retired_Brandon Scott

Monday 10th May 2010 Ben Amponsah's Residence

Ben rolled out from under his duvet and reached blindly for the glass that usually sat on his bedside table. He'd had the foresight, when he had staggered in, at some point during the early hours, to make himself a pint of Alka Seltzer. He had managed to drink some of it before falling unconscious knowing that he could finish off the foul tasting drink when he awoke properly.

What time was it? He had done his usual of waking up exactly 6 hours after going to sleep: a habit he didn't seem to be able to break and one that he had learnt from his years as an Army Officer in his younger days. 1005hrs. So he had managed to make his way home at about 0400-ish.

Recollections of last night started to come back to him: the jubilation and pride, celebrating with the players in the dressing room. Words of thanks to his playing staff and especially to Pat. The massive party for all the staff, players and their families that had been thrown in the Hospitality Suite upstairs at the Emirates. Speeches: lots of them. And he especially remembered the unbridled joy on young Jake's face, throughout, as he faithfully filmed it all. That boy had become like a son to him he thought fondly, smiling. He had remembered asking him, as he prepared himself in his office for the party, what he was going to call the film? Jake had smiled that beautiful little smile of his and told him it would be titled 'An Interview with the Arsenal Manager: a Young Fan's Story.' Interesting, Ben had thought: it certainly had a ring to it even if he wasn't quite so sure that it needed to be quite so focused on him but that was Jake for you-dedicated, dogged and ever-so slightly obsessive. He had vaguely remembered offering a lift back to his in the same taxi that he was in but the lad had insisted that he wanted to walk home as it wasn't far and he had College in the morning. Ben had hugged him close, realising that their journey together was going to soon be at an end. Jake had then headed off-all blonde tousled hair, glasses and smiles-moving easily towards the massive glass doors at the entrance to the Corporate area of the stadium.

Ben wrapped himself in his voluminous ermine dressing gown and padded across his bedroom to the kitchen. What was he going to do on a Monday morning when he had a rare day off? He had granted the team not only Monday but also Tuesday off and then they were to report back in earnest for preparation training for the FA Cup Final that following Saturday. A Double beckoned in only his 4th season as manager-it was all to play for.

There was a warm bacon sandwich waiting for him on the kitchen table along with the papers and a large glass of Orange juice. Bless Luke, Ben thought. Always attentive, his personal assistant seemed to have a knack for knowing at exactly what time Ben would arise and would have the necessaries ready for him: papers turned over at the Sports Pages, the bacon sandwich and a glass of OJ or a large strawberry and banana smoothie. The trick was he did it all so unobtrusively that he remained almost invisible.

Ben eyed the back page of The Mirror with a grin:

'Ampo' Ben chuckled: what a ridiculous nickname! Only in the tabloids. He scanned the final league table:

Well it had indeed been a close run thing at the top with his team almost losing it with their particularly bad run of form at in the last few weeks. Thankfully they had just done enough and then had Middlesborough to thank for helping them to a title that they should have clinched with weeks to spare. Ben put a reminder in his mobile to contact Aidy Boothroyd later that day and proffer his thanks for his team's efforts: no harm in cultivating what friendship may arise there, he thought. At the other end of the table Alan Curbishley's West Brom and Carlos Queiroz's Portsmouth were joining Fulham in the Football League. Too bad. Queiroz had always been a better number 2 than manager-his stint at Real Madrid proved that and as for Curbishley, he had very little time for the man. What was astonishing were the relatively lowly placings for Liverpool and Chelsea who had both been pipped to the Champion's League spots by Ian Dowie's Charlton and Phil Brown's Bolton respectively: a herculean achievement and one which would hurt the 2 elite clubs for a long time to come.

Ben smiled-what did it concern him? The discomfort of 2 of his main rivals was pleasing but there were more pressing matters ahead. He reached for the heavy glass of juice with one hand and turned on the News: what was happening in the world?

The headline that screamed at him from the Sky News vide-printer made his blood run cold:

YOUNG ARSENAL FILM MAKER STABBED TO DEATH ON WAY HOME FROM TEAM PARTY

'.....that this young man of only 17 had been making a documentary film that charted the course of the 2009/10 Arsenal season. It seems clear, at this stage, that he was attacked by a gang of youths for the posessions he had on him, which included the video cam with the film on it. The Home Secretary has reiterated his fear that there is a growing stain on British youth culture where children...'

But Ben was no longer listening as the glass that he had been holding slipped from his grasp and shattered on the tiled floor.....

retired_bethricci

another twist

rodrigo

:eek:

retired_Brandon Scott

Tuesday 11th May 2010

A vale of tears:

The father laid low by grief: he had not had a chance to say a proper goodbye to his beloved son-it had been a rushed 'see you later son' amidst all the tumult of the celebrations.

The Premiership Manager consumed by despair, anger and guilt: he was the last friend to have seen the boy alive-could he have done more to persuade Jake to come home to his?

The estranged friend who had done so much to make his life a misery: consumed by guilt she was to take her own life only 1 week later.

The Psychiatrist who contemplated how unfair life and fate could be: the lad had done so well and had such a bright future ahead of him. The headlines in the papers on his desk said it all:

and here:

Dr Drempetic shook his head and dabbed a hankerchief at his moist eyes: it was a waste-such a waste.......