shannon2007

Apologies for the odd extra/missing word, it seems my brain isn't what it used to be. I'll soon be as senile as old Bob.

retired_richcoble

If PM keeps this up its not even going to be close. This story is amazing.

retired_jgirl87

PM7, I was thinking of making a cheeky remark to bring you back down to earth after all of the praise that you have already received, but I don't think that it would be fitting given the sheer quality of what you have already written. What excellent work this is - and I look forward to further updates. :thup:

shannon2007

I had another deeply disturbing dream last night.

A a little child, I was plagued by nightmares. I suppose this was not unusual, particularly given the fact that my parents had been killed in a car crash when I was just four years old. Of course my four year old mind could in no way grasp the concept of death – not that my nearly thirty four year old mind has any greater a grasp if truth be told. My nightmares as a child would usually revolve around my grandmother – and occasionally that of a close friend – dying. They were never actually directly about car crashes and they were rarely all that intense. I only once remember having an actual dream about my parents death, and that was so vivid it remains with me today and I cannot help wonder if it in some way influences my dream world even now.

I could not, as I say, really fathom as a child the concept of death. One day my parents had been there, the next they were not and I never saw them again. I cannot remember if this incident was shortly after my parents accident, or indeed if it was a couple of years later, and I suppose it is really irrelevant now. Granny and I were on a bus, travelling into town as we usually did each Saturday morning, when we passed by the wreck of a car embedded in a lamp post. The bus, for whatever reason, had slowed right down at that point – at least that is I think it did – and I could clearly see this completely wrecked car, and a sudden vision came to me of my parents screaming. As an adult my most powerful visions scare the crap out of me, so you can imagine what such a thing would do to a small child.

That night – or it may have been a different night, but in my mind the two events go hand in hand – I had a very powerful dream in which my dead parents were rising from the wreckage of a car, calling me to come to them. As my dream progressed, two of my little friends made their way toward my outstretched parents hands, and as they reached for me I screamed, which apparently woke up not only me, but also my grandmother. Sometime time later – it is hard to put definite dates on childhood memories – our school trip took place to Edinburgh Zoo. I had really wanted to go, but had come down with a bad case of the flu. The bus crashed on the way back from the zoo, and two of my best friends were seriously injured, Simon later died from his wounds but Charles survived – although he needed to have his right leg amputated. If I had gone on that trip, I would no doubt have been sitting with them.

It is probably hardly surprising, given that death seems to have stalked me, that many of my nightmares surround the death of my loved ones. It is not, so psychologists tells us, that dreams about death actually predict death, but more that it reveals from our subconscious minds a fear of rejection. It is probably not a stunning link to make that my fears stem from losing my parents and one of my best friends at a very young age, as well as my grandmother slightly later, albeit her death was in a bit more 'normal' circumstances.

Not all my visions have been about death, and they have not all come at night. I have already explained how, upon walking through the doors of this club, I had this overwhelming feeling of rightness. At the end of my first season in charge, having just narrowly missed out on promotion to what is now the Blue Square north, I received a phone call from the chairman of Basingstoke Town, currently in the Blue Square south. He wanted to know if I would be interested in becoming manager of Basingstoke and I told him I would sleep on it. That night I had another very vivid, and very powerful dream, but this time it was about Bradford Park Avenue. The team was celebrating some sort of success, and I was there in the middle and as I woke up from this vision, I realised that my future lay with the Avenue. At least for the time being. Of course, we achieved promotion last season, but somehow my dream felt greater than a mere promotion from one lower league to the next. Of course, it may just be wishful thinking.

At training today, as we prepare for our opening friendly of the new season at home to Welsh League club Barry Town, I could not shake the visions of my latest dream from my mind. The training session probably went well, but I personally was not fully focused. As most of my dreams seems to have some kind of premonistic allusion, my latest nightmare has left me shaken to the core. Especially as it was almost exactly like the nightmare I had the night before my wedding.

retired_gabachitalinda

2 Words: Simply Brilliant

shannon2007

I've never been what you would call an overly religious person. My grandmother, bless her soul, used to take me along to church every week, a small pentecostal gospel hall at the end of our street. As a kid, I just went because granny took me, I didn't really have any choice but as the years passed so I made friends there. Into my teenage years the church had a football team, as I've mentioned before and that, along with the youth club where my church friends went – and in particular the lovely young girl who eventually became my wife – was really what kept me going to church. To this day I really cannot fathom whether or not I believe in God.

Denise on the other hand has a very strong faith, and that is probably not surprising. She has been brought up by two very loving, intelligent people who to my mind do their best to carry out the commandments of Jesus in the New Testament. Many 'Christians' that I have met over the years have displayed to me an attitude that beggars belief and makes me wonder if they have indeed ever actually read those passages in the New Testament where Jesus exhorts his followers to love their neighbour. And then there are the sort who try to ram the bible down your throat at every opportunity, till you get to the point where you just want to take that bible and ram it up their...... well you probably know the types I mean.

Neither Denise, nor her parents for that matter, are like that at all. Yet for all that I still cannot fully come to terms that there is a kind and loving God. When things happen in our lives, even things that dissapoint and dismay us, Denise can always put it down to being 'God's will'. That is all very well and good for her, but if everything in my life has been down to 'God's will' then with all due respect to the almighty he is one very sick bugger indeed. What sort of God would willingly take a young boys parents away from him in such a dramatic, horrible manner? What sort of God would allow a young boy to lose a leg, to have to live the rest of his life as a cripple? What sort of God would take my precious grandmother from me at such a young age, and leave with nothing left to live to for?

And yet for all my doubts, my fears – yes my very anger at a God who would show such awful cruelness to a young child, yes a God who would watch his own Son die and seem to do nothing about it – for all of this, I still, hypocritically, fall on my knees and pray to him,

'Dear Lord, please whatever you do, do not take away my precious Denis.'

I cannot say for certain that my dreams about Denise mean she will die. I rather feel perhaps that my subconscious mind is telling me what I already know – that I am terrified of losing her, but why now, what has happened that this dream, this nightmare should come to me? I can fully understand why I may, on the eve of my wedding have a nightmare that may represent my fears of rejection, but I have been with Denise almost eighteen years now and surely by now I must be assured that she is not going to up and leave me. And I rather feel they might just be showing me her death, and for that I could never forgive any God.

It strikes me that perhaps I should sit down and discuss my nightmares with someone, most probably with Denise. She knows my worries, I have told of the other dreams I have had, the fears of losing our children which often weigh heavy on me and at times the very thought breaks my heart, even though I know it has not and hopefully never will happen. Yet how can I tell her this vision?

'Darling, I dreamt you were lying in a pool of blood and vomit.'

It is hardly the kind of thing to discuss over a cup of tea and a biscuit. And so I must carry this burden alone. I must somehow get through each day, always looking out for whatever or whoever it may be that would steal my love away and if death does come calling, I'll be waiting for him of that you can be utterly sure. For now though, I use the only escape route I know, that frees me even for a short while from the realities of my mixed up subconscious mind. The game of football, for which I am eternally grateful of it's existance. For if football had not been invented where then would I be? I have no other skill, no other talent, no other way to escape from my own personal hells.

Someone once said that football is more important than life – or words to that effect. That person was of, course wrong. Football is only a game at the end of the day – an often strangely captivating game, that can raise the shackles of the most timid beastie - but a game nevertheless it is. Yet when I am immersed in my role as manager, as I often was in my role as a player, I feel I am a different person and I am able for a while to rise above all my worries and fears. The moment is fleeting of course, and whilst football could never replace my family and I would – if not gladly, that would not be telling the whole truth – give up this game I love for the family I love even more, nevertheless without this game I would be much less a person than the person that I have become.

shannon2007

Sometimes it does worry me that I love football nearly – but actually nowhere near – as much as my family. And whilst that may not really be true – I could probably get by if football were suddenly banned and we could neither play nor watch it any longer, whereas if my family were ever taken from me I would kill myself of that I have very little doubt. Yet I do sometimes feel ashamed, that in the midst of some global tragedy, all I can think about is – who the hell am I going to get to play left back next week.

Two events that stand out of me are the birth of my first child and an earthquake in Mexico that killed one of my Leeds team mates father and two sisters.

When Denise told me she was expecting our first child I was both thrilled and terrified. The thought of being a father both excited me, and left me feeling numb. I had no right to be a parent, I had no clue what a parent should be and yet I had rather find out pretty damn smart. The night before Denise gave birth, I had this vivid dream in which I was wandering lost through a maze of alleyways, trying to reach the voice that was crying out to me, 'Daddy, daddy help me'. I never did find the voice, as my alarm clock woke me up. It was a Saturday and Leeds were playing Manchester United at Old Trafford in the 4th round of the FA Cup. Of course I did not know that later that evening, virtually on the stroke of midnight, my first child would be born, and it was only later that I associated last nights dream with that – after having other similar experiences exactly the night before our other three children were born.

Denise was showing little signs of breaking into labour as I left at ten o'clock in the morning to make my way to Elland Road. I was high on the prospect of such a huge occasion, and come half time my team were trailing 3-2, I had laid on the first and scored the second – a fantastic 25 yard free kick which I still remember to this day. Going into the Old Trafford away changing room at the end of that half, we were buzzing because we believed Manchester United had thrown their best at us and although we had hardly survived unscathed we were nevertheless very much still in the hunt. Forty five minutes later, the scoreline standing at an incredible 9-3, we were a shattered and totally humiliated bunch of players. That was my worst ever defeat as a player, and hopefully something that I will never experience as a manager.

My anger, my frustration was huge as was that of the whole squad. We had been beaten badly and our pride was hurt and in that moment I just wanted the ground to open up and swallow me. Just a few hours later my world was turned upside down as Denise, after a surprisingly short labour for a first child, delivered into my hands a tiny, writhing baby girl and in that moment as I held this amazing wonder in my arms, everything else became irrelevant and I realised that from now on my life, my very priorities would be changed. We had lost a game of football, but we would play again and the reality is, it was not really all that important in the grand scheme of my life. After much discussion, we named the baby Lilly after my grandmother. Lilly Wakefield has just turned eleven years old this year, and she remains as precious to me now, as she did the day she was born. She has many of the qualities of her mother, she is kind, perceptive and highly intelligent, and like her mother she is stunningly beautiful in my eyes. All my children are a joy to me, but Lilly was our first and she will always have a very special place in my heart.

Towards the end of my career at Leeds United, we had one particularly decent season when we reached the Final of the League Cup, and on that occasion we beat Liverpool by two goals to one, I scored the winner and we were all floating on a high of highs. It was one of the best moments of my career, not just because we had won something but also because we had beaten Liverpool to do it, and I had scored the winner. We celebrated long into the night, but as we woke the next day the shattering news came through that there had been a major earthquake in Mexico and later on we were to discover that out right back, Enrico Gonzales had lost his father and sisters. It was a tough time for Enrico who would have to go back to Mexico to face the consequences of this terrible tragedy and although we all tried to comfort and help him as much as we could, in reality there was little we could do to console the man of such a great loss.

There is a very fine line at times between joy and tragedy – a line Denise and I would find ourselves walking after the birth of our second child, David – and at that moment winning a game of football just seemed so pointless, such a worthless waste of time in the face of the real world events that unfolded. We were, after all, only kicking a ball about a field of grass. It hardly mattered one bit to those people still trapped in the rubble of that earthquake, to the millions of people who everyday had to eek out some sort of living from the harsh environs fate had allowed them to be born into. At times like that I have to ask myself, what the hell is the point in this stupid game, what on earth does it contribute to the fabric of the world. Then, running out in front of the crowd at Elland Road, we realise that for these people at least we bring a sense of belonging, joy and happiness, a tribal ambition that would perhaps otherwise be missing. It may not be the most important thing in the world, but for some unfathomable reason it touches to the very core of our souls.

As I look ahead to this third season in charge of Bradford Park Avenue, I have no real idea how long I will be here, or where this adventure will end up. The terraces and stands are far from full, only a few hundred people ever turn up for our home games. And yet for these few hardy, brave and foolish fans of this club, these games are just as important as the matches over at Old Trafford where many thousands gather to worship their idols. In the whole scheme of things, what Bradford Park Avenue achieve in this season or the next, will have very little impact. Few people would even be able to tell you the names of even one of our players, our matches mean nothing – except to those few hundred people who wearily make their way along each fortnight, fervently hoping, but probably never fully believing, that one day their team will run out at Wembley to lift the FA Cup.

I had a dream last night. The maze is bigger now, the paths more confusion and the voices are many. They call to me, and sometimes I wonder if I will ever find them. We better prepare ourselves, Denise, Lilly, David, Beccy, Nicola – and of course me. There is another member coming to join our little family, our band of travellers through this journey we call life.........

shannon2007

We stand on the precipice of another new footballing season. There is something about that build up to a new season that fills me with awe. For a very brief time, everyone is equal, and everyone has the same chance as anyone else of becoming the best team for that season, in their own division. Previous seasons are in the past, they no longer count at this exact moment in time and for a fleeting moment even supporters of the worst side in the land can see their team sit side by side on an equal footing with the rest.

A new season brings with it new hopes and fears. It is a blank canvass upon which anything has yet to be written, and for that time alone we can dare to write whatever we will upon it. For sure, for most clubs it will all go wrong, or at best be covered in mediocrity, but for now the window of dreams is here, and we can all look through in wonder at what just might be a season of rejoicing for our team. At Horsfall Stadium, home of Bradford Park Avenue, it is no different than it is anywhere else around the footballing world at this time of the season. We are full of hope – with a tint of fear.

For us, the fear is perhaps not as great as it will be for some. Indeed, we have more hope than fear and whether that hope is grounded in reality will soon be found out. Last season we won the Northern Premier Division by some thirteen points and lost only three games in the process. Neither myself, not my backroom staff, are convinced that this season will be all that much harder than last. For sure there are better quality teams here, but for sure we are building a side which, in my opinion anyway, can be more than a match for them.

And that is the crux of the feelings that surround any new season. Sure, we can believe our team will be successful. We can tell ourselves our new star centre forward will be a huge hit, thumping in three goals a game as we storm our way to the League title and pull off an FA Cup sensation against Arsenal at the Emirates Stadium. The story of this season is still to be told, and for just this brief period no-one can honestly deny us our dreams. Oh they can mock, they can tell us we are in for a rude awakening, but they, like us, stand on the same precipice, looking through the same small window and no-one can possibly know who is right and who is wrong.

Managing at this level of the game is both a joy, and a frustration. It is a joy because I believe that there is a much better atmosphere here, above and beyond that something special I feel is about this club. At bigger clubs, there is bigger expectation and with that comes bigger egos and very quickly you can be left with a bitter after taste in your mouth. For now at least, that has not happened here and I can only hope that it never will, even if we do go all the way to the highest level and bring home the ultimate in prizes. Yet there is a frustrating side to football which I think is more prevalent to this level. Every season so far, I have had to virtually rebuild my squad, for various reasons. There are no players here now who were running out for the Avenue when I first arrived, and that is partly because the only decent ones went to play somewhere else but mainly that the overwhelming majority were simply not good enough for the expectations and hopes I had in mind for this club.

When we do find decent players, who put in the effort and show some skill, then inevitably they will be snapped up by bigger clubs who can offer them far more than we ever could, and really I cannot fault any player who is tempted away from here for such an offer. We are part time, semi-professional and we simply cannot compete financially with the clubs in the Football League and even perhaps the top echelon of the Conference. My players have to go out and do an honest days work, before coming in for an hour or so of training and so when a club comes offering them a few hundred pounds a week just to play football, how on earth can we stand in their way.

Out two main preseason friendlies have gone rather well. Barry Town are a League of Wales side and whilst the standard may not be the best, they still had to be taken seriously and in front of just over one hundred fans we ground out a decent two all draw that gives us a little bit more hope for the season ahead. The other match was home to Mansfield Town, of the Coca-Cola League Two – Division Three for the oldies, Division Four for the even older oldies. A huge test, and whilst friendlies at the end of the day are just that, and cannot really tell us a sensible guide to our fortunes of the season ahead, nevertheless a win by single goal over a side with at least a whole division between us, cannot be a bad thing.

The page is still blank, but very shorty things will start to be written on that page. Whether, when we come to read over the story of this season, it will say we were successful or we were failures, I have no idea as yet. I cannot tell the future, and I have no visions that guide me in this matter. I feel we are good enough, not just to stay up but to battle for a second successive promotion. For now, I can like any other football minded person in the land, dream of what might be. And pray that reality will not be any harsher than the darkest nightmare of those dreams.

shannon2007

Benjamin Wakefield was a healthy, bouncing baby boy, weighing in at 7lbs and 2 ounces on his arrival into the world. His hair is the same darker brown of his sister Beccky and is more akin to mine, the other three children are all lighter blondes like their mother. He had light blue eyes when he was born, but already they are fading in an almost olive green colour which none of us have. Benjy, as will call him, is feeding well and seems content, there are no worries over his health and we can only thank the powers that be – which to Denise of course is God and for me is probably the same person except I'm still hedging my bets – for delivering us another beautiful child.

Whilst Benjy enjoys the adulation of his siblings and grandparents, his cousins and his Aunt and Uncle, my other son David has achieved something quite remarkable. Not only has he turned eight years old but he has just played his first match for the Bradford Park Avenue under 10 football team. To most people that probably does not sound like a particularly great achievement, except for the fact that he is playing with and against older boys, and can more than hold his own. David is a good player, he is fast and knows how to use the ball and for an eight year old has amazing tactical awareness. Like his sister Lilly, who played for our Girls U-12 team, he is in the side on merit and not because his father is manager of the club. I simply would not favour my children in such a way, as at the end of the day they need to be able to feel a sense of achievement of their own and the coaches who run these sides are more than capable themselves.

The fact is though that by rights, David should probably not even be playing football and indeed should probably not even be alive. As I watch my beloved eldest son running carefree, kicking a ball about the field and looking every bit the player I hope he might one day become – assuming he actually wants to of course – tears spring to my eyes and I cannot hold them back. These are not just tears of pride – and in all fairness to him, on his footballing skills alone I would feel much pride in my son, even I suppose if he were complete rubbish. Which he is not. - but these are also tears of joy, and thankfullness. Eight years ago, these same tears were of grief, and anger at a God who could put my wife and family, and a small helpless baby, through such torment.

David was born three months premature, for reasons the doctors could not even tell at the time – or were simply not telling us. His pregnancy had been a very tough one for Denise and she had spent a great deal of it at the hospital and at least twice feared she had miscarried in the earlier stages. There were fears after David's birth that we might not be able to have any more children, but that was the least of our worries as our tiny baby son battled for his very life in an incubator. It was touch and go for quite some time, and the doctors at one point told us to expect the worst. We were both of course distraught and at that point in our lives I think even Denise was even doubting God's existance. She would of course, eventually, have put it down to 'God's will', but personally any God who can 'will' such a situation is not someone I want to have any truck with.

As well as playing for their respective sides, both David and his sister are season ticket holders at the Avenue, as indeed is Denise. Of course, my wife and family could sit in the directors box and not pay, but it was their choice to pay their way and I am so happy that they actually want to turn up week after week to see football that is not always pretty. In fact sometimes I have seen better stuffed played by the Girls U-12 side, and that is not something my players are particularly happy with hearing when I tell them. It is though true, even if in reality I would expect my side to beat the U-21 Girls. I do though often wonder if they really would. Although Lilly enjoys her time playing the game for now, I do not think she will take it up full time as she has other activities that she will want to pursue . She is very gifted musically, which she takes from her mother, and is also really into tennis. In fact if she really wants to be, I think she could have a career in the game but she has not yet made up her mind as to whether she wants to take up tennis seriously, or concentrate on her music.

I think David will take up the game, even if he is only eight and really wants to be an astronaut or a fireman. He sometimes comes with me to the evening training sessions and joins in some of the bounce games and although my players do treat him with kid gloves – he is my son after all, and heaven help any of my players who any way made a bad tackle on him! - David shows some amazing skills. He will not, of course run out for our first team any time soon but perhaps one day I will be able to proudly include him my line up - I just hope it's not a live TV game as I will probably be shedding buckets of tears on his debut.

As we prepare for the first competitive match of the new season, in a higher division of course, our expectations are no less than they have been the two previous years. There is one thing though that both my family and my players want, that we have so far not been able to produce. A run to the third round of the FA Cup, and a home tie with a club like Chelsea or Liverpool or Manchester United. I cannot in all honesty guarantee such a thing will happen, we can only hope the gods of football smile kindly on us, and grant us our wish. Often though, that comes at a trade off and if that is relegation, then it will be no thank you very much. We have not come up to this league, just to go straight back down.

BarryLFC

You're right, the non-football parts are better. More flow, feeling and a different tone. The football part, such as it is so far, lacks something.

Great story though! :thup: