If you register for free, you will be able to post threads, vote on polls and lots more. If you have problems with the registration or logging in, please contact the administrator.
It’s perhaps a bit late to be starting a game with FM07, but I don’t really get into an in-depth game on the new version of FM until the first patch is released, anyway.
Game Status:
Version: 7.0.2
Nations: England, France, Germany, Italy, Holland, Northern Ireland, Portugal, Ireland, Scotland and Spain
Database: Large
Fake Players: Yes
Past Experience: Professional Footballer
Things change. There’s no doubt about it. Try to run away from it, if you will, but no matter what, the change will catch you. Why anyone would run from their destiny, is beyond me. People look down on change as if it’s a bad thing. A lot of times, people don’t appreciate all the doors that open up; they just sit in front of the one that just slammed in their face and wish they could unlock it.
Take, for example, me, Thomas Stewarts. I was just nineteen years old when I made my debut for my dream club. That’s right; I wore the sky blue shirt of Manchester. Now, I know what you’re going to say, I barely had enough time to break out a sweat in my only first-team appearance, but I played. I tasted my dream. I remember like it was yesterday. There were only two minutes left on the clock, and the gaffer put me on. We were winning 1-0, and we saw out the final moments. I wasn’t disappointed to have a debut like that. It was a breakthrough for me.
But then change caught up to me. I twisted me knee in training just three days after my debut. Damned boots were too large for me. I knew I should have said something when first trying them on, yet my naivety and youth showed through. I was too eager to get out and train with the first team. I sat on the sidelines for nine months. A whole football season passed before me, and all I could do was watch. When I finally recovered, I was so excited. The first thing I wanted to do was play a hundred matches for the team, and win them the trophy. But that was never going to happen. My knee didn’t heal properly, and as a result I lost my athleticism. I couldn’t twist and turn as I once could.
At the end of the week, after training, the manager called me into his office. He sat me down and looked at me hard, and I’ll never forget what he said to me. “Thomas,” he sighed. “Thomas, there is no doubt that you have a great understanding of the game for a teenager. It’s truly remarkable. But – your injury. It’s set you back. You don’t have the pace any more to be in the top leagues.” That last sentence rang through my head so many times that night. I cried myself to sleep.
I spent the rest of my short playing career playing for Stockport County, but at the age of twenty-six, a second injury to my knee retired me. My football career, however, was not yet over. The gaffer suggested I earn my coaching badges, and perhaps I could come back and sign on as a coach, or even assistant manager.
I took the course and earned my badges, but no job offer ever came from Stockport County, as the previous boss had been sacked, meaning I wouldn’t be getting the job there. However, my reputation exceeded my own expectations, and a flood of job offers came from clubs as high as the Championship. I managed two clubs over three years, with no real points of interest.
I was back on the market again at the age of thirty-three. There was no doubt I was young for a manager, and that would probably be a great turn off for the boards at larger clubs. That’s why the phone call I received on one summer’s evening in 2006 was such a surprise to me.
The sudden rattling sound of the vibrating phone on a wooden surface was enough to make even the calmest person jump. My heart was racing from the sudden silence shattering buzz, which soon stopped as I lifted the phone from the desk and put it to my ear.
“Thomas Stewarts here,” I tried to hide my curiosity. It was relatively late on a week night, and I had no idea who could be calling at a time like this, and the unknown number that showed didn’t give any hints. I suppose the answer wasn’t far away.
“Ah, good, just the man I’m looking for,” It wasn’t a voice I’d recognize. The man on the other end sounded very deep and jovial and… casual.
“May I ask who is calling? And what your business is?” After saying it, I regretted sounding overly formal, but despite the man’s cheery tone, my gut was telling me that this man only wanted to speak business.
“Ah, but of course! How rude of me, Mr. Stewarts,” the man let out a soft chuckle. “My name is David Morgan. I am the Chairman of the Board at Manchester City Football Club. I’ve got a business proposition for you, my good man.”
My heart raced. It had been all over the news lately that the previous City manager had been sacked, and the Board was looking for a young, exciting manager to take his place. I never thought it could be me. Now, I could be jumping the gun yet. “A business proposition, you say? What exactly are we talking about here?”
“Ahah! Cut straight to the chase, of course. I like that. We want to talk numbers, Mr. Stewarts. I’m sure you are aware that our club is without a manager at this moment?”
I closed my eyes in disbelief. “Yes, I am aware.”
“Well, what would you say if I asked you to take this job?”
“I would have to say that it would be my dream job. I’ve been a City fan my entire life and-”
“I know this fact, Mr. Stewarts. That’s part of the reason we have chosen you.”
“And the other part?” I asked, my curiousity growing.
“A handful of influential people have put in a good word for you, Mr. Stew- Do you mind if I call you Tom?” I almost thought Mr. Morgan was playing with me. This would quite possibly be the biggest decision of my life, and he wants to find a suitable nickname…
“I’d really rather you didn’t, sir.” I don’t know why, I just never liked Tom as a name. I don’t care if my nickname was something totally random, like Minty - just don’t call me Tom. “Thomas is fine. Or Minty.”
“Minty?”
“Never mind. Just Thomas, please.”
“Yes, well. Back to my point. We’ve had a few people speak highly of you, and I’d like it if you could come in tomorrow morning and meet some of the staff and have a tour. If you like it, we can talk numbers over lunch, if not, we’d appreciate your time.”
I gave it a few brief moments of silence, as if to pretend I was thinking it over. My mind was almost made up as it is. “Okay, Mr. Morgan. I’ll come by tomorrow. What time should we start?”
“Ten o’clock should be good. I’ll see you then.”
“Have a fine evening, sir.” I said before hanging up.
Reaching the Sky 
Linear Mode
