Lovin' Angels Instead

[davidbr]

The sun was beginning to set over the warm waters of the Mediterranean, its fiery orb almost appearing to boil the surface away as it touched down on the horizon. In the olive groves and tamarisks along the cliff-top the birds sang their goodnight melody, through the heat-haze you could just make out another week’s collection of holidaymakers on their way out to sample the nightlife. How, I wondered silently, was it possible to be so lonely in a place so beautiful as this?

Resting down my glass, I sighed and wandered over to the edge of the veranda, climbing somewhat gingerly up onto the narrow ledge provided by the guardrail. Gazing down at the blue waves lapping forty feet beneath me, gazing out at the last of the fishing boats preparing to haul in the day’s catch, I was suddenly taken back to my childhood, when I’d stand by Hartlepool Docks and look on as the seagulls prepared to launch themselves into the midst of a fearsome north-westerly gale. I’d often puzzled over what was going through their minds at that precise moment they flung themselves into the unknown; now, in my final moments, I felt I understood. Freedom.

I spread my arms, and it was as if all my demons just drifted away on the southerly breeze. Closing my eyes, I leant forward. Claire, I was coming home!

[davidbr]

This is a continuation, a “second partâ€, of a story I had to abandon because of a saved game crash; I happened to like the characters in it, so I decided to resurrect them in a different format!

Part One ( Dances with Monkeys ) saw Mickey Milligan, a hard-drinking party animal whose antics had long since ended what should have been a glittering career, turn his back on a life of hedonism in Cyprus to answer the call of Hartlepool United, his first love and the little club where he’d originally made his name. Joined by Darren Agnew, a fellow ex-Hartlepool hell-raiser and his long-time best friend, Mickey set about the task of stabilising a club that had fallen into disarray – but it wasn’t long before a second love appeared on the horizon…

Claire Hodcroft, a local student and daughter of Hartlepool’s chairman Ken, captured the heart of a man with more notches on his bed-post than the rolling stones and who’d admit, romantically-speaking, to being “shallower than a worm’s graveâ€. But, there wasn’t to be a happy ending – whilst on their way out to celebrate a League Cup penalty-shoot out win, Claire & Mickey’s taxi hit a tree in the centre of Darlington. Mickey survived, albeit with serious injuries; Claire died in intensive care, and the last we saw of our anti-hero was him sobbing like a baby as the earth was piled upon the grave of the first girl he’d ever truly loved.

Eventually, once his injuries had healed, he’d be fit to go home – the question was, home to where?

(Played on FM06, v.6.0.3, Huge database and leagues of England (all), Scotland (all), Italy (Serie A & B), France (Ligues 1 & 2), Spain (Priméra & Ségunda Liga), Germany (Bundesliga I & II) and Holland (Eredivisie only)

[davidbr]

I blinked, and gingerly opened my eyes – then slammed them shut in an instant as a fearsome pain tore through me. I’d never had any time for God, or the afterlife, whilst I was in the land of the living; I assumed this was the Almighty’s punishment.

Once the pain began to subside I tried opening my eyes again, more successfully this time, and gazed, blearily, at my surroundings. This didn’t look like Hell – I couldn’t see any fiery furnaces, or big red blokes with horns and tails, at any rate. And, well, if I’d somehow ended up in Heaven, then Christians everywhere are going to be asking for a refund. The walls looked kind of whitish, the surroundings non-descript. There was a strange smell, it was kind of familiar but at that precise moment I just couldn’t place it. Oh, and a funny noise, too, sort of monotonous, monotone.

Suddenly, I became aware of someone standing over me. I couldn’t see the face, but the gentle voice told me it was a woman; a youngish-sounding one as well, if my ears weren’t deceiving me. I spoke, hoarsely but as strongly as I could muster.

“Are…Are you an angel??â€

She giggled, an almost child-like giggle it appeared to me.

“No! You not dead!! You, how say, pick out sea. Fish man find you, you bring here. This hospital. My name Julia.â€

I was having a real hard time piecing together her broken English in my battered brain. I’d fallen forty bloody feet, for feck’s sake! Into deep water! How the hell could I not be dead! I couldn’t get the words out, but Julia evidently guessed what I was trying to say.

“You hit tree on way down. It break fall. Water shallow, tide out, you float. Fish man on beach, he see you, you bring here. This hospital. Paphos.â€

At that point I suddenly realised I was lying on a hospital bed, the “smell†I’d noticed earlier was antiseptic, and the “noise†was coming from the bank of monitors clustered around my bedside. I could sense Julia was still standing by the bed (though my eyesight hadn’t improved enough for me to tell what she looked like) and I could also pick out, through the haze, some shadowy, white figures.

They began speaking to me, fast, in Greek, and though I have learnt enough of the language to get by the pace of their speech was too much for me. I must have blacked out.

[davidbr]

When I next awoke Julia was gone, the white-coated mob from before were still there, but they had company. And what’s more, he spoke English.

“Mr Milligan, I’m James Hanratty – I’m an official of the British Consulate. You’ve been incredibly lucky, my son. Incredibly lucky.â€

Well, that would depend on your point of view, wouldn’t it? I couldn’t yet co-ordinate my speech well enough to say that, though, and with Hanratty’s help I began to gather some sense through the haze, some sense of what I was doing here. Or doing anywhere, for that matter.

Indeed, I had been either very lucky or unlucky. That afternoon I’d thrown myself off my veranda into oblivion I’d been drinking, as usual, heavily, and so had misjudged the direction of my descent. Instead of dropping like a stone into the Mediterranean, I’d crashed into the branches of one of the trees on the cliff top, and that had broken my fall.

Next piece of (bad) luck - the tide wasn’t in; it was only on its way in. That meant the beach was still exposed, and that meant a fisherman had been on the shore casting his line into the surf. He was able to wade out and drag me to safety. Normally, the water where I’d fallen would have been fifteen feet deep, and I’d have drowned within minutes.

And, lastly, although I was in what passed for Paphos General Hospital’s Intensive Care Unit, I’d escaped remarkably unscathed – a badly broken arm where I’d hit the tree, moderate internal bleeding that hadn’t required surgery, and a bruise to the brain which accounted for my fluctuating eyesight. That too would heal of its’ own accord. It seemed to take me an age to put the words in my head into a legible sentence;

“The nurse – the one that was here when I woke up. Julia. Can I talk to her?â€

[davidbr]

Put it this way; if, when I’d first woken up I’d been able to see, I’d have still asked Julia if she was an angel. She was, quite simply, stunning. Her hair was so dark brown as to be almost black, her figure was an image of perfection, and she had a laugh that could have melted a diamond in seconds.

Mind you, it was a good few days before I was able to fully appreciate all of this.

By then I’d recovered enough to be moved out of Intensive Care and back onto a normal ward, but Julia would still spend hours at a time at my bedside – whether she was just doing her job, and that’s how the system works out here, I didn’t know.

Anyway, right then I didn’t look on her as a beautiful girl, or even as a girl at all; she was just a kindly face willing to listen to the ramblings of a tortured soul. It was really weird, I mean I knew she didn’t understand what I was saying to her – not all of it anyways – and I could catch but brief snippets of her replies, but it just didn’t seem to matter. It sounds corny, but it was as if we had a connection that somehow went beyond the simple boundaries of language.

As the days passed, my condition gradually improved, and I became more and more aware of what was going on around me. Julia’s company made the loneliness less intense, but even so it was as if all those demons, all those fears that had floated away on the breeze that instant I’d stood free as a bird on the edge of my veranda, were back eating me away from the inside. Then, one day, she asked the question;

“Mickey. Why you jump?â€

[davidbr]

So far, for all my ramblings, I’d missed out the really painful parts. I tried spinning her the same line I’d sold the others – the doctors and officials, I mean – that I’d been drinking heavily, climbed up onto the guard rail and slipped, but she didn’t buy it for a second. I suppose bulls**t must be an international language. Then again I doubt they bought it either; it was just she cared enough to question it.

So, I began to explain. About Hartlepool, about the crash, and about Claire, and about how lonely I had been since then. I’d returned to Paphos, once I’d finally been released from hospital in Darlington that is, and basically slipped back into the kind of lifestyle I’d been living before my brief English sojourn. Late nights, large whiskies, loose women, that kind of thing. The difference was, whereas once I’d found comfort from such antics, now I found only loneliness and despair.

Claire had changed me, she’d made me see how shallow my existence was, how utterly meaningless my life had become. And I was scared. Scared of what would become of me, scared the time would come when people were no longer laughing with me but at me.

When I’d been a player for Hartlepool, I’d been idolised by an entire town; now, I was nothing more than a clapped-out wreck who needed three double whiskies to find the strength to face another morning. And I wasn’t even twenty-nine years old.

I’m not sure how much, if anything, of my life disaster-story Julia understood, but I really wanted to make her understand. It wasn’t a sexual thing, either – yes, she was beautiful, but she also made me feel incredibly at ease, and that’s something nobody’s been able to do since Claire died.

I realised I’d never stopped blaming myself for Claire’s death for long enough to properly grieve, I’d bottled things up inside me for far too long.

[davidbr]

Fate, you know, can be a confusing bastard at times. As I was about to find out; one day, as I was almost ready to be discharged, Julia came bounding onto the ward with a spring in her step.

“Mickey, you football manager, you look for job, yes?â€

I merely shrugged – the future wasn’t something that occupied too high a priority in my mindset right then. Besides, who the bloody hell in their right mind would hire me?

“Back home my father, he in charge of people who run national football team, for whole country, yes? They have problems, manager has quit, and they look for new coach. I call him, tell him about you, he say he remember you play for the big Liverpool. He like to meet you, talk about job?â€

It took me a good few seconds to translate her stuttering English in my head, and a darn sight longer to make sense of it. International management, eh? I must admit I liked the sound of that – a fat salary, posh house, maybe half a dozen games a year and the rest of the time lazing in idle luxury. But, more than that, it would be a fresh start.

I needed some meaning in my life, some reason to care whether I wake up the next morning – and the only thing I’d ever got that kind of feeling from was football. What the hell, it’d be an adventure, at any rate.

Then something hit me – something it’d never occurred to me to ask before.

“Julia, erm, where exactly is it you come from again??â€

[Peacemaker7]

I happened to like the characters in it, so I decided to resurrect them in a different format!

Quite right, never let a good character die!

[milanfan_apoorv]

i like this

and PM is never ever gonna finish off you-know-who

[davidbr]

Originally posted by Peacemaker7:

Quite right, never let a good character die!

That was my thinking

Originally posted by milanfan_apoorv:

i like this

and PM is never ever gonna finish off you-know-who

Thanks, milanfan I've already completed this one so I can at least promise it'll be finished

[davidbr]

I’d never been what you’d call a confident flier, winging my way through the air with nothing but a few sheets of aluminium separating me from a 30,000 foot drop wasn’t exactly my idea of a jolly good time. So, as American Airlines Flight 43 taxied to a halt at La Aurora International Airport, I kept as tight a grip as I possibly could upon Julia Alvarez’s hand.

Yes, that indeed was the full name of the young lady who’d kept my spirits, amongst other things, up on that hospital ward in Paphos, and with whom now I was about to embark on my next great adventure. Sounds kind of Spanish, doesn’t it? Indeed – but we weren’t in Spain, oh no. The Spanish FA may not be too fussy with regards to racists or fascists, but even they would draw the line at hiring an alcoholic Englishman as head coach.

International Airport?? That’s a bloody laugh! Believe me, if Basil Fawlty ran an airport, this would be just how he’d do it! By the time we’d fought our way through passport control, tried in vain to discover just which section of the Solar System our luggage had been transported to and narrowly avoided massacring a coffee machine when it refused to give us any change, I wasn’t in the best of moods; it’d been a long and arduous flight, and despite the time of year the weather was stiflingly hot and humid. Still, I had the delectable Julia for company, and we had a car waiting to whisk us away. And, sure enough there was our driver sporting a large placard; “ALVAREZâ€

When he led us to our vehicle, I thought at first it was a wind-up. I’d been expecting a limo; well, I’d guess only an archaeologist could have told you the exact make and model of the contraption now before us, but you sure as Hell won’t be seeing Bruce Willis stepping out of one at the Oscars! You could hardly tell where the paintwork ended and the rust began, and the wheel-arch on the driver’s side had all but corroded away.

“Hey, pal, you sure this thing’s safe?â€

“Sí, señor. Bienvenido a Guatemalaâ€

[macca69]

*Borat* I Like.

[davidbr]

Thanks, macca69

Yes, indeed we were in Guatemala; that was Julia Alvarez’s home.

And, providing I could convince her father Enrique, the President of the Guatemalan FA no less (though that probably ranks on the career ladder somewhere around toilet attendant at Sainsbury’s…); they’d be the country I’d be attempting to lead to, erm, mediocrity??

So, as we snaked through Guatemala City (the capital, and the base of the national football association) in our Citroen Deathtrap, I gained an in-depth understanding of the nation, its people, and its culture. Or I would have done if I hadn’t been jet-lagged and passed out on Julia’s shoulder as soon as the car got moving. Before I knew it, we were there; we were at the HQ of the Guatemalan FA. We were in Zone 15.

No, that’s not something out of the X-Files; Guatemala City is sub-divided into 21 administrative zones, and it so happened that the national football association were based in the 15th of them – which perhaps didn’t bode well for the level of importance the country placed on their national team…

Anyway, we (Julia and I, that is) were waved through by a “security team†that made me feel about as secure as a Rabbi in Mecca, and I left it to Julia to knock upon her father’s door.

[davidbr]

We walked in, I shook hands with Enrique Alvarez, and I said hello. He stared at me blankly, as if I’d just tried to explain Witten’s string theory with the involvement of strange matter. Great – he couldn’t speak a word of English! I tried French, Greek, Italian, and Portuguese, all of which I speak in declining degrees of fluency – exact same reaction. Julia came over, and took over the negotiations.

Barely a few minutes later, Enrique Alvarez came across and handed me a few type written pages, loosely “bound†together with a single paper clip. I glanced across to Julia, confused.

“It contract. You sign, for manager.â€

I thought about it for a moment. I mean, for all I knew I could be signing an agreement to donate my testicles to Chinese medical science, or a membership form for the Liberal Democrats. Then again, I could refuse, and I could be stranded in Central America waiting to be deported back to a small European island where I owed a King’s ransom for medical bills I couldn’t pay. Hypothetical, of course… but I somehow felt like being brave!

“Julia, I’ll tell you what. I’ll sign – if you’ll stay here with me.â€

She smiled, and giggled, that laugh again that always melted the resolve I didn’t have.

“Of course I stay with you. We work together, yes?â€

I scribbled my signature down as near to the dotted line as I could get it. Bugger it, in for a penny, in for a pound, eh!?

[davidbr]

3rd September 2006

The next few days passed in somewhat of a blur, as I attempted to settle in to a new country, a new city and a new way of life. Accommodation, at least for now, wouldn’t be a problem; Julia’s father had booked me into a hotel, the Biltmore Express, in the heart of Guatemala City’s lively Zona Viva district, and while it was hardly the Ritz I’ve stayed in far worse.

Julia proved to be a knowledgeable guide, even if the language barrier was still a hindrance, and gradually with her help I began to get a feel for my new home. Guatemala City, the capital and base for the country’s national football association, is, like many Latin American cities, a land of contrasts. The ancient Mayan architecture is indeed impressive, and surrounded by the hotels, bars and restaurants of the Zona Viva you could almost, if you shut your eyes and used your imagination, believe yourself to be in Madrid, or Barcelona. But the sprawling, untidy residential districts, chaotic and dangerous road network and obvious poverty are an all too clear reminder that this is indeed the Third World. Crime, according to Julia, is commonplace, and Westerners make a tempting target for pickpockets and thieves. Not that I had anything worth stealing, anyway…

But, I wasn’t here for sightseeing. What about the football team? Well, the Federación Nacional de Fútbol de Guatemala (Guatemalan FA to you and I) are, as I’ve already said, based in Zone 15 of the capital city, and their HQ also contains the country’s training facilities. Those are, for want of a better word, primitive! The three training pitches are in desperate need of a good watering and the running track’s got more holes in it than a Green Party manifesto. There is a dormitory area for the players’ use, complete with hot and cold running rats from the seems of things, but (perhaps unsurprisingly) when on international duty everyone tends to make their own arrangements.

The national stadium, the Estadio Nacional Mateo Flores, is, in fitting with the cahotic organisation I’ve so far witnessed, nowhere near the training pitches! It’s in Zone 5 of the city, has a capacity of 29,500 all-seater, and from what Julia tells me it was named after some marathon runner who once won a race yonks ago. That just about sums up Guatemalan sporting heritage; I mean, can you imagine our FA naming the new Wembley after Paula Radcliffe??

[davidbr]

So, that’s the facilities summed up in a large nutshell; but what about the team itself? Well, allow me to put it this way; to a Guatemalan FA official, the Torquay United trophy room would seem like an embarrassment of riches!

Guatemalan football’s finest hour was a 4th placed finish in the 1996 CONCACAF Gold Cup, a tournament that ranks somewhere around the Walt Disney Under 18 shield in terms of worldwide importance, and they’ve never even come close to making it into a World Cup. Their last attempt was particularly impressive, though – they failed to reach the second phase of qualifying after an aggregate defeat to the superstars of the Bahamas! Oh, and in the last eighteen months they’d played only one full international, a friendly, and lost that 7-0 to Brazil! Hmm…

Any staff? Yup, there was one; a Mexican assistant manager, Gustavo Vargas - though when you only play matches at a rate of one every other year, f**k knows what he used to assist with. He was the spitting image of Groucho Marx, and a quick chat with Senor Vargas demonstrated he possessed about the same amount of ability as a coach…

I still didn’t know anything about the players I’d have at my disposal, but one thing was abundantly clear; I needed a right-hand man. And there was only one name on the shortlist as far as I was concerned. I reached for the phone.

[davidbr]

“Darren? It’s Mickey, Mickey Milligan!â€

“Well, f**k me, Mick, good t’hear from you! I was planning to come out and see you some time, I heard about the, erm, accident, and all that.â€

“Yeah, well, you know how it’s been. Anyway, look, good as is it to talk to you and all that, this isn’t just a social call. I need some help, mate.â€

And with that I went on to explain to Darren Agnew the unexpected twist that my life had recently taken.

“So – how about it? Are you in?â€

I knew that, when I asked Darren to be my assistant, he wouldn’t turn me down; in any case, it seems he’d found work hard to come by in the post-Hartlepool days. I was expecting my time in Central America to be a bumpy ride, and there’s no one I’d rather have by my side to smooth the way. He’ll be on a plane just as soon as he can tie up a few loose ends back home; he did have one question, though…

“Mickey – what’s it like over there, then??â€

“Erm, it’s a bit hard to describe, actually…â€

[DJDiesel]

Great restartof a good story

btw, if you never found out who Harchester was, they were a made up football team for a tv series. Someone for some strange and not apparently obvious reason decided to put them in FM. And it's supposed to be more realistic

[davidbr]

Originally posted by DJDiesel:

Great restartof a good story

btw, if you never found out who Harchester was, they were a made up football team for a tv series. Someone for some strange and not apparently obvious reason decided to put them in FM. And it's supposed to be more realistic

Thanks, Diesel

Ah, so that explains the Harchester puzzle then! I never did figure out who they were, but I did figure out a way to delete the buggers from the database - there are no Harchester, or any other made-up clubs, in this story

[davidbr]

Well, that’s my assistant sorted out, or it will be when Darren gets here. But what about the players – as in, are any of them any good?

Well, to be honest, I don’t know. You see, it’s not like England, or Brazil, here. If Eriksson or Big Phil Scolari needed to do a review of their squads, even down to Under-16 level, they’ve got an army of researchers and a library of files and match reports to help them on their way. Me, I’ve got a single, moth-eaten brown folder that appears to be the entire record of the last manager’s spell in charge. Oh, and I’ve got Julia.

Yes, she’s proving to be very useful. When I asked her to stay on, it was purely because I enjoyed her company and because I thought she might be able to act as an interpreter; plus the fact she’s bloody gorgeous! But she’s surprised me by how much she knows about Guatemalan football – which is a bloody sight more than I do, at any rate.

There aren’t any superstars at our disposal; most of the lads in the national pool wouldn’t be household names in their own households. But, taken in the context of what we’re going to have to beat in this region to achieve any kind of success, maybe it’s not quite such a hopeless task after all. Or could that just be wishful thinking? Only one way to find out, isn’t there – arrange some bloody friendlies!!

Now, when running the rule over potential friendly opponents, Julia and I had two things to consider; firstly, who’s available, since most of the major nations had matches lined up for the three available dates this year a long time ago. And, secondly, who do we want to be available – a friendly with Brazil, say, might sound great on paper, but getting hammered 9-0 in my first game in charge won’t do a lot for my fragile confidence.

In the end, I went with Julia’s suggestion – winnability over bank-ability every time!! So, my first three matches as Guatemala head coach will be at home to the mighty Cayman Islands on October 7th, and then an Asian double-header in Nepal and India on November 11th and 15th.

It was Julia who pushed for the latter two, I wanted a home match with Grenada; it seems she fancies a holiday in the shadow of the Himalayas…

[davidbr]

10th September 2006

Well, Darren Agnew flew into La Aurora International bright and early this morning, and as of yet he hasn’t stopped moaning about the flight, or more especially the 3-hour delay in Miami en route! When he sees Guatemala

City properly, he might start to wish the delay would be permanent…

Actually, that’s maybe a bit unfair. Sure, parts of it are dirty, overcrowded and chaotic, and I’m sure the air pollution wouldn’t make for a long and healthy life, but the climate’s pleasant, and Julia and I have enjoyed a couple of, ahem, “interesting†nights out in the Zona Viva already. We haven’t had much of a chance yet, but once we’ve settled in a bit more and got the Cayman friendly out of the way she’s promised to show me a bit more of the country - away from the capital, I mean.

We’ve already made one decision, though, which didn’t seem to go down too well with Julia’s father Enrique. So it seems, all past national coaches have based themselves within the FA’s training complex, but I made it bloody clear I’ve got no intention of working in such squalor. When we looked round, apart from Roland Rat & family having a party, the hot water didn’t work, there was a bloody great hole in the ceiling and the office had no chair!

Enrique Alvarez seemed to take it as a personal insult, but I couldn’t care less; as of now, Room 17 at the Biltmore Express Hotel (my room) is the headquarters of Guatemala’s national coaching team!

So, we’ve now got just under three weeks to put together a squad capable of doing battle with the finest talent the Cayman Islands has to offer… yes, I know, it’s not the most taxing of openers (!), but I’m desperate to get my tenure underway with a convincing win so as far as I’m concerned we’re going to approach it as if we were playing Brazil. A good many Guatemalans play their football overseas (apparently we’ve even got two in Serie A!!) – as far as they’re concerned I’m just going to have to go on reputation, and thankfully Julia seems to know far more about their relative strengths and weaknesses than Darren or I do.

But the Guatemalan domestic league, the Liga Mayor, is just about to enter its Clausura stage, and so the plan is to get out and about, watch a few matches and see what springs to our attention.

[davidbr]

1st October 2006

Well, here we are then, the moment that’ll go down in history (or maybe not…) – it’s time to announce my first ever squad as Guatemala manager!! Although when I say “announceâ€, we’re not talking Sky Sports and news crews over here; it’s more on the level of a hastily scribbled, dog-eared scrap of paper being handed to an FA official…

Over the last couple of weeks we’d watched a fair few domestic matches and I’d been pleased with the standard of what I’d seen; of course, a long way short of the Premiership or Serie A, but there was no shortage of technical ability. Manuel Alvarado, a 27-year old striker who’d never been capped before but who’d grabbed a superb hat trick for Aurora FC when we were in attendance, was the pick of the ten home-based players, but this was a chance for everyone to stake a claim.

Anyway, here are our twenty-four glorious warriors…

Goalkeepers:

1:……… Norman Manuel MARTÃN (Al Shabab (KSA), 35)

13……….Paolo César MOTTA (GIF Sundsvall, 30)

Defenders:

19……… Israel DONIS (Aurora FC, 31)

18 ………Nelson Noel MORALES (Tromso FC, 30)

2…………Dennis Geovani CHEN (Municipal, 29)

5…………Pablo Sebastián MELGAR (Etoile du Sahel, 26)

4…………Néstor Fernando MARTÃNEZ (Comunicaciones, 25)

6…………Gustavo Adolfo CABRERA (Real Salt Lake, 25)

21……… Martín Alejandro MÃCHON (Aurora FC, 33)

3…………Claudio Josué ALBIZURIS (Parma, 25)

[davidbr]

Midfielders:

22……….Mario RODRÃGUEZ (Columbus Crew, 25)

23… ……Fabricio Javier BENÃTEZ (Municipal, 31)

17… …. Julián Edgar CHÃCON (Aurora FC, 24)

8…… ….Fredy William THOMPSON (Comunicaciones, 24)

7…… ….Eduardo Antonio COCHERARI (Aurora FC, 24)

14…… ….Julio César MONTERROSSO (Newcastle Jets, 24)

20 …… .Uwaldo PÉREZ (Comunicaciones, 27)

12……… .Carlos Fernado FIGUEROA (Treviso, 26)

16……….Carlos QUINÓNEZ (Motherwell, 27)

24……….Pando RAMÃREZ (Viborg FF, 28)

Strikers:

10…………Dwight PEZZAROSSI (Modena, 27)

9………….Manuel ALVARADO (Aurora FC, 27)

11…………José Manuel MENDOZA (SK Brann, 21)

15…………Carlos RUIZ (FC Dallas, 27)

So, what of the Cayman Islands? Well, I’d asked Julia to find out what she could about them, and what she reported back on was news of a very poor side.

I’d heard of one of their squad previously, former Notts Forest pineapple-head Jason Lee, but of the others we’ve got three or four who play in English non-league football and the rest are based in their home country. If I lose to these bastards, then I’m bloody history…

[davidbr]

7th October 2006

Guatemala vs. Cayman Islands, friendly from Mateo Flores, Guatemala City

Guatemala (4-2-3-1); Norman Manuel Martin (Danny Josue Ortiz 45), Dennis Geovani Chen, Gustavo Adolfo Cabrera, Martin Alejandro Machon, Pablo Sebastián Melgar, Fredy Wiliam Thompson (Julian Edgar Chacon 45), Fabricio Javier Benitez (Julio César Monterroso 45), Dwight Pezzarossi (Eduardo Antonio Cocherari 45), Claudio Josue Albizuris (Carlos Fernando Figueroa 45), José Manuel Mendoza (Mario Rodriguez 45), Manuel Alvarado

There were perhaps less than 20,000 inside the Mateo Flores this afternoon but even so I’ve never felt so nervous - not even on the day I made my debut for Liverpool at Anfield. Thankfully, though, I soon had the perfect tonic to settle my nerves; with less than a minute gone left-back Cabrera slipped the ball through to Fredy Thompson, he had acres of space to send in the cross, and Thompson’s delivery was emphatically volleyed home by José Manuel Mendoza to clinch us a first-minute lead.

Our superiority was all too evident, and on the rare occasion a Cayman boot made contact with the ball they only served to hand possession straight back to one of our own. Pezzarossi missed two sitters-of-chances to extend our lead inside the first ten minutes, but in the 25th minute it was Pezzarossi’s inch-perfect cross that laid on a plate for Fabricio Benitez his first international goal. And then my prodigal son laced his boots up.

Darren had called it madness, but I’d chosen to name Manuel Alvarado (on his international debut) as my main target-man; and he repaid my faith with a double booster before half time. Thirty-three minutes in Dwight Pezzarossi slipped in a pass that was half cleared as far as Alvarado, he picked up the ball and strolled past two Cayman defenders as if they weren’t there before slamming a low drive just inside the bottom left corner. Then on half time Alvarado’s header from Albizuris’ cross made it 4-0, the match was won, and I had the chance of an experimental reshuffle.

Half time: Guatemala 4 (Mendoza 1, Benitez 25, Alvarado 33, 45), Cayman Islands 0

The second half reshuffle didn’t work; in fact if I’m honest we never really impressed after the break and the rout I’d hoped for never looked like happening. Manuel Alvarado came close with a couple of headers and a free kick that whistled past the right-hand post and Eduardo Cocherari, who’d narrowly missed out on a starting slot, was easily our best player in a half in which we never really got going.

Even so the Cayman Islands hadn’t threatened, so it was a real shock when we conceded! Three minutes from time Jamie Wood’s flick-on somehow confused us, Dennis Chen missed the clearance and Cayman sub Neal Bonali had a clear run to slot home a rare goal for his country. Eduardo Cocherari made it 5-1, though, from the penalty spot after a handball, and despite the one we’d fallen asleep for this was a comfortable win for my first match in charge.

Full time: Guatemala 5 (Mendoza 1, Benitez 25, Alvarado 33, 45, Cocherari pen 89), Cayman Islands 1 (Bonali 87)

[davidbr]

“Christ, when I took this job one problem I never thought I’d have was how to get ourselves out of a f**king snowdrift!!â€

That was very true; it snows in Guatemala about as often as someone with genuine talent appears on reality television (i.e., never). But, we weren’t in Guatemala – we were in Tromso, way up in the north of Norway!! What the hell were we doing here?? Well, ahead of our Asian double header next month I’d managed to wrangle sufficient expenses out of Enrique Alvarez’s tight arse to fund a scouting trip for the three of us (myself, Darren and Julia) to watch our European-based players in action. And a good many of them had strangely ended up in the Scandinavian leagues!

We’d been to Viborg in Denmark, Sundsvall in Sweden, Bergen in the southern part of Norway; and now here we were in Tromso, a mere stone’s throw from the Arctic Circle, in October… yes, as you can imagine, it was bloody cold! I’d been assured it very rarely snowed here until December at the earliest - I’d been assured wrong, as we were now finding whilst engaged in the task of extracting our hire car from a three-foot drift!

Still, we made it to the Alfheim Stadion in the nick of time for Tromso’s league meeting with Lillestrom - only to find that the player we’d come to see, defender Nelson Noel Morales, was out injured! B**ocks!

A few hours later, back in the pleasant warmth of our hotel room, I was bloody glad the mini-bar contained Jack Daniels!! I poured a glass for myself, poured one for Julia, then just for good measure added an extra double to my tumbler. Downing the contents in one, I slumped back onto the bed utterly exhausted. Julia finished her own drink, and wandered across to sit next to me.

“You not look happy, Mickey, no?â€

I just smiled, and nodded towards the bedside table where the rest of the bottle was winking at me rather invitingly!

“A bit tired, that’s all – it’s not been the best of days! I’ll be fine after a few more of these!! I just…â€

I never got to finish that sentence, as Julia leant over and kissed me full on the lips. To say I was surprised would be an understatement, and I don’t know why but I instinctively pulled away. For some reason, it just didn’t feel right.

“What matter, Mickey – you not like me?â€

I did like her, very much – and that was the problem. After Claire, I just didn’t feel ready to get involved with someone I might actually care about. And I did care about Julia, however much I tried to persuade myself otherwise; in fact, I wanted her so much it hurt.

I knew I couldn’t keep living in the past for ever – well, not unless I was intent on self-destruction I couldn’t. It was just there was something I needed to do first.

[davidbr]

29th October 2006

It’s funny - I’d almost forgotten how desolate a late October afternoon in the North-East of England could actually be. The weather forecast on the radio had claimed it was five degrees, Celsius I mean, but with the wind and rain battering against me it felt more like minus five. Which was appropriate, I guess, because that’s how it’d seemed when we’d buried her.

The last time I’d found myself here, in the corner of Hartlepool Cemetery, was on the day of Claire’s funeral a little over a year ago (a year and twenty-nine days ago, to be exact). I’d told myself I’d said my goodbyes then, but I hadn’t really; not inside, not where it mattered, I hadn’t.

I told myself the reason I hadn’t been back was because I’d spent most of my time since on the other side of Europe – when really it’d been the other way round. It was as if that, if I didn’t actually see it, then I could persuade myself that she wasn’t really dead, that all I had to do was wait and she’d one day come back to me.

But Claire wasn’t coming back, and if I was to have any kind of future I had to accept that. I was in the UK because the latest leg of our European scouting tour had taken us to Scotland, and Motherwell’s 3-1 win over Kilmarnock yesterday afternoon. It had been a waste of time as far as our “mission†was concerned (Hugo Quinonez, the midfielder I was there to watch, had played only 12 minutes as a substitute and I’d learnt nothing I hadn’t known a fortnight ago). But this part of our trip had never really been about watching a mere squad player strut his stuff - it had been about me finally coming to terms with my past. I knelt down before Claire Hodcroft’s headstone, and took about the deepest breath I’d ever taken.

“Sweetheart, I’ll always love you, and there’ll never be a day in my life when I don’t think about you. I’d do anything to have you back with me – but I can’t, and I’ve got to move on with my life now. You sleep tight, love, you hear me…â€

As I made my way towards the cemetery gates, towards where Darren was waiting in the car, tears were flowing down my cheeks like rivers. My head, though, felt a darn sight clearer. I knew Claire wouldn’t have wanted me to mourn forever, I knew that she’d have been screaming at me to seize this unexpected opportunity life had thrown up at me, and use it to make a fresh start. At last, I felt I was genuinely ready to move on.

And Julia? Well, who knows!!

[davidbr]

I bet you wouldn’t find Sven-Goran Eriksson spending hour after hour on the phone to travel agents, but that’s what the three of us have been doing with ourselves today! It’s okay if you’re in charge of England, or Italy, you can leave the boring stuff for someone else to sort out and just concentrate on the football. When you’re manager of Guatemala, you’re on your bloody own, and having fixed up these two Asian friendlies I’ve now got to fix up a way for our squad to get there!!

Nepal, so it seems, isn’t the easiest of places to get to when you’re travelling alone – when you’re taking a squad of twenty-six, it’s a sodding nightmare! Especially since we had players dotted all over the world, from Norway to Australia! At long last, though, with Darren & Julia’s help, I’d finally managed to get everything sorted, and all the plans for both stages of our mini-tour had been made. Of course plans are one thing; actually getting them to work out as intended is quite another…

The travel plans might have taken half a lifetime to sort out, but naming the squad itself took less than half an hour. Our European scouting tour, which had finished up in Madrid (where we were now) had taught me a fair bit about the strengths and weaknesses of some of our key men, but in the end I opted to make just four changes from the Cayman Islands game last month. And two of those were down to the whims of the injury gods.

I already knew I’d be without defender Nelson Morales; he still hadn’t recovered from the ankle injury that had sidelined him during our disastrous trip to Tromso last month. Given the lack of decent defenders available to me, Morales would be missed.

On the flip side, though, 31-year old forward Gonzalo Antonio Romero (who’d missed the Cayman match with a back strain) was available for selection again, and yesterday I was able to watch him come off the bench for half an hour in Rayo Vallecano’s Segunda Liga clash with Celta Vigo. Romero is regarded as the golden boy of Guatemalan football, their equivalent of David Beckham if you like, but he missed a couple of decent chances as Rayo slumped to defeat and in all honesty I was not impressed.

And, since this time I’d decided to name the maximum squad of 26, there was room for me to have a look at two more home-based players. Midfielders Edwin Gonzales (Communicaciones) and Julian Chacon (FC Aurora) will get their chance to stake a claim for a place in next year’s squad for the Gold Cup.

[davidbr]

10th November 2006

Since none of us had ever travelled to this part of the world before we had no idea what to expect - but if I’d thought Guatemala City was chaotic, then nothing could have prepared me for what awaited me in Kathmandu! We’d arrived in the Nepalese capital a few days ago via Bangkok, ahead of the players, and our flight in was most definitely an experience – there can’t be too many “international†airports with goats wandering across the car park (no, I’m not joking…)

Sure some of the views are spectacular, as are the old temples, but the city itself is polluted, sprawling and overcrowded, and there’s poverty as far as the eye can see. A ride on a rickshaw, a new experience for me, does at least give you some protection from the beggars and “guides†who seem to lurk on every corner, and I’ve never seen so many monkeys in all my life! But the Mountain Flight from Tribhuvan International Airport, which Julia and I took yesterday, is an experience not to be missed; it takes you right over the high peaks of the Himalayas, and it’s a great way to see the sights if you’ve only got a short time to spare. Well worth the few quid for the seats, anyway, and it seems to have satisfied Julia’s urge for a cultural experience.

The squad has at least arrived safely, but a good many of the players were either exhausted, jet-lagged or both and so we’ve only managed the briefest of training sessions at the national stadium this afternoon. I’d heard the Nepalese FA had recently been allocated some cash to “refurbish†the place, but I reckon that must have gone straight into someone’s pocket as to me it still resembled one of those PoW camps you see on Second World War B-movies.

Still, we were there to play football, not admire the décor, and I was looking for a professional performance.

[davidbr]

11th November 2006

Nepal vs. Guatemala, Friendly from the Dasarath Rangasala, Kathmandu

(Guatemala; 4-2-3-1): Norman Manuel Martin, Dennis Geovani Chen (Néstor Fernando Martínez 53), Gustavo Adolfo Cabrera, Martin Alejandro Machon, Pablo Sebastián Melgar, Fredy Wiliam Thompson (Julio César Monterroso 53), Fabricio Javier Benitez (Julian Edgar Chacon 53), Dwight Pezzarossi (Gonzalo Antonio Romero 53), José Manuel Mendoza (Carlos Fernando Figueroa 53), Claudio Josue Albizuris (Carlos Quinonez 53), Manuel Alvarado

Maybe it was pure arrogance, after all I knew very little about Nepal, but I’d sent my chosen eleven out demanding a convincing victory. When Dwight Pezzarossi missed a half-decent chance with barely a minute and a half on the clock, I’d had no reason to think I wouldn’t get what I’d asked for – but it didn’t pan out like that, and were it not for a smart save by Martin from Nepali striker Ranu Garung we’d have been behind inside a quarter of an hour.

I’d again put my faith in Manuel Alvarado as my main striker, and finally after much frustration he came up trumps with the goal I’d been waiting for. Nineteen minutes in Dennis Chen skipped past the Nepali right back and swung in a teasing cross, the home defence stalled where Alvarado didn’t and he slammed the ball low into the bottom corner from ten yards out. I’d hoped that would open the floodgates – as it was, Nepal had the better chances during the remainder of the half, and we could perhaps count ourselves lucky to have been leading at all by the break.

Half time: Nepal 0, Guatemala 1 (Manuel Alvarado 19)

[davidbr]

I’ve been taking Spanish lessons, and I’m getting pretty good – but since my vocabulary doesn’t yet extend to the translation of “useless bunch of bastards†I wasn’t able to express my true opinion of our first-half performance. Then I suppose anger is a universal language, and the players were left in no doubt that I expected a far better showing after the break.

Did I get it? Well, not really, no – but that was largely down to the fact Nepal had decided to stifle the life out of the game once they’d gone two goals down. That second goal was also the second of the afternoon for Manuel Alvarado, a beautifully-executed shot on the turn from 20 yards out that really deserved a grander stage than this outpost on the edge of the Himalayas.

I chose that moment to use all six of my allowed substitutions, in the hope that some fresh legs might expose the tiring Nepali defence – but what they lack in quality they certainly make up for in fitness and resilience and they’d been well coached in the art of massed defence.

Down on the touchline I was getting ever more animated, and I’m bloody sure that if we’d had a European referee this evening I’d have found myself swiftly banished to the stands – thankfully for me, though, our Kazakhstani officials didn’t seem familiar with the concept of technical areas! In the end, though, we did get a third; with four minutes remaining, substitute Gonzalo Antonio Romero made a surging run into the area and was crudely hacked down by defender Ramesh Lama – it was a terrible challenge, and I’m sure in a competitive game Lama would have been off, but tonight the referee seemed to consider the penalty award punishment enough.

To me, it seemed a golden chance for Manuel Alvarado to claim his first international hat trick, but for some reason he clearly didn’t fancy it and so it fell to Carlos Figueroa to do the necessary from twelve yards. It was a neat penalty too, and certainly gave the scoreline a more respectable look – but I still was not a happy bunny, and I’ll be looking for far better against India next week.

Full time: Nepal 0, Guatemala 3 (Manuel Alvarado 19, 53, Carlos Figueroa pen 86)

[davidbr]

I couldn’t help feeling I’d been a bit hard on the team after the Nepal game, after all most of them had been suffering badly from jet-lag and we’d still won 3-0. So I decided to eat humble pie and kick off our first training session in Kolkata by offering everyone an apology for my behaviour over the last couple of days. Yes, the flat nature of our display had been a huge disappointment, but perhaps the fault for that rested with me rather than with the players – I’d come to realise that I still had a heck of a lot to learn about management at international level.

But morale seems high, and I think we were all relieved to have swapped the sprawl of Kathmandu for the somewhat more modern surroundings of the Salt Lake district. This part of the city is an advert for the economic miracle of modern India, everything looks clean and well kept-up, and that certainly includes the national stadium itself. The Salt Lake stadium, if it was ever full, must be a mightily impressive sight – it has a capacity of 120,000, which so I’m told makes it the second largest in the world, but I seriously doubt we’ll get anything approaching that for our game on Wednesday night. Still, the playing surface looks to be excellent, and hopefully that’ll suit our passing game far better than the threadbare surface in Nepal ever did.

There’s no doubt, though, that India will represent a step up in class over what we’ve faced so far since I took charge. I’ve had Darren doing a bit of research on them, and he’s reported back on a squad containing a good few players with valuable European experience. Their likely front pairing have both spent time in the English leagues (Baichung Bhutia, the hero of Indian football, had a stint with Bury and 18-year old Vijay Sidhu is currently on the books of Bristol Rovers) and although the Indians finished bottom of their recent Asian Cup qualifying group they did grind out an impressive goalless draw against a full strength Australia side in the process. I’d still expect us to win, but it’ll be a good test of our progress ahead of the Gold Cup in the States next year

[davidbr]

15th November 2006

India vs. Guatemala, Friendly from Salt Lake, Kolkata

Guatemala (4-4-1-1); Norman Martin, Néstor Martínez, Dennis Chen, Gustavo Cabrera (Martin Machon 55), Pablo Melgar, Carlos Figueroa (José Manuel Mendoza 45, Carlos Ruiz 73), Fredy Thompson (Julian Chacon 55), Eduardo Cocherari, Claudio Albizuris (Carlos Quinonez 55), Dwight Pezzarossi, Manuel Alvarado

Of course I was well aware of the intensity with which the Indian public follow their cricketing heroes, but before tonight I’d no idea they carried that same passion over to the national football team. Yet for a friendly against a bunch of players they’d probably never even heard of, just shy of 73,000 had given up their Wednesday evening to create an atmosphere inside the Salt Lake that was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. Sadly for them it was us, and not their heroes, who rose to the occasion.

Right from the start we were positive and adventurous, and it took barely six minutes for our dominance to be rewarded – Carlos Figueroa made the teasing run down the right, young defender Rikki Bains made the utter pig’s ear of an easy clearance and Dwight Pezzarossi made no mistake with a low drive from the edge of the area. Manuel Alvarado doubled our lead from the penalty spot eleven minutes in after a foul on Pezzarossi, and from then on the floodgates swung open as my front pairing simply tore the Indian defence apart.

Pezzarossi made it 3-0 just shy of the quarter-hour with an absolute screamer from 35 yards that almost tore a hole in the roof of the net, and on 22 it was Manuel Alvarado’s turn to grab his second of the evening after Indian captain Sameer Naik completely missed Néstor Martínez’s hopeful punt over the top. India had never really had any shape in the first place, they were also rapidly losing any semblance of discipline, and they proceeded to heap misery upon themselves by gifting us two further first half penalties – both for clumsy tackles on Pezzarossi, and both converted with the utmost of ease by Manuel Alvarado.

Unbelievably Alvarado scored again in first half stoppage time, this time from open play after some more terrible defending by the Indians, that was his fifth of the evening and sent us back down the tunnel at the Salt Lake leading our hosts by seven goals to nil!!

Half time: India 0, Guatemala 7 (Pezzarossi 6, 14, Alvarado pen 11, 22, pen 30, pen 41, 45)

[davidbr]

By now I could see we were on the brink of achieving a very special result, and with me barely three months into the job that’d do wonders to impress the public back in Guatemala. In other words there’d be no easing up after the break.

A knock to Carlos Figueroa had forced a half-time change, José Manuel Mendoza took his place in midfield, and Mendoza had been on the field less than three minutes before he scored the goal of the game. Skipping past Bains, Singh and Garbi in the home defence, the young Brann star set his sights and smashed a wonderful drive into the top left corner from fully thirty-five yards out - even the demoralised home support found some applause for that one!

Ten minutes into the half I decided the time was right to make the rest of my allotted substitutions, just to give players a run-out more than anything, but the introduction of fresh legs only served to increase the Indians’ misery. Two minutes before the hour Manuel Alvarado updated his fairytale with a bullet header from a Carlos Quinonez cross - that brought up his double hat trick - and he went on to write a final chapter with two more splendid individual efforts on 62 and 87 that left the home defenders chasing shadows. Quinonez, who’d been excellent since coming on, added his own name to the scoresheet with a 25-yard free kick, as did striker Carlos Ruiz who’d barely touched the ball previously in the ten minutes since he’d replaced fellow injured substitute José Mendoza.

By the time Alvarado slammed in number thirteen the stadium was virtually deserted, the majority of the home fans had long since had enough and those still in attendance seemed paralysed by the shock of what they’d just witnessed. It’s true that India’s performance was probably the worst I’ve ever seen, and it was only a friendly – but with the Gold Cup looming large on the horizon, tonight was just what the doctor ordered!!

Full time: India 0, Guatemala 13 (Pezzarossi 6, 14, Alvarado pen 11, 22, pen 30, pen 41, 45, 58, 62, 87, Mendoza 48, Quinonez 64, Ruiz 83)

[davidbr]

8th December 2006

I’d always thought of Mexico as a warm country, but as I made my way across the tarmac at the Benito Juarez International Airport I began to wish I’d been wearing something rather more substantial than a pair of jeans and a thin cotton T-shirt. So, by the looks of things, did Julia and Darren who were shivering badly a few yards behind.

Tomorrow morning at 11am, here in Mexico City, the great and the good of North & Central American football would be gathered to witness the draw for the group stages of the Gold Cup. Since the tournament itself was being hosted by the United States I’ve no idea why they’re doing the draw in Mexico, but credit where credit’s due – the CONCACAF bigwigs sure do know how to treat their guests.

They’d arranged a limousine to collect us from the airport, booked us into a four-star hotel (the Gran Melia) right in the heart of the city – they’d even provided us with our own personal chauffeur, on call 24 hours a day! I had a feeling we were going to enjoy our stay here!!

“Wow!! You look… you look stunning!!â€

That was putting it mildly, and my mouth fell open as Julia made her way into the room wearing a figure-hugging red dress that showed off her curves to perfection. Mind you she’d have looked fantastic in a bin liner, but I’d never seen her dressed up before and it just brought home to me how much I yearned to make her mine. Now that my Spanish was reaching acceptable levels we were able to converse far more easily, and I hadn’t sensed any awkwardness on her part over what had happened in Tromso. But, frustratingly, neither had she made any attempt since to take our relationship any further.

When we were together there was no denying the sexual tension – but then, as Darren pointed out, I’d humiliated the girl with my rejection and she was hardly likely to risk it happening twice. No, the ball was in my court this time; if I wanted there to be anything more between us, I’d have to be the one to take the initiative. And tonight, that’s just what I decided to do. Mine certainly wasn’t the only male head she turned as we trawled our way through the bars of the Zona Rosa, but as I held her tightly on the dance floor and pulled her in for a lingering kiss I made bloody sure no one else was going to get a look-in.

Right now it was 6am, and as we lay exhausted in each other’s arms I really couldn’t have been happier. I had to be up in less than three hours for the draw ceremony, but at that precise moment I felt like I didn’t have a care in the world!

[davidbr]

I’m not one to get star-struck easily - after all I’d come up against some great players during my stint with Liverpool – but standing next to Romario, I felt as if my legs had turned to jelly. When I was a kid the Brazilian legend had been my idol, I could still remember as if it were yesterday watching him single-handedly destroy Man Utd in the European Cup during his Barcelona days, but I’d never dreamt I’d actually be speaking to him in person!

Then again, I’d never dreamt I’d ever be standing in the same place Maradona was when he lifted the World Cup in 1986. The draw was being made from the conference hall at the Estadio Azteca, Mexico’s national stadium, and ahead of the ceremony the CONCACAF officials had laid on a tour of the facilities. Once again, I was awestruck – with a capacity of 105,000 it was far larger than anything I’d ever experienced during my career, and although I’d seen the place many times on TV it just doesn’t do it justice.

Before we get down to the serious business, perhaps I’d better briefly explain how the CONCACAF Gold Cup works. Twelve teams will be competing in the finals in the States next month - the top 11 nations in the region as per the latest FIFA World Rankings and Brazil, who’ve received a special invitation (which explains what Romario’s doing here…). After today’s draw, which is divided into first, second and third seeds (Guatemala are in Pot Two), we’ll end up with four groups of three, and the top two finishers in each group qualify for the Quarter Finals. Got all that? Good!

(Author’s Note: In real life Guatemala would have to pre-qualify for the tournament via the UNCAF Nations Cup (as would the Caribbean nations through their performances in the Caribbean Cup). But since these aren’t included on FM, for the sake of the story we’ll assume qualification’s automatic and done on world rankings (which is probably how FM’s database simulates it anyway…)

[davidbr]

These kind of formal occasions have always bored the arse off of me, though – even more so since today’s draw-master, CONCACAF president Jack Warner, had the kind of voice that’d have sent an insomniac into a coma. Consequently I spent most of the time either eyeing up the free bar or glancing down Julia’s top, and it was only thanks to Darren delivering a discreet elbow to the ribs at key moments that I caught anything of the draw at all!

“In Group A, will be… Guatemala!!â€

That’s not too bad, I suppose – we were in with Costa Rica, in my opinion the weakest of the first-seeds (the others were Brazil, the United States and Mexico!) Warner droned on, it seemed for an eternity, but all I wanted to know was which minnow would make up our threesome…

“The final nation in Group A will be… Anguilla!!â€

I gave Darren a nudge. “Isn’t that where they get the rabbits from – you know, the ones with the long fluffy coats??â€

He laughed out loud!! “No, you t**t, that’s Angora!! F**king rabbits…!â€

“Okay, smart-arse – you tell me where the f**k Anguilla is, then?â€

He had to admit he didn’t know – but thankfully a member of the Canadian party in the row behind us had a laptop, and a quick search on Wikipedia told us Anguilla was a British territory in the Caribbean, famous for… not a lot, by the seems of things. Certainly not football!

No, on the whole I was pretty pleased with that. Costa Rica will definitely be a tough test, they have played in a couple of World Cups after all, but even if we lost that one a win over Anguilla (a formality, surely?) would be enough to book a quarter final slot.

[Wegason]

I think a lot of people must have missed this story somehow because there is no other explanation for the lack of comments on just how good it is.

So here goes...

David, this is the best international management story I've read on this forum and at the same time, one of the best stories regardless of category. Your style, characters, and observations are fantastic and the story itself is a really good read! Congratulations on some good work, I'm eagerly anticipating more from your tale of managing Guatemala.

Also, Jack Warner, together with Sepp Blatter, may just about be the most corrupt man in football.

[mark wilson27]

I gave Darren a nudge. “Isn’t that where they get the rabbits from – you know, the ones with the long fluffy coats??â€

He laughed out loud!! “No, you t**t, that’s Angora!! F**king rabbits…!â€

“Okay, smart-arse – you tell me where the f**k Anguilla is, then?â€

Very funny...lol

As Wegason said I missed this story and just started reading it...very very good.....keep up the good work david

[davidbr]

Originally posted by Wegason:

I think a lot of people must have missed this story somehow because there is no other explanation for the lack of comments on just how good it is.

So here goes...

David, this is the best international management story I've read on this forum and at the same time, one of the best stories regardless of category. Your style, characters, and observations are fantastic and the story itself is a really good read! Congratulations on some good work, I'm eagerly anticipating more from your tale of managing Guatemala.

Also, Jack Warner, together with Sepp Blatter, may just about be the most corrupt man in football.

Awww, thanks Wegason We're at a very early stage in the story so far but, like I said, it's already finished so there'll be plenty more to come

Oh, and totally agree about Warner - the man's as bent as a boomerang

Originally posted by mark wilson27:

Very funny...lol

As Wegason said I missed this story and just started reading it...very very good.....keep up the good work david

Thanks, Mark

[davidbr]

I can’t pretend I’d ever been a lover of Christmas, but somehow it’s far easier to get into the festive spirit when you’re lazing on a beach in 90-degree sunshine, sipping iced whisky with a beautiful girl by your side!!

Yep, I’d prized open the coffers of the Guatemalan FA to fund another scouting trip – and this time we were heading Down Under! I’d decided Julia and I could use a holiday, could do with spending some quality time alone together, so when I’d learnt that Julio César Monterroso was due to make his debut in the A-League for Perth Glory against Adelaide Utd a few days after Christmas that was all the excuse I needed.

Monterroso played the full ninety minutes, and did very well in sweltering conditions, but we certainly hadn’t travelled all this way just to watch a squad player perspire his way through a bore draw. We’d been in Perth right through Christmas and New Year (nobody at the Guatemalan FA had thought to question why I’d need a fortnight to assess one player’s performance in one match…) and we’d thoroughly enjoyed ourselves in spite of the heatwave. I could put up with a bit of sunburn, as long as I was with Julia.

I’d known her barely four months, and we’d been seeing each other for just a few weeks, but I knew I could fall for this girl without even trying. In fact, I already had. She was stunningly beautiful (and made even more so by the fact she didn’t seem to realise it), funny, good company… what more could I have asked for?

And I think she felt the same way - I hoped she did, anyway.

[davidbr]

The holiday’s well and truly over now, though, and we’re heading for the most hectic spell of my short time in charge. Not only is there the Gold Cup to prepare for (and, like I said earlier, in this job I really do have to organise everything – even down to the flights!!), we’re also in the process of moving home.

I’d had enough of Guatemala City, so we’ve decided to transfer to the tourist town of Panajachel (“Panaâ€, for short), in the Western Highlands of the country on the north shore of Lake Atitlán. Apparently it’s a pretty lively place, lively enough to stop us from getting bored at any rate, but without the sprawl, crime and chaos that blights the capital.

Rent’s also dirt-cheap, which should please Julia’s father when he comes to sign the expense cheques (!), and the nearby scenery is truly stunning – where better to plan our charge for a place at South Africa 2010?

Never mind the Gold Cup, the World Cup’s where I really want to be!!

[davidbr]

“Mickey, I think there’s someone here to see you!!â€

Darren was almost sent flying as Manuel Alvarado charged through the door, wide-eyed like a kid who’d just been handed the keys to a sweet-shop.

“Boss – you hear news, yes??!!â€

I hadn’t, actually – but then, news tends to travel pretty slowly around these parts! When Alvarado let me in on it, though, I was almost as excited as he was; he was soon to be off to La Liga!!

It seems the sensational start he’d made to his international career (especially those eight goals against the Indians) had caught the attention of several European scouts, and yesterday his Guatemala City-based club FC Aurora accepted a £90k offer from Mallorca for Alvarado’s services. For him, it’ll be a fantastic adventure – for me, it was vindication. Many, including Darren, thought I’d taken leave of my senses in giving the then-uncapped 28-year old such a key role in the team, but he’s got an excellent scoring record in the domestic league and I’d never doubted his ability.

“It is all down to you, boss! You give me chance in team, they see me, now I play against Barcelona, Real Madrid… Ronaldinho, David Beckham!! I can never thank you enough!â€

He went to kiss me on the cheek, but I quickly pulled away; I’m keen to run a friendly operation here, but that’s taking things a bit too far for my liking! We’ll stick to the old-fashioned handshake, if you don’t mind…

“It’s nothing to do with me, Manuel, you’re the one who’s made it happen. But if you really want to thank me, go and score a few in the Gold Cup for us!â€

I can’t pretend I knew a lot about Mallorca, so I couldn’t really say how easy Alvarado would find it to break into their first team. But, assuming he could, then the experience of facing the superstars of La Liga could only benefit the national team.

Guatemalan domestic football, as you’d expect, isn’t the best standard-wise, and it’s not really adequate preparation for the challenges of a World Cup qualifying campaign. The more of our squad that end up playing their football in Europe, the happier I’ll be!

[Peacemaker7]

I think a lot of people must have missed this story somehow because there is no other explanation for the lack of comments on just how good it is.

I think there's an element on here who don't begin reading a story and especially from a noob, until it reaches page 100 or something. It's weird.

But anyway, excellent effort so far, just keep posting and eventually the readers will come.

[davidbr]

Originally posted by Peacemaker7:

I think there's an element on here who don't begin reading a story and especially from a noob, until it reaches page 100 or something. It's weird.

But anyway, excellent effort so far, just keep posting and eventually the readers will come.

Oh, by the time this one's finished it'll be nearer to 500 posts than 100

Thanks for the encouragement, PM7

[tenthreeleader]

Add a fellow n00b to the list of your readers, david. Very nice read!

[davidbr]

Originally posted by tenthreeleader:

Add a fellow n00b to the list of your readers, david. Very nice read!

Thanks, 10/3

[davidbr]

13th January 2007

I said a while back that I’ve still got a lot to learn at this game – well, today I’ve been taught another valuable lesson. Before naming a squad for a competition, it helps if you read the f**king tournament rules first! Today was deadline day for squad submissions for the Gold Cup, and as far as I was concerned we were all sorted. I was happy enough with the 26-man squad I’d named for last year’s Asian trip, everyone was fit and available, so job done, eh?

Well, apparently not! Late this afternoon I received a fax back from CONCACAF headquarters, tersely informing me that the maximum allowable squad size was only twenty-two! It sounds stupid, but it’d never occurred to me to check – and now we were left with barely two hours to make the final cut! And in times of crisis, there’s only one thing for it – head for the pub!!

The Circus Bar is one of Panajachel’s better-known watering holes, and though we’ve been here less than a fortnight it’s already become almost a second home. It’s not really a pub in the English sense, nowhere here is, but it serves a reasonable range of beers and spirits, there’s usually some live music on in the evenings and it’s frequented by an, ahem, “diverse†crowd! American tourists looking for adventure, locals just looking to get drunk… oh, and Bob, an Australian drop-out who came here to “find himself†a decade ago and couldn’t ever be arsed to leave!

He’s usually either drunk, stoned or both, but what he doesn’t know about the local area isn’t worth knowing so he does have his uses!

[davidbr]

As far as the deadline went, I needn’t have panicked. Darren, Julia and I were in full agreement as to who should constitute our unlucky quartet, and we had our squad list trimmed down to size in less time that it’d taken me to get through two double whiskies (believe me, that ain’t long!). So tomorrow Municipal’s Fabricio Javier Benitez, Communicaciones’ Edwin Gonzalez, Pando Ramirez of Viborg and FC Moscow’s Freddy Garcia will all be receiving that dreaded phone call telling them they’ve no seat on the plane next week.

International managers say it’s the hardest part of the job, but the decision pretty much made itself; all four are midfielders, and the fact of the matter is we’ve got more than enough cover in the centre of the park.

GOALKEEPERS:

1:-..…..Danny Josué ORTIZ (GIF Sundsvall)

13:-……Norman Manuel MARTÃN (Al Shabab)

DEFENDERS:

5:-………Pablo Sebastián MELGAR (Etoile du Sahel)

2:-………Dennis Geovani CHEN (Municipal)

4:-………Néstor Fernando MARTÃNEZ (Albacete)

6:-…… Gustavo Antonio CABRERA (Real Salt Lake)

18:-…….Martín Alejandro MACHÓN (Aurora FC)

3:-………Claudio Josué ALBIZURIS (Parma)

22:-……Israel DONIS (Aurora FC)

MIDFIELDERS:

19:-……Mario RODRÃGUEZ (Columbus Crew)

20:-……Julián Edgar CHACÓN (Aurora FC)

8:-………Fredy William THOMPSON (Communicaciones)

7:-………Eduardo Antonio COCHERARI (Wolves)

21:-…….Uwaldo PÉREZ (Communicaciones)

12:-… ..Julio César MONTERROSO (Perth Glory)

16:-…..Carlos QUINÓNEZ (Motherwell)

10:-… Carlos Fernado FIGUEROA (Treviso)

15:-……Gonzalo Antonio ROMERO (Rayo Vallecano)

STRIKERS:

17:-… ..Dwight PEZZAROSSI (Modena)

9:-……..Manuel ALVARADO (Mallorca)

14:-… .Carlos RUIZ (FC Dallas)

11:-…….José Manuel MENDOZA (SK Brann)

[davidbr]

19th January 2007

“Just forget about it – it’s not as if it’s a big deal. We’ve got a game to prepare for, after all…â€

Darren was right – in less than sixteen hours we were due to take to the field for our opening Gold Cup clash with Costa Rica, and compared to that tonight’s incident hardly mattered a jot. It’d still left me extremely p**sed off, though – but then, I’d had a hell of a day!!

For our opening group matches we were based in Kansas City, Missouri, and our arrival earlier in the day hadn’t been a smooth one. Firstly Dwight Pezzarossi had somehow managed to fall headfirst over his own suitcase – it would have been hilarious, but for the fact he’s gashed his arm and is now a major doubt for tomorrow – and then we’d faced the kind of interrogation by Customs that’d have made the Gestapo proud. For a moment I was worried they were going to pull on the rubber gloves…!

Our coach driver had managed to get hopelessly lost on the way to the team hotel, and then when we finally got there we’d found they’d only booked 20 rooms instead of the 23 we’d asked for. Nope, it’d been one problem after another – I needed a stiff drink!

Finding a bar in Kansas City isn’t hard – actually getting into one, though, is a very different matter!! I mean, for Christ’s sake this is America, the land of the gun. I could probably have got my hands on an assault rifle for a few hundred bucks – and yet I wasn’t able to take my 20-year old girlfriend out for a drink because she didn’t have any f**king ID?? What a f**ked-up sense of priorities they really do have here! It’d made me so angry we hadn’t bothered trying anywhere else - we’d gone back to the hotel and polished off the mini-bar instead - and by now I was beginning to feel pleasantly drunk. Not to mention extremely tired.

“B**ocks, there’s nothing more we can do tonight. I’m off to bedâ€

With Julia waiting for me, that was by far the most pleasing prospect I’d had all day…

[davidbr]

20th January 2007

Costa Rica vs. Guatemala, Gold Cup Group A from the Arrowhead Stadium, Kansas City

Guatemala (4-4-1-1); Norman Manuel Martin, Denis Geovani Chen, Claudio Albizuris, Pablo Melgar, Néstor Martínez (Martin Machon 81), Mario Rodriguez (Carlos Quinonez 45), Eduardo Cocherari, Carlos Figueroa, Fredy William Thompson, Dwight Pezzarossi (José Manuel Mendoza 68), Manuel Alvarado

Well, this was it, then – the moment of truth! Leading us out through the tunnel at the Arrowhead Stadium my legs felt as if they were attached to lead weights, and my fragile nerves were far from steadied by the realisation that, bizarrely, today’s fixture had attracted a near-capacity crowd – just past the 79,000 mark!!

It was clear in the opening moments that my players were also somewhat overawed by the reality of the occasion, and the start we made was nervous in the extreme. Too many misplaced passes put us under early pressure, and against a side of Costa Rica’s quality you can ill afford unforced errors. As we found to our cost, when Dwight Pezzarossi (who’d passed a late fitness test) trod on the ball in midfield. Costa Rica moved it forward quickly through Gonzales and Cordero and, coming in at the far post, Alonso Solis was left in acres of space to slam the ball past Martin into the bottom left corner. It was a disastrous start – behind, just six minutes in.

My language on the touchline would have made a vicar cringe, but it seemed to spark us into action as gradually we began to settle and play as a team. Pezzarossi almost made amends for his error with a 30-yard drive that whistled a foot past the left hand post, and Manuel Alvarado’s diving header brought the very best out of veteran keeper Ricardo Gonzales. But just as we began to gain a foothold in the match, so we shot ourselves in the foot for a second time.

Mario Rodriguez’s attempt to prematurely swap shirts with Paulo Wanchope would have been crazy at the best of times; inside the six-yard box and right under the referee’s nose, it was utter stupidity. Genk striker Ronald Gomez made no mistake from the spot, and my dreams were rapidly turning into nightmares.

Half time: Costa Rica 2 (Solis 6, Gomez pen 30), Guatemala 0