retired_jennie

Saturday 29th October 2005

Northampton vs. Bristol Rovers, League Two from Sixfields Stadium

Bris R (4-1-4-1); Jorg Stiel, Jean-Christophe Cesto, Adam Green, Ryan Hartslief, Souleymane Bamba, Johannes Djourou, Jeroen van Staveren, Sebastian Larsson, Dean West, Franklin Agustin Salas, Francesco Milano (Gary Hamilton 84)

I was more than a bit nervous ahead of this one; Northampton were 4th in the league with a solid home record and I knew all too well that a second defeat in a week could see all our good work this season start to unravel. I needn’t have worried, though; the change of surroundings seemed to have done my players the world of good, and the nervy opening of Wednesday night was replaced with some slick, confident movement that forced the home side onto the back foot right from the start.

Franklin Salas came closest early on with a 30-yard drive that grazed the crossbar and Johannes Djourou brought a top-drawer save out of keeper Lee Harper with a fine diving header as we began to pile the pressure on. Finally though, after thirty-nine minutes all that pressure paid off as my biggest gamble of the day paid off in some style. Francesco Milano was still nowhere near fully fit and didn’t even start training again until yesterday, but he was desperate to play and so I threw him in. And, after a sublime through ball from Dean West, it was Milano who shrugged off any rustiness to outpace Sean Dyche and slam the ball past keeper Harper from 12 yards out; it was an excellent finish, and already all the anger of Wednesday was beginning to drift away.

If those memories were fading after Milano’s opener, they were positively away into the distance as he repeated the trick three minutes later. This time Johannes Djourou intercepted a misplaced Northampton pass in midfield, his vision picked out Franklin Salas wide on the right and Salas’ cross was met with a stunning volley by Milano from the edge of the area; if there’s a better goal in League Two this season, I can’t wait to see it!

Northampton, and their fans, looked utterly stunned by now; and my afternoon would soon get even better. Salas was by now relentless in his tormenting of veteran Gianpiero Maini in the middle of the park, Maini may have once long ago won a cap for Italy but he was light years off the pace as my Ecuadorian star roamed forward in first half stoppage time. Salas found van Staveren, van Staveren found Dean West and West found Milano in space just inside the area. Milano’s curling strike beat Harper all ends up only for it to cannon back off the inside of the post, but luck was on our side as it rebounded off the back of the helpless keeper and into the Northampton net! Despite Francisco’s claims it’d have to go down as an own goal by the keeper, but I didn’t give a flying frig about that; in a game where the bookies had us down as losers, we were three up at half time and cruising!

Half Time: Northampton 0, Bristol Rovers 3 (Milano 39, 42, Harper og 45)

There wasn’t really much to say in the dressing room after that, I spent the interval grinning like a Cheshire cat on drugs and the lads were sent out with orders not to let it slip. Not that there was ever much chance of that happening; Northampton looked a beaten side, and even with us adopting a more cautious approach they were struggling to get out of their own half. Their Egyptian international midfielder Osama Nabih did at least try to inspire his team-mates with a few tricky runs and a couple of long-range strikes, but I moved fast to stick Djourou on him as a man-marker and whatever Nabih’s strengths may be shooting ain’t one of them – his attempts posed more threat to the floodlights than they did to Jorg Stiel in goal.

Like I said my approach had been to shut up shop, memories of that Boston debacle still loomed large and the last thing I wanted was a nervy finish; though Franklin Salas was desperately unlucky not to get his own name on the scoresheet when his 35-yard curler cannoned back off the angle of post and bar. Milano not surprisingly looked very tired and didn’t complain when I replaced him with Gary Hamilton late on – Milano earned a deserved standing ovation from the Pirates fans – and in the end we saw out the remaining minutes for a very comfortable and very impressive win.

Full Time: Northampton 0, Bristol Rovers 3 (Milano 39, 42, Taylor og 45)

retired_jennie

Monday, 31st October 2005

“Teddy, you f**king seen this?”

I’d just come through the door of our office, and Ratty was standing in front of the fax machine with a sheet of paper in his hand and a worried look on his face. He handed me the page, and I just laughed. We’d just received our first piece of hate mail! Ratty didn’t seem to appreciate my amusement.

“I don’t see what’s so bloody funny, Teddy. And how the hell did they get our fax number?”

“Probably by reading the back of the match programme! Come off it, mate, all managers get this kind of stuff; I bet if you read Mourinho’s e-mail you’d see he gets more death threats than Salman Rushdie. I’m just surprised we ain’t had more of ‘em!”

I was also surprised that Ratty had taken it so seriously. But the ringing of the phone heralded more important business; it was Gary Smith, my super-agent, and he brought with him good news. A couple of weeks back he’d tipped me off about an Irish striker, Eamonn Zayed, who’d just rejected a new contract at Eircom League side Bray Wanderers, and so would be available on a Bosman at the end of December. I’d told Gary to do the business, and Zayed had wasted little time in accepting my offer; he’s only 22, has already got two full caps for Ireland, and he’ll be a Rovers player on January 1st. It seemed, though, that wasn’t all Gary wanted to talk to me about.

“Teddy, mate, you ever been to Rio?”

Why – you lined up Ronaldinho’s brother for me or something?”

Gary laughed. “I’d be lucky to get you his f**king granny! No, I’ve been offered four tickets for the England game next month only I can’t go, got a bloody conference in London and I can’t get out of it. Seems a shame for them to go to waste though.”

Hmm, sunshine, blue skies.. if I needed any convincing, the sound of the rain lashing against the office window just about did the trick. I put the phone down and turned to speak to Ratty.

“You fancy a few days in Brazil next month? Gary’s got seats for the England game...”

“Do bears s**t in the woods?!”

I’ll take that as a yes! Sure beats watching the game on the big screen down the Bay Horse, at any rate.

retired_jennie

Tuesday November 1st 2005

Tuesday morning; the rain was still coming down as hard as ever, the wind was howling in from the west, and it was cold enough to freeze the ******** off a brass barnacle. In short, not the sort of weather anyone wanted to spend out on the training ground. The verdict from me, Paul and Tony was unanimous; today, the players could have a day off!

So it was back up to the office, with Laura, Ratty, a hot fire and a glass of Jack Daniels for company. Brian Ridgeway, the Evening Post editor, was coming in later on; he wanted to introduce me to the new reporter who’d be covering our matches this season (fella by the name of Joe, apparently); but right now the phone was ringing.

It was Ian Atkins, manager of Carlisle, and he was interested in my moaning, unwanted striker Junior Agogo. Atkins had spoken to me about it the day after I’d first stuck Agogo on the transfer list and I’d been fully prepared to let him go for nothing, but there was just something about Atkins’ attitude that really wound me up and so I’d found myself demanding a fee of £80,000! But I knew full well that Carlisle didn’t have that kind of cash floating around, and so I was preparing to swallow my pride in order to clear Agogo’s useless arse from my wage bill. It turns out I didn’t have to, though;

“I’ve spoken to my chairman, and the highest we can go to is £45k. It’s a take it or leave it offer, Mr Hamilton, and I need an answer now.”

I sure didn’t need asking twice, and it seems Agogo didn’t either; within half an hour I had a call from his agent saying the Ghanaian striker had agreed terms on the deal! It’ll go through on January 1st, and it promises to be a long hard New Year for Junior – Carlisle are rock bottom of the Football League at the moment!

retired_jennie

Brian Ridgeway, the Post editor, arrived in the office a little after two, and greeted me with a warm handshake, Laura with a peck on the cheek and the bottle of Scotch on the table with a broad grin! I was surprised to find him alone, though.

“Thought you’d have company, Brian? Where’s this Joe you wanted me to meet?”

“Ah, she’ll be right up. Had a bit o’ trouble parkin’ the car, y’see.”

She??!!; for some reason it’d never even occurred to me that “Jo” might be a girl! Just then, right on cue, the door swung open, and in she came.

“Ah, perfect timin’. Teddy, meet Joanne Taylor, the risin’ star of our newsdesk. Jo, you’ll know Mr. Hamilton, of course. Now I’ve got to be on me’ way, I’ll see you later, Jo. Have fun!”

I’ve never been much good at guessing ages and it seemed a bit rude to ask, but I’d say Joanne was in her late twenties, slim with shoulder-length brown hair, and while she was by no means a classic beauty there was definitely a certain something about her.

As Ratty would later put it, he “wouldn’t say no!” – though thinking back to our King’s Lynn days Ratty wouldn’t have said no to any female with a pulse, and he’d probably have compromised over the pulse… Anyhow, right then she looked a bit nervous, and I did my best to switch back into professional mode.

“Hi, Joanne, nice to meet you. This is Ra.., er, Richard, our chairman, and this is Laura, she’s our programme editor. Paul and Tony, our coaches, have left for the day; training’s finished for the day on account of the weather.”

retired_jennie

She seemed a bit disappointed she wouldn’t get to meet any of the players, but she was nothing if not well prepared and produced a notebook from her handbag containing a long list of questions. I was a bit guarded with my answers, after all I still wasn’t too sure what to make of the girl yet, but she was pleasant enough to talk to and before we knew it an hour had flashed by in no time at all.

“Thankyou for your time, Mr. Hamilton, it’s been a pleasure meeting you. Oh, and good luck for the Cup game on Saturday.”

“You’re welcome, Jo. Actually, we’re about done here for the day, and we’re off to the pub to watch the Chelsea game on Sky (Chelsea were up against Barcelona tonight in the Champions League). You’re welcome to join us if you’re free.”

As I said that I noticed Laura shoot me a glare; she’d barely moved from her seat all the time Jo had been in the office. Surely she wasn’t jealous; it’d only been a friendly invite? Whatever, Jo clearly noticed the animosity too, because she made her excuses, shook hands with Ratty and made her way to her car.

It turned out to be quite a game, and quite a night for Jose Mourinho’s ]Chelsea. Two up inside half an hour in the Nou Camp through Eidur Gudjohnsen and Michael Essien, Barca briefly had hope when Mark Van Bommel pulled one back with a quarter of an hour to go but Hernan Crespo’s late penalty, after Carles Puyol had been sent off for a professional foul, sealed a famous win for the Special One and his charges.

But whatever the atmosphere may have been in the Barca dressing room, it had nothing on Laura’s in Hogshead. Something had quite clearly upset her, and, after I’d tried for the third time to get an answer to the question of whether she’d like another drink, I’d just about had enough.

“Look, love, just what the f**k’s the matter with you today? You scowled all bloody afternoon and you’ve barely said a word to me since we’ve been here.”

“Well maybe I wasn’t too keen on you flirting with that tart right in front of my bloody face! If you wanted to ask her out, you could at least have done it when I wasn’t looking.”

“Ask her out?? What the hell are you talking about, I was just being friendly, that’s all!”

“You looked more than friendly from where I was sitting!”

I slammed my pint glass down on the table, loud enough for everyone around to stop what they were doing and stare.

“Look, I’ve had just about enough of this jealousy bulls**t, I can’t handle it. I have to meet people, that’s part of my job, and if you’re going to get into a p**s every time I talk to a girl then, well, maybe you’re with the wrong person.”

“Maybe I am!”

With that, she stormed out of the pub. Even though I desperately wanted to, I didn’t go after her; I was just totally confused. I didn’t think I’d been any more than friendly with Joanne earlier on, and I’d never had Laura down as the jealous type; I thought the reason we were good together was because we both thought the same way.

Ratty had taken refuge from the atmosphere at our table and had watched the game stood at the bar, but he came over to offer a few wise words.

“Look, Teddy, don’t worry about it, she’ll calm down in the morning, Come on, let’s get another pint in.”

“Forget the f**king pint, mine’s a Jack Daniels. Large.” I had a feeling I’d be getting through a fair few of them tonight!

retired_jennie

Saturday 5th November, 2005

Darlington vs. Bristol Rovers, FA Cup 1st Round from the Darlington Football Stadium

Bris R (4-1-4-1); Jorg Stiel, Jean-Christophe Cesto, Adam Green, Ryan Hartslief, Souleymane Bamba, Johannes Djourou, Jeroen van Staveren, Sebastian Larsson, Dean West, Franklin Salas, Francesco Milano (Gary Hamilton 64)

I’d made no secret that the FA Cup wasn’t a priority for us this season – after all we weren’t going to win it and we weren’t desperate for cash either – but since we’d already lost to Darlington in the league part of me was keen for revenge. Plus after the week I’d just had I was keen to concentrate on football for a change. We’d had contrasting fortunes since that warm August day and the home side were currently 13th in the League Two table, but as the cliché goes League form counts for sod all in the cup and it was Darlington who made the brighter start.

Ten minutes in they were rewarded for their adventure with the opening goal, though it owed more to some dreadful defending from my back four than to any individual brilliance from Darlo. Oliver Heald and Simon Johnson, the former Leeds man, combined well in midfield and Heald’s pass released Neil Scally down the right flank.

He rather sliced his cross and it should have been a bread and butter clearance for Cesto, but my Frenchman missed it completely and though Ryan Hartslief made a desperate lunge it was Guylain Ndumbu-Nsungu, the man so good they named him twice, who slammed home the loose ball and left the home fans dreaming of Round Two.

The rest of the half did little to quell those dreams; Dean West and Franklin Salas were off-colour and it showed, without them we just didn’t have enough flair in the middle of the park and so were reduced to humping long balls towards Milano, which the Darlington defence swept up with little difficulty. It was the home side that led at half time, and I couldn’t deny they’d deserved it.

Half Time: Darlington 1 (Ndumbu-Nsungu 10), Bristol Rovers 0

retired_jennie

Mindful of my vow to cut back on the dressing-room rollockings I left it to Tony to issue some words of encouragement in the interval, but whatever he said didn’t seem to have worked as within a minute of the restart Darlington should have led by two.

It was real route one stuff too, defender Joey Hutchinson won the ball off Dean West just outside his own 18-yard box, he hoisted it forward and our attempt to play the offside trap was undone somewhat by Ryan Hartslief standing still as if he was fossilised. The upshot was Ndumbu-Nsungu was through on goal with a golden chance for a second… but thankfully for me and for Hartslief our blushes were spared as the young Congolese bottled it and blasted high over Jorg Stiel’s crossbar.

My vow of silence was quickly forgotten as I let loose a volley of four-letter expletives that earned me a warning from the fourth official and made a little old lady in the front row blush like a beetroot. But, the good old-fashioned abuse seemed to do the trick as straight away we enjoyed our best spell of the match. Franklin Salas was the catalyst, he dropped deep to pick up the ball, left Heald and Neil Scally for dead in midfield and tried to slip a pass in for Milano. True it was a bit heavy, but I was pretty sure a Milano on top of his game would have got there with something to spare – today, my Italian stallion looked well off the pace though and defender Joey Hutchinson won the race to clear by a few yards. Not long after Salas again gave David Hodgson’s side a brown-trouser moment with a 20-yard drive that brushed the right-hand post, but our quarter hour’s dominance had brought bugger all to the scoresheet. And that’d prove to be fatal to our afternoon.

Six minutes past the hour Johannes Djourou failed to deal with a hopeful punt from the keeper and straight away we were in trouble. The ball came out to Carlos Logan on the left, he had too much pace for a tired Souleymane Bamba and looked set to send in the cross. Instead, though, he looked up, spotted Simon Johnson in space on the eighteen-yard line and slid the ball across. Johnson’s Darlington’s top scorer so far this season, and he showed why Leeds had once rated him as a future star with an unerring finish low to Jorg Stiel’s left. A moment of class from the 23-year old, and unless we could find something similar of our own our Cup story was going to be a very short one.

We couldn’t, I decided to bring on Gary Hamilton for Milano a few minutes after the second goal and the Northern Ireland man repaid my faith by blasting a sitter over the bar from eight yards out, but even if he’d scored I don’t think it would have mattered. Our Cup adventures were over for this season, and while I’d be lying if I said I was as upset as I’d be if this was a league game it was worrying we’d surrendered so tamely to a side closer to the bottom than the top of our division. But I had other things on my mind right then.

Full Time: Darlington 2 (Ndumbu-Nsungu 10, Johnson 66), Bristol Rovers 0

retired_jennie

“I’ve had just about enough for today, now let’s get changed, get back on the coach and get the hell out of here.”

The lads stared at me from the benches in silence; I guessed they’d been expecting both barrels after our tame cup exit, and on any normal day they’d have probably got them, but right then I just felt totally and utterly drained. And there’d be no prizes for guessing why.

Yep, the “Laura situation” was really starting to get me down. We hadn’t spoken, or exchanged much more than a glance, since she’d walked out after the Barca game on Tuesday night; in the end the atmosphere in the office had got so bad that I’d just avoided going in there wherever possible.

I’d taken every training session (usually I leave the bulk of them to the coaches), gone off on “scouting trips” around the local non-league clubs that’d usually end in me propping up a bar somewhere, anything to avoid being around the place. I knew it’d had an effect on Tony and Paul, and after today’s performance I realised that maybe it was starting to affect the team as well. I needed to sort it out; thing was, I didn’t really know how I wanted it sorted out.

In the past if a girl had shown the slightest hint of jealousy I’d have been out of there at the speed of light; and they’d usually had bloody good reason to be jealous. But Laura was somehow different; if I’m honest, I just didn’t want to lose her.

It took us five and a half hours to make it back to Bristol, and it was gone midnight before I finally climbed the stairs to the (empty) flat. Ratty was out; his love life was in a healthier state than mine, and he’d missed today’s trip to take Gemma away for the weekend. Right then loneliness suited me fine; I poured a large Jack Daniels, stuck on Sky Sports News, and fully expected to still be slumped there come the morning. I was wrong.

retired_jennie

I must have drifted off into a kind of trance, because the next thing I was aware of was the buzzing of our intercom system - a glance at my watch told me it was almost a quarter past one and I had no idea who could possibly want me at that hour. Sleepily, I answered it anyway; I’d soon be wide-awake again!

“Hello, Teddy, guess who?”

I didn’t need to guess – I’d heard that voice often enough. Sarah Morley, the one-time (all time?) love of my life. I hadn’t heard from her since that night Ratty had sent her away from the Horn & Trumpet with a flea in her ear, but I still thought about her often; and now here she was at my door in the middle of the night...

“Well, are you going to let me in or not?”

I wasn’t really sure what was going on, but let her in I did. I’d clearly been raining hard out, and with her damp clothes clinging to her curves I was reminded, if I needed a reminder, how stunningly beautiful she really was; suddenly I was 16 again, and back in that pub in King’s Lynn where we’d met for the very first time.

“Er, how did you..” She came over to me, put her finger to my lips, and kissed me.

“Sshh, I didn’t come here for small talk”

With that, she took me by the hand, and led me off towards the bedroom…

retired_jennie

Sunday, 6th November 2005

You know the strange feeling you sometimes get the morning after a night out, the one where you’re sure you did something you probably shouldn’t have done, only you can’t remember exactly what it was? Well, half-asleep in bed, that was exactly what I was feeling then; until, that was, I sat bolt upright – it hadn’t been a dream!

It also wasn’t the morning after; a glance at the bedside clock showed we’d edged well into afternoon. Sarah had gone, she’d left a note; it said simply “thanks for last night, call me”, followed by a mobile telephone number and three kisses. I had some serious thinking to do!

Ratty wasn’t due back from his dirty weekend until Monday, and I didn’t especially want to stay in the flat on my own all day, so a quick shower and a shave later it was off down to Hogshead to take in the afternoon’s Premiership action over a few thought-invoking pints of Hooegarden. Walter Pandiani’s 41st-minute strike was more than enough to earn Steve “Big Nose” Bruce bragging rights over David “F**k Knows” O’Leary, and Birmingham victory at Aston Villa in the second city derby, and as the two managers shook hands at full time my own mind had definitely become a darn sight clearer.

Like I said, Sarah had been my first love, and that’s not something you forget easily. I’d no idea what had made her come to the flat last night, but what I did know was that somehow it just didn’t feel the same. I’d always have a soft spot for her, but too much had gone on between us for me to ever seriously consider going back there. I wasn’t the same person I’d been on the day she’d left me, and I knew what I had to do. I pulled the note she’d left me from my pocket, reached for my phone, and shakily began to tap out a message on the screen.

If you asked me for the exact words of that message I wouldn’t be able to tell you, and part of me did feel bad for ending things in such a cowardly way. But at least this way there was no chance of me changing my mind, and as the “message sent” confirmation flashed up it was like a ten-ton weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

Draining the dregs of my pint, I sighed and headed for the bar. Tomorrow would be another day.