The Alfa Romeo Metaphor

Round 25: Cadiz CF v. CD Guadalajara

Here we go. Round 25. We come into the match on the backs of 2 solid victories against lesser opponents. We're in 4th place and Guadalajara is in 6th. We finally got our act together in our last home match and thumped Algacires 6-2. Which Cadiz team would show up? Would Aymen Souda bring his shooting boots?

I was nervous. I was feeling paranoid. Such is the life of a manager.

GK: Alejandro
D: Albert Dalmau, Mikel Martins (C), Wellington Carvalho, Moises
M: Kike Lopez, Bruninho, Jose Villar, Kike Marquez
F: Airam, Aymen Souda

Subs: Jose Maria Belforti (D), Juan Ceballos (RB), Josete (D/M), Tomas (LB/LM), Abdoullah Faill (M)

I told them to relax, stay focused and play our game. Play at our tempo.

It started cautiously. Neither team took any risks.

In the 13th minute, Kike Lopez beat his defender one-on-one and whipped in a cross from the by-line. Airam rose and smashed a header just wide.

In the 21st minute, Dalmau won a tackle and played it up the right side to Kike. Souda came across from his normal left side attacking position drawing his defender. Airam started making a run into the vacuum. Souda spun his defender and played a ball into the open space in front of Airam. Airam is pretty quick and easily got there first.

He charged goalward. Then bizarrely and before the defenders had closed him down he toe-poked a harmless shot directly into the onrushing goalkeeper's arms.

I face palmed.

They didn't create all that many chances and though we didn't create that many, we were creating them.

In the 34th minute. Bruninho played it up to Souda. He was closely marked and his only option was out to Moises at the left back. Moises played it up the line to Kike Marques. Marques played the ball into Souda's path and Souda trotted into the box with the ball.

He was about to put a move on the defender in front of him when the left back dove in and tripped him. The ball rolled slowly to the defender who cleared it to safety.

The entire stadium screamed for a penalty. I joined them. The ref pretended nothing had happened. They began whistling. I asked the 4th official if he'd seen it. He told me to sit down.

Their best chance of the first half finally arrived in the 41st minute. They played a ball into the right channel behind Moises. Their top scorer and right winger Nacho caught Moises ball watching and was in alone on Alejandro.

Nacho shot low, near post and Alejandro got a strong hand to it and stopped the ball dead against the ground then rolled over on top of it. Class save.

At the half, I told them we'd been unlucky. I said that everyone knew it was a penalty and that I had faith that the goal would come.

In the 48th minute, Kike Lopez played an early cross to Airam. Airam had time, looked up and saw the keeper a bit off his line. So he tried an audacious 40 meter shot that sailed high. Not the best choice as Marquez and Souda were both in promising positions.

Guadalajara brought the ball up slowly and were playing it around harmlessly, far from our goal but in our half. Bruninho chopped down their midfielder Zazo.

I held my breathe as the ref talked to Bruninho for quite a while. Bruninho had received an early card for chopping down their striker Philippe Toledo. Thankfully, it was just a lecture. I told Josete to start warming up.

Zazo played a long ball toward the far post. Nobody picked up Mateo and we were lucky when his volley hit the side netting.

Two minutes later, I replaced Bruninho with Josete.

In the 66th minute, Villar played a ball over the half line to Airam. Their central defender Ecki came right through Airam with a clear foul -- all man, no ball. The ref didn't notice though it was right in front of him.

The stadium erupted in boos and whistles.

Guadalajara's Mateo grabbed the loose ball and played it forward to Toledo. Toledo ran at Wellington. Wellington slowed him down and he toe-flicked the ball into the path of the onrushing Mateo. Wellingto stepped over to cover and Mikel Martins failed to track the run of the other inside midfielder Prosi into the empty space where Wellington normally was.

Prosi placed a nice curling shot past the helpless Alejandro.

I screamed at the ref and 4th official until the 4th official said that if I said one more thing I'd be sent to the stands.

Had someone paid off the ref? These were two blatant fouls he hadn't called. I know that bribing refs is rampant in the lower leagues in Italy, but Spain?

What's worse is I didn't have anyone on the bench who could make an impact. The team were clearly very frustrated and this would have been a perfect time to sub in an attacking option just to get the team refocused.

I paced the sidelines and tried to get players attention. I tried to tell them to calm down and start playing our game.

Finally, in the 80th minute we started to. Jose Villar decided to take charge. He won a tackle on Josete's side of the midfield in their half. He played a give-n-go with Kike Lopez and charged into the box. His shot was blocked, but the ricochet fell to Kike Lopez. Blocked again, but this time for a corner.

They cleared Villar's poorly struck corner. This is where we needed Luque or Perico.

In the 83rd, Villar played a long, curling ball out to Kike Lopez on the right wing. He whipped in a cross toward Airam. Airam timed his jump well, but headed over.

Then Guadalajara played keep away. The fans, me, the coaching staff and the players became increasingly frustrated as we simply couldn't get the ball away from them. We resorted to fouling which only gave them time to rest while magic sponges and freezy spray were applied.

The 4th official indicated 3 minutes of extra time would be played.

In the 91st minute, Dalmau made and excellent tackle and we had an opportunity to break upfield. Josete got their first. Instead of tapping it to Kike Lopez so he could break upfield, he thumped in far up into the stands. The Guadalajar fans applauded his clearance.

I face palmed.

In the 92 minute, Moises won a tackle and sent the ball up the left wing for Kike Marquez. His cross was headed clear. They marched down into our half and Josete chopped down Zazo at the top of our box.

They delayed the kick until into the 93rd minute.

And that was it.

The ref had robbed us of 3 points and make Guadalajara a promotion playoff contender.

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On Sunday, I watched the results come through on my iPhone. You saw them. Guadalajara and Linense are a mere point behind us. I stewed. I reviewed my pre-game and halftime team talks. What could I have done better, differently.

Then I got paranoid.

I'd like to see the ref's bank statements. I wondered if he'll be receiving a nice sum wired into his accounts from somewhere untraceable.

Had someone gotten to Josete? He'd ruined things in the last few minutes. He'd hoofed the ball high up into the stands when a simple ball to Kike Lopez would have been easier.

Airam and Aymen Souda were next to useless in front of the net yesterday. Had somebody gotten to them, too? Some of the choices Airam made were uncharacteristic. Airam's toe poke and his 40 yard shot trying to catch the goalkeeper out?

It couldn't have been any of our nearby competitors. Guadalajara and Linense weren't nearly as bad off as us, but their their Chairman were covering huge losses, too. I doubt they had the cash flow to bribe anyone.

What about East Asian syndicates? I'd read about the allegations in England. I'd heard repeatedly about players receiving large sums to throw matches, get carded and red-carded from my days playing in Italy. Many guys had stories about their Chairman entering the changing room before the match and telling the players how many goals to concede.

Chairman Florentino Manzano kept his distance. He and Alessandro and I talked regularly, but neither he nor Alessandro nor anyone has had any suspicious contact with players that I'm aware of. I can't see Manzano making enough off throwing a match to balance out the EU 10-12M losses the club is going to endure this season.

It's either the ref or my players.

I spent the afternoon into the evening pacing my apartment and reviewing the last few losses.

It couldn't be the defense. Alejandro hadn't given up a soft goals all season. It couldn't be Albert Dalmau; he'd been solid for several months now. Nobody was exploiting the channel between him and Mike Martins. Martins isn't the greatest at reading the game, but he and Wellington only blow it occasionally. Moises is just a kid learning a man's game. Seriously, he turns 17 next August.

What about the midfield?

The Kikes always give their all, though I'll admit that Marquez is sometimes rather useless. Bruninho is a young man learning the game who is destined for bigger things. Luque so thoroughly enjoys playing. He's our most dangerous player as good stuff happens when he's playing. Jose Villar is erratic, but he's a forward adapting to a midfield playmaker role. I can't see him doing it. Perico also give his all and all the time.

But Josete's recent play makes me paranoid and I've already revealed my suspicions of Airam and Souda.

The phone rang. It was Ana Maria. She was willing to save me from my delusions and go for a walk then dinner.

"You look haggard and exhausted," she said after giving me a hug. "You didn't sleep last night, did you?"

"Like a baby," I replied. "I woke up every hour or two screaming. I didn't keep you up?"

She shook her head. I related my paranoid suspicions.

"You certainly have grand delusions of master plans, I'll give you that," she said once I'd finished. We'd made it all the way over to the Mediterranean side of Cadiz by this time. "I can see it's killing you."

"The thing is I know how rampant this **** is in Italy," I said. "I just don't know enough about Spanish football to know if this happens here the same, less or what. Sicily has La Cosa Nostra, Naples has the Camorra. Their evil influence permeates all of Italy. But what about Spain."

"The Camorra and La Cosa Nostra are active in Spain as are the Russians mafia, but everything always returns to Franco," she said. I raised my eyebrows to indicate I was interested and that she should continue.

"Under Franco, there was no breathing space for them," she continued as we strolled along the waterfront. "He was the criminal enterprise, if you will. He and his cronies made sure that they got 100% the kick-backs. It was only upon his death that Spain opened up. It wasn't just tourism and food and agricultural exports."

"You could say that Spain was undiscovered country upon Franco's death," she concluded. "So, we don't have as strong or, maybe that's the wrong word, but entrenched Spanish organized crime like in Italy."

We continued our discussion. She humored me and explained how she would wire money into a Spanish account so that it was untraceable.

I was still paranoid, but her company was an elixir that calmed me down somewhat.
 
"I'm losing it, Paco," I said as we strolled around the track before the other coaches arrived.

"Howso?" he asked.

"Paranoia," I replied. I related my insanity from the previous day. It seemed so detached from reality in the bright glare of the Cadiz morning. Like a boy scared to walk past the graveyard at night, but embarrassed of himself when he sees it during the day.

"Even if any of it was true," Paco replied. "What are you going to do? You can't control the refs. You've already relegated Josete to the bench and who are you going to have replace Airam's 14 and Souda's 12 goals?"

"You know how it works," Paco continued. "If and I accentuate the IF they'd taken money to throw a match. Players don't take money to throw a season."

"There certainly is corruption and match-fixing in Spain. But I'm certain you saw more of it in Italy where everyone knows its rampant."

"You have a point," I replied. "We're still on track. Only 27 points from 13 matches. Thanks, man."
 
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"That ref is a ******** **** *******!" exclaimed Esteban as I walked in for my Tuesday shave.

"No, please, tell me how you really feel?" I retorted.

"Oh, we know him that ****ing ****** ******!" he continued. "Every time he refs a Cadiz match we lose. Sit down."

"Aren't you a little angry to be wielding a straight edge razor?"

"Why he hates Cadiz, I don't know," Esteban continued without a breathe. "Maybe his first love, unrequited love mind you, was a Cadista and he's getting us back for breaking his heart."

"In Spain you don't just have to play your opponents, you have to calculate how the ref will try to ruin everything for you," he went on while lathering up my skull.

"And if you don't **** his **** before the match, you lose. He's one of the worst refs in all of Spain," he concluded.

"He really is," added Roberto.

"You go and look at the last decade of Cadiz matches he's been the ref for," Esteban said. "I would be shocked if we'd even managed a draw with him in the middle."

Esteban went on like this for the entire shave. He put it all in an entirely new perspective.
 
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The dark shadow descends

Most nights, I eat at a local restaurant. I can't cook. My fridge is never full and neither are my cupboards. Tonight was no different. As I walked up to the door, something told me something was wrong. I put the key in and turned it, but the door was unlocked.

"Please come in," said a voice from inside. He spoke in Italian. He spoke with a Napoli accent. He sounded familiar.

I walked in and turned on the lights. A large man lounged on my couch. After the shock of realizing that he'd broken into my apartment, I realized it was Gianluca. My ex-wife's cousin. He stood up. As always, Gianluca wore a track suit. This one just happened to be in Napoli blue. If he wasn't in a color-coordinated track suit, he was in a dark, pin-striped suit. Regardless of what he wore, he always looked menacing.

He got up and hugged me and we kissed on the cheeks as was the custom of family members in Italy. Well, in his family anyways.

"Gianluca?" I asked.

"Enrico, how are you?" he replied.

Gianluca was my ex-wife's cousin. I think I said that already. Gianluca was a lieutenant in the Camorra. The Camorra, as I may have mentioned before, is to Napoli what La Cosa Nostra is to Sicily. He wouldn't have traveled all the way to Cadiz just to say 'hi.' My heart started racing as my mind sped through the possible reasons.

I should explain. This may take a while. I hope you'll pardon the digression.

Back in 2008, after I lost a vast amount of money when the housing development in Spain collapsed, I moved what I had left into bonds, gold and savings accounts on the advice of my financial advisor. But then the restaurant started having troubles. Then my wife's drug problem became a problem.

Her drug problem had been going on for a while, but it's easy to overlook when you're pulling in EU25,000 per week as a Serie A player. I was young and naive among other things. I could overlook her blowing 5K or 10K in Milan with her friends in a single weekend. But as the money ran out, she refused to change her lifestyle. She began raiding our accounts for her "lifestyle." I cut her off.

That's when the Parmesano Reggiano met the noodle.

She ended up in the hospital on an overdose. She'd found a new dealer, one to whom she didn't owe money, and he'd cut her coke with some PCP. That was scary. Her family intervened. They offered to help me keep the restaurant open. The drug dealer "disappeared." Their intervention just enabled her to continue raiding our accounts, snorting coke and living the high life. They figured I'd straighten her out and kept "helping."

Back then I was family. But now that "family" had broken into my apartment and was going to demand something.

After a binge that ended up in a screaming match which included her practicing frisbee with our china using me as the target, she left Bologna for her parent's house in Napoli. They sympathized with me, but made it clear they expected to be repaid. Within a couple of months I'd blown my knee out and then soon after had nothing left but the Alfa.

They'd made it known on several occasions that when I had gotten myself together I was to repay them.

The most logical explanation was that Gianluca had been sent to collect on the debt. The debt stood at EU240,000. I'd been able to pay off EU10,000 so far.

"Let's walk, it's a beautiful evening," Gianluca said. I led him downstairs and headed for the bayside walk. As we descended the stairs, I turned on the phone and turned on the voice recording app I used when I talked to reporters. I had started this habit as a way to make sure they didn't misquote me. I slipped my phone in my shirt pocket. I was scared ****less and didn't want to go anywhere private. We exchanged pleasantries then he told me about the people in the family that he knew I was fond of.

"As you know, you owe us a lot of euros," Gianluca said finally getting to the point. I nodded. "We also know you aren't making the kind of money you used to make. Father appreciates the ten thousand you've sent us since July. He wants to offer you an opportunity to eliminate a hundred thousand from what you owe us."

I gulped involuntarily.

"We want you to throw the match against San Fernando," he said.

I groaned. Involuntarily, I think.

"Oh, God, why them?" I said. "That's the equivalent of Napoli losing to a nearby Serie D team. Look over there. See those lights across the bay? That's San Fernando. Why them. ****. I'll be known forever as the manager who lost to the amateurs. They were amateurs just a few years ago, you know. You're killing me."

"We have placed a considerable sum in Singapore, Hong Kong and Kuala Lumpur on Cadiz losing that match," he explained. "It's also good for you personally, as well."

My brief managerial career flashed before my eyes. I envisioned my picture under a match fixing scandal headline. I envisioned reporters hounding me for quotes. How the **** was I going to afford any legal representation? Cadiz certainly didn't have the money even if they would retained my managerial services after the scandal hit the headlines. I started sweating despite the pleasant breeze. When you're bald, as I am, sweat stands out on your head. A drop slid into my collar.

My sporting epitaph would read "Cheat" in big bold letters.

"How could helping your criminal enterprises help me?" I asked.

"We'd forgive EU100,000 of what you owe us," he replied. I was shocked he hadn't taken issue with me calling him out as a criminal.

"I don't really have a choice, do I?" I said. Gianluca nodded his agreement. "Make it half. Some how, some way I'm going to find the remainder and pay you off so I have no more ties to you."

"Sure, Enrico, sure," Gianluca said. "Just make sure that Cadiz lose. Just to make it a little easier, we've taken care of the ref, too."

"Don't mess this up," he said as he kissed both my cheeks. Then he walked off into the dusk.

I stopped the app from recording.
 
I wandered up the island toward the old town in a daze. I was trapped in a **** of circumstances. A small black hole of fear in the pit of my stomach reopened. This was the same pit of despair that had opened when I'd blown my knee out and all of my wealth disappeared so rapidly and with it my wife. As black hole's gravitational field sucks all objects into it, this pit in my stomach sucked all hope from me.

The stark truths I'd learned about her and people I thought were my friends was devastating. But this could be far, far worse. It's one thing to lose everything in an economic crash. I was largely blameless But I had the hope, what seemed like a faint hope during the darkest times of 2009 and 2010 that I could enter management and build a comfortable enough life. I would not be blameless in my current circumstances. People would not easily forgive me.

On the one hand I berated myself for not being strong enough to stand up to Gianluca and say 'no, I won't do it.' On the other hand, I realized the futility of resisting the Camorra. They are a gigantic parasite that along with the other mafia organizations in Italy suck any hope for prosperity out of Italy. They are a parallel feudal governmental structure that in many ways leads Italy. There are places, even to this day, the central government doesn't actually control especially in the south. How was I, a cowardly retired footballer and failed businessman going to stand up to the mighty Camorra by myself. They kill with impunity and without a second thought. Cross them, you're dead. Simple as that.

I found myself in the Placa San Antonio. At one point in Cadiz's history, this was the city's center. The Plaza is lined with mansions and has a number of restaurants with outdoor seating. The church of San Antonio, from which the square gets it's name loomed before me.

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The church is from the 1600s and is a functioning Catholic church unlike the Cadiz Cathedral which you have to pay to get into. I am not sure why, but I wandered inside. I'm a lapsed Catholic of the Italian-American variety. Maybe I wandered in because it was a safe place.

I sat down in a pew toward the back.

Waves of self-pity, regret, soul-curdling fear and damp sweats passed over my as I sat there in thought.

"Are you all right, my son?" a voice asked from behind me. I turned. It was a priest. Bald, squat, old. I stared at him blankly.

"Um ... uh ... I ... uh," I stuttered.

"Uh ... no," I replied.

"You have been here a while and I need to close up the church for the night," the priest said. "Can I help you?"

"You?" I replied. "Uh ... no offense ... um ... well ... I'd need a miracle."

"God moves in mysterious ways, my son," he replied. "Come. Talk to me while I close up. You look quite troubled."

"Yeah, troubled."

"You are not from here?" he began as he shut off some of the lights in the side apses. "You speak Spanish strangely. It is not your native language, yes?"

"No, I'm Italian-American. I speak both English and Italian. I've picked up enough Spanish along the way to not sound like an idiot."

"Ahh, yes," he said. "I hear it now. Mexican and some South American influence, too. What troubles you?"

**** it. What did I have to lose. I might as well spill it all.

"I need to confess, father," I replied.

"Right over here, my son," he replied.

I spilled my guts. I wept. It was cleansing. When I was done, there was a pause. Had he gone to sleep?

"You are in a pickle, my son," he said. "A real predicament. I suggest that you are lost. Our Father has not abandoned you, though. He has seen you through some serious troubles so far. He will not abandon you He is there for you if you seek him. I cannot advise you on what path to take, my son. You must find that path. But you do not need to seek the path on your own. You never have been alone and you never will be. Doing a few Hail Marys and Cycles of the Cross might make you feel better, but I think you need to seek the faith you once had as a child. Go with God, my son."

"Thank you, Father," I replied.

"I thought I recognized you," he said as we emerged from the confession stall. "I'm a long-time Cadista, if you can believe it. My biggest weakness is the football. I attend the matches when they don't interfere with my duties here."

I looked at my feet. I didn't know what to say. I was about to let down a fan.

"I will say prayers for you and for Los Submarino Amarillas," he continued. "I will light some candles. Go now, my son, and go with God."

"Thank you, Father," I replied and walked out into the night.
 
How do you face a lover you about to betray? Easy. Wear sunglasses. I was also a bit hung over. I knew I'd need assistance to be able to sleep. My favorite neighborhood bar, La Grua, had what I needed.

The other coaches thought it was funny that I was hung over and had plenty of fun at my expense.

The players worked hard. We knew that our upcoming match against La Hoya was going to be easy and that we'd need to be calm and hard-workng to get the result we wanted.

I think I pretty well hid my desperation and depression behind the usual repartee with the staff and players.
 
Round 26: La Hoya Lorca CF v. Cadiz CF

The busride to Lorca might be our longest yet. We got to trek all the way across the Costa Del Sol. 500km and around 6 hours on the bus with one stop outside of Granada. The players weren't happy but talked of taking it out on La Hoya.

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The stadium isn't in bad shape. We had working toilets and showers which is about all we desire. The hills behind the stadium made it more pleasant than other environs.

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Jorge Luque is still out. I'm getting short on midfielders. There's not much I can do about it.

GK: Alejandro
D: Albert Dalmau, Mikel Martins (C), Wellington Carvalho, Moises
M: Kike Lopez, Bruninho, Jose Villar, Perico
F: Airam, Aymen Souda

Subs: Jose Maria Belforti (D), Josete (D/M), Tomas (LB/LM), Abdullai Fall (M), Kike Marquez (M/F)

The game started, but we still weren't off the bus. I was only a little worried. This is what happens when you are forced to drive 6 hours then play.

A nice early cross from the left by their fullback found their withdrawn striker Ruben wide open between Martins and Wellington. The kid coolly slotted home.

1-0

Their lead didn't last too long. We kept the ball in their half and were rewarded in the 11th minute.

Kike Lopez won a corner. Perico jogged over and swung in a back post cross for Airam. Airam and a defender both went up and I think it hit Airam. It bounced off him toward the penalty spot where it hit Wellington. The ball fell to Souda who only had time to poke it goalwards. Bruninho and a defender both lunged for the ball and it popped free yet again. Souda shot but hit the goalie.

Airam smashed home the rebound.

1-1

We kept the pressure up. El Brocoli Mecanico couldn't handle the pressure.

In the 18th minute, Souda received a pass at the top of the box with his back to the goal. He spun and beat his defender to the left. The right fullback tried a desperation tackle but only managed to chop down Souda. The ball slowly rolled over the end line. The right back pointed at it like he'd tackled it away for a corner.

The ref pointed to the corner as his teammates demanded that the ref show Souda a card for diving.

I went ballastic. I screamed at the ref then berated the 4th official. The usual result happened. The ref didn't listen and the 4th official eventually told me to sit down.

As I turned to sit down, their right back chopped down Perico right in front of the bench. They all leapt to their feet and screamed for a yellow card. The ref ignored them.

Perico dusted himself off and set about finding the perfect blade of grass upon which he should place the ball for the free kick. Once everyone was forward, he whipped in a curler that glanced off of Airam's head and past their flailing keeper.

1-2

The Broccoli Boys changed their tactics and began to try and kick the **** out of my players. As the half progressed, they kept getting more and more violent.

In the 37th minute, we put the game to bed. Kike Lopez beat the right back, ran to the corner and whipped in a cross that Souda met with a solid header. It was right at the keeper who managed to block it. Unfortunately for the Broccoli Boys the ball went straight up in the air and everyone watched as it dropped under the crossbar and over the goal line.

1-3

As per usual with Los Submarino Amarillas, our opponent got a great chance from the restart. Their other striker, Alfredo Ortuno, also found that gap between Martins and Wellington. The two Cadiz central defenders closed Ortuno down pretty fast, but he managed to get a chip off. It floated over the advancing Alejandro and landed in the netting just over the crossbar.

Since they were unable to score, they redoubled their efforts at applying the special sauce.

Perico paid the price in the 42nd minute. Their right back Juan Pedro Pina stamped down on Perico's calf and achilles from behind. It was one of the dirtiest moves I'd seen in a long time. The entire bench leapt to their feet screaming for a red card. Me, too. The ref only produced a yellow.

As Michel treated Perico, I signaled for Kike Marques to warm up. Michel indicated that Perico was done and we pulled the swap.

Wellington got some payback just as the 4th official signaled that there would be 2 minutes of extra time in the first half. He clobbered their striker Ortuno from behind. It should have been a red card. Ortuno lay there for a while in obvious pain. The Broccoli Boys and their fans bayed for a red card. Like before, the ref waved his yellow card in the air.

I told them to be careful and to avoid getting hurt in the second half. I told them I was pleased with their play. I told them to keep up the nice passing.

Of course, as is typical with our play, we granted them a great chance directly from the kick-off. They worked the ball straight down the middle. Once Villar got beat ball-watching, Wellington stepped up to stop the attack. They exploited the gap he'd left behind him with a pass up to Ortuno. Thankfully, Martins was wise to their ways and blocked the shot.

Moises came charging in from the left and cleared the ball out to Kike Marquez. I don't know what's gotten into the Other Kike, but he's a playing like a far more determined player than he was in the first half of the season. He beat the hapless Pina and stormed goalward. Pina might have been having an awful game, but he's faster than the Other Kike. He caught up with him and tried a desperation tackle as the Other Kike entered the penalty box.

Once again, Pina got all man, no ball. The ball rolled over the end line with Pina pointing at the ball as if he'd managed to touch it. His teammates demanded a yellow card for the Other Kike for diving. The Cadiz players demanded a second yellow card.

The ref spoke to his linesman over the headset for a second. I have no idea how this wasn't a cut and dried penalty and sending off. Teh ref pointed to the spot and ignored our pleas for a second yellow for Pina.

Have I mentioned before that Airam never misses?

1-4

And that's a hat trick for Airam.

Kike Marquez got a well-deserved goal in the 61st minute. The players spent the rest of the game attempting to avoid injury. They were successful.

I subbed in Belforti and Josete to make sure they got some playing time.

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Albacetes 10 game winning streak finally ended with 1-1 tie. Maybe now they'll come back down to earth? Cartagena and Atletico Sevilla both win, Linense wins to stay close to us, but Guadalajara lose away to La Roda.
 
I updated the fixture list posted on the message board at El Ramon de Carranza. We needed 24 points from the remaining 12 matches. Well, from the remaining 11 because ... well ... you know why.

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Because our next match was against San Fernando, we were training at the stadium all week.
 
Really loving this - using it as an inspiration for my narrative. The plots you include are fascinating; looking forward to reading of the future with Ana Maria and how the San Fernando match turns out. Very intriguing!
 
"Something's wrong," Ana Maria blurted out. "What's going on? All last week and now tonight, too."

"Huh?"

We'd just finished having dinner and were walking out of the restaurant into a rainy Cadiz night. Apparently, I couldn't fool her that everything was fine.

"It's just the job," I lied. "It's stressful."

"No, something's different," she said. "Is it me? Us?"

"What? No!" I said. At least I wasn't lying about that. "You thought ... no no no ..."

I stopped, bent over and peered under her umbrella. She was crying.

"What? Oh, I'm so sorry," I said stepping under her umbrella. "Yes, things are worse with Cadiz but not how you think. In a way it's worse than you could imagine."

"My past has come back to haunt me," I said. "Remember how you flippantly asked why I hadn't just gone bankrupt? Do you recall how I didn't answer, but laughed it off? Well, you can't write off debt you owe to the Camorra, the mafia."

"How ever did you get involved with them? And why would you?" she asked.

"They were family?" I explained. "I married into the ****ing Camorra."

I told her everything.
 
ZeCarlos said:
Really loving this - using it as an inspiration for my narrative. The plots you include are fascinating; looking forward to reading of the future with Ana Maria and how the San Fernando match turns out. Very intriguing!
Click to expand...

Thanks, dude! Really appreciate it. Refresh and you'll see a development w/ AM. The SF match is coming soon to a forum near you!
 
Here's the problem I faced. I only had 17 healthy players. One was my extra keeper who was only going to play if Alejandro gets hurt. The five subs were Jose Maria Belforti, Juan Ceballos, Tomas, Abdoullai Fall and Kike Marquez. Aside from Kike, they sucked.

So the obvious move was to play them. So Alejandro, Albert Dalmau, Wellington and Moises would sit. I'd swap Kikes. The Other Kike hadn't played on the right side all season. I'd drop Airam and put Villar up front.

But what if Souda went on a tear, scoring a hat trick. Or Perico played great. Or Villar?

That was more simple than you think: laxatives. I spiked the aioli and the pitchers of water we had with our lunch as well as the water bottles with laxatives. A very strong laxative. Our training ended quite early on Saturday. Nearly everyone began complaining of stomach cramps and soon players were in the visiting changing room because there were no available toilets in ours.
 
Here's the problem I faced. I only had 17 healthy players. One was my extra keeper who was only going to play if Alejandro gets hurt. The five subs were Jose Maria Belforti, Juan Ceballos, Tomas, Abdoullai Fall and Kike Marquez. Aside from Kike, they sucked.

So the obvious move was to play them. So Alejandro, Albert Dalmau, Wellington and Moises would sit. I'd swap Kikes. The Other Kike hadn't played on the right side all season. I'd drop Airam and put Villar up front.

But what if Souda went on a tear, scoring a hat trick. Or Perico played great. Or Villar?

That was more simple than you think: laxatives. I spiked the aioli and the pitchers of water we had with our lunch as well as the water bottles with laxatives. A very strong laxative. Our training ended quite early on Saturday. Nearly everyone began complaining of stomach cramps and soon players were in the visiting changing room because there were no available toilets in ours.
 
Round 27: Cadiz CF v. San Fernando CD

What a mess.

Alejandro drinks like a camel so he didn't have the strength to play. Angel Bernable started his first match of the season.

All of the defense was exhausted. The midfielders weren't much better. Souda and Airam looked like shadows of themselves.

GK: Bernabe
D: Juan Ceballos, Mikel Martins (C), Jose Maria Belforti, Tomas
M: Kike Marquez, Josete, Abdoullai Fall, Perico
F: Aymen Souda, Juan Villar

Subs: Alejandro (GK), Wellington (D), Moises (D), Kike Lopez (M/F), Airam (F)

This was one of the worst moments of my life. Worse than scoring the decisive goal in the Coppa Italia into our own net. Worse than how my life fell apart. Maybe this was just a continuation of that disaster. It was hard to tell.

They scored in the 18th minute. A typical goal we tend to give up. Interplay straight down the middle of the pitch. Belforti caught ball-watching, Martins too slow covering the gap he left.

0-1

San Fernando aren't very good. We kept the ball fairly well considering our poor energy levels. We just weren't sharp and our final pass or final touch always let us down.

But our energy dropped in the second half as you would imagine. Wellington replaced Martins at 60 minutes. Perico took at knock at 65 minutes so I replaced him with Kike Lopez just to be safe. I replaced Tomas with Moises at 72 minutes.

They scored with pretty much the last kick of the game to make my miserable evening even worse.

View attachment 434961 View attachment 434959 View attachment 434958
 
Last edited:
diariodecadiz.es 24 February 2014
Food poisoning decimates Cadiz and San Fernando exploits
Bogdan Laba

Food poisoning swept through the Cadiz squad prior to the Bay of Cadiz Classico. The exhausted Cadiz side fell to San Fernando 2-0.

"Incredible timing," complained Cadiz Manager Enrico Pucci.

Regulars Alejandro, Airam, Moises and Wellington were all too ill to start. Jorge Luque and Andres were still not fit and with Mehdi Nafti lost for the season, Cadiz were also quite short in midfield players available to dress for the match. Outcast Abdoullai Fall even managed a spot on the bench.

Forward David Hernandez scored in the 18th minute to send the San Ferndando faithful into rapture. Defender German iced the victory with a goal in second half stoppage time.

"Food poisoning or not, this is a famous victory for us," Juanma Carrillos said. "I should probably thank Enrico for his comments last week that really motivated my squad. I'm so glad to have rewarded our fans with this historic victory."

"They'll always be in our shadow, one food poisoning tainted result doesn't change that," Pucci replied.

Cadiz drop to fifth in the table as Linense swapped places as they stomped on the Granada B team 6-2.
 
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