davidbr

Wednesday August 10th 2005

Hartlepool vs. Swansea, League One from Victoria Park

[4-1-3-2; Steele, Williams, Robertson, Grant, Clark, Djourou, Humphreys, Bullock, Larsson, Llewellyn, Boyd]

In the end Neill Collins didn’t make it, nor did Joel Porter recover from the thigh injury that kept him out of the Forest game, so it was an unchanged line-up that ran out for my first home game in charge. Maybe that benefited us, because right from the start we actually looked like a team, not a bunch of strangers as we’d done against Forest. Finally after 14 minutes our energetic start was rewarded; Lee Bullock won the ball well inside our own half, his first-time pass sent Adam Boyd clear of the Swans backline and Boyd’s square ball was perfect for Ritchie Humphreys to slam home; 1-0 to Hartlepool!

Johan Djourou, who I’d given licence to roam between the back four and the midfield, was using that freedom well and causing Swansea all sorts of problems. It was Djourou who started the 26th-minute move that led to our second; Humphreys was involved again, he found Boyd in space inside the eighteen-yard box and Callum Davenport threw himself into the challenge. Sadly for Davenport he got nowhere near the ball but got plenty of Boyd; the referee pointed to the spot, and as last man Davenport was forced into the walk of shame; Swansea were down to ten. I was surprised to see young Djourou step up to take it, but I needn’t have panicked – his powerful kick gave Willy Gueret no chance and we were firmly in control.

Half-time: Hartlepool 2 Swansea 0

The team walked off at half time to deserved applause, and my message was simple; well done, now let’s have more of the same! Straight away Djourou was causing problems with his roaming runs, his vision set up a decent chance for Chris Llewellyn and the Welshman should probably have scored – though after his miss against Forest I wasn’t surprised to see it go well wide!

On the balance of play we probably should have scored more, but the two were more than enough and the 6,000 crowd inside Victoria Park left happy at having seen our first home win of the season, and a comfortable one at that. Lee Grant and Ben Clark had been a formidable pairing at the back, restricting Swansea to speculative 30-yarders that were more of a threat to Claire in her mascot’s suit on the sidelines than they were to Luke Steele’s goal. Chairman Ken came down to the dressing room after the game to add to my praise of the team’s performance and even Swans boss Kenny Jackett admitted he’d lost to a better side.

Hartlepool 2 (Ritchie Humphreys 14, Johan Djourou pen 26)
Swansea 0 (Callum Davenport s/o 26)

davidbr

August 11th 2005

“S**t!! How long for??”

“I can’t be sure, Mickey, but it could be anything up to a fortnight. They’re definitely out for the City game.”

I’d arrived at the ground still on a high from yesterday’s win, but that phone call had sure wiped the smile of my face. It was from Matt Fox, my physio, and he’d just told me I’d be without my first-choice strike pairing for at least the next two matches. Adam Boyd and Chris Llewellyn had both picked up back strains against Swansea, they’d lasted the 90 minutes though and I hadn’t thought it was serious at the time – that was until they arrived for training today bent over like the hunchback of Notre Dame.

Now Matt had confirmed my worst fears and I had some serious thinking to do. Llewellyn I wasn’t so bothered about, but Boyd’s another matter – with Joel Porter still at least a week away I’d need a major reshuffle for the weekend trip to Bristol City.

Still, nothing I could do about it; except utter a few more random expletives that is! I was already feeling rather delicate (Claire and I had hit the town last night to celebrate our win and I’d, err, overindulged slightly…) and this sure didn’t help. I poured myself a glass of Scotch, hair of the dog and all that, and checked the pile of crap in the fax tray.

The first message confirmed what I already knew; Eddie Anaclet had decided his future lied at Victoria Park after all, he’d accepted the contract we’d offered him and would move from Southampton on a free. Whether he’d make the grade I really wasn’t sure, I hadn’t seen enough of him to really make up my mind, but for nothing it was worth the risk. For now he’d be training with the reserves, but he was confident he’d soon take Hugh Robertson’s place in the first X1.

The next one also brought a smile back to my face. Now I had a right-back by the name of Mickey Barron, who was so utterly crap I hadn’t even noticed him when I’d first arrived. That was until I’d realised he was costing me a precious £1,400-a-week in wages, and since H’Angus the monkey had more of a chance of holding down a first-team place than Barron I wanted him out. That fax was from Peterborough, for some reason they wanted him and were prepared to take over his contract. Mine is not to reason why; I accepted, Barron was called into my office where I explained to him his Hartlepool future was about as bright as an Iranian pope-o-gram’s; hopefully he’ll be off by the end of the week.

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“No, I won’t be late. What do you fancy doing tonight?”

“I’ve got an early start at college tomorrow and I think another heavy night would kill me!. How about I pick up a video and we slump in front the telly instead?”

“Sounds good to me.”

And it did. I’d hauled my handful of possessions from room nine at the York Hotel to Claire’s flat above Bar Paris, and we now had our own little love-nest. It’s true it was hardly luxurious but it was better than living out of a suitcase in a hotel room, and the idea of having someone to come home to had become strangely reassuring. Perhaps Darren was right, and it was time for me to grow up a little. Perhaps it was just I’d never met the right girl before. Who knows, who cares; I was going to enjoy it while it lasted.

No, things off the pitch were going well. Ken Hodcroft seemed to have come to terms with the fact I was dating his daughter, he still clearly disapproved but at least seemed willing now to give me a chance. We’d actually been getting on very well, while he does leave the running of the team to Darren and I he’ll usually pop in for a chat most days, or pop down to the training ground to see how things are going on.

davidbr

“Gavin? Sit down. I take it you’ve guessed why you’re here?”

“You’ve had an offer in for me, boss. Mr. Agnew told me.”

Gavin Strachan was spot on. Conference club Stevenage had been keeping an eye on the Scotsman since the start of the season, and this morning they’d tested the water with a £30,000 bid. Strachan hadn’t managed to get off the bench in our opening two games, and I’d made a decision.

“You’ve accepted the bid, boss, haven’t you.” I nodded, and his face fell.

“Gavin, don’t get the idea that I’m trying to force you out; if you’re happy to stay and fight for your place, all well and good – I’d be happy to keep you here. But I think you’ve realised by now that Johan’s first choice and if I’m honest I just think in the holding position he’s better than you.”

“Thanks for being straight with me, Mr Milligan. I need to think about this, it’s quite a drop down and I didn’t want to leave Hartlepool, but I’m 27 and I need to be playing regularly.”

“Well I’ve accepted Stevenage’s offer, so take your time, have a chat with your agent, and let me know what you want to do.”

That wasn’t the only transfer bid I’d had to mull over lately. In addition to the ongoing Michael Nelson saga (Celtic, West Brom and Leeds have all joined the race to sign our young defender), reserve keeper Dimitros Konstantopolous could well be returning home with Atromitos. The Greek side’s offer could be worth up to £160k, and while that’d be a fortune for a club like ours much, too much in my opinion, of the fee is in instalments and based on future appearances; looking back over Dimitros’ career, there’s no guarantee he’d be making too many of those. I don’t speak a word of Greek, but I’ve done my best to get across to them that I want more readies up-front before we’ve got a deal.

davidbr

While I was struggling with my Greek fax, I was interrupted by a knock on the door; it was Ritchie Humphreys. I hadn’t asked to see him, but as I said to the players from the day I arrived, my door’s always open.

“Sorry to bother you, boss, but I need to ask you something. There’s been rumours going around that you’ve offered me around to other clubs – is it true, sir?

It wasn’t true as such, but Darren and I had been spending the week discussing the futures of all the players at the club, we need to get that wage bill down and since Ritchie earns £1,400-a-week he was certainly often mentioned. He was an average player at best, even in this division, and we both felt we could use his wages to buy better.

“Ritchie, we haven’t transfer listed you, and don’t call me sir. But I want to build a team that can hold it’s own at a higher level, me and Darren have had a chance to look over everyone and we’re going to have to make some changes if we’re serious about promotion. We need new faces, but the way things are we have to sell before we cam buy.”

“So what’s you saying?” Ritchie wasn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the box.

“We’re not actively trying to sell you, yet. But, if a bid does come in for you, we’ll not stand in your way. It might be an idea to get your agent onto it, finding you another club I mean”

davidbr

Now it’s all well and good selling off the players you don’t need, but eventually you have to find some to replace them. It helps if they’re good ones, and we think we’ve identified several of those. It also helps if you can afford them, and that’s where luck hasn’t been one our side.

Here’s an example. On Tommy Miller’s travels through the land of Oz, of all things he came across an English kid plying his trade in the A-League who he thought might be a decent buy; Guy Bates, of the Newcastle Jets, was available for around £10k and of course since he was a Pommie we wouldn’t be shafted by the Home Office for a work permit. Anyway, Bates’ club accepted the offer, and Darren had the task of phoning him to discuss terms.

“What the f**k??!! Are you taking the p*ss??” I was guessing things weren’t going smoothly. Darren marched into my office, and his face was a picture.

“You’ll never guess what the greedy little c**t wanted?? Two and a half grand a week!!”

By way of comparison, Adam Boyd was the top earner at Hartlepool, he was also the jewel in our crown, and he was on £2k a week. Needless to say, the talks were unsuccessful!

We’d also had a bid of £30k rejected for Shelbourne striker Dean Crowe, and Northern Irish side Portadown said no thanks to my £24,000 offer for Gary Hamilton. Right now I couldn’t afford to go any higher, but those two were both full internationals and once I offloaded a bit more dead wood I’d be back with a better offer.

In fact, it’d been almost uninterrupted disappointment as far as incoming transfers went. The one and only success was that we now have a right-back as competition for Darren Williams; Souleymane Bamba was born in the Ivory Coast but doesn’t need a work permit as he’s got a French passport, and we’ve snapped up the 20-year old after Paris-St-Germain released him at the end of last season. I think he’ll be a decent signing, and it also means that at last we’ve got an alternative at right-back to Darren Williams. That can only be a good thing, for my health as well as for the team; my blood pressure rises a notch every time Williams touches the ball.

Another thing that Darren (Agnew, that is, not Williams!) and I have been sorting out is devising some specific training schedules for each position within the squad. In my playing days training certainly wasn’t something I was all that familiar with and Darren was hardly a workaholic in his career either, so we’ve relied hugely on Paul Stephenson in this task. It was a daunting task too, but Paul’s finally happy we’ve found the right balance between doing enough to keep the squad sharp, but not overworking them to the point where they die of exhaustion. Of course, we could be wrong!

davidbr

Saturday August 13th 2005:

Bristol City vs. Hartlepool; League One from Ashton Gate.

[H’pool X1 (4-1-3-2); Steele, Williams, Robertson, Grant, Clark, Djourou, Sweeney, Bullock, Larsson, Williams, Proctor]

It’d be an understatement to say that I had selection problems ahead of this one; Neil Collins, Adam Boyd, Chris Llewellyn and Joel Porter were all out through injury. It’s a bloody long journey from Hartlepool to Bristol but for once I was glad of the extra thinking time, and I used it to decide Eifion Williams and Michael Proctor would get the nod up front. Antony Sweeney also came into our midfield for Humphreys, who dropped to the bench.

The big worry was where the goals would come from, and Michael Proctor didn’t take long to come up with the answer. With only four minutes on the clock, City right-back Louis Carey sold his keeper short with a suicidal backpass, Proctor ran onto it and his finish was clinical past a furious Steve Phillips. That was just what we’d needed; Bristol City had lost both games so far, and the fans were already showing their anger.

Unfortunately we didn’t build on that, despite their terrible start to the season City were amongst the promotion favourites for a reason and they began to show why. I couldn’t deny on the balance of play they deserved to be level, in the 24th minute they were, and it was a moment of magic from a former Premiership star that made the difference. League One’s a very long way from the glamour of the top flight, but Marcus Stewart showed that class is permanent when he ran onto a hopeful punt forward, showed superb trickery to leave Lee Grant standing and gave Steele no chance with an emphatic finish.

Just as City had shot themselves in the foot for our opener, in the 34th minute so we did the same. Darren Williams had looked about as reliable as a Michael Fish weather forecast, and so it wasn’t surprising that it was his awful clearance that gifted possession to his opposite number Jamie Smith. Fair play to Smith, he still had work to do, and he did it well; his floated delivery into the box was perfect, so was Marcus Stewart’s glancing header, and that was 2-1 to City at the break.

Half time: Bristol City 2 Hartlepool 1

I’d been forced into one half-time substitution, Sweeney was forced off with a knock and Ritchie Humphreys replaced him, and I also made another out of choice; Lee Grant had been caught out of position far too often so he’d find himself watching from the bench, Michael Nelson was his replacement.

I don’t know what it is about us, but I’m yet to witness a decent second half performance from this team; I sure didn’t witness one here. True City were just as bad, but then they could afford to be; they were in front. Proctor and Williams might as well have stayed in the changing room for all the use they were out there, Humphreys came closest for us with a daisy-cutter that flew a foot wide, but we never really looked like getting back into it.

City played out the remaining minutes at half pace, Steve Brooker almost added to their lead but his long-range effort sailed just over, but they’d done enough. The final whistle confirmed my first defeat in management and it wasn’t a pleasant feeling. Still it’s early days, and I couldn’t deny City had deserved it.

Bristol City 2 (Stewart 24, 34)
Hartlepool 1 (Proctor 4)

davidbr

17th August 2005

“OK, Gavin, thanks for letting me know. And good luck; no hard feelings, yes?”

As of tomorrow, Gavin Strachan will be a Stevenage player. He came to let me know he’d decided to accept the Conference club’s offer, said he needed regular first-team football and that’s something I can’t offer him here. Still, it frees up more of our wage bill, and adds an extra £30,000 to the transfer kitty.

Part of that, though, has already been spent. Once I knew Gavin was leaving (and that I’d also got Mickey Barron off the wage-bill) I was straight back on the phone with increased offers for Dean Crowe and Gary Hamilton. They were both accepted, but Crowe was asking for £3,000-a-week and even though he’s a good player he’s not that good.

Hamilton, though, was delighted to accept, and I was delighted to get him. In the end the price was £24,000 plus a 40% sell-on clause, I felt that was a fair price, and the Northern Ireland international (he’s been capped four times by his country) was introduced to the squad at the start of training today. I might also land another new signing too; Lancaster City have accepted a £10k bid for midfielder Ian Dawes, but Dawes isn’t sure he wants to make the jump into full-time football and he’s asked for some time to think over his options.

Oh yes, and I almost forgot; we’ve got a new goalkeeper. On a free transfer, and all the way from Portugal, comes 21-year old Carlos Magalhaes on a short-term deal until the end of the season. He was released by Boavista without playing a game, but he looks to have some potential and at least it means I’m safe to sell Dimitros Konstantopolous should he decide to leave.

davidbr

19th August 2005

Another Friday, another week gone. We were due to take on Hartlepool tomorrow, but first I had a vital piece of business to conduct. Sat in front of me was star striker, Adam Boyd, and what happened next could be vital to the club’s future chances.

“Hi, Adam. How’s the back coming along?”

“Pretty good, Mr. Milligan. The doc says I should be back in training by the start of next week.”

“That’s great news. Oh and please, call me Mickey.” Right then, if I thought it’d have made him agree to what I wanted he could have called me Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile.

“Adam, I need to discuss your contract. I take it you know it runs out in twelve months time?”

“I haven’t really thought that far ahead to be honest, Mr..er, Mickey.”

“Well I have. In short, Adam, I want to keep you, I’m desperate to keep you. Now I’ve discussed it with the chairman, and we’ve put together the best possible deal the club can afford at the moment. I’d like you to look it over, talk to whoever you need to, and get back to me as soon as you can.”

“No need for all that, boss. Just hand it over, I’ll sign it now.”

“What?? You sure?”

“Positive. I reckon we’re going the right way here and I’m playing regularly. I’m not interested in going to a Premiership club and spending the next two seasons keeping the f****g bench warm. Besides, I’m happy in Hartlepool.”

Happy in Hartlepool?! I thought it was his back he’d damaged, not his brain! The last time anyone was happy in Hartlepool, it was that bloody monkey, and that was only because it knew it’s suffering would soon be over. Still, all that was important was that ten minutes later I’d secured Adam Boyd’s signature on a new five-year deal worth around £3,000-a-week. Who says there’s no loyalty in football any more?

davidbr

Although I say it myself, that was one hell of a result, and I think it deserved a celebration! I reached for the Grouse, opened, and poured away while at the same time absent-mindedly flicking the office TV over to Sky Sports. It seems I wasn’t the only manager who’d been making headway with contract negotiations today; Arsene Wenger was on, so was Thierry Henry, and Henry had just signed a new four-year deal at Arsenal. Working out a few sums in my head, I realised that Henry would now earn in a week more than Adam Boyd earned in a year!

Whilst I was allowing myself a wry smile at the ridiculous salaries now being paid at the top end of the game (and a wistful thought as to why I wasn’t there earning them!) I was brought back to reality by a knock at the door. To my surprise, it was Claire.

“Hi, love; didn’t expect to see you down here today. Thought you were at college ‘til gone four?”

“Yeah, Daddy called me in. He says he needs me in costume, for the photo-shoot, like.”

“What bloody photo shoot? First I’ve heard of it.”

I wasn’t keen on photo-shoots, press conferences, or the press in general for that matter. Guess I’d never forgiven them for the way they’d hounded me at Liverpool, and the things some of them printed when I first took over here hardly did anything to endear me to journalists in general. Plus it was Friday, I was tired, and I still had work to do.

With that, as if by magic, Ken Hodcroft poked his head around the door.

“Yes, sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, but it was all a bit rushed. You understand.” No, not really I didn’t.

“The Hartlepool Mail wants to do a piece on Gary Hamilton, a few pictures, that sort of thing. After all, it’s not every day we sign an international.”

"Christ, Ken, he’s won four caps for Northern Ireland not the World Cup with Brazil. Alright then, let’s get it over with. But if that bastard from the local rag’s there, the one who called me an alcoholic, I’m off.”

Ken glanced at me, then at the half-empty bottle of Grouse on my desk, and just smiled.