retired_confal2

Actually, Alex, you are wrong, as you so often are when you presume to correct me

retired_trisha myette

You signed Zahovic and Pezzarossi, they're the only 2 that you got so far.

thetaoofshawn

he got Pezzarossi ?


can you tell me who i've got please?

retired_trisha myette

Xerez Goes Transfer Crazy

New Xerez manager Alexis Manson is clearly not satisfied with the quality of the players at the club.

His first action was to get rid of two of the best players, which many fans have found difficult to understand.

I don't understand what is going on, said one disgruntled fan immediatly after Manson got rid of Alex Geijo and Ismael,why did he get rid of two key players? How are we ever going to meet expectations this way?

Manson knew exactly what he was doing, and he also knew that to succeed in anything, you have to take chances. His initial transfer budget of 55,000 euro was obviously not going to get him very far. He needed money. Out of seeling these two key players, the club received 4.6 million euro.

I had a pretty long list of good cheap players who I knew could replace the two players that I decided to sell.
What I wanted to do was to sell our two most expensive players so we could buy a whole team with the money we would get.

And he did exactly that.

Arrivals

GK: Brian Baloyi (100k from Sundowns)
DR/L Emil Jensen (600k from Halmstad)
DC: Michael Nnaji (120k from Lierse)
ML: Marco Ingrao (180k from Mons)
MC: Bruno Aguiar (6k from Benfica)
AMR/L: Gregory Christ (400k from Charleroi)
AML/C: Vassilis Tsiartas (Free Transfer)
AML/C, ST: Bjarne K. Ingebretsen (550k from Lyn)
ST: Salvador Cabanas (1.8 M from Jaguares)

Major Departures

Ismael ---> Standard Liege 1.5 M
Alex Geijo ---> Celtic Glasgow 3.1 M
Julio Iglesias ---> Pasching 750k


So, Manson decided to do his shopping mostly in Belgium and Scandinavia. He has also secured the signing on a free transfer of Swedish starlet Karl Svensson, an IFK Goteborg central defender, who will fly over to Spain in early December.

I still find it hard to believe how easy it was to get all these players. I expected it to be much tougher. If I don't manage to get some form of success with this team now, then I might as well retire.
I believe I have brought a good mixture of talented youngsters (Marco Ingrao, Ingebretsen) and experienced players (Brian Baloyi, Bruno Aguiar, Vassilis Tsiartas) to the club. If my players gel quickly, I think we have a very good chance of getting promoted. However, only time will tell, so let's not get over-excited, and start focusing on tactics.

retired_confal2

The Del Porro Diaries - Part I


I manoeuvered my way over to the chill-out area, the wooden floor alive beneath my feet to the throb of a heavy dub bassline. A thick veil of pungent smoke hung upon the air, blending with the pheromones to create new and ephemeral compounds, mildly narcotic and all-pervasive. I had lost track of time entirely, and was happy to let myself sink into the embrace of the neurochemical dawn, sprawled upon a stack of cushions in a corner of the vast room.

Later, much later, a hand on my shoulder. I open my eyes and look up into Jordi’s face, which is hilariously deformed by a grin which can only be described as that of a madman.

“Come on, David, we’ll take you home. Party’s over.�
“What time is it, coño?� I asked, realizing as soon as I had mouthed it how irrelevant the question was. Jordi shrugged his massive shoulders.
“No idea. Morning, probably. Maria will know.�
“Ok, let’s go then.�

I said goodbye to the handful of people I’d met, and waited for Jordi to do the same, which took considerably longer. This was his home turf, his base of operations so to speak, and I had only been on the island a matter of weeks. I was beginning to like it, though.

Maria was outside by her car, and we did not need to ask her the time. It was almost full daylight, which made it half six or thereabouts. We got in the car and drove off, exchanging accounts of our experiences in the club. Mine was straightforward, as I’d been flying for most of the night, which tends to reduce the level of social interaction. Jordi and Maria were far more energetic than I was, and kept having all sorts of odd yet exhilarating adventures. They were great fun to be around. Jordi was a good friend of one of my cousins, who’d been the one to suggest I should look him up when I got to Tenerife.

They dropped me off at the small, pleasant white building in which I rented a flat, waved goodbye and were off in a swirl of diesel fumes. Instead of going up to my place, I walked a hundred yards or so eastward along the Avenida del Tres de Mayo, and when I reached the city wall I leant against it for a while, gazing out at the Atlantic, daydreaming about nearby African shores. It was going to be another long, hot day; the summer was kicking in with a vengeance, and from ten to six the heat was relentless. Perfect climate for the siesta.

I headed back to the flat, had a shower and ate some breakfast, idly leafing through some music magazines Jordi had assured me were essential to my education. The buzzer sounded –probably the postman. I let him in the building and opened the door. When he appeared I asked him:

“A quick coffee, Ernesto?� He smiled and shook his head.
“Not this morning, David, I’m ten minutes behind schedule already, and still have the rest of Tres de Mayo to do. Here, two letters for you.� I took the two white envelopes and thanked him.
“See you around, then.�
“Later at the bodega, perhaps� he replied, already on his way back down the stairs.

I opened the day’s post. The first was the electricity bill, the second was an unmarked envelope that had aroused my curiosity. It was a strange letter from señor Victor Pérez de Ascanio, the chairman of Club Deportivo Tenerife, the local football club. My father, José Manuel Del Porro, had been a fairly successful football player and had finished his career here –it was partly his stories of his time here which led me to pick Tenerife, when a few months ago I began to toy with the idea of re-assessing my life and making a fresh start.

“Dear señor Del Porro� it began, “I spoke to your father on the phone last week and he mentioned that you recently moved to Tenerife, and intend to reside on our beautiful island. It would be my pleasure to meet my good friend Josélito’s son, and I thought you might perhaps be interested in a tour of the club. Ring me during office hours at the number below, or just drop by the administrative building on Calle de San Sebastián, opposite the stadium. I look forward to making your acquaintance, yours sincerely, Victor Pérez de Ascanio.�

That could be interesting. I hadn’t realized my father was still in touch with anyone here. At worst, I would be given a free meal and a close look at the club. I loved football, and had nursed dreams of becoming a professional player in my youth. I wasn’t good enough, however, and had to be content with playing in the regional amateur leagues, until four years ago I began to focus my attention on coaching. At twenty-six I began to take courses, and two years later I had my national coaching badges. Another year and I completed the UEFA course, and was unexpectedly offered a job as the football editor for a local paper in Barcelona. Eighteen months later, here I was in Tenerife, wondering what I should do next.

retired_rschoell

Albacete at ruins

Recently demoted Albacete has just gone out with the news of a new manager, so far completely unknown in the world of football, will be arriving later this afternoon.

He will be taking over a team close to financial ruin and close to no transfer budget.

Albacete fans are at unease with the unknown manager with no early credentials and what seems to be a lack of experience with managing a high division team. A smaller riot was expected after the press-release by the board wich has caused them to barricade themselves inside the clubhouse unable to go and greet the new manager at the airport.

The mysterious man who goes by the simple name of just "Simon" is steering the private little Cessna plane towards the airfield thats barely noticable, he lowers his landing gear as he takes a quick glance at the speed-meter, noticing he is coming in too fast. The radio gives a small little spark and a strange voice starts yelling in spanish. Simon, whos clearly not understanding any of this jibberish, shrugs his shoulders and turns the radio off. The plane hits the ground with a palpable force that made the ground tremble and with burning tires the plane strolls off a while untill it finally stops.

The door is thrown open and a man standing there at the entrence in jeans and a white t-shirt takes a quick look at the surroundings, he's all alone in a country completely unfamiliar to him. He steps down and starts walking towards the little house thats almost falling apart at the end of the runway, "So this is it then" he says to himself as he walks towards his new life as Albacete manager which would either be filled with glory, admiration and joy or dissapointment, failure and personal ruin.

retired_jabronie13

Guys i have a return date now.

Will be purchasing computer officially this friday, sadly delivery time is long, will have to wait a further week to get it to me.

so sunday 29th or tuesday 31st will be the return day.


If you see me on msn in the mean time on my fams comp please keep me updated. thanks guys

retired_jabronie13

lol loving the drama of simons post

retired_confal2

The Del Porro Diaries - Part II

Two days later, Teide Observatory.

I look across the sea of rolling clouds, frothing against the flanks of the mountains, and away to the west the peak of Montana Alta glows as though wreathed in phosphorescent fog. I had come here with the vague thought that the Observatory would be the best place to find views of the island as a whole. But not today, though I had no cause to complain of this. Today this promontory of dark, volcanic rock is detached from the world below by a nebulous ocean, and it floats between the earth and the heavens in eerie silence. Seven thousand six hundred feet below lies the unseen Atlantic.

The spell is broken when a pair of geologists walk past the rock upon which I am perched, glancing at me curiously and exchanging meaningful grins. I nod back when one of them eventually waves in greeting, and watch as they head along the ridge towards Montaña Bermeja.

When I am satisfied that there will be no further interruptions for another while at least, I light a small joint and wait for Isabel to reappear. She's been promising to take me up here since our first meeting, a memorable party at Jordi's place, of which I remember very little aside from Isabel. She's a postgraduate student in Astronomy at the Universidad de Gran Canaria, was born in Adeje, a small town near the southern tip of Tenerife. She often comes to work at the Teide Observatory, which is run by her current employers, the Instituto AstrofÃ*sico de Canarias.

Astronomy is a discipline I have always been interested in, but I lack the scientific noüs to explore it at any deeper level than that of the average layman. Isabel insisted on showing me some of the devices they use, and seemed determined that I should understand how they work, but she soon realized it was hopeless. I can barely get a simple PC to work, something which most five-year-olds nowadays can master within a few hours. I doubt very much whether I'll ever have anything but the most basic notions of what the Grid Calibrator can be programmed to do.

When Isabel turned up at my flat this morning, offering to drive me up to Teide, I hadn't hesitated for a second. I needed to think long and hard about the previous day's events, and what better place to do so than up there in the mountains? She'd be busy processing her latest series of observations, and I'd be able to enjoy a few hours of silent and unbroken contemplation. It was perfect.

The drive up was spectacular from the moment we reached the Montaña del Pozo, and the rugged terrain gave us plenty of time to take in the breathtaking views of this other-worldy landscape. Sometimes in the distance a flash of blue was there to remind us that we were on an island, hemmed in on all sides by a vast ocean. Beyond were the shores of Africa, the endless golden strands of the Western Saharan coast, where for thousands of years the nomadic herders of the Sahel had come to stare out at the endless stretch of the horizon.

My own concerns were far more immediate; I had spent part of the previous day with señor Pérez de Ascanio, and events had taken a wholly unexpected turn. Things got off to a disquirting start, for as he showed me around the club's installations. An angry middle-aged man in a tracksuit appeared in a corridor and came straight at us.

"I've had it up to here! That's three months I haven't been paid now; this is not the way to treat your staff! I quit. Here's the key to my office. You can expect to hear from my lawyers soon. Good day to you, señor!"

He handed señor Pérez de Ascanio the key, turned on his heels and disappeared as swiftly as he had burst onto the scene. The chairman, a severe-looking man who had until then exuded dignity, looked over at me and shrugged, looking distinctly embarrassed.

"That was the manager, José Antonio Barrios. Or ex-manager, I should say."

This put an end to the little tour he had been giving me. He told me he needed to convene with the board right away, and discuss the situation. I said I understood perfectly, thanked him for his time and left, having vaguely agreed to have lunch with him one of these days.

I went off on a few errands I had to do in town, and walked back to my flat early that evenong. As I was walking through the door, the phone began to ring. I picked it up, and was surprised to hear my father's voice.


"Qué tál, hijo? How have you been?"

"Fine dad, fine. How about you?"

"Oh, you know; the usual aches and the odd hangover, same as always. Listen son, I had a call from Victor Pérez de Ascanio a couple of hours ago. We discussed the situation of the club, and during the course of the conversation I mentioned your coaching qualifications. David, they would like you to take over the manager's position, on a trial basis."

"They what?!? You can't be serious, dad!"

"Listen to me; the club has a large debt, and they are months behind in arrears. The situation is critical, and the board want to introduce drastic measures to reduce the wage bill. This means they can't bring in anyone with a name to manage the side. This business with Barrios is very bad for the club, and the managers' union is taking a very dim view of the way he was treated."

"Surely there must be some competent managers interested in such a position. My only experience of the job is at amateur level. The fans will crucify me!"

"Don't worry about the fans, David. Worry about the players. If you get the players behind you, then you cannot fail, hijo."

"But what makes you think I even want this job?"

My father laughed.

"You can kid yourself, hijo, but you can't kid your old father! Think about it at least. Call me back in a couple of days, when you have made your mind up. Take care of yourself, David."

"Bye."


There it was. Once again, my life had been turned onto its head in a matter of hours, and a decision had to be made. Soon.

retired_trisha myette

The guy I was sharing my Internet connection with left the house so I am not connected at the moment.

I should be getting my own connection activated next wednesday. I am not sure I will be able to play till next thursday, it all depends whether I can temporarily connect onto my landlady's line (but she has dial-up I think!).