Joined
May 25, 2010
Messages
113
Reaction score
0
Points
0
The rain poured down the windows of my office, a half empty packet of paracetomal with the two layers, one empty, the other with only one missing, bundled on top of the case. I had needed them. The room was now only have lit, the lamp on my desk the sole source of light. I had been working here for the last nine years of my life, the memories scarred my brain, as a single tear left my eye.

A box with all my possessions was lying on the desk. I picked up the paracetomal, took one of the small capsules out and emptied it into my mouth. A shudder went down my back as the capsule forced its way down my throat. I went over to my trophy cabinet, so many memories were here in this large cabinet. A League Two Manager of the Month on the bottom shelf, with five League One manager of the months, a few championship and premiership ones were also in there. The shelf above held all the Manager of the Year Awards. Above that my minor and major medallions from Cup and League victories, League Two, League One, Championship, Premiership Carling Cup, League Cup, FA Cup and even the legendary ECC. I had had this trophy cabinet installed on my first day. I remember it well, meeting the players, most of who were out of the door rather soon afterwards.

My wife always said I was addicted to the job that it was taking over my life. But my job was my life... That is probably why she left me.


She had a point, I got too fixated into it. I realise now that now that I am about to leave my office, they said they would send me the trophy cabinet; I had nothing to do, no hobby, nothing. Football was my life, it had been when I was little, when I was at my first football match was the first time I felt at home, God that sounds cheesy. Then again it’s the truth.

I turned of the light of the lamp on the desk, picked up the box, it was incredibly heavy, and walked out the door, turning one last time into the near pitch black office. I left, the longer I stayed the harder it would be to go. I walked into the carp park, packed the car, and left the Gillespie Stadium for the very last time, as I left through the gates there were flashing lights outside from Press Photographers, I knew I would get to read all about it in my copy of the Sun tomorrow.

Gillingham Football Club was my life, and has been for nine years – what a journey that was and how the mighty fell.
 
Loving the opening :)

Although the 'carp park' gave me a chuckle- walking through a carp park would certainly be interesting! :p
 
Last edited:
Lol thanks for the comments :)

---------- Post added at 11:01 PM ---------- Previous post was at 10:40 PM ----------

I bent over, and as soon as I did sick came up my throat and out of my mouth. It spewed across the concrete pavement. This was the part of drinking I didn’t like, when you realise you’ve made an **** of yourself and that you’ve really overdone it.

I was outside a pub in Sidcup, near London. It was about 12 and I had gotten wasted. I had come here with Tom and Jason, the Feeney brothers who I had played with when I was at Tottenham, to celebrate on getting a job at Gillingham FC. It had been a while since I played my last match that was when I was 29 however my career was ended with one final injury, one that I never fully recovered from. No-one really remembered me anymore so I was free to get ******-out-of-my-head whenever I wanted really, as long as it’s in a place that will have no cameras.

I had earlier signed a contract in Paul Scally’s office to make me the Gillingham manager, something I have always wanted to do when I left playing football. I had basically spent the last few years of my life getting my FIFA Levels for coaching and living life properly for the first time since I started playing regular professional football. I got married to my wife, I have known her since we were little and had been dating for a few years now.

I tried to stand up. Tom and James were on my side trying to help me up. Everything was quite blurry, my head wouldn’t stop spinning. I fell to the ground again as another wave of sickness poured out of my mouth. I could feel the lumps as they exited from my mouth. It was quite disgusting. Once again they helped me up and we tried to continue to walk down the road. It was more like they walk and me getting dragged along though.

I must have looked a sight, bile drooling from my mouth onto the pavement, leaving a trail like a slug as we turned a corner. The car was metres ahead of us, they lifted me into the back, as James got into the driver seat, he had been our designated driver, and Tom got into the front passenger seat. I lay back, my seatbelt was already on. My head fell onto the window, my sight was blurry and the lights stung eyes. It was about an hour till we arrived at m house. The detached house sat neatly on a country road in Kent. It was a Tudor house hold that had been modernised on the inside. My wife would probably be waiting for me, she had told me not to stay out too late and not get too drunk, but I didn’t care, at the moment getting hired as Gillingham manager was the best thing to happen to me for a while, apart from - maybe - getting married. I’m not too sure yet what was better, I’d have to wait to see.

I was helped to the front door, they helped me reach for my key and I opened the door and stood in the doorway.

“Thanks guys that was....” I stopped, I felt something come up my throat. I thought I was going to be sick again. It was just a burp. I continued on “really fun. I’ll see you guys soon right?”

“Yeah man, I hope you have fun tomorrow at the Press Conference.” Tom said, ****, I forgot, I had to get to Scally’s office in the morning tomorrow to discuss some things for the press conference, this was going to be my first one, I didn’t want it to go badly.

“Yeah, see you guys sometime” I responded and they turned to leave, James waved as he got into their car and they drove off, leaving me in the doorway.

I closed the door and suddenly something clicked: the press conference tomorrow. I needed my noted. Where did I put them? I couldn’t remember, I swore under my breath and ran up the stairs. I went into my study, opened the bureau, crud they weren’t there. I went downstairs and searched the pockets of the suit I was wearing earlier. They weren’t there either.

I turned around in front of the suit, surveying the lounge. My hand ran through my hair going from my forehead all the way to the back of my neck. I saw my wife enter the doorway, she was fairly short. I like short people.

“Have you seen my...” I started but she interrupted me.

“Your notes for tomorrow?” She said pulling them out of the pocket of her pink dressing gown, “yes I have, now come to bed or you’re not getting them, you need some sleep.”

With that I went upstairs to sleep; it had been a long day. The second my head touched the pillow my eyes closed and my mind slept.

---------- Post added at 06:54 PM ---------- Previous post was yesterday at 11:01 PM ----------

The light burns my eyes. The sun is shining shimmering directly into my pupils, burning my retina. My head hurts. Other than the moment that you realise you’ve made an **** of yourself this is the other point of drinking I do not like, at all. The hangover. It’s ghastly. My head feels like its spinning, my eyes blinking repeatedly again and again, a sharp moan escapes my mouth. I swear under my breath. I hate this. I hate this so much.

I roll over. I realise at some point that I was on the wrong side of the bed to normal. I think it was when I hit the floor. I let out a large groan as my head thumps the carpet floor. That makes my headache worse. Much worse. I roll onto my front, and with as much energy as I can muster I get onto my feet. I try to balance myself, my body swaying left to right like a ship. I never liked ships. I grab hold of the table in front of me, a packet of paracetomal on top of it, one layer empty, the other with two missing. I squeeze two out and take them. I realise it won’t be enough so I take another two.

I moved, gingerly to the door, in my Pyjamas, and hear a noise. The mail was dropped through the letter box. I walk to the top of the stairs, and stop. I realise something. Something important. I have to be at Priestfield Stadium by 10 a.m, to talk with Scally about the Press Conference at 3 p.m. What was the time? Where was my wife? Crud. I raced down the stairs and into the lounge. I spray some deodorant on myself and grab the suit, rushing to put it on. It takes me four minutes to search for my watch. I look at the time, it’s 9:45. I live a few miles outside of Rochester, I wasn’t grossly far from Gillingham, but there was going to be a lot of traffic.

I raced outside. Then I realise I had left my notes inside. I didn’t either have my keys or my wallet. I knocked at the door. Where was she? I wait a few minutes before racing round the back. I latch open the back door, it’s never locked, and race upstairs. Grab the notes and my wallet, with my keys in it, and run back downstairs, outside, in the car, and I’m off. I race down the county road, the lucky thing about where I live is no one else lives near there, and within three minutes I’m at the junction between the motorway and the small town near my home. I take a left onto the road that leads to the motorway.

I am going 60 miles an hour. 70. 80. 90. I am speeding down the motorway at 100 miles an hour. I pass the exit for Rochester and take a left onto the Motorway for Gillingham, not slowing down. I swerve round cars, dodging everything in my way, and then I see it. A lone police car, 30 metres ahead, I don’t have time to slow down, they know I’m speeding. I’m going to be stopped. The inevitable is going to happen. I pass it. Inside the driver is a blonde, thin man, concentrating, deeply, on the road. On his left is his co-policeman officer person. In one word he’s spherical. He’s munching away at a box of 12 Krispy Kremes Doughnuts. He’s a sight. A bit of custard has fallen onto his uniform. It looks like Angel and Butterman out of Hot Fuzz. Great movie that.


I move onto the exit lane. The fat guy hadn’t seen me.

I turn off and go into a tunnel. As I come up I carry along the road and come to a roundabout, I carry straight on. It’s 10:10, I can at least limit my lateness. I carry along and two minutes later come to the second roundabout and take a right. I’m now driving through streets of houses. Gillingham is a poor run down area but it has a lot of spirit, something that many richer places don’t have. It’s why Gillingham FC has a lot of potential. I just need to fulfil it.



I turned the car into Priestfield car park. The players weren’t training for two more weeks so as to let the backroom staff re adjust things for the new season. I got out of the car, picking up my notes, and ran to the entrance for the Business Section of the stadium. I showed my pass and was allowed through. I first ran to my office. Scally had said the previous day that he would leave me a guide to everything about Gillingham I didn’t already know: finances, bios of players, reports from Hendon about the players, and other stuff. I saw it. On the front was the Gillingham FC logo with a blue cover and the title “A Brief Breakdown of the Workings of Gillingham Football Club”.

I ran down the hall to his office and knocked, before entering. I wondered what he would make out of my lateness.
 
Enjoying this mate, great detail in the hangover description. Feeling that myself today!
 
His office was more like a lounge. There was a plasma T.V on the left, two couches facing it at angles. His desk was long and curved. He sat on one side. The other seat, on the other side, had the table curving round it. I took my seat, he had gestured to it, he still hadn’t looked up from his laptop. He was typing - fast. I figured this man, especially from what I had already seen, liked things quick and fast. Everything, quick and fast. I decided to make casual conversation.

“So, how are....” He held up a finger to stop me. This guy was starting to annoy me, and my head, I just remembered about my headache, and lo and behold it started to hurt again.

I grabbed my forehead with my hands, before realising he was looking at me. I dropped my hands. I suffered, to make a good impression.

Finally he finished and stopped typing closing the laptop. I tried again at making conversation.

“So how are.....” Again he stopped me holding up his index finger to my face. He took a sip from his coffee.

“You’re late.” He said. I knew this. It was why I was out of breathe.

“I’m sorry sir,” I said. Bosses are like woman, they like to think they’re right even if they’re completely wrong. It’s best just to apologise, “I had a late night last night.”

“I know you did. Did you enjoy getting wasted?” He said, staring me in the eyes. I stared back, we were having a stare war it seemed. I looked away, defeated.

“Sorry sir,” I said as I sighed, “I got a little bit carried away.”

“Well I’m honestly furious,” he said taking a sip of coffee, his face as hard as stone, “that you didn’t invite me. I don’t ever get invited.” He finished sighing. “Now this Press Conference later is – obviously – to introduce you as manager, you need to be fit and prepared so I suggest.... coffee.”

“Yes sir.”

“Well, it’s over there the machine,” he pointed to the coffee machine at the back of his office, “go get one.” He said laughing. I didn’t get what was funny.

I walked over, my head was finding it hard to stay on my head, my mum always said I would lose my head some day. This was not right. Too many buttons, I didn’t know which one to press. My head, it was caning. Damnit which button do I press? Crud he’s sitting there waiting, sipping his coffee. Which button is it? I look and see one, squeezed in-between a Cafe mocha and a cappuccino. I pressed it. “How many sugars would you like?” **** I don’t know where the numbers are. And my head! Oh no he’s almost finished his coffee. There they are, squeezed into the bottom right. My head is spinning but I hold on. “Milk?” Yes. It makes a clunking noise, and the soiund of liquid pouring. It’s done. I reach out to pick it up. My head still spinning, I walk gingerly back to my seat, being careful not to upset the coffee.

I sit down. That was a painful experience. I pull my chair to the table and take a sip of the coffee. It’s revolting.

“Now I need to discuss a few things on the Press Conference. There will be a few questions immediately asked towards you, then we will have a few players there as well; Cody MacDonald, Adebayo Akinfenwa and Danny Jackman there. Do try not to give away any transfer proposals or policies Jonathan, we don’t want another Stimson.”

The meeting carried on discussing transfers, funds and players. It ended at 2:30, half an hour before the Press Conference, I had already met Cody, Ade and Danny before, I wondered what they’d say.
 
I sat in a fairly large room in Priestfield. There were about twenty journalists and officials below me. On the raised platform, in front of the board with all our sponsors on it, was me, Paul Scally, Cody Macdonald, Adebayo Akinfenwa and Danny Jackman. Two microphones were in front of all of us, one from Kent Online and the other from BBC Kent Radio.

Paul Scally started. “Welcome to the unveiling of our new manager Jonathan Gillespie, who will be presently taking the club forward on his new two year contract. It is with great pleasure that I get to present a man with a wealth of experience in the premier league as a player and who was incredibly successful with gaining his FIFA badges. Jonathan was here for five years as a player when we were in, the then, Division One and was incredibly important to our successes. Obviously he had been held back by injuries. So I will present him to you for questions.”

I looked forward as a journalist with a notepad stood up. He asked: “Mr Gillespie, your here as the new manager of Gillingham, a club you have said is very close to your heart on many an occasion, how proud are you at this moment to be chosen as the new Gillingham Manager?”

“I am incredibly proud of this moment, this is possibly the best moment of the last six years since I was forced to retire due to injury problems.”

Another one stood up, he was old and had a booming deep voice. “What player changes are you thinking about at the present times?”

“I would rather not like to discuss any transfer stories of any kind for the moment.”

He spoke again, “Is it likely that the backroom staff will be changed?””

“The backroom staff at this club are one of the best in League Two, they are sticking with me for a year.”

Another one spoke up, she was younger than most here, in her twenties, and fairly attractive. “What are your plans for the club?”

“The plan is fairly simple. We will be looking for promotion this season, and promotion next. We want to be in the championship by the 2012/13 season. I am ambitious, and good, I will achieve my goals.”

The press conference went on, questions fired at all of us, nothing particularly interesting being said.

I got home about 7, I was shattered, my headache had passed by the press conference and now at home I was tempted to get a beer out of the fridge. I stopped myself. I felt I had had enough alcohol for a lifetime.
 
Thanks People, glad you like it :D

---------- Post added at 12:46 AM ---------- Previous post was at 12:46 AM ----------

I hate this. I am sitting in my office. Outside my office door is the team, all of them apart from Cody Macdonald. All are waiting to come in one by one to my office. I have over the last week made a decision on who is to stay and who is to go. I don’t want to do this. I have never had to fire someone. They were instructed to come into my office, take the news, sort out a few things, and then exit the room and leave without speaking to anyone. They would then either have to clear out their things of they would wait outside and start training with some of the coaches. I wanted to do this quickly. Efficiently.

I decided to have Danny Spiller come in first. He was on a one month rolling contract and was experienced, in theory he should be easiest to sack.

I finish talking to Hendon and give him the list to pin up on the door. He was to go outside, pin up the list, then explain to the players what to do. We had just finalised it all. This was only the start for some of the players and we will soon need to sort out new contracts.

Five minutes have passed and there’s a knock on the door. I answer, “come in”, and Danny Spiller walks through the door. He’s wearing a Gillingham Team jacket. I invite him to sit down, he takes off the Gillingham Team Jacket as he sits putting it on the back of the seat. I start:

“I’m sorry Danny, it’s not good news. I have decided that due to your large wage bill and the fact you’re on a one month rolling contract that we will not be carrying on your contract at the end of the month in two days. You will be excused to training over the next two days as well so you can clear out your locker. I am incredibly sorry Danny. However I do have a friend. I referred you to a mate of mine, he’s the Salt Lake City manager in America and is keen to give you a trial if you want.

“That would be ok.....” he says then carries on, “But I don’t want to relocate to America anymore so thank you for the offer but I will decline to contact him.”

“It’s okay, I hope you have a successful career Danny, and I wish you all the well.” I reply, and stand up to shake his hand, he stands up to shake my hand and he exits, it’s the last I see of him. He leaves his jacket on the back of the seat. This is the way a lot of the meetings go but the worst I do as I go along is Mike Lord, a 17 year old youth. His first sacking at 17, I was dreading to have to do this and he was last on the list. Making this one all the worst.

There’s a final knock, a knock I hated to hear it, it was horrible just to hear. He enters at my command.

“Hello Mike, umm you can sit down.” He nods and sit down, I can see his leg shaking. I shudder. This is painful. I look down at my notes, I can’t believe I’m doing this. “So, Mike, your obviously a professional so I have to treat you as one even though you are only 17. We have, as a staff, decided that we cannot see you sticking with us after a few promotions. We don’t see you as a viable investment. I am incredibly sorry.”

There’s a tear in his eye as he looks down, he’s twiddling his thumbs slowly. My heart sinks. I can’t do this. “I am incredibly sorry Mike.”

“It’s.....” He stops and gulps, “It’s ok sir.”

“Mike I have an idea, I will recommend you to some managers from the Blue Square Premier Bet and Blue Square Bet South, I am certain some will take you on, I have a lot of contacts I can help you find a new club soon enough and until then we are prepared to carry on letting you train with us, just not under contract. Would you prefer that, or do you want to go on by yourself and find a club?”

“I....” He’s struggling he supports Gillingham and has as a child, “I would like it if you were able to help.”

“Good, I will make some phone calls tomorrow morning, come for training and I will speak to you in private in the afternoon at some point.”

“Thank you sir,” he says as he stands up, wiping the tear from his eye discreetly, I pretend I don’t see it. It’s for the best.

Overall I sack 9 players: Danny Spiller, Mark McCammon, Mark Bentley, Josh Gowling, Kevin Maher and Bruce Inkango and Tony Sinclair and Dennis Oli and, most regrettably, Mike Lord.

I arrive at home and decide to have a drink, I felt I deserved it.
 
Top