As Yet Untitled - A FM story with a bit of difference

[spitfire]

Hello everyone,

What follows is my second attempt at writing a Football Manager story. The first was in 2004 with CM 03/04 and was pretty terrible! I had created a world league based on the English FA system and incorporated a side-story involving Stephane Henchoz's family kidnapping my manager's child.....yeah......

What you'll find below is a wall of text. I'm not a fan of stories with pictures/screen grabs or ones that are just results-based. I'll use a FM-save to help guide me along and provide something of a timeline but, largely, the football will be the background. The main story will be......well, you'll soon see!

THIS STORY CONTAINS FAIRLY REGULAR COARSE LANGUAGE - THE MODS HAVE ADVISED THAT AS LONG AS ITS CONTEXTUAL, INOFFENSIVE AND IS NOT OVER-THE-TOP THEN IT IS ALL GOOD. IF ANYONE HAS ANY ISSUES WITH THE CONTENT, PLEASE PM ME!

*As Yet Untitled*
- Johnny's Story

​

Introduction

"So I?m sorry Johnny, we won?t be able to offer you a new contract. The club feels that it needs to go in a new direction, develop a new style of play in order to compete with the bigger squads and get that promotion we?ve desired for years. You?ve still got football left in you, but just not here I?m afraid."

Those were the words I had been dreading to hear. The gaffer telling me that I was too old and lame to play football in League Two any more. He was right, of course, at 34 I had played over 500 competitive matches for a number of different teams. I had suffered repeated injuries to my ankle and I just did not have the speed or stamina that I once did.

Nobody likes hearing that your career is over though. We were a tight-knit bunch at Wycombe; everyone got along and the majority of us had been together at the club for the last 3 seasons. Being forced out, having to leave on someone else?s terms rather than my own was a hit to my ego.

That afternoon, once the formal FA paperwork had been processed and I was officially off-contract I had a couple of calls from clubs wanting my services. They did not feel that 34 (and half a right ankle) was too old for football!

Kidderminster and Grimsby were the first calls, offering to put a two year contract worth $350 and $425 respectively in front of me. I told them I?d call them back; I could not make a decision that quickly! I mean, I had not even cleared out my locker yet!

The next phone call I got was from Tom Jennings, the sports columnist at The Wycombe Way wanting to chat about my retirement. My retirement!? Who said anything about me retiring I asked!

?Well, Johnny, it?s a well reported fact that you?ve only got half an ankle now and lets be honest, your passing ability was suspect at the least all last season. Maybe this is a sign??

Retirement! Hang on, it was only five hours ago that I was wondering were the pre-season friendlies would be taking place next season! Now all of a sudden, I don?t have a contract, no-hope Conference teams are offering me contracts and the media thinks I?ve retired! Talk about the world coming crashing down around my head. I need a drink?

Four days later I woke up on the floor of a shower cubicle with an angry cleaning lady screaming at me? ?Vem den fan er du!? Vem den fan er du!!??? Vem den fan indeed??..

 

[Gavinwwe]

Brill story so far following !

 

[spitfire]

Chapter 1:

"Vem den fan er du!? Vad er du gor har? Var de ar din trosor?"

"Woah, slow down love. Nick sprecken-zee Dutch! Where am I?"

"Dutch? Tysk? Pah! Du er Engelsk?"

"Engelsk? What is that?"

"Engelsk. Eengleeshk?"

"Oh! English! Yes, I am. I'm not in England am I?"

"Du er I Sverige du dum turisten. Sta upp med har!"

"Come again?"

"Sta upp!"

It was about this time that I decided I should leave. Looking around I could see my jeans lying discarded on a nearby chair, sopping wet as if I had gone swimming in them. The crazy cleaning lady was eyeing me suspiciously, her knuckles going white as she clenched her mop, ready to strike out at me if I wasn't moving quickly enough!

"Ute" she said, pointing to a set of double doors at the far end of the shower block.

I struggled into my jeans and began walking for those doors, hands in pockets. That quickly reminded me though. My phone! My wallet! They weren't in my pockets as was their regular home. I spun around and as I began to open my mouth, I saw those fiery, hostile eyes and thought the better of my question. Great, I thought, as I turned once more for the doors, not only are my wallet and phone missing but that woman is going to give me nightmares for the rest of my days.

It was pouring rain; raining "cats and dogs" as my mother would have said, but given that I was already wet through, adding more water wasn't going to make much of a difference. As the doors were slammed shut behind me, I began looking around to identify were on Earth I was. I got the sneaking suspicion that I wasn't in England anymore (nor was I in Kansas...) and nothing looked particularly familiar at all.

Taking a walk around the outside of the building I had come from, it became apparent very quickly that this was a football club! There were multiple pitches spread out around the area and I could make out some grandstand seating through the driving rain. The shower block quickly became part of a larger club house, a multi-storey building with a large carpark out the front. Whilst it looked similar to any number of club grounds back home this one was alien to me.

Coming around the front of the building, I found myself standing in front of a set of automatic sliding doors. Embossed across the doors was a large club logo.

"Malmo FF" I said to myself. "Never heard of it."

As the doors opened and closed before me, the sensor losing its ****, I felt obliged to head on in and begin making head or tail of where I was.

"Vill du behov hjalp?" asked a petite blonde girl sitting behind a tall reception desk.

"Uh hi, does anyone speak English here?"

"Yah, I speak Eengleesh. Can I hilp you?"

"I very much hope so! I just woke up in your shower block, soaking wet, and I have no idea where I am or how I got here" said in I in my best Queen's English.

"You are at ze Malmo Fotboll clube. Vat verr you do-ink in ze shower?"

"Yeah..Malmo. I read that on your door. Where is that?"

"Sweden of course."

"Sweden!? How the ****...? Yeah I have no idea. I just woke up there when the cleaner came in and started screaming at me. I don't suppose you know how I got here?"

"I'm sorry sur, I do not. Perhaps you want to veeseet ze geeft shop? A new ****, maybe?"

I took a look down at myself and noticed for the first time, the actual state that I was in. We've already established that my jeans were soaking wet but they were torn to shreds at the hems and there were black, grease like marks from top to bottom. My shirt was filthy: sniffing, I caught the stench in my nostrils and felt the bile begin to rise in my throat. At least I've now managed to identify one of the reasons why I was in a shower block.

Taking the extremely helpful advice of the receptionist, I was now adorned in a fresh Malmo shirt and some particularly snazzy training shorts. Didn't I look like the club's biggest fan!? It was time to take stock of my situation:

I'm in Sweden.

I don't speak Swedish.

I have no idea how I got here.

I've lost my wallet and my phone (although I did have some strange looking notes in my pockets).

That receptionist was hot.

I didn't feel any more comfortable, despite my new digs, with my situation. Good talk, Johnny.

 

[mike887]

im loving it fantastic

 

[spitfire]

Chapter 2:

So how did I get to Sweden?

I decided to leave the club behind and make my way to the nearest pub to have a bit of a think. Maybe, given that I'm clearly Malmo's biggest fan, someone will sponsor me a pint! I hadn't got any more than 100 yards down the road though when a black Mercedes stopped alongside me, brakes screeching, with it's passenger window rapidly winding down.

"Johnny! There you are! Been driving around for the last hour looking for you. Mate, you'd best hurry up. You've got to meet the manager in 10 minutes!"

"Eh?" I asked most eloquently.

"Meeting with the manager.........what the **** are you wearing?! Don't you know IFK Malmo and Malmo FF are local rivals!? Christ, if any of the fans saw you..." he trailed off.

"Yeah....I.....I don't know. Shove over then" I said thinking that bluffing my way through this was the best option available to me right now. I mean, he knew my name....

"Right, so you've done your research then? Know what this club is all about?" asked the mysterious stranger.

"To be honest, I've not done a thing. You know, my training..."

"Training?! Pfft! Johnny, I know for a fact that you've been on a bender since Thursday but I would have thought even a professional like you would have spent some time reading the notes I gave you after the trial match on Saturday."

Notes? Trial match? Saturday? What the **** was this guy talking about?

"Look, I'll cut to the chase with you. Clearly you know who I am but I've not got a clue who you are. I don't remember any trial match nor any notes you supposedly gave me. In the last 30 minutes or so I've woken up wet, filthy and stinking to high heaven in the change room of a football club in Sweden with a crazy cleaning lady yelling at me and now you've just rocked up spinning some story about a trial and meeting a manager!"

"Hahahaha Johnny! This is the craziest story I've heard in a while. Don't worry, I've got another copy of the notes here with me. You can read them now. I'm going to call the club and let them know we've crashed into a bus or something. That'll buy us some time to get downtown and pick you up some new clothes. Imagine walking in there dressed in a Malmo shirt! Ha!"

"I don't even know your name?"

"Cedrick. Cedrick Hollingsworth's my name. I'm you new agent!"

 

[spitfire]

Chapter 3:

30 minutes later, there I was, standing in a finely tailored 20 quid suit in front of what could be my new boss. He was sitting at a large oak desk, like the one your grandfather has in his study, although this one had certainly seen more prosperous days! A newspaper laid open in front of him with some Swedish scrawl above a large picture of a man lying face down in a gutter...

Cedric was nervously chattering away about God only knows what but all this guy did was look directly at me. I, being the man that I am, stared straight back as if to say "come at me, bro!"

"Mr. Hollingsworth" spoke the intense new manager "that is quite enough. We will let his football doing the talking."

My football? I don't have a foot....oh, he means my footballing skills. I get it.

He stood up quickly, grabbed a smoldering cigarette from an overflowing ashtray and walked out of the room, smoke trailing in his wake.

"I guess we follow" suggested Cedric.

"Could really do with that Malmo gear now, couldn't I?"

Hurrying out of the office, it was easy to follow where he had gone given the enormous smoke cloud billowing behind him. It was as if he'd suddenly lit up 10 or 20 packs as soon as he left the office! Down the hallway we went, around a corner and out a set of doors onto the field. Instantly, a ball came flying at my head and I caught it just before it broke my nose.

"I'm not a ****** 'keeper!" I yelled angrily.

The new manager, his name is Henrik Magnusson by the way, was already at the far end of the field standing in what looked to be a significant bush fire that could threaten homes in an instant...well, there was a lot of smoke anyway...

"Run" he called out, his words just managing to carry on the slight breeze that was blowing across the park.

"I'm wearing a suit!" Was this guy for real?

"You'd better run, Johnny. We need this" said Cedric, anxiously, from my side.

"We? I can't see how my signing for some bottom-tier Swedish backwater benefits you much, Cedric?"

"It will. Trust me."

"Mmmmhmmmmmm" said I.

I kicked off my shoes and socks and began lumbering off down the field towards him. As I passed him he looked down at his watch "40 seconds, not good. Again."

Off I went again, trying a little harder this time but he didn't seem satisfied.

"Again."

Back the other way. Still not good enough.

"One more chance then I walk away."

"Jesus! C'mon Johnny!" cried out Cedric as his emotion got the better of him. What the **** is going on here...?

"Alright, calm down, calm down..." I took off, legs pumping, arms swinging front to rear like a steam engine, head bowed, face in an expression that only my mother could love...as I crossed the line I lurched my body forward like a sprinter...then slipped in a mud patch and went **** over *** right at the feet of Magnusson.

"Hmmmm" I heard him, um hum to himself? "Not good, but better. You are quite old for football. Lets see your balls."

"Uhh what?"

"Your ballskills. Are you deaf as well?" He opened a small trunk that was on the floor next to his feet and kicked a bunch of balls down field towards halfway.

"I stand here, you pass the ball straight to me." He was a man of many words.

"Piece of ****, mate."

"I am not your mate."

With those encouraging words boosting my desire to do well, I jogged downfield to the balls and readied myself. Passing was my game; something that I considered myself actually good at. As age had caught up with me, my fitness levels and ability to run all day had decreased so I had to rely increasingly on my accuracy when passing. That being said, I would normally kick a ball with a pair of boots on, not bare, muddy feet.

The first ball landed a metre or so to his right. The second and third were perfect. The fourth was a little heavy and he was forced to control it down with his chest. The fifth, well, I was feeling pretty confident so I lobbed it in the direction of Cedric. And just as I had hoped, he was fumbling around on his Blackberry as the ball collected him in the side of the head.

"Aggghhh! Screw you, Johnny!"

"Good. You can play for me. See Bjorn inside for contract. Training starts tomorrow at 0530."

And that was that. I had just won my first Swedish football contract and I had done it bare foot and in a suit. Cedric was evidently delighted as he grasped me in his arms when I got back to him, the ball to the head forgotten.

"We did it! Yes! Let's get you inside and sign this contract ASAP!"

"We?" I said but he was already practically dancing off back towards the club house.

Bjorn was like my ex-wife's Uncle. You know that dodgy Uncle at your wedding that inevitably gets drunk and then cracks onto someone far too young for them or goes around telling everyone what he thinks of them? You've all got one, I'm sure of it. Anyway, Bjorn looked just like that. His hair was thinning on top, he was more than a bit podgy and there was a foul, stale odour emanating from behind his desk. To say he'd had a hard life would be an understatement.

When he opened his mouth, however, he was anything but that inappropriate uncle. The funny Swedish accent aside, he was extremely well-spoken and had a voice like...what's that saying? As smooth as a baby's bottom? A voice as smooth as a baby's bottom....that's not right...whatever, it was not what you'd think and just added to the mounting weirdness of this club. Nevertheless, the contract was signed without event, excluding the point when Bjorn signed his name and Cedric let out a small squeal of delight.

"Be seeing you around, Johnny" Bjorn said as shook hands and departed.

"We hadn't gone more than a few steps down the corridor when I noticed a couple of blokes lingering around the secretary's desk. One of them, this big, hulking bald bloke was leaning on the counter, nattering on about some **** in that hilarious Swedish, whilst the other bloke was picking his fingernails. Cedric was busy scrolling through his Blackberry so hadn't noticed them. The big one looked up, the grin leaving his face straight away.

"You must be ze new Eeenglishman, eh?"

"You have another already?" quipped I.

"Eh? My name is Arik, this is Viktor. I'm the Captain."

Nice to meet you, Captain Arik. Viktor." I said, nodding at them in turn. "I'm Johnny, the new Englishman and midfielder extraordinaire. Here to show you how to kick a ball in a suit, apparently."

"You sink you are funny, yes? We very funny too. You'll see at training tomorrow. Come on, Viktor." And they turned and left. Just like that. Those guys were funny. Funny like one of those 90s high school films when the "jocks" run some sort of ridiculous intimidation racket on the new kid at school.

"Know those two clowns, Cedric?"

"I know of them, yes. Local lads. Played here their entire career. They were both Malmo youth team dropouts and they've carried a chip on their shoulder ever since. Technically both quite good on the pitch but their temperament is something else. They're pretty tight with the manager actually."

"Thanks for the comprehensive background check!" LOL, I thought, "meanwhile, who's this lovely young lady?"

Seated at the desk and looking decidedly flustered and busy was a gorgeous piece of ace. She was blonde (I've since learnt that they all are...) and had her hair tied back in a pony tail. She had one of those Hilfiger pullovers on with the collar of her shirt pulled through the top. I couldn't see the rest of her but I'm sure it was just as good as the top half. Oh, she was wearing glasses too. And you're well aware of my penchant for girls in glasses. Okay, maybe you're not. I forget that I've only just started telling this story...

"Are all the secretaries good looking in this country?" I asked, remembering the other at Malmo.

"Good afternoon Mr. Hollingsworth" said the secretary, expertly ignoring me. "How are you today? It's nice to see you again."

"And very nice to see you too, Helga (of course her name was Helga! Ha!). I'm well. Excited that we've got Johnny here on the books now. He's a very good player. Tell me, how is your mother? Did she get the basket I sent her?"

"Oh yes, Mr. Hollingsworth, she did! She said to pass on her thanks. You are a very nice man."

"Think nothing of it! Always nice to do something for the elderly. Now if you'll excuse us, I'm taking Johnny to his new apartment downtown. Adjo! Come along, Johnny."

I was standing there, eyes bewildered and mouth agape. Who was this guy? One moment he's a nervous wreck, the next he is bouncing up and down like a little kid, then he's some sort of good Samaritan ladies man and telling me to come along...

 

[Enrico Pucci]

Love It! Looking forward to a rolling, raunchy tale.

 

[spitfire]

Chapter 4

Malmo actually looked like a really nice place, despite the weather. Being an Englishman and used to foul weather it was comforting in a way, amongst all the strangeness of the last couple of hours. We didn't have to travel far before we appeared to be in the CBD with high rise office blocks dominating either side of the road. Cedric had been on his Blackberry most of the trip, allowing me time to see my new surroundings.

"Ah here we are" he said, looking up. "Just do a few laps around the block, Frank, I won't be long. Come along, Johnny." Again with the come along? This'll have to change...

Stepping out into the rain, we were immediately greeted by a doorman with an umbrella who seemed anxious to ensure Cedric didn't get wet and rushed him inside as quickly as possible. I was clearly not important enough to get the same treatment. Cedric walked straight through the lobby and into a waiting elevator, pressing the button for the 14th floor.

"14th floor, eh? Swanky" I said, rolling my eyes. Cedric remained glued to the Blackberry and had chosen to completely ignore me for the time being. Lucky me.

The lift dinged, as lifts do, the doors slid back and we were greeted by this hulking monster of a man with arms like cannons and a face that only a mother could love. Check that. I think even a mother would struggle to love this one. He looked like he was from the deepest, darkest jungles of Africa with his black-as-night skin, glistening under the lights of the hallway. But when he spoke, he couldn't have been further from said jungles.

"Eeeelo, Mr. Hollingsworth! he squeeled, "leeemeeee geet thar door for ye der."

I burst out laughing. I couldn't help it. "What the ****?" I said under my breath and I was rewarded with death like stares from Squeeky and from Cedric. Well, I thought, at least Cedric is acknowledging me again.

"What?" I said. "Have you ever listened to his voice? A man that size shouldn't have a voice like that! It's hysterical!"

"Christopher has a speech impediment, you fool!" Cedric retorted. "Keep talking like that and I'm sure he'll give you one too, quick smart."

Cedric turned and walked through the open double doors as I held up my hands in mock surrender. I scuttled past and into the apartment without my voice being impeded.

When my eyes adjusted to the gloom I found myself surprised. Again. For what felt like the 80th time that day. The ****** place was enormous and luxuriously fitted out. A long black leather couch dominated the living space, facing towards floor-to-ceiling windows with a view across the Malmo skyline. There was more leather than you could shake a stick at, actually, coupled generously with rich mahogany book shelves and a dining table. What looked like priceless artwork (in retrospect, what the **** would I know about artwork?!) adorned the walls.

I must have been making my astonishment obvious as Cedric soon grabbed me by the arm and directed me to the dining table. "Sit" he pronounced before turning and disappearing into another room, returning with two crystal glasses and a bottle of Scotch.

"You like Scotch, Johnny? Of course you do, you're a ****** alcoholic. We're going to have a toast, you and me. This is going to be the start of a successful endeavor for the both of us. You don't know what is going on right now, perhaps you'll never truly understand, but you're part of something big. I'm going to be rich; well, richer than I am now at least..." he trailed off, clearly dreaming about diving into a pool of money.

"What about me?" I sensibly inquired.

"Oh you'll be remunerated, never you mind about that. You'll have to earn it, of course, but I'll look after you."

Ok, now I'm starting to get a little ****** off. Who does this little pin-***** think he is? He thinks he is some sort of Mafioso...

*Narrators note: I have a quick temper. That'll probably become more obvious as my story continues.*

"You about ready to tell me what the **** is going on, Cedric? And no ******* bullshit either. I'm not interested in being your **** drug mule or some ****. And what the **** does me playing football for some retarded backwater club in Sweden got to do with it." *Wow, that didn't take long*

"You'll find out in good time, Jon. Don't worry. Now, a toast! To successful enterprises!" he said, raising his glass to his lips.

I tipped the glass and felt the liquid warm my insides as it went down. When I looked back at Cedric I noticed that his drink was still full.

"You didn't drink your own toast?"

"Oh, I don't drink alcohol. Miserable stuff. Headaches. You know..." he trailed off again, "I just like to pretend to."

"Whats your prrrroooobbbllleeemmmm?"

Wait.

What?

Why did my voice sound funny?

"Whaaaats woong wi my moof?"

"That'll be the drug I slipped into your glass. Like I said, don't worry. You'll be fine. Just go with it, Johnny."

"Daa fuugg?"

"Yes, that's right."

My head was swirling, my eyes couldn't focus and I'm sure I was drooling onto the table. The last thing I remember is hearing a strange cackling laughing behind me...

When I came to I was in a strange bed, it was dark and a phone was ringing on the table beside me. ****, not again...

 

[mking1992]

Really want to see more of this, hope you can get back to writing it soon!