoulder.

“Come off it, Teddy, it wasn’t your fault. It was just one of those days where nothing went our way. I’ve had a look at the table though and we’re still in second.â€

At that precise moment in time, it mattered not a jot to me whether we were second or twenty-second. I’d just lost 4-0 in front of the very fans who’d once idolised me, and it wasn’t a feeling I’d have wished on my worst enemy.

“Of course it’s my fault. I’m the f**king manager, the manager of a team who’s just been humiliated out there. I should have changed things around more when Green went off, been more adventurous in midfield perhaps. Whatever, I needed to look at other options.â€

“Teddy, what f**king options?! Eh? We were down to ten men, we had f**k all to come off the bench because of all these injuries, and we had a defensive midfielder in goal! What else could you have done? Sod all, that’s what else you could have done.â€

Maybe Tony was right; once Plan A didn’t work there weren’t many options from which to form a Plan B. We hadn’t started well and I did wonder whether my obvious nervousness had somehow carried over to the players, but we gradually found our feet and I’d thought we looked the most likely team to score. Once we lost Jorg Stiel to injury, though, we were always going to be up against it and with men short it became an impossible task.

I left Tony to handle the team talk, not that there was really much to say apart from stating the obvious; I just needed to get out of there. Laura was waiting for me outside the dressing room door, we were staying in a hotel overnight and I’d promised her a night on the town; while I doubted I’d be exactly inspiring company, as she gave me a consoling hug I knew I was bloody glad to have her there with me.

Before we could make good our escape, though, there was one more thing to take care of. It seemed my return to my old club had caused a fair bit of interest in the local media, and sure enough as I headed for the exit I was accosted by a hack from the Peterborough Chronicle looking for a few words on the day’s events. Given my mood right then, the two words I wanted to give him started with F and ended with Off; but his paper had always been good to me in my playing days, and so in the interests of public relations I managed to force a smile. Once I’d finally managed to get rid of him with a few well-worn clichés, I turned back to Laura who was waiting patiently in the corridor.

“Come on, love, let’s get out of here before some other arsehole wants something from me.â€

“Well, you’re the local, or you were anyway. Where did you used to go?â€

[davidbr]

It’d been the one place I’d promised myself I’d avoid, yet I found myself strangely drawn there like a moth to a naked flame; or a horse-fly to a pile of ****, whichever metaphor you prefer.

The Coalheavers’ Arms, just a stone’s throw from the London Road ground, had been mine and Sarah’s local when we’d lived in the town. It wasn’t anything fancy, they didn’t even have a pool table, but it was a favourite with home supporters looking for a pre or post-match pint and so I’d always been assured of a warm welcome. When I first moved down from Kings Lynn we’d lived not more than a couple of hundred yards away, and the place held an awful lot of memories.

Today, stepping back through the door, it felt like I’d just entered a time warp. The old landlord had long since retired, but even after three years hardly anything else had altered. Same décor, same battered old fruit machine in the corner, same stench of nicotine. The old place was packed with Peterborough supporters celebrating their team’s win, and as I walked in arm-in-arm with Laura everyone turned and stared; I didn’t recognise anyone, I guess the regulars from my day had all either moved on or passed on, but they clearly recognised me and I guess were somewhat surprised. There was no hostility, though, once they’d got over the shock everyone seemed genuinely pleased to see me, and as Laura and I supped our pints there was a steady stream of autograph requests heading my way.

Somehow, though, the place felt different, the old feeling of comfort I used to get just wasn’t there any more. Laura could clearly see I was feeling uncomfortable, and she leant across to whisper in my ear.

“Teddy, let’s forget about the night out and go back to the hotel, eh? I’m sure we can make our own entertainment, if you know what I mean!â€

I sure did, and it certainly made for a pleasant ending to what had been a disastrous day so far! But later, as we led breathless side by side, I realised how incredibly exhausted, mentally, I felt. The last couple of weeks had been stressful to say the least, and if I was to keep my focus on the task in hand I needed a break; I needed to get away from it all. Because of the World Cup qualifiers, our next match wasn’t until a week next Tuesday, I had been planning to go to watch Wales play in Northern Ireland but right now that just wasn’t far enough away.

A few days ago, while he’d been sorting out Jorg Stiel’s free transfer, Gary Smith had also sent me a couple of tapes of some Eastern Europeans who were apparently looking for a move to an English club. Whether they were firstly good enough or secondly willing to play in League Two I had no idea, but it was just the excuse I was after; first thing in the morning, after a quick call to let Tony know he’d be manning the fort for a while, Laura and I were in a taxi heading east towards Norwich Airport. Destination; Prague!

[davidbr]

Monday, October 10th 2005

Well, we’re back, and I’m already feeling much more refreshed after eight days away from the grindstone. I hadn’t returned with any new signings in the pipeline, but then the scouting had really been a secondary concern to my need to get away from it all for a while.

Laura and I had spent a couple of days in Prague, before heading further east to Estonia, and its capital city Tallinn. Our time in Prague had been pure relaxation, we spent most of our time in and out of the numerous bars although I did manage to get a couple of seats for the Sparta vs. Slavia city derby; thankfully Laura’s just as football-mad as I am and so she was perfectly happy to spend an evening watching two teams, and two sets of players, she’d probably never even heard of before!

Ratty flew out from Bristol to join us in Tallinn; when I’d phoned to tell him I was going away for a while he’d decided he fancied a holiday too, which was fair enough since it was his money that was paying for the flights! The two players I’d come to see were both Estonian internationals and both played their football for Flora Tallinn; according to Gary, both midfielder Alo Dupikov and striker Teet Allas were desperate to earn a move to an English club.

We watched them in action as Flora beat local rivals Levadia 2-0 on Saturday afternoon and I was impressed enough to make an enquiry to Flora as to their availability; when I heard that the asking price for the two was £150k, though, that was the end of that.

[davidbr]

That wasn’t going to spoil our stay, though; Tallinn’s a beautiful, lively city and the three of us had an excellent time. There’s no shortage of cheap drinking haunts, but our hotel (the Mihkli) was right in the city centre and had a top-notch bar of its own that stayed open very late indeed! Tallinn’s also home to one of the largest casinos in Eastern Europe, the Revel Park Hotell, and that was our Friday night destination; Ratty won a few quid on the roulette, but Laura couldn’t manage to repeat in Estonia the luck she’d had in Portugal and we ended up about 4,000 Kroons down on the night (about £200 in English money).

But, all good things have to come to an end, and now I was back at the Memorial Stadium and busily preparing for tomorrow’s long trip up to Boston. It promises to be a tough one, Boston Utd are in the play-off places and have won their last three, and we’re also going to be without Franklin Agustin Salas. Franklin’s been called up to the Ecuador squad for Wednesday’s friendly against Chile in Quito, ordinarily I’d have asked him to withdraw but that wouldn’t be fair; it’s a World Cup year, and though he wouldn’t admit it there’s no doubt that playing in a foreign league for a club no-one in his home country’s ever heard of hasn’t helped his international career. He’s desperate to make the final 23 next summer and so he needs to prove himself in these friendlies.

That’s just one of many selection problems facing me, though. As well as Franklin, Johannes Djourou and Sebastian Larsson are also away on International duty with their countries’ Under 21 squads and Cesto and Green are suspended after their red cards; Cesto in the end escaped with only a one-match ban. Dean West’s making good progress but is still at least a week away from a return, and Mark Earnshaw and Steve Elliott have both come down with flu; Tony wisely took the decision to send them home to make sure it didn’t spread through the squad. All considered, it’s going to be a paper-thin squad on that coach tomorrow morning.

Oh, and I mustn’t forget the news that’s dominated the British sports pages; while us three were off jollying it up in Tallinn, England have booked their place in Germany next summer thanks to a 1-0 win over Austria. Michael Owen’s early goal proved decisive for Sven “Shagger†Eriksson’s men; Eriksson’s come in for a lot of criticism in the tabloids, but his side are still top of Group 6, unbeaten and with only three goals conceded in their nine games so far. They finish up against Poland on Wednesday night.

[davidbr]

Tuesday 11th October, 2005

Boston vs. Bristol Rovers, League Two from York Street

Bris R (4-4-2); Scott Shearer, Chris Carruthers, Kipulo, Souleymane Bamba, Ryan Hartslief, Lee Grant, Paul Trollope, Mark Worthington, Jeroen van Staveren, Gary Hamilton, Francesco Milano

The injuries and internationals had forced my hand ahead of this one, so out went the 4-4-1-4-1 in favour of a traditional 4-4-2 and rare starts for Lee Grant and Paul Trollope in the centre of our midfield. It didn’t seem to unduly affect us, though; we made a positive start and caused Boston a lot of early problems. They were problems they didn’t have a solution for either; Gary Hamilton was another one enjoying a rare outing up front, and with only two minutes on the York Street clock he latched onto Mark Worthington’s clever through pass to rifle a low shot down to Dean Brill’s left. Brill was making his debut after signing on loan from Luton, and his first duty in the colours of Boston was to pick the ball out of the back of his net.

Not surprisingly the home side were shell-shocked at that, we kept up the pressure in the opening quarter of an hour and the nerves of the frustrated crowd began to come to the fore. Jeroen van Staveren was only denied a simple tap-in by defender Ryan Doherty’s desperate lunging tackle, Francesco Milano rattled the frame of the goal with Brill well beaten, and Gary Hamilton also missed a couple of half-chances to add to his early goal. In the end, though, it was a mess of Boston’s own making that would lead to their undoing; Ben Futcher needlessly hauled down Paul Trollope in a dangerous position, Jeroen van Staveren stepped up and my Dutch winger expertly curled the 27th-minute free kick over the wall and inside Brill’s left hand post. 2-0 to Bristol Rovers, all going well so far!

Boston were struggling at times to get out of their own half, but they did have a forward of proven class in the form of Julian Joachim and the former Premiership star very nearly made a dent in that deficit in the final minute of the half. Danny Thomas played a lofted pass over the top, Ryan Hartslief was guilty of ball-watching and Joachim’s angled drive skimmed past the far post by a matter of a few centimetres. Joachim may have spent his time at Leicester and Aston Villa with his head so far up his own arse he could have kissed his intestines, but at this level he’s still a class act and Hartslief couldn’t afford to relax for a second.

Half time: Boston 0, Bristol Rovers 2 (Hamilton 2, van Staveren 27)

[davidbr]

I’d sent the lads out at the start of the second half with words of congratulation ringing in their ears, but as the half unfolded I almost felt like taking them back. We still had the lion’s share of the ball, but without the magic of Salas or Dean West we just couldn’t do anything with it and what followed was dire stuff. Paul Trollope roused himself from his coma for long enough to force Brill into action from 25 yards out, but otherwise both goalkeepers could have nipped off for a pint for all the involvement they had. Just past the hour Julian Joachim combined well with another top-flight old boy, former Middlesbrough star Noel Whelan, to create a half-chance for Lawrie Dudfield but Dudfield sliced at it and his tame shot sailed well wide of Scott Shearer’s goal.

That was to be just about Dudfield’s last act, he was stretchered off not long afterwards, and the double change that prompted boss Steve Evans to make would change the game. As well as Dudfield off went the ineffective Ben Futcher, Brad Maylett and Jason Lee came on as replacements and our injury situation meant I had no fresh options on the bench to follow them. Straight away Boston’s play had more zip about it, and Lee almost made an instant impact when his header from Joachim’s corner flew a foot or so wide of the left hand post.

With nothing to throw on from the bench, I was forced to send everyone back behind the ball and hope we could soak up the pressure and hold on. But we couldn’t, and didn’t. Two minutes from time Joachim again got the better of a tired-looking Ryan Hartslief, he found Danny Thomas wide on the left and Thomas’s cross was met with a bullet header from new boy Jason Lee; Boston were back in the game.

Then, in the second minute of stoppage time we lost the ball on a foray forward and it was played long. Brad Maylett’s fresh legs got him there ahead of Hartslief and Bamba, Maylett took a touch, and dispatched it past Shearer to level with almost the last kick of the game. There was barely time to restart before the whistle sounded; given the stars I’d had missing I’d have settled for a point ahead of kick-off, but this was two thrown away and I knew it.

Full time: Boston 2 (Lee 88, Maylett 90), Bristol Rovers 2 (Hamilton 2, van Staveren 27)

[davidbr]

Wednesday, October 12th 2005

It’d been almost 1am before the team coach had arrived back in Bristol, and so I’d decided to give everyone a day’s rest today. Everyone, that is, except Tony, Paul and myself; with no training to attend to, the three of us spent the morning huddled around my desk in the Bristol Rovers office trying to work out what had gone so wrong.

I didn’t see much point in singling out individuals for criticism; they’d all done their best and were just as shattered by the outcome as I’d been, you only had to look at the faces in the dressing room to see that.

What we did agree on, though, was that the switch to 4-4-2 hadn’t worked. Hamilton and Milano are too similar as players to be effective as a partnership, and without the holding midfielder our back four was vulnerable to the long ball over the top (as we’d seen with Maylett’s equalising goal). So it was back to the tried and tested lone front man, and luckily Salas, Larsson and Djourou would all be back from international duty in time for Saturday’s short trip up the M5 to Cheltenham.

With our analysis complete, it was out of the office and off down the pub! Tony, Paul and myself made it into Hogshead by 4 o’clock, Ratty was already there (and polishing off the remnants of his fourth large Jack Daniels!) and Laura joined us not long afterwards looking as beautiful as ever. Tonight, of course, was the final round of games in the European World Cup qualifiers, and we’d made sure we were there early to get a decent seat. Well, I say “weâ€; everyone else was on one side of the pub to cheer on England, I had a table to myself in the corner to watch Wales hopefully end what’d been a dreadful campaign on something of a high note with a win over Azerbaijan!

[davidbr]

In the end we all left happy. An England side missing the injured Wayne Rooney were firing on all cylinders as they demolished a lacklustre Poland 3-0 at Hillsborough; Jermaine Defoe celebrated a rare start with a double from the penalty spot and Joe Cole headed home the other. I was just as ecstatic as Wales hammered the Azeris 4-0 at the Millennium Stadium, Craig Bellamy hit a hat trick, and hopefully this hints at a brighter future for my adopted country. It should give us confidence going into next year’s European Championship qualifiers anyway.

I was also pleased to see half a dozen or so of my players join us to take in the evening’s action; some managers are very firm in their anti-drink policy but as far as I’m concerned socialising away from the club, within reason of course, can only help build team spirit. Anyway, as someone who keeps a bottle of Jack Daniels in his desk drawer I’m hardly in a position to lay down the law on that score! Those players included Francesco Milano, whose English had clearly improved enough to tell the redhead behind the bar she was a â€sexy laydeeâ€, and Ryan Hartslief; I distinctly saw Ryan take a good long look at Laura’s arse as she made her way to the toilets, he’d better be very very careful…

Our evening ended yet again at the Grosvenor Casino, where at 1am my mind was taken off losing at blackjack by the ringing of my mobile phone. It was Ecuador manager Luiz Fernando Soares, he was calling to tell me that Franklin Salas had come off the bench for the final fifteen minutes of tonight’s 4-2 defeat to Chile. I knew Franklin would be bitterly disappointed he hadn’t started the game, but I was just relieved he’d come through it safely.

[davidbr]

Saturday, October 15th 2005

Cheltenham vs. Bristol Rovers, League Two from Whaddon Road.

Bris R (4-1-4-1); Scott Shearer, Jean-Christophe Cesto, Adam Green, Ryan Hartslief, Souleymane Bamba, Johannes Djourou, Ryan Williams, Sebastian Larsson, Franklin Salas, Jeroen van Staveren, Francesco Milano.

I was delighted to be able to welcome back some of my big guns this afternoon, even though Dean West hadn’t made it and Kipulo was only fit to make the bench after a knock in training yesterday. I was going to need them all, too; Cheltenham were another side hovering around the play-off zone and in a rich vein of form.

It was the home side who carved out the first real chance of the day, Grant McCann heading over from Jamie Victory’s cross, but Cheltenham keeper Scott Christie was a very busy man as we completely controlled the first half at Whaddon Road. Five minutes in Christie pulled off a magnificent save from Francesco Milano’s point blank header, not long after he turned Franklin Salas’s fierce drive over the bar, and van Staveren and Williams were also denied as Christie just refused to be beaten.

He was helped in no small way by a super-human performance by his left back Jamie Victory, as well as a couple of vital interceptions (including a superb slide-tackle on Milano inside the area that he couldn’t afford to get wrong) it was Victory who delivered the ammunition for Cheltenham’s sucker punch. Just past the half hour Sebastian Larsson lost the ball upfield, Victory sprinted past Cesto down the right and delivered a precision cross that sat up perfectly for Chris McPhee to head home from six yards out; for all the possession we’d enjoyed and chances we’d created, it was Cheltenham who led at the break.

Half time: Cheltenham 1 (McPhee 35), Bristol Rovers 0

[davidbr]

The start of the second half brought more continued pressure from us and more resolute defending from Cheltenham; John Ward seemed determined to hold onto what they had rather than go looking for a second, and as such his side stayed camped out in their own half. Another fine tackle from Jamie Victory took the ball off the toes of Jeroen van Staveren in the early stages just as he looked primed to pull the trigger, midfielder Brian Wilson came to the rescue with a goal-line clearance when Christie was finally beaten by Francesco Milano’s diving header, and Christie himself pulled off yet another acrobatic save to keep out Johannes Djourou’s 30-yard drive.

Then came the game’s moment of real controversy. A minute past the hour Johannes Djourou picked up a loose ball in midfield and ran towards goal. Defenders backed off as Djourou slipped the ball across to Franklin Salas, and the Ecuadorian’s delicate touch put Milano clear. This time there was nothing Christie could do, Milano had time and space to lift the ball over the onrushing keeper and into the back of Cheltenham’s net. To my fury, though, I looked across to see the assistant referee’s flag raised on the far side; the blind bastard had ruled it out for offside. It was a terrible decision, Milano had been at least a yard on when the ball was played; my volley of abuse at the fourth official led the referee to send me to the stand, but it was to no avail; the goal wouldn’t count.

The sense of injustice seemed to spur us on, though, but we’d clearly left our shooting boots at home today as chance after chance went begging. The usually dependable Milano was as guilty as anyone, a free header from six yards out was among those he sent the wrong side of the woodwork, and Franklin Salas wasn’t showing any of his usual sparkle. With 20 minutes to go I threw on Gary Hamilton as part of a switch to a 4-3-3, but even with extra bodies in the box luck just wasn’t on our side and Christie stood up to everything we threw at him. With five minutes left on the clock came a moment that would sum up our afternoon; Stuart Fergus wriggled free down the left, his cross was perfect and Franklin Salas was on the end of it. But Salas ballooned it over the bar, and my hands went to my head; despite dominating play, and having 19 shots on goal to Cheltenham’s two, we’d be heading back down the M5 empty-handed and it was a third straight game without a win.

Full time: Cheltenham 1 (McPhee 35), Bristol Rovers 0

[davidbr]

I was still fuming as I made my way down from the stands to the dressing room; at the officials, who’d given nothing our way all afternoon, at my misfiring strikers, but most of all at Lady Luck who seemed once again to have crapped on us from a great height. I hadn’t seen the table yet but I knew we were almost certainly out of the automatic promotion places; if we weren’t to waste all our hard work we needed results, and we needed them now.

I was all set to give the players both barrels, I was that angry, but Tony drew me aside.

“Teddy, morale’s shot to f**k at the moment. It’s your call, but don’t be too hard on them, eh?â€. He had a point; there was a time for recriminations, and maybe this wasn’t it. I took a deep breath.

“Look, we were bloody unlucky out there today, we played them off the park and on any other day we’d have won by four or five. We’re still ahead of where I expected us to be right now, so let’s put this one behind us and move on.â€

Tony turned to me and nodded his approval. I glanced back towards the benches.

“Oh, and don’t go planning any lie-ins tomorrow. You lot couldn’t hit a f**king elephant’s arse with a guided missile out there today. Day off’s cancelled, I’m calling everyone in for extra shooting training.â€[/i]

With that I headed for the coach.

[Amaroq]

Unlucky run of results. Still loving the writing though!

[davidbr]

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

Unlucky run of results. Still loving the writing though! </div></BLOCKQUOTE>

Yes, those last two games were a bit of a bummer; hopefully we can stage a quick recovery

Thanks for the encouragement; always appreciated

[davidbr]

Monday, October 17th 2005

Well, my week hadn’t started well. The first fax off the machine this morning was from the FA, and it was confirming that I was being charged with bringing the game into disrepute after being sent to the stands at Cheltenham on Saturday. I’ve got the option of a personal hearing, apparently, but since there’s more chance of the spineless bastards removing their own testicles with a Stanley knife than of them admitting one of their precious referees was wrong I really don’t see the point.

The next task I faced wasn’t a welcome one either. Franklin Salas hadn’t shown up for yesterday’s extra training session, and now he was waiting outside my office as I decided what, if anything, to do about it. It was a difficult one; Paul and Tony had expressed concerns over Franklin’s attitude before and they were all in favour of me throwing the book at him, but he’s such a vital member of my team I simply can’t afford to upset him. In the end I let him off with a warning, he seemed genuinely apologetic and claimed he’d just overslept. I’ve asked Paul to keep a close eye on him though.

Wednesday, October 19th 2005

At last, a piece of good news! Phil Kite phoned this morning to say Dean West’s making excellent progress; he’ll be fit to resume full training in the morning and, providing he doesn’t suffer any reaction, he’ll be fit for the Oxford game this coming Saturday.

As I sat with a beaming smile at the prospect of the return of my star midfielder, Ratty burst into the office with a face like thunder and hurled a newspaper down on the desk.

“Teddy, you’d better take a look at this!â€

I turned to the back page of the Evening Post, and the headline jumped out at me:

AGOGO; PLAY ME OR I’M OFF!

[davidbr]

As you might have guessed the article carried an interview with our Ghanaian striker Junior Agogo, and as you might also have guessed he wasn’t a happy bunny. As well as issuing an ultimatum for first-team football, Agogo claimed I’d been “victimising him and the other pre-existing players†and was “determined to wreck his career.â€

“So, what do you think we should do about it? He’s still pretty popular with the fans, you know.â€

I knew precisely what I was going to do about it. I immediately drafted a statement, which I handed to Laura to post on the club website, saying that there was no problem with team morale, that Agogo had no future at Bristol Rovers and that I was prepared to accept all reasonable offers.

I then dug out my little black book with the fax numbers of all the League One and League Two clubs in it, and fired off a message to all the managers asking if they felt they had a desperate need for a crap striker with an attitude problem. I wasn’t expecting a stampede.

Friday, October 21st 2005

In the wake of the fuss over Agogo, I felt it was about time I sat down with Paul and Tony and had a discussion about the futures of those players that haven’t managed to hold down a first team place so far this season. Agogo’s comments to the press didn’t seem to have had any effect on the rest of the squad – he didn’t really have any friends amongst the players anyway; but I’m keen to avoid any repeats if possible. I want everyone to know exactly where they stand.

So, the first thing I had to do today was call in Chris Carruthers, Ali Gibb, Craig Disley, Aaron Lescott and Ryan Williams and inform them that their futures at this club were about as rosy as, well, a rose that ain’t very rosy any more. I don’t really think it came as any great surprise to any of them, they’re out of contract in the summer and they’d guessed from the fact I hadn’t been beating down their doors to offer them a new one that maybe they weren’t considered vital to my plans here. Hopefully, we can offload them in the January window; I can’t afford dead wood pushing up my wage bill and I’ve made them all available on free transfers.

My week finished on a high note, though, as I watched Dean West come through today’s training session with no ill-effects. Dean’s admitted he’s found it hard being on the sidelines, and I’m delighted to be able to unleash him on Oxford tomorrow.

Anyway it was late, I was tired, and I needed a drink. I reached across the desk to Laura, who was still tapping away at her keyboard, and gestured for the door.

“Come on, love, let’s get out of here. Anyway, I need you to help me come up with a few inspiring words for my programme comments tomorrow.â€

[davidbr]

Saturday, October 22nd 2005

“I can understand that some of you might have concerns over recent results, and I share those concerns. But let me reassure you all that we’ve been working flat out in training over the last week to get our season back on track, and that all of my first team squad are 100% committed to the cause of Bristol Rovers. It’s a fact that I inherited a squad of players very short on quality, I’ve made big changes in a short time-span and that’s always going to upset those who are left out in the cold. But if the price of success down here is ruffling a few established feathers, then so be it.â€

Not exactly Winston Churchill, but as far as my pre-match programme notes were concerned it was the best I could do to try and draw wavering Pirates fans back on side. I still refuse to have any direct contact with the Evening Post, but I have read the letters pages and it seems those supporters who were happy to go along with me while we were winning games were starting to voice their doubts again.

But then I suppose, as I was learning fast, that was the nature of football management; when you win you’re a hero, when you lose a couple everyone looks on you as if you’re a piece of used gum on the sole of their shoe.

Our own match was rather overshadowed in the football world today by the lunchtime meeting of the Premiership’s top two at Stamford Bridge; at least it helped me relax somewhat, and I watched an entertaining if low-scoring game as Chelsea beat Liverpool 1-0 to move nine points clear already at the top – Arjen Robben scored the only goal nine minutes from time, and Mourinho’s men already look unstoppable.

[davidbr]

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

Bris R (4-1-4-1); Scott Shearer, Jean-Christophe Cesto, Adam Green (Kipulo 45), Souleymane Bamba, Ryan Hartslief, Johannes Djourou, Jeroen van Staveren, Dean West (Mark Worthington 83), Sebastian Larsson, Franklin Salas, Francesco Milano.

I was desperate, as were the 6,000-plus crowd inside the Mem this afternoon, to see us get back to winning ways, but Oxford are another side in the promotion hunt themselves and we faced a stiff test. That test looked set to get even stiffer when, after only five minutes gone, Dean West showed his rustiness with a needless lunge on Oxford striker Andrew Campbell just inside the area. Campbell milked it for all it was worth but it was a clear penalty and left back Stuart Gray had the chance to give his side an early lead. To my huge relief, though, Gray made a total mess of it; his kick was high, wide and ugly, and we’d got out of jail free.

West seemed determined to make up for that mistake, and set about terrorising the visitors’ defence. He’d already set up a couple of half chances, but it took him 26 minutes to finally break Oxford’s resolve. Sebastian Larsson had won the ball in midfield with a hard challenge and, as the Oxford players called for a foul, West was on the move. He had time and space, and used that to slide a perfect pass across for Franklin Salas to hammer the opener low past static keeper Tony Clarke. 1-0, we were on our way.

Oxford just couldn’t cope with the vision and movement of Salas and West, they did come close on one occasion through George Ndah (though I think Shearer had it covered) but for the most part it was us in the ascendancy. And, after 38 minutes we got the reward our dominance deserved. This time it was real route one stuff, Ryan Hartslief picked up the ball well inside our own half and hit it long towards Francesco Milano. Milano used his pace to get away from Chris Willmott and suddenly he was in the clear; he may have missed a few against Cheltenham last week, but this time there was no sign of nerves as he calmly rounded Clarke and slotted into the empty net.

Half time: Bristol Rovers 2 (Salas 26, Milano 38), Oxford 0

The Rovers dressing room hasn’t been a particularly happy place to be of late, but it was all smiles today and I was delighted with the first half display. There was one enforced change; Adam Green had picked up a knock, Kipulo had been disappointed not to start but now he’d be given the second half to show what he could do.

The man from Lisbon almost made an immediate impact too, it was his cross that Francesco Milano headed against the crossbar in the 50th minute, but otherwise we struggled to refind the momentum we’d had earlier in the game. Dean West, perhaps unsurprisingly, began to tire and as he did so Oxford began to wrest back control of the midfield. They didn’t do a lot with their extra possession though, and for the first twenty minutes the only work Scott Shearer had to do was keep a careful eye on a 30-yard drive from Barry Quinn that ended up going well wide.

Fifteen minutes from time Brian Talbot made a double change, sending Chris Hackett and Lee Mansell into midfield and moving Lee Bradbury into a three-pronged attack; it was a last desperate throw of the dice, and it very nearly worked. Barry Quinn found some space in midfield, and Bradbury managed to escape the attentions of Ryan Hartslief for long enough to get a shot away; luckily for me it was right down the throat of Shearer and he held on easily.

Dean West didn’t manage to complete the 90 – Mark Worthington replaced him with seven minutes to go – but he’d more than played his part and I was happy by now to settle for what we’d got. We did that easily enough; Oxford seemed to have run out of ideas; and the winless run is over. It was by no means flawless, but right now it’ll do just fine!

Full Time: Bristol Rovers 2 (Salas 26, Milano 38), Oxford 0

[davidbr]

Wednesday 26th October, 2005

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

Bris R (4-1-4-1); Jorg Stiel, Jean-Christophe Cesto, Adam Green, Souleymane Bamba, Ryan Hartslief, Johannes Djourou, Jeroen van Staveren, Dean West, Sebastian Larsson, Franklin Salas, Gary Hamilton.

I’d watched quite a few tapes of the visitors in action over the last week, and what I’d seen had emphasised that this could well be tricky, and a good start was vital for us. I’d then gone and made a big deal of that in the dressing room beforehand, so you can guess what happened next, can’t you? Yep, that’s right – six minutes played, and one goal down!

It all came about thanks to some good work down the right by Lincoln’s Sam Togwell and some incredibly inept positioning by Adam Green; Togwell showing why he’s rated as one of the best right-backs in our league, Green showing why I reckon his Premiership future isn’t going to be a glorious one. Togwell got to the dead-ball line, his cross was perfect and Ryan Hartslief’s desperate lunge only succeeded in almost performing a DIY vasectomy on Gary Birch; the penalty award was a formality and Paul Mayo duly tucked it away, I was just relieved though that Hartslief escaped with just a yellow card for what’d been a truly awful tackle.

The goal did at least seem to spur us into life, and Franklin Salas made a few testing runs to push Lincoln well back into their own half. Trouble was that without the pace and guile of Milano ahead of him we looked decidedly toothless, and that was emphasised when just short of twenty minutes in stand-in Gary Hamilton spooned an excellent Salas pass high over the bar. Ryan Hartslief also spurned a chance to make up for that penalty, it wasn’t a sitter but he sent his header straight into the arms of keeper Alan Marriott, but in the last minute of the half we finally found something to smile about.

Goalscorer Mayo lost the ball in midfield and straight away we were on the move with Jeroen van Staveren. A neat one-two with Dean West later, van Staveren found himself in space down the left and in came the cross. It should have been a formality for Marriott, but the experienced keeper flapped hopelessly at it. The ball drifted across the six-yard box, and who else should be haring in down the right than Souleymane Bamba; the Ivorian’s finish was emphatic, he had his second of the season, and we had parity at the break.

Half Time: Bristol Rovers 1 (Bamba 45), Lincoln 1 (Mayo pen 6)

I’d decided on some words of encouragement for the half-time team talk, but in retrospect I think I should have stuck with old-fashioned abuse as at the start of the second half we were truly awful. The excellent Sam Togwell was a nightmare to pick up down the right and Gavin Strachan, son of Scotland’s famous carrot-topped dwarf Gordon, was making some probing runs that we just weren’t able to cope with.

There’d been a few lucky escapes, but with quarter of an hour remaining the inevitable finally came. A neat passing move between Strachan, Mayo and Sierra Leonean kid Al Bangura sliced through us like a knife through s**t, and though Sam Togwell somewhat scuffed at his shot it had more than enough on it to deceive Jorg Stiel; for the second time this afternoon, we were staring defeat in the face.

This time there was no escape, and my miserable afternoon was sealed by yet another bloody penalty six minutes from the end. There’s no point in moaning about the referee, though; this decision was just as easy as the first. Most of our problems this afternoon had emanated from Lincoln’s flanks, and it was left-back Mark McLaughlin who got the cross in, Johannes Djourou who seemed to have thought he was playing basketball with the most blatant handball you’ll ever see, and Gavin Strachan who coolly stroked home the spot-kick for 3-1. We were booed off at the end, and it was no more than we deserved after a shambolic home display.

Full time: Bristol Rovers 1 (Bamba 45), Lincoln 3 (Mayo pen 6, Togwell 74, Strachan pen 84)

[davidbr]

“Well, I’m waiting. Who’s going to be the first one to say it?â€

After a long silence, Ryan Hartslief somewhat nervously spoke up.

“S..say what, boss??â€

“That the performance was a f**king disgrace, that’s what, and that you were all about as much use to me out there as a cat-flap in a f**king elephant house!â€

Tony came across and whispered in my ear, something about how we were still third in the table and that maybe I should take a deep breath and calm down. Just then, I didn’t want to hear it.

“Right, I want everyone in at nine o’clock tomorrow for extra training, and don’t go making any plans for the afternoon either. In fact, if you ever want a day off again, you’d better start showing me a hell of a lot more f**king commitment than I saw out there today.â€

With that I stormed out, almost taking the door off its hinges as I went. Now, in my fury, one fact had escaped me; the walls of the dressing rooms at the Memorial Stadium are thin enough to hear a mouse fart through them, and hence gathered in the corridor were a slightly stunned collection of reporters and club officials each of whom had heard every word of my four-letter tirade!

No-one said anything – even the bravest reporter would have been ill-advised to ask for an interview at that precise moment! –but no doubt tomorrow’s papers would be splashed with more crap about the “lack of harmony in the Rovers camp.â€

At that precise moment, though, I cared not a bugger. Laura was waiting for me up in the office with a consoling hug and a large glass of Scotch, somehow she always serves to cheer me up after a difficult day and I was hoping the whisky would do likewise.

With that it was off home; Ratty was out with his girlfriend tonight, he’d taken her to some swanky restaurant, that meant Laura and I had the flat to ourselves and, well, we made full use of the freedom, if you get what I mean!

Somehow, when you’re lying exhausted in the arms of a beautiful woman, little things like a heavy defeat to Lincoln just don’t seem to matter quite so much!!

[davidbr]

Friday, 28th October 2005

Since the only time I’ve ever seen the inside of a church is when someone’s died I might be wrong on this one, but didn’t one of the Ten Commandments go something like, “Thou Shalt Not Mix Whisky, Weird Green S**t and Cheap Vodka In Ridiculous Quantities The Night Before Taking a 10am Training Session?†No? Well, it’s still f**king good advice, as I was finding out to my cost.

With Laura otherwise engaged (she’d gone out for the evening with an old school friend), it was just Ratty and myself in the flat and, not fancying going out in the rain, we’d settled on a “nice quiet night inâ€. Hmm!

Four hours, a bottle of Jack Daniels, half a bottle of an unidentified green substance with foreign writing on it and a fair whack of the kind of vodka an alcoholic Russian would turn his nose up at, those plans had been well and truly abandoned. Now, since Paul had a reserve game to handle and Tony had the morning off, I’d have to take charge of training myself. Bugger!

It didn’t take me long to realise that there wasn’t much the players could learn from a ****ed manager whose pores oozed pure alcohol, so by 11am I’d called an early halt to training and was back in the office nursing a cup of very strong coffee and working my way through the fax tray.

The first one was bad news, but at least it was expected bad news; Ecuador had a couple of games in a fortnight’s time, and they’d just confirmed to me that Franklin Salas had been named in the squad; that means he’s out for the Bury game next month.

[davidbr]

The ringing of the office phone didn’t do my fragile head any good at all; Laura, who was finding my current state highly amusing, answered it and passed over the receiver.

“Mr Hamilton? My name’s Brian Ridgeway, I’m the editor of the Evening Post, you..â€

“Whatever you want it’s a No Comment, Mr Ridgeway, I thought I made that very clear to your ****** of a Sports Editor. Now I’m a busy man, goodbye.â€

“Please, Teddy, just hear me out. Paul Johnson’s no longer with us, and to put it bluntly I need you on our side. You’re doing well, and the fans want to read about it – if they can’t get that in our paper, then they’ll go somewhere else. Please, at least can we discuss this?â€

Maybe it was the sense of cheer at hearing about Johnson’s fate, or the fact I was still feeling like I’d died and no one had told me, but I found myself agreeing to his request. Down the pub, naturally…

“Alright, I’m just about done here anyway. Meet me in the Bay Horse in a couple of hours. And bring the company credit card, ‘cos you’re buying.â€