FM11 IV

It was really coming down as I sat in the dugout at Camp Nou. To be honest I wasn’t expecting a lot from the game. Barca did us 4-0 at our place before Christmas and Jay was out with a hamstring strain for this one, too.

So I’m sitting there asking myself ‘how the hell is Cisse getting a run-out for this lot?’. League and cup champions. Four minutes later the boy’s hit a 25-yard bullet into Greeno’s top-left corner. Man alive, does Greeno take his time reacting to shots from distance. To stand any chance of getting to the ball, the lad needs about three-days’ warning.

Ched was well off his game that night. Not sure what’s got into him. There were a few rumours in the tabloids about him back in London last weekend. Some pap got a couple shots of him walking out of China Whites with Chantelle from Big Brother. She’s married to that Alex bloke who was married to Jordan. The geezer’s a cage fighter or something. By all accounts Ched was shitting himself. Fair enough in my book, I heard this Alex was an animal. Big Andy Carroll (BAC) said he’d have a word for Ched. Try and clear the whole thing up. (I think BAC fancied his chances. He is a big boy, but I’m not so sure.)

Couldn’t buy a win the past month. Athletic at home, Zaragoza away both draws. Barca have caught us. Now lying second, with Valencia right on our backs. Got Sociedad Saturday night, need a big game from the boys. Eboue’s out with a knock and all. The French Lad went through him in training. Dozy prat. Geezer’s 38 and can’t understand why he’s not starting every week. Docked him a week’s wages for that. Between me and you, he’s never playing for us again. And he can kiss that international call-up goodbye, too. Was never getting one anyway. He knows Bacary’s my boy.

FM11 III

Phoned Paul Furlong this morning. Our paths have crossed a couple of times over the past few years. He’s always been a player I thought I could use but the timing was never right.

A couple years back Barnet gave him a run of games when he wasn’t getting in the Southend team. He was looking good. Back to his best, even, and I bumped into him at a charity gig at the Dorchester. He loves trying out his French on me, we’ve always had a laugh with that. There was talk of Southend looking to move Stevey Tilson on, and Furlong was wondering if I was interested. Me and Stevey have always been good pals – we ended up in the same hotel in La Manga one summer, the girls got on like a house on fire. Still speak actually – and I thought it would be a bit off me throwing my hat in the ring for his job. As it turns out, Levy was holding out for me at the Lane, and I knew that was worth waiting for.

Anyway, Furlong has been doing a cracking job this year at St Albans City. So good that Barnet have gone and given him the manager’s job over there. Had a quick chat, congratulated him. He’s a class act.

Talking of class acts, Ched’s been unstoppable the past couple of months. I’m praying he doesn’t get injured. His agent was at the ground last week, something to do with a bit more cash for the lad. I told him straight – the board aren’t shifting on the budget. There’s a wage cap in place and the chairman’s fed up with me asking for it to be increased. “My hands are tied,” I said.

I’m not going to lie – we’ve had a keeper issue for the past year. Harry, who’s back at Upton Park, dropped me a line to see if I wanted to take Greeno off his hands. Not going to turn my nose up at that. The lad’s got a bad rep from one mistake. Well, maybe a few more. But Harry said £700k, and Rob’s only 32. No-brainer. The big lad’s doing well.

The national side are doing well. Played five won five in the qualifiers. Anelka keeps coming up with the goods. I pulled him aside in training to see if he was happy with his role at Chelsea. He’s only getting 30-odd minutes a week playing time. Asked him how northern Spain sounded. He laughed and said he wasn’t interested. He’s on £90k a week in London. What I would do with a budget like that…

Top of the league, can’t beat Barca or Real this year, though. Doesn’t matter too much – four losses will still leave us top.

Big Andy up top is putting it about. They don’t like that over here. It’s all pretty pretty, which I can appreciate as much as the next man…with the right players.

It feels like we’re really building something over here. The Brits are all happy – we’re only a couple of hours away from London. If we can get top three and into the CL I’ll be over the moon. We’ve got some top players in the squad. Adrian and Guardado are enjoying their football, too.

FM11 II

When Lotina first got to Deportivo the team was doing alright. A couple top-half finishes, an Intertoto Cup win. And I don’t want to fall into the trap of blaming the past several months on someone else. I’m the manager, the buck stops at me. But bloody hell this place was in a right mess when I came in.

I needed a club fast. The France gig has been great. It’s been good to get to know some of the lads in that set-up. Yoann is a cracking player. One of the most skillful I’ve worked with. Up there with Luka. And Nasri’s a good boy, too. Always turns in a decent performance, and we’ve been looking strong in the qualifiers. The Malta win set the ball rolling. Benzema was brilliant that day. He’s a top top forward. All round player. I’m enjoying the France thing. But it was never going to be enough. You get the players for a couple days before a match and effectively on the final whistle they’re gone. And that’s it for a few months – touring around Europe on my own watching some crap games.

The Deportivo gig seemed like a gift. I almost bit the club’s hand off. But you’ve got to start asking questions when your best player’s Joe Ledley. How he ended up here I’ll never know. But to be honest we’ve become quite close, the two of us. The language barrier with the rest of the squad drew us closer, but him and the French Lad have been good friends to me. The French Lad has been trying a bit too hard to impress, though – it’s pretty obvious he wants an international call-up, but it’s not going to happen. He’s just a bit crap and there’s no way Ribery would be happy with that. He’s still upset I gave Sinama Pongolle a shout for the Turkey game. The boy scored and Franck was still moaning about the whole thing. Said something about us needing to be taken seriously and playing half-rate Liverpool rejects isn’t the one. Honest lad is Franck. Top top player, though.

The highlight of the past few months, obviously, was the win against Real. Not sure how we managed it but I’m not going to sniff at that. Adrian played a blinder. The rest of the season the injuries didn’t help. The fact Lotina trimmed the squad to 18 and both my forwards done a hamstring in training was a nightmare. I was pretty desperate. Got myself in the free transfer market and I couldn’t even persuade Dele Adebola to come over for a few months to help out. Jaymo didn’t fancy it either.

Had a sit down with the board and we decided I’d stay, despite all the losses, and just try and keep the team up. The chairman told me he knew it wasn’t my fault the mess we were in and pointed the finger at Lotina, which took the edge off a bit. Finally the boys up top, Adrian and Riki found a bit of fitness and we went 4-3-3, couple wins and a draw later and we were sitting comfortably in 13th. Lost the last few and got the season done.

Around March I sensed Joe was a bit homesick. I pulled him in the office after training one day and we decided there was only really one solution – Ched Evans. But the boy was tied down to a long-termer at Sheffield United so we set a deal in place and waited it out until the summer.

I hatched a plan to hit the expiring contract market – load of lads in there waiting for their clubs to offer them a new deal and all becoming slightly disillusioned about the whole thing. So I come along, dangle £25k and a four-year contract in front of them and we were in business. I had a field day in there. Eboue, and van Aanholt from Chelsea – there are my new full-backs sorted. Spearing and El Zhar from Liverpool to sit in with Joe Ledley. And up top I got my hands on Delfouneso from Villa, obviously Ched from United and Andy Carroll who was still at Newcastle (2010-11 remember).

Suddenly squad numbers are up, the dressing room’s happy, Ledley’s got a load of mates and we’re winning preseason friendlies 7-0. Beat Zaragoza 3-1 in our season opener, too.

Adrian got a call-up to the Spain squad, which is great for him. He told me he’s getting English and French lessons, which at first I thought was for me. But then again, I think he might be eyeing up a move to City.

FM11

The other night my wife was on a late shift and I found myself holding my PSP playing Football Manager again.

Started from scratch – it’s last season’s game so 2010-11 and I came in as Tottenham manager, and somehow by mistake I’m French.

I’ve tried the lower league team start, but it becomes repetitive. You can’t afford anyone, but you talk Darius Vassell into coming in on a free and on wages you can’t really afford. You have to release five players to foot the bill. But in return you get 20 goals, promotion and a bit more cash off the board so you can buy David James and a young Portuguese centre half that your assistant said “would be a good addition”. You then gain promotion again and you’re staring at the Premier League, a loyal fanbase that loves you and a board that is “delighted” with the team’s progress but isn’t happy with the wage bill. But as you know, success isn’t cheap. It’s at this point you go to the board to up the wage bill again because no-one is going to come and play for £15k a week when Villa will give them £30k. The board tells you it “believes there are sufficient funds to be successful at this level”, but you know it’s not true. You carry on, offering players paltry wages and you’re playing a now 34-year-old Vassell alongside a 35-year-old Kevin Lisbie, with a 72-year-old Jaymo in goal in the topflight, getting stuffed 4-0 every week. Everyone hates you and you get sacked 12 games in. Next thing you know you’re at Braintree in the Conference

I didn’t go lower league, I went Tottenham. Straight into the squad – got rid of the rot: Crouch, Keane (who took some persuading to leave and wound up at Atletico Madrid (fair play to the lad)), Jenas, Kaboul (big regret there, but Barca came in with £9m and I couldn’t resist), Palacios (eventually in January), Bentley, Hutton…etc.

In came Scott Parker, Ever Benega from Valencia and Ryan Taylor from Newcastle to bring a bit of competition at right-back. Corluka was becoming “rather lax in training”, according to my assistant, Kevin Bond. Love Bondy – he was my rock. He backed me whenever the players became a bit agitated about being dropped. He was a bit too loyal to Keano, though. Always suggested sticking him on the bench or even giving him a run-out. Just had to tell him: “Kev, I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, but Robbie’s sh*t. His legs have gone. He’s finished at this club. Now drop it.”

Things went really well the first year. Took two losses to find my feet: was trying to play a 4-2-3-1 (of course), but it wasn’t working, so went 4-4-1-1. Pretty similar to this year’s team, minus Adebayor. Played Pav up top mostly. Pav’s a funny lad. Very quiet in the dressing room, but intelligent and given the chance, will put it in. Stuck by him and he clocked up 23 goals that year. Had Defoe coming off the bench, he hit 14. Can’t really complain. Modric’s price tag doubled after that first season, too.

We finished top of the league. Got knocked out of both the CC and FAC in their first games, respectively: they’re a waste of my time and the club’s time. Got through the CL groups and lost to Real in the last 16.

Second season. Bit more cash from the board, with a request of more of the same and maybe a bit of progress in Europe. The Europe thing stuck in my head, so I hit the market. In came Juan Mata (not yet at Chelsea, so £10m). Bought Podolski for £15m. Tried to persuade RVN to not retire. Didn’t happen – he wanted £70k a week. Not going past £40k for someone in their mid-30s. Went 4-3-3. Bale to LB, Parker with Modric and VDV either side and Mata on the left and Podolski on the right of a front three. Pav spearheaded the attack. Benega was my go-to guy in Europe, and Kranjcar, although not fully happy about playing a bit part was great off the bench and as cover. A true pro.

Was going well, the team warmed to the formation and tactical changes. France approached me with an offer to coach the national side as well as Tottenham. I agreed – broaden the CV a bit.

However, last night something happened. I lost my head. Went flat 4-4-2 against Galatasaray in the CL groups and drew 0-0. Quickly came home and reverted back to the 4-3-3 and drew 0-0 away at Birmingham. And that was it. I resigned. Don’t know what it was really. Maybe BAE’s attitude. He’s a cracking lad, and I know he just wanted to play, but going to the press criticising me and the club isn’t happening. Podolski had recently picked up World Player of the Year, too. I just can’t put my finger on what the problem was.

Next thing you know, Benitez is at the Lane and I’m at Deportivo, where I recognise the names of three players (including, strangely, the Welsh lad Joe Ledley in the middle of the park). Played four, lost three, drawn one.

Funny old game.

Liftgate

I’ve got previous on the lift scene. I despise them, but love their work. Took the lift this morning. I was looking at the time thinking that the stairs would take too long, but I was kidding myself. I just wanted to get in the lift. I thought ‘What’s the big deal? It’s going to take a couple minutes tops. We’ll be in and out in no time’.

Prior to this, I hit the security gate, swipe in. I’m all over this. This stuff runs like clockwork – it’s like at the ticket gate at the station: everyone knows the deal. If you’ve been commuting for under six years, tickets and Oyster Cards are loaded up in hand and we’re all thinking about The Gate before we get there. I read this early in my commuter life. Early doors I was thinking about The Gate while I was getting off the train – you can’t be slow at The Gate. There’s no room for indecision at The Gate. No grace. It’s unforgiving. It’s do or die.

If you’ve been on the commuter circuit for more than six years you don’t even think about The Gate. It’s in you, it’s pumping through the veins. If you’re a plus-sixer you are The Gate.

I get through the work security gate.

I see a crowd – maybe 10 deep – in the lift waiting area. I know these lifts carry 15, but I also know that carrying more than 10 gets uncomfortable. There’s always at least one sweater. The guy who cycled in, the guy who ran in, the overweight guy who walked from the cab to the door. I’ve got one foot on the bottom step of the stairs – it’s 100 steps up to my floor. I’m hesitating.

I bottle the stairs and gun for the lift, but then I’m thinking ‘Hang on, this is going to be packed. These 10 – The Lift 10 – know this’. I scan the numbers above the other lifts’ doors to see if there are any heading down. I spot a ’3′, so instantly back off the doors to The Lift 10′s lift. Those doors begin to close, but one of the 10 has read it wrong. They’re still on the previous page – they think I want in. Must be an intern. Probably only been on the scene a matter of months. The Intern’s right index finger is gunning for the button board inside the lift. I’m guessing they’re wanting the open door button. The only person in the lift who wants it I bet. I mean, The Sweater has already lost half a stone in there.

The doors open again, the ’3′ above the other lift’s doors is now a ’1′. It’s coming, but I’m the only one who knows this. Though I feel like I should be in with The Lift 10 now. This is new ground. I’ve never been here – making these people late, if nothing else. I’ve been among The Lift 10 before, but have never been the 11th man.

I drop my head, look at the floor, desperately trying to not catch any of those sets of eyes, shake my head and walk away. No words came from my mouth. I had nothing. Just the shake of the head. The lift doors eventually close and off they go. The ’3′ has arrived, I end up in there on my own (the best way to ride a lift), and I’m out of there, thinking that the whole episode is finished.

The lift lands at my floor, and by now I’m completely over what had gone before. But The Lift 10′s lift has arrived at my floor, too, and for some reason I look in the lift as the doors open. There were maybe seven of them left. They all knew what had just happened, and from the looks on their faces were not looking to forget too soon.

Frames

Sitting on the train the other day I counted 17 people within eye-shot of me. Five of the 17 were wearing sunglasses. I’m not entirely sure of the need for sunglasses on the train. I used to think that one’s sunglasses might be on prescription so they’re needed for reading/seeing. But if the wearer is going to work, chances are they have a pair of normal glasses on them to wear indoors, because technically one is indoors when on the train. We walk through a set of doors, into something that has a roof. Indoors.

I’ve been told I sometimes stare at people. I don’t tend to do it on purpose, it just happens. The majority of the time I’m probably not even taking in what I’m looking at – I might even be looking beyond the person at nothing. Staring is rude, there’s no doubt about that. But at the same time, it’s often interesting. You might get a better understanding of someone if you stare at them when they are unaware of it.

I’ve never worn sunglasses. I have put some on before, but what I mean is I’ve never been a regular sunglasses wearer. I probably don’t have a good reason, though I often see people wearing them and it seems as though they’re pretending to be famous. I definitely don’t want to look like that, so maybe that’s why I don’t wear them. Wearing sunglasses inside is only ok if you’re in a band. That’s just cool. One’s sunglasses are probably more important than the guitar they play when they’re in a band. That’s pretty standard.

So I was on the train with five sunglasses wearers, and they were all staring at other people on the train. They were even staring at each other. It’s like ‘This lot can’t see my eyes, they don’t know I’m getting an eyeful of them’. This one guy is giving me a proper going over, so I challenge him: I stare back. I’ve got no weapon – no Raybans, no Oakleys. Reckon it lasted about four seconds, and he backed down and turned his head straight out the window – the only retreat there is when caught catching someone’s eye on the train. That’s pretty standard, too.

Mid-pace

I was driving in the middle lane on the motorway behind some guy and it was like, ‘Come on mate you’re doing 65, move over’. I shouldn’t have had to be in the faster lane. I should have only needed to be in the middle lane. This guy in front, driving an estate with a roof-rack on top, should have be in the slower lane. He wasn’t even overtaking anyone in the slow lane – we were just rolling along with those guys. I couldn’t get near the fast lane because the cars behind kept getting there before me. Whatever. Eventually I moved into the fast lane – though as we already know I shouldn’t have needed to – and I was alongside the 65mph culprit. All of a sudden the guy picks up the pace. I was looking at the dial, then looking over at him. Back at the dial. Back at the guy. Now, this guy was that guy. The middle-aged guy who you’ve seen pop the birdy every now and then when another driver questions his driving. His passengers were asleep, he was bored, and hadn’t realised he was driving like a dick. But I changed that – I was the kid coming to challenge his manliness. What a dick.

I was walking to London Bridge station after work the other day. I was going at a pace that can only be described as in between slow and normal. I’ve heard it being labeled indecisive, but that’s inaccurate in this case. I heard a couple of voices and footsteps behind me. I kept this steady pace – I knew what time the train was so I knew what it was going to take to make it. Why speed up if it means waiting on the platform for my train? No one likes waiting on train platforms, and no one likes London Bridge station. The sound of the footsteps got closer, and a bit closer. Next thing I knew they were practically on top of me. What happened was they had misjudged my pace. They clearly thought I was walking slowly, and that they could get round me without too much grief. But they were wrong. I wasn’t walking slowly, I was walking at this hybrid pace. Their conversation had stopped, I could sense the panic in their footsteps. But I kind of liked it. Plus there was no way I was going to compromise my pace – I neither wanted to miss the train, and I was definitely not going to be waiting on the platform. At the time I’m thinking they’ve got to do something here. It’s their issue. One of them took control and headed into the road: snap decision, head down, out and back in, and out in front. The next person, from the sound of the footsteps, was definitely wearing the wrong footwear to be making snap decision out and in moves, though also not wanting to be left behind, tried the same. She made it just as we reached a corner.

Status update

Trying to work out what’s best: having a job that makes one sound interesting, having a job that brings satisfaction, or having a job. Often it’s as if we want to tell our mates that we know someone with an interesting job. It’s like being employed by your mate, but you’re not taking a cut in the interesting stakes because you’re not going to meet their mates.

The third option is probably best.

Take the lift

The only time it’s not weird when using the lift is when I’m on my own. If I’ve got to the button and no one else is around, it’s then a race against time for the lift to arrive and for no one to turn up and join me.

I was waiting on the ground floor for a lift to arrive maybe four weeks ago. Obviously I’ve pushed the button, because that’s what you have to do for the lift to arrive. The button lights up once you’ve pushed it, and stays lit until the lift arrives. I’ve been there maybe 20 seconds. I’m cool, just waiting; I’ve been expected to wait a lot longer than 20 seconds before. Some guy turns up, also wanting the lift. He pushes the button. The button’s already been pushed – it’s already lit. I’ve already pushed the button. When it’s lit, it means it’s been called already. The lift is coming – the button’s already been pushed.

Two weeks ago I was waiting on the fifth floor for a lift to take me down to the ground. I’m in as much of a rush as one can be when the schedule is being dictated by a lift, so it’s not like I’m not going to push the button or take my time with it or whatever. It’s probably been around a 20-second wait again and a guy appears wanting to get the lift, too. I had pushed the button when I first got to the lift waiting area, so it’s lit. It’s signalling that the lift has been called. The lift is on its way. This guy heads straight for the button and pushes it.

This other time I’m walking into the lift, someone follows me in. Now there’s two choices: either hit the floor I want and head for the back wall of the lift, or play the Which floor would you like? game. I went latter and the reply was, “Ground, please”. I also want the ground floor, so all I need to do is push G. But I push G and then 2. The person looks at me like, ‘what are you dense or something?’ I said: “I’m so sorry. I don’t what I’ve done here.” The wait on the second floor while the lift rolls out the opening doors, waiting a bit, closing again and heading off routine was agonising. And I’m to blame.

One More Time