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I could sit here and bore you all with the details of how I got here. I could go into horrific detail about the broken leg that ended my playing career at the age of twenty-six. I could talk for hours about the process of gaining my coaching license, visiting clubs around the world to learn from the very best managers in the game. I could even regale you with tales of my season spent in non-league football, a season so impressive that it landed me the very job I hold now. But I've never been one for looking at the past. And besides, I'm not sure how much of it I can honestly remember past the endless bottles of whisky and all the willing women.
The fact of the matter is that I'm here now, manager of Nottingham Forest at the tender age of thirty, looking to rebuild a formerly great club. A club whose history could still make some of the greatest names in the world quake in their boots.
There will be few who don't know at least part of this history of this once great club and the legend who once managed them. Two European Cups and countless domestic trophies came their way, but now they sit with the record of being the only European Champions ever to fall to the third tier of their domestic game. But this tale is not about Forest. Going far into their history would be pointless. I'm here to tell you about me. My object is not to bring glory to Nottingham, it's to cover myself in it. To succeed, no matter what the costs and no matter where it takes me.
I woke with a start, all of a sudden sat bolt upright in my bed. From head to toe I was drenched in sweat and a painseared through my left leg. Much as I like to brush it off, much as I like to avoid talking about it, the dreams still plague me. I expect they always will. I hear the crack clearly from behind my closed eyes, the screams that followed, though I can never tell whether from me or the crowd. The world still swims, just as it did back then, the faces of my teammates, the doctors, everyone just swinging in and out of focus. Even in my dreams, it's difficult to pick out any details. The Diagnosis. Compound fracture. Left fibia. Milky white bone protruding from my milky white skin, clear for all to see above the sock forever rolled around my ankle.
I don't even know what happened to cause it. A mis-timed challenge, a twist, studs caught in the turf? I've never built up the courage to watch the video, though it sits on my shelf alongside Finding Nemo. I know I said I wasn't going to do this, go back through what happened. I said I was going to deal with nothing but the future. The truth is that I don't want to remember it past the whisky and women, they've all been in a vain effort to forget, but I guess that going over and over it is simply unavoidable when it still haunts me. If I'm going to be wrenched from my sleep in the middle of the night then you might as well know why.
I looked down at the darkened figure lying beside me, a beautiful sight hidden deep under the covers despite the warmth of the summer night. To be honest, I don't even know this one's name. Starts with an L, I think. Lauren, maybe. I swung my legs out of bed and looked at the alarm clock on the table nearby. The luminous green numbers lit the room in an eerie way, though one I had gotten very used to during my sleepless nights. 03:42. I picked up the whisky glass and slugged down its contents before being reminded by a foul taste in my mouth that I'd stubbed a cigarette out in it during the previous night's festivities. With the liquid and the offending stub spat out across my discarded clothes and the choking cough I threw forth failing to wake my bedmate, I stumbled towards the bathroom. In just over four hours I was due in the office for my first day at the new job. I seriously doubted that the bags under my eyes and alcohol on my breath would make much of a good first impression.
The financial report didn't make for good reading. The chairman, Nigel Doughty had stuffed it in my hand the very moment I'd walked through the door into reception. Not only were there £15M in loans outstanding, being paid back at £125,000 per month, the club's bank balance was a devastating £2,000,000 in the red. The salary bill was already £6,000 per week over budget, but despite all this, there was still apparantly a few hundred thousand pounds for me to play with in the transfer market. A few hundred thousnd pound with which he fully expected us to win the League One title.
With no assistant manager to get me up to speed on the qualities (or lack thereof) of the players at my disposal, I sat that evening with mountains of coach reports and videos of that day's training session. It had been the first after the club's summer break, and at least most of them looked fit, but little ball work had been done to help me with my decisions. The bank balance and salary bill combined to make it definite that some bodies would have to be moved on, and loan deals rather than permanent signings were the way to get new faces in.
As consolation, however, there was at least a base of some talent in the squad already at my disposal. Some of the players on the club's books had gone through very fruitful Championship careers, though that was more likely to mean a few more pound signs to my eyes than a great career in a Nottingham Forest shirt.
Between the sticks it seemed a straight fight from what my coaches told me. 24 year old Danish stopper Rune Pedersen was the favourite of most, and his on field influence marked him out as a potential captain, but veteran Englishman Paul Gerrard, perhaps still in his best years at the age of 31, looked like he could provide good competition for the spot.
In numbers, at least, the defensive side of the team looked healthy. My plan to begin the season with a solid 4-5-1 depended on having the defenders to shut up shop, and we had seven of them to fit into four positions. Nicky Eaden was the only out and out right back, but both John Curtis and youngster James Perch could fill in there despite being more comfortable in the centre. The centre back slot, however, was where I found Danny Cullip and Ian Breckin, two stalwarts of Championship campaigns with more experience than you could shake a stick at. The only problem was that Breckin was attracting a lot of attention from clubs higher up the divisional ladder than us, and with his near £4,000 per week wages, the chances were more than good that he'd be moved on in the very near future. On the left side of the planned back four, Argentinian Gino Padula would fight it out with Alan Rogers. I fully expected Padula to win the battle, but if he proved himself useless then Rogers was more than capable of stepping up.
The fight for the holding role in front of the back four was between three of the older members of the team. The youngster of the trio, and most likely to get the nod was 29 year old Welshman Paul Evans, but Nicky Southall and Scotland internationl Gary Holt both had distinct merits of their own.
The fact that I wanted to play four in front of that position, two breaking forward from the centre of the park and two parading down the wings was complicated by the fact that I only had a further four midfielders in my squad. Eugen Bopp was the only one comfortable on the right flank, whilst the same applied for Kris Commons on the left. In the centre, former Plymouth man David Friio looked set to partner the ageing Eoin Jess, though I made it an instant priority to bring in some further strength in depth to bolster the midfield.
The lone striker role would fall to one of four candidates unless anyone else was brought in, and that was a distinct possibility. David Johnson and Gareth Taylor were the most likely prospects, both Eugène Dadi and Scott Dobie had failed to impress me in their earlier carees, though Dobie's ability to play on the right flank was one thing that might find him a place in the side after all.
Strong in defence and decidedly weaker in attack, I was nonetheless reasonably pleased with the squad given the level of oppostition we would be facing. With a few well thought signings in a few crucial positions, there was not a doubt in my mind that winning the league was by no means out of the question.
From: N.Doughty@nottinghamforest.co.uk
To: S.Beckett@nottinghamforest.co.uk
Subject: Neil Mellor
Hi Stephen, just a quick note to let you know that the papers were all signed this afternoon and sent off to the FA. Neil has gone back up to Liverpool but he'll be back to report for training the day after tomorrow, well in time for the friendly against Dagenham.
Neil
---------
The chairman's e-mail was fantastic news. I'd approached Liverpool about the possibility of siging Neil Mellor on a season long loan, one of four which we were allowed. He didn't seem to figure in Rafa BenÃ*tez's plans, and there had been a lot of interest from other clubs, both in the Championship and League One, so I was delighted that we'd won the race to get him. There had been no doubt from the first few training sessions that, despite my plans to only play one up front, we needed some more firepower. Dobie was earmarked for a role on the right flank, Dadi simply wasn't good enough and I still had serious doubts about both Johnson and Taylor. Mellor, however, I was confident would be a star at this level.
The slightly worse news was that I'd been effectively forced into accepting a £400,000 bid for Ian Breckin. The chairman told me, as he was handing me the faxed offer from Southampton, that we needed to raise some cash in order to make sure that there was no threat of administration, and that the wage bill really could do with trimming. I was told that I'd get to reinvest £150,000 of the Breckin sale money, and it seemed pretty certain that he was on his way out when Wolves matched the bid made by Southampton.
I was far happier to get rid of Kevin James. Ostensibly a right winger, he'd shown not a tiny flash of talent, and the £2,300 he was earning every week was definite to have a better use. There had initially been no interest in him when shopped around with a £50,000 price tag, but as soon as we let it be known that we would off him on a free transfer, a swarm of League Two clubs contacted us. Kevin made his decision quickly, and became the first player out of the door since I took over when he packed his bags to join Shrewsbury.
The friendly against Dagenham & Redbridge, six days after I took over the job, was my first chance to see the boys in any kind of action. We'd not even done any five-a-side in training. I was fully expecting a win against a conference side, but when Paul Evans was sent off in the ninth minute for a bad foul on Chris Moore, my confidence levels dropped. Moore had the cheek to even open the scoring for the home side, but within sixty seconds the natural order had been restored with a Neil Mellor goal. Eugen Bopp added a second before the half time whistle, and when Scott Dobie cut in off the right wing and planted a shot firmly in the bottom corner with sixteen minutes remaining, the game was well and truly over.
It had been a good showing, certainly one that gave encouragement for the campaign ahead, though Paul Evans had done himself no favours with a challenge which could easily have broken Moore's leg. If Holt and Southall impressed in the remaining friendlies, then he could expect to have a long fight to find himself in the first team again.
Pre-season was progressing nicely, the boys were training well, getting noticably fitter with each passing day and, more importantly, beginning to impress upon me that they did indeed have some skills to work with. The search for an assistant manager had proved fruitful, the chairman had got word out that we were inviting applications for the posts, and no fewer than fifteen well respected men of the footballing world made their interest known. The cadidate that stood out for me, however, was former Blackburn and England goalkeeper Tim Flowers. Not only did he talk sense about the club and the game in general when we met, but he would bring something of the higher profile which I definitely lacked.
With money still a rare thing at the club, we were still scouring the market for decent laon signings. During our negotiations over Neil Mellor, Rafa BenÃ*tez had mentioned that there were a few other members of his squad whom he may be willing to let out on loan for the campaign, and the one that had interested me most was Mohamed Sissoko. Whilst the Mali international, recently captured from BenÃ*tez's former club Valencia, was by trade a central midfielder, he was also comfortable playing on the left flank, and with Kris Commons being our only option in that position, a new face was greatly needed. The deal to bring Momo in for the entire season was straight forward and quickly struck, though with only a day's training under his belt at the City Ground, it was decided to start him on the bench for the friendly trip to Woking.
I wasn't overly happy at playing warm-up games against lower level opposition, but they were games arranged before I had come on board and I felt somewhat obliged to keep up our committments. The game at Woking proved to be a slightly easier one than we faced against Dagenham, for one this we managed to keep all eleven players on the field for the whole game. The first half was quite an even affair, the only difference between the sides at the interval being Nicky Southall's penalty, struck on the half hour. We came out fighting in the second period, and within six minutes of the restart we'd added a further two goals to our tally. David Johnson rifled in a volley from six yards, and Eugen Bopp swung a free kick into the top corner to complete our win in a nice, easy run out.
Just twenty four hours after the run out against Woking, Ian Breckin completed his move to Southampton, the south coast club sending 400,000 crisp pound notes in our direction as compensation. On the playing front, I was sad to see Ian leave. Though, due to his ongoing transfer saga, he hadn't featured in either of our friendlies, he had been extremely impressive in training and the sort of player whose experience could have been vital in our bid for an immediate return to the higher level. However, I was well enough aware that the bank balance remains king in this game, and was happy enough with John Curtis and Danny Cullip as a partnership.
My transfer blues at the loss of Breckin were tempered the following day by the news that Eoin Jess had agreed to join Bury on loan for three months. It may have been a weakening of our squad in terms of numbers, but the 33 year old had shown me nothing to say that he had the quality I was looking for in my side. If a permanent deal could be done in the winter transfer window then I would be more than happy. Furthermore, a third season long loan deal was completed with Chelsea's young French starlet, Lassana Diarra making the move north. Just nineteen years of age, the defensive midfielder was a very highly rated prospect at Stamford Bridge, and just a few minutes of his first training session was enough to convince me that he should be my number one choice as the anchor man in front of my defence.
Our third of four friendlies came at Oxford's Kassam Stadium, and a generally strong side was put out. Tim had been bending my ear about a kid he'd seen in our reserve side, nineteen year old central midfielder James Beaumont. Apparantly a product of Newcastle's youth system, James had failed to make the grade at St James' Park and was now in his second year at the City Ground, though yet to make his first team debut. Tim seemed to see something special in him, so I stuck him on the bench, only to have to throw him into the fray after twenty minutes when Dobie hobbled off the field with an ankle injury. Lee Bradbury had put Oxford in front by that time, but Beaumont justified his selection with the equaliser after half an hour, though with two minutes of the half remaining, he too was forced off by a tough tackling Oxford side. Neil Mellor, who had been causing all sorts of problems for the home defence, got what turned out after a drab second half, to be the winning goal in first half injury time, heading home Momo Sissoko's cross. Though again against lower league opposition, three pre-season wins was not to be sniffed at, and I was definitely getting a good feeling about my side.
Still struggling with my disgust at the local petrol station charging 97 pence per litre for its product, I flicked open my paper and turned immediately, as always, to the back page. The word Forest jumped out at me immediately from a small story towards the foot of the page. I read on with amazement that turned into disdelief with every passed paragraph. The paper was reporting that a deal to bring major investment into the club was being tied up today, and even had a quote from my chairman saying he hoped that the money would speed up the club's drive back to the top echelons of the game.
Back on the road, I slammed my phone into its in-car charger and dialled the chairman.
"Nigel Doughty's office."
"Hi, Christine. It's Stephen, could you put me through."
"Sure."
.....
"Nigel Doughty."
"Hi, Nigel. Is what I'm reading in the Times true? About the investment?"
"I was going to tell you when you got in. Where are you?"
"Five minutes out."
"Come straight to my office when you get here."
---
I came out of the chairman's office an hour later a much happier man. Whilst my incredulity at being kept out of the loop longer than the national press had not entirely abated, the news that a London-based business man was all set to pump £8,000,000 into the club was more than enough to keep me quiet. My thoughts had immediately turned to the transfer budget, and much to my surprise, I didn't have to struggle and fight to get my share of the spoils, I was told immediately that part of the deal on the investor's part was a guarantee that £5,000,000 of the money had to be made available for squad strengthening. That news was slightly tempered by the fact that the salary budget would remain the same, I would still have to free up a bit more room on it before I could buy, but to me ears the best part was that it meant any financial pressure to sell my more marketable assests had been removed.
With the wage bill almost down to the level allowed, I decided to get a little cheeky the following day and request the chairman sanction two permanent signings. Admittedly, neither wanted more than £1,000 per week, less than Ian Breckin was getting on his own, but I was still dubious of the outcome when I sent the request to the chairman's office. My coaching staff and I had worked quickly upon the news that there was money available to sight some targets, and the names of Adam Nowland and Clint Hill were quickly agreed upon. Nowland, formerly of West Ham, had fallen out of favour at Preston already and joined for a mere £40,000 fee whilst it took £100,000 to get Hill from Stoke. They were joined by a third season-long loan deal from Liverpool, Stephen Warnock arriving at the City Ground to push Alan Rogers out of sight in the pecking order.
Our final friendly of the pre-season campaign saw Crystal Palace visit the City Ground. This was the sort of game I had been looking for, a test against higher division opposition to show me a real clue of where we might be come the start of the league season. After ninety minutes of action, I was led to think that we might be pretty well placed, if truth be told. Starting his first game in the shirt, Momo Sissoko got us off to the perfect start, and despite Ben Watson's equaliser, an Aki Riihilahti own goal had us back in front before the half time whistle. Eugen Bopp hobbled off injured early in the second half, allowing Nowland on for his first taste of action, and quick goals from fellow substitutes, Scott Dobie and Gareth Taylor sealed the win for us. Anthony Danze got a late consolation for the Premiership side, but we had been well worth the victory, driven largely by a fantastic Sissoko performance.
Whisky and Women 
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