The Outcast: Part Two

[WLKRAS]

The rest of the week went pretty smoothly until Friday. There was plenty of focus on finishing and practising our set pieces routines after Avins’ report suggested that Gateshead were weak in defending those. As Sarah and the chairman had already pointed out, we were expecting a big crowd for this one. And the media were keen to get in on the action, hoping to stoke the flames of the rivalry. The press gaggle at Maiden Castle was not quite raucous, but it wasn’t far off. Baby-faced Jordan Knight had started us off

“How do you feel about this local rivalry? Do you think it matters more?” 

“It’s hard to judge for me, not being a local. But I think for the players and the fans these games are important, so we have to make sure we’re up to our best” I replied with a note of caution in my voice.

“So other games are less important?” this was Abraham of course.

“That’s not what I said and you damn well know it, Robbie” I fired back. I felt Jacob Howell put a hand on my arm to try and reign me in. Thankfully, the older guy from BBC Tees cut in before Abraham could follow up.

“Your team showed plenty of attacking intent last time out, perhaps only lacking a bit of application in the finishing. Will we see more of the same here?”

“Well, not in the lack of application I hope”  I chuckled, relieved at the change of subject. “But yes, we’re not here to sit back. I want to play football, I want to have the ball and make the opposition run around after us. And if we don’t have it, I want us to get it back as quickly as possible"

“Gary Liddle suggested you need to keep a close eye on Grayson, is that something you’d agree with?” this was Jordan again. 

“While I appreciate Gary’s input, I think we’re more than capable of preparing for the game ahead without it. Unless he wants to join my coaching staff, I don’t really care what he thinks” I replied crankily. That drew a frown from Howell sitting next to me. Abraham fired off a follow-up question before he could rescue me though.

“Isn’t that pretty disrespectful to someone who’s a club legend?” he asked, as Howell started to stand and declared the press conference over. I had already been in a bad mood at the start of the press conference, after both Pett and Aarons had insisted on wages we couldn’t possibly meet in their contract negations earlier in the day. And their agents were pretty unwilling to negotiate. So when Abrahams and Jordan started poking at me, it set me off.

It didn’t get much better either. Ten minutes after the press conference, Ian McGuckin told me that Director of Football Monks had decided to start recruiting his own staff, adding Sammy Pressman as the U18’s assistant manager and putting further pressure on our overstretched wage budget.

I spent most of that evening looking online for AA meetings, realising I had just missed one earlier in the evening. I contemplated the gym, but for some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to go there. Instead, I sat in the dark in my apartment at my kitchen table, brooding until I eventually fell asleep.
 

[WLKRAS]

12th of August, 2023
Suit Direct Stadium, Hartlepool
Hartlepool United (15th) vs Gateshead (12th) (Vanarama National League)

Fair to say, it hadn’t been the best preparation for a rivals clash. I slept on my kitchen table until 5 am, at which point I woke up stiff and crawled into bed for another couple of hours. Not that I did much sleeping, but at least it was more comfortable. By about 7 am I gave up, showered, dressed and headed out. I walked down to Church Street and followed it down to the statue of old Ralph. There was a Wetherspoons there, aptly named the Ward Jackson, where I treated myself to a fry and several cups of coffee for breakfast. The place was a common haunt for fans getting a pint before the game, but at this time of morning, it was pretty dead, thankfully. Once I got to the stadium I spent the morning contemplating the lineup before the team meeting around noon. Mancini was struggling for fitness, so Featherstone came into central midfield and Crawford moved forward into the attacking midfielder role. Otherwise, we were unchanged. 

I started my team talk by mentioning this was a big one for the fans and it seemed to have the desired effect. Crawford surged forward just two minutes into the game but was unceremoniously bundled over by Francis, who was booked for his trouble. Callum Cooke lined up the free kick and from twenty-two yards out, curled it around the wall into the near corner, off the frame of the goal. The Suit Direct Stadium practically erupted. Five minutes later, they were on their feet again, but this time it was a collective groan as Mani Dieseruvwe headed just wide from an inch-perfect cross from Hastie. 

But our joy wasn’t long-lived. Just before the half-hour mark, we lost our concentration and paid dearly for it. Trying to play it out from the back as was our standard, Hastie lost it on the right wing. Onariase backed him up and nabbed it off the striker, but only managed to put it straight into the path of Wearne. The Gateshead man thought all his Christmases had come at once and made no mistake in levelling the game back up.

Our response was immediate, slicing through midfield with some brilliant passing from Cooke, Featherstone and Crawford. The latter played in Cooke, who slotted past Elliot. There was another eruption, but it ended in another groan as the assistant referee raised his flag. Cooke had gone too soon and strayed offside. As the half wore on, Gateshead got more and more confident. They fired over from a corner before Dixon forced another one by tipping Wearne’s shot wide.

Just before half-time the pressure told, a long ball forward fell to Olley on the left wing. He slid in a cross for Wearne along the surface, catching Lacey unawares. Instead of shooting himself, Wearne laid it off for Dinanga who had an easy finish despite having two defenders closing on him. I was furious. That was twice in two games we’d conceded on the verge of half-time. I made my feelings known in the break.

“Did I miss a rule change or something? Have we started playing rugby where we only play 40-minute halves? Or have we simply given up on trying for the full half? Against a local rival of all the teams. I’m sure the fans will be thrilled by us turning a 1-0 lead into a 1-2 deficit. You’ve got forty-five minutes left to prove that you at least want to try and win this game!”

The rocket seemed to have done its job. We shot out of the gates after the break, stunning Gateshead. The only downside was our finishing was still not great. Mani Dieseruvwe headed over from a Ndjoli cross and Cooke had a great swerving effort, but Elliot pulled off an equally good save to deny the midfielder. I urged players forward, but we were no closer to levelling the game by the hour mark.

I decided on some fresh legs with Mancini and Dolan coming on to replace Crawford and Featherstone. Mancini headed just wide soon after coming on, and Elliot continued to frustrate us with a good performance in goal by saving substitute Umerah’s header after coming on for Dieseruvwe. 

Umerah was showing the effects of not training well and headed over from a Cooke cross. I thought we’d finally got there with seven minutes to go as Dolan’s long-range effort finally beat Elliot, only to fizz against the post and back into the path of a defender who hoofed it out of the ground and into nearby Morrison’s car park.

Just as I was losing hope of getting anything from the match, right back Hendrie broke down the right, skipping past two defenders and swinging in a cross. It floated high towards the back post. Ndjoli rose high, beating his marker and getting a solid connection on it, thumping it goalwards. But his effort was straight at Elliot and despite having seventeen shots at goal, a solitary goal was all we had to show for it. 

Final Score
Hartlepool United 1 (Cooke 2)
Gateshead 2 (Wearne 27, Dinanga 44)
Attd: 6258
 

Edited February 24 by WLKRAS

[WLKRAS]

I met my opposite number Dean Holdsworth in my office post-match. We had been teammates at Bolton back in the day before he dropped down the leagues with Coventry and others before returning to our old haunt as a manager for a short-lived spell. I offered him a beer although my mood was still sour.

“Cheers” he said, raising the bottle. I raised my can of coke in reply, but he made no comment about my choice of drink.

“Sorry, Dean. I’m not quite used to the whole post-match pleasantries yet” I apologised.

“I understand. You never were one to take losing a game well and in fairness, you were better than us today, just less lucky”

“Helps when your goalkeeper has a blinder” I offered. “Interesting combination of jobs he has” I said, referring to the fact that Rob Elliot was also Gateshead’s Technical Director.

“You do what you can at this level. Surprised you haven’t registered yourself, you look as fit as when we were at Bolton” he offered after a sip of his beer.

“Those days are gone, Dean. Besides, I get enough abuse off the pitch, never mind going on it”

Holdsworth stayed silent at that. I had a feeling he didn’t know what to say. He seemed apprehensive straying further down that path of my past. He finished his drink and stood.

“Thanks for the beer, I gotta head back. But remind me to repay the favour when we play you at home"  he said, standing and extending his hand. I shook it.

“I’d rather have three points when we meet next” I said to myself after he’d left.

I was still in a mood that evening. I drove down to the Headland and parked near the Heugh Battery. The site of the only World War One battlefield on British soil is now a museum, commemorating not only the shelling of Hartlepool in 1914 but other wars Britain had been part of. The battery had provided valiant, but ultimately ineffective counter-fire to the shells from three German cruisers. I stood beside the museum at the top of the stairs down to the promenade for a minute. From the headland, you could along the shore as far North as Sunderland, while South you could see across the Teesbay to Redcar. 

The sky was streaked with all sorts of pastel colours at this time of night, with the sun beginning to set. I smiled, my mood finally lightening and my thoughts for drink slipping away. I walked down the steps to make my way to the promenade and look out over the sea. But as I reached the bottom of the steps, a shape slammed into me at full pelt, sending me backwards into the wall. I saw a pair of headphones skitter across the steps as I fell backwards against the wall.
 

[WLKRAS]

I’d fallen hard against the wall and stone steps and it took me a second to get my breath back. It was the same for the person who had run into me. She was bent over, hands on her legs and breathing heavily. She shot me a sideways glance.

“Sorry... I was lost… in my music…” she panted and then she stopped when we recognised each other.

“Jessica?”

“You’re the guy from the gym... The coach... We gotta stop meeting like this…” she righted herself and looked around for her headset which had fallen a short distance away. She walked over and picked it up as I dusted myself off and got to my feet.

“I’m sorry. You ok?” she asked, returning with the headset.

“I’ll be alright. Us old-timers don’t bounce as well as you young ‘uns” I chuckled. That drew a smile from her too.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. I’m probably older than you think” she observed. That gave me pause. Mentally, I’d put her a couple of years older than Ellie, 33 or 34 maybe. I just stared for a second, trying to take it in, but she beat me too it.

“Forty-one” she said, with a confident laugh. The look on my face told her all she needed to know. “Yeah, I get that a lot” she added. She looked out to the sea and the sky with all of its oranges and pinks. I followed her gaze. “Pretty, isn’t it? It’s why I like to run here on an evening while I can.” 

“Helluva view. Good for the soul” I agreed.

“See, that’s what I tell people, but they never believe me” she said, “Anyway I need to get back before it gets dark. Sorry again. Hope you’re not too bruised” she added.

“Find out in the morning, I guess.” I replied as she started to walk off. She was about to put her headset back on when I called out after her. “Don’t forget, those tickets are ready for you and your boy whenever”

She smiled and waved by way of reply as she jogged off again.
 

[WLKRAS]

13th of August, 2023
Hop Pole Inn, Bromsgrove

Bertrand Nelson-Reed nosed his Daimler into the car park outside the Hop Pole Inn. The pub was just a stone’s throw away from the Victoria Ground, formerly of Bromsgrove Rovers, now home to the Phoenix club Bromsgrove Sporting. Evelyn Scott had worked at the pub according to the files he had received from DI Rainsford and there were several mentions of Browne frequenting the pub on occasion. Considering the team he managed wasso nearby, Bertrand wasn’t surprised. He avoided the pair of potholes in the car park and found a space before going inside. It was about three o’clock just between the Sunday lunch crowd having left and the Sunday dinner ones turning up, so the bar was relatively quiet. There was a football game on the TV, which seemed to have the attention of the few patrons that remained.

Bertrand made his way to the bar and ordered a pint of bitter from the typical hipster bartender in his middle thirties. He had a bushy beard, a nose ring and several rings in both ears. He was wearing one of the ‘lumberjack’ shirts with the sleeves rolled up, showing a mass of tattoos on both arms. Bertrand was appalled. Young people these days…

“Thank you, good sir” he said as the bartender placed his pint in front of him and he tapped his card against the reader.

“Y’er not a lowcal, arr ya” drawled the bartender with a heavy Black Country accent, while looking Bertrand up and down.

“Very astute of you, my friend”  Bertrand began, but the bartender cut him off.

“Y’er not one of them murder tourists, arr ya?” 

“I beg you pardon, murder tourists?” Bertrand, feigning confusion. He had already clocked the picture tribute on the wall behind the bar. The bartender began to explain the history, while Bertrand pretended to be politely interested

“So the girl who worked here was murdered by the manager of the local football team? My God, how awful. Did you know her?”

“As a matt’r a fact, I did. I’d been working ‘ere since that summer. She were a lovely lass, tough but fair. I never liked tha’ manager fella. He came in ‘ere on occasion, always leering at her"

“You think that’s why he killed her?” Bertrand asked off-handedly, putting his empty glass on the bar and motioning for another. The bartender shrugged as he pulled another pint.

“Ah, I don’t know. Ne’er knew the bloke much” 

“Know anyone who would?” Bertrand asked, sliding a crisp twenty-pound note across the bar with a knowing look. The bartender stared at him for a second, then broke into a grin.

“Y’ere a clever one. Only place where they might know would be the club” he said, nodding in the direction of the door. Bertrand left him the twenty and took his pint

Bertrand had tried, in vain, to see someone at the club after leaving the Hop Pole Inn. The place had been shut up pretty tight and a passing dog walker eventually told him unless there was a game, he had no chance. As fortune would have it, a nearby sign announced Sporting’s next home game as Tuesday the 15th, facing a team called Coalville Town. So Bertrand booked himself into the local Premier Inn and began to learn as much as he could about the Bromsgrove Rovers team Chris Browne had managed back in the day.

The chairman at the time had been a Robert Martin, who had been struggling to keep the club afloat. Because of that, Browne’s tenure had actually started with a ten-point deduction. But eventually, Martin’s building company collapsed as a result of the financial crisis and with it went Bromsgrove. There had been a brief attempt by Director of Football Steve Daniels to try and carry on, but he too was unable to keep the club afloat. Martin had moved to the US, but Daniels was still listed as living in the area. 

Browne’s former assistant, Darren Grocutt, had taken over after his arrest and seen out the season, even staying on for the brief period that Daniels was in charge before relocating to the Far East and now managing a team in Thaland’s lower leagues. Bertrand also managed to find information on a coach named Alex Watson, appointed by Browne in his first few weeks, who left again when Grocutt took over. But he had no further luck managing to track that guy down, the name being too common to be of much use.
 

[WLKRAS]

We didn’t have much time to prepare for the next game as we’d be facing Maidenhead at home in midweek. Avins came to deliver the scouting report in person Monday morning. He plonked the thin folder on my desk.

“All in there, boss. They tend to play on the counter, so I imagine we’ll have plenty of the ball” was his brief summary before leaving. Despite being a decent scout and coming across pretty well in his interview, his social skills seemed somewhat lacking. Fortunately, scouting was pretty solitary business. 

I also managed to navigate my encounter with the local press pack that I had dubbed the ‘drab four’. Jordan Knight from the Chronicle, Alice Newman from the Northern Echo,  Derek Boswell from BBC Tees and of course Robbie Abraham. Their focus seemed to be less on the game we’d just played, or were about to play and more on various transfer rumours. That was easy enough, since there was still no money available, we’d have to be looking at players that were available on a free. 
    
With Pett and Aarons leaving after we couldn’t meet their demands, Monks had put me onto a young Spaniard. Amilcar Djau Codjovi was a twenty-one-year-old winger, who could play on either side of the pitch and he was quick. Like lightning quick. Monks had managed to dig up a video of the kid when he was Morecambe and it demonstrated just how fast he was. It always showed he wasn’t afraid to put himself into challenges and he worked hard. He’d drifted about various clubs, but never got his career off the ground. I asked Monks to feel him out about joining us.

As it was, we would need him sooner rather than later. Our regular left winger Ndjoli had collided in training with Paterson, which left him with a nasty bruise on his thigh. O’Connor was quick with his verdict.

“I mean, he could play if you really needed him too, but I’d strongly advise against it. He could aggravate it and then he’d miss the game at the weekend against Southend as well.”

It would mean a start for Max Storey on the left or on-loan Charlie Seaman on the right with Hastie moving over to the left. I spent most of the evening mulling it over…
 

[WLKRAS]

Victoria Ground, Bromsgrove

Tuesday evening Bertrand headed to the ground, hoping to get there early and catching up with some people who may have known more about what happened at the time. He entered the clubhouse, which was still pretty empty, but there were a few people milling about. One of them was a kid in his twenties, busily typing away at a laptop. He had papers spread all around him on the table. He almost seemed like a reporter, apart from the fact that he was wearing a Bromsgrove scarf draped loosely around his neck. Bertrand was just about to walk up to him when an older man entered the room and walked up to the bar as he called out to the kid.

“Gaffer’s here, Max, if you wanna do your pre-match” his voice was gravelly like he smoked twenty cigarettes a day and drank a bottle of Scotch to go with it. His hair was white and dishevelled. He asked the bartender for a pint.

“All done, Dan?” asked the bartender as he put a pint down on the bar.

“Pitch’s as good as it’s gonna get” he nodded. Bertrand surmised that he must be the groundsman and decided to sit down beside the guy.

“Excuse me, sir” he said. “You look like you’ve been around this club a while. Were you here when Chris Browne…”

The groundsman held up his hand and cut him off.

“Y’ere not a reporter, are ye? Ye don’t look like one” 

“No sir, My name is Bertrand Nelson-Reed and I’m an investigator of sorts. I’ve been hired to do some professional background on Mr Browne’s time here, nothing for the media, I can assure you” Bertrand said, extending his hand, which the old guy took and shook.

“Dan O’Hagen. I were here when Chris was, aye. Compared my pitch to a cow’s field, he did!” the latter part was said in mock outrage. “Truth be told, it wasn’t far off in those days”

“What was he like to work with? What sort of person was he?”

“Realistic. He was used to far better facilities, obviously, but he did what he could with what he had. He was nice enough to me, but he could be… brooding at times, I guess. Suppose he had his demons…” the latter part was spoken at almost a whisper.

“What do you mean, demons?”

“I think he drank. There were times he stomped about like a bear with a sore head. Suppose that’s how he met the girl in the pub” 

“Were you surprised he joined the club in the first place?” Bertrand asked, ignoring the latter part of the sentence for nwo.

“Well, yeah, I suppose so. Everyone had expected Darren to get the job, but the chairman jumped at the chance to get a big name through the doors. I think he was expecting people to come and shout abuse at the guy, after what happened before, but there was very little of that really. And he did a grand job with the team he had” 

“Darren being Darren Grocutt, I take it? Presume he was none too happy about being passed over” 

“Both Darren and Steve Daniels, the Director of Football, were fuming at it. They were best mates, both had been at the club for ages and they took it personal. Grocutt was forever stalking about like someone had killed his cat. And I think Daniels and Browne had a big argument at one point, but I’m not sure what that was about. In any case, they got their wish eventually anyway, when you know…” he let his gravelly voice trail off. 

“Did you know the girl?” 

“Nah, she worked in the pub, but that’s about all. Although I seem to remember there was a kerfuffle with her and Daniels a few years before Browne turned up. I don’t remember the details to be honest”

“This is going to be a strange question, but did you ever notice anyone hanging around the ground. Maybe wearing a hat and a raincoat?”

“Bloody hell, there’s a question” he laughed. “Nothing immediately springs to mind, but it’s like fourteen years ago. Why do you ask?”

“Something I came across somewhere else. I’m wondering if there may have been an accomplice.” O’Hagen laughed at that notion. “Anyone else still around who knew him?” Bertrand said hopefully.

“Not really. You can try talking to Max, the kid who does the website and social media and what not. His brother played for the team when Browne was in charge. Daniels comes in now and then, but I don’t think you’ll get much from him, his mind is going. He’s got dementia I think”
 

[WLKRAS]

15th of August 2023
Suit Direct Stadium, Hartlepool
Hartlepool United (17th) vs Maidenhead (18th) (Vanarama National League)

My pre-season schedule had been tough on fitness in the hope of preparing the squad for the rigorous schedule of the National League. Unfortunately, it hadn’t quite worked out as planned just yet. We had a few players simply too tired after the Gateshead match to be starting again. Dixon kept his place in goal. Hendrie and Onariase kept their places in defence but were joined by Pruti and Paterson. Featherstone was alongside Crawford in midfield, with Mancini returning in the attacking midfielder role. Hastie moved to the left wing to replace the injured Ndjoli with Seaman taking over on the right. Umerah was the man up front.

“We need to do better at home, guys. There’s no excuse really. We’ve had the chances in both our games so far, but we need to see games out and finish off the opposition. Let’s do that today” was my plea before the game.

We started well after kick-off, stringing a few moves together and passing particularly well early on. The first real chance came about ten minutes in. Again it was a move full of one or two-touch passes, from Hendrie at right back, through to midfield to Hastie on the left wing. Alas, it fell to Hastie’s weaker left foot and his effort didn’t contain anywhere near enough power to trouble the Maidenhead goalkeeper.

Four minutes later, we were at it again, this time down the right. Mancini found Seaman who showed a clean set of heels to the left back before pulling back a low cross for Crawford. The midfielder ghosted one way before jinking the other. All defender De Havilland could do was bring him down. The referee had no hesitation in pointing to the spot. Featherstone shouldered the responsibility and slotted home easily from twelve yards to put us 1-0 ahead.. 

Maidenhead tried to strike back immediately with a long ball for Zimba, their lone striker, but Dixon was alert and snuffed out the danger. He was called into action again just seconds later when Onariase immediately lost the ball he’d received and Smith fired from close range. Somehow, Dixon was equal too it, tipping it wide and also claiming the subsequent corner with ease. 

But the guests kept coming. On the half hour, Seaman floated a cross into the area, which was easily gathered by Ross in the Maidenhead goal. Despite Avins’ warning in the scout report I had failed to prepare properly for what was to come next. Ross booted it upfield for Mitchell-Lawson, who skipped past his defender and played in Smith. The attacking midfielder was left with an easy finish and converted without much hesitation to level the game. 

And it got worse. Three minutes later, Hendrie in our right-back position was caught in possession by Mitchell-Lawson around the halfway line. With another lightning counter through Zimba and Smith, the latter was left with another simple finish.

I was raging on the touchline and I made my feelings known to the players. In fairness, I was probably partially to blame for not properly preparing for the possibility of such rapid counters.

“Settle down boss, those outbursts aren’t going to improve matters” offered Goodlad beside me. 

I’m not sure if he was right or wrong, but my rant seemed to have an immediate effect with Paterson forcing a corner, which was just headed wide by Hendrie. Three minutes after Maidenhead took the lead, we were back level again. Hastie dribbled down the left with purpose, passing past one, then two defenders before drifting in a cross towards the centre. Umerah had peeled off towards the near post, taking two defenders with him and leaving an acre of space for Mancini to arrive in. He put his head through the ball and thumped it into the net.

Goodlad got up and shouted some encouragement, but his shouts fell on deaf ears as Maidenhead nearly made it 2-3. It was another cross from Mitchell-Lawson, who had caused us no end of trouble, finding the head of Zimba. He put his header past Dixon, but to his agony (and our relief) saw the ball bounce back off the post and hacked away by Pruti.

We made it to the break with scores still level, but there were a few tired legs and weary heads in our dressing room. Both Goodlad and Sweeney did their best to motivate the players again while physio O’Connor was busy massaging a few of the tired legs. I decided to keep it simple.

“Come on lads, we need to keep at them. Tighten up at the back and make sure we keep the ball. They can’t score without it”

The second half got off to a lethargic start from both sides. It appears Maidenhead were in no better shape than we were, but with thirteen minutes gone in the second period, the game kicked into life again. Zimba was driving forward down the left, but Onariase was doing a good job covering him. He even managed to knock the ball away from the striker’s feet with an assertive tackle, but he couldn’t control it and it rolled straight into the path of Kinsella. The left-back swung in a cross towards the back post where Mitchell-Lawson was completely unmarked with Paterson marking clear air in the centre of the pitch. Maidenhead’s right wigner didn’t need any more encouragement and slotted the ball past Dixon to restore the guests’ lead.

I immediately went to my bench and decided to throw caution to the wind. The team got shunted about a bit, with Hendrie, Onariase and Crawford coming off for Burton, Cooke and Dieseruvwe. We gave up on having a left winger and shunted Dieseruvwe up front with Umerah, with Hastie moving to right-wing and Seaman dropping back into the right-back role abandoned by Hendrie.

It didn’t do us much good. Burton struggled to meet the pace of the game and his lax pass nearly led to a Maidenhead fourth, only denied by the alertness of Dixon in our goal. With us pushing forward, there was always going to be space for Maidenhead to seal their victory and they did just that with fifteen minutes left in the game. Kinsella was allowed to freely march through midfield, Mancini only belatedly picking up a half-hearted defence. By then, Kinsella had already spotted substitute Sho-Silva approaching the back post and slid in a low ball for the winger to turn in. 2-4 for the visitors and a groan from the home crowd.

We mounted a late assault and pulled one back five minutes later. Seaman took a throw and got it back again from Hastie, before floating in a cross for Mani Dieseruvwe. The big striker outmuscles his two attending defenders and nodded home. And we came again, a good passing move through the middle moving through Dieseruvwe, into Hastie and then to Umerah who’d moved into the area. The striker smashed it first time, hitting it off the frame of the goal and bulging the net. The crowd went wild at our late fortune. But then the whistle went. The flag on the far side was up, Umerah had strayed just beyond the defence and the goal wouldn’t stand. 

We’d had seventy-one percent of possession and five shots more than Maidenhead, but the only statistic that mattered we’d lost 3-4.

Final Score
Hartlepool United 3 (Featherstone (pen) 15, Mancini 36, Dieseruvwe 80)
Maidenhead 4 (Smith 30, 33, Mitchell-Lawson 59, Sho-Silva 75)
Attd: 4218
 

[WLKRAS]

“Yes, I’m sure the neutrals will have enjoyed it. Me, not so much” I growled in response to Alice Newman’s question about the game in the post-match press conference.

“Where did it all go wrong today?” asked Abraham.

“Too many mistakes, too many bad choices and not doing the simple things right. We had 71% of possession but ended up conceding four soft goals. That is unacceptable” I answered. I was in no mood for niceties and the players were going to know about it. 

“Does that mean we’re going to be seeing some changes for Southend at the weekend?” Newman put in. She didn’t seem impressed by Abraham stealing her line of questioning.

“I’m not going to speculate on that just yet. A lot of that will depend on how the players apply themselves in training between now and Saturday”

Newman tried another follow-up, but again, Abraham was eager to interrupt. 

“I understand the relationship between yourself and the chairman is already strained, do you think your slow start to the season could aggravate that?” 

“Robbie, I appreciate you work for a tabloid rag that insists on spreading gossip and hearsay as the gospels, but that’s not how we work around here” I fired back. I saw Newman crack a smile at that. Abraham tried a rebuttal, but Jacob Howell, the press officer, stepped in before things escalated further. He whispered in my ear as he marched me away from the microphones.

“I wish you wouldn’t try to antagonise journalists. They’re only doing their job, asking the difficult questions” 

I looked the guy up and down. He was a good twenty years younger than me. He was trying, but failing to grow some stubble on his chin. 

“I don’t know what you’ve heard kid, but as far as I know, the chairman and I haven’t had a strained relationship. So maybe instead of telling me what I can and can’t do, maybe you should do your job and find out who is leaking this nonsense to Abraham” I scowled, leaving him behind.

I returned to my office to find a note from Joe Monks on my desk. It told me Codjovi would be arriving for contract talks on Wednesday morning. The young winger was very interested in joining Hartlepool and was hopeful of swift negotiations. That brightened my mood somewhat. It wasn’t the only position we needed reinforcements in, but it was a start at least.
 

[WLKRAS]

Bertrand thanked groundsman O’Hagen by buying him another beer and headed into the stands for the game. It wasn’t great if you were a Bromsgrove fan, but plenty of excitement for the neutral. In a game that featured 29 attempts at goal, the visitors from Coalville walked away with a 4-1 victory. Bromsgrove’s misery was compounded by the late sending off of midfielder Billy Shaw after a crunching tackle and some subsequent argy-bargy. 

Bertrand approached the kid on his laptop after the game. He was furiously typing away but agreed to pause for a moment when Bertrand introduced himself and asked him what he knew about Chris Browne. The kid introduced himself as Max Banner.

“In fairness, I know very little. My older brother Kevin is the one who could tell you better than me. But he always spoke highly of him” he admitted. Then, as if an idea had struck him, his face lit up and he dug out his phone. “Let’s call him!” he said excitedly. He dialled a number, put the speakerphone on and placed the phone between the pair on the table.

“What’s up Bro” said the voice on the other end.

“Hey Kev, I’ve got a guy here who’s investigating Chris Browne, you wanna answer some questions for him?”

“Do I have to?” the voice on the other end was grumpy.

“Let me assure you I’m not a journalist, Mr Banner. If that’s a concern. But I would very much appreciate your help”

“Fine, shoot” Kevin said still reluctant.

“What did you think of him? What was he like?”

“He was determined to win and he could be a hardass. Tear strips of you if you didn’t play to the plan or weren’t what he considered professional. There was more than one occasion when I was the target, but in fairness, we were semi-pros. Even after three years of retirement, he was better than any of us in training. But he could be pleasant enough”

“Did he have any trouble with anyone?”

“Plenty of people. Worst kept secret in the club that him and Darren Grocutt didn’t get along, even if they tried not to show it in front of the players. Same for him and Mr Daniels. He had a beef with a few journalists too. I remember he punched one in the car park at one point, yet someone managed to make that go away. Think he had a tiff with the girl too. But they were both into each other. Didn’t need a degree to work that one out” 

“Is that why he hung out at the pub?” Max pitched in, much to Bertrand’s annoyance, although he was pleased after he heard the answer.

“That and the fact that he liked a drink. Fairly sure he took training hungover more than once. But we all kinda turned a blind eye. Guy was the most hated man in football, but he knew what he was talking about on the pitch”

“Do you think he did it?” Bertrand took over the questioning again.

“Doesn’t matter what I think. Jury convicted him” Banner said, nervously.

“If you had to pick one way or the other?” Bertrand insisted.

“All I know is the guy was coaching here to redeem himself. And we were the bottom of the barrel at the time. He must’ve been desperate. I can’t see why someone so determined to do that would kill anyone, drunk or not. But what do I know?”

Bertrand had thanked the Banner brothers and headed back to his hotel. He would have to speak to DI Rainford next. 
 

[WLKRAS]

Hartlepool Mail
Thursday, 17th of August, 2023
From our reporter

Browne clashes with journalists as reign gets off to a shaky start

New Hartlepool manager Chris Browne verbally clashed with journalists during his latest press conference on Tuesday. With only one point from three games, Browne’s reign has got off to a shaky start and the manager already seems to be feeling the heat, with nothing less than promotion expected for Pools this season. Browne took offence at questioning from one journalist suggesting his relationship with chairman Raj Singh was ‘strained’, accusing the questioner of ‘making up gossip’. 

Despite Browne’s protestations, the normally outspoken Singh has been remarkably quiet of late. Meanwhile, sources within the club confirm that there is a definite strife between the manager and those in charge, with Director of Football Joe Monks making appointments to the academy staff without consulting with the manager. The finances around the club remain insecure with Singh looking hard for a buyer to offload the club onto. 

But the issues aren’t only off the pitch for Browne. With only a point to their name after an opening day draw at Barnet, Pools have lost two home games in quick succession, giving away an early lead both times, despite being in control and having the better chances. So far, Browne has insisted on a possession-based game and while Pools have looked very good when it comes off, there have been too many chances and goals conceded for the team to be carrying on in this manner. That said, Saturday’s game against bottom-of-the-table Southend should be a good opportunity to get points on the board. Much like Pools, Southend have started with only one point from three, but having been in administration, they started the season with a ten-point deduction, leaving them rooted to the bottom for the time being.

 

I threw the paper down onto my desk with a sigh and picked up the phone to ring Howell to find out who covered us for the local paper. None of their journalists had been at any of my press conferences, so it surprised me to find them writing about what had happened after the Maidenhead game. The paper was right about one thing though, Southend was a must-win game. According to Avins scout report, they played football in a similar manner to us, getting it down and trying to play a passing game. It would be a good opportunity for us to show what we could really do when we put our minds to it. Hopefully, we’d have a new face in the squad for that. Amilcar Djau Codjovi, the twenty-one-year-old winger without a club, was considering the offer I’d made him on Wednesday morning. We had settled on a weekly wage that was more than I’d liked, but less than he’d asked for initially, so you win some and you lose some. We just had to wait for his final answer.
 

Edited March 8 by WLKRAS

[WLKRAS]

Hey everyone. Just a short message to let you know I'm going to have to put this on hold for a little while. I've got some personal stuff going on, on top of which FM is currently refusing to load up at all. Planning to get back to it at some point, but I currently don't have the mental energy to fight to get the game running again. Catch you all in a little while - WLKRAS

 

 

 

19th of August, 2023
Roots Hall, Southend
Southend United (24th) vs Hartlepool United (19th) (Vanarama National League)

The news came Friday morning, just in time to meet the registration deadline. Codjovi was joining Pools and would be on the bench for the long trek to Southend. Other than that, it was a fairly standard lineup for us. Dixon in goal, Hendrie, Lacey, Pruti and captain Ferguson made up the back line, Cooke and Crawford in midfield with Mancini on the tip of the triangle, with Hastie and Ndjoli on the wings and Mani Dieseruvwe up top.

“Look, we all want the proverbial monkey off our backs. We’ve lacked a bit of luck, but we’re better than 19th” I looked around the dressing room at some determined faces, they knew I was right. ”So. We’ve got the perfect opportunity to grab that first win here today and get back into form. Southend are struggling even worse than us, both on and off the field. Let’s make sure we compound that misery. I want you to press them, harry them, don’t give them time to think”

The message hit home. Southend kicked off, but our boys were all over them straight away. It was a gamble because with games coming thick and fast, the constant pressure would wear our players out. But it was worth it to break our slump. We did the pressing part well, gaining plenty of turnovers in the first few minutes, but our passing was sloppy, so it didn’t really help us. Six minutes into the game, Dieseruvwe collected a forward pass and laid it off out to the left where Ndjoli was making a run. The winger ran onto it, took it past his man and pulled it back to the edge of the area where Mancini was arriving. The attacking midfielder was presented with an easy finish and he duly obliged for an early lead.

It almost seemed as if the team thought the job was done and they retreated into their shell a bit, the pressing slacking and the passing remaining sub-par. Southend immediately hit back, forcing a corner a few minutes later. It was swung into the centre of the area where Cardwell rose but headed it off the post and out of play. A warning for sure and it at least had the effect of waking the players up.

Southend piled on the pressure, but the determination was back among the players, with Ferguson throwing his body into the fray to block a shot from Wood and Lacey making a key tackle to win the ball back from the resulting corner. We played it neatly out of the defence, but Hastie lost it going forward and Southend were straight back at us, ending a move with Wood firing at goal, but Dixon being equal to it.

Sweeney got up on his feet and hollered some home truths about the team’s passing then sat back down rather sheepishly as if he’d forgotten who was in charge. I just grinned in response. In any case, his dressing down seemed to have worked as we tightened up our play and Cooke gathered the ball up in midfield to play a slide rule pass between the two centre-backs for Dieseruvwe to run onto. He took a touch, but it was slightly too heavy and it allowed the Southend goalkeeper enough time to dive in and gather the ball off his feet. A minute later, it was a near-carbon copy, except this time Dieseruvwe’s touch was better and he fired a shot past the goalkeeper. Unfortunately, it was also wide of the goal, but we had reasserted our superiority and Southend were subdued for the remainder of the half.

“Keep your focus lads. We’re on top, but we have to cut out the mistakes, we don’t want to let these guys back into the game. Grab a second early and they’ll deflate like a balloon” I urged the players at the break. They nodded in agreement. Goodlad chipped in with some observations of his own, mainly remarking on the opposition's apparent weakness in the centre of defence.

We restarted after the break, but it was Southend who got out of the blocks the best. A low cross in from the left came off Pruti, but only as far as Cardwell who hammered a shot at goal. Fortunately, Dixon was equal to it and managed to push it wide of the post, but the warning had been sent. I got up off the bench to try and focus the players with some gentle encouragement. Dixon lumped a ball forward for Mani Dieseruvwe, not my preferred method of distribution, but I let it go. Mani headed it out right for Hastie to run on to. He got to the ball first, but a defender came charging in and bundled our winger to the floor. He got away with it, but Hastie stayed down on the turf clutching his thigh. He’d taken a knee to the upper leg and was in no state to continue. I called for the young Spanish winger Codjovi to replace him.

Not much after, I also brought on Featherstone for a tiring Crawford and the veteran quickly picked up on Codjovi’s pace advantage over most of the opposition. In the 63rd minute, Featherstone fed Codjovi around the halfway line and the youngster set off on a great run, dipping inside and out, beating two defenders before sending a forward pass for Dieseruvwe. Our target man smashed it into the net with ease. But it was so easy because he’d strayed beyond the defence into an offside position. 

It only took another minute, but we did get our second. Ferguson fed a low cross in on the overlap and Mancini was left with an easy sidefoot finish to double our margin. I brought Dolan for Pruti in defence, hoping his fresh legs would help see out the game, but it wasn’t really necessary. With twenty minutes left to go, Featherstone picked up the ball in the centre of the pitch, about twenty-five yards out. He took a look at goal, steadied himself and fired an incredible thunderbolt off the outside of his right boot. It swerved away from the goalkeeper and nestled sweetly into the top corner. The away support erupted in jubilation as did our bench. The players on the pitch were mobbing Featherstone near the corner flag. Three games worth of frustration came out from everyone and the elation was palpable. 

Of course, there was still twenty minutes to play and we’d given away good positions before. Just six minutes later, Cardwell put the cat among the pigeons. Their right winger skipped past a tiring Ferguson and flung in a cross. Cardwell connected and thumped it into the net, but the referee adjudged he’d pushed Lacey to get leverage and ruled it out for a foul, much to our relief. We saw the rest of the game out easily enough. Back in the dressing room, I tried to temper my enthusiasm somewhat.

”Well done everyone, that was good. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, that was a game we should have won regardless. There’s going to be a much bigger test next week when we face Fylde. So enjoy today, but I want more like this next week”

Final Score
Southend United 0
Hartlepool United 3 (Mancini 6, 64, Featherstone 70)

 

[sherm]

Sorry to hear this will be on hold WLKRAS

 

Hope all is well mate and things take a turn for the better soon 👍 

[WLKRAS]

Let's try and get this going again. Might not be at the same pace as before, but things have slowed down a bit, so hopefully we can get this going on the regular again.

 

I left the dressing room and went out to face the the press. Their mood seemed more subdued, but that suited me just fine.

“A better day for you today” observed Boswell, the old BBC guy.

“I think that’s fair to say. We still haven’t ironed out all the mistakes, but it was a much better performance. Topped off by a magnificent goal from Feathers” I responded before taking a question from one of the local Southend guys.

“Codjovi really made a difference with his pace when he came on. Will we be seeing him getting a starting position soon?” 

“If he trains well, there’s every chance he’s going to get games. The schedule is busy enough and with his ability to play either side, it’s nice to has options. Although the downside is, we had to lose Hastie to injury to bring him on, so our options won’t be as expansive for a few weeks anyway”

“Is it that serious? It looked like a dead leg to me?” Alice Newman piped up from the front of the gaggle.

“Look, I’m no medical expert, so I’m not going to give a verdict and Danny, our physio, was still treating him when I left to come to speak to you guys. We’ll put out an update when we have one”

Newman brought the questions back to Codjovi next. 

“Are you at all concerned with the fact that signing Codjovi is going to put you over budget wages wise? Will players have to be sold?”

“It is a concern yes. Probably more for the chairman than myself, but obviously it’s not ideal, especially with the club not being in a great position financially anyway. But my job is to win games and deliver on the pitch and I need resources to do that. And as always, we’re open to fair offers for any players, but they have to be fair. We’re not selling for the sake of it.”

With that, I ended the mini-press conference and the group fo journo’s were off to write their reports. I got the final verdict on Hastie on the bus home.

“It looked like just a knock at first, but I think he’s pulled something as he’s collided or gone down. He’s gonna need a couple of weeks to recover” O’Connor told me leaning down from the aisle into my front row seat. He glanced down the bus where most players were lost in their phones, headphones on their ears. Despite a three-nil away win, the bus was quiet.

“Was it like this in your days? When you’d won away?” O’Connor asked.

“You’re making me feel old. In my days…” I chuckled. “But no, we’d have a game of two or cards on the go, everyone chatting away to each other. Game’s different now I guess” 
 

 

[sherm]

Good to have you back WLKRAS. Hope all is well and pleased to see this back up and running 

[EvilDave]

Great to see this back WLKRAS, you've got a brilliant story going here and a very intriguing bunch of characters. Take your time, we won't be going anywhere!

[WLKRAS]

Thanks for the kind comments, gentlemen

 

We had a week to prepare for the clash with fourth-placed Fylde and I made sure to focus on ironing out those defensive mistakes we’d been seeing. Goodlad, himself a former goalkeeper, worked with the netminders, while the rest of us worked on defensive positioning and most importantly picking the right pass when trying to play it out. It sounds easy to the untrained ear, but making the right decision is a lot harder than it seems. And my players were proving that currently.

“Stop!” I yelled “Everybody hold their position and send the ball back to Alex!” Alex Lacey had just given the ball away with a forward pass when all the space was to his right. I walked onto the pitch and stood next to Lacey. 

“Why play it to Nicky?” I asked, referencing his pass to Featherstone, who was being tightly marked.

“He asked for the ball” Lacey said sheepishly.

“Look around” I said. “How many better options are there?” I didn’t need to point out the fact that both Hendrie and Seaman on the right were wide open.

“This is what I mean people” I called out, making sure everyone was listening. “Just because someone is calling for the ball, doesn’t mean he should get it without a second thought. The first available option isn’t the best one by default. And if you can pass it to someone who has options, that’s even better”

I took the ball off Lacey’s feet and striped a twenty-five-yard pass into the feet of Charlie Seaman.

“Now Charlie can play it back to Hendrie behind him for a little give-and-go or play it inside, or look for the forward run. Either way, he’s got options. And we’re not under pressure as soon as we’ve played one pass forward. Carry on” I hollered, trudging off the pitch and taking up position next to Anthony Sweeny again.

“Nice pass, gaffer” he remarked.

“Doesn’t come as easy as it used to” I replied, rubbing my right hamstring which had immediately tightened upon my showing off. 

“Don’t be too hard on them, this is not the Premier League” he reminded me. I turned to face him, letting out a sigh.

“Anth, no offence, but these lads are getting paid to play football. One way or another, I think I’m entitled to expect them to get the basics right. If they can’t do that, then maybe they need to consider a career change” 

Sweeney stayed silent at that. Maybe I was being too harsh. But these lads weren’t going to get any better with molly-coddling. We needed to be sharper and that started with getting it right in training.
 

 

[WLKRAS]

I was sitting in my office catching up with some of the paperwork and news that had been collected by the staff. First interesting item was that Ferguson, Ndjoli and Mancini were all picked for the team of the week. The second one set set me off in a rage. There was a note saying that we’d now gone 1410 pounds over wage budget after the Director of Football hired a goalkeeping coach for the U18s. I immediately stomped towards Joe Monks’ office. His PA tried to stop me, but I barged past into the inner office with a scowl on my face.

“What the hell are you playing at” I yelled at Monks, who was holding a phone to his ear.

“I’m going to have to call you back” he said into the receiver, before putting it down in the cradle.

“I’m not sure what your problem is, but this isn’t the way to address it” he said. “I was on the phone to…” 

“I don’t give a damn who you were on the phone to. Why am I getting it in the neck for going over the wage budget when you keep hiring new people for the U18s coaching staff? And why the hell can’t I have more coaches yet they can!” 

“With no Head of Youth Development in place, I’m responsible for ensuring the U18’s are properly staffed and coached. That includes hiring privileges that have nothing to do with you. And someone has to make sure this club has a future and you seem more keen in breaking down players than building them up from what I’ve heard” he smirked while delivering the last part

“Who told you that” I said, my face now red with rage.

“Makes no difference who told me. You need to calm down and remember that you’re not in sole charge of this club. Now, when you’re finished, I’d like to get on with my work” he stared me down. We stood there for a good thirty seconds, eyeballing eachother, neither man willing to back down. Eventually, his PA came up behind me.

“Chris, Sarah is looking for you. She’s asking if you can pop down to the ticket office when you get a second” 

I let out a non-committal grunt and turned on my heel, walking out and heading downstairs where Sarah informed that the tickets I’d asked to be kept separate had been picked up by a lady named Jennifer earlier that afternoon. Sarah had kept two seats right behind the dugout for them and she’d make sure that H’Angus would pay them a little visit before the game kicked off. I smiled and thanked her. At least some things were working out as they were supposed to. 
 

[WLKRAS]

West Mercia Police HQ

Bertrand entered the grey, blocky building. It wasn’t much to look at from the outside and it didn’t get much better once he passed through the doors. It was old, the interior dating back to the late 60s by the looks of it. A fresh-faced police officer manned the desk and smiled as he approached.

“Morning, sir, how can we help you today?” 

“Morning officer. I was hoping to see DI Rainford” Bertrand replied. The girl smiled and started leafing through a directory. She was clearly very new. Eventually, she found the right page and started punching numbers on her phone to ring the Inspector.

“Inspector Rainford? This is Michaela from the front desk. There’s a gentleman here to see you” she said, pausing briefly to wait for the reply and then turning to Bertrand again. “Sorry sir, what name should I say?” 

Bertrand smiled and gave his name, which she repeated into the phone. The reply on the other end must’ve been positive.

“If you’d just like a take a seat, sir. Inspector Rainford will be down momentarily” she said, going back to her paperwork. Rainford sat down on one of the pre-moulded plastic seats to wait, but it wasn’t long before the Inspector appeared. He looked a lot older than Bertrand remembered. The toll of many years of police work clearly heavy upon his shoulders. 

“Bertrand!” he said jovially. “I didn’t actually expect you to come down here. You still looking into that… thing?” he said the latter part looking around nervously.

“Yes. Is there somewhere private we can talk? I may have something” 

Rainford led the way back through several corridors to his office, shutting the door behind them. He indicated a chair for Bertrand to sit in, while he went and sat behind his desk. He leant forward, putting his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers together.

“I don’t know what you’re hoping to achieve by this. Even if you’ve got something, it’s going to be very hard to overturn or undo the conviction. I think this is one of those letting sleeping dogs lie cases”

“I have a potential witness who saw a man with a knife walking down an upstairs hallway towards the bedroom...” Bertrand began, but Rainford held up a hand and interrupted him.

“Look, even if that’s true, who says it wasn’t Browne himself? We know she was killed with a kitchen knife, maybe he was on the way to do the deed” 

“Let me finish a second” Bertrand protested. “The witness knows Browne and is certain it wasn’t him. And before you cite any bias, the witness in question was not friendly to him at the time. Which is why they didn’t speak out at the trial. But I believe this witness is credible. And doing what I do, you quickly get a feel for what people know and make up”

“Even if all you say is true, what am I going to do about it? I can’t re-open the investigation. No matter how much money your boss has, it won’t make a difference here” Rainford objected.

“I know. But I do need your help, Malcolm” Bertrand was pleading. “I know you’re a standup guy. You can’t be ok with a man being falsely convicted of murder?” Both men were silent for a while. Bertrand stared hard at the detective. Finally, he seemed to come to a decision.

“What do you need?” DI Rainford sighed.

“Two things really. Firstly I need your help finding a guy who may be involved somehow. According to my witness, there was a guy following Browne in the weeks before the murder. He may have been some sort of private investigator. I don’t have a name, but apparently, the guy always dressed like one of those 1940s Noir Detectives…” Bertrand fell silent as Rainford began to laugh.

“Oh, I know him. Logan, I think he’s called. Bit of an ambulance chaser if you ask me, but we’ve come across him a couple of times. Guy literally thinks he’s Marlowe or something, wears the hat and the raincoat” Rainford chuckled.

“That sounds like him. Any idea where I can find him?” 

“No, but I’ll find out. What’s the second thing?”

“My witness says she’s the one who called 999. I need a copy of the original call to verify her story”

Rainford’s eyes suddenly lit up. He knew the transcript identified the called as a young woman. And he also knew who Bertrand worked for. It wasn’t hard for a seasoned detective to put one and one together.

“I think I’m starting to understand why you and your boss are so interested in this…” 
 

[WLKRAS]

26th of August, 2023
Suit Direct Stadium, Hartlepool
Hartlepool United (14th) vs AFC Fylde (4th)

I was nervous for today’s game. Not because of the opposition, but because she was supposed to be there. I don’t know why it mattered, but it did. Being alone for such a long time does strange things to a man. I’d always had an overactive imagination and the worst part of that was concerning women. Someone could smile vaguely in my direction while walking down the street and the next thing I knew, my imagination had us several years down the line, married with a couple of kids. It’s a dangerous thing, being alone…

I arrived at the ground early, stalking the halls and brooding in my office while I waited for match time to approach. We held our usual pre-match meeting in the tactics room, including those members of the squad who weren’t selected for today’s game. That included Josh Umerah, who had been training like a drain that week and was passed over altogether, and Nicky Featherstone, who had twisted his knee in training the day before and would miss about ten days. 

Goodlad had already drawn out the teamsheet and formation on the whiteboard at the front of the room. It showed Dixon in goal, with Hendrie, Lacey, Pruti and Ferguson making up the defence. The centre of midfield was the domain of Crawford and Cooke, with Mancini in front of them. On the wings, Seaman and Ndjoli kept their spots while Mani Dieseruvwe got the nod up top. 

I took my place in front of the group and began to address them. 

“Tough game today, make no mistake about that. Fylde have hit the ground running and are playing some good football. But so can we. Today is all about making the right decisions. Which pass to play and when to play it. Keep it simple and cut out the mistakes, that’s what’s important today”

I paused and pointed out the window towards the pitch.

“There’s going to be kids there coming to watch us play for the first time. Let’s give them something to remember. And something to come back for. And on that note…” I said, taking the ball I’d left on the floor near the front. “Do me a favour and all sign this please?” I asked, lobbing the ball to Dixon, who caught it with ease. 

“Who’s it for?” asked Featherstone as he was handed the ball and a marker to sign it. I swallowed hard and tried to remain cool.

“A friend’s kid, he’s a big fan. His name is Alfie, if that helps you, Feathers”

“A friend, ey?” he added, his face breaking into a grin. There was a smattering of giggling from the group, which I ignored.

“Focus on the game lads” I told them as I left the room with the signed ball. 
 

[bigmattb28]

Good this @WLKRAS keep it up

[WLKRAS]

Thanks bigmatt!

The team were out on the pitch going through their warm ups, with Goodlad and Sweeney directing the exercises as I stood and watched from the touchline, occasionally glancing back at the still-empty seats near the dugout. Suddenly I heard a kid’s excited voice.

“Wow mum! We’re so close to the pitch!”  

I turned to see a very excited boy, in a Hartlepool top over a jumper, clambering onto his front-row seat. He’d run ahead of his mum who was still walking down the aisle. I began to walk over to the railing, arriving at the same time as Jessica took her seat. From the corner of my eye, I could see the waddling form of H’Angus making his way over to this side of the stand, Sarah in tow. She was carrying the cardboard cut-out photo frame which read ‘My first game at Pools’ around it.

“Hi. You must be Alfie” I said from my side. He beamed from ear to ear at my knowing his name. “I hope you don’t mind, we’ve arranged a little surprise for you” I pointed down the lane where H’Angus was now only a few yards away, holding the signed ball. The kid nearly exploded with excitement. He gave H’Angus a massive hug when the mascot passed him the ball. Jessica was beaming too. Alfie and his mum had their picture taken with H’Angus holding the sign. The players traipsed past as they headed back into the dressing room and Callum Cooke called out.

“Hope you enjoy the game, Alfie!” 

“I’ve gotta go now” I told Alfie and Jessica. “Enjoy the game and take care of that ball”. Jessica mouthed a silent thank you in my direction as I turned. I simply smiled in acknowledgement and headed into the dressing room.

“Nice friends you have gaffer” Cooke observed, chuckling.

“Focus on the game lads” I bit back. “We need to pick up where we left off in Southend next week. So as always, leave my private life be and get on with the job” 

We kicked off and made a decent early start, building up down the right-hand side and playing a low ball into Seaman. The loanee swung in a cross, but Mani Dieseruvwe in the centre could only head it straight at Fylde goalkeeper Neal. There was no early let up and Pruti had another header saved from a corner, coming after both Dieseruvwe and Ndjoli had been thwarted by the defence. 

Seventeen minutes into the game, the crowd roared into life when Lacey’s brilliant pass forward found Dieseruvwe breaking beyond the defence. One-on-one with the goalkeeper, he steadied himself, fired off a shot, and put it horribly wide. The entire stadium groaned, the manager included.

In between times, we had little defending to do, although Mancini put in a good shift making sure Fylde couldn’t get too dangerous, racing back to defend and prevent a corner. Just before the half-hour mark, Cooke lined up a free kick. He stepped up and kicked the ball, sending it flying over the wall, past the outstretched hands of the goalkeeper and… onto the crossbar. It thudded against the metal and bounced up and out of play. It seemed like luck wasn’t on our side today.

It was only in the last five minutes that Dixon was called into action. Ferguson was beaten on the left by Bent, who found Kay at the back post with his cross, but Dixon scrambled across to turn the ball out for a corner. A couple of minutes later, the same two combined to threaten our goal, but this time, Dixon tipped over a drive that looked to be heading for the net.

Despite that, I was almost ecstatic at the break. We were well on top and although we’d failed to find the net, we were giving the form team a run for their money. I urged the players for more of the same and to not let up the momentum that we’d built in the first half. 

Unfortunately, the second half started pretty lethargic from both sides. It wasn’t until a fierce tackle by Kay on sixty minutes that anything of note happened. Unfortunately, Mancini was on the receiving end of it and was sufficiently discomforted that I had no choice but to sub him off. It meant moving Dolan into the centre and Crawford up to the attacking role. I also decided to bring young Spaniard Codjovi for Ndjoli. Minutes later Cooke went into the book for a crunching tackle on Kay, one that was clearly revenge for the one of Mancini moments prior. 

We kept pushing and only three minutes after Cooke went into the book, we had a corner. David Ferguson had jogged up all the way across the pitch to take it, so it had better be a good one and boy did he deliver. Swinging it into the centre of the area with his left, he found the head of Edon Pruti. The young centre-back met it beautifully and thumped a bullet header past Neal so hard that I thought it was going to go through the net. Pruti celebrated his goal with gusto, while I was quick to remind the players the job wasn’t done yet.

It soon appeared my advice had fallen on deaf man’s ears when Dixon was called into action to deny a Whitehead thunderbolt from twenty yards and Bent fired narrowly over from the resulting corner. Seven minutes after the goal, Fylde got back level. Or rather, we let them. Pruti stepped in to try and intercept a forward pass through the middle, but missed it, allowing Haughton all the time and space to sneak in behind and put it past Dixon. 

But worse was yet to come. As we reached the dying minutes, Fylde thumped a desperate long ball forward towards Bent. The winger crossed it into the area where Pruti was completely turned inside out by Tutierov. The defender ended up in a heap on the floor as the substitute converted for an easy finish. To rub further salt into the wounds, Ustabasi made it 1-3 in injury time with a placed shot, dashing beyond the defence who had pushed up high in search of an equaliser. A nightmare result.

Final Score
Hartlepool United 1 (Pruti 68)
AFC Fylde 3 (Haughton 75, Tutierov 89, Ustabasi 90+2)
Attd: 4609
 

[WLKRAS]

There were some choice words for Pruti flying down from the stands as we left the pitch. Most of them were not particularly child suitable and I saw Jessica and Alfie rushing down the aisle to leave the ground. I suppose it’s part and parcel of football, but it’s not nice for parents attending with their children and I made a point to mention it in the post-match press gaggle when Alice Newman asked about the result. 

“It’s obviously disappointing to lose, I thought we’d played pretty well for the first seventy minutes. I’m frustrated as much as the fans are and while I respect their right to vent those frustrations, I think they also need to bear in mind where they are and who might be around them. There was some language coming down, directed at Edon, that was at best described as not suitable for children and I think some of our younger fans don’t need to be hearing such words”

“Two expensive mistakes though, from Pruti. Are you going to persist with him?” Abraham fired in the follow up

“Look, Edon will be the first to hold his hand up and own up to the mistakes, but he had a good game otherwise. He’s only a young kid really, 21, and I don’t think two mistakes should mean the end of a player’s career at a club”

“You would say that” Abraham muttered under his breath a little too loudly.

“Yes I would Robbie. But then again, your paper would be trying to get a young Albanian kid to leave the country and ‘go back where he came from’, so I don’t think you should be lecturing me on anything here”.

The intake of breath around the room was audible and press officer Jacob Howell cut the media time short, ushering me out of the room before returning to smooth over the press corps. 

As I was leaving, I bumped into to Sarah.

“Ah, I was just looking for you. Your friend left this at the front office for you” she said, handing me a folded-over piece of paper. It was a short hand-written note with a business card folded into it.

Quote

Thanks for everything, Alfie loved it
Shame about the result
If you ever need anything, give me a call.

The business card was for the local office of Mind and listed her as Dr Jessica Waterman, counsellor. I thanked Sarah and rubbed my hand over the stubble on my chin as I left. She could’ve just written her number on the note. Why enclose the business card?
 

[WLKRAS]

Bertand pulled his Dailmer into the slot behind the unmarked police Astra. DI Rainford was already waiting beside it with a woman in her thirties. 

“This is the place?” he asked, with a quiver of anticipation in his voice.

“Mr Logan was a hard man to track, but the last address for his ‘Investigative Services’ is one of the units in this building” the woman confirmed.

“Bertrand, meet Sergeant Crowley, she did most of the leg work tracking Logan” Rainford said, introducing her.

“Discreetly, I hope” 

“She can be relied upon” Rainford confirmed.

“Let’s go then” said Bertrand. 

They walked up to the front door where a row of buzzers showed them the occupants of the building. Most of them were unassuming companies, but the third from the bottom read “Jack Logan, Investigative Services”. Rainford pushed the buzzer and waited. Nothing happened, no clicks, no static to indicate that someone had answered. Crowley frowned at her boss, but Rainford simply shrugged and tried the door. It was locked. Rainford let out a sigh and randomly pushed buttons until someone answered. Finally, a voice came through the speaker.

“Yes?” said a female voice.

“This is the police, please open the door” said Crowley.

“Of course you are, love. Like I haven’t heard that one before” the buzzer clicked off.

“I have half a mind to kick in the door” Rainford said, pushing another button. A male voice this time.

“Yes?”

“Police, could you open the door, we’re trying to speak ot Mr Logan”

“Then I suggest you try his buzzer” Another click to end the conversation.

“Might I try?” suggested Bertrand. Rainford nodded and Bertrand pressed another button, clearing his throat. A female voice again.

“Chatsworth Windows, how can I help?”

“Alright love, sorry to bovver ya, UPS ‘ere and I’ve got a parcel for number five, Logan, but he’s not answering. Could you do me a solid and buzz me in, so I can leave it in the lobby for him” he said with a cockney twang.

“Of course darling” was the reply and the door clicked open.

“Thanks a million love” Bertrand called with a triumphant grin as the trio headed into the building. The lobby was just an entrance hall with a sagging sofa for visitors to wait on and a set of postboxes off to one side, one of which was slightly ajar. Rainford went to check it out and found that it was Logan’s.

“That’s odd” he mused to himself. The postboxes were grouped by floor, Logan’s appearing to be on the third floor, along with a pest control firm and an accountant’s. They located the stairs, which were concrete and poorly lit, the only light coming from a flickering bulb somewhere up high. The air was musty and damp and there was a strong smell of urine. 

“Nice place” Crowley muttered, turning her nose up.

“This is nothing, Crowley” Rainford grumbled. “You should’ve seen some of the places I’ve been”. 

The sergeant just shuddered in reply. They continued to climb the stairs until they reached the third floor. A fire door was all that stood between them and the third-floor corridor. Crowley put her hand on the door, but Rainford stopped her. His eyes flicked up to the ceiling and he tilted his head up slightly.

“Smell that?” he asked.

“All I can smell is ****” Crowley sighed, shaking her head.

“Something… coppery?” asked Bertrand.

“Yes, that’s what I’m getting” said Rainford, yanking open the door and starting purposefully down the corridor. They soon found a door for Logan Investigative Services, again slightly ajar. The urine smell had stayed in the stairwell, making it easier to smell the coppery smell. 

“I have a bad feeling about this” said Crowley as she used the sleeve of her jacket to push open the door. The office was thrashed, papers strewn everywhere, the file cabinet drawers torn out and emptied, even the desk had been torn and smashed apart. In the midst of it all lay a man wearing a trenchcoat. His fedora hat had fallen beside him to the floor, which was covered in blood. The right side of his skull seemed to be missing. Bertrand audibly gasped.

“Well, it seems Mr Logan is dead” Crowley quipped.

[WLKRAS]

I was still pondering about the business card that night, staying up late and turning it over in my mind, which was probably a sign of its own. But as a result, I slept in the next morning and wasn’t awoken until around eleven by my phone ringing. Groggily, I answered it.

“What?” I said, yawning.

“Wake up boss? It’s Mark. Turn on your TV to Sky. Looks like we have a problem”

I lifted the remote and turned on the TV in my bedroom. A breaking news banner was scrolling along the bottom of the screen, but it was what the presenter was saying that caught my attention.

“As a result of these negotiations beginning, Hartlepool have been placed under a transfer embargo, something that is unlikely to be resolved in the few days that are left of the window. So just to reiterate, two rival consortiums are vying to buy Hartlepool United, one led by former Liverpool director Christan Purslow, the other by former Cheltenham Town chairman Andy Wilcox…”

“Ah, ****…” I breathed into the phone. 

“So much for getting any more reinforcements” was the response down the phone.

“...sources around Wilcox have suggested that he would remove manager Chris Browne from his position due to the events of his past…”

“Oh, even better” I added “I should’ve stayed asleep”

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, boss”

“No worries Mark, not your fault, I’ll see you tomorrow”

I spent the rest of the day reading over the report on our next opposition, Chesterfield, just to keep my mind off things. I couldn’t change things at boardroom level anyway. What would be would be. Chesterfield played a style fairly similar to us, stringing passes together and keeping it on the ground. It would be an interesting contest for sure and probably come down to fine margins. They were favourites and for good reasons. They were eleventh in the league, while we had tumbled down the table again to 18th after our loss to Fylde. 

I’d kept the TV on in the background, but most of it was rehashing the same story until the reporters finally found a body to talk to. Former Pools player Gary Liddle was less than complimentary about our efforts of late and questioned if I should be the coach. It was always nice to be wanted…
 

[WLKRAS]

28th of August, 2023
SMH Group Stadium, Chesterfield
Chesterfield (11th) vs Hartlepool United (18th)

Needless to say, there was a lot of speculation in the build-up to the game, only two days after our previous one. So as well as tired legs, there was some tired minds trying to wrap their heads around the future. Would it be a Wrexham-style fairy tale, with investment to match a run up the leagues and Hollywood stars abound, or would it be more like a QPR under Tony Fernandes slide into the abyss? In all reality, it would probably end up somewhere in the middle if the takeover did happen, but for the time being, we were all stuck with the uncertainty.

The journey down to Chesterfield was pretty quiet, but with only two days since Fylde, I had made some changes to the starting eleven. Dixon, Hendrie, Mancini, Ndjoli and Dieseruvwe were the only ones retained from Fylde, leaving Onariase, Burton, Patterson, DOlan, Wallace and Codjovi to fill in the remaining spots. I made a point in my pre-match speech to reference Gary Liddle’s interview.

“Look lads, don’t worry about the takeover speculation, that’ll happen or not, but it’s out of our control. But what I did hear on yesterday’s news was Gary Little suggesting we hadn’t been trying. Like we were happy to let teams walk over us without a care in the world. That we had no pride in what we did, representing this club. So go show him how wrong he is”

It seemed rousing enough and the players seemed to be nodding along, but six minutes in, I wondered if it had been the wrong tack to take. Paterson was marking on the wrong side, letting Chesterfield’s right winger slip beyond him and although his cross was weak, it bounced off Dixon’s leg, straight into the path of Marsh, who had no problem turning it in. It didn’t get any better from there and our defending was haphazard and only a scrambling clearance from Burton on seventeen minutes prevented a second goal to our hosts.

Just after the half-hour mark, it came anyway. It was a break down their left this time, with Colclough playing it into Naylor, who in turn found Jacobs. Despite being marked by two of our defenders, the striker made no mistakes with the finish and put the opposition two-nil up. We showed some fight three minutes later when Codjovi, playing on the right this time, broke free and played in Mancini ahead of him. The attacking midfielder drifted out wide and tried to send in a cross, only for it to come off a defender, straight into the path of Codjovi. The youngster picked it up and picked out Ndjoli on the penalty spot with a sharp pass and the winger lashed home a thunderous finish to grab us one back.

It was short lived as goals were flying thick and fast. I’d barely sat down from the celebrations when Chesterfield were countering forward again. From Grimes at centre back, it went to Banks at defensive midfield. He played it forward to Jacobs, who sent a perfect pass onwards for Marsh to run onto, one-on-one with Dixon. Our goalkeeper could only flap at it as the shot sailed by him and into the net.

Our legs were tiring and Mancini and Hendrie in particular were struggling. Despite that, the former managed to muster up one last effort. Paterson intercepted a forward pass to play it straight back to Ndjoli. The winger found Mancini inside of him and he spotted the run of Dolan breaking beyond our striker beside him. Another inch-perfect pass, this time from our side and Dolan was able to slot home easily with his left foot. Chesterfield managed to get the ball in the net again, capitalising on a poor Onariase pass, but the referee had spotted a foul in the build-up up and it remained 2-3 at the break.

I brought fresh legs at halftime, with Lacey and Crawford replacing Mancini and Hendrie and ten minutes into the second half, I was forced into our third change with Burton going off injured. Deciding on a hell-to-leather approach, I chucked on Umerah and tried to go with two strikers, but it turned out a terrible idea.

Seven minutes after Umerah came on, Chesterfield restored their margin to two, with Colclough cutting inside Lacey and firing a wonderful shot into the far corner, Dixon unable to do anything about it. Another six minutes later, Jacobs got his second, again despite being marked by two defenders, he got the better of both of them and wriggled a shot in from a near-impossible angle.

In fairness, Chesterfield could’ve had a few more, but we were spared further blushes.

Chesterfield 5 (Marsh 6, Jacobs 32, 68 Marsh 40, Colclough 62)
Hartlepool United 2 (Ndjoli 35, Dolan 43)
Attd: 6493
 

[WLKRAS]

Needless to say, I wasn’t happy with the result and I made that clear to the players. After leaving them stewing for a few minutes in icy silence, I finally spoke.

“Guess Gary Liddle was right” I turned to walk out the door, but then an idea occurred to me and stopped and turned.

“Training tomorrow 9am sharp, on the beach by Steetley Pier. Do not be late” I scowled before heading out to face the assembled press. They were not in a forgiving mood. And of course, as if by magic on a big losing day, Robbie Abraham had decided to make the jaunt down to Derbyshire to join them..

“Not a great day for you” offered Boswell, the older guy from BBC Tees. 

“That’s putting it mildly, Derek” I replied.

“Where did it all go wrong?” he asked.

“Well, where do I start…” I began, but Abraham cut in.

“Are you out of your depth? Because it sounds like it”

My eyes shot him daggers at the remark. 

“I don’t think so, no” I replied, trying to keep my cool through gritted teeth.

“Gary Liddle seemed to think you were?” Abraham pressed.

“Mr Liddle is entitled to his opinion, but I don’t share it.” I said before turning back to Boswell. “On the whole, our performance was poor and that’s got to improve. And that’s what we’ll be working on between now and Saturday”

“What about the transfer embargo, when did you find out and how does that affect your plans?” Jordan Knight cut in from the back of the gaggle.

“Obviously it’s out of my hands. It’s a known fact that the chairman has been trying to sell the club, but a little more warning would’ve been nice. I heard about it when it was on the news, same as you. But it is what it is” I said, trying to stay philosophical. 

“Are you saying communications between you and the chairman have broken down” Abraham immediately interjected. I was floundering and he knew it.

“No… I… “ 

“Maybe Mr Liddle and Robbie were right” Knight drove the knife home. I could almost feel their mental high-five. I turned and walked off.
 

[WLKRAS]

“Your friend isn’t joining us on this one?” Crowley said it with half a sneer.

“He’s gone back home to report to his employer” Rainford replied sullenly. “Besides, you saw him at Logan’s place. I don’t think he’d survive long in here” the inspector continued, pushing open the stainless steel door to the autopsy lab.

“Ah, Inspector! Sergeant” Doctor Hennard said cheerfully as they entered. “You’ve arrived just in time, I was just getting to the interesting part” the doctor continued, putting down the bone saw.

“Morning Doctor. Anything you can tell us so far?” said Rainford

“Well, he’s dead…” the doctor chuckled. He was a small man, wearing horn-rimmed spectacles. He peered over them from behind his face mask with a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“I gathered that from the partly missing skull” Rainford replied, pointing at the head of the victim. “Anything more pertinent?” 

“As a matter of fact, yes. There are a few things to note. The bullet entered here, just in front of the left ear, liquified most of the brain and exited on the other side by the eye socket, I’d wager, although it’s hard to be certain with so much damage. There is powder burn beside the entry wound to suggest it was a close contact shot”

“Suicide?” asked Crowley with a frown.

“That would be the first impression, however, I’ve found some indications that put doubt in my mind. Firstly, there’s this” the doctor countered, pointing at a thin strap of pale skin on the victim’s left wrist. 

“His watch wasn’t on him when he came here, I checked, but the tan line suggests that he wore it on his left hand, which would be usual for a right-handed person. In my experience, right-handed people are more likely to shoot themselves in the right side of the head, not the left”

Rainford nodded. “We’ll have to see if we can find out if he was left or right-handed” he mused to Crowley.

“Secondly, there’s some perimortem bruising on his left hand. There was no gunshot residue found on either hand, which is odd in itself for a self-inflicted wound, but combined with the bruising suggests that someone could’ve used the hand to fire the weapon and then cleaned up afterwards perhaps. Odd if you want to stage a suicide, but there you have it”

“We didn’t find the murder weapon on the scene, another discrepancy in a suicide, although the door was open, perhaps someone ran off with it afterwards” Crowley offered.

“Thirdly, and this is the interesting part, there is this” the doctor said, pointing to a small pinprick-sized mark on the outside of Logan’s right thigh. 

“Injection mark?” asked Rainford.

“That’s is my guess. I’ve sent off blood and tissue for a tox screen, I’m sure we’ll get word back from the lab eventually, but they’re terribly backed up I understand”

“Thank you doctor, that’s enough for me for now. If it walks, talks and smells like a duck, there’s a pretty good chance it is a duck” Rainford said, turning to leave.

“Indeed” chuckled Doctor Hennard. “I’ll send you my report”
 

[WLKRAS]

To say I wasn’t happy would be an understatement. I was still stewing, both over the player’s performance against Chesterfield and Gary Liddle’s words. Maybe I was out of my depth. Maybe the best I could hope for was the takeover to happen sooner than later and the new board to bin me off ASAP. Then I could find a bar and wallow in my self-pity, like I used to in Tony’s place. I missed the big man. He’d been top of my list of friends for a long time and that list had only got shorter over the years. Now, it was Ellie, I suppose. But she had seemed busy and preoccupied of late. She was much slower than usual to reply to my texts and I hadn’t spoken to her in weeks.

I suppose there was a new name to add to the list. Jessica had said to ring her if I needed anything. I did need something. I needed a friend.

I was nervous as I looked through my phone for the number and dialled it. It rang. Two times, three times, four times, five times. I was just about to hang up when the line went active and there was a bunch of rummaging noises before an out-of-breath voice answered it.

“Hello?” it breathed. There was another muffled noise and followed by “Ow! I’ll get you for that”  and a giggle. A child cackled in the background. It sounded like a very happy scene. I didn’t want to intrude with my trouble. I’d find some other way to deal with it.

“Sorry, wrong number” I said before quickly hanging up. I grabbed my coat and headed out the door. Thank God for a twenty-four-hour economy, there was bound to be something open somewhere that would sell me what I needed.

At the other end of the phone, Jessica Waterman looked at her phone after the line went dead. The phone call had been from a private number. She shrugged and put the phone down, picking up her pillow again and yelling out as she got up.

“Right, bedtime! I’m coming for you now, you scallywag!” as she rushed up the stairs her pillow ready to put this pillow fight, and her boy, to bed.

[WLKRAS]

The piercing shrill shriek of my alarm awoke me the next morning. I tried to get my bearings, but it wasn't easy. My body didn’t feel like my own. I worked out I was in the living room, still fully clothed, rather than in my bed. I rolled off my couch and grasped around on the floor for my phone in the semi-darkness, desperate to stop the noise that was only adding to my splitting headache. My tongue felt fat and my throat dry. My limbs ached. I didn’t need to see the half-empty bottle of scotch on my table to know I’d fallen off the wagon. My body told me as much. It’s a familiar feeling to men like me, even when it’s been a few years.

I found the phone and turned off the alarm. I rubbed my eyes and peered at the screen through hungover eyes. Seven AM. I had told the team to meet on the beach for 9 am. I had two hours to get to Steetley Pier, but driving there would be a problem. There was between zero and no chance that I’d be under the limit by then. And while I might be stupid, I don’t have a death wish. Or a need for any more bad press. An overwhelming rush of guilt and shame hit me, like a punch to the gut. Bile started rushing up and I ran for the bathroom, making it just in time to be violently sick into the toilet.   

I sat on the floor, half hugging the toilet bowl and realised that I’d just puked thirteen years of sobriety down the drain. That’s when the tears started to come. And I started to punch stuff around me. Anger, shame, guilt and pure frustration. It all came out in a matter of minutes until my hands hurt so much I couldn’t do it any more. I’d broken the skin in a couple of places and at least one bathroom tile. There was blood smeared on the walls. The landlord wouldn’t be pleased, but that was the least of my worries for now. I fell back against the wall again and wondered what the actual hell I was doing to myself.

I sat there for a few minutes, my emotions drained and just feeling numb. Eventually, I dragged myself into the shower, setting it going on cold. I shivered as I stepped under, but soon the cold was doing its thing, clearing my head and easing the pain in my hands. My knuckles looked a mess though, battered and bruised. That was going to take some explaining. Maybe no one would notice. It’s the lie we tell ourselves day in and day out. But I had a job to do and I was going to have to walk to get there. The cold shower at least helped to clear my head and make me feel semi-alive again. I dressed in club shorts and a t-shirt and took a last look around the room before I headed out the door. The clean-up would wait.

I stopped at a Greggs for a bacon sandwich and a coffee, and although my stomach turned a few times at the smell, I forced them both down, where they thankfully stayed. I needed the fuel. The walk took nearly an hour and the exercise forced the life back into me. Everything hurt, sure, but I deserved that. 

I made it to the beach at Steetley Pier with time to spare. The pier itself was dilapidated, only the pylons really remaining, but it was one of the better parts of beach that Hartlepool had to offer, although not particularly safe due to frequent riptides. There was a light sea breeze, but it was all very pleasant. It wouldn’t be for the players, who were turning up in small clumps. There’s nowhere really to park at Steetley, so a few of them had chosen to car share and walk down the short tunnel, skirting the new housing estate that was being built atop the cliff. 

I welcomed them and pointed out to Goodlad and Sweeney what I wanted and although they noticed the swollen and bruised knuckles, neither chose to comment. They set off to set out their cones to my instructions while I watched on, my arms cross and knuckles safely tucked away in my armpits.

Ninety minutes later, most of the team were collapsed on the sand, after a series of conditioning exercises that would’ve left lesser men puking all over the seafront. They had taken it surprisingly well. There were grumblings, of course, but nothing more than what you would expect from a tough conditioning session. The sand of course made it harder, but that was the point. But even so, I was quietly pleased. I addressed them as they still laid on the sand.

“First of all, thank you, guys. I know that was tough and I appreciate your efforts today. That’s our only session of the day, so go home and relax. We’re back to regular training tomorrow. We’ve got some work to do, but if you all apply yourselves like you did today, then we can turn this around and prove Gary Liddle wrong”

There was no reaction from the players, they were all too tired to care much about Gary Liddle. 
 

[WLKRAS]

I returned home and poured the remains of the bottle of booze down the drain. It wasn’t easy, but I got there. I knew I needed something. A meeting or something. Someone to talk to. Someone who knew what I was going through. Staying sober had been easy on the inside. No booze in prison, so no need for meetings or sponsors or the full AA experience. But it was a different ball game on the outside. 

But what meeting could I go to? Despite the promises of anonymity, someone would recognise me. And surely one of them would eventually let it slip to a friend, who would have no qualms to sell it to a newspaper. I needed an environment that I could control. Or at least could control the access to.

The concept was mulling around in my head when my phone buzzed to tell me I had a message. It was Ellie of course.

Hey, long time no speak.
How are you?

Alright I suppose
You?

I’m ok. 
Sorry I’ve not been around
much lately, we’ve been down
South and in Ireland sorting out
some things.

Don’t worry about it
Been pretty busy myself
Mostly losing, but you know

I’m sure things will take a turn
for the better soon.

Needs to, or I’m gonna be 
out of work lol

We should try and meet to catch up 
soon I may have some news you 
might want to hear

Oh?

I’ll tell you when we meet. When you free?

I tried to run through the calendar in my head, but it was fuzzy, so I ended up looking it up in my phone and got a bit of a shock. There was a meeting with the board in for later in the week that I’d completely forgotten about. End of the month review. Far from the best time for that.

This week is probably tricky
Progress meeting with the 
board later, not ideal.

You around next week then?

For you, I’m sure I can find the time
I’ll let you know

See you soon then!

Maybe all I needed was to see Ellie. Maybe she could help me. Rich people like her usually had ways to stay under the radar. I probably couldn’t afford their prices, but hey, it was worth the ask right? And besides, this news she was talking about had piqued my interest. But I had the board to deal with first.
 

[WLKRAS]

But there were practical matters to attend to first. Hastie returned to full training after his injury layoff and he would probably return straight to the team for the match against Wealdstone on Saturday. They liked to play down the wings and exploit the overlap and Hastie would be well suited to counter that with his own pace. So focused I was on preparing myself mentally for seeing the chairman, that I almost lost track of time. I ended up rushing down the corridors to the boardroom, nearly colliding with Sarah on the way. As a result, I was a little red-faced and flustered when I entered the room.

It was just Chaiman Singh and Director of Football Monks there waiting for me. 

“Glad you could join us” the latter smirked. Singh gave a look then turned to his papers.

“Shall we begin?” he smiled before continuing. “First of all, I want to make clear the need for patience while we deal with the ongoing negotiations regarding the takeover. I appreciate that the transfer embargo hasn’t made your job any easier in that regard, but it’s something we all have to live with” 

I nodded solemnly. Not much else to do.

He turned a page and continued.

“The finances are somewhat concerning though. We made a loss of around 75,000 last month and while there are some funds still available, that cannot continue. We need to fill seats when we’re playing games and we need to reduce our wage expenditure, which seems to continue to go up”

“Some of the wage increases are outside of my control” I replied, glaring at Monks. “For instance, I’ve never heard of Paul Finney” I said pointing to a line on my copy of the paperwork listing Finney as a U18s fitness coach.

“We’ve had this conversation” Monks glared back. “Someone has to safeguard the future of the club and ensure the next generation has proper coaching staff available to them” 

I was about to raise my voice when the chairman intervened.

“Gentlemen, please. We will keep it friendly in here” he said in a stern voice. “Going forward, I will sign off on any new hires personally, or they will not go through. That goes for both of you, no one gets in without my express say so”

There was grumbling from Monks, but I just shrugged. The chairman continued, still in his stern voice.

“As for the football, we’ve been disappointed with the start, but we hope you can steady the ship and turn a corner soon, Chris. The quicker results improve, the better it will be for all of us. There have been grumbling from the fans already and I don’t need to remind you that better results will lead to more interest in the takeover”

“I appreciate that sir. We simply haven’t performed as well as we could and I hope to address that forthwith. One bright spark has been Mancini and he was awarded player of the month just this morning, while Feathers was third in the goal of the month competition. And something to raise our profile abroad, Chris Wreh and Edon Pruti both have received international call-ups, so hopefully they can give a good account in representing the club”

There was a little more back and forth, but the message was clear. The board was satisfied but expected imminent improvement from the team and myself in order to launch us back up the table. All the while getting the finances back under control and raising some money despite being under a transfer embargo. 

It never rains, ey?
 

[bigmattb28]

This is really good, keep it up mate

[WLKRAS]

Thanks Bigmattb28, glad you're enjoying it.

 

2nd of September, 2023
Suit Direct Stadium, Hartlepool
Hartlepool United (21st) vs Wealdstone (19th)

The group as a whole had trained pretty well after their run out at the beach, but I decided to shake up a few things. Jameson got a start in goal, while youngsters Stephenson and Grey came in at right back and up front respectively. Lacey, Pruti and Ferguson completed the back line with Stephenson, while Crawford and Featherstone would be in midfield. Hastie, back from injury would join Mancini and Ndjoli in attacking midfield behind the lone striker. I made it clear to the team that I expected a step up from last week.

They took it well, just two minutes into the game we earned a corner and while Featherstone’s delivery was on point, Lacey’s header was not. But it was a sign of intent at least. We dominated possession in the early exchanges and continued to force corners. Ferguson had a free kick tipped wide, while Grey’s run was cut short by a defensive tackle for another corner. 

Despite our pressure, we couldn’t convert any of the corner kicks into meaningful changes, Lacey coming closest with a header that fizzed just wide, but in general Wealdstone’s defenders dealt with balls into the box well. Same again in the twenty-second minute, when Stephenson had snuck forward and sent a hanging cross in, which was headed back in the same direction. It came to Hastie, who made it a game of head tennis by heading it straight back into the box, but this time, he found Mancini on the end of it. The midfielder took it down, nudged it past a defender and lashed it into the roof of the net. It was a cracking finish and I was up on my feet in celebration.

We took our foot off the gas a little after that, mostly retaining possession without ever really threatening the Wealdstone goal. They managed a solitary shot in return, but it was well off-target. I was satisfied at half-time but felt we could push to get a second and seal the deal.

“Don’t let up. We’ve kept them in the game by not finishing it off in the first half. So focus when we restart and don’t let them back in. If we get the second then it’s game over” I told the team.

It appears my words fell on deaf ears. Either that or my counterpart in the Wealdstone had been more inspirational because the opposition flew out of the blocks after the break. Campbell and Abdulmalik were both dangerous and the latter fired a shot just over the crossbar as a warning sign of things to come. We weren’t without chances ourselves, Ndjoli firing wide and Grey just running out of room in the box at a crucial moment.

With an hour gone, I replaced the lagging Featherstone for Cooke and brought Onariase for Lacey to shore up at the back. The effect was not as desired. Four minutes later, Stephenson’s poor header was picked up by Abdulmalik. He ran with it before playing it inside to Campbell. Despite being surrounded by three defenders, the striker still got his shot off and past Jameson for the equaliser. 

I immediately brought Mani Dieseruvwe into the fray, but despite prolonged pressure, we struggled to make an impact against a good goalkeeper. Crawford had a decent effort saved, while Ndjoli managed to find the keeper when it would’ve been easier to put it in the net. Even Mani’s free header went straight at the goalkeeper to prove it wasn’t going to be our day.

On the plus side, at least we didn’t lose. But the fans that had packed into the stadium, just shy of four thousand of them, were left disappointed again by another lacklustre Pools performance. 

Hartlepool United 1 (Mancini 22)
Wealdstone 1 (Campbell 65)
Attd: 3774
 

 

[WLKRAS]

“I think that’s a fair assessment, Alice. We played really well in the first twenty, twenty-five minutes, but after the goal, we sat back and let them come back at us too much…”

“Was that a deliberate choice?” asked Jordan Knight, interrupting me.

“It wasn’t in my plans, no, but I suppose I didn’t do enough to rectify it, so ultimately the blame lies with me” I replied.

“At least you managed to hold on to a point” offered Alice Newman.

“Frankly, I never felt in danger of not getting at least a point, but really we should’ve won. But we didn’t and that will no doubt have disappointed the fans. And I can’t honestly blame them, I’m pretty disappointed myself. But, hey, that’s football. We go again next week” I tried to sound optimistic even if I didn’t feel it myself.

“Any truth to the rumours that players are unhappy with your training regimen?” asked a voice at the back of the room. I didn’t need to look up to recognise the nasal voice of Robbie Abraham. I waited a few beats, considering my reply before I spoke.

“If anyone is unhappy, they haven’t shared it with me. We worked pretty hard last week, including some things that we don’t normally do, so maybe they were blowing off steam, I don’t know…”

“There’s that phrase again, you don’t know much, do you”

“What I do know, is that no one has made a complaint to me. So I don’t know if people are actually bothered, if they’re just griping to you or if you’re just trying to stir up trouble. I suspect the latter, going by our previous experiences. In any case, I’ll conduct training as I see fit and if anyone has a problem with that, they’re free to put in a transfer request” 

I paused again, staring towards the back of the press room. There was no further response from Robbie and there was an awkward silence from the others as they digested my response.

“Right, well, if there’s nothing else, I’ll bid you good day” I said, rising and walking out without waiting for a reply from the assembled press.

I navigated my way back through the corridors to my office and collapsed into my chair. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard. I pulled a notepad off my desk and started dooling tactics and ideas to see if anything would work, losing myself to my thoughts. I was so focused that I lost track of time until my door opened and a voice interrupted my musings.

“Oh sorry, I didn’t really you were still here. I thought someone had left the light on” It was the voice of Sarah, who looked somewhat startled to see me looking back at her. She was carrying a mop and bucket along with a tray of cleaning supplies.

“I didn’t realise janitorial work fell under the purview of the ticket office” I said, nodding at the supplies.

“No, it’s not, but I do it anyway because we can’t afford the cleaners every day” 

“That doesn’t seem quite right” I frowned.

“I’d rather help out here and there and save the club a few quid we don’t need to spend. It’s hard enough seeing how far we’ve fallen” she sighed, putting down her supplies and tucking a lock of her sandy-coloured hair behind her ear.

“Even so” I began to protest, but she held up a hand.

“I’ve been around this club most of my life. My dad was on the groundstaff before he passed and he used to bring me here all the time. He’s the one who got me a job here when I was seventeen and I’ve never looked back. I’d do anything for this place. Even if it means scrubbing floors in my free time”

“We definitely need more people like you in football. There are too many cases of investors coming in and sucking the life and soul of a club for a profit” I said, getting up and taking off my jacket before rolling up my sleeves.

“Got a spare mop? I might not be helping much on the pitch, but maybe I can make a difference off the pitch.”
 

[WLKRAS]

Sarah had been dismissive at first, but when she realised I wasn’t going to take no for an answer, she eventually relented and let me help clean and tidy. I left her with the cheerful promise of regular assistance, which she clearly did not believe, but I was determined to return a bit of the community spirit that is so vital at lower league clubs. To that end, I introduced a janitorial rotation for all the players and first-team staff, assigning two of them to help Sarah out each week. There was some grumbling but when I pointed out that with the size of the squad it would end up being maybe two or three times a year plus the differences in wages between them and most non-football staff, they eventually relented. 

I’d managed to find a gap in my schedule to meet up with Ellie too, meeting up with her in a cafe in the the shopping centre in Hartlepool, less than a mile from the stadium. She was already waiting for me when I arrived.

“Hey there” she smiled as I sat opposite her.

“Long time no see” I replied sourly.

“I know, I know…” she held up her hand, half apologising, half protesting, but she stopped when she saw the grin on my face.

“Bastard” she chuckled. “How are you?” 

I paused an uncomfortably long time before answering.

“Not great…”

I went on to fill in Ellie on the events of the past few weeks, the disagreements with Monks, the results, Jessica, the falling off the wagon, the whole nine yards. She sat in amazement, not really knowing what to say as I poured out my soul for the first time in my life. When I finally finished, she let out a long sigh.

“Well… I wasn’t expecting all that…” she mused.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to dump this all on you, it’s just…” 

Ellie held out a hand again and shushed me.

“No need to apologise. But I have something you might want to hear. Daniel has a guy, who looks into things for him, he’s an excellent investigator. We asked him to look into what happened, you know, back then”

I frowned at her. 

“Sometimes you just gotta let sleeping dogs lie, Ellie” I objected.

“But you say you’re innocent. And there’s stuff here that doesn’t add up. Anyway, Bertrand knows a guy down in the West Mercia CID and together they tracked down a private investigator that may have been following you at the time”

I closed my eyes and sighed.

“I knew someone was following me. But I had half a mind it was you” I said, opening my eyes and staring hard at her.

“I was, at times. But I wasn’t the only one. I called you, remember. To warn you. Anyway, they found the PI, shot dead in his office. Like a suicide, but Bertrand says there are signs it’s been staged”

I let out a low whistle at that news. 

“Well, ****… As if my life wasn’t crazy enough already” I mused.

“Bertrand would like to talk to you, and see if you can shed any light on things. The police detective probably has questions too. Someone must’ve hired that investigator. And since he’s dead, they must be getting worried about Bertrand’s sleuthing.” she looked scared.

“I’ve no desire to speak to those jokers. They bungled the investigation the first time. This **** is in the past. Let it stay there. I don’t want to drag it back up. Tell your friend thanks for the effort, but no more.”

“Please Chris, what if they come after you next?”

“I don’t even know who *they* are. And anyway, they might be doing me a favour at this rate” I stood and made to leave. Ellie tried to plead with me one more time, but I’d heard enough. Just when I thought my life was mental enough, here was another curveball. Ellie was getting in my business without any consideration for me and what I wanted. Damn her. Damn everyone.
 

[sherm]

WLKRAS - Just caught up with this. Been a hectic few weeks where I've hardly been able to drop in to the forums but been catching up with stuff

Superb this. Has me invested in the off field stuff as well as on the field

Top stuff 👏 

[WLKRAS]

Thanks Sherm, glad you're enjoying it

 

Meanwhile, in West Mercia Police HQ

DI Rainford put on his spectacles and pulled over the final autopsy report of Jack Logan, opening it to the first page. It contained nothing that surprised him in all reality. The coroner would be summoning a jury to an inquest during which the final verdict would be rendered, but for Rainford, the report contained enough information to tell him that he’d have a murder investigation on his hands. There were just too many strange little discrepancies with the case to be a coincidence. The tox screen had returned traces of Scopolamine, which the report noted can put individuals in a suggestable and hallucinogenic state, but had also been used as a truth serum in the past. 

He closed the autopsy folder and pulled over another, this one a forensics report on Logan’s office. There had been a number of interesting finds. The only fingerprints in the office had been Logan’s. Parts of the office however had been wiped clean. A desktop computer was missing, its peripherals still left behind unplugged. The computer and the general configuration of the desk confirmed the suspicion that Logan was right-handed. The strew paperwork had been catalogued and seemed to contain everything from correspondence with clients to invoices and bills. A section between August and October 2009 seemed to be missing completely. There was sufficient evidence to suggest that Logan slept at the office and a property search had not turned up a home address for him for a few years, so it was likely that whoever shot Logan, also took the paperwork, perhaps to hide something.

It seemed to Rainford that Bertrand’s poking around at Bromsgrove must’ve sent alarm bells ringing somewhere, enough cause for someone to take the drastic action of eliminating the private investigator and stealing his paperwork. It raised concerns. For Bertrand and his snooping, his employers and ultimately, Browne as the original fall guy. It was already evident that whoever these people were, they were quite willing to resort to murder to cover their tracks. And it was up to Rainford to find out who they were, what they wanted and why they did it. 

He took a notepad out of a drawer and began making a list of questions that he needed to answer. Was Evelyn the target or just an unfortunate bystander? Why was Logan following Browne? Who hired him to do so? What did Logan know or have that tied him to the original murder and is that the reason he had to die? What did Bertrand’s questions turn up that prompted someone to kill Logan now?

He drew a big circle around the questions and then emphasized them with several underlinings. Those questions were the key to everything now. And he was going to find out the answers.
 

[WLKRAS]

It had been a strange week, I reflected to myself as our coach drove down the motorway towards Oxford for our clash with the local United later that Saturday. Oxford were struggling just like we were and languished in 23rd in the league. They liked to play down the wings, but they struggled with not having the players to really do it effectively. I did wonder why my opposite number Ross Jenkins didn’t make a change to the system, but then again, I hadn’t really changed mine despite our struggles. 

There were some minor adjustments for today, however. Despite not training well, Mani Dieseruvwe returned to the starting XI as our number 9. Hastie and Codjovi joined him on the wings, with Mancini in his usual role at number 10. Crawford and Cooke started in midfield, in front of a back four consisting of Hendrie, Lacey, Wallace and Ferguson. Jameson retained his spot in goal over Dixon. 

For once there was some positive news too. Edon Pruti had played the full ninety minutes for Albania’s U21’s against Turkey in a 1-1 draw. And I’d just got off the phone with newly minted Liberia international striker Wreh who also played the full match. He was thankful for the call, but at the same time gutted about the result, a five-one loss in a friendly to Cape Verde. I did my best to cheer him up again, but it was not easy and I could fully empathise. I was never one to take well to losing matches in my playing days. It usually casts a cloud over my entire weekend. Still did, in fairness. But in any case, Wreh appreciated the call and we looked forward to seeing him back with us soon.

The press briefing the evening before our departure had been a rather quiet affair, with only Alice Newman from the Northern Echo and Dylan Bosworth from BBC Tees present. Jordan Knight and Robbie Abrahams were both conspicuous by their absence and even the Hartlepool Mail hadn’t bothered to send someone this time. The questions I did get asked were all rather mundane, which made a nice change for once and it was all done and dusted rather promptly, leaving me to enjoy a quiet night before an early start.

The mood among the squad was good, despite our struggles. Not sure if it was the warm weather or what, but there was plenty of chatter and banter on the bus and not many headphones or other electronic devices. Which was a nice change and something physio Danny O’Conner seemed to have noticed too.

“They seem happy today”

“Let’s hope we get a result that will send us back home in the same style” I mused. 
 

[FMandStrategyGamePlayer2024]

Non-league players going on international duty? That could end badly for Hartlepool.

[WLKRAS]

9th of September, 2023
The RAW Charging Stadium, Oxford
Oxford United (23rd) vs Hartlepool United (21st)

I looked around the dressing room before the game. Faces were blank, jaws were set. The banter from the bus was gone as if the reality of playing and trying to win football matches had burst the bubble. They were back to being faced with the prospect of sitting in the relegation zone, even if the season was only a month old.

“Look lads” I began. “I’m not going to pretend there’s any easy games in football. But we’re facing a team with problems similar to ours. So we have a chance to put some things right. Focus on the basics, do them right and we’ll get a result”

The response was muted. In fairness, it wasn’t exactly a rousing speech, but I guess I was feeling the same apprehension as they were. That disappeared as soon as Oxford kicked the game off. It was a frantic start and a crunching tackle by Wallace sixty-three seconds into the game set the tone for the opening period. Referee Paul Marsden was happy to allow it and it was soon clear that no quarter would be given by either side when Humphrey-Ewers responded in kind a few minutes later. 

It wasn’t all robust tackles and crunching challenges though, a game of football broke out around it, mainly thanks to Chris Cooke, who was pulling the strings in midfield. He found the space to play in Ferguson bombing down the wing and the left back’s cross found Mani Dieseruvwe with a little bit of space in the centre. His header went wide, but it was a start. A minute later, Cooke was at it again, this time finding Codjovi on the same wing and his dinked cross also found Mani. This time the centre forward was on target but found Oxford goalkeeper Haigh in his way making a good save.

It wasn’t all one-way traffic and Oxford again responded with thrusts of their own. Humphrey-Ewers hit the post with a close-range effort, but Lacey hacked it away before Williams-Bushnell could poke it home. 

“What is with their names all being double-barrelled” I pondered to Goodlad beside me as Jameson made a save from Humphrey-Ewers again after an Oxford corner.

“Maybe it’s posh university students that stuck around after their courses” he offered.

At the other end, Lacey headed over from a corner and the game continued to ebb and flow until the 35th minute. It was another corner that was the catalyst for the first goal. The kick itself was cleared, but out to the left wing where Codjovi picked it up and floated it back into the box. Haigh flapped at the cross, missing it completely and a grateful Mani Dieseruvwe connected with his head to thump it home for a Hartlepool lead. 

Three minutes later, a similar passage of play nearly led to our second, Codjovi this time cutting inside from the goal line and fizzing a low cross across the area. Haigh again missed it and Mani’s eyes lit up, but this time a defender was there to scramble it away before the striker could make contact.

We were just coming up to halftime when Oxford won another corner. Again Williams-Bushnell stepped up to take it and swung it into the central area about seven yards out. Wallace jumped for it, but went underneath the ball and behind him, Johnson headed it downwards towards goal. Fortunately for us, Lacey was right on the line to deal with it and looked to have it covered. Except he didn’t. He swung his leg to clear it, seemed to scuff it onto the boot of his standing leg and into the net. It was the most bizarre goal I remember seeing in a lifetime of football, but it counted for Oxford all the same and they celebrated wildly. The celebrations almost left a mark because they weren’t fully switched on for the injury time of the half, but while Ferguson’s free-kick found Mani unmarked in the area, he had slightly mistimed his jump and was on the way up when he connected with his head, sending the ball skimming over the crossbar just before the half-time whistle blew.

There was sympathy for Lacey in the dressing room from his fellow defenders, although substitute Nicky Featherstone was keen to point out that if Wallace had dealt with it, the whole thing would’ve been academical in the first place. I couldn't really argue with Nicky’s reasoning, but right now the lads didn’t need a rollicking.

“That was desperately unlucky lads. Overall we’ve been pretty solid, maybe missing a slight bit of killer instinct in front of goal, but otherwise, it’s good. We’ve created chances, more than them, so keep doing the same thing. Don’t let these double-barreled posho’s beat you with another flukey goal”

I don’t know if it was my words or whatever Jenkins had said in the Oxford half-time team talk, but the hosts bolted out of the blocks in the second forty-five. Jameson was called into action immediately after the resumption, diving down to his left so smartly save an effort from Johnson and again moments later, this time to his right to deny Humprey-Ewers. There was plenty more possession for the home team, but we managed to mostly keep them away from goal with a combination of hard work and solid positioning. 

Frustration built and just past the hour mark, I brought fresh legs in Seaman and Onariase to shore up the tiring defence. Featherstone also joined the fray for Crawford a few minutes later and Oxford too made the most of their substitutes. The game got scrappier with the changes in personnel, although Jameson again proved vital when denying Williams-Bushnell on seventy minutes.

I urged the team forward, hoping to snatch a late winner. Codjovi obviously heard my pleadings and nipped past his man on the left wing before swinging in a smart cross for the head of Mani Dieseruvwe, who was completely unmarked. The forward rose majestically to meet it with a header…

… and sent it careering wide towards the corner flag when it would’ve been easier to hit the target. He fell down to earth in a heap and the whole bench beside me let out a groan. The resulting goalkick was heaved up field and another Williams-Bushnell shot from distance was smothered comfortably by Jameson. As the clock ticked past ninety minutes, Charlie Seaman made a desperate surge forward from right back before swinging in an early cross. Again he found Dieseruvwe unmarked in the centre. And again the big forward was unable to hit the target.

Perhaps convinced that we weren’t going to get there referee Marsden called an end to proceedings with that, leaving us both lamenting our luck and our finishing, despite a decent performance away from home.

Final Score
Oxford United 1 (Johnson 44)
Hartlepool United 1 (Dieseruvwe 35)
Attd: 784
 

[WLKRAS]

Fortunately for me, there was only a few local reporters asking questions after the match. It did make me wonder what my ‘friends’ Abraham and Knight were up to, but that was for later concern.

“A fair result, Chris?” asked a bespectacled reporter of about forty. 

“I think we were unlucky to concede the goal and should’ve done better with our finishing, but at the same time Jameson had a good game in goal for us, so I suppose on balance I can’t be too disappointed with a draw” I replied. 

“Not really any help to either side though, is it?” came the follow up from the same guy.

“No, that’s also fair, both sides rather needed to win and neither did. I think for us, it’s clear that we’re not where we’re expected to be and we have to improve. But there are signs, some nice passages of plays some decent performances. Once it all comes together, I think we can move up the table”

The locals seemed satisfied with that and went to quiz Jenkins. I took my leave and joined the rest of the squad on the bus to travel back towards the North. Not long after we departed, Goodlad appeared in the seat next to me.

“I think we should skip training tomorrow, or at least only do a bare minimum recovery session and hold a team meeting instead” he announced in a quiet voice.

“You think?” I was unsure about the idea.

“I just feel like we’re closing to turning the corner, but a little morale-boosting could just be what we need to make it happen” he enthused.

“Ok, but then we maybe should make it a bit more fun. Like, do a social thing that doesn’t get in the way of their normal stuff. Cancel Monday morning instead and arrange for something like bowling or laser gaming or something daft like that. I’d say do it tomorrow evening, but I don’t want to intrude on their family time. Family is important” I said the last part almost wistfully.

“Tell you what, shall I ask around and let them decide what and when? Out of those two options?” Goodlad said. I nodded my assent and he scurried off to get people’s opinions. About thirty minutes later, he returned, face flushed, but satisfied.

“Ok, so we’re all good with tomorrow night, 9 pm. That won’t cut into their family time too much for those with kids. Turns out Feathers is close with the guy who runs Larry’s Lanes at Seaton and managed to reserve us a bunch of lanes. He’s even agreed to keep the place open a little later for us if we were to stick around for a couple of drinks afterwards”

“Sounds good. Thanks, Mark, good work” 
 

[WLKRAS]

I arrived just after nine, having walked down the seafront to Seaton Carew and its bowling alley named Larry’s Lanes. Seaton proclaims to be its own place, but in reality, it is a ward of Hartlepool, tacked onto the side and built mostly on the old landfill. That and the fact that it’s the closest residential area near Hartlepool’s nuclear power plant leads to non-residents joking that people from Seaton glow in the dark. Of course, Seaton was also famous for Canoe Man John Darwin, who faked his own death in 2002 and later turned up alive and well in Panama. But so much for local history, I was here to do some team building.

Most of the team had already arrived before me, although they hadn’t quite started their games. Our group had occupied most of the lanes and despite being known across the town, the other patrons left us alone, which was nice. Once everyone arrived, I gathered them all together and addressed them.

“Welcome everyone. Mark thought it would be a good idea for us to get together and blow off some steam and we agreed that this would be a nice way to get together. There will be no training tomorrow morning, so feel free to enjoy yourself, but keep it responsible. I don’t have to remind you that we’re still, all of us, representing the club. But have some fun. I’m not sure how many games Feathers has arranged for us, but we’ll tally all the scores across the night and the winner will get some sort of price, yet to be determined, courtesy of Mark and myself. But yeah, enjoy yourselves, have a good time and may the best man win”

There were a few mocked hoots and cheers, but nothing more than a bit of banter as groups bundled together in their lanes. Feathers and Goodlad had worked out the various groups, ensuring there was a proper mix of the whole squad and not just the groups that had started to form within it. I found myself paired in a group with Josh Umerah, Kieran Wallace, loanee Charlie Seaman, Brody Paterson and physio Dan O’Connor. We were an eclectic bunch as far as bowling ability went. Umerah looked like he was lobbing hand grenades, Seaman almost fell over a few times on the slippery floor, but Wallace seemed to be a regular. His skill far exceeded that of the rest of us and he hit somewhere over 150 the first game and even higher the second, utterly destroying the rest of us.

But most importantly, it was working. Everyone was in a jovial mood. I suppose it’s something I should’ve known myself. We were never the best players at Bolton, but our performances exceeded our abilities by the simple fact that we were a team. We’d run through walls or burning buildings for each other. It sounds corny, but knowing the guy next to you is going to run his arse off to fix any mistakes you might make makes you believe in yourself more. I’d lost track of that, between all the other stuff I had going on in my life. But Goodlad hadn’t missed it. Whether it would work or not remaining to be seen, but as the party eventually broke up, the team had bonded a little more and became a little bit more unified in its purpose.
 

[WLKRAS]

The following week saw a marked uptake in enthusiasm from the players. It even filtered down to the U18’s who hit six past Harrogate in a 6-2 victory with Max Storey scoring one and setting up two in a man-of-the-match performance. Unfortunately, it wasn’t all good. The added enthusiasm backfired for Mani Dieseruvwe who suffered a bruised ankle after a robust challenge by Kieran Wallace in training. There were some remarks about Mani not being a ten-pin, but it was no major harm. Mani would miss a couple of days at most, but should still be fit for the game against Woking at the weekend.

Pruti played 85 minutes for Albania’s U21’s as they beat Belarus’ U21’s by three goals to nil, another solid performance from the young lad. I had another run-in with Monks too, the Director of Football had hired yet another under-18’s coach, presumably with Singh’s blessing this time and then demanded I hold a recruitment meeting to eye up any players we could bring in on a free. When I pointed out that we were still under a transfer embargo and couldn’t actually sign anyone, he sighed and called me a difficult ‘blocker’, whatever the hell that meant. 

I ignored him and concentrated on preparing for the match against 7th-placed Woking. It would be a tough game, although I was quietly confident for two reasons. Firstly our increased morale and determination that we’d shown all week through training, but secondly and perhaps more important was Woking's style of play. They liked to lump long balls forward in full old-school ‘kick-and-rush’. If we could get the ball down and play, we’d be able to run them ragged fairly quickly. That said, they had some resilience about them, with the report noting that they’d come back to draw 2-2 in their previous game against Solihull despite being under the cosh for most of the match. I spent about fifteen, twenty minutes going over the various findings that Eric Avins had prepared until I felt suitably prepared for the game ahead. I closed the folder with a sigh and looked up. The date on my calendar caught my eye and I let out a weary sigh. It was the fourteenth of September. I checked my watch and let out another sigh. There was no way I was going to get to Bolton before sundown when the cemetery would close. I’d have to owe the old man a visit another time. It’s not like I hadn’t missed a few of his birthdays over the last few years. With good reason I suppose, but I’m sure he wouldn’t see it that way.