Peacemaker7

David Murray was hopping mad. Literally.

'Fer fuxsake!' he shouted in frustration, 'Where the hell is it!'

'Whats up dear?' Mrs Murray asked as she popped het head timidly into the bedroom to see what was causing her husband's annoyance this time.

'Its my left leg' Murray screamed wildly, 'I cant fuking find it.'

'Oh dear' Mrs Murray tutted softly, 'I think Lucy has been playing the three legged race again. I'll have a look round for it later dear'

'Later?!' Murray exploded, 'LATER?!? I need it now you stupid woman, I have a meeting with the new club manager. I can't just hop in on one leg!'

'Now now dear, there''s no need to get annoyed. I've told you before not to leave your legs lying around where the grandchildren can play with them, it's your own fault!'

'Never mind all that sh!t you daft bitch, what the hell am I going to do?!'

'Now now dear, why don't you just use the broomstick again, like you did when you appointed Alex McLeish. He seemed to work out quite well.'

Murray hopped off to the broom cupboard. 'This is so bloody demeaning' He squealed, 'I'm going to give that girl a damn good thrashing when I find her.'

'Now dear you're turning into Paul McCartney with that kind of talk. We'll have no violence here or I'll hide your other leg too. Then where will you be?'

'Sometimes I wonder why the hell I married you' Murray stormed out of the house - at least as stroming as you can get when you're using a broomstick as a fake leg, and ordered the driver to take him to Ibrox as quick as possible. The legendary young French manager Paul Le Guen was waiting to be introduced to the players, and Murray needed to be there to show him who was boss. Le Guen might be the best young manager in the game, but he would need to know his place at Ibrox right from the off.

And to realise there simply was no money to spend. Murray would be retiring soon and he needed that money to fund his extravagent plans. Le Guen would just have to accept that, and if he didn't, tough his contract was binding for three years and David Murray would be damned if this guy didn't restore the club to it's glory days.

Stepping out from the car as it pulled up in front of the front doors of Ibrox Stadium, as a crowd of Rangers fans singing innocent songs about killing the Pope stood around him, Murray forget for a second that his left leg was somewhere in his granddaughters playroom - and promptly fell flat on his face.

''It's going to be one of those days' He growled.

And it was indeed.

Peacemaker7

Steve MacDonald was sick and tired of that 'joke'. No I'm not the bloke from Coronation Street, no I don't own a Mercedes and no I don't want to shag ..... oh actually wait on that last one you're not that bad looking.

Eighteen years in the army had toughened Steve and although his stint had been mainly in countries like India and Malaysia and he had never actually shot anyone to their death, he still had felt he had served his country well and deserved a lot more than the crap pension he had gotten and the nose that had been broken three times in the line of duty. Well, in the line of playing football for the British Army (Malaysia) team.

At 40 years old, never having risen above Lance-Corporal due to the fact that Steve MacDonald had a mind of his own and too frequently spoke it, it was time to leave the Army and concentrate on civilian life. Yet within a few weeks Steve realised that civilian life in his native Scotland was not the most appealing and he longed to be back in Malaysia again where it was at least warm and there were no neds. Steve wished he had his gun when he walked down Sauchiehall street on a Saturday afternoon.

Steve still had contacts in Malaysia and people knew that he had once upon a time been keen to get into coaching. A phone call one sunny afternoon would change his whole life forever.

'Herro, Meester MacDonawd?'

Steve growled at the thought of yet another call from a centre in asia where the people could barely speak English but wanted to sell him insurance, or double glazing or heroin.

'Look I'm getting sick of this!' MacDonald screamed down the phone - it was it seems, a day for screaming.

'I am most solly' The voice on the other end interjected 'to have upset onowable Steve MacDonald. Pwease, I must ask you to fowgive me'

Steve was a bit taken aback by this and it prevented him from just slamming the phone down.

'Thats ok Bud' he calmed down ' I'm sure you're only doing your job, but I really don't want whatever you're selling'

'Ah' The voice said quietly, 'Me so solly, but had head that Steve MacDonald, brave soldier hero, might be intewested in being football manager no?'

And that is how Steve MacDonald, former British Army soldier and not crossroads or coronation street character, had ended up in Malaysia as manager of Kelantan Tenaga Nasional Berhad. At least he had flown to Malaysia and signed contracts and all that boring stuff, but you can take that for granted. I mean there wouldn't be a story if that wasn't the case, now would there.

Peacemaker7

The press were assembled in the Blue Room, everything was in place as Rangers Chairman and owner David Murray entered to take his seat at the podium. Le Guen had not arrived yet it seemed, as seated at the Podium were John Grieg, Martin Bain and some guy that Murray had never seen before. Probably a journo in the wrong seat.

Murray decided to play it cool, taking Bain aside and asking, 'Get rid of the idiot'.

'Thats no way to speak about a Rangers legend' Bain replied fiercely.

'I don't mean Griegy you twit, I mean the idiot with the stupid grin on his face sitting beside Griegy'

Bain looked puzzled. 'You mean get rid of the new manager?'

Murray exploded, 'The fuking what now?'

'The new manager of Rangers. Well you were the one that gave him the contract David, not me.'

'B...b...but. Fer fuxsake Martin, that man sitting there is not Paul Le Guen!'

Bain looked more bemused. 'I know that David, but I just assumed Paul had changed his mind and this guy was your next choice'

'Well this is nonsense' Murray blasted, 'lets find out what the hells going on here before we make complete and utter fools out of ourselves. Tell the press there's been a slight delay and get Griegy to bring the sad twit to my office. Pronto.'

David Murray had no idea what was going on here, but if this was some kind of practical joke there would be hell to pay. He half suspected it was, and that Paul Le Guen was actually hiding behind the door of his office waiting for him, a huge grin on that stupid French face of his. In fact so concvinced was he of that scenario, he actually opened the door fast and shouted, 'the games up Paul' hoping he had had the frog bastard on the nose.

The office was empty. Paul Le Guen, if he was here, was certainly not here.

A few seconds later Grieg and Bain ushered the now not grinning chap into the office and before anyone could speak, Murray shouted, 'Just who the hell are you and what have you done with my manager!'

The stranger looked startled. 'I am sorry. I am not understanding?'

'Don't pull that one with me mate, the jokes gone on long enough. It ends here.'

The stranger was looking like he might burst into tears. 'I am how you say, confused? You give me job, now you say no have job?'

'I didn't give you any fuking job you joker'

'Yes yes, I show you. Here is contract you sent to me and I sign and keep copy.'

Murray snatched the piece of paper from the strangers hand. It was a contract of employment all right, on official Rangers paper, and he had signed it all right. A three year contract for a certain Paul Le Guen. But this bloke was not Le Guen!

'You are NOT Paul Le Guen!' Murray shouted

'No I am not. I am Paulo Le Guenne, like it say on paper. So pleased to meet you'

And now, when he looked at it again, the contract was indeed made out to and signed by, not Paul Le Guen, but Paulo Le Guenne. Someone had fuked up big time. And that someone was going to be in serious trouble!

Peacemaker7

It was true that Steve had carried dreams of becoming a football manager. He had known whilst playing that he would never be any special as a player - but as a manager he just knew he would make it. He felt he had a good tactical mind, and his army discipline he would instil into his players and they would become a unit who would fight and die for each other. Although not literally of course, because it would be kind of akward to explain to the board that a new left back was needed because the last one had died in the line of duty.

Yet even as he travelled back to Malaysia, he still could not quite grasp that fact that he was ready to live his dream. It might not be the dream of leading his team out at Wembley or Hampden or the San Siro, but it was still a dream and it was sure to be exciting. Steve had little idea what to expect but when he did finally arrive, everything he had ever expected was blown out of the water. Stepping from the private chartered plane into the hot Malaysian sunshine, he was greeted by two men in suits who seemed really pleased to see him.

'You are MacDonald? I am Zainal Ahmad Shag, Chaiwman of the club, and this be my loyal assistant Abdul Azis Mat Jelani'

The two men bowed low and Steve had to use all his composure not to laugh at the thought that his boss was a Shag. It was only months later that he found out the guys name was shot Shag but Shah, which somehow wasn't quite so funny.

The trip to stadium in the limo was enjoyable and seeing as these two gentlemen were obviously used to the high life it figured they were well off and therefore the club would surely be in good standing. It was therefore a shock to the system when the limo pulled up in front of what could only be described as a corrugated iron shed. This, Steve was soon to find out, was the main stand. In fact it was the only stand, and it was named well because in fact you had to stand in it. There were no seats.

Steve was taken aback because he had expected more given that Kelantan TNB were in the Dunhill Premier Division. Later he found out this was in fact the second level of Malaysian football. The club had no training facilities at all, practically no youth set up - although strangely there were a glut of young teens registered for them - and were valued at around £12,000. Which is peanuts. In fact its less than peanuts. Its simply pee.

To bring success to this club was going to take a hell of a doing, and Steve did think about running away. The two men with guns on either side of the his bosses as they escorted him back to limo made him feel that just perhaps that would not be a good idea. Still, once he met the players, instilled some good old fashioned discpline into them, how hard could it be. Pretty soon this club would be rolling in success.

Sure.

HD

They love you long time.

Peacemaker7

Paulo Le Guenne has been both stunned and delighted when he awoke one morning to find a letter from Rangers chairman David Murray and a contract to sign to be manager of the club. Of course it did seem a strange way to conduct business given that Paulo had not even had an interview, but given his poor grasp of English the Belgian had simply assumed such things were taken for granted in England. It was over six months living in the Glasgow area before he came Paulo came to terms with the fact this was not England, but Scotland. It was a harsh lesson to learn.

Paulo Le Guenne was Belgian. This handicap though had not prevented him becoming a very average player of the game of football, making his mark with Ghent and Bruges and gaining the remarkable total of zero international caps. Le Guenne had always told himself that he could easily have represented Belgium, but had been holding out for the call from France, whom he would have been eligble to play for through his long dead mother. The call never came, time passed and too much chocolate had made Paulo Le Guenne a lazy fat bastard and he ended up making no international appearances for anyone.

As a manager he had been a coach for a very brief spell at Lyon under Paul Le Guen but had been sacked becuase Le Guen had believed Paulo to be taking the pish. Paulo moved to Ghent where had been a hero as a player - a hero in his own mind at least, and was happy there until the call from Rangers came. It would be eighteen years later before the penny dropped that in fact David Murray had intended to appoint Paul le Guen. Paulo never was the brightest spark. He was Belgian.

David Murray had little choice but to accept Paulo Le Guenne as his new manager - either that or pay out a massive lawsuit and face the embarrasment of having to admit to having appointed the wrong guy. Murray never could admit when he was wrong, and sure as hell was not going to start now. The Rangers support, howling for both his and the new managers blood before a ball was even kicked of the preseason, would just have to get used to their new bloke - and enduring the endless, good hearted ribbing from the fans of the club on the other side of Glasgow. Although you would think Queen's Park would have their own worries.

There was very little money to spend, and Le Guenne would have to go with the squad of players at his disposal at least, Murray informed him, until the New Year and then they would see where things stood. The Rangers fans though were not the only ones to be totally flummoxed by the new Belgian's appointment - Jeremy Clement in particular was incensed that he had been brought to the club under false pretences but there was little he, or anyone else could do for now.

David Murray though had already made plans to hire a hitman.

Just in case.

Spav

Rangers are getting the PM7 treatment again.

I'll be interested to see how the Scotland and Malaysia threads tie in (if they ever do).

Joenaldo

I hardly can't wait to see more of this story. I hope it will turn out as good as your Saxemara story.

Hope you have luck with your Belgian coach ( believe it or not, we do have great coaches!!)

Peacemaker7

Thanks

I'm hoping this story will be an epic, throwing all my eggs into one basket really to save having to start various new games!

Peacemaker7

What do you do when you turn up for your first day at work as the boss, and discover that 99.99% of your employees simply cannot do the job? Get rid of them of course. The problem for Steve was, getting rid of the crap that was here was fine enough - but he would only be able to replace them with other crap. Lets face it, no-one who could kick a ball wanted to come and play in Malaysia, not even Gazza.

'The Ball!' Steve shouted in yet another frustrating training session which took place as usual at the tiny Langkawi Development Authority stadium. 'The idea is to pass the fuking ball you morons!'

'Velly Solly' came the almost unanimous reply from the squad. 'We will learn master Sreve, please not be angry with us, we have many sisters!'

It didn't matter how many sisters these guys had, it would be nowhere near enough for Steve to get to the point where he could consider them decent enough footballers. It was true though that he did take up one or two offers of 'companionship' - after all, it was better then the 2 dolla, me love you long time whores that hung about the streets. He really wished the cleaners would stop doing that.

There were two saving graces for the players, a squad that had when Steve investigated further, finished 7th in the Dunhill Premier last season. One was the obvious fact that although his squad were utter pish, so in fact were most other ones. It wasn't as if Malaysia was a hot bed of fooballing talent - it was other bed related activities that were famous here and we're not talking about Gary Glitter. The other hope for the future was this - the future was a long time away.

It had been July when Steve had signed on the dotted line - the Malaysian season didn't restart till January. Plenty of time to batter this squad into shape then.

'Fer fuk sake, the ball is the round object... oh I give up, go home losers.'