As we drove towards the stadium from our plush 5 star hotel to face Middlesbrough, the lads were in good spirits, although big Lewis McGugan seemed a little too quiet for my liking, his club tie loose and huge Beats Audio headphones draped around his neck, staring pensively out of the window. He was sitting opposite me at the front of the coach, with the rest of the guys up the back, playing cards and giving wee Ishmael Miller a wedgie! He takes it well though and can dish it out too !! As long as they don't injure the wee fella, he's been on fire this season.
"Lewis"
"Yes boss?" he replied, avoiding eye contact with me, averting my steely gaze.
"What's eating you big man?" I asked, already with a hunch about why he was down. He hadn't been playing well and had found himself relegated to the bench in recent weeks. He has talent, I know that, but I don't feel the softly softly approach works for guys like Lewis.
Big Jimmy bounced down the bus and plonked himself down on the seat next to Lewis. "What are you two guys talking about?"
"Dunno J, ask him?" came Lewis's reply, with a hint of nonchalance.
I stormed out of my leather seat and across the aisle of the coach, blood boiling and Jimmy Floyd had to grab me to stop me throttling the midfielder.
"HIM has a ******* name Lewis, it's either Ewan or Boss you cheeky little ****!" I screamed, and by this point, the loud R&B music coming from the rear of our coach had since stopped, dozens of faces, each one more shocked than the next, stared at the drama unfolding before them .....