The Alfa Romeo Metaphor

Since I had Saturday morning free, I decide to walk around the central downtowny bits of Kingston-Upon-Thames. I have this theory that if I walk around more, I'll get used to having traffic on the English side of the road. I keep having these nightmares about driving and at some point I've got to get used to it. Or I'll get kill myself in a crash.

So I walked up Surbiton Road, the A240. It turns directly northward and becomes Penwyn Road and after a mere half mile of walking, I'm in the central part of K-U-T.

I turned left toward the Thames at Hogsmill River and came upon the Coronation Stone. Ancient Anglo-Saxon kings were crowned here. Also found a Wagamama. I've been told that it's a pretty good chain of japanese noodle shops. Maybe that's what I needed for lunch. I also found several Italian Trattoria as I strolled. I'll have to check them out. I'll need my Italian fix at some point.

I saw a bakery and thought an espresso sounded like just the right thing for a late July morning. So I wandered in. They had a great big espresso machine so I was in luck. While I waited behind the woman in front of me, I looked over the listed items. They did breakfast and lunch as well. The woman got her pastry and drink and moved out of my way. I stepped up and was face to face with a tall, pretty young thing in an apron and silly paper hat all the staff wore.

She was smirking at me and her head was tilted sideways a bit. Then I recognized her. It was Gwen.

"What're you ... wait ... you're a barista, too?" I spluttered. "And you have your hair up."

"Gotta keep Mum and Dad off my back," she said. "What can I get you?"

"An espresso."

"One espresso coming right up," she announced. A young man arranging pastries straightened up and got right to making me an espresso. I handed her a ten pound note.

"I keep running into you at all kinds of places," I said. She just raised a manicured eyebrow and handed me my change. "How are things?"

"They are just swell my Italian friend," she replied. Swell? Who says swell? "That espresso done yet?" She asked her co-worker. The young man plunked down my espresso.

"I'll stop by your table," she said under her breathe.

I read my emails while I sipped. Suddenly Gwen was towering over me. She leaned in to see what I was reading.

"Don't look now, please don't look when I point him out, but I need a huge favor," she said. "Bloke far side of the entrance. Don't look. He's ****ing stalking me. My shift is done in a couple. Would you walk out of here with me?"

"Of course," I replied. "Not a problem at all. I've got plenty of emails to read."

I was currently reading an email from Mark Robinson, my U18 Manager. He was pretty sure that new signing Fabian Rowe was furious to have been immediately sent to the U18s. He wanted me to talk to him.

When the door opened, I glanced up at the couple who entered. First thing I noticed about the young man on the far side of the door was he was pretty scrawny. Good. I could take him if it came to it. He had the baggy pants, tattered tshirt and the retro-Beatles look or whatever the **** kids were calling the unkempt mop hairdo nowadays.

Next I read through Lil's scouting report about Bolton Wanderers who we'd be playing later today. Then Gwen was hovering over me.

"I'm done," she said. "Shall we. I owe you for this. Bigtime."

"Gwen, seriously, not a problem," I said turning off my phone and standing up. I opened the door and we were off.

She glanced over her shoulder several times as we walked.

"****er is following us," she growled each time.

"While I'm glad to be your knight in shining armor here to rescue you from the scoundrels and highwaymen," I said. "What's up with him? Jilted boyfriend or what?"

"Don't you remember me saying the boys on this island are distressingly and depressingly boring?" She asked. "Some are psycho, too, plus on the rare occasion when I do fall for an English boy, it would never be him cuz he's not my type and he's been at this a month and this really really is starting to freak me out and he never ****ing says anything just sits there watching me and my brother doesn't believe me or I'd have him round to kick his **** or at least if I could convince that worthless friend of his Martin, then the two of them but ****, they say I'm mad the ****ers."

Said all that in one breathe. She inhaled looked over her shoulder once again and exhaled a few profanities as he must still be following us.

"Wait," I said stopping. "It is close enough to lunch. I saw a Wagamama back near the Coronation Stone thing. I want to try that. You game."

"It's that way," she said pointing westward. "That sounds like a great idea."

We had a nice chat over noodles. Apparently, and I didnt know it until now, I love japanese noodles. How had I survived without them? She's been to New York and LA, but not Milan. She grilled me about Italy. I enjoyed having my foodgasm across the table from a beautiful young woman.

"Miss, I have a favor to ask," I said as our waitress returned with the bill. "We need to sneak out the back. My friend here has a wee bit of a stalker problem. Is there a way we could do that?"

"Sure," she nodded. "I hate the bastards who do that. Happened to me, too, a few years back. Past the bathrooms and through the Employees Only door. You'll see the door to the alley. I'll tell the cooks to expect you."

I called a taxi. It took some explaining, but eventually they figured out that I wanted a taxi at the back door which is around the corner from the front of the Kingston-Upon-Thames Wagamama. I asked that the driver call me when he was back there.

A few minutes later, my phone vibrated and we were off. Past the bathrooms and through the Employees Only door, through the kitchen out the back and into the backseat of the taxi.

The taxi dropped her at her house with a thousand thank yous and IOUs. The cabbie dropped me off at Kingsmeadow with plenty of time to get prepared for the upcoming match.
 
Friendly: AFC Wimbledon v. Bolton Wanderers

The second tier players and a several teenagers get a chance to impress me against Bolton.

View attachment 422435Daniel Lincoln (GK), Mark Tomlinson (DM), Daniel Barlaser (RM), Jack Midson (ST), Michael Woods (ST), Chris Arthur (LM) and Michael Smith (ST) up top. Since I was out of central midfielders, Midson and Woods played there and I told them they had the liberty to get forward whenever they wanted.

I'd played the same formation yesterday, so Smith gets his 90 minutes today. Sorry I didn't mention that yesterday, I just got so carried away with my pre-game motivational speech.

The kids and the second string didn't play all that bad against Bolton's second string.

We took 17 shots and got 10 on target. That's worth something.

I told them they'd played well and not to worry about the result after the match.
 
I think the Germany thing also happens to Australia. You can fix it with editor but then you need to start again. Pretty annoying. Especially for an Aussie with German background like me!
 
I've read through this whole thread over the last week or so, a really interesting and absorbing read thanks a lot for sharing. I was gutted for you at Cadiz but am now intrigued to see what will happen in England. Good luck!
 
AshRolls said:
I've read through this whole thread over the last week or so, a really interesting and absorbing read thanks a lot for sharing. I was gutted for you at Cadiz but am now intrigued to see what will happen in England. Good luck!
Click to expand...

Thanks very much.

And what a radical opposite Wimbledon are from Cadiz. From poorly run, financially screwed club owned by a foreign, invisible investor group to financially stable club run by a board whose bosses are the supporters. Night and freaking day.
 
The next week was fairly simple. We learned what kind of condition our players were in based upon everyone more or less playing a full match. There would be plenty of drills involving a lot of running. Plus of course, lots of running.

I talked to Fabian Rowe. He'd gone and strained his hamstring training on Saturday so it wasn't like he could jump into the first team for next weekends matches. I told him that I wanted him to play instead of sit on the bench. I told him that if he showed me he deserved a place, I'd bring him up when either Johnson or Francombe got injured. He decided he didn't want to make a fuss of it after all. I was completely prepared for him to make a stink.

The truth of the matter is that I'm not particularly pleased with my backup for left midfield, Chris Arthur. He's got a year left and I can't see him making much of a difference. Maybe I should sell Arthur. I'm not sure yet.
 
Sunday, July 13, 2014

This is it. England v. Germany for the World Cup.

GK: Joe Hart
D: Glen Johnson, Phil Jones, Joleon Lescott, Ashley Cole
M: Steven Gerrard (C), Michael Carrick, Theo Walcott, Jack Wilshere, Ashley Young
F: Wayne Rooney

Early on Walcott received a pass out wide. He played a ball inside to Wilshere and took off. Wilshere hoofed a ball up to Rooney. Rooney hung in the air and flicked a ball into the path of the streaking Walcott. Walcott rounded the keeper and England had the dream start everyone wanted.

1-0

England kept the pressure up. Germany only made it into the England half once.

In the 27th minute after keeping the ball for quite a while, Young won a corner for England. Wilshere jogged over, grabbed the ball, positioned it and waited for everyone to get set.

Wilshere whipped in a ball to the penalty spot. A German defender won the header. He connected really solidly with the ball but hit is straight at Michael Carrick. Carrick only had time to brace himself. The ball caromed off his head and into the back to the net!

2-0

Germany finally created their first chance of the match in the 45th minute. In the end it was an easy save for Joe Hart.

In a truly Roy Hodgson move, Frank Lampard replaced Walcott at halftime. One thing was for sure, the second half was going to be dull unless, of course, Germany were to score.

Which they promptly did.

Germany had worked the ball down into their right flank corner. They played it back and moved it across the top of the box. England had dropped really, really deep and the German midfielder waiting at the top of the box one-timed it. He absolutely crushed it and Joe Hart had no chance.

The game then became torture to watch. Germany pressed and pressed and pressed. With the slow duo of Gerrard and Lampard in the middle, they were overrun. England would occasionally break through Young.

Germany had taken a mere 3 shots in the first half. They took 12 in the second. Hart called upon to make 6 saves and two of them were Cup-savers.

I spent the last 15 minutes of the game peering between my fingers, nearly too scared to watch. While I was rooting for my new country, I'm not England. I'd periodically peer at the people around me. Nailing biting, praying, fists clenching, teeth grinding, flop sweating, facial tics, rapid blinking, not blinking at all and all sorts of OCD behavior. I saw it all.

But England were destined to win this. Danny Welbeck and Chris Smalling came on late so at least they can say they appeared.

And then England went gloriously and undestandably mad.

2-1

View attachment 421811
 
Tuesday, June 15, 2014

"John, you got a minute?" I asked Wimbledon's marketing, website, social media guy.

"Sure, boss, what can I do for you?"

"I have a personal problem you might be able to help with," I began. "Well, technically, it's not exactly my problem but a friend of mine's."

I told him Gwen's story of her stalker.

"I've spoken to her and she's willing to set you up with some her friends or at least try," I concluded.

"Okay, but what exactly to you want from me?" he asked.

"Photographs."

"Photographs?"

"Yes, photographs of him stalking her."

"Aaaahhh, now I follow," John said. "You want me to use my long-range lenses and capture the ******* in the act."

I nodded.

"And in exchange your model friend will try to get me some dates with some of her model friends."

I nodded.

"I'm in."
 
< Messages . . Gwen . . Contact

Wed, July 16, 10:02

Just got invited to rooftop party on victory celebration
route. Need date. You avai?

Yes. When?

4. Pick me up?

K. C U then.
 
View attachment 421324Thankfully, she knew the way to the party. The subway was packed full and it was fortunate that the the South Wimbledon station on the Black Line is so far out as, first, we were able to get on the train and, second, that we got seats. At closer in stops, there were times when nobody got on the train.

We got off at Monument. I did my best to push through the crowd with her behind me. We walked up King William Street then westward on Cheapside. Cheapside becomes Newgate as we passed St. Paul's Cathedral then I was shoving our way down Old Bailey. Then a right on Limeburner. I only had to shove my way to the second entrance on Fleet Street. But it was tough. There were a ****ton of people out to celebrate the World Cup win.

The party turned out to be filled with models and the like. The food was great, the music was ear splitting and everyone was fabulously dressed. I hoped nobody would notice that my Italian suit was a decade old but I'm sure that somebody with a discerning eye would notice. Well, at least it was really expensive back in the day and thank God I still fit comfortably in it.

Eventually, someone noticed that the buses carrying the players were passing below us. I managed to push through and take a couple of pictures. Sadly, I'm no good at taking pictures and the one to your right is the only one that isn't blurry.

Later when I was much drunker than when I arrived we departed for a club. I was not leading the way which was a good thing. I danced with Gwen and a bunch of her friends until far too late into the night.

What the ****, right? I did the same thing in 2006 when Italy won it all. Why not do the same in my newly adopted country.
 
I came to because something was vibrating. Where the **** was I? The thing was my phone. The alarm was buzzing and vibrating. Eventually, I was able to coordinate my arm, wrist and fingers and shut the piece of **** up.

Then I realized that I had to throw up. I very, very carefully eased myself up to a sitting position. I managed not to vomit. Okay, I was in my own bedroom. That's good. Someone was lying face down on the bed next to me. That's not good. Holy. ****ing. ****. It was Gwen. How the **** did she end up here? What the **** happened last night?

I very slowly and carefully eased myself to standing. As the room began to spin, I sprint-stumbled into the bathroom and hurled into the toilet.

Been a while since I've done that.

At this point I noticed that I was wearing my boxer briefs. Okay. I'm not naked. I'm not sure I know what that means. I peered back into the bedroom. She was still asleep. She was under the sheets and appeared to be wearing one of my tshirts. Okay. She's not naked. I'm still not certain of what that means but certain conclusions could be made. Or not.

I shut the door to the bathroom and flushed. I examined myself in the mirror. Bloodshot eyes, stubble and the beginning of a throbbing headache. I popped some ibuprofen. If that water stayed down, I'd drink more. I splashed water on my face and brushed my teeth.

Nope, no memories were coming back. I vaguely remember dancing and drinking at the club.

Okay, I had to get the **** out of here and over to New Malden for training. Where the **** was my car? I walked out of the bathroom and into the living room. It wasn't on the street outside. It must still be near the South Wimbledon station where I'd parked it yesterday.

I heard a groan from the bedroom. Time to find out what happened last night. I took a step towards the bedroom. Nope, not brave enough. Not yet anyways. Instead, I started brewing some coffee. I was going to need caffeine and lots of it.

I heard shuffling and then Gwen appeared.

"Hnnnphh, coffee?" she croaked. Her hair was a rat's nest mess. Her make-up wasn't smeared, though. I concluded that she'd washed her face last night. That said something. Maybe.

"I need to confess that I don't remember much of last night after we got to the club," I blurted out. Apparently, I was going to be bluntly honest. "You're ... um ... here ... um ... uh ... what the **** happened?"

"Really?" she croaked. Then she coughed. "Um. You were totally ******. We poured you into a cab and brought you here."

"We?"

"You think I can carry you, you big oaf?" she snickered. "Laughing hurts. Oh **** my head hurts."

"Bathroom, cabinet, ibuprofen," I replied.

"Seriously, you don't remember a thing?" she asked when she returned to the kitchen. I nodded sheepishly and blushed. "Well, you're kind of a weepy drunk. You kept wanting to tell me how sad you were. Deep, deep down inside, you said. you kept repeating that deep deep down inside **** for like a half hour."

Then she stared at me for a minute.

"You ... heh ... you're not ... heh," she said then laughed. "Oh **** laughing hurts. You think ... we ... no, nothing happened my dear hung over American, Italian, Spanish-song-singing friend. When you weren't telling my about the sad, you were singing Spanish pop songs or something. Denise, who you probably won't remember, helped me get you in bed then she left. I tucked you in and you snored like a Canadian lumberjack. Cut down the rest of the few trees left on this island."

"You look as pale as a ghost," she continued. "Wait. Wait one second here. You were seriously worried, weren't you."

I nodded sheepishly.

"Okay, why were you worried?"

Now I was in trouble. I knew that my answer was going to be important. I really wished I could think clearly. What the **** was I supposed to say now.

"I ... I dunno. I mean ... um ... I'm confused," I said. Apparently, I was going to be honest. "On the one hand, you're gorgeous. On the other hand, I'm thirty six and I don't know how old you are. And you're smart. And spectacular fun. And on this cold, dank English morning, I have no idea why you would be interested in me."

My phone saved me. It was Sean, my Assistant Manager.

"You up?"

"Yeah," I said maintaining eye contact with Gwen.

"Just checking cos you usually beat me in."

"Yeah, bad hangover. I'll be in soon."

"Okay, bye."

Click.

She stared at me for a moment. An eternity, it seemed. She was obviously thinking. I was merely suffering under her gaze.

"Listen, you're hung over, I'm hung over," she said. "This isn't the time to talk about this. You probably have to get to your job. I'm twenty two. You have a problem with that?"

"Um, no," I said looking down at my feet. "I ... um ... I ... uh ... I should probably shut up."

"Wise move, my Italian friend, wise move," she said. "We will talk later today. Now get going."
 
Thursday, July 17, 2014

The walk to New Malden was horrid, but it did wake me up and clear my head. I set aside thinking about Gwen until later. I was going to need the few functioning brain cells I had for training.

"Everyone have a good time last night?" I asked as we coaches had a quick huddle before we started.

"Apparently, not as good as you," Rachubka said.

"I got invited to a party on Fleet Street to watch the parade," I said. "I stayed out way too late. So if any of you smell alcohol, you're just downwind from me."

That got a few snickers.

Then we trained. We trained well. The team is really coming together.

Afterward I emailed my scouts. Since Kris Thackray was going to play fullback and fullbacks were so freaking hard to find, I asked them to find me another central defender. We're probably going to need the cover.
 
"Hi."

"Hello, my Italian friend," she said. "How are you feeling?"

"Better. You?"

She smiled.

"The ******* followed me here," she said. "Sat there watching me for about the last two hours of my shift."

"Good," I replied. She raised a manicured eyebrow. "John made it over and followed you two here."

She nodded.

"Have you eaten here before?" I asked.

"No," she replied picking up the menu. "I don't know much about Italian food."

"Hah, well, I can finally be useful. How about I order. That'll just make it easier. I want to get a variety of stuff. I need to see if this is the place I can get my Italian fix when I'm jonesing."

"Do you still get homesick for the US?"

"Not really anymore," I replied. "I've been in Europe, mostly Italy, for half my life now."

I ordered some appetizers, several Primi and two Secundo. We made small talk about a variety of topics while we ate. I advised her to sample a little from each which is what I did. She liked it all. This place would satisfy my Jones when it hit.

"This is the wrong place to talk," she said as the bus boy was clearing the table.

I nodded and got the waiter to bring the bill.

"So," I said as we walked out of the Ristorante. "Here we are."

"You go first," she said. Oh, ****. Why me first?

"I ... uh ... well ... um," I stuttered. "Oh **** I don't know what to say. My suave Italian side is failing me now. Tonight you get the bumbling American."

"But well dressed American," she said. "I love this shirt. It's hand tailored, right?" I nodded. "Let's walk to the river."

We walked in silence while I floundered around for the right thing to say. I lost that battle with myself.

"Alright," I said. "I'm really at a loss for what to say or how to say it. But here's where I'm at." I explained that I'd lost everything but the Alfa and how taking the job with Cadiz was a first step toward building a career as a manager.

"Obviously, that didn't end too well in Cadiz," I said. "I hope to prove myself at Wimbledon. Hopefully, someone notices me and offers me a better deal. Could be in England, Italy or Spain. I don't know."

"You know I've not been to Italy and I've only been to Ibiza and the only thing I'm sure of with that is that it isn't representative of Spain," Gwen interjected. "And by the way, he's following us."

"Oh, good. Because then John is following him."

"Okay," she said. "Here's where I'm at. Odds are that I get married, pump out some offspring and live my whole life in southwest London. I don't have a degree and my hope is modeling. Modeling is a total roll of the dice. Few make it. I'd like my shot at it. I've done some and gotten paid nicely, but there's always a chance I never model again, you know, nobody calls ever again."

"I'm serious when I said the I think English boys are boring," she continued. "Odds are I end up bored. I'd rather not be. It's sounds so depressing."

"Hey, there's a question I've been meaning to ask," I said. "That night when you introduced yourself to me. Was stalker boy at the club?"

She nodded.

So what if I'm just going to be used to get rid of stalker boy? Am I okay with that? Yes, yes I am.

"Okay, here's what I want to say," I said. "I think you're fascinating, unpredictably and dangerous. Yeah, dangerous. I never know what you're going to do or say next. I like that. I just want you to be happy. There is one thing that I wonder about; what if my next post is in the Midlands or way north or something? In other words, not Spain, not Italy or not London?"

"If there are any bridges to burn," she replied. "I'd prefer to burn it after I cross it."
 
Friendly: AFC Wimbledon v. Tottenham Hotspur

View attachment 420982This weekend was going to be the big money maker for the club. We played Spurs and Liverpool play Arsenal. Both matches were sold out.

We played first.

I fielded my strongest side and used a 451 to clog up the midfield and give us a chance defensively.

GK: Chris Dunn
D: Kris Thackray, Reuben Hazell, Andy Frampton, James Fenlon
M: Steven Gregory, George Francombe, Harry Pell, Adam Pepper, Simon Johnson
F: James Loveridge

Shockingly, we scored in the 9th minute.

Thackray (LB) threw the ball down the line to Loveridge. Loveridge leapt and headed the ball infield and into the path of Johnson. Johnson ran right at the Spurs defense who just let him advance without challenging him.

He had the time to place the simplest of shots into the lower right corner of the net.

View attachment 420970I glanced over at AVB who was crouching in his technical area. No reaction.

Of course, from then on Spurs dominated. 30 shots, 12 on net. Great practice for us. The fact that we remained tied until into the second half really pleased me.

Liverpool thrashed Arsenal. Since they finished 6th and 5th respectively last season, I have no idea what significance this holds for the upcoming season. Arsenal only added Miralem Pjanic from Roma so far this summer. I have no idea 'Pool kept Reina after loaning him to Napoli last season.

We'll see, but I'm hoping Wimbledon pull in 250K from this Cup competition.
 
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The man climbed out of his car, walked up the step and rang the bell. He then turned and walked back down the step to wait. Soon a woman answered the door, smiled thinly at the man then turned to look back into the house. The focus of her attention soon could be heard careening down the stairs.

The man flinched as a young boy erupted through the open door and launched himself with a war whoop from the top step missing him by a hair.

"C'mon, Dad," he yelled as he bounced the few steps to the car. "By, Mum."

The man waited a moment to give the woman a chance to say something. She didn't; she just turned and went into her house. He gave the slightest shake of his head then followed his on into the car.

"Dad, Dad, I coont find my ball cap," the boy said. "Can i geth another, please?"

"I don't see why not," he replied. "Did you lose another tooth?"

"Mmm hmmm."

"Which one?"

"Ith one."

"Okay, let's go get your grandfather."

The boy explained his latest video game exploits, how his mother made him eat his vegetables despite his complaints that he was going to throw up, how his new friends supported Chelsea but one supported Fulham and how he loved the swimming lessons as they drove.

The boy ran out of things to say and the father questions before they got to grandfather's house so they drove in silence.

"Gwampa!" the boy exclaimed as his grandfather got into the car.

"My sweet boy, you have fun at the match now," his grandmother said from the sidewalk.

"Bye, Gwamma!" he yelled as they drove off. "Bye bye."

The boy also regaled his grandfather with his stories but he didn't quite finish before they were parking the car. Two of them walked, one of them bounced to the stadium.

"Who's your favorite Gooner?" the grandfather asked.

"Wiwsheer," the boy replied.

"Well there he is, go down and get yourself an autograph," the grandfather said. He handed the boy a pen and the boy bounced down the stairs then over to where Jack Wilshere was signing and chatting.

"How you think we're going to do this year?" the man asked.

"Depends upon if this new manager is good or not," the grandfather replied.

"Smith and Loveridge sound like great additions, though."

"We'll see," the grandfather replied. "But I do think that Dunn will be an upgrade over Worner in net. I didn't like that Worner. Made me nervous."

"Wook! Wook!" the boy exclaimed holding up his Wilshire-autographed program for his father and grandfather to see. They both nodded and grunted their approval.

"Awsenal are going to win, wight?" the boy asked. Both men nodded. "I fink theyw gonna score fifteen!"

"Arg, lad! You're supposed to root for Wimbledon not Arsenal," the grandfather exclaimed reaching for his grandson's ear. The boy squealed and leapt away.

"I know that Gwampa, I'm weawing my hat awnt I?"

The grandfather reached out to grab the boy again and failed. More squealing.

View attachment 420950Eventually the match got underway.

"They seem pretty organized, I must say," the grandfather said as Arsenal poked and prodded and toyed with Wimbledon.

"Aw we evew gonna go to the offer end and score?" the boy asked.

"Not against the Gunners, son," the father answered.

"Aw no vey scowed!" the boy exclaimed after Santi Cazorla smashed a free kick past Dunn from 25 yards.

"Why aw you clapping?" the boy asked as his father and grandfather stood and applauded the goal.

"Because that was beautiful, son, beautiful," the father replied. "Sometimes when the other team makes a really great play, we applaud."

"Okay," said the boy.

They stood and applauded one more time before halftime although the Gunners scored twice.

"Can I have a hoth dog, Dad?"

The man nodded.

"Dunn's the only reason we aren't losing by more," the grandfather said.

Arsenal made wholesale changes in the second half. Wimbledon only introduced subs late on.

View attachment 420949 "That Dunn is going to be solid all season, you watch," the grandfather said as the three walked out of Kingsmeadow.

"He's wewy taw," the boy added. The two men nodded. "Is he as taw as Mertesackew?"

"I think so," his father answered.

"Can we th-tay for Spuws and Wiverpool?"

"No," both men replied.
 
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Sunday, July 20, 2014

"Morning," I said once everyone was gathered in the conference room at New Malden. "What's cooking?"

"Knock on wood, but we're injury free," said Physio Jon Whitney. "I'm going to meet with a doctor about that Radshaw lad's tendonitis tomorrow."
View attachment 420841
"Andrew Guy is officially a Wimbledon player," said U18 Manager Mark Robinson. "Trained with us yesterday. Nice lad. He'll fit in fine."

"How's Fabian Rowe?" I asked.

"Oh, he's fine now," he replied. "Thanks for straightening him out."

"K, keep me posted if he causes any trouble," I said.

"We're looking for center back cover," Lil said. "Should have a report by Wednesday."

"Great," I said. "This week gets busier. As you all know we travel to Luton on Wednesday then have our final friendly tournament next weekend. We've got four weeks left until it all kicks off. How's everyone feeling? Any concerns?"

"I'm concerned Loveridge and Smith haven't played together enough," Matt Woolley said. "They need chemistry."

"We'll switch to a 442 for Luton and Dunstable which is next week," I replied. "I was going to play 451 in the tournament because we're up against Premier League sides."

"Sorry, Wools, I'm thinking we shouldn't get slaughtered this weekend," my Assistant Manager said.

"I'm not saying switch," Wools said. "I'm saying they're not ready, that's all. Hopefully the Don will help me out this week?"

"The Don?" I replied. "You've been talking to Framps and Haz haven't you. Yeah, The Don will helps."

"By the way, boss," Rachubka said. "Have you seen the video of your greatest hits, yet? It's on a blog."

"What?" I said. "I had no idea there was such a thing."

"Oh, you'll love it," Rachubka replied. "I'll get everyone the link."

Oh, great.
 
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Gwen stayed over on Thursday night, too, but under significantly different circumstances. And Friday as well. I guess that means we're dating, girlfriend-boyfriend or whatever.

On Friday night after the match, we went out to clubs. I didn't have any obligations relating to Wimbledon until the afternoon. I also wasn't in the mood to get drunk; this meant lots of dancing and I nursing my drinks.

I'm kind of weirded out by one thing. The casualness of it all. I mean, I was rather giddy to start dating Ana Maria. With Gwen, she initiated it that night in the club and I've just been swept along.

Whatever you think, don't think I'm complaining. It's just weird and new.
 
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