retired_w0lfpack1

Saturday, 17th July, 2004.

"I think they're overbidding in their excitement," I told Barrie.

The first few faxes from other teams had arrived, most indicating why they couldn't care less about the players I had on offer: fair enough, I wouldn't want them either. We did get two £0 bids for useless winger John Fowler, he of the stunning inability to get a cross in.

I was only half-joking - in American sports, where there are roster-size limits, teams will often pay another to take a player off their books: usually less than his salary, of course, but some of these lot I would pay to see off my pitch.

I spent the majority of my time tinkering with the new 4-4-2 formation I would try in our upcoming home friendly, the narrow 2-1-1 midfield configuration with no wingers, since I seem to lack players capable of playing out wide. I also made an offer to a 23-year-old wing who my scout recommended, but the lad indicated that he had no intention of coming anywhere near Lancaster in his career.

We also worked on the squad's training regime a bit - I asked the lads to step it up, making the preseason training a lot more rigorous. It would be a lot of cross country running and wind sprints under my regime!

retired_w0lfpack1

Sunday, 18th July, 2004. Friendly, vs Cambridge

The Giant Axe is just downhill from Lancaster Railway Station, overlooked by Lancaster Castle. The castle is a truly breathtaking sight, a mammoth structure perched atop the hill and overlooking all of Lancaster City. The stadium sits almost in its shadow. The main 'grandstand' is a stand of plastic seats provided by our sponsor, perhaps 20 rows which run about a third of the length of the field. The opposite touch line has a covered standing area, with a structure to keep the rain off the crowd, which extends around behind one goal. There is theoretical standing room at the other side, but in Northern English weather I'll be very surprised to see it filled.

Google Maps: The Giant Axe

It was a warm, sunny Sunday afternoon.. but the pitch felt nearly deserted. The paying attendance was announced at 83, a far cry from the chanting, singing crowds of 40,000 which one sees on the televised matches. Somehow when I'd taken this job, I'd imagined the latter. But, Morecambe are the local club which draw support, and a meaningless friendly for a team that wasn't generating much interest locally drew only the friends and family of the players, plus one or two die-hard fans.

The match was the debut for my 'Narrow 4-4-2' formation, so lovingly worked on during the week. I started a group that was pretty much who I had 'in the lead' for my starting XI: Jamie Speare in goal, Andy Scott, Martin Clark, Joe McMahon, and Neil Uberschar across the back line, Gary Bauress and Steve Birks at the DMC positions, Chris Beech in central midfield, Phil Clarkson in the AMC role, and Peter Thomson starting up front with Michael Yates.

We had the better of the match early on, with Beech blazing a shot over the bar on about the fifth minute. For the first fifteen, it looked like the new formation was very solid defensively, but then Cambridge got off two great shots, one in the 15th barely wide of the post and one in the 20th which Speare just managed to divert wide, a fantastic save.

We came back a few minutes later, with a long ball to Yates, who played a diagonal ball to space. Clarkson ran onto it at about the penalty spot. His shot went wide of the post, to a united groan from our bench and the meagre crowd. From that point on, we applied heavy pressure throughout the half, which Cambridge was lucky to weather.

0-0 at halftime, and all to play for. I was happy with the side, and happy with the tactic, so I made no changes, just told the lads it was clear who the better side was, now go out and get your goal. All that changed sixty seconds into the second half, though, as Clark was whistled for a dubious foul about 30 yards from our goal. Richard Scott took it, and curled a glorious shot into the upper right corner of Speare's net - we were 0-1 down.

As the half progressed, we continued to mount more and more pressure, but could not convert. Around the 60th minute, I began warming up my first subs, Ryan-Zico Black and Paul Sparrow, who would go on for Clarkson and Clark. Neither was involved in the telling play, but it began just after they came in. Steve Birks drilled a long ball into the box from the right wing, and found Peter Thomson on a far-post run. Thomson had slipped all the defenders, and arrived just as the ball did to head it past the Cambridge keeper from about five yards out. Just like that, we'd gotten level at 1-1!

By the 78th minute, I'd made eleven substitutions, as the hot day took its toll, and I still wanted to see my other players. The new formation continued to look very solid defensively, and neither side had any real chances through the final fifteen minutes and injury time.

[B]Lancaster 1, Cambridge 1[B]
Thomson 66; Scott 47
MoM: Yeomans

The selection of reserve goalkeeper Ryan Yeomans as man of the match made me laugh out loud: I'm sure the local newspaperman didn't even watch the match, as Yeomans was brought on when Speare picked up a knock late in the second half. He played 18 minutes, and didn't record a single save.

Surely Thomson's goal, Birks' long ball, or Speare's spectacular first-half save were more worthy of the honor!

Shermanez

Good to see Jamie 'Spearo' Speare getting a write-up. Stanley legend. He was part of the team that kick started the Stanley side you see today in the Football League. :thup:

Good luck with the story, and all that.

retired_w0lfpack1

Thank you kindly, Gino!

retired_w0lfpack1

Wednesday, 21st July, 2004.

"Whose ... bright ... idea ... was this?" I wheezed.

"Yours..." player/coach Gary Bauress answered, equally winded.

He was right - it had been.

Frustrated with a number of players who seemed to be 'dogging it' in training, I'd announced that anyone who didn't finish ahead of both the coach and the old man would be fined a week's wages - and cut outright the second time. It didn't look like today, the first day of that policy, had proven anything other than the fact that the 'old man' was sixty pounds overweight and seriously out of shape; everyone had finished ahead of me.

I checked my watch: we'd come in right at the median time for Tuesday's run, so the whole group had run faster today. Judging from the way Mark Thornley lay gasping for air on the grass, I wondered if it might be the last thing he did. In the States, I knew to dial '911' for an emergency - it occurred to me that I'd never asked how to call for help in England!


Ashton United secured the coup of the Conference North preseason yesterday, when they signed former England international Paul Gascoigne to a one-year deal. I was green with envy, of course, and a bit angry with my useless scout for failing to notify me that the famous forward - even Americans have heard of him! - was willing to consider a Conference North side. I did have to admit that Ashton were a better side to go to, if you were coming to this level.

At any rate, the local press was much abuzz with the news, and wondered who we were pursuing. The answer to that was an unsigned right winger who used to play for Manchester United - but I'd been badly outbid. Carl Richardson had, indeed, found a gem of a player, but he'd failed to consider the competition: both Sevilla and Zaragoza had made bids for him. I doubted he'd pass up the chance to play in Spain to come to the less-than-illustrious Giant Axe.

retired_w0lfpack1

Thursday, 22nd July, 2004.

I can't believe I'm taking scout Carl Richardson's word for anything, but I got hurried into it. He recommended 19-year-old attacking midfielder David Mellor, who interested me because he could play both centrally and on the left wing, and then Mellor's agent informed us that other teams were making offers for his player. I put in a bid - a minimum-salary part-time offer, and much to my surprise Mellor accepted: we'd out-bid three other teams.

We also saw the last of two players. Hapless winger John Fowler had butchered his last cross, at least for us, and accepted Radcliffe Boro's offer. Aged goalkeeper Glenn Johnstone came to terms with Bradford Park Avenue - a club I'd read of in that famous football novel 'The Legend of Jason Young'. I bid them both "farewell", and they headed off for the Lancaster train station.

After interviewing four candidates for the Assistant Manager position, I made an offer to unknown 25-year-old Kevin Hull, whose resume was nearly bare: like me, he had done some youth league managing. His previous professional experience was as the only staff on a semi-pro women's team.

Well, he'd be used to our small crowds, at least!

retired_w0lfpack1

Friday, 23rd July, 2004.

"Wales? Llangefni? What sadist scheduled this pre-season?"

I was grumbling to myself, mostly, as I perused our upcoming fixture, but Gary overheard me. "It's part of some promotion," he told me. "Nine english clubs travelling to Wales, to face nine Welsh sides. But that's not the bad one, Skipper," he went on. "Have you seen our Tuesday fixture?"

"Yes," I said, reluctantly. "Ballyclare. So?" As I saw his amused expression, I knew to add, "Where's that?"

"Northern Ireland," he answered with a laugh, "And if you think travelling by coach is bad, wait 'til you see the ferry."

retired_w0lfpack1

Saturday, 24th July, 2004. Friendly, vs Llangefni

It was a long drive: Llangefni is out on Anglesey, an island off the Welsh coast, but the town itself is friendly and inviting, set a short ways inland. It was a warm day, yet the crowd was familiar: a paltry 106 turned out to watch our budding international rivalry.

Peter Thomson, hero of the Cambridge match, was the early goat today, first missing our best chance of the first half, and then earning a yellow card for dissent, an outburst I won't often tolerate. Young Joe McMahon was playing very well, anchoring our defense as they rebuffed Welsh attack after Welsh attack, but the pressure was too strong: on the 36th minute, Chris Smith picked up a loose clearance in our box, and slotted it home past a sprawling Jamie Pearce. 0-1 to the Welshmen.

I gave the lads a bit of a talking to at halftime, and made my planned changes: all four starting midfielders out, and youngsters in, including recent signing Dave Mellor at AMC. From about the 60th to 70th minutes, Mellor, Tony Sullivan and Ryan-Zico Black created a flurry of chances, but none of their shots were on target. Shooting practice would be in order, I thought. By the 70th minute, all of the Llangefini substitutions had been made, and I thought we'd be able to muster more of an assault against their reserves. The well had run dry, however, and we didn't get another shot off despite my late tactical adjustments to try and get more players involved in the attack.

So this was the 'agony of defeat', as they used to say on the intro to 'ABC's Wide World of Sports': I'm sure every American lad can conjure up the images. "The thrill of victory," the voice-over intoned, accompanied by a race car driver taking the checkered flag and then the driver kissing the cup as champagne sprayed... "And the agony of defeat," in the same almost flat voice as a skiier tumbled in a spectacular accident. Judging from the hanging heads as we trudged off the pitch, it would be an equally long coach ride home.

Llangefini 1, Lancaster 0
Smith 36; ---
MoM: McMahon

The bright spot was definitely the performance of young central defender Joe McMahon, who deservedly earned the Man of the Match. He played 76 minutes, and led both teams in tackles and headers won. "Very well played," I told him, noting to myself that he was certainly staking a claim to a starting role.

retired_w0lfpack1

Sunday, 25th July, 2004.

When I arrived back in my office the following morning, a fax awaited me: a contract signed by young Kevin Hull. I countersigned it, and faxed the final version on back to my new Assistant Manager.

I called Barrie Stimpson into my office, intending to explain to him that his services were no longer needed. I had a nice speech thought out in my head, how it wasn't about him, a younger man was willing to work for less. I was going to tactfully avoid mentioning that Hull was simply much better at the job, and thank Barrie for loyally taking care of the club during these last weeks of transition.

I barely got a chance to get started on that speech. As soon as he got the gist, Barrie got angry. He slammed two hands down on my desk, and said, "Listen, lad, you can't sack me. I've five years left on my contract, and under English contract law, you have to pay me for all five years, whether I work them or not. We call it 'gardening leave'. So, IF you were to fire me, the club would owe me..." He paused for a moment, doing the math in his head, "...oh, about £130,000. And we both know the club doesn't have that kind of money. So don't even think about firing me."

I began to regret offering Hull a similar five-year deal. Frightening - and I'd just countersigned Hull's contract, so now I'd have two assistant managers, which the club really couldn't afford. Thinking on my feet, I decided to try a different approach with Barrie, and attempted to talk him down out of his anger.

I wound up by offering to keep him on as a coach - at the same wages! - for the rest of the season, and I think I made it sound like that had been my plan all along. I told him that would give him plenty of time to find other work, and swore that he'd be free to leave at any time if he had other offers.

He grudgingly promised he would think about it, and left without slamming the door, but I felt I'd done irretrievable harm to our previously congenial relationship.

retired_w0lfpack1

Tuesday, 27th July, 2004. Friendly, at Ballyclare.

Barrie was back in my office Tuesday morning, waiting for me before I got in for our trip to Ireland, in fact. "I've thought about it," he told me, "And I'll take the coaching position. Like you said, a year's more than enough to find another position, and the club certainly can't afford to pay two of us to fill the same role any more than it could pay compensation for sacking me. If the lad is your hand-picked assistant, I'll step aside and let you two get on with it." He tried to add a smile, but I could see it really pained him to contemplate stepping aside - well, he'd surely been one of the contenders for my job, and to go from nearly Manager down to a coach on a short-term contract in a span of weeks would be tough on anyone. I thanked him for his professionalism and courtesy, and said I'd be relying on him a lot this year.

Then it was off to Ireland, and despite Gary's ominous admonition the previous week, the ferry from Liverpool to Dublin was actually quite pleasant: its a good-sized ship, containing hundreds of automobiles, lorries, and coaches, and large enough that nobody got seasick despite the choppy Irish Sea.

When we got to the ground, my heart was warmed, for the 88 Irish fans were singing! After seeing this on television from the States, I'd always wanted to be in a stadium where the fans sing - its a tradition we Americans sadly lack. There they were, in full song, bless their hearts.

I'd tried to get a baseball crowd singing, once, which led to some taunts, and the following immortal exchange:

"Give it up, will ya?"

"The English do it at soccer games!"

"The English are DRUNK at soccer games!"


In the locker room, I announced that we were going to start with a more traditional 4-4-2, as I wanted to get my two wingers involved in the match. The squad was well overhauled from our Welsh matchup, as I put in most of the fringe players who were looking for a spot.

Ryan Yeomans got the start in goal, and nearly earned an assist on the 5th minute! He launched a goal kick straight down the center of the pitch, and it bounced past the last defender. Tony Sullivan ran it down, but blazed his shot just over the bar. It was the signal of a tremendous first half - real end to end stuff and plenty of chances for both sides. Yeomans made three fine saves, while the Irish keeper foiled all of our chances, and we went into the half with a 0-0 scoreline, though Ballyclare had out-shot us nearly two to one. I made few changes at halftime, just a couple of planned substitutions.

The lads were used to close games by this point. It was the combination of Neil Uberschar and Peter Thomson that broke the deadlock - Uberschar launched a long ball from his right sideline, finding Thomson on a far-post run. The wily striker eluded double coverage, and leapt just in front of the keeper to head it home from about 3 yards out. That silenced the Irish crowd for the first time all night - and given us a lead for the first time since that opening match in Blyth!

At the 63rd minute, with both my wingers tiring, I switched to that tough defensive narrow formation, making wholesale changes including a change in goal and most of the midfield. Ballyclare began pushing forward in earnest, running something which looked like a 4-2-4, but it left a lot of space at the back, which fresh-legged Michael Yates was able to exploit. His shot went just wide of the post.

In the 76th minute, Steve Birks blazed a free kick over the bar. Our tight defending, however, was doing a great job, denying them a single chance. Finally, the frustration began to tell, and when a call went against the Irish side in injury time, they erupted into argument with the referee, which prompted him to hand out a pair of yellows and blow the whistle to end the match! We'd won, 1-0!

Ballyclare 0, Lancaster 1
---; Thomson 54
MoM: Welsby

Oddly, Kevin Welsby was named Man of the Match, in preference to Ryan Yeomans - despite the fact that Welsby didn't face a single shot in his 30 minutes of action. Strange. The lads were rowdy and boisterous on the way home - I hadn't figured the ferry would have a bar, but it did, and its a good thing they weren't driving after we disembarked.