The Alfa Romeo Metaphor

Sunday, 1 Feb 2015 11ish

My phone jangles in my pocket.

"Ciao, Enrico."

"Enrico, this is Colin Massey from the BBC. How are you?"

"I'm good," I replied. "What lies are you cooking up, what misquote may I provide?"

"I'm just checking in to see if you are planning any deadline day acquisitions, any last minute deals."

"You are, huh," I replied. "Sorry to disappoint, but I'm satisfied with my squad."

"Your blogs, the Wimbledon blogs are all clamoring for another striker," Colin continued. "So you have no plans in the works? You don't think you need another striker?"

"Colin seriously," I said. "You don't have a source inside the club to leak you anything. If you did you wouldn't be calling me because you'd know the scoop. Furthermore, there's a tremendous amount of transparency at this club because we're owned by the fans. You know that we often hold a fundraiser to raise the money to buy a new player and we haven't held one. Also, you know that every time I've signed someone the first you hear about it is when we all a press conference."

"Alright, fine," Colin said conceding defeat. "I'll call if I hear any rumors."

"Ciao."

"Bye."

Click.
 
I'm watching players doing a ball-control drill when I phone jangles in my pocket.

"Ciao, Enrico."

"It's Robbie Williams from Sky Sports, how are you?"

"I'm good. And I can't imagine why you would call little old me."

"Recent reports link you with a move for Reading's left winger Tariq Fosu," Robbie said. "Are you prepared to go on the record with your thoughts on this story?"

"I'm sorry we're in the middle of training," I replied. "It's rather loud. Did you say your metatarsal hurts?"

"Enrico."

"I'm sorry Robbie, I just love ****ing with you guys. Seriously, grow a sense of humor. Terry Rossoo? Repeat the name, please? Maybe spell it?"

He spelt it out and pronounced it several times.

"No, never heard of him. Is he any good? Should I sign him?"

"He's a great dribbler and can play with either foot," Robbie replied. "Really, you've never heard of him. He's nineteen."

"I'll have my scouts check him over," I said. "I might need an extra winger next season."

"But what about a deadline day deal for him. I have a credible source."

"You know I tell everyone here to **** with you guys when you call trying to create a story, don't you?"

"You've said that on numerous occasions, Enrico. But my source says you're going to pry him away from Reading. How do you think Reading manager Lee Clark might react to the news you are coveting one of his players?"

"I don't really think it means anything at all," I replied. "I haven't talked to Lee. Every actually. And since the Dons Trust leaves all things football to me, I know nobody else has talked to him on the club's behalf. But thanks for the tip, I'll have my scouts look Tariq over."

"Thanks Enrico. Cheers."

"Ciao."

Click.
 
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You know Robbie Williams should work as a scout for you - he's basically doing it for free!

I'm going to read this story from the beginning again - I missed a few parts in between but it's amazing!
 
wr1097 said:
You know Robbie Williams should work as a scout for you - he's basically doing it for free!

I'm going to read this story from the beginning again - I missed a few parts in between but it's amazing!
Click to expand...

I know. Tariq would be a free transfer this summer. I've told my scouts to check him over. He's playing for Reading's U21 side.

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Transfer Window Roundup

I wasn't going to do any business and nobody else at the top did, either ... at least in League Two.

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Plenty of activity in the Prem, though, where it's a 4 horse race. Manchester United lead Arsenal by a point and Manchester City and Tottenham by two.

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And, of course, the standard for insane spending, La Liga, was rather calm. Especially when compared to England. Real Madrid lead Getafe (yeah, really) by four and Barcelona (in 4th, yeah right) by 8.

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Friendly: AFC Wimbledon v. AFC Hayes

View attachment 381360 This Tuesday, I scheduled a friendly with local side Hayes for my second stringers. It's England so the weather varied between misting, raining and biblical downpour. It was more water polo than football.

I wanted Kris Thackray to get 45 minutes so he can build up his fitness.

Both Jacks bagged braces which is excellent.

1500 or so fans huddled together in the back of the main stand to stay as warm and dry as they could. The fans of this club are amazing. I sure as **** wouldn't want to come out and watch football on a night like tonight, but they did.
 
Wednesday 4 February, 2015 9AM

Chief Scout Lil Fuccillo and scouts Paul Lowe and Andrew Walker were already in the back room of my favorite restaurant for breakfast as I walked in.

"Morning, guys," I greeted them. "Thanks for coming into London from deepest darkest Wales and Ireland."

We shook hands and we all sat down.

"As I wrote in my email, we need to start looking for players for next season when we're in League One," I continued. "While I'm being slightly presumptuous as we are not even close to clinching or anything, I want to be prepared with a long list of players for the positions we need to fill. And I want a long list of players with the exact skillset for the position."

"It's easier to start with what we don't need," I said. "That'd be a goalkeeper. Dunn and Lincoln are more than enough."

"We don't need fullbacks," I said. "Fenlon, Dummigan and Brad Smith are more than adequate."

"We need centerbacks," I said. "I want big, determined men who read the game really well. Foot speed isn't essential but let's avoid guys my age who are Grandma-slow. If you find a kid who is going to be a summer cast-off from a top club, character and footballing intelligence are the key. Just be sure they aren't being dumped because they have a **** worth ethic and are spoiled brats."

They nodded. The waiter entered and we ordered breakfast.

"Now I realize that you may already have players in mind for next year's squad," I said. "Well, have ... make sure the others give him the once over, too. 'Kay?"

More nodding.

"Mark Tomlinson will need a backup. I want another gamer like Mark. Young thugs are fine, I can teach them how to do the dark arts correctly. If they're a veteran, they better be a battler."

"We'll need another couple wingers," I continued. "I'm pretty sure George will do well at the next level, but I wonder if Matteo Nole will. Matteo's downfall may well be his inability to finish. If the player is a striker who can play wide, that's good, too. Then finishing isn't the issue, it's the playing wide part."

"Now as you all know with strikers, you can never ****ing tell how they're going to play for you. I was sure that Redshaw would blossom given the opportunity, but he can barely even score in friendlies against amateur opponents. Well, sometimes semi-pros. But you get my point. Bottom line is I want speed first, personality second, intelligence third and skills last. We can teach them to play if they are smart lads and work hard. But I can't teach speed."

"Now if they don't have speed it's the reverse," I added. "They better have a badass skillset, high determination and a killer's instinct."

"Oh yeah, one other thing," I said as the waiter delivered our food. "Playmaker role. Always stay on the lookout for a playmaker. That goes without saying, doesn't it? If we don't find the perfect winger but find a playmaker, Danny can play there. And we especially need someone who can take free kicks. If he's young, he doesn't have to be the finished product, but he at least needs to be decent."
 
League Two: AFC Wimbledon v. Rochdale AFC

View attachment 380659First off, while the wind gusted and swirled and while the rain had been an on-and-off drizzle all day, it seemed warmer. 10C (50F) seems so much nicer than 4C (40F). Now don't get me wrong, I was still pretty bundled up, but I left off the long johns.

Subs: Chris Dunn (GK), Reuben Hazell (D), Brad Smith (D), Stephen Gregory (M), Adam Pepper (M), Simon Johnson (M), Jack Redshaw (F)

I told Jim Fenlon to keep a close eye on Coulibaly and Cameron Dummigan to stay close to Done. I told Mark Tomlinson and Danny Boy to keep a close on on Mousinho and Tutte. I wanted to starve their forward Carlton Morris.

Fens started off the match by applying a crunching tackle to Coulibaly. Thirteen seconds in and the ref was giving his first lecture.

Unfortunately, that was the only attention he paid to him. Dummigan wasn't much better. Matty Done had a wide open chance in the 7th minute, but blazed high. Coulibaly forced great saves from Lincoln in the 13th and 17th minutes. In the 15th minute, Dummigan gave Done plenty of space to whip in a cross for Morris. We were bailed out each time by Lincoln.

"MICHAEL! MICHAEL!" I yelled at around the 18th or 19th minute. Throughout the beginning of the match, Michael Smith was playing at a strolling through the park with the GF speed. "DON'T WAIT FOR THE PASSES TO ARRIVE. GO GET THEM! C'MON!"

For the third and last time, Fens let Coulibaly run in behind him just before the half hour mark. The Dales passed the ball up to their striker Morris, he held up the ball then saw Coulibaly holding back his run. Morris played a ball into the space for Coulibaly to run onto. He rounded Lincoln and rolled the ball into the net.

0-1

What ****** me off the most is when Coulibaly held up his run, Fens didn't accelerate from his jogging pace to get back and cover. As Coulibaly rounded Lincoln, Fens jogged up but didn't even try a sliding tackle to prevent the goal.

'What the ****, didn't want to break a sweat or get your shorts dirty?' I grumbled to myself as I walked back toward the bench.

"Brad, get loose, you're on," I grunted toward the bench.

Brad replaced Fens by the time we kicked off. Fens kept his eyes on the ground as he jogged off. By the way, at the same pace that he'd chased Coulibaly. He kept looking at the ground as he jogged past me and sat his *** down on the bench. It's good he didn't look up, he'd have seen how furious I was.

This was Cadiz-style defending. I wasn't going to tolerate it.

We didn't respond. We promptly gave the ball away and Rochdale came at us swiftly. Brad wasn't doing much better against Coulibaly, but Lincoln prevented two goals inside two minutes from Rochdale's man-on-fire.

We were undone again inside five minutes. The only consolation is it wasn't Coulibaly.

My players had the sense to park the bus and wait for halftime. Rochdale's defensive midfielder Jamie Allen lobbed a high ball straight upfield into the teeth of the defense. He was trying the Hollywood pass. He intended to drop it down for Morris behind the defense but not too close to the keeper. Any other day and Captain Andy or Thackray would have intervened or at least challenged Morris for the ball. But not today. They both stood and watched Morris flick the high ball past the charging Lincoln.

0-2

****ing pathetic.

Daniel Barlaser finally set up our first chance in the 38th minute by dishing off to Mark Tomlinson who hammered a shot just wide from around 30 yards.

****ing pathetic.

I made sure I was the last one in the locker room. The first thing I did when I entered was to pick up the dirty laundry bucket we keep next to the entry. The second thing I did is I hurled it through the locker room into the toilet and sink area and bouncing it into showers.

Then I waited.

While I waited I glared at my players. The veterans looked at the floor. Jim Fenlon looked at his feet. Danny Barlaser watched the rubber bucket still bouncing around in the showers. The guys who hadn't played looked at me. They knew that was safe as they hadn't participated in the **** show that had infuriated me.

"WHAT THE **** WAS THAT?" I yelled. I let that sink in a moment.

"IF IT WASN'T FOR LINCOLN WE'D BE DOWN BY ****ING FIVE BY NOW!"

"ANY OF YOU ASIDE FROM HIM WANT TO ****ING WIN THIS GAME!?! WHO THE **** ABDUCTED MY TEAM AND REPLACED THEM WITH YOU? YOU LOOK JUST ****ING LIKE THE LEAGUE LEADING WIMBLEDON EXCEPT YOUR PLAYING LIKE IT'S A ****ING SATURDAY KICKABOUT IN THE PARK."

View attachment 380611Then I reopened the door and stepped out into the tunnel. I walked further up the tunnel. I figured I'd stand at the end until the players went back out. The ref's changing room door opened as I was passing.

"That was a first," Mark Clattenburg said poking his head out of the doorway. "Who abducted my team? That was a good one. These walls aren't particularly thick, nice halftime talk."

"Thanks, Mark," I replied.

The players must have talked amongst themselves. They came out in what looked to be the 451 formation with Mark sitting in front of the defense. Nole moved into the center and Lovers played out on the left. We played better. We dominated the play but couldn't create many chances.

Plus, Rochdale knew they had to park the bus and man the breaches.

In the 78th minute, 61st minute substitute Simon Johnson (on for George Francomb) took a free kick from 30 yards out dead center. He hammered it into the wall. It bounced right back to him. He took off running towards the right corner flag looking for options. He didn't have any so he kept dribbling. Eventually he snuck a cross past the two defenders in front of him. Michael Smith got there first at the near post and flicked a header past the Rochdale goalkeeper.

1-2

Smith grabbed the ball and ran back toward the center circle. The crowd roared to life. Finally something to cheer about!

Sadly, our only other chance was a flick header by Captain Andy from a corner in the 84th minute. I give Rochdale credit for defending well in the second half once we pulled our head's out.

Once again I made sure I was the last man into the locker room.

"Be ready for killers at nine tomorrow morning," I said. Then I walked out and sat in my office. I pulled out my cell and looked up the other League Two results. Cheltenham and York, 2nd and 3rd respectively, both won and gained ground. Most importantly and fortunately for us, 4th place Burton drew nil-nil and only gained a point.

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"Hey boss," Paul Rachubka said sticking his head into my office. "Thought you were still here. You alright."

"Me? Yea, I'm fine. Just trying to calm down. Surfing the internet."

"That was bad tonight, really bad," Paul said. "I'll go get the others, let's do our coaches meeting now."

"Great idea."

"My question for you all," I said once everyone was crammed into my office. "Was this a one off or a trend?"

"I wish I had a clue about Fens and Cam," Assistant Manager Sean Hankin said. "We've been talking about ball-watching since Day One. What do they do? Give us demonstrations of it, of everything not to do."

"And that was the laziest I've ever seen Lovers and Michael," Coach Matt Woolley said. "We're in first place, I'm going to wait for the pass to roll all the way to me. We're in first place."

"I know," I replied. "You heard me shouting at them. Like that made a difference."

"Lincoln's shot stopping was sensational," Rachubka added. "But he could have been talking to his defense and organizing them better. He's got to talk more."

"And Danny Boy, I don't even know," Wools said. "His pass completion ratio was 73%. He's usually in the 80s."

"Lovers and Smith weren't coming back to make the passes short," I said. "He generally had to make longer passes. He and Mark tried too many Hollywood balls. I'm fine with one or two per game, but a dozen ..."

"We're starting to get some crosses in," Hanks added. We all nodded. "Well, in the second half anyways. But I will say that Matteo and George ran into every dead end and cul de sac in the first half. Or they passed it off when they should have attacked the defender."

"Again, I ask you, one off or trouble?" I repeated.

There was a pause.

"One off," Hanks said. "We were much better in the second half."

Wools and Rachubka nodded.

"Let's watch the horror show, the vids first, rile 'em up then run it off," Wools said.

"Sounds good," I said. "See you all at eight."
 
View attachment 380319My players have come to expect that if they don't play well, I will arrange a mid-week friendly so that they can work out their problems, aggressions and/or angst by banging some goals past a semi-pro or amateur team. At this point we are 32 games into a 46 game season and I know that these mid-week friendlies aren't particularly popular. However, they also understand that there is a way to avoid playing in these matches. When we are playing well, the players know that the second string players get the full 90 or at least a large percentage.

Today, everyone got some minutes.

I am not all that pleased with the result. Michael Smith bagged a pair early and, instead of working hard for more, we seemed to sit back. Also, we created the majority of our chances in the first half.

I have the distinct feeling that we are actually in a rut and that I need to be careful so that we stay in a automatic play-off position until whenever we bust out of it and start thrashing opponents again.
 
Wednesday 11 February 2015 6AM or so ...

I'm sick again. My poor constitution which had become accustomed to the damp of Italian winters then spoiled by a season in Cadiz simply cannot cope with the damp of England. After all I could do was moan after the alarm went off then groan when Gwen urged me to push though it with a stiff upper lip, she took my temperature. 39.0C (102.2F). Her maternal instincts kicked in and she got me into the bath which she'd filled with cool water. I'd stocked up on a wide variety of over-the-counter medicines and she made me take several different pills. Then she made me drink some tea and put me back to bed.

I texted Hanks, Wools and Rachubka about my condition then turned my phone off.

I slept fitfully through the day. Around dusk, Gwen guided me into my favorite reading/napping chair and made me eat some soup. I was feeling marginally better and attempted some lame-*** jokes about her mothering me to which she told me to shut it. She fed me another pile of pills which knocked me out.
 
Thursday 12 February 2015

I'm not better and have added a cough to my low-grade fever, headache, runny nose and lack of interest in anything. Let me rephrase. I definitely do not want to hork up a lung or break any ribs hacking. I am most definitely interested in not injuring myself coughing. Gwen force feeds me more soup and plies me with tea. I start watching Jeremy Brett's Sherlock Holmes. I intend to watch all of it.
 
Friday 13 February 2015

****ing ****biscuits of agony but this virus isn't done with me yet. I've now got antibiotics for what has become bronchitis. I hack up pieces of yellow, white and green things. Gwen has a friend who is a masseuse or massage therapist who comes over and makes me squeal like a stuck pig. My back and shoulder and neck are all knotted up, sore and fragile from coughing. If feel like one really bad coughing fit might permanently separate several if not all of my ribs from my spine.

Whitney texts me to inform me that George Francomb has been instructed to stay at home with the flu as well. At least I'm not alone in my suffering.

I'm starting to feel better by the evening and eat my first meal since Tuesday: Indian curried lentils with basmati rice.
 
League Two: Exeter City FC v. AFC Wimbledon

View attachment 379717View attachment 379718First of all, I've lost my voice. But I'm feeling better and not horking up nearly as much lung cheese as before. The other added factor why Gwen has even let me out of the flat is it's warm in Exeter today. As in almost 14C (57F). Yes, it's going to rain but it always rains in England.

An express train gets us down to Exeter in a little over two hours. Bus gets us to St. James Park with plenty of time in which to get ready.

I hadn't realized it, but Exeter are also a fan-owned club. Unfortunately for them, they currently occupy 22nd spot and it will probably be a battle to the wire with Bristol Rovers over who drops out of professional football.

I field a pretty strong team. We're only missing Francomb who is back in London sweating out his flu.

Hanks tells the team we expect a win and then gives my I Have Faith In You speech. Hanks tells them it's simple: just get the ball on the ground and keep it moving around.

Barlaser and Depetris are tasked with marking their midfielders and Tomlinson with marking their striker.

We started like we were still on the bus. Nothing of note happened until the 13th minute when a defender thumped a clearance upfield. Exeter striker Rory Boulding outran Andy Frampton and Reuben Hazell. What was probably just intended as a clearance turned into a fabulous chance thanks to my defenders misreading of the punt and lack of pace.

Boulding caught up with the ball in our penalty area and hammered a low shot toward the far post. From my perspective sitting on the bench I could see it rolling directly at the post. Would we get a friendly bounce? We did. It bounced right back across the goalmouth. Haz cleared it.

We took our first shot in anger in the 21st minute. Simon Johnson curled in a far post cross that Matteo Nole headed goalward. He really got a lot of power into his header but, sadly, it was right at the keeper.

In the 33rd minute, Daniel Barlaser played a ball into the space behind their right back for Nole to run onto. Nole's cross was cleared but right to Danny Boy. Danny set up Leandro Depetris, but his shot was blocked.

I was starting to see a trend. Michael Smith is just standing amongst the Exeter defenders, easy as pie to mark. I text Hanks to yell at Smith to come back for the ball.

A minute later Nole makes diagonal run into the middle and right up the gut. He plays in Simon, but the linesman flags Simon for offside.

After a half of standing around amongst the Exeter defenders for the first , Michael Smith listens to Hanks and comes back to get a pass. Unfortunately, all he does is hit a weak two-hop shot from 25 yards.

As the fourth official signals 3 minutes of extra time, Exeter right back Nathan Doyle executes a perfectly timed sliding tackle to dispossess Nole. I brace myself for a counter attack but Leandro, of all people, comes lunging in with his own sliding tackle. He pokes the ball past the prone Doyle and Nole is in on goal.

Nole bounced it off the keeper's chest from 6 yards. Someone cleared it.

Jim Fenlon controlled the clearance, saw the other fullback Brad Smith standing all alone in the middle of the park and chipped a pass to him. Fens took off running to join the fun. Brad's slide-rule pass met Fens in-stride just as he entered the penalty area. Fens unleashed a fearsome blast destined to the near post and looked certain to break Grecian hearts on this day of love.

Richard O'Donnell, the Exeter keeper, dove and pushed it round the post.

Like everyone else on the bench, I'm up off my feet ready to pump my fists but can only clench them in anguish.

At halftime Hanks conveys my message that I want more of the same and that we can win this game.

in the 52nd minute, Smith is a fraction of a second off in the timing of his run and a defender's toe deflects Nole's cross.

A few minutes later and I notice that Leandro is hobbling. With his tendency to get injuried, I replace him with James Loveridge. I put Loveridge on the left wing and move Nole inside. I'm hoping that Lovers might have better luck as Nole has been getting chances out there.

In the 64th minute, Exeter get one of their few chances. Another Smith, Exeter's Jimmy, gets free and meets a corner kick with a thundering header that whiffles the outside of the side netting. We got lucky.

I resign myself to the fact that we are unlikely to score and then began hoping that Exeter would remain impotent in front of our goal. But just as I'm getting used to this way of thinking, Simon is running down the right flank and Smith has faked going back post and is making a near post run. Simon curls in a perfect cross, Smith meets with a strong volley and hits a defender.

Curse you hope for making me think for a split second that we were about break the deadliock.

Our only other chance came in the 75th minute, but it fell to Nole. You know what happened.

We almost gave our precious point away twice in the final moments. First, right winger Danny Mayor nimbly avoided Fens tackle just seconds before we went into extra time. Our goalkeeper Chris Dunn comes charging out, blocks the shot and there is no rebound.

Rather than throw it to an open teammate, Dunn punts it upfield to nobody. Exeter promptly ram it back down our throat. They play a ball into the space behind Fens. Mayor runs into the space and Fens is caught ball-watching. Like a child, I watch this unfold through my fingers. I'm nearly too scared to watch.

Mayor connects with his shot so purely that i'm sure Dunn didn't even have time to blink. If it would have hit him, it would've left a mark.

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I put my face in my hands and my elbows on my knees. I'd swear a blue streak if I could speak and since I can't I'll just hide.

But my ears tell me several incongruous things. First, the Wombles in the away end are cheering like we'd scored. And I hear groans from the fans behind me. As I spread my fingers to look through them, I see the linesman with his flag up and Exeter players sprinting over to plead with him. The rest are surrounding referee Keith Stroud.

Hanks enthusiastically slaps me on the back. Something green leaps out of my mouth and splats on the ground in front of the dugout. We both look at it in shock. It's just lung cheese. Then we both start laughing. My laughing ends when I start coughing.

0-0

We're so ****ing lucky and yet so ****ing unlucky to only come away from this match with a point.

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