retired_jennie

"Christ, Mickey, that’s heavy. What did you say?”

“You know what, I can’t remember.”

Darren was the one man who I knew I could trust to give good advice, even if there was sod all chance of him actually taking any himself.

And it was true, I couldn’t remember, but whatever words my ramblings contained they hadn’t done the job. Claire left in tears, I was left passed out on the bed in the company of Jack Daniels, and it was the first time in my life that I hadn’t enjoyed a drink.

“I’ve really hurt her, Darren, and I don’t know what I should do.”

“You’re asking me for advice, with my bloody record?”

“Come off it mate, you taught me everything I know about pulling women.”

“Pulling ‘em I know, I wrote the book on it. Keeping ‘em – Mick, you know my track record. But what I know is you’ve got to sort your head out and fast, the season starts on Saturday.”

“I know that, Darren, the thing is I just can’t get her out of my head.”

I really didn’t know what was happening to me. I didn’t do emotions, one of my many ex’s once said I didn’t have any finer feelings and she was probably right. Where women were concerned my feelings started and stopped in my pants, I even had one girl dump me and didn’t notice for a fortnight. But Claire had triggered something in me, something that I didn’t know how to handle. I was losing control, and I didn’t like it.

“Do you love her?”

“I don’t know, Darren, I don’t even know what the fecking word means. What I do know is that there’s something special there, something I’ve never felt before, and I don’t want to lose it.”

“Well then, here’s my advice and it’s the best I can do. Get your arse down the road to Interflora and pick up the biggest bunch of flowers you can get. Then find her, beg forgiveness, get down on your knees if you have to, and tell her… tell her the crap you’ve been spouting to me, tell her what she wants to hear, tell her the words to the National Anthem if you fecking want to. Just tell her something, sort it out, and let’s get back to the football.”

retired_jennie

The upshot of my heart-to-heart with Claire was that I’d managed to force out that four-letter word, we’d agreed to take things slowly and we were once again an item – officially, this time. There’d been a catch, though – I had to let her tell Ken. Now, in his office, was the moment of truth – how would he react, and more to the point how much physical damage would he inflict on me?

“Claire’s 19, she’s an adult, she can see who she likes. If she likes you, and she says she does, then that’s good enough for me.”

I stood there open-mouthed; I’m not sure what I was expecting, but that wasn’t it!

“Oh, and Mickey?”

“Yes?”

“You’d better do right by her, ‘cos if I ever hear you’ve hurt my little girl, I’ll bust in your balls. With a sledgehammer.”

retired_jennie

“HOW many???!!”

“Twenty-one.”

No that wasn’t the number of dents Mr. Hodcroft had made in my skull, it was the number of Hartlepool players Darren was now informing me were going to be out of contract at the end of the season. The question was, how many, if any, did we want to keep?

“Don’t panic, Mickey, we’re not suddenly going to have all of ‘em buggering off tomorrow. Butler, I reckon we ought to sign him up asap. The rest, I’d let them sweat it out till Christmas at least. Maybe if they know they’re playing for their future at the club, we might get more out of the lazy c**ts”

So, that’s what we did. By the end of the day, I’d called Thomas Butler into my office and offered him a new three-year-deal worth £1,400-a-week. The others, if they bothered to ask, would be told they’d have to show they deserved a place here.

retired_jennie

“Tommy, why don’t you step into my office for a chat, let’s see if we can, ahem, make a few changes to your itinerary?”

“You mean take in a bit of footie while I’m out there? Cheers Mickey, you’re a fecking lifesaver. A month with the missus would do my bloody head in.”

That was Tommy Miller, he was (one of my two) scouts, and he was off on a month’s holiday in Australia and New Zealand at the end of the week. Now, there had to be a few Aussies who could make better use of a football than some of the crap I had here, and Tommy was going to have a go at finding them.

Whether we could get them would be another matter. At Hartlepool the phrase wasn’t “don’t mention the war”, it was “don’t mention the Work Permits.” Not when I’m around, at least not if you didn’t want a glass sailing towards your head.

Yes, the shower of ***** that calls itself the Home Office was still making my already difficult job even harder. That nice man David Blunkett had taken time off from bonking his secretary/a reporter/his guide dog to refuse our appeal for Nehemias Zelaya’s work permit, and just for good measure he said we couldn’t have one for Zelaya’s international colleague Alfredo Pacheco either. When I received the fax from Blunkett’s office informing me of their decision, I sent it straight back with a single word scrawled across it. Let me give you a clue.. it started with “c”, ended with “t” and no, it wasn’t cent.

Perhaps wisely, Darren’s suggested he deals with any future enquiries!

retired_jennie

Oh, and by the way, who the f**k are Harchester, why have they got a player in their squad on twenty grand a week and why, since they’re meant to be an English club, haven’t I ever bloody heard of them?

I’d never played an English game with “local and above” news items so I’d never noticed it before but they’ve just sold a player to Barnsley! Is this a bug? (I’ve got the patch) A joke? A ****-up?

And does anyone know of a good save-game editor so I can delete them?

retired_jennie

[b][i]5th August 2005[\B][\I]

Well, the wait’s almost over; tomorrow morning we’re heading off on the long trip south to Nottingham. And nerves are beginning to take over; to be honest, I’m shyting bricks! I mean tomorrow afternoon I’ll be leading out a side made up mainly of rejects and loan players against a club that’s twice been crowned the best in Europe. True that was a long time ago, but Cloughie’s legacy lives on and this is undoubtedly the “glamour trip” of the League One season. Question is, will we rise to the occasion?

“Mickey, it’s starting!!”

That was Claire, and “it” was the draw for that most-maligned of competitions, the League Cup. The draw for the first round was live on Sky Sports News, and we were about to see who we’d be facing in a few weeks’ time. I still wasn’t sure how seriously I wanted to take the cups this season; a decent run could bring in some vital transfer cash, but then again we didn’t have the largest of squads here and I was worried about burn-out harming our league chances.

“Number 17”

“Darlington”

“Will play..” The camera switched over to Stuart Pearce, Man City manager, and he reached into the bag. I just knew what was coming up next:

“Number 22”. Yep, that was us, away to our north-east rivals. Bloody typical.

I switched off the TV, still cursing under my breath. I’d desperately wanted a home game, but Darlington are a league below us and we’d be expected to go through.

My thoughts were interrupted as the door swung open. It was Darren, and he was clutching a fax. From the grin on his face I guessed it was good news, and I was right; Harry Redknapp, Southampton boss, had decided he didn’t want Eddie Anaclet after all, and was happy for us to talk turkey with the 18-year old Tanzanian about a free transfer move.

“Sod it, I’ve had enough for today. Grab some glasses, let’s break open a bottle.”

retired_jennie

Sorry about the mess I made of that last post, the speech only should be in italics. It doesn't look like I'm allowed to edit it so would it be possible for a mod to correct it for me?

retired_jennie

6th August 2005

Nottm Forest vs. Hartlepool, League One from the City Ground

[H’pool line-up (4-1-3-2): (Steele, Williams, Robertson, Grant, Clark, Humphreys, Bullock, Larsson, Boyd, Llewellyn.)]

The home side came into this one as clear favourites, and right from the start they set about showing why with some concerted early pressure. The opening fifteen minutes were all Forest and I was mighty grateful to Luke Steele for keeping us in the game with fine saves from Commons and Southall.

We weathered the early storm, though, and should have led after 20 minutes when my right-back Darren Williams flicked on a long throw into the Forest box. The home defence stood like statues as the loose ball fell perfectly for Chris Llewellyn, but with the goal at his mercy the Welshman sliced it tamely wide. I couldn’t believe he’d missed it, nor could he; Forest boss Gary Megson was a very relieved man.

That relief didn’t last long, though; about eight minutes actually, when a hopeful punt from Djourou in his own half found Ritchie Humphreys in a suspiciously offside-looking position. The flag stayed down, Boyd climbed up and his powerful header from Humphreys’ flick-on bulged the Forest net. Megson went mad at the linesman, it looked offside but I couldn’t give a damn; I had just witnessed my first goal in management, and we led at the City Ground.

On the stroke of half-time it was 2-0; by now we were being forced back but were still hurting Forest through some dangerous counter-attacks. The goal, though, was a calamity of Forest’s own making, Nicky Southall dallied on the ball near the half-way line and was robbed by Humphreys, he launched it forward first-time towards Boyd and Forest’s keeper Pedersen came racing off his line. What on earth he thought he was doing will forever remain a mystery but he was light-years away from getting near it and Boyd had the goal gaping as he slotted in the easiest goal he’ll probably ever score.

Half-time: Nottingham Forest 0, Hartlepool 2

In the dressing room the players were jubilant, but I was still a nervous man; I knew full well that we were very lucky to be ahead in this one. With that in mind, I switched to a far more defensive style of play, with Djourou curbing his forward runs to provide reinforcement to the back four. In hindsight, perhaps that was a mistake; Forest began to seize control of the midfield, we were forced back, and three minutes short of the hour Scott Dobie supplied the cross, Gary Holt the glancing header and the home side were back in it at 2-1. There was no doubt who was in the ascendancy now, and we never looked like holding on.

Southall’s error had led to our second goal, but it was his launched pass that finally unlocked us, opening the way to goal for Gareth Taylor. The Welshman finished coolly and clinically, Steele couldn’t save us this time, and even though I sent players forward (and hauled off Llewellyn for youngster Jack Wilkinson up front) the game petered out and we had to settle for a point.

Nottingham Forest 2 (Gary Holt 57, Gareth Taylor 65)
Hartlepool 2 (Adam Boyd 28, 46)

retired_jennie

“Adam; you were brilliant out there today, keep playing like that all season and we’ll bloody walk this league. Same with you, Luke – keep it up and Fergie’ll be regretting letting you go.”

“As for the rest of you; don’t be too hard on yourselves. Yes I’m disappointed we didn’t do better in the second half, but it’s the first game in season, the first competitive game you’ve played for me and we’ve got our first point. All I ask is that you work hard in training next week and we’ll iron out the mistakes, believe me.”

I was annoyed we hadn’t won, of course I bloody was; when you’re two goals up at half-time it’s hard not to look at it as two points dropped, and I’d been desperate for a win to wipe the smiles off the face of certain newspaper columnists who couldn’t wait to see me fall flat on my face. But, taking a more realistic view, I knew we’d been outplayed today and had barely deserved even a point out of it.

Climbing the steps of the team coach for the long journey north, I found myself re-running today’s game over and over in my mind, trying to figure out what’d gone wrong. Was it the tactics? Should I have left things alone at half-time? Or was it simply that the side I had here couldn’t hack it?

As a player I’d never looked forward to away games, hated the long coach journeys and the hours of boredom that went with them. But, in my playing days once the final whistle went that was me done, all I had to think about was which sleazy Northern nightclub I’d be gracing with my presence later that evening. As a manager, you don’t get that same luxury. I reached inside my jacket, pulled out a silver hip-flask, and took a swig. It’d been a long day, and I felt I’d earned it.

I’d arranged to meet Claire back at my hotel around 10pm; in the end it was closer to midnight before I was turning the key in the door. I was shattered, and I was glad of her company. But later, as we were curled up in bed, a strange realisation dawned on me – my thoughts weren’t of the gorgeous girl lying on the pillow next to me; they were of Swansea, and of whether I should stick with the 4-1-3-2 formation on Wednesday night.

Football – it’s a funny old game!!

retired_jennie

“Oh come on, we see each other every day anyway. It’s not like it’s going to be such a big step.”

“But, me living above a nightclub? Come off it, that’s like moving Vanessa Feltz in over McDonald’s”

It was Sunday afternoon, I was with Claire and Darren and we were watching Chelsea take on Arsenal in the Community Shield, when talk turned to my current “housing situation.”

I was still in the York Hotel, and while I was pretty content with the situation the chairman certainly wasn’t. At the moment, the club were paying more for my hotel bills than they were paying me in wages, and Ken had been badgering me all week to find some permanent accommodation. Trouble was, there just wasn’t any available.

Now as I’d mentioned before Claire worked evenings at Bar Paris, it was where we’d first met and where we were right now, and she had her own flat above the club. Her solution; simple – why didn’t I move in with her? I was surprised, shocked even, at how appealing I found the idea, and how readily I found myself agreeing with it. Claire made her way to the ladies, and I turned to Darren and laughed;

“Bloody hell, me with a live-in lover? Christ, what’s happening to me!”

“Well I guess we’ve all got to grow up sometime, Mickey.” He paused for a moment, a more serious look on his face. “I’d love to be a fly on the wall when her Dad hears about it, though.”

Not wanting to think about that, I turned back to the screen where the final whistle had just been blown at the Millennium Stadium. It had been a bad day at the office for Jose Mourinho; even though they’d dominated the game, Jens Lehmann had been unbeatable and goals from Henry and Van Persie gave Arsenal the Community Shield.

Arjen Robben scored Chelsea’s second half consolation, and in the press conference afterwards Robben announced he’d just signed a new contract worth £75,000-a-week; that’s three times what I’m allowed to pay my entire squad!