The Alfa Romeo Metaphor

League One: AFC Wimbledon v. Blackpool FC

View attachment 350282It's a long train ride down from Blackpool. Just a stop or two shorter than Morecambe. I didn't see more than a few hundred dressed in tangerine. There looked like around a thousand empty seats. Maybe 700, I don't know. I guess Blackpool isn't much of a draw or something. Go figure. The highest spending team can't sell out our ground. Sad.

My message to my troops was simple: I expect a better performance and I have faith that we can play far better than we did against Ipswitch.

Mark Tomlinson needs a rest so I switch to a 451 with Steven Gregory sitting in front of the defense.

It certainly seemed like my message worked. They looked pretty determined to me walking down the tunnel and out onto the field. Whatever the **** that means. I was truly hoping we'd play better and not have those idiotic mistakes like last week.

Blackpool won a corner in the 2nd minute. We cleared it but Ryan Williams, who is tiny, controlled the clearance and brought the ball back toward our box. Jason Banton tackled the ball away but it fell to Stephen Quinn inside the box. He passed to Giovanni Simeone who couldn't get the ball past Chris Dunn. We comfortably dealt with the second corner.

In the 19th minute, Sbraga blocked a Simeone shot. We started with the ball upfield. Eventually, Michael Smith played a pass from inside the center circle out to Jason on the left flank. Was he going to drive inside on their right fullback? Beat him to the corner? He kept feinting one way and then the other. Then he looked like he was going to play the safe ball back upfield to Jim Fenlon. What he was doing was giving Michael time to lumber into the box.

Then he took off for the corner flag. Just as their fullback Callum Woods was catching up to him, Jason feinted like he was going to cut inside. Woods bit and Jason was able to create some space for a cross. He delivered it right onto the foot of Michael Smith. Michael had time to control it and smash it past the Tangerine's keeper Matt Gilks from 5 yards.

1-0

The look of relief on his face was refreshing.

We managed to keep Blackpool at bay for the remainder of the half. Their only shots were long-range and none troubled Dunn. Leandro sent Michael throw on goal twice. The first time Michael shot right into the keeper's arms. The second time he was chopped down in the box.

I protested to the ref and remonstrated with the fourth official. Like it did any good.

From the second half kick off, George Francomb took off down our right flank. Blackpool were pretty high up the pitch and their left back wasn't too worried about George's run until Leandro lasered a pass behind him for George to run onto. George tried to one-time a pass into Michael's path but Charles Dunne stepped up and intercepted the pass.

Then the Tangerines put us under heavy pressure. The kept the ball near our box, but we stayed compact and organized. Simeone forced Dunn to make a good save in the 50th minute, but that was about it.

I pulled off Fens in the 53rd minute and replaced him with Brad Smith as Fens was starting to tire.

Just after the hour mark and nearly as if prompted the Tangerines started getting frustrated. The showed their frustration by fouling us whenever they lost the ball. This was idiotic as they'd established a decent rhythm. You know, somewhat danceable but not a hit or anything. It's strange how group psychology works. It's not like one of the 'Pool players said **** it lets start fouling but the suddenly stopped playing.

In the 66th minute, I exchanged Matteos. Ricci was looking gassed so on went Nole as a central midfielder.

In the 73rd, Jason iced it. From a throw out left, one Smith threw to another (Brad to Michael). Michael played the ball back to Nole. Nole took a couple of touches and slid a pass back to Michael. During the middle of this Jason took off running. So when Michael got the ball the second time, he just redirected it into Jason's path.

From my angle it looked like he shanked the ball a bit off his ankle instead of off the outside of his foot. But it was a knee high, seeing eye shot that evaded the keeper and kissed in off the far post.

2-View attachment 3502880

We let off the gas and the Seasiders nearly punished us in the 77th minute. We were completely disorganized for a Blackpool throw down our right flank. Sbraga and Riley let Simeone collect the throw and run into the box. The angle wasn't the greatest but Dunn made a solid double save on Simeone to preserve our lead and his shut out.

Johnny Bowden was credited with an own goal in the 83rd, but it was another Jason-Michael combo that caused it. The ball hit Bowden as he was trying to take a good defensive position in relation to Michael who was charging near post for Jason's cross.

3-0

I spent the last 15 minutes moaning at the ref and complaining to the fourth official about Blackpool's non-stop fouling. Dylan Griffiths got a few minutes at the end as left winger.

We're up to 8th and MK Dons are 23rd. Our fans were watching the results and had been singing and chanting about MK Dons for the second half.

View attachment 350293

View attachment 350290
 
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"So, it's been a week now," I said to Gwen after the waiter had taken our order. "And I know I've been asking how you're doing, but I'd really like to talk about it."

Gwen studied her glass of water for a moment.

"Well, I'm still freaked by the whole thing," she responded reluctantly.

"I miss you but I still think that staying with your parents at least for a while is a good idea," I said. She nodded.

"Until we move into another flat," she said looking up from her water and looking me in the eye.

"Of course," I said and thumped myself in the forehead with the palm of my hand. "Duh? Sometimes I can really be thick. I'm so sorry. Let's start looking."

"It's got to have either a proper garage or underground parking and real security," she stated. I nodded.

We talked about the kind of flat we would search for until our dinner arrived.

After the plates and etc. had been cleared Gwen cleared her throat like she had one more thing to discuss.

"It's not just that some gangster bloke broke into our flat that's freaking me out," she confessed.

She paused.

"You really freaked me out," she said. "I thought you were going to kill him. That Five Fingers Freddie or whatever his name is. You were on top of him so fast and pummeling him. I um I really don't like violence."

"Neither do I," I replied. "If that helps."

"That's not quite it," she continued. "What if you and I got in an argument? What if it escalated and you got that furious?"

"Oh my God I'd never hit you," I said. I was shocked. I'd never hit a woman. "Oh my God. No. No. Um, maybe I should explain why I lost it."

If you can't tell that I was panicking, well I was. Something in my brainstem, at some really subconscious level was screaming at me that I was in a ****load of trouble and that how I answered her right then would mean whether we stayed together or eventually split up. And maybe not split up in a while but rather soonish.

"I mean I kind of have talked about it, but not really," I said trying to buy time while I decided how I wanted to respond. The fact is I'd been thinking about it all week when I wasn't consumed with my job. Even then I was processing it on a back burner kind of way.

"When I owed the Camorra 200,000 euros, I was in serious, serious danger," I began. "Americans, at least, I don't know about the British, have romanticized the mafia. But in Italy, they're very real and very dangerous. Let me put it this way. In Napoli, the Camorra control the police and the politicians. He might own the mechanic who works on your car. Or control three of your favorite four restaurants. When a Don of one of the families wants the police or politicians or anybody, for that matter, to do something, they do it. No questions asked. Kiss the ring and do as you're told."

"So when they told me I'd be throwing the match at Cadiz," I said. "I literally had no choice. To disobey would be suicidal. One day I'd be missing and sometime later somebody would stumble across my carcass. The Camorra are a parallel structure or maybe a skeletal structure grafted onto the bones of Italy."

"So when Freddie Five Fingers told me I'd be throwing a match," I said. "He didn't have the power of the police and local politicians and entire society behind him. He wasn't leaning on me with the weight that the Camorra can throw around. He was just some lone thug threatening me. Maybe at some level I was also frustrated with the police and their inability get those ****heads of my back. Maybe it was also the combination of demanding I throw a match and threatening you, too."

"I don't know if that helps, but I'd never hit a woman under any circumstances," I said. I looked down at my hands. They were shaking.

She reached out with one hand and covered mine.

"I believe you," she said softly and barely audibly. "But I just wanted you to say that. I wouldn't ever be with a bloke who might hit me. I just needed confirmation."
 
Sunday, 20 September 2015 8pm or so

"I could live in any of them and be very happy," I stated and spooned another helping of Biryani onto my plate.

"Hmmmph," Gwen grunted rifling through the pile of promotional materials from the places we'd visited. She walked her plate over to the sink and returned. She organized the pile into six stacks for each of the places.

"Okay, great security," she said moving three stacks over to her left. She moved one over to her right. "That one was questionable."

"Well, right," I said. "Great view, though."

"Now these two," Gwen said pointing at the middle two stacks. "These flats are fine. The kitchen in this one is better."

"Not that we cook much," I said.

"Point taken," she said. "Are all of these close enough that you could walk to training sessions?"

"The middle one with the nicer kitchen would probably be the longest walk," I replied. She moved that pile to her right. Right must be the not under consideration pile.

"But these three with the best security, they're all walking distance, right?" she asked. I nodded.

"I just thought of something," I said. "We should check out the internet to see if anyone has bad reviews of the management companies."

We both reached for our iPads. A half an hour later and we'd eliminated one of the options. Thank you, internets. Who wants a landlord that has a reputation for being a jerk.

"Let's think about these two some more," she said. I nodded. "You know I have the photo shoot tomorrow, don't you?"

"Thanks for reminding me," I replied.

"I won't be in until late," she said. "The photographer for that one is notorious for running long. Could be really late."
 
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View attachment 349831Tuesday, 22 September 2015

Hanks and I popped over to the Millwall-Doncaster match. Lil Fuccillo was way the **** up in Lancashire to watch Fleetwood Town, our next opponents. The New Den was mostly empty and Hanks and I sat far up in the center section with our baseball caps pulled low so nobody would recognize us. Hanks got a pie and I got a hot dog and chips. Our beer didn't seem to watered down, either. Neither of us perished eating the food and my hot dog and chips didn't suck, so that's a positive.

Doncaster were dead last and England and Arsenal man David Platt was probably ruing the day he left Manchester City to manage these guys. They started brightly at least. The condemned often do. Central midfielder Ben Reeves unleashed a tomahawk missile of a shot in the 5th minute.

But it all fell apart late for them. Millwall tied the match just after the half hour and an exciting exchange of late goals doomed Doncaster and will most likely cost Platt his job.

I checked my iPhone for Doncaster results this season. They've been in nearly every game so far. Oh well, I'm sure Platt will be able to score a pundit gig.

Oh, and by the way, Millwall are going to be tough. They look good.

View attachment 349830

Wimbledon drop to 11th because now everyone has played 9. No worries, we're two points off of a play-off spot.
View attachment 349829
 
Wednesday, 23 September 2015 9amish

My phone jangled on the kitchen table as I sat sipping my espresso.

"Hey, Luca, how are you?" I said in Italian. It was my agent Luca.

"Good morning and happy birthday, Enrico!"

"Thank you very much, Luca."

"Did you see that Inter sacked Marcelo Bielsa?"

"I did."

"And did you know that Piero Ausilio, the Director of Football at Inter, is like a brother to me?"

"I did not know that part."

There was a pause.

"Well? Don't break my balls over this one? Do you want me to get you an interview for the job or not, you ungrateful son of a **** farmer."

"Seriously? They'd even consider me?"

"Did you not hear my words? Pull your sausage out of your ear! I can get at least a phone call with my brother Piero."

"But Bielsa coached the Argentine national team," I replied. "And Mancini wants his job back, apparently. And this might be the only team in Italy that Ranieri hasn't coached yet. How could I compete with them?"

"Oh, you're getting noticed over here," Luca said. "You've made Wimbledon competitive without a transfer budget and they're competitive against teams with wages that are ten times higher. You're getting noticed."

"Plus, Mancini could never do anything in Europe," Luca continued. "And Ranieri? Who the **** would let him manage Inter. Seriously, you've got an outside shot."

"You're the man, Luca," I replied. "Go for it. And thank you. You see? I'm not completely ungrateful."

"Not completely, just mostly," Luca retorted. "I'll keep you posted."

"Ciao."

"Ciao."
 
It wasn't more than a few seconds later that my phone jangled again.

"Erik, good morning!"

"Happy Birthday, Enrico!" Erik Samuelson, Chairman of AFC Wimbledon exclaimed. "I'm calling to wish you all the best on your birthday and to enquire about some gossip I've read."

"Well, thank you," I replied. "And let me guess, I'm heading to Doncaster? I've been seen talking with their Chairman?"

"Something like that," Erik said.

"Utter bull****, don't worry, Erik. Hanks and I went to Millwall and watched the match. The only people I talked to that wasn't Hanks were vendors. Plus, there's no way in **** I could convince Gwen to move up to Doncaster."

"If that's the case, should we start discussing a new contract for you?" Erik asked.

"That would be great," I said.

"Have a great birthday and I'll talk to you later."

"Ciao."
 
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DEAR GAFFER! AND YOU WORK IN A ZOO!" The players and coaching staff all sang as I walked into the New Malden training facility's locker room.

The Italian-speaking players presented me with a birthday card so filthy, so vile that I simply cannot relate what it actually said. Plus, it doesn't translate all that well.

The English-speaking players presented me with a cane with my initials inlaid into it and the club crest inlaid in it as well.

The coaching staff presented me with a pinky ring. Assistant Coach Sean Hankin insisted that I put it on, then he kissed it.

"Alright, stop!" I ordered. "Thank you all very much, but, seriously, stop. You're all about to embarrass yourselves."

They all burst into laughter and Chairman Erik handed me a cupcake with I gigantic numbers three and seven candles precariously perched atop it. I managed to blow them out before one of the number candles tipped over or the cupcake lost it's structure under the weight of the candles.

I think I feel satisfactorily appreciated here at AFC Wimbledon.
 
Thursday, 24 September 2015 10am-ish

My phone jangled. An Italian number not in my contacts.

"Ciao, Enrico here."

"Good morning, Enrico, this is Piero Auselio, I'm the Director of Football at Internazionale Milano. Is this a good time to talk?"

"Certainly. Thank you for calling."

I swallowed and tried to breathe. Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't panic.

"My good friend Luca tells me I should consider you for the open post of Manager," Piero said.

Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't panic.

"Honestly, I'm flattered you've even called," I said. Yeah, that sounds confident. Way to go ****head. "And, yes, I am interested. I know that my competition is Mancini and Ranieri, but I'm a very different manager than either of them."

Yeah, that sounded good. You're different. Whatever the **** that means.

"How do you see yourself as different from these two since you've brought them up," Piero said.

Oh, great. Now you've got to explain you're way out of this one.

"Well, first, I've always gotten the feeling that Ranieri's players don't always understand their roles," I began. "He's always tinkering and when it doesn't work it looks like his players aren't sure of their instructions, tactics and overall strategy. It's always been his sides downfall. That and he never seems to stick around long enough for his players to understand whatever it is he's trying to get across."

"As for Mancini," I continued. "The complaints I've heard is he's aloof. His coaches do a lot more of the training and he just strolls around supervising. Plus, he's just too well dressed."

Nice. Try out some humor. Epic fail.

"I make sure that my players understand their roles," I said. "My defensive tactics are simple and I design them for the players I have at hand."

I explained how at Cadiz with soft, indecisive defenders I had to defend in numbers and narrowly. I explained how at Wimbledon we just work hard at absorbing pressure and hardening as the opposition gets closer to the penalty area.

"And all three seasons I've coached my club has had one of the stingiest defenses yet managed to score plenty of goals," I concluded.

"So we've tried the untested manager, as you well know," Piero said. "Why wouldn't you fail like Stramaccioni?"

"First of all there's my personality," I replied. "I wasn't the most talented, quickest, strongest or smartest. But nobody was more fierce than I ..."

"I remember that much about you," Piero interjected.

"Heh, thanks," I said. "I meet with each player individually before the season starts. I make sure they understand that I expect them to fight for the team badge as if their life depended upon it. I am always extremely well-prepared for each training, each video session, everything. I tell them that I expect them to be just as prepared. There have been several special talents I've had. I told them that if they expected special treatment, they'd better do something special each match. I also told these stars that if they don't work hard that nobody is bigger than the club."

"Also, I have a good time but I work incredibly hard," I concluded. "I think that my team reflects how fierce and hard-working I am. I don't think Stramaccioni had the balls. Listen, I'm an American with Italian heritage who forced his way into the Bologna starting eleven. I was scared the first time I went up against Zanetti, but he left that match bruised and battered after 65 or so minutes. I don't back down from anything."

"Okay," Piero said. "How would you deal with these pampered superstar prima donnas who get everything handed to them on a plate."

"Honestly, if they're so great, how come they couldn't perform for Marcelo Bielsa, the great Argentine coach?" I said. "Inter need players who will work hard, believe in themselves and perform the individual tasks assigned them. Handanovic is a great keeper. He needs to organize his defense. You don't have any superstar defenders, but they certainly don't suck as bad as they are playing right now. Inter have more than enough talent going forward. I would shape the system to exploit the strengths of the players you have."

"So far, the players I've coached realize I'm setting up a simple system that plays to their strengths and organizes to protect against the weaknesses as a unit," I said. "Plus, I'm pretty good so far in building an us against the world mentality."

"Thank you," Piero said. "It was great talking to you. Just so you know, and I'm being honest here, you are a long shot candidate. You have built strong sides using limited resources but they've been lower league clubs and you have no experience in Europe. We are currently on a restricted budget as are all sides in Italy so I do appreciate your ability to build competitive inexpensive sides. We will be in contact with you about what our next steps are going to be. Thanks you so much of talking with me this morning."

"And likewise," I said. "Thank you very much for giving me a chance to state my qualifications."
 
10ish that night.

"Cheer up, stiff upper lip, pull yourself together man," Gwen said.

From the depths of my arm chair into which I'd melted a while ago I just grunted as reply.

"And you've drunk all the wine?" she added. "Wait. One, two and where is it? There it is. The third. Three bottles? It couldn't have gone that bad."

"I fugg hen blue ith," I mumbled. "Fugg hen Inther an I fugg hen you know I'm really drun? You can tell can you. I'm not too drun to know thah you know thah I know. Wait ... whah was I sayin'?"

"Oh, Lord," she said. "I can't leave you alone ever can I?"

"You know I luff you," I said. "You're the besh. No seerusly."

"Thankfully, you say that when you're sober and far more believable," she said. "Let's get you cleaned up and in bed."

"I can thtand," I said. "Up. I'm gonna knee some hep. You're so beautiful. I really mean it."

"Enrico, seriously, stop digging," she said. "You've consumed all three bottles of wine in the flat and you're not going to remember a thing."

"I'll remember you're beautiful."

Gwen sighed.

"I mean seerushly. Seerushly. Who the fugg am I to think that fugg hen Inter fugg hen nash-eon-alley Milan would fugg hen consider a red whigh an blue blooded Amurkin who only played for lowly fugg hen Bologna. An we got fugg hen relegated when I was there. Take thah an puh it in your pipe n smoke thah. Fugg hen Aye. Hoom a fugg hen fooling. Seerusly. Never eefn got conshidered for the fugg hen Ewe Essh nash-eon-nal team. Fugg."

"Come on my beloved, drunken Italian-American slab of alcobol-poisoned beef," she said hoisting me up. "Let's get you in bed."
 
Love this thread!

Started reading about 2 weeks ago and haven't been able to stop! Gutted I've caught up tbh! Even started a Cadiz game while reading, Jesus they're tight! Got them promoted... Just... But they've cut my wage budget by 10k... Wtf?!?!
 
ToMo912 said:
Love this thread!

Started reading about 2 weeks ago and haven't been able to stop! Gutted I've caught up tbh! Even started a Cadiz game while reading, Jesus they're tight! Got them promoted... Just... But they've cut my wage budget by 10k... Wtf?!?!
Click to expand...

Glad you enjoyed the read so far.

MANAGER CHALLENGE: If you really want to test yourself, do the random start thing.

I'm confident I would have gotten Cadiz into the play-offs. With some luck, I might have gotten them promoted. My successor won the league but lost out in the play-offs. The Segundo B in Spain is ****ing brutal. And, yeah, they were continually cutting my wage budget. I am completely not surprised that after you got them promoted, you still faced a wage ceiling reduction.

In real life almost all of those lower league teams are in horrific shape financially.
 
League One: AFC Wimbledon v. Fleetwood Town FC

View attachment 347500I've never had to dodge reporters shouting questions at me before. I just smiled and waved like an idiot.

"It's all your guys fault," I said to my players. "If y'all weren't playing so well, all of this bull**** with the press and every open job wouldn't be happening."

Michael Smith threw a towel at me. He missed.

"You can probably guess what I'm going to say at this point," I continued. "Relax and play our game. The results will follow. I have a lot of faith and so do our loyal fans. Just keep doing what you're doing. Tomlinson, you mark Pell. You all know that I didn't think to highly of Pell and wouldn't play him last year. I do not want him to prove me wrong out there today. Clear? Our center mids will mark theirs."

"Leandro and Ricci," I said in Italian. "You two mark their central midfielders."

We started off the match pressuring them hard just like against Blackpool. Jason Banton nicked the crossbar with a shot in the 3rd minute. Fleetwood were playing much better than Blackpool and didn't wilt under our pressure.

In the 11th minute, disaster of the most embarrassing nearly occurred. Andrea Sbraga rifled a pass that hit Martin Riley's feet. If it was for Martin, the pace was entirely inappropriate. If it was for Ricci, he should have missed Martin. Sylvan Ebanks-Blake pounced on the loose ball but Chris Dunn made a diving save to save Sbraga severe embarrassment.

Ebanks-Blake couldn't do any better on a header from a left hand cross in the 12th minute and then the match entered a lull.

The lull ended in the 31st minute with our Physio Jon Whitney sprinting onto the pitch to tend to Leandro Depetris who'd crumpled to the floor with nobody around him. It was his ankle. Whits nearly immediately signaled for the change. Steven Gregory quickly warmed up and went on. Gregs and Mark would pair in the middle with Ricci in the hole behind James Loveridge.

The Fleetwood keeper had to be alert in the 38th minute to Lover's deflected header from a Jason cross. Their keeper just managed to tip it over the bar. They cleared the first corner for another and Riley's shot from the second attempt was blocked.

Then a Fleetwood player went down like he'd been shot. It appeared pretty serious.

Suddenly upon the restart, the match was more like a basketball game. Both sides raced forward in attack after attack.

Jason hit the keeper in the stomach from 15 yards after a George Frampton free kick into the mixer from 40 yards bounced right to him. Fleetwood raced into our half and won a corner. We cleared the corner and Gregs got to the clearance first and passed up to Ricci. Ricci zipped a pass forward to Lovers who raced toward the Fleetwood penalty box. Lovers lost control, the defender tried to clear it but hit Lovers and the ball fell to Jason.

He coolly slotted home.

1-0

No. Wait. ****ing *** **** ****ing sonofa*****! Linesman has his ***** fugging flag up. **** me. I realize I'm jumping up and down and pumping my fists in anger like some demented teenager dancing while tripping on ecstasy.

0-0

I don't even bother yelling at the ref or complaining to the fourth official. I just walk back toward the bench mumbling curses in Italian and Spanish to myself.

I sat on the bench sighing and moaning as we wasted two further chances. This alternated with me clenching every muscle and orifice as we seemed determined to give a goal away with sloppy, inattentive defending.

Finally, I was put out of my misery by the half time whistle. As the players trudged toward the tunnel, I waited for Ricci to get near and thanked him for the block tackle that prevented a certain goal.

"Aside from the kamikaze defending in the extra time," I said. "Keep playing the way we're playing. We're creating loads of chances. The goal will come. Just please for the love of God please don't defend again like we did in those last few minutes. You all are playing great other than that. I have faith that the goals will come."

They didn't.

View attachment 347503After Dunn flapped at a free kick into the box only managing to redirect it goalward, Cameron Dummigan headed it off the line in the 52nd minute.

We didn't create all that many chances in the first 15 minutes of the second half. Ricci's passes were starting to go astray so I replaced him with Matteo Nole. Nole went out left and Jason moved into the hole behind Lovers.

Lovers wasn't accomplishing much so I replaced him with 20 minutes left with Michael Smith. I hoped that Michael would barge around and push over a tiring defense. It had worked before.

It was starting to look like we might put on a late late show today. But every time either the run was mis-timed, the pass not quite there, the shot directly at the keeper or wayward. Both the crowd and I wanted to have hope, but it just wasn't to be. We simply weren't good enough today. Fleetwood were tired and we should have taken advantage.

Well, technically we did. But the ****ing linesman flagged for offsides when Jason wasn't.

Bummer.

I checked my mobile. Excellent! MK Dons were second from bottom. The teams above us lost so we moved up. I saw that Ipswich lost 4-0.

View attachment 347502

"Will you be replacing Alex McLeish if Ipswich sack him today as expected after the bad loss," said a reporter shoving a mic into my face a mere second after I'd read the results on my mobile. I didn't recognize this woman.

"No comment," I said brushing her mic out from under my nose.

View attachment 347501"Enrico, sources in Italy claim that you've put your name into the ring for the Inter Milan job, would you comment please?" asked a Sky Sports reporter shoving a mic at me.

"Nope, not gonna," I said and pushed his mic out from under my nose.

"Will you be staying at Wimbledon?" asked a reporter from the Mirror.

"Yes," I said swatting his mic out from under my nose. "You keep sticking those **** mic's up my nose. Quit it. If you want a press conference meet me in the press area after I have a quick chat with my guys. Clear?"

I blocked the mic from the Guardian reporter as he tried to shove it under my nose. I wagged a finger at him. I put my finger to my lips to indicate silence and walked away. Where the **** were the regular reporters who covered League One. I didn't recognize a single one of these papparazzi stalkers. Were all of the Royals away from London at the moment? WTF?

"It's ****ing dangerous out there," I said slamming the door shut and putting my back up against it as if I was trying to keep the hordes of reporters out.

That got a few chuckles.

"Alright," I said. "I'll be brief. That was not good enough. They were tired. We should have won. I'll schedule a mid-week tune-up so we can rediscover our scoring touch. I'll see you at ten tomorrow morning. Ciao."
 
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Posted before but just want to say this is easily the best story on FM Base by a mile. I know you do not get many comments on this story but I am sure you have loads of silent readers who enjoy this so so much.

The detail you go to in this story is incredible and hope it continues for a long time!

I hope you do not move to Italy as I want you to stay where you are but its your story and only my opinion and will still be a reader regardless of where Enrico goes!
 
Yes, exactly because of how great you do your story it doesn't really matter where you go next, because we are able to be sure - this will be still the best thing to read ;)

Good luck to Enrico!
 
brooksey84 said:
Posted before but just want to say this is easily the best story on FM Base by a mile. I know you do not get many comments on this story but I am sure you have loads of silent readers who enjoy this so so much.

The detail you go to in this story is incredible and hope it continues for a long time!

I hope you do not move to Italy as I want you to stay where you are but its your story and only my opinion and will still be a reader regardless of where Enrico goes!
Click to expand...

Thank you very much, brooksey84. Much appreciated. Judging by the over 100K hits, there must be a lot of readers.

dainis said:
Yes, exactly because of how great you do your story it doesn't really matter where you go next, because we are able to be sure - this will be still the best thing to read ;)

Good luck to Enrico!
Click to expand...

Thanks, dainis. My goal was to see where the random club led me. So far, so good and I'm having a lot of fun writing this.
 
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