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Jefferson was not au fait with all the nuances of football at a professional level. In fact he knew nothing much about it at all.
By sheer chance his side were competitive against Dumbarton in their first game, but lost 1-0. Similarly they were on a par with Stenhousemuir, though this time it was the Spiders who had the goal. Livingston, it transpired, played two divisions below Queen's Park, but still had the quality to win 1-0 and not give Aurelio's team a sniff.
After a 0-0 draw at home to East Stirling, O'Callaghan paid Jefferson a visit:
How goes it?
Dull. Four games in and we've scored one, lost two and nothing much happens in the games. It bores me. I hate football.
Look for inspiration, look inside yourself.
Talk yer pĂ*sh.
Little did Jefferson know, the season had started before he arrived at the club, Berwick being defeated 3-0 and East Fife triumphing 3-1, but those had been Third Division fixtures.
Not paying any heed to looking inside himself, Jefferson told his players to score more, and four wins followed, 3-2 over Albion Rovers, 4-1 over Montrose, 2-0 at Stranraer, live on Setanta, and 3-2 at home to Forfar.
Next thing he knew, Aurelio was the toast of the town, all over the papers, receiving the Manager of the Month trophy, one of his charges taking the Player of the Month prize and another the Goal of the Month award. Bizarre to say the least.
A history scholar by nature, and with Ancient Egypt a particular interest, Jefferson was struggling to come to terms with this game and how seriously everybody took it.
Suppose, however (he thought, whilst supping on a warm bowl of Coco Pops which had been sitting in his office for three hours), the switch that put me here left me some clues. O'Callaghan knows what's what. Maybe history is the key?
Fully aware that the Pharaohs were a mighty power in Egypt of old, he was ecstatic to see a number of players on the 'transfer list' claiming to be of that descent. Accordingly he snapped up a few, and sent them out to do their worst, or would have if he knew their names. Instead he sent out the same bunch of lads, beating Elgin, taking a gubbing from Berwick and drawing at home to East Fife.
It was clear that he had as much control over his team as his granny had over her comical if tragicically frequent self defecation.
Patience, I have to work today. Though just at half speed, given that it's Friday!!
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