|
Fedule posted:What do you consider to be a nonsense centre back David A libero
|
#
?
Jan 14, 2021 00:27
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 28, 2024 04:55 |
|
|
|
|
#
?
Jan 14, 2021 00:29
|
|
|
Fedule posted:What do you consider to be a nonsense centre back David Titus Bramble obviously Enjoying these write ups OP; as someone who regularly watches terrible lower league football it's enjoyable - feel free to include me - JingleBells, he/him 
|
|
#
?
Jan 14, 2021 00:46
|
|
|
I'm enjoying the narrative, even if the more technical aspects of the game fly over my head.
|
|
#
?
Jan 14, 2021 09:31
|
|
|
Up the wells boys, well deserved victory.
|
|
#
?
Jan 14, 2021 10:07
|
|
|
Team Bonding Facing into a match just four days after our season opener, and another match just three days after that, the problem we were presented with was we had no time for training. We had a half-day session scheduled on the Monday morning, then, no more training again until the next Monday. Whatever about signing players up to amateur contracts, to give them that little boost of dedication, without training sessions we’d have to deal with some problems. I’d never be able to drill the players on their roles or bring them up to the fullness of their potential meaning the players could stagnate. This was the nature of a semi-pro team; the players have real jobs and real lives and would never be able to dedicate themselves wholly to football. The money, no matter The Fat Man’s predilection for gold jewellery, simply wasn’t there for the team to go professional. I don’t think any team at our level was fully professional, unless some Saudi Sheikh bought a club as a present for his eight year old nephew. With that in mind I focused our scant training sessions on what little we could do. Our one week pre-season gave me a little room, so I allowed the players to have some team bonding after our first game to show them there was more to football than free shots of tequila from the chairman. What I didn’t realise, as I planned the training sessions, was they had already figured this out.  I planned some team bonding to show the players there was more to their teammates than drinking with them. Once we were done with our first week’s regular-season training—with some team bonding—the only thing I would be able to do, having only one day open to me, was to get the players drilled on our match tactics then put them in a situation where they were implementing that tactical session in a match practice situation. I just had to hope it paid dividends in the games we were playing.  This setup, of one half-day training, drilling the team on match situations, I hoped would prepare them for the real games they had to play once we were into the meat of the full season. The team would have to do what little they could in our sessions, but I was at least glad to see Grant English had taken the time to consider his permanent offer, and had signed up with us for the year at about £40 a week.  Grant English informing me he’d accepted our contract offer. With all that done it was time to set the team for our match against Canterbury City. I went out to watch the training, to see if any of the subs I’d had in our first matches should be brought in to start, but, in reality, I was screwed for actually filling out the team. I just didn’t have the players to put out a complete squad, the bench allocation wouldn’t even be fully used, and I could barely manage much rotation. Even worse, with Michael Jones injured I had no replacement striker on the bench. I just had to hope with our two front lads on contracts they’d have the determination to see out our upcoming second-game-of-the-season. Then, absolute-loving-disaster struck. The lads who The Fat Man roped in for the short term got the hump when they heard real footballers were coming in to train with us. Before the training session began, Russell Edge, at the point of a mob of The Fat Man’s lads, came at me with a big angry face on him. “You’re not taking us seriously!” he said. I had no clue what he was talking about, other than he looked like he’d throw a brick through my windshield if I'd had a car. “What do you mean?” I asked. “Those contracts, why don’t we have them?” “Isn’t The Fat Ma... Isn’t Mr. Laws sorting you out for filling out the team?” I said. “We won our first game six loving three! And you only offered permanent places to a few guys, the ones scoring goals. Now you’re bringing in lads to replace us.” “That was always the plan,” I said. “You never said you wanted to stick around for the whole season.” “We won SIX loving THREE! We came back after being down three one at half time. Now you’re talking about throwing us on the scrapheap." He paused to draw a deep breath. "If you're planning on replacing us, we’re loving off before you get the chance!” At that statement there was a chorus of ‘Mhmmhmms’ and ‘drat RIGHT!” from the cohort of players standing behind Edge. “They’re only trialists,” I said. “They’re here to train with us. They’re not even able to play in the game against Canterbury. That’s for you. You did well. You’ll all be playing” “And after you see thirty minutes of those lads training you’ll be rid of us, the people who've already put in the graft.” “Not necessarily—” I began, but I felt like I was being backed into a corner when Russell Edge interrupted me. “Either we play on the same terms as Cook and Rihoy or we’re off!” I was hosed. They had me over a barrel with no wiggle room in any of this. Either I gave them amateur contracts or I’d have a training session with a bunch of trialists who weren’t allowed to play in any of our games. “OK,” I said. “I didn’t realise you were all so serious about the team now.” “Was coming back from certain defeat not serious enough for you?” Ricky Wratten, now finding his voice as I backed down, demanded to know. “You’re right, you’re right. It was wrong of me to think you weren’t dedicated. I’ll have amateur contracts for all of you drawn up!” Repeating my words back to me, Russell Edge simply said, “We are right!” then seemed at a loss with what to do. “You know there’s no money in this,” I said. “At least that’s what I think from looking over the contracts.” “It’s not about the money!” Wratten said, getting red in the face again. “No, no, I appreciate it’s not about money. I should have faith in you. I’ll go to the office straight away and prepare the contracts. Alexander will run training and then after it’s finished you can all sign.” And with that, the team were placated. I had every one of The Fat Man’s lads on amateur contracts while the trialists looked on wondering what madness they’d gotten themselves into.  What would be the new status of my team, with every hanger-on on some form of deal. With a few glances from my window, looking over the training grounds, it was obvious my guys were fired up. They were giving all the trialists a right kicking, and I was worried the lads here for just two weeks might not survive their time with The Wells. Despite all that, the 23 year old, John Smith, who’d come in to us supposedly did well. Alexander came up to me after and said the young fella could make a difference. He wasn’t ready to make any appraisal of Smith’s skills, not fully, but from what he saw in just one session the lad was looking decent.  John Smith, the only trialist in our target age bracket, could, maybe, do a job for us. When all the contracts were signed, and with the players heading home talking about being, ‘fully professional amateur footballers,’ I set out picking our team. Nothing had changed. The starting eleven had no unenforced changes, we were going with more attacking football from the off, but who I picked was more-or-less the same as last time, barring injuries. What I had done, with some swift back-pedalling, was avoid a mutiny that would end up with Tunbridge Wells unable to field a side.  A team of mutineers to face Canterbury City. The same team as the last time, but now fired up and angry. I just had to hope the lads could continue how they began the season now their demands to be taken seriously were recognised. Maybe it would all, maybe, just maybe, work out for the best?
|
|
#
?
Jan 14, 2021 18:28
|
|
|
Number one rule of football, boss. Don't ever let the players push you around 
|
|
#
?
Jan 14, 2021 18:40
|
|
|
[he/him-ly] I'unno, if these lads are gonna be with you anyway and they're demanding rope to hang themselves with, then I say give it to 'em, since we're all taking eachother so seriously.
|
|
#
?
Jan 14, 2021 19:03
|
|
|
Fedule posted:[he/him-ly] I'unno, if these lads are gonna be with you anyway and they're demanding rope to hang themselves with, then I say give it to 'em, since we're all taking eachother so seriously. The manager runs the team, not the players. If they walk out then I'm sure there's 11 people in Tunbridge Wells who'd be up for a kickabout
|
|
#
?
Jan 14, 2021 19:12
|
|
|
Rarity posted:The manager runs the team, not the players. If they walk out then I'm sure there's 11 people in Tunbridge Wells who'd be up for a kickabout Well, sure, but it sounds like the manager's in a bind here. Maybe you recover from a walkout, but do you wanna explain to this "fat man" that you're skipping a match because don't have a team to field?
|
|
#
?
Jan 14, 2021 20:23
|
|
|
he/him if you feel the inclination. Way I see it, the boys have earned a kick at the can. This team isn't gonna really be pulling in huge talent any time soon, so why not, as has been mentioned, give 'em the rope to hang themselves? Most likely they will, after all.
|
|
#
?
Jan 14, 2021 21:41
|
|
|
he/him, drinks saisons Eh, they've earned the right to revel in their success, or ride it down in flames.
|
|
#
?
Jan 14, 2021 21:52
|
|
|
While the lads have got a point that they pulled you back from the brink, not every player contributed to that well, don't forget they hosed it in the first half. You gotta set them the expectation that if they want you to take them seriously as players, it means that they're not playing kick about anymore, they need to start putting in a proper more consistent effort.
|
|
#
?
Jan 14, 2021 22:26
|
|
|
I guess while it's usually all Up the Wells, today the Wells decided to go Up in arms.
|
|
#
?
Jan 15, 2021 00:22
|
|
|
An owlish man in spectacles opens the door of a pub. In a distinctly North American accent, he says, "Excuse me, do you serve mead here?" [I couldn't resist]
|
|
#
?
Jan 15, 2021 01:26
|
|
|
Recalculation Walking into The Other Shoe the topic of Tunbridge Wells’ fully professional amateur players had gotten around. It seemed the lads, high on the allure of a future in the Premiership now they were registered with the football authorities, had been telling everyone their plans to buy a white Land Rover, DJ at Tunbridge Wells exclusive night spots, and establish a social media presence where they insulted kids and generally got to be offensive. My entrance went unnoticed, seeing as Ken the barman (Ken from Kent), along with a few others, were in the full flow of conversation. At the very least I was glad The Wells were a hot-button conversation topic in our pensionable Kent town, but as the conversation got more and more heated I did a quick about face. The signing of players, on the basis of an ultimatum, seemed to have incited passions. I would have been happy to explain my reasoning, that I had no choice, we had to be able to field a team or deal with ten lads disappearing, but sticking my oar into a wholehearted debate among fans might not be the best thing for a manager to do. Whatever about my choices, the press, with all the nuance the press holds, viewed this fully professional amateur team as a poorer squad than when we just had a few lads signed. Despite no-one changing in our actual team, just being contracted, we’d fallen way off in the predictions for how our season would shape up, dropping from fourth to tenth.  Our new season predictions, having a full team on board. Even walking into our stadium before our second game, checking the odds with the local bookmaker, they were not looking at us favourably. Canterbury had risen up in the oddsmakers esteem. And with transfers happening left, right and centre, teams strengthening and weakening, no-one had any real clue about how everything would shake out by the end of the league.  We were not well favoured in our home match. Most of all I was concerned The Fat Man, who liked winning and didn’t like losing (a very simple mind, he had,) would not appreciate the upsets in what was happening with me having no real chance to build a team. He wanted fourth or better, and the gambling sites and media did not think this was possible. With the new predictions for the team worry took over, or maybe more anticipation, facing into the match. With less than a minute gone, fifty seconds, in fact, anxiety was obvious from the team as well. We’d given away a free kick 15 or so yards outside our box. The Canterbury player sends the free in, and my worst fears are confirmed, everything is going to slip away from me. Two Canterbury players get clear of our defensive line and in their charge manage to head the ball beyond our keeper, Diaper, and score a goal with less than a minute gone. I’m fearing the worst for the rest of the game when the ref blows his whistle, and instead of pointing at the centre circle raises his hand for an indirect free kick. Canterbury were offside, but it’s still not the best portent for what may play out.  The ball in flight from a free kick, with Canterbury clear ahead scoring a goal, but they were offside. Immediately I change our approach to be more cautious, and things settle down for a few minutes until Toomer receives the ball on the wing. Excited after seeing what he did in the previous match I stand out of my seat. Toomer lays it off to Cook who spots English breaking off his defender. English controls the ball brilliantly, bringing it into the box, but the rushing defenders are closing down. English shoots, but the Canterbury keeper parries it away.  A harried kicked shot means no goal for English. With thirty-seven minutes gone there’s not a lot to show for our efforts. We don’t have control of possession, Canterbury look dominant, but we get an attack. The ball is sent wide by Jamieson but a Canterbury player intercepts, heads the ball to his midfield and a long ball is sent to the sprinting Canterbury striker O’Malley. He gets ahead of our defenders, and is charging down on goal with a free shot. I’m expecting the worst, but, luckily, he blares it over the bar. If it was on target Diaper wouldn’t have stood a chance.  O’Malley skies his shot. Half time comes and McCormick looks absolutely wrecked, meaning I’m forced into some changes. I bring Wratten on for McCormick, but before that I bring out the hair drier. It’s not the most subtle of motivational methods, but I tell the team I am not happy with their performance. A few lads look nervous, but others are looking a bit more motivated. I have to hope they pick things up in the second half.  The lads’ reaction is all over the shop when I tell them I’m not happy with how things are going. The second half passes in boredom. I’m looking at the performances of the lads, and what I have left on the bench, which is not much. Brougham, Toomer and English, our performers from previous matches are all doing poorly. To make myself doubt, in the 68th minute, a ball is lobbed into an attacking midfield position, where Toomer heads it onto English. Toomer has done will with that one and I begin to wonder. English is running free and I’m certain he’s going to score. He gets into prime position for a shot, just beyond and to the right of the penalty spot, and hits it straight at the Canterbury keeper.  English proving he’s not having a great game, by knocking the ball right at the Canterbury keeper. I don’t have any attacking subs on my bench, not with our injuries, although Toomer is showing something on the right, where all our attacks are coming from. The problem is English has fluffed the chances he’s got. I do the only thing I can, and switch around Cook and English in their roles up front, hoping Cook gets an opportunity and bags us the one goal I think will be needed to win the game. Even with limited options, on 75 minutes Jamieson is showing his age, looking absolutely shagged, and I bring Westley on as a replacement. I’m hoping to see some effect from my changes, but my worst fears are confirmed. We are not putting in a performance. Canterbury get a cross in from the corner, and O’Malley, despite having three defenders in front of him, has a clear header on goal. The ball is seeking the net, beyond our keeper, but the post keeps it out. Despite this I want a win. I think our team is deserving of a win and has the skills to achieve it, but keeping it to a draw could be a good result from where I’m sitting with fifteen minutes left, as our strikers miss every opportunity, and the woodwork is saving us from O’Malley.  The post saves us. With less than eight minutes left Ricky Wratten follows my tactical instructions and sends a long ball through to Cook, now in a striker’s position following his switch to the right, with English on the left, and I’m thinking, “This IS IT!” Cook’s played OK, but the same thing as the entire match plays out. Cook hooks the ball wide and to the left, when either corner would have had us a goal. Our strikers are just not doing the business in front of the sticks, despite the chances being created!  Cook hooking the ball wide as both our strikers prove they couldn’t hit a barn door. In the battle of the long balls Canterbury finally wins out. From nowhere a searcher is put through, and I look for O’Malley, who’s been on the cards for scoring the whole match. I see him get ahead of our defence. It looks like an easy save for our keeper, but that’s not the way the game is going. Diaper goes to his knees, and just off his right the ball passes by and into our net. I don’t know what I’m going to say to the lads at full time. It wasn’t a good enough performance, we had the chances, but they just didn’t convert.  O’Malley scoring as he’d been threatening to do all game. Sam Dicicco sums it up after the end of the game where we lose one nil. What a load of rubbish.  Sam Dicicco giving voice to what we’re all thinking. What was most galling, watching the replay of the game in my office after, was we had the chances. Sure, Canterbury had them too, but we just couldn’t convert. I was at a complete loss with what we were going to do, attacking tactics and defensive tactics are one thing, but I was given a choice, forfeit the game because we wouldn’t have the players, or sign them and let them rest on their scant laurels; big ball lads now with contracts. I wasn’t sure which was the better option falling asleep that night, accept the inevitable, or prove we were shite. What I did know was that we had only a few games before the trials of the guys training with us were over, and whatever about signing young players—as I’d been instructed—I’d do anything to have a solid, quality team who didn’t vacillate between useless and coming back from seemingly nothing.  What was going through my mind as I fell asleep, how our lads failed to perform against Canterbury, despite the Billy Big Balls contracts they all demanded. Most of all, haunting my dreams, was my concern for our upcoming games. We had Chatham up next, who’d won their opening fixture 4-0 and scored three in their last game while being predicted to top the league, then it was onto Beckenham Town, who’d started strongly, winning 4-2 at home and 6-1 away. A series of losses would mean I’d be back to being just a greenkeeper, if The Fat Man even allowed me that.  Our next two games, against two sides who’d started very strongly.
|
|
#
?
Jan 15, 2021 21:35
|
|
|
Rarity posted:Number one rule of football, boss. Don't ever let the players push you around I was right 1-91 odds on favourites 
|
|
#
?
Jan 15, 2021 21:48
|
|
|
Said it best yourself - we had the chances, but we just couldn't convert.
|
|
#
?
Jan 15, 2021 23:38
|
|
|
I worry that the players probably tease our keeper about his name.
|
|
#
?
Jan 16, 2021 00:10
|
|
|
He's a keeper, gotta be teased for something
|
|
#
?
Jan 16, 2021 00:27
|
|
|
Lots of missed chances, but what can we expect? An understaffed semi-pro team is in a bit of a bind; odds are the reason the team's on such a youth kick lately is that ownership wants to see if they can pick up some spare change from a more professional club if they can uncover the occasional diamond in the rough, meaning they're basically an unofficial youth team. Me, I like what I'm seeing out there. Things'll start to gel as the new manager gets 'er feet under her. Once they do... who knows? Up the fuckin' Wells, indeed. (he and/or they and/or she, I'm honestly not picky on pronouns - whatever makes a better story, I say)
|
|
#
?
Jan 16, 2021 06:15
|
|
|
vyelkin posted:I worry that the players probably tease our keeper about his name. Honestly, since he's a keeper, I would call it an auspicious name. The whole job of the thing is making sure no poo poo slips through.
|
|
#
?
Jan 16, 2021 07:29
|
|
|
Horoscopes, Odds and Chance It was a fit of pique, I knew it was, but there was some truth to it as well, especially for a guy who was on a money contract: I got onto Grant English intending to have a quiet chat and let him know he needed to be a bit more focused, his performance simply wasn’t good enough, but I actually went a little hard on him. I knew I’d end up doing this many times throughout the season, but this was the first time I was to chastise a player, and I was driven by emotion. Regret too—to a degree—that we’d lost, and I was placing my bitterness on English seeing as I could focus on him having been the one who missed the shots. I wasn’t sure how what I said would work out—as I said it—and that’s not a good thing for a manager. I wasn’t quite the level-headed boss making the informed decisions for a team of naive kids I should have been, at least not in my frame of mind. English had the opportunities, he was on goal quite a few times, and despite his team providing for him he’d wasted their hard work. I told him, plain-faced, he’d squandered a lot of chances and it wasn’t good enough: a risk not knowing how he’d react; whether it’d crush him, or he could, maybe, get even further flustered. In fairness to him, he took it on the chin, agreeing it was unacceptable and saying he’d do better. Whether his stoicism in the face of my criticism was the sign of a strong will, or that he was paying no attention to me I couldn’t tell.  Grant English agreeing he wasn’t good enough in front of goal in the last match. With that in mind, along with English’s low composure in front of goal, I swapped around our two front men. Cook switched with English, at least while Michael Jones was out, so I was playing English in more of a creators role, receiving long balls, where he’d them lay off to Cook who’d be ready to pounce. Cook would be around the goal face, ready to poach a score with whatever came his way, something that could work out with his more steadfast approach.  A change up front, swapping Cook and English, and getting Cook to pounce on whatever chances the team created, including those played through via English where composure should matter for less. With the match against Chatham coming up the bookies had their say, again, and they did not favour us. Chatham were ninety-one to one odds-on favourites to top the league, so for all impartial onlookers it was a seemingly unwinnable match for us, especially considering we were now firmly in the middle of the outsiders pack at a long-shot 25/1. The pre-game match odds also reflected this, with the media even saying we were facing the impossible.  What an impossible match looks like to the press. I saw the headline of the article that was forwarded to me, but refused to read the rest. That didn’t stop me, as the game drew closer and closer, from getting pissed off that we seemingly had a difficult start to our campaign, coming up against the main league contenders. Of course, after a few seconds of anger, it occurred to me that we were simply in a hole, even though we’d only lost one match, but I knew it would take a lot to bring this team through the next few games to where the chairman expected us to be. I was feeling the pressure, and I’d never been so in-the-public-eye before. Even if only 200 fans came to our matches it still seemed like a lot more than just two hundred people were talking about the team, and even me, in our small Kent town. Everyone I ran into in fact.  A reasonable 200 or so people at our opening home game, and one away fan happier than everyone else at the final whistle. Talking to Alexander I expressed my fears of what we’d face against Chatham. I couldn’t unload on a newly hired assistant manager how I was feeling the stress, but I could talk about the cause of the stress. “I’m not sure how to approach this game,” I said. “You’ve revamped our defensive tactic, haven’t you?” he asked, but I was fairly sure he already knew the answer. “Yeah, a good few changes since our opener, it’s less extreme now, maybe trying something with our full backs and wingers. But attacking we came back from being 3-1 down, then against similar opposition, with the attacking option from the off, we lost 1-0. If I was looking at any other game I’d say give our front-foot tactic another shout for a ‘best-of-three.’ But Chatham? How they’re positioned? I just don’t know.”  An innovative wide setup, hoping to stop balls coming in at our defense, who were useless in the air, as could be seen with O'Malley's quietener against us late in the game against Canterbury. “You’re intimidated, aren’t you boss? It’s natural,” Alexander said. “I’m not looking forward to it when I’m in charge because I can already feel it from where I am now.” I wasn’t sure if knowing other people were feeling the same anxiety soothed me, but I did know getting fully prepared for the match would help, and my big concern was how we might not have the reaction time with any of my on-the-fly changes to effect the outcome. “It’s more that I’m not sure adjustments can do much for us against a team like that,” I said. “You mean with the players we have? A lack of quality?” Alexander rubbed down his arms, as though he was looking for protection from something, or trying to shed something clinging to his skin. “I wasn’t thinking that, but now I am... I meant that with a side predicted to win the league easily I won’t have much room to claw back a win if things aren’t going our way. But as you say, without quality any change I make is going to have less of an impact.” “What’s your inkling? With how to play, I mean,” he asked. “I haven’t a clue. Do we hold out for a draw? To keep it tight and gain a valuable point against a team that are looking to lead the league, especially with us away from home? Or do we go attacking, knowing they’re going to score goals no matter how we go and we’ll need to beat them at their own game?” Alexander just nodded, not offering any advice. Eventually he spoke up and asked, “How are the staff signings coming along?” “We’ve had a head physio sign, or at least agree terms, so we should avoid what happened with Jones and actually have someone to look after the players from the dugout.”  £50 a week for Justin Williamson to look after our players as head physio was money well spent. “That’s great news!” Alexander said. “Aye, sort of, I suppose. The guy just finished his course. He spent some time as a youth worker, but found he hated kids. He can’t motivate worth crap, but boy can he lay down the law. It’s a gamble, I suppose, and the best we can manage at our level. Not the greatest medically, but some people-skills elsewhere? I’ll take that.” “That’s what you have in me,” Alexander said, fully aware we were all being given a chance we might not get a repeat of.  Justin Williamson, our new physio, and his qualifications. “We’ve also got a head of youth development coming in, John Shannon. Brilliant with kids, can spot someone with the ability for our level, but couldn’t tell you what a young fella will be like in five days time let alone five years.”  John Shannon, our new Head of Youth Development did will with the young squads, but couldn’t predict their future worth a drat. “That’s what we need, isn’t it? Someone who can bring in some sixteen year old to rip up trees.” I could see Alexander’s eyes light up at the prospect of bringing in some young blood, but I had to talk down the prospects. “Yeah, but we’ll have to give him time with our juniors. I figure we’ll be heading towards the end of the season before he has anyone he can show to us. And even then they might only be good enough for the reserves.” Whether either of us made it to that point of the season neither of us knew. We both met each other in silence, for a few moments, then I said what we really needed in the short term. “Whether our trialists work out or not—strengthening the team— what we have to get is someone to analyse our opposition. At the least show us what we’re likely facing into. Then we can see how we’re faring against whatever tactics.” “Yeah, an analyst would be good, and some scouts to watch our opponents, but now you’re thinking about the match... Offensive or defensive? Beat them at their own game, or absorb their pressure.” “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s the choice.” And we both knew it was my choice. I had my team picked out, although how they were to play I hadn’t yet decided.  The basic team I’d decided on for the match. With Cook and English swapped, and McCormick in need of a rest, but maybe able to impact off the bench. But I was the boss and it was up to me. All I knew was in that moment I’d appreciate some sign of how the team should approach the game. As Alexander and me went our separate ways, to get a night’s rest before our game against Chatham, I thought I might even take to looking at my horoscope in the morning papers for tactical advice. Mystic Meg might not reveal a lot, but the game against Chatham should show how we could perform against the best in our league, and I knew the fans were eager for us to bounce back. More than eager. I just didn’t know if we could manage it, not in this match, maybe not even in our next.  Our record so far and our upcoming, next two matches. A win against Chatham meant we were on track to do well against Beckenham Town, the league leaders after two games. Losing could mean we end up in a cascade, maybe even three losses in a row after our week played out. And all this was before I even looked at at the matches coming up beyond the next, tense, seven days.
|
|
#
?
Jan 16, 2021 10:49
|
|
|
No need to let the pressure get to you, boss. It's early days and the lads can recover from a bad run once they get to the weaker teams. Just send the boys out to have a good time and play the kind of football they enjoy and if you lose, you lose. Save your stress for worrying about the teams you should be beating.
|
|
#
?
Jan 16, 2021 11:20
|
|
|
It's like this, as I see it. You tell your team "here's our plan, go out there and perform like I know you can" and you end up with a one-nil loss. You tell 'em "Just go out there and have some fun, lads, don't let the pressure get to you," and you get a stunning 6-3 win. No one's gonna give you guff for losing to Chatham, no one worth listening to at any rate. Go out there, have a good time, do your best, and collect your share of the gate no matter the result. Score some goals, why the hell not?
|
|
#
?
Jan 16, 2021 12:37
|
|
|
Might as well give 'em hell and go out swinging on offense if you think the defense is gonna be awful anyway.
|
|
#
?
Jan 16, 2021 14:30
|
|
|
It'll kinda suck for the time being but a fated engagement with the league favourites seems like a pretty great thing to have out of the way.
|
|
#
?
Jan 16, 2021 14:34
|
|
|
You’re over reacting to single games. It’s a long season. That said, in in both games you showed more ability to attack than defend. The players you value the most are attackers. If you’ll survive an embarrassing score, send them forward and pray. (Drinks rye whisky neat, he, can shorten to Stone)
|
|
#
?
Jan 16, 2021 15:40
|
|
|
BurningStone posted:You’re over reacting to single games. It’s a long season. That said, in in both games you showed more ability to attack than defend. The players you value the most are attackers. If you’ll survive an embarrassing score, send them forward and pray. auch lay off the manager, she's trying to get her feet on the ground, and let's be real, it's not like the wells is a big club. she needs solid dependable hands and the best she's got is a bunch of nascent alchoholics who're confusing the ball for a pint.
|
|
#
?
Jan 17, 2021 02:33
|
|
|
Clarity of Intention Waking on the morning before the Chatham game my head was clear, for about an hour, and I did what I never did; I went to the golf course clubhouse. Whatever sleep did for me I couldn’t say it provided me with an answer for my tactical worries, but it did offer me some distance and so some peace. I wanted that feeling to continue, and that brought me to a long walk around the back nine. After a pleasant Summer’s morning stroll, where I batted away thoughts of football, I went into the clubhouse thinking there’d be little Southern Counties East Premier Division chat, but, in a way, I was wrong. Huddled over a big mug of coffee was someone in a textured purple hoodie. I sat a few seats down from them and watched them savour each sip of their Americano. I was tempted to buy one for them so enjoyable was it watching them dedicate so much to aromas and taste. Then they caught me staring. “I was just enjoying you enjoying your coffee,” I said. “Strangely, it’s the best in town, here,” they said. “That’s Roy’s doing, isn’t it? The bar manager?” I asked. “He’s been trying to get the place on the gourmands’ map.” “Are you trying to get some peace before the game?” they asked, and the look on my face must have told all, because they quickly continued, “I don’t mean anything by it. This place is just out of the way, and I know I’d want some quiet time before a big game.” “Yeah, I guess. I work here part time, but cutting grass is zero stress, football management less-so.” They nodded. “Chatham?” “Yeah,” I said. “No one's gonna give you guff for losing to them, no one worth listening to at any rate. Go out there, have a good time, do your best...” “That’s the thing,” I said. The bar was empty, none of the old golfers were in from their rounds, and this person was a complete stranger. I didn’t feel like I was revealing a secret inner turmoil, rather just confirming what most would already know. “I’m enjoying what I’m doing. I’m enjoying managing a team, figuring stuff out, watching the game, instructing the team, as well as winning.” “Do that then,” they said. ”Score some goals, why the hell not?” And it was that simple. Matches were about scoring goals, at least if you wanted to win. But not all games were winnable, and that’s what being a manager was about : picking your battles. Sometimes not losing 3-0 was a victory, sometimes a draw was a victory—no matter what the fans said—and sometimes a 1-0 win was a poor performance that demanded extra work. Seeing as I needed time to think the person who I’d found out was called DCB focused again on rejoicing in arabica beans, and, after a few minutes of a completely empty head, a fully enjoyable experience, I left the clubhouse to cycle to the training grounds with a bit more clarity. I wasn’t a football manager, I told myself. I was just someone doing their best, in a new situation. And you can’t blame someone who’s doing their best, so I shouldn’t put the pressure of the town on myself. Freewheeling down a hill I thought on how it was a fair-old cycle between the golf course and our grounds; there was distance. That’s what I felt when I woke up that morning, a distance between me and the football, and there was physical distance between the golf course and where I was going. People talk about perspective changes, but from far away your perspective is naturally going to be altered. As I hit the turn from down the small hill to a little rise in the road I vowed to myself I wouldn’t let anyone keep me trapped—fan, chairman or opposition—into all football, all the time. At least not while I managed a semi-pro, part time club. And with that, the cycle to our pitches was over without me realising, even if I still hadn’t settled on a tactic to go with. My ambition, however, was telling me to send them out with a somewhat forward approach, and see if it could achieve against a big time team. We’d never have a better chance at testing that setup than early in the season against a big club with all the odds against us. And with that I was decided. Following a lift to our game with Maria there was the usual preparations. Checking the pitch, meeting the ref, the warm ups, then, without time seeming to have passed, I was standing in front of a team of players all in their kits, fired up, and looking at me for guidance. I told the players that I understood we were underdogs and to go out and give the travelling fans something to cheer for, but from their reactions it seems they weren’t thinking very much of the crowd who’d be attending just to watch them. Then I went around the room, to each unit, and told them I had faith in their ability to make a difference. Thankfully, at least a few of the players seemed to perk up at that.  At least saying I had faith in them made some difference with a few players. After that it was out to the dugout and onto trying for an upset. From the off we drive forward, but immediately Chatham dispossess us. That leads to seven minutes of tactical sounding each other out, with neither side making any inroads, when Brougham gets the ball deep in our half. He takes a few touches then sends a long ball down the pitch to Cook who’s facing a strong defensive line. He controls the ball, and immediately goes to strike it from a distance due to his sparse moving space, but it’s straight at the Chatham keeper.  A long ball to Cook’s feet where he takes a quick shot due to the defensive pressure but the keeper knocks it behind. On 22 minutes we give away a corner, and I regret that we haven’t had the time to drill some defensive (or offensive) set piece routines into the team. Despite that, with a bit of knock-about from head to head in our box, the ball goes free to English who’s now in the more passing-forward role, and he sends the ball up to Cook who I’m hoping will do better with our chances. Cook has some space but he doesn’t have the pace. The Chatham defence close him down as he trudges forward, and he’s left hooking the ball so wide it almost hits the corner flag.  Cook gets the ball but he just doesn’t have the pace to get clear and turn it into a real opportunity. We're showing some promise in these moments, even if the previous attack came from a Chatham corner. The lads are doing well, even if it was only a half chance sent miles wide, but they're showing they can make an effort. Then, straight from the kick out from Cook's wide miss, Chatham’s keeper, Whyte, loses his own man and sends the ball to Edge. Edge knocks it down to Nisbet who finds Cook off a defender’s shoulder. This time Cook has a start and is clear on goal. Whyte comes out to meet Cook, and Cook lobs a ball over him. We’re about to get the reward for our early efforts but Cook's strike is too heavy clearing the ball over the bar, and I’m left worrying if it’s going to be another case of ruing our missed chances for the second time in a row.  Cook getting the ball over the keeper, but also over the bar. Our lack of training turns out to be a problem after 30 minutes. We give away another corner and show no ability to clear the ball. We get it to the edge of the box and Chatham send it again, we clear it wide of the box, and Chatham send it in yet another time, and now the numbers are showing through with Rowe finally getting Chatham’s opportunity, scoring a free header, and putting us 1-0 down after half an hour.  Our lack of drilling on corners lets us down with Chatham applying pressure from a set piece and scoring a goal. We’re on the attack, and I’m thinking we’re ready to bag a goal back and tie up this game as Nisbet tries to get a cross in but it’s blocked. It falls to Brougham who also gets a cross blocked, and now Chatham are on the attack. With a quick retreat we shepherd them down the wing, with all their runners far behind. The Chatham midfielder pulls a cross back to Hibbs, who, somehow, manages to bang one in from god knows how many yards out. It’s a screamer and our attacking experiment seems to be over.  Hibbs humbling our keeper from 20, 30? yards out and putting Chatham 2-0 up. Just before half time we get two chances, Cook with a snatched shot from just inside the box, and a second where he tries to chip the keeper, but Chatham’s Whyte is solid behind both. Yet again we’re getting chances, but just not doing anything with them. This time, though, I have to give credit to the opposition keeper. Anyone else and we’d be drawing two all. At half time I take Jamieson off. He’s not had a good game, and bring McCormick on who looks eager to prove himself. The half time talk is a lie, I tell the team they’re not playing well enough, but really we’ve just not had the breaks. The team takes it well, as I intended, and look fired up going into the second half.  I bring a fired up McCormick on for Jamieson who’s not had a good match. The second half is a quiet affair, especially as I get us playing with a bit more caution—but the same tactic—to keep it to just 2-0. Chatham are playing with the confidence of a winning team, relaxed and sparing themselves, and it’s only on the 72nd minute when there’s anything to talk about. Unfortunately it’s for Chatham, who put a long ball over our defence. Thankfully, despite the advantage from breaking free, the angle is tight, with Diaper cutting off the shot and Brougham's last second tackle diverting the ball behind for a corner. We've stopped a chance, but Chatham will get another go.  Our defence getting skinned, but Brougham recovers for a fantastic sliding tackle. From the resultant corner the ball breaks free for our advanced man, Cook. He lays the ball forward for English who gets ahead of his defender. I’m wondering if English has the pace to go on, and the composure to finish, when the defender brings him down from behind. I’m screaming at the referee for a red, he was the last man back and if it wasn’t for the foul English would have had a clear goal scoring opportunity but the coward only shows a yellow. From there Toomer has the free kick, and knowing what he’s capable of I’m thinking if we score here we’re in with a shout. Toomer curves the ball around the wall but there’s not enough bend on it and he sends it wide of the post.  Toomer can’t repeat his magic and bring us back to just one down with a free kick outside the box. Not a minute later, from the goal kick, Gary Wratten heads the ball down to Cook, who sees English ready to take the ball forward. Cook puts the ball in front of English, who takes it to the goal and scores. I’m still thinking on the missed free kick and barely had a chance to worry that English would miss his opportunity, but the lad made good on his promise and delivered us a goal. I’m just worried that it’ll only be a consolation.  English making good on his assurance he’d do better after our last conversation. I’ve already brought Westley on, but a few minutes after our goal I take Toomer off. His head has dropped since we scored, he just doesn’t seem right, especially as Chatham have reacted and put a few balls into our box in the minutes after. Thankfully none of them have been too good, and with thirteen minutes left we might still have a chance at snatching a draw. Chatham’s reaction continues onto 80 minutes, with them knocking the ball around like superstars while our defence can’t pick them up. The ball goes wide, Chatham’s Kennedy brings the ball into our box and Brougham slides to take the ball off him. It’s a brilliant tackle! The referee disagrees, however, saying it was Kennedy knocking the ball ahead and Brougham taking him down. As he blows his whistle and awards a penalty I’m thinking, “BULLSHIT!” and can even hear a few Chatham fans in the stands saying they lucked out with that decision but I know the match is over now with Chatham going 3-1 up.  A penalty for Chatham. We certainly haven’t had the ref with us this game. With the match over, I looked at the lads and told them they were unlucky. This didn’t go down too well, even though I felt it was honest, and they look devastated with my comments. It seems they were looking for someone to scream at them, and tell them it wasn’t good enough. Someone to show them they were capable of better, but I’m just not sure they are capable of more. Our defence is leaky, we leave the opposition get the jump on us far too often, and no matter how we score—even with a bit of luck—a team giving away cheap goals cannot do well. I just have to hope some of the defenders we have on trial are willing to come in with us. But with only one training session a week I still haven’t seen enough of them to know how they’ll fare. I'm banking on luck, both that the team will come together in our games, that they'll not give away too many opportunities, and that the players we might bring in can step us up a level. We're not assured enough to dominate games to a win, and relying on luck to bring things together for a lesser side is never going to work out. The next match we’re facing is Beckenham, who were leading the league before today’s games—games I haven’t seen the results of—and I know it’ll either be changing things up with our defensive tactic, zero points from nine would not be good enough, or I’ll be getting them to play the style that did get us one goal, just with a bit more of a hesitant approach. My big hope, however, is that maybe one or two hastily signed players in defence could be enough to give us the edge and stop our net from rippling with regularity. Whatever I end up doing, I just know I need to stop this slide now; a hard ask given who we have up next.
|
|
#
?
Jan 17, 2021 04:31
|
|
|
Another referee who left his guide dog at home  The fixture list isn't kind at the moment, but once we're over these games I'm relatively confident we can do well
|
|
#
?
Jan 17, 2021 16:20
|
|
|
Well, at least they showed some spirit out there, but that might be all they've got.
|
|
#
?
Jan 17, 2021 17:11
|
|
|
Not Doing Much It was dawning on me I was actually doing very little managing. We only had a certain amount of players, not enough to rotate the squad, pick who was in form, or find a guy eager from the bench who was rearing to be given a shot and make a difference. When it came to tactics a 442 was our only real option. A system with wing backs piling forward in attack and screaming back on defence wasn’t an option because we had no wing backs. A patient, control possession system, with three attacking midfielders wasn’t an option because we had no attacking midfielders. Thinking about the Monday training session I feared I was simply a signature on the team sheets. I had no tactical nous to be able to grind out wins, or even take a surprise lead against better teams, and against weaker teams it was a question of whether the team performed as they were capable. I had very little control over anything. With that in mind I knew I had to increase my ability to make a difference. Straight after our match against Chatham I sent in a request to the board asking for me to do a coaching course. It would only be the very basic level, National C level, but it should give me a better view of what I was doing, and allow me to prepare the lads with a bit more insight. At the back of my mind was that if everything went south with The Wells, it might even open up options with other teams.  Me requesting to be sent on a coaching course, with the board having to get back to me. We took a few more lads in on trial, with the confirmation they’d be coming in happening while we were losing to Chatham. And it was straight after the match the press were onto me. I was expecting a local newspaper wondering why we were quite so awful, but it was actually some young fella from Sky Sports asking about a lad, Bevan, who was training with us. I had no clue what he was like. No clue who he was, even. I just accepted anyone who wanted to train with us in hope they’d prove useful and would be willing to sign a contract for not much money. The Sky Sports lad wanted to know how interested we were in him and I said the only thing I could at that point—the whole purpose of bringing him in was to see how things would work out.  I didn’t want to get anyone worked up about deals, or not, and told the press we were just looking at the lad coming in to train with us and we couldn’t know anything yet. Even with the trials we had, and although both our fullbacks were the weakest positions we had on the pitch, the lad in with us, Ben McGarry, showed no ability there. I hadn’t even seen all of what he was capable of, but I knew he wouldn’t work out. I didn’t want to lead him on, so ended his trial.  The fella, Ben McGarry, who we told we wouldn’t have a spot for. John Smith, the central defender, was a different case. He was absolutely rubbish when it came to playing football, but at stopping the opposition he wasn’t half bad. He had as good as, if not better skills when it came to shutting down attacks in comparison to the lads we had on our books already. Beyond that, it looked like, at an in-our-age-bracket twenty-three years old, he was willing to work his arse off on the pitch.  John Smith had a lot of holes in his ability, but where it mattered he might be able to make a difference for us. With that in mind, and knowing we had other lads on trial with us, I tried a low-ball offer. I proposed an amateur contract with him, just to get him on our books and into the team, and I’d see what he was like before, maybe, offering him some cash.  I offered John Smith an amateur contract, and it seemed that was all he wanted. I just had to see if he was using this to gain interest from other clubs. While that was happening I had word back from the board that they were happy to pay for me to do my National C coaching course. Now it was a case of seeing how far I’d be able to ride their willingness to train me up.  Confirmation from the club that they’d be happy for me to do my first coaching badge. One thing I did notice, going through my paperwork after hearing about my coaching course, was that the game after our Beckenham match was actually a friendly? It must have been a hangover from when The Fat Man was trying to pack as many fans into the stadium as possible, with the speakers in the grounds blaring ads for The Sheep’s Head. That was an easy decision for me, something I could actually make a difference with, and it was cancelled so we might actually get an extra training session or two under our belts.  Cancelling our friendly against Petersfield that was only a tool to get punters through the gates. Then it was onto the Beckenham Town game. Yet again the press said we were, “Facing the Impossible.” I made a few changes to the team. Nisbet hadn’t done too much in the previous match-ups, and there wasn’t much difference in ability between him and Ogogo, so that was an easy swap to make, just to feel like I was doing something. Apart from that, after his rest, I brought McCormick back in to play in the supporting Mezzala role in midfield. I thought we were in for another round of rearranging deckchairs, with me not doing much to affect the outcome, when I had news that Smith had signed, and the fans were ecstatic about it.  The fans are delighted that we brought John Smith in, even if he hadn’t proven himself anywhere quite yet. With one day to go our match I was gearing up for another battle on the pitch, when Maria let me know there was absolutely zero response to our ad for a chief scout. Instead of a night relaxing it meant, for me, it was back to trawling through the database to see if anyone would come in. We desperately needed someone who could take stock of what the teams we were due to play against were shaping up like.  No-one wants to sign up to scout for Tunbridge Wells in the ninth tier of football. My initial forays through the Chief Scout database brought about a relatively poor response. And by relatively poor I mean no-one wanted to work with us. It was either a case of people not being willing to move to Kent, which was fair, or they simply didn’t see Tunbridge Wells as the best move for their careers; they thought they were better than us. And they were probably correct.  The seemingly practiced response that Tunbridge Wells isn’t of the standard of club a scout wants to work for. I had to try something different. I set the search in the database to find any staff member, for any role, coaching, managing, assistant manager, scout, physio, whatever, and looked through guys with no experience under their belt. I was hoping that someone, someone local, would be desperate to get that first job post that could lead to better things in the future and be willing to sign up with us to get a start. That inkling turned out to be correct. A lad called Callum Batt, nominally an assistant manager, was happy to come on board with us. He could be of a bit of use when it came to looking at players, but really I needed him to watch video (phone video, we were very advanced, and, of course, extremely well funded,) of our opposition and see how they generally set up. Callum hadn’t a tactical bone in his body, but like all our staff, I guessed, he’d have to be one for the future. At the very least he’d be able to see what formation the opposition preferred, which is what I needed.  Callum Batt had absolutely nothing to his resume, which was about right for the level of staff we could attract. Figuring out my little off-brand approach to the database I signed another coach, as well. We’d have to do without goalkeeping coaches or fitness coaches, we just weren’t deep enough in our staff allocation to manage that, but approaching Steve Chambers to sign with us I had one thing in mind. We’d have to be able to train up all our staff as the team also developed, and so we’d need an excess in coaches to manage the extra load while another member of staff worked on their badges. Steve Chambers (and Alexander) would fill in for me while I took my National C course. And I’d do the same for them, presuming they didn’t disappear off as soon as they had some experience.  Steve Chambers’ CV And that was how what I expected to be a quick few days with not much to do before our Beckenham match actually turned into a mad few evenings where I was scouring databases, signing players, and bringing in coaches. Whatever about having a team that could adjust to on-field situations, we were now almost set up in a way that the backroom was the best it could be—at our level—for whatever was thrown at us. The final thing for me to do was to pick the team to face Beckenham.  Who’d be lining out against Beckenham, and, finally, we were getting close to having a full squad, even if there was no room for rotation quite yet. With just hours to go, and the team picked—including John Smith's debut, which I hoped would delight the fans—I had to decide how we’d set up for the match. Thinking back to the second half against Chatham, I knew we’d only let one goal in with our cautious approach in an attacking tactic. And that was a penalty. Whether it was a case of Chatham sitting back having already gotten the win or our team performing I didn’t know. I did know I’d have to give these instructions a chance; especially with our new signing, John Smith, coming in to shore up our defensive line. I just had to tell them not to give away another penalty.
|
|
#
?
Jan 18, 2021 17:18
|
|
|
It's almost like we're a real football club 
|
|
#
?
Jan 18, 2021 18:53
|
|
|
The club's in such a state that there's really nothing to lose, so I see no reason at all to not let the lads loose and really have a go at the opposition. Smithy should shore up the defence a bit anyway, which means the rest of the team can have a bit more freedom to attack
|
|
#
?
Jan 18, 2021 19:16
|
|
|
Don't want none of that fancy attacking football. Have Smithy kick it up to English and see the goals flying in!
|
|
#
?
Jan 19, 2021 13:35
|
|
|
Kick It Up Having gone from feeling like I was doing nothing to prepare the team for their games after our Chatham loss, things took a drastic turn afterwards. Sure, it was a lot of backroom work. I signed a player, signed staff, started a coaching course and generally stayed locked in my office, but it was that busy-ness that brought me to our stadium without time seeming to have passed. The players had done their warm ups, and were generally looking nervous, and it was time to rouse them to action. Ogogo was sitting looking the same as he did every other match despite starting his first game, while Smith showed no emotion in what would be his debut for us.  The team, including new starters Ogogo on the left and Smith slotting into defence, while McCormick was back after his rest. I told the players it was time to put an end to our poor run of form, but they must have looked at the odds beforehand and been thinking the worst because it garnered no reaction from any of them, even from the few guys looking a little nervous.  My team talk had no effect on any of our lads. Instead I went around the room, following my old trick of telling each unit I had faith in them to make a difference. At the least both English and McCormick perked up a bit, but it seemed the team had little confidence in what I was saying to them.  Only McCormick and English took support from my encouragement, but at least English was one of our strikers in front of goal—even if it was our defence that was leaky. As the team walked out Alexander expressed some doubts about our cautious approach, not that I should encourage the lads forward a bit more, rather the opposite. He was daunted by what we were facing into and thought I should drag everyone back and get them to park the bus. I wasn’t ready for extremes, not this early in the season, so I just ushered him to the dugout where we waited for the match to kick off. And a few seconds later, we had the ball. The game had begun. Immediately Smith is marking his debut, intercepting a badly placed long ball from Beckenham. After some to-and-fro in the middle the ball is out wide to Toomer. I think he’s going to be tackled—putting Beckenham on for the counter— but he does well to send the ball into Cook—who’s not in the best position—who nods it back to English coming into the box for a strike. It goes over the bar, but it’s a nice start to calm the nerves. Beckenham may still come firing back at us, but at the least we’ve shown—in the opening minute—they won’t have it all their own way.  English hits a nodded back ball over the bar with a little over a minute gone. Two minutes later Beckenham look to get their revenge. Hession-Harris takes the ball in midfield, running forward, while McEachran darts ahead. He splits our defenders, taking off from Rihoy but Smith gets back on McEachran’s run and blocks his shot.  Beckenham’s McEachran splitting Smith and Rihoy. Nine minutes have passed and we show in attack again. From a throw in Ricky Wratten gets the ball back and chips ahead for Toomer. Toomer runs on, closing on goal the whole time. I see two, then three of our lads attacking the goal mouth and am praying for Toomer to square the ball, but he has a go himself instead. I can’t blame a lad for taking responsibility, but English had a clear line on the net, and Toomer wastes our opportunity.  Toomer going for goal himself instead of squaring the Ball to English. The game runs on for nearly twenty minutes when Beckenham’s town aptly named Beck appears on the wing with the ball. He sends it in to McEachran, who’s clear free in the box, but McEachran heads the ball straight at Diaper. I was fearing the worst, but so far it’s been evenly matched between us. I just worry Beckenham have proven they can take their chances in their previous matches, whereas we have not.  Diaper having an easy ball nodded straight into his hands. Straight from the kick out we win the ball in midfield. We follow it up with some forward passing, that gets us around the box. Beckenham have four men back, and another five midfielders crowding the space, but we do well in retaining the ball even if they’re pushing us back; for once we have some possession. Toomer plays a nice one-two with English, who somehow gets the return pass past Toomer’s defender where Toomer sends the ball over the defence, via a headed flick from Cook, to Ogogo who hits it on the half volley, past the Beckenham keeper who’s struggling to get across his goalmouth, and it sets the net rippling. It’s a brilliant pass from English, a great change of side from Toomer, an unselfish flick from Cook, and a magnificent finish from Ogogo on his first team start. We’re one nil up, for the first time this season we’re the first team to score, and it’s from a brilliant team play. The press said we were, “Facing the impossible,” so it’s going to be a real test—with over an hour to play—for the lads to hold out. But already my excitement is rising.  Ogogo, with his first start, showing why he deserves a place in the first eleven. There’s ten minutes left in the half and I’m wondering what to shout at a team a goal ahead. Beckenham get the ball down the left wing, with men piling into the box. The ball comes in and is nodded down, but breaks to Ricky Wratten who hits the ball as far away as he can. Beckenham are threatening, but for once our defence are putting in overtime to secure the ball. I don’t know if we can keep this up for a whole game, but at the least they’re making an effort.  Ricky Wratten hoofing the ball up the pitch to clear the threat in our area. From some muddling about in midfield the ball comes forward to Brougham who spots Ogogo running ahead. Brougham puts the ball in front of Ogogo who only has one thing on his mind. He takes the ball a few steps and snaps off a shot, sending the keeper diving, but the crossbar denies him. Ogogo is trying everything from anywhere and I have to think at least one of these chances will give him a second.  Ogogo beating the keeper but not the crossbar. The last few minutes of the first half have Beckenham on the march. They’re firing everything at us not to go in one down at half time, but we manage to hold out. My half time talk is a concern. Some of the new lads have put in a performance, as well as our attack, but the midfield is having a poor showing. I don’t know whether to applaud the team or tell them it’s not good enough. To have them composed or to fire them up. I’m planning on demanding more from them, but just as I’m about to open up I realise we’re ahead at half time, something we haven’t been before, and realise I can only tell them we’ve done well. We are doing well, and the team appreciates my comments. I’m just hoping that lasts the next forty-five minutes.  The team looking thrilled to be told they’re doing well. Ten minutes into the second half McCormick plays the ball to Toomer, who dances it around with English before getting the ball back from him and having a shot on goal. It’s straight at the keeper, but it’s not a bad effort with a crowding defence around him, the problem is McCormick. He’s been playing a decent game but is looking absolutely shagged. If I bring him off I won’t have anyone to replace Jamieson with, who’s not having the worst game he’s played for us, but that’s not saying a lot. I decide I’ll see if I can get another five, maybe even ten minutes out of McCormick.  McCormick looking wrecked with just 55 minutes gone, but I only have one central midfielder on the bench. My fear over the loss of McCormick comes up again just three minutes later. Brougham, who’s finally showing his value, puts a nigh on impossible ball into Cook. Cook reads it perfectly, takes one step, and unleashes on goal. The ball flies to the opposite corner, past the Beckenham keeper, and into the net. We’re two nil up; Smith seems to have united our defence, we’re taking at least some of our chances, and I won’t feel too bad about taking McCormick off in the next few minutes.  Cook adding to his season’s goal tally with a powerful shot to bring us two nil up. Five minute later Jamieson shows some of the football knowledge he has locked up in his 39 year old brain. He spots Ogogo on the edge of the box, lofting a ball over for him. Ogogo runs forward, and again the angle is closing. This time, however, instead of taking the slight shot like Toomer he lays it straight across the keeper to English who has a simple tap in. We’re three nil up and the fans are finally cheering.  English with a simple tap in after Ogogo learns from Toomer’s mistake and squares the ball for a runner. With 57 minutes gone I’m looking at my bench. English is out on his feet in attack but we have literally no-one on the bench for him, while for my central defenders I’m unsure who’ll begin to flag first. Smith and Rihoy are both looking like that have a bit in the tank, but it’s a case of do I bring Smith off, who’s shored up our defence, and save him for another day, potentially losing that stability, or do I bring Rihoy off who’s only having an OK game but potentially flog Smith. This all means I’m not paying attention when I hear a roar from the crowd. Jamieson has proven his worth by sending a ball through the defence for Toomer, who’s bagged us another, and settled his debt for not creating one with his chance in the first half. Over twenty minutes left and we’re up four nil.  Jamieson showing there’s still something to him by sending a ball through for Toomer who scores. With twenty minutes left the team is looking absolutely destroyed. Smith is off and I’ve brought Graham Wratten, Westley and Dunk on to give whatever rest I can to those most in need of it. Dunk is obviously out of position up front after being brought on for English, hooking a shot a mile wide and heading another haplessly across the goal. I’m praying for the game to end, and give my guys a breather after running themselves into a win for 90 minutes, when a final ball is sent through to Cook who scores. It’s the last kick of the match, but it’s ruled out for offside. I don’t care one bit though, four nil is a phenomenal result and the lads put in a huge effort to achieve it.  The team’s performance was nothing like I’d seen from them before, their best game for me so far. After the match I told the team how proud I was of their performance, and they all seemed delighted to have won a game cleanly and with conviction. As I looked over weary bodies, bodies that ran themselves into a ground for a win, I’m incredibly thankful that at the least I could cancel our friendly at the weekend. I was sure the whole team would be celebrating that night, at least after a good half an hour where they just sat and let their bodies recover.
|
|
#
?
Jan 19, 2021 16:38
|
|
|
Now that's what I call a performance. Look at the hustle, look at the grit, makes you proud. Ogogo's gotta have earned a spot in the first team there and the front line delivered on the promises of those missed chances. Up the Wells!
|
|
#
?
Jan 19, 2021 17:08
|
|
|
CCTV footage from the pre-game pep talk
|
|
#
?
Jan 19, 2021 17:38
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 28, 2024 04:55 |
|
|
What a debut from Ogogo!
|
|
#
?
Jan 19, 2021 17:50
|
|