It's late, and I'm tired. It's been a long day. Press conference to shirt signing to interview to meeting and then back to do it all over again. All part of the job I suppose.
I decided to stay awhile after the press and the board had left, and went and sat in the Main Stand, which barely meets the Conference National stadium standards. As I sat, the floodlights sparked into life. Someone must know I'm here, I thought, as I reflected on the day and wondered when the day had turned to night. Better phone Lizzy. She'll be worried. And the kids. How warm and appealing home seemed, as I walked slowly on to the pitch and to the centre spot. I looked down and realised how much of a challenge I had given myself here. Was it beyond my ability? Was I fooling myself to think I could possibly cope with the pressure and the stress of the job, especially with a wife and two young children at home, with another on the way? Suddenly, I heard a yell from behind the Quag End goal. It was the Groundsman, Neil I think his name was, maybe Ned or something. Perhaps that was the kit man? I paced off the pitch and leaned against the hoardings, taking one final look a my future, and the challenges that lay ahead before strolling down the touchline, paying a quick apology to Nigel, his name was. Time to head on home, for no doubt a night of disturbed sleep, restless children and uncomfortable wives.
I pulled my 406 into the drive, peered through the front window, and was glad to see the kids asleep on the sofa. Quietly shuffling through the door, Lizzy greeted me with a kiss, before covering the two snoring lumps on the settee with a blanket.
We wandered upstairs and I lay on the bed as Lizzy closed the door.
How was your day? She asked
I was already dreaming.
---------- Post added at 11:45 PM ---------- Previous post was at 11:45 PM ----------
Is this an FM09 story??:S
Yeah, hence why I'm in the FM09 section
---------- Post added at 08:31 PM ---------- Previous post was yesterday at 11:45 PM ----------
You're confident, you're ambitious. You're going to make it, you're the right man for this job. Deep breath, and..
I walked into the board room, a good 2 miles away from the ground in a shoddy grey building, which did nothing to fill you with good cheer. The room itself was lined in an old and dishevelled yellow wall-paper, presumably in an attempt to show the team colours, but instead showing the décor of a modern day council flat.
Sit down, Matt said the chairman, Lee Harding. Despite my discoloured surroundings, I felt strangely warm and welcome at the table, sitting opposite the chairman and 6 middle-aged, balding and fairly plump men, who beamed back at me, in such an over-exuberant fashion that made me fight the urge to chuckle.
The board went over several issues, including their expectations for the forthcoming season, reassuring me of their backing, and bizarrely, gave me a briefing of the clubs history. 'Was this normal?' I wondered as they took me through the 'glory days' of the 80's. Finally, Lee Harding got me up to date and looked at the board member to his right, who promptly handed him a piece of paper with numerous untidy scribblings on it.
Now we have that out of the way, It's time to talk budgets. We have decided to allocate you... Er, is it this one here, Terry?... Yes, £2,000. We are also offering you the opportunity to increase this budgets, which will, in effect, reduce your wage budget, which we have set at... And that's this one right?... £5,750.
I set my budget at £9,000, which lowered my wage budget to around £5,500, and instantly started thinking of the players I could bring in for this fairly lucrative sum of money, obviously not compared to the higher divisions.
On the way out, Lee handed me a note, which I put in my pocket. I had things to do, people to see and money to spend.
