Terk

November brought the draw for the first round of the FA Cup, and we were given a seemingly simple tie against Aldershot. Even though it would see us on our travels, I would have been stupid not to be reasonably confident, but as ever with such games, the words 'giant' and 'killing' would rest in my mind until we had successfully seen them off.

Eugène Dadi was packed off to Rochdale on loan for three months before we faced Brentford in the LDV Vans Trophy, which had now progressed to the second round of the southern section. Our visitors were sitting a comfortable ninth in League One, and with my decision to field a number of players more used to our reserve team set up, there was every possibility that we would be knocked out. Certainly, I did not expect us to trounce Brentford out of sight. By half time we were two goals to the good, Adam Nowland and Ross Gardner getting forward from midfield to score. The second period went even better, Gardner setting up Liam Fox for our third, with Claus Jørgensen and young striker Sam Litchfield rounding off the result in the final ten minutes.

The quarter final draw of the southern section gave us another potentially tricky tie, this time a visit to Bournemouth. I resolved then and there to make it even more tricky by continuing to field fringe and reserve players. It was, quite frankly, a tournament that my regulars could do without, given the number of games they would have to play anyway.

Bloomfield Road was our next league destination as we travelled to face Blackpool, a side whose predicted mid-table season had started exactly on course. We controlled much of the first twenty minutes, pulling two stunning saves from home 'keeper Brad Jones, but the entire dynamic of the match changed in the twenty-second mintue. As Blackpool striker John Murphy was set clear by a ball from his strike partner Kiegan Parker, Clint Hill deliberately caught his heels and sent him tumbling to the ground. Referee had no choice but to send Hill off as he had been the last defender, and with Nicky Eaden sent on to replace Lassana Diarra we struggled to come with our diminished numbers. The home side swarmed forward in an attempt to take the lead before the break, but inspired performances from Danny Cullip, John Curtis and Rune Pedersen kept us level into the interval. A reorganisation gave us a better balance in the second period, and within sixty seconds of it we had found the lead. Cullip's ball was swept into the net by Beaumont, andtwo minutes later Cullip was on the scoresheet himself, netting from the penalty spot after Dean Gorré had handballed. Blackpool had simply been stunned into submission, and the points were sealed with two goals from David Johnson.

Given the fact that Clint's red card was fully deserved, there was no appeal made against the one match ban placed upon him, though I also indirectly held him responsible for the groin strain that Curtis suffered during the match, obviously caused by all the extra effort needed.

The league got its first managerial casualty before we took to the field again, Paul Merson was relieved of his duties at Walsall with the club lying in a lowly eighteenth position. Any such moment is bound to make you think of the fragility of your own position, even if, as we were, you're top of the league with the sun shining and the birds singing.

Having netted twice against Blackpool after being brought on as a substitute, David Johnson was given the nod to start in our Carling Cup game against Middlesbrough. The fourth round tie at the Riverside was undoubtedly the biggest game I had taken part in, either as manager or player, though sadly I was not in the slightest bit confident that we could overcome our Premiership opponents. With a bunch of foreign softies in their side, I figured the -5°C weather and flurries of snow could only benefit our more homegrown squad, though having said that I did have a Jamaican leading the line. The game started badly, we were forced to make a change when Warnock damaged his ankle ligaments in a challenge in the tenth minute, Yacine Abdessadki having to use his natural left-footedness to make the switch from right wing to left back. To compound our woes, we were two behind before the half hour had been passed, Yakubu breaking free and slotting his shot past Pedersen and Hasselbaink doing the same three minutes later. We pulled one back from the penalty spot when Ray Parlour fouled Kris Commons and Danny Cullip stepped up to net his second in consecutive games, but on the half time whistle we looked out of the tournament as Yakubu notched his second of the match. Some enthusiastic encouragement at the break seemed to work as David Friio headed in Commons' cross to halve the gap, and with just eight minutes left, substitute Neil Mellor latched onto Sissoko's through ball and slapped a shot past Mark Schwarzer. Just as it appeared as if we had earned the chance for extra time, with the game three minutes into second half injury time, our tired legs gave up and George Boateng found space enough in the penalty area to drill a low shot past Pedersen, sending up crashing out of the competition.

Terk

Boateng’s goal had been a crushing blow to the morale of the players, despite having fully expected defeat beforehand, to come so close to forcing extra time and then be shot down would leave anyone in a bad mood for a few days. We had no time to feel sorry for ourselves, however, as we had cup duty again three days later when travelling to face Aldershot in the first round of the F.A. Cup. The lower league side were clearly our betters for the first period and the 7,000+ crowd sensed an upset. The introduction of Neil Mellor at the interval, however, swung the game in our direction as the on loan frontman bagged the only two goals of the match, booking our place against Forest Green in the next round.

The journey back up the M1 was a lot happier than the journey south the previous evening. Despite a lack of polish to their performance, the win over Aldershot had quickly erased the hurt of the Middlesbrough defeat. Unlike my players, I had thoroughly loved the Carling Cup experience. The press attention before, and particularly after such an agonising loss had made me a slightly more well known face around the country. I had been afforded a brief glimpse of life in the spotlight, and I had adored it.

Both Eugen Bopp and Yacine Abdessadki missed the visit of Rotherham as they were away representing their countries (although Eugen only at U-21 level). The team sitting second to us in the league were expected to give us our toughest time yet in the league, but instead a comfortable win, courtesy of three goals, found its way to us, and another three points were notched on the board.

James Beaumont had been first on the scoresheet against Rotherham, stealing the ball off Neil Mellor’s toes in a crowded penalty area and drilling a shot past Gary Montgomery. It had been that way at half time, but our lead was doubled when Kris Commons stole the ball off David Worrell and whipped in a cross for Momo Sissoko to volley home, and the left winger then crossed for David Friio to do the same in the final ten minutes. Rune Pedersen hadn’t been forced to make a single save.

Beaumont’s form had risen to worrying proportions, as Championship outfit Preston had sent a scout to watch the lad put himself second in the League One scoring charts against Rotherham. Luckily, he missed the visit of Brentford with a sore arm, though that did nothing to diminish our chances of winning. Returning from international duty, both Bopp and Abdessadki were keen to make sure they weren’t forgotten, and they were far from so when the German crossed for Clint Hill to head our opener, and the Moroccan rifled a loose ball past Stuart Nelson for the second.

Bournemouth were another side who had gone down the route of sponsorship of their ground, the Fitness First Stadium being the next venue we would play at. Near 10,000 people stuffed themselves into the stands, but the vast majority of them had left long before the full time whistle, such was our dominance over the home side. Mellor netted his tenth goal of the season after just seven minutes when he was put through by Liam Fox, and Sissoko benefited from good work by Beaumont to make it two before the break. Hill headed in from Commons’ corner early in the second period, and Gareth Taylor got the last touch after a goalmouth scramble to complete another more than comfortable tick in the win column.


”Do you realise how long its been since we conceded a goal?”

“Erm, Middlesbrough.”

“In the league, ya twat.”

“Ah, erm, I suppose that would have been……………. Hartlepool?”

“Yep.”

“That was back at the start of October.”

“Yep. Eight hundred and three minutes of league football since we last conceded.”


Tim’s love for reasonably useless information certainly came in handy as a morale boost, the fact that we had kept clean sheets for so long had indeed escaped me. Rune Pedersen wasn’t the flashy sort of ‘keeper who makes you notice that he’s on form, just someone who quietly amassed clean sheets. So I was horrified when, about twenty minutes after finding out how good our defence had been, I was informed that Rune would miss the next three games with a twisted knee. Both Cullip and Bopp would miss time on the field as well, but neither worried me so much as Pedersen. It had been a very close call at the beginning of the season as to whether he or Paul Gerrard got the nod as first choice, but now I simply could not imagine Paul on the field.

The visit of Scunthorpe gave Gerrard his first chance to shine, and with the visitors lining up in a 4-2-4 formation, it looked as if he would need to. I hadn’t counted on our sheer brilliance, however, and come the end of the game, we had registered twenty five shots on goal to our opponents’ two. How then, one might ask, had we only found our way to a single point? Mellor had put us in front on the stroke of half time after good work by Commons, but to be honest we should have been four or five to the good by that time. It should have been six or seven by the time Gerrard parried a shot into the path of Stephen Torpey, who found the corner of the net with a perfectly placed toe poke. Even as the seconds ticked down to the final whistle, we should have scored, but every pair of shooting boots had been left elsewhere, and Abdessadki’s wild effort with the last kick of the match which nearly cleared the stand behind the goal entirely summed up our day.

With both Diarra and Sissoko suspended for our next game due to having collected five yellow cards each, I was truly thankful that it was only an LDV Vans Trophy match in which they wouldn’t have featured anyway. The Southern Section quarter final saw us back at the Fitness First Stadium to take on Bournemouth, this time with reserve ‘keeper Aaron France between the sticks. A number of fringe players were fielded, though we still managed to be the better side, thwarted only by a stunning performance from goalkeeper Les Pogliacomi. He kept his side in the game long enough for Dani Rodrigues to net the only goal, just two minutes from the end of the ninety. Whilst defeat in any form hurt, I couldn’t say that I was entirely disappointed to have been thrown from such a joke of a tournament. The ease on our fixture schedule was more than welcome.

Once again we dominated the player awards at the end of the month, Momo Sissoko picked up the player of the month award, and won himself a place in the hearts of the fans by praising the people and supporters of Forest for making his loan spell so enjoyable, that he adored the friendly atmosphere around the club. His partner in crime on the left side of the pitch, Kris Commons, finished second to him in the vote for Player of the month, but had the consolation of the young player award. I had to make do with a second place to Swansea’s Kenny Jacket in the manager stakes, something that indeed drew the whisky bottle our in force that evening.

Terk

November 2004 Summary

(League One unless otherwise stated)


Nottingham Forest 5 - 0 Brentford (LDV Vans Trophy Southern Section 2nd Round)
(Nowland 20"; Gardner 40"; Fox 65"; Jørgensen 82"; Litchfield 89")

Blackpool 0 - 4 Nottingham Forest
(Hill s/off 22"; Beaumont 46"; Cullip pen 48"; Johnson 62", 83")

Middlesbrough 4 - 3 Nottingham Forest (Carling Cup 4th Round)
(Yakubu 25", 45"; Hasselbaink 28"; Cullip pen 38"; Friio 53"; Mellor 82"; Boateng 90+3")

Aldershot 0 - 2 Nottingham Forest (F.A. Cup 1st Round)
(Mellor 48"; 62")

Nottingham Forest 3 - 0 Rotherham
(Beaumont 29"; Sissoko 53"; Friio 85")

Nottingham Forest 2 - 0 Brentford
(Hill 15"; Abdessadki 24")

Bournemouth 0 - 4 Nottingham Forest
(Mellor 7"; Sissoko 27"; Hill 56"; Taylor 66")

Notthingham Forest 1 - 1 Scunthorpe
(Mellor 45"; Torpey 74")

Bournemouth 1 - 0 Nottingham Forest (LDV Vans Trophy Southern Section Quarter Final)
(Dani Rodrigues 88")

Terk

<pre class="ip-ubbcode-code-pre">| Pos | Inf | Team | | Pld | Won | Drn | Lst | For | Ag | G.D. | Pts | | ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| | 1st | | Nottm Forest | | 18 | 14 | 4 | 0 | 43 | 5 | +38 | 46 | | ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| | 2nd | | Rotherham | | 18 | 11 | 5 | 2 | 32 | 15 | +17 | 38 | | ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| | 3rd | | Gillingham | | 18 | 11 | 3 | 4 | 34 | 15 | +19 | 36 | | ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| | 4th | | Hartlepool | | 18 | 10 | 3 | 5 | 23 | 15 | +8 | 33 | | ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| | 5th | | Bradford City | | 17 | 8 | 6 | 3 | 26 | 14 | +12 | 30 | | ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| | 6th | | Swindon | | 18 | 8 | 5 | 5 | 25 | 19 | +6 | 29 | | ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| | 7th | | Swansea | | 17 | 8 | 5 | 4 | 25 | 20 | +5 | 29 | | ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| | 8th | | Bristol C | | 18 | 8 | 5 | 5 | 24 | 21 | +3 | 29 | | ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| | 9th | | Brentford | | 18 | 8 | 3 | 7 | 21 | 13 | +8 | 27 | | ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| | 10th | | Bournemouth | | 18 | 7 | 6 | 5 | 27 | 21 | +6 | 27 | | ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| | 11th | | Chesterfield | | 18 | 6 | 7 | 5 | 27 | 25 | +2 | 25 | | ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| | 12th | | Blackpool | | 18 | 7 | 4 | 7 | 27 | 29 | -2 | 25 | | ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| | 13th | | Yeovil | | 18 | 7 | 4 | 7 | 23 | 27 | -4 | 25 | | ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| | 14th | | MK Dons | | 18 | 7 | 3 | 8 | 22 | 22 | 0 | 24 | | ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| | 15th | | Oldham | | 17 | 6 | 4 | 7 | 17 | 15 | +2 | 22 | | ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| | 16th | | Doncaster | | 18 | 5 | 4 | 9 | 24 | 29 | -5 | 19 | | ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| | 17th | | Barnsley | | 17 | 4 | 6 | 7 | 18 | 25 | -7 | 18 | | ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| | 18th | | Walsall | | 17 | 3 | 8 | 6 | 16 | 23 | -7 | 17 | | ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| | 19th | | Colchester | | 18 | 4 | 5 | 9 | 20 | 32 | -12 | 17 | | ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| | 20th | | Southend | | 17 | 4 | 5 | 8 | 17 | 30 | -13 | 17 | | ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| | 21st | | Tranmere | | 18 | 4 | 4 | 10 | 15 | 32 | -17 | 16 | | ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| | 22nd | | Huddersfield | | 18 | 3 | 3 | 12 | 11 | 27 | -16 | 12 | | ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| | 23rd | | Scunthorpe | | 18 | 2 | 5 | 11 | 17 | 35 | -18 | 11 | | ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| | 24th | | Port Vale | | 18 | 2 | 5 | 11 | 15 | 40 | -25 | 11 | | ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| </pre>

Terk

I sat on the edge of my bed and gazed out of the window onto the street below. The sun had just begun to rise, but the streetlamps still cast their ethereal glow on the world underneath. An unusual Saturday off had meant a Friday night spent around many of Nottingham’s drinking establishments, and that had meant, as so often before, I had woken up beside someone I had no intention of staying in contact with.

I slipped on a t-shirt and padded through to the kitchen where I sat with a strong coffee, for once not needing to shake the cobwebs from my mind. As much as my personal life was shambolic and unpredictable, mired in a plethora of sordid encounters, my time in the dugout was anything but. There could be reflection on a job, so far, well done. There was much hope to be found for times ahead.

Something still nagged at me, however. I may have been just six months past my thirtieth birthday, but the onset of middle age still worried me. The playboy lifestyle I led was all well and good, though even then hardly the most satisfying way to spend one’s days, and I knew that it couldn’t last much longer. There would come a time when it drove me back down to rock bottom.

---

Save for Rune Pederson and Neil Mellor, a full strength side was fielded for our FA Cup 2nd round tie against Forest Green. Naturally, given our position high atop League One, we were favourites for the tie, but the fact that it had been chosen for live television coverage gave credence to my fears that we could be set for a big fall. Those fears were dispelled, however, after eight tremendous minutes, which I’m sure had neutrals around trhe country channel hopping. With just eighteen seconds on the clock, Sissoko fed a through ball to Beaumont, and the youngster smacked his shot into the back of the net, and seven minutes later the Malian international did the same for Gareth Taylor, who likewise thumped his effort past Scott Findlay in the Forest Green goal. By the half hour we had bagged a third, Diarra’s free kick superbly headed in by Taylor, and just after the hour our comprehensive and trouble-free win was rounded off in style, Dobie sending a powerful volley screaming past Findlay.

Six days passed before we returned to League One action against Tranmere, in which time Eoin Jess had left for another three month loan spell at Bury, and our progress to the FA Cup 3rd round was rewarded with a home tie against Grimsby. Our defeat-free run in the league was beginning to attract not only the attentions of the press, but those of the fans who had drifted away since the glory days, and we took a full and vocal support to Prenton Park. They had little to cheer in the first half hour, neither side looked remotely like troubling the other, but as half time creeped closer, we began to take a hold on the game, culminating with Commons’ drilling a free kick into the net from twenty yards. The second half was much of the same drab affair, but again we came good late on, and the points were made safe when Dobie headed home Abdessadki’s corner, and then turned provider, crossing for Sissoko to slide the ball in at the back post.

LEEMOD1

Terk,

Just want to say this is probably the best story Ive read. I like the narrative style. The others are boring and you lose attention but Im hooked with this one. I prefer the bits you make up like the goings on with chairman and the recorded telephone converstaions and emails sent. Makes it more real rather than going through each match. You should include more league table shots and also include a player whop has spotted your eye and give some info about him

Cheers Mate

Lee

Terk

cheers, LEEMOD1 I'm certainly enjoying writing the narrative for this one, always glad to hear that people are enjoying reading it. I don't want to flood that narrative with too many 'information' posts so the tables will remain every second month (plus, I've played and written way beyond where I've posted) but there's definitely more discussion in the way pf player recruitment, scouting, etc as they story goes on

=================================================

My footballing education had been spread across many venues. My father’s position in the army saw him regularly moved around the country, we even spent a few years in Germany during my particularly early years. My earliest memories of football were from the main stand at Tynecastle, my father’s posting in the Scottish capital coinciding with me being old enough to attend games on my own, but it was always Leeds who I held closest to my heart.

The Yorkshire city was where I had been born, where my mother had been raised, where we lived throughout most of my teenage years, and where I found my first break on the field. My time at Leeds lasted only a season, I was quickly found out to be far from good enough to have any sort of future at the club, I barely even featured for the youth side, let alone get anywhere near the reserve squad.

From then my career moved around the lower leagues, never troubling the scouts that came to watch games, never playing my way into the hearts of the fans, never being more or less than a very average figure in the lower echelons of the football league. But I was happy enough. Getting paid to play football, no matter how bare your wage slip looks, is a great honour that few get to experience. In five short months, however, my managerial career had already well outstripped that which I achieved on the field.

---

”What did you think of Steven Davis?” Tim had developed an unhealthy habit of sneaking up beside me during training, scaring the ***** out of me as he near screamed his question down my ear.
“Villa lad? On loan at Bournemouth? Pretty good, certainly their best player both times we played them. Why?”
“His loan finished about a week ago and they’ve not looked to extend it.”
“And?”
“Jesus Christ, it’s like drawing blood from a stone. And Villa want to send him out again.”
“Yeah.”
“And you want to bring in another midfielder.”
“Ah. Got ya. I’ll look into it.”

Davis certainly was the type of midfielder I’d had in mind. His loan spell at Bournemouth had been highly successful for both parties, an energetic force from the centre of the park, the Nothern Irishman was in the same mould as James Beaumont, and just the sort of person I wanted to bring in to take some pressure off my young star’s shoulders, but with my ears still ringing and my heart still racing, I was in no mood to discuss it with Tim.

The call was soon placed to David O’Leary though. In fact, as soon as I got back to my office after watching a truly pathetic training session, the only plus sides of which were that it ended and that no one managed to injure themselves, I found the Villa boss’ number. The deal was an easy one to bang out, even my insistence that we pay nothing towards his wages for the three months he were at the club met no resistence from Villa’s side. They were quite obviously anxious that he get further first team action, and I was more than happy to bolster my squad numbers, though the red tape wouldn’t be tied up in time for him to feature in our next fixture.

That fixture was a home game against the MK Dons, or Wimbledon as most people remember them. Just three days after our trip to Birkenhead to face Tranmere, a few players were rested and others looked tired. At half time the score was 0-0, and there hadn’t been a single shot, not even one off target that had found its home in the stands. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the majority of the fifteen thousand strong crowd had disappeared during the break, certainly having paid money to see such a lack of spectacle was not a nice prospect, and things looked even grimmer for us just after the restart when Liam Fox was forced off with a fractured jaw after a particularly crude challenge. Resilliance is a wonderufl thing though, and we sneaked a goal just after the hour mark, in a game where it certainly seemed that one would be enough, through on-loan winger Claus Jørgensen. The Dons had done nothing in particular to deserve defeat, though they’d done nothing to avoid it either, but the three goals we racked up on them was most definitely an unfair reflection on the encounter. Neil Mellor wrapped the points up in our favour with two in the final five minutes, pouncing on a long Pedersen clearence and heading home Jørgensen’s cross.

SARGENT CIDERED

Great story terk, like the other lads you've got me hooked. In my game as Bristol City, Forest are top and flying too, bought Beaumont on your advice but not quite got the same performances from him as you have so far.

Keep up the good work.
P.S: i'm waiting with bated breath for when you play City....

Terk

cheers, sargent i think beaumont's just been a freak of nature in this game, certainly his stats are far from world beating, but his performances driving forward from midfield have been exceptional. and in terms of bristol city, speak of the devil.......

===============================================

I didn’t speak Spanish. I had no intention to whatsoever, either. So I had quite a bit of difficulty when a fax came through in the language. I stood and stared at the page for near five minutes, hoping that the mess of letters would begin to make some sense to me. As I was about to admit defeat and call the chairman to see if there was anyone at the club who spoke Spanish, I noticed something which I had apparantley been blind to before, the words “Gino Padula”. Another look found a figure. €235,000. A third look produced “Recreativo”, whom I was pretty sure were a Spanish club, and it was now quite plain that this was a bid for my first choice left back, and a quick visit to xe.com informed me that it was worth £160,000. I wondered how to spell “get tae ****” in Spanish.



I fumed. I sat and fumed, I stood and fumed, I paced and fumed. None of it made me feel any better at all. I wanted to pick up the phone and call every journalist I knew, telling them just what an arsehole Tinnion was. I wanted to march to Bristol and smack him over the head with the first thing that came to hand, but I knew I had to be restrained. I was scheduled on a radio phone in that evening, there was no doubt that I would be asked to respond in some way, in the end I managed to laugh it off and make some banal comments about him being a good man and a competent tactician, but inside I still fumed.

--

”Boss, can I have a word?” Gino had approached me somewhat cautiously after training, something quite clearly weighing heavily on his mind.
”Sure. What’s the matter?”
“My brother lives in Spain. He said that he read in the paper that Recreativo had made a bid for me.”
“Yeah, they did.”
“Are you going to…….”
“We rejected it.”
”Without speaking to me?”
”Yes. I figure the contract we have with your signature on actually means something.”
“It does. But the thing is, I want to make the move. I want to play in Spain.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“No.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but it’s not going to happen. We need you here.” The look on his face was one of sheer betrayal, as if I’d just slept with his sister or something. But it was an easy decision. With things going so well, and Gino’s performances having been consistently excellent, there was no way I could let him go, especially for such a pathetic price. It did appear though, as if I had my first truly unhappy player to deal with.

--

Steven Davis, newly signed from Villa on a three month loan, took his place on the bench for our trip to face Bristol City. I kept a stony look on my face whenever Tinnion glanced in my direction, his interview had been pinned up on the wall of the changing room before we went out, and the players had taken it even worse than me. Unfortunately, for the first half hour at least, it got the over-hyped, and concentration was seriously lacking. The only calm head in a Forest shirt appeared to be Lassana Diarra, the young French star doing everything he could to break up City attacks, and thankfully when he was foiled, Pedersen had brought every ounce of his talent with him to keep them at bay. We hadn’t had a single chance in the first half, not even a wayward shot ten yards wide of goal. Until, of course, Neil Mellor found himself on the end of a Kris Commons cross a minute into injury time, and headed his tenth league goal of the season past Steve Phillips. The first quarter hour of the second half was much the same as the first period, the home side attacking as we desperately held them out. But the whole dynamic changed in the sixty-second minute with the introduction of Davis. Within four minutes, the Northern Irish midfielder had burst forward to fire home from Abdessadki’s ball, and then nine minutes from time, having come close twice in the intervening period, he grabbed a second when he volleyed home from Dobie’s cross.

Terk

Nearer the actual date than most Christmas parties, the club’s effort still had that feel of enforced frivolity about it. The free flowing alcohol bettered the mood somewhat, though I tried desperately to make sure I kept to my Diet Coke, I had intention of embarrassing myself in front of the chairman or players.

I had spent most of the evening in banal conversations with the staff, keeping my eyes firmly on a few of the players’ wives and the wonderfully ridiculous amount of flesh they were showing. I’d allowed myself a few small whiskies, the chairman had cracked open a 17 year old Ardbeg which I had extreme difficulty in resisting, but I was well in control of my senses.

Stephen, I’ve got someone I’d like you to meet.” I’d quite frankly had enough of Mr Doughty’s sycophantic friends, but his hand was firmly on my shoulder before I could slip away.

”This is my daughter, Hannah. She’s only been back in the country since Saturday. I’ll leave you two to chat, there’s some other people here I really should talk to.” The awkward situation was made more so by the fact that my eyes appeared to be glued to her, the auburn hair cascading over her shoulders, the dark blue eyes that sat deep in a beautiful face. It felt like almost an hour before I managed to force any words out.

”So………. W...where did you go?”
“Sorry?”
“Your dad said you’d been abroad.”
“Oh. Yeah. I was in France. Marseilles. I spend quite a bit of time down there.”
“Sounds nice.”
“Yeah.”
.
.
.
.
.
“Can I get you another drink?”

--

”Morning, sleepy.” My eyes flashed open and immediately everything seemed wrong. My duvet cover wasn’t purple, there were no little make-up boxes on my bedside table, and there certainly wasn’t a smell of lavender hanging over the entire of my room.

I looked over to the window, where there most definitely wasn’t supposed to be a chair, and saw Hannah sitting with a newspaper held out in front of her. Two and two were still trying to find a common answer in my mind, but it was getting ever nearer. The lace-like curtains, the high-heeled shoes by the door, the half-naked woman sitting by the window, it painted a pretty clear picture.

”Hi.”
“Thought you might want some breakfast. You must be hungry.” She pointed towards an attractive tray of croissants and orange juice and I swung my legs out of bed, only to find that modesty had been denied me. I quickly grabbed the cover and pulled it over to hide my midriff, but not before Hannah had managed a good giggle.

Laughing like that can hurt a man’s self esteem, you know.”
“Your clothes are the other side of the bed.”

Once I’d pulled on my boxer shorts and t-shirt, I padded across the room and grabbed a glass of juice. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I tried to clear the fog from my mind, come to a clearer picture of just how we’d arrived at such a situation, but my brain was being stubbornly unhelpful.

”You’d better hurry up. Training starts in half an hour, I promised dad I’d have you there on time.”