The Alfa Romeo Metaphor

League Two: AFC Wimbledon v. Mansfield Town FC

The whole reason I want to have a double squad, i.e., two full sets of players, is for situations just like today. Center backs Frampton and Thackray and right midfielder Francomb are the only holdovers from Friday. Today is my strongest outfield setup. I've decided to give Lincoln a start.

GK: Daniel Lincoln
D: Cameron Dummigan, Andy Frampton, Kris Thackray, Jim Fenlon
M: George Francomb, Mark Tomlinson, Daniel Barlaser, Matteo Nole
F: Jack Midson, Michael Smith

Subs: Chris Dunn (GK), Reuben Hazell (D), Brad Smith (D), Stephen Gregory (M), Leandro Depetris (M), Simon Johnson (M), James Loveridge (F)

We started out with the ball and kept it until Mark played a high ball up to Smith. He flicked it on and Midson got there first and forced the keeper to make a good save.

In the 9th minute, Fenlon played a pass up to Midson who flicked it over to Smith. Smith saw Cameron Dummigan's over-lapping run and played a ball behind the left back. Cam's shot hit the post and veered across the goalmouth. Midson and two defenders all lunged for the ball and the ball crossed the line.

1-0

Midson ran to the corner flag kissing his badge and was joined by his teammates. The fans serenaded him with "He scores when he wants" until just after the kick-off when the announcer announced that it was an own goal by defender Gaz Dean when they started hissing, whistling and booing.

That's a candidate for review. WTF?

Mansfield got off their first shot in the 20th minute, a tame effort from long range that that was well wide. I'd told the boys to attack as Town doesn't score many goals. Because we were pressuring them far up the field, they had trouble getting out of their end.

After Smith had a shot blocked in the 25th, our next chance fell in the 29th. George's corner was cleared right back to him. He whipped in a second go round which hit Michael Smith in the back. The ball fell to Captain Andy who smashed a low shot goalward.

2-0

It touched nothing but net. Frampton doesn't score much so it was quite a celebration.

In the 33rd minute, Daniel Barlaser was jogging across the center circle with the ball. He dipped a shoulder and spun the opposite direction to protect the ball then started to jog off with it as he completely fooled the Mansfield midfielder Matty Pearson. Pearson responded by diving in recklessly and crunching Danny Boy's ankle. There was little to no intent to get the ball.

My players surrounded the ref after he whistled for the foul demanding a red card. The fans roared their disapproval. I screamed along with them.

After pointing at Leandro to get warmed up, I walked up to the fourth official.

"What was that?" I asked.

No response.

"For the love of God what do those clowns have to do to my players to get carded?" I asked. "He clearly intended to injure my player. Look. Look. See? My physio is signaling I have to replace him! Do you have anything to say in defense of Boyesen's indefensible calling of this match? Mansfield are going to pass 30 fouls at the rate they're going!"

"Shut it, Enrico, or I'll have you sent off," the fourth official said to get me out of his face.

"He was going for the ball," Mansfield manager David Irons said as he walked up.

The fans started singing Three Blind Mice.

"Funny, me and the fans see it otherwise," I said as I walked away.

Leandro replaced Danny Boy.

We got a ridiculous foul called in our favor a few minutes later in the 39th. Cam took a throw deep into the corner. He heaved it into the box in the direction of Michael Smith. Michael flicked the ball into the mosh pit. Now you would think we'd have a bunch of players there. But the lone Don in the goal mouth was Jim Fenlon. I didn't see him jump. I saw five Mansfield players leap and one of them headed clear. As the forest of legs leapt, I saw Fens falling underneath.

Then the ref was whistling for a foul. Manager Irons was apoplectic.

"That wasn't a foul," I told the fourth official as Irons was busy screaming at the fourth official.

"See even Pucci agrees with me!" Irons screamed.

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Midson got his goal.

The remainder of the match was rather dull except for some great saves by Lincoln to preserve his shutout.

What annoyed me were several moments such as this one. Thacks hoofed the ball forward into the opposition box in the 69th minute. I would prefer that he pass it to a midfielder and we try to work it into the box. Manfield cleared the ball out and immediately launched a long ball into the space Thacks had vacated. Mansfield striker Harry Panayiotou raced onto it. Any foot race Captain Andy engages in is going to end badly, he has plenty of great qualities, but quickness and speed are not among them.

Lincoln dove and blocked Panayiotou's shot out for a corner.

We were going to have to work hard during the week to make sure that we weren't sloppy against bottom feeders Morecambe.

Cheltenham, Hartlepool and York all won to keep pace with us. Southend lost and Rochdale tied.

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Monday, December 29, 2014 noonish

"I'm worried about the Morecambe match," I said once we were all sitting down for our coaches meeting. "I think we started getting sloppy and we're going to pay for it against them."

Assistant Manager Sean Hankin, Coach Mark Woolley, Goalkeeper Coach Paul Rachubka and Chief Scout Lil Fuccillo all nodded.

"Danny is going to be out a month," blurted out Physio Jon Whitney. "I chatted with him this morning. That ankle is pretty swollen. We'll have a scan when the swelling's gone down."

"Well that's why I signed Leandro," I said. "We'll be fine."

"So our focus this week is attacking?" Hanks asked. I nodded.

"Also, I'm going to offer George, Fenlon and Thacks new contracts," I added. "I don't want someone signing them for next season."

"Loveridge?" asked Wools.

"When he regains his confidence and starts scoring again," I replied.

"Should we mention this to him?" Wools asked.

"Nah, he'll figure it out. Or he should," I replied. "Lil, tell us about Morecambe."

"First off, they stink like shrimp that've been left out in the sun for days," he replied. "Secondly, they are not playing without any confidence. Yesterday, against Hartlepool, who I might add lie third, they dominated possession but couldn't score. Hartlepool scored late to ****** the points. It really depends upon how we play, honestly. They're poor at every position but right back. Andy Parrish is their right back and he's solid."

"They play a 451 with wingers," Lil continued. "But they don't have fast wingers and their striker isn't particularly dangerous. Their defense aside from Parrish is slow and poor. We should be able to do the business against them."
 
"Fens, good to see you, sit down, how are you?" I said.

"Just fine, Gaffa," my left fullback Jim Fenlon replied. "I've been thinking about it and, if you don't mind, I'd like to propose my terms. I'd like to stay, but it's got to be the right deal."

"Understood. Shoot."

"I'd like one thousand a week, a two hundred pound appearance fee and the same clean sheet fee," he said. "I also want a twenty-five percent raise once we're promoted."

"Through next season?" I asked.

"Yeah."

View attachment 393309"Okay, here's my counter," I said. "I am limited by the Don's Trust to paying you nine hundred, but I can sweeten the deal some other ways. How about three hundred for appearance, three hundred for clean sheets, twelve thousand if you make the team of the year and six thousand if we get promoted?"

"Um ... sure," he agreed. "Toss in a loyalty bonus and I'll agree."

"Fine by me," I said. "How's two thousand sound?" He nodded. "That was easy. I'll have the terms drawn up and you can sign them tomorrow."

We stood and shook hands.

"Congrats, man," I said. "You've really been solid for us this season."

"Thanks, boss," Jim said and walked out.
 
"Welcome, George," I said shaking hands.

"Meet my agent, Kevin Payne," George said. We shook, too. George's agent was in a double-breasted pin stripe suit which was in sharp contrast to George's ripped jeans and hoodie and my track suit.

"We're very interested in what you have to offer," Mr. Payne said.

"Just to be clear from the get go, but you understand that we as a club have a policy that we don't pay agent fees, right?" I said.

"I do," said Mr. Payne.

View attachment 393301"Here's my offer sheet," I said sliding it across the table to them.

They looked it over for a moment then George nodded and smiled.

"You likes?" I asked.

"My client appreciates these terms, but I hope you will understand the need for us to go and consider the bigger picture before making our final decision," Mr. Payne said.

"Please notice that this offer is only good for today," I said pointing at the bottom of the sheet. "Just text me or call with your final decision."

"I'm glad this was easy," George said as he stood up.

"Yeah, well I want you here," I replied as we shook hands. "You deserve this."
 
"Boss, I ****ing hate this part of football," Kris Thackray blurted out as he walked into the conference room at Kingsmeadow.

"Relax Kris," I said as we shook hands. "You'll like my offer."

"Cos my agent in Germany really botched the whole deal," he continued. "My German is really poor and the ****wad tried to bargain so hard that Aachen just refused to talk to me. Even after I fired him."

"That's because you were meant to come here," I said sliding his offer sheet across the table. "I hope you find this satisfactory."

"Can I sign now?" Kris asked.

"Sure," I said and handed him a pen.

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League Two: AFC Wimbledon v. Morecambe FC

View attachment 393017View attachment 393016As is the fad, Morecambe lined up like Barca. I have no idea why. They're slow, have poor ball skills and can't press because they're disorganized. We beat them third match of the season 2-1 away.

The weather is pretty decent for the January. Not southern Spain, but nearly 8C (46F) isn't so bad. I celebrated by donning my scarf and parka but not wearing my stocking hat.

Their striker Padraig Amond is reasonably quick, but their wingers are slow. David Morgan and Andy Fleming are nothing special. Their defense is poor.

My subs bench is:

Daniel Lincoln (GK), Reuben Hazell (D), Brad Smith (D), Steven Gregory (M), Adam Pepper (M), Simon Johnson (M), James Loveridge (F)

We marched straight down the field from the kick-off and Midson blasted high from 20 yards. Good start.

The noticeable feature of the first 15 minutes was the inability of Leandro to put in a decent corner or getting anyone to challenge for it in the air. We had three that were easily cleared and the danger came because we always got to the clearance and created a chance after.

Matteo Nole had our first real chance in the 19th minute, but from a bad angle. He managed to get the ball past the keeper but it rolled past the far post.

In the 27th minute, Captain Andy Frampton made a fundamental defensive mistake. He didn't know where their forward was when they got the ball. The Shrimpers center back hoofed a ball over his head. Amond was behind him and Thacks was keeping him onside. Amond was first to the ball and calmly slotted past our keeper Chris Dunn.

0-1

What would our response be? It came within three minutes.

Nole drove the left flank and played a ball back and inwards to Leandro Depetris. Leandro drove for the end line, but stopped suddenly and passed backward to the top of the box where Jim Fenlon was standing. Fens saw George Francomb standing all alone on the far side of the box. He zipped the pass over and George smashed it home.

1-1

But we conceded again within 5 minutes.

They played a ball up to Amond who held off Captain Andy then dished to an onrushing Andy Fleming. Dunn blocked the shot, but into Andy. Amond poked the rebound goalward. It ever so slowly rolled as Dunn tried to crawl back and swat it away.

Mark Tomlinson caming sliding in and attempted to clear it as it rolled across the goal line. He only managed to put it into the side netting.

1-2

The players all ran over to the linesman protesting that Amond was off-side. Weak. You ****ing played him onside. ****.

Okay, bad luck, that sucked. How would we respond?

Well, they tried. Leandro and Matteo attempted two shots each. As per usual, Matteo's went wide. Leandro's were blocked and saved, respectively.

"Cam, Andy, Kris and Jim, you can't let their lone forward stand behind you when they have the ball," I said once everyone was sitting down at half time. "Unless, and this is a big unless, you are playing an offside trap. And that **** we were pulling wasn't. Andy and Kris, it's your responsibility to keep a good line. I want less geese flying in a V formation in the sky and more classic Arsenal. Clear?"

They all nodded.

"We had bad luck, but we've had plenty of chances," I said. "Just keep plugging and we'll be back in this."

Now if youinterpret "keep plugging" as passing square or back and waiting for someone else to do something, then we kept plugging. I just kept clenching my jaw tighter and tighter and shoving my hands deeper and deeper into the pockets of my parka.

At 60 minutes, I put on Loveridge for Nole. I told Lovers I had faith he'd work himself into position to take some shots.

The response was immediate.

George brought the ball up the right flank and laid the ball off for Cameron Dummigan on an overlapping run. Cam crossed to the back post for Jack Midson, but they cleared it.

Loveridge controlled the clearance just inside the top left corner of the box. He made a run for the goal line and tried a near post chip for Midson. Jack slammed his header directly into the face of some poor Morecambe defender. The ball rolled out to the top of the box and it looked like Leandro was going to shoot.

Unfortunately, he played the ball across the top of the box for Fenlon who blazed high.

We won a freekick just right of center about 25 yards out in the 66th minute. Leandro grabbed the ball and started his ritual of placing and replacing the ball until it sat perfectly. Everyone lined up to crash the back post while Andy and Thacks disrupted the wall.

The ref blew his whistle, I held my breathe and I think everyone else in the stadium did the same. Leandro took his three step run up and nearly shattered the crossbar. Everyone groaned.

Minutes later, it all fell apart.

They played a ball up to Amond. He stopped it dead and waited to see what options he had. He had one. Both Andy and Thacks were trying to get the ball off of Amond. Andy Fleming saw this and ran into the gap Thacks had left. I had been yelling at Leandro in Spanish to cover Fleming because I saw this run coming yesterday.

Late runs are murder.

Apparently, Leandro isn't used to hearing me yelling in Spanish and just jogged back letting Fleming go. Amond flicked the ball into the space, Fleming touched the ball twice and lasered a far post grass burner past Dunn.

View attachment 3930191-3

Goodnight, Alice. We sucked today. Morecambe were professionals about it and saw the game out. A rare and precious away victory for them. You're welcome, Shrimpers.

Rather than grind my teeth into dust, I started checking the other scores from League Two. Holy Schnikey! Everybody that mattered was losing points. Burton (8th) drew with Southend (6th). Cheltenham (2nd) lost to Rochdale who moved up into 5th with the victory. Hartlepool (3rd) lost to Scunthorpe.

"First, I want to say that we had some bad luck today," I said after. "But ***** ****ing ***** we stunk it up out there. How the **** did we make Morecambe look good? Nobody worked hard at the right time. You all ran a lot, but so does a ****ing chicken when it gets it's mother****ing head cut off. Every goal was symptomatic of what we do wrong defensively. From our inability to defend against balls over the top to cover runs into the channels to late runs from midfield."

"Now here comes the ****ing irony of it all," I continued. "Despite it all, we're still first. Everyone lost today. I guess it's better to be lucky than good, eh?

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"And I'll have just the Spaghetti alla Carbonare," I said to the waiter at my favorite Italian restaurant.

"Thanks," he said and walked off.

We sat in silence for a moment.

"So, off to southern France tomorrow," I said.

"Southern France," Gwen echoed. "Wow."

"Why so pensive?" I asked. "It'll be awesome."

"I don't know, actually," she replied. "It's my big break. The one you dream of. I could be on billboards."

"That would freak me out," I said. "I'd probably crash if I was driving."

"Yes, officer, I can explain," she said, imitating me. Poorly I might add. "I saw my girlfriend on that billboard back there in a skimpy dress and had a minor brain aneurism or something. Yes, that's why drove into these parked cars."

"Do I really talk like that?" I asked.

"Impersonations aren't my specialty," she replied. "But I had the eyebrows and the shoulders correct, didn't I?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I said trying to pretend I'd been insulted.

"You've got what we call big match jitters," I said. "I've always been nervous before matches. But it seems a million times worse before big matches. This is where routine comes in handy. Same routine every night before bed so my body is prepared to sleep. Pre-game meal, pre-game nap, I always had my pre-game mix I'd play in the car, then the mix I'd play on my iPod. I get dressed in a certain order."

"Left sock first, left shoe first," she added somewhat mockingly. "You still do it exactly the same way now."

"The routine helps me relax, helps me focus," I said. "I realize that modeling is a smidge diff than football, but you know what I'm saying. Grasp onto the small things that are easy to control while life changes rapidly before you eyes."

"It is scary," she said. "I could afford to move out of my parents. God but that's embarrassing to say."

"You're right to be scared," I said. "I went from broke to more money than I knew what to do with in nearly no time flat. Looking back, the acceleration was ... um ... well, all of a sudden I went from walking and taking the metro to expensive apartment and a sports car and more cash than ..."

I sighed.

"Your Lasagna Al Forno, Miss," said the waiter. "And your Spaghetti Alla Carbonara, sir."

"To the south of France," I said raising my wine glass.

"Mmmm," she said as we clinked.
 
Sunday, January 4th 2014 8:30AM

"I think I figured out how we should defend when they have a lone striker," Assistant Manager Sean Hankin said once we'd all sat down. "We have Andy marking him and Thacks covering. As in Thacks sweeping up anything Andy doesn't defend properly. He's also a wee bit faster than our Captain."

"That's a great idea," I said. "Anything else?"

"Yeah," said Goalkeeper Coach Paul Rachubka. "Go with Lincoln next Saturday. He's been looking great in training. I've got a feeling."

"Works for me," I said. "We've been letting in a few too many with Dunn between the posts. Our focus this week is defense since we're away to Rotherham. I made a few calls right after the match and we'll be up against the semi-pro club Bognor Regis this Tuesday evening."

"What you got on Rotherham, Lil?"" I asked.

"They play 4411 mostly but occasionally use a 451 with wingers," he said. "I think they'll go with the 4411. Jason Scotland will be their striker which is good for us as he's slow. Luke Chadwick is typically their man in the whole. If Tomlinson marks him, we should be good. If you play a 451 as I expect you will, you should have Depetris mark their central midfielder Billy Knott. Anything good that happens for them usually comes through him."

"Their defense is pretty solid," he continued. "I've been particularly impressed with their right back Julio Rico. At least going forward. He also takes all their free kicks. He's pretty good at the set plays."

"You're correct Lil, I'm going to deploy the 451," I said. "I want to try James Loveridge at the left midfield spot. Nole's been creating chances for himself, but maybe Loveridge can convert a couple."

"Oh, one more thing," Lil interjected. "Hit them hard from 15 minutes until half time. Statistics point out that they concede the most during this period."

"Alrighty," I said. "Let's go out there and help them run off that loss."
 
View attachment 392854"Paco, how are you?" I said in Spanish when I saw who was calling.

"Great, great!" my friend and former Assistant Coach at Cadiz Paco Leal said. "I see that we both played like donkey **** yesterday and that despite that we're still both in first!"

"I have to admit that I didn't check the El Segundo B4 results," I said. "Let me guess. Loss at home?"

"How did you know?" Paco replied. "I simply don't understand how we continue to do this. We were up against the lowest scoring team in the top ten. Yet, they put three past us. It's utterly insane. We play them off the park, but they manage three really weak, stupid goals."

"We just lost to the bottom side at home," I said. "We made them look really good. So embarrassing."

"We lost to San Fernando again," Paco said. "At home. No food poisoning as an excuse this time."

"Oh, man," I said. "The poor Cadistas! Another year of suffering at the water cooler. Local derby's can be so brutal."

"How's the model treating you?" he asked.

I told him about Gwen's big break. He told me the latest with his kids.
 
Friendly: AFC Wimbledon v. Bognor Regis Town

View attachment 392808I put the team out in a 451, because I wanted them to get some goals in this formation. As you'll note, we dominated possession (64%) but the first team couldn't score.

GK: Daniel Lincoln
D: Cameron Dummigan, Andy Frampton, Kris Thackray, Jim Fenlon
M: Mark Tomlinson (DM), George Francomb, Adam Pepper, Leandro Depetris, James Loveridge
F: Michael Smith

The second team got the goals in the second half. It was especially nice to see Jack Redshaw score. Simon Johnson hit a long through ball from inside our own half into the channel. Jack raced onto it, got the keeper to go down and scored from a bad angle. Very nicely done. With his skill set and speed, I simply do not understand why he hasn't been able to score.

The bad news was Kris Thackray left the match in the 33rd minute. Another groin strain. Physio Whitney thinks it'll be three weeks out. ****.

Now I have a decision to make. Teenager Ben Harrison or Reuben Hazell next Saturday against Rotherham. Seriously, I'm going to lose sleep over this. I vowed Haz wouldn't play in the center again because of his last several performances.

Quite a dilemma.
 
Wednesday, 7 January 2015 9pm or thereabouts.

"Hey, how was the shoots today?" I asked.

"Oh, that went well," Gwen replied. "It's everything else."

"Oh, no," I said. "What's going on?"

"Okay, this is just mad, utterly mad," she said. "These models I'm with are putting on a show of starving themselves at every meal. They'll eat a half of a single roasted carrot and one leaf of lettuce and that's it. I might be exaggerating a wee bit, but not by all that much. I, on the other hand, had slathered this delicious fresh cream butter on freshly baked bread and was onto my second piece before I noticed that everyone was staring at me in horror. This is at our first dinner after we'd all arrived. I mean the other models were staring at me. John was sitting next to me completely oblivious and already onto his third slice."

"These women are absolutely ****ing cadaverous," she continued. "And I swear I hear the one in the room next to me purging. You know, throwing up. I think she orders room service then gets all guilty and remorseful because she's consumed calories and up it all comes. Anorexia, bulima and probably a whole lorrie full of other eating disorders of which I don't know the names. It must take a massive amount of photoshopping these women to make them look reasonable. They look awful. It's mad, I tell you, mad."

"Wow," I said. "And it's not like you eat a lot."

"I know," she said. "It's so bad that John and me and the make-up lady went out on our own tonight. Had Boullibaisse. Never had that before. God that was good and the cadavers weren't around to kill the buzz. We're going out for drinks in a bit."

"I just feel like such a ignorant, country girl just moved to the big city," she said. "I just show up and smile and be nice to people and these other models are these mean, cadaverous cows that only bare their surgically altered death mask grins when the cameras are clicking. I don't pay attention to the tabloids, but the murder rate at these shoots must be high as it seems everyone is plotting against everyone else like in some horrid soap. I think the make-up lady, Janice, has taken to me so as to school me in the dark arts of the trade."

"That and I think most of the models are blowing the producer," she said.

"Sweet Mary Mother of God that sounds horrendous," I said. "When do you escape again? Friday?"

"Yes, Friday," she replied. "I just hate, absolutely hate feeling like an obese cow. These cadavers are getting into my head."

"It's a case of mind over matter," I said.

"How's that?"

"You don't mind and they don't matter," I said. "Seriously. **** them. You'll be back in the darkest, most untrendy corner of London soon enough, you'll get your massive payday and you won't have to feel self-conscious eating a ****ing sandwich. You won't have to see any of these women ever again or at least for a while. **** 'em."

"I miss you," she said.

"Hang in there, chin up as you native islanders say," I said. "And do what you can to keep that wicked humor of yours in place. I bet you're going to have a lot of funny stories to tell."

"Yah, see you Friday," she said. "I'll text you when I've landed."

"We'll go out," I said.
 
The Late Night Alfa Romeo Report

I am officially in trouble.

Gwen even said so herself. I parked the Alfa and waited for her just outside of Customs at Heathrow. She literally ran up, threw her arms around me, gave me a big, wet, sloppy kiss then whispered in my ear that she loved me. I am not an idiot. I had the presence of mind to respond accordingly. Hey, I'm part Italian, you know. I am NOT going to say the wrong thing in a situation like this. That would be against my nature.

So after a romantic dinner, she was not in the mood to go out on the town. It was as we walked into my flat that she pinned me up against the wall and informed me of how much trouble I was in.

So here I am, lying in bed unable to sleep.

It's been eight, short, whirlwind months in southwest London. My Alfa Romeo has never run better. As metaphor for my life it's passenger seat is frequently filled with a gorgeous woman who just informed me of her undying love. I am excelling at my job.

The worry underlying dating Gwen is that I'd be a fling. The dating-an-older-man thing. So she can say she'd been there done that. So you all had probably noticed a certain ambivalence, a certain amount of detached observation perhaps, toward Gwen. But come on, what would you do if you found yourself dating a model?

Yes, I am definitely in trouble. The best kind of trouble.
 
League Two: Rotherham United FC v. AFC Wimbledon

View attachment 392551View attachment 392543It was much nicer when we got on the bus at 9am at Kingsmeadow. After a bus ride to King's Cross, a train ride up north to Rotherham and a bus ride to the New York Stadium, the temperature had dropped to 3C (37F). Now it's only a 2 or 3 degree drop, but now it's afternoon.

New York Stadium is new and really quite nice. Then again it's only 2 years old.

My subs are:

Chris Dunn (GK), Ben Harrison (D), Brad Smith (D), Steven Gregory (M), Simon Johnson (M), Matteo Nole (M), Jack Redshaw (F)

Rotherham have lined up exactly as Lil predicted they would. I told Mark Tomlinson to mark Chadwick and for Leandro Depetris to mark Billy Knott. These two and Scotland were to get extra helpings of special sauce.

As you can tell, I've set us up not to lose. We'll frustrate them first and build from there.

Michael Smith blasted over from the edge of the box after 5 minutes to get things started.

12 minutes in and Tomlinson was laid out flat on his back. Rotherham midfielder Billy Knott had the ball and spun to protect the ball as Mark ran up. Knott didn't like Mark trying to get to the ball and decked him with an elbow.

"WHAT THE **** WAS THAT?" I screamed at the ref. Wimbledon players surrounded the ref, Craig Pawson, demanding a red card. Instead Pawson signaled a free kick for Rotherham.

"Did Tomlinson's skull illegally connect with his elbow?" I asked the fourth official. "What possibly could Pawson have called?"

"Hold on," the fourth official said and had a quick conversation over the headset. "Tomlinson for shirt pulling."

"So neither the linesman nor Pawson saw the elbow that has knocked out Tomlinson?" I asked. "Then why the **** is he unconscious?"

By this time, Whitney was checking him out. After a moment, Mark was stretchered off. Gregory knew the routine and had gotten himself warming up the moment Mark dropped.

"Godammit, Whits, let me stand up," Tomlinson complained as the stretcher went past me. "I'm fine."

"Mark, we're not risking a concussion," Whitney said. "Stay down and let's check you out."

We had two quick chances after Julio Rico blasted the free kick high. Then we had three shots blocked in succession. Rotherham weren't able to get the ball into our half and we were starting to dominate.

In the 24th minute, Lincoln hoofed a goal kick over the center circle for Smith. He headed down to Leandro. Leandro played it out wide for Loveridge. He beat Rios and charged into the box with Rios on his tale. Rios tried a tackle from behind and only managed to chop out Lover's legs.

TWEET!

Rotherham players surrounded the ref complaining about something. I have no idea what. Leandro placed the ball on the spot and started placing and replacing it until he got it just right. By the time he was done, the protestations had subsided.

0-1

Miller's keeper Adam Collin never had a chance. Leandro placed it in the upper corner.

But within seconds we'd given up our lead. Keeper Collin punted it forward. Gregory won the header but right to Rotherham's other central midfielder Matt Dolan who headed it into the channel between Frampton and Dummigan. Of course, since you already know they scored, you know that Frampton had no idea where Rotherham's lone striker Jason Scotland was.

1-1

Scotland hit a perfect first time shot into the far upper corner.

Hanks was off the bench screaming at Frampton and Hazell. I know that they'd talked all week and worked all week on keeping track of the opposing strikers. Frampton was supposed to mark Scotland and Haz was supposed to cover. Because the play was a bang-bang type of play, Haz had no chance to cover.

Frampton put up his hand to recognize that he'd blown the coverage.

Smith bailed him out just two minutes after the restart by not at all figuratively but literally bulldozing through the Miller's defense to give us our lead back. Smith got the ball and spun on center back Pierce Sweeney. He then ran at him. At the edge of the box, Sweeney stepped up. I know the ploy. You decide that the ball might get past you and the man might get past you, but not both. He failed utterly. He simply bounced off Smith and the ball fell favorably right in front of Michael.

The other defender came flying across with a last ditch tackle which Smith rode, maintained his balance and tried to go through the keeper's legs. It hit the keeper's knee, rebounded up at Michael's head and he nodded it past the fallen keeper.

1-2

He ran over to the Wombles in the corner, turned, spread his arms and waited for the tsunami of blue shirts to engulf him. That was smashmouth hockey at it's finest.

Smith had two more chances before half time, but just couldn't convert. Rotherham had nothing.

"I know none of you have probably ever watched hockey, but Smith's goal is what you would call smashmouth hockey or in this case smashmouth football," I said to begin my half time talk. "That was epic."

"Aside from the goal which it looks like we got it all sorted out now, we've played great," I said. "Just keep plugging up the midfield and playing the pass that's in front of you. Great job, keep it up."

We kept them at bay to start the second half. They'd probably had a stern lecture from the manager about their play. I know I would have.

George Francomb put the game to bed in the 63rd minute. Leandro took a free kick from the right and about 50 yards from goal. Everybody lined up for a back post special. Instead, Leandro spotted George at the top of the box and Rotherham didn't get out in time to block the shot. It managed to sneak through.

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Minutes later Smith killed it dead. Lincoln punted the ball down the right flank spotting George unmarked. He streaked past the defender and whipped in a cross for the late arriving Smith. He volleyed it home.

1-4

Now you might think that this was all easy peasy. You'd be wrong. After each goal, Captain Andy lost track of Scotland and Rotherham played a ball into space for Scotland to run onto. Each time, Haz couldn't get over to cover. Each time we got lucky. The first time, after our third, Scotland's shot dribbled just wide. The second time, Lincoln saved him further embarrassment by tipping the ball just wide of the far post.

I wasn't about to lay into our Captain in the changing room after such a nice, solid victory, but we needed to defend better. Hanks and I were going to need to figure this out.

We now had some separation. We were nine points above Wycombe in the last playoff place. Cheltenham had won to keep pace with us, but Hartlepool had lost were five points behind us in third.

While I would really like to win the league, promotion was most important. And the good news is we have seven points separation from fourth place and needing a playoff to gain promotion.

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