Thats why they scream and shout nonesense

In an overgrown field, in a quiet, posh district of town. A man was stood, not a particularly imposing looking man neither (less imposing when you add in the pink/purple shirt and padded keeper trousers) however anyone in earshot would have worried what was wrong with this man. What was wrong with him was that his side were 7-0 down and people were walking around knackered, not trying. Many of these people have not been at pre-season training, all of these people were on the end of a barrage of swearing. “Take your fucking hands off your head and get fucking back here you fucking cunt!” he screams from his net, drool and spittle flying down his chin and mouth, seething with rage at a winger who gave the ball away trying something fancy instead of passing to the team mate within 8 yards of him.

I hate wingers I must add. I have no respect for any player that only wants the ball 5 or 6 times a game and only in an area of the field that covers about 12% of the total playing field. If I could we wouldn’t be playing with them, however due to being new and inexperienced we are sticking with 442, and struggling to do that even badly. Hence being 7-0 down against a hard working but limited side.

The rage I was feeling was not just because of the winger, or the performance. Part of it was, however a lot of it was caused by the anger at having spent at least 5 hours this week trawling round in the rain trying to get people to put up posters advertising for new players, only for it to be fruitless due to a total lack of response. Seemingly the world hates the idea of playing 11-a-side football.

Personally I am glad no new lads turned up, it would not have been a good first impression. Clad in purple and screaming my nuts off. However for 15 minutes towards the end we finally begun to play, and a sharp 7 pass move resulted in a peach of a cross then was willingly knocked into the net.

If only I had shouted “next goal wins!”

Season proper starts next week. The beat of the drum that my team rows too will hopefully be less hostile!

Everyman and his dog, and his boots…and his dogs boots to boot!

Tuesday evening training was not Tuesday evening training as we have come to know and love it.

Firstly no one actually loves training as the numbers have been tumbling and several new players have left. Now to be fair and paint the full picture, during the off/pre season part of the year we cancel the pitch we usually use and train in the park, for free. The problem is we train in a terrible back water park, a park where you ironically can’t actually park*1 anywhere within a reasonable distance of the pitch (which has no goals up due to the council’s fear that obese British children will use them). To top it off the park is no where near the area we would predominantly be attracting players from and is made up of several tiers and the pitch is hidden on the lowest of the tiers so new players often get lost and give up and go home!

The first part of training would usually be the hill climb, which sees myself and whoever was unlucky enough to be getting out their car around the time I arrived; having to carry several bags of footballs, cones and other assorted junk that can usually be found festering in the boot of my car up the top of a steady 300m incline. No doubt this is part of the reason no one else likes to seem arriving on time, as arriving on time means having me dump an annoyingly shaped bag at your feet that I expect you to carry for me.

This Tuesday however saw us instead travelling across town to play a pre season friendly. Originally this was due to be just the side I manage. However due to last weeks abysmal training numbers we decided to throw the invite out to everyone. The result was over 27 people wanting to play! Many who have barely been at training (many who still owe the club money for last season despite doing an seemingly incredible amount of overtime due to the amount of work related training no-show excuses provided by them, one of the fellas seems to have been working 97 hour weeks)

The Plan –

the plan was to take two teams, we have had an incredible amount of new or returning players contact us recently and we desperately need some cohesion for our new side. Many of the players have had limited or no experience at the level we play at, and we took a lot of the first teams players as they responded quickest to their manager and because they can be a bit mardy and its best to let them feel involved.

Much like the pointless international friendlies this 21 man squad (1 gk, 20 outfielders) would result in a mass of half time substitutions, unlike the internationals we only have 15 shirts so I made fucking sure our side was on for the first shift of the game! Due to the way I am like a grass roots version of John Collins, my shirt was in pretty un sweaty condition afterwards despite the warm day. People on the sideline had noticed the way I glide around in midfield, never straying beyond the semi circle of the half way line, like it is in fact some kind of secret prison that prevents me from attacking. So like Scholes after the champions league final, I was greeted by a steady line of players fighting for my shirt, unlike Scholes I had spent the entire first half making well timed challenges balanced out by spraying wild passes out of bounds.

The Moan –

Usually on match day I would be expected to pick up one or two players, I usually enjoy this as it gives me some golden time to moan about various things or to get some input from the players. However today in particularly saw me charged with picking up people from what felt like all 4 corners of the city due to other people not wanting to trek out to get the individuals who live in annoyingly out the way or remote parts. Parts that all seemed to be in opposite directions to where we were actually headed to play the game, so I trekked around picking up everyman and his bootbag, 2 of the 3 I picked up moaned about the lack of space in the boot for their boots, which I must admit amused me greatly due to the irony.

Anyway we arrived, despite a decent showing we managed to collapse in the last 5 minutes of the half we played and ending up coming out on the end of a 3-1 defeat. However their defiantly seemed to be improvement, at least we knew each others names. And last but by no means least I learned where 2 of them live and where 1 of them works. Which is always handy to know as two of them now owe the club money…

*1 – I appreciate this footnote happened a long time ago, and that parks were invented a long time ago. However whats the fucking point of a park you can’t park a car in! Its no wonder tv keeps telling me everyone is so fucking fat these days…

Life on the blower

So the weekend came and went and rather than be out on the field or stood on the touchline like usual I found myself stood at a wedding, then sat at a wedding, then in the toilet at a wedding trying to wipe gravy off the cuffs of a white shirt before eventually passing out sometime in the early morning. Cloughie would have been proud (apart from the aforementioned gravy-gate scandal that has probably ruined what is admittedly a very cheap supermarket shirt)

Weddings are usually a joyful occasion where people spend there time talking to strangers about how beautiful the bride/room/day has been whilst trying to keep an eye on where the girl with the tray of free drinks is at. I somehow still managed to spend a large part of the ceremony and post ceremony stuck to my phone either fielding calls or texts from players I thought I had left back in Yorkshire. As it seems people are incapable of deciphering a text that says “I ain’t there this weekend so Rich is in charge”. To my annoyance this limited the amount of free drinks I was able to hold at one time.

That text mentioned contained all the details of the match, times to be there, what to take, what to wear, where to park and not to talk to any strangers or accept sweets from them, however apparently this wasn’t enough for todays modern amateur footballer. And much like a contestant from popular 80’s/90’s tv show “knightmare” they need constant instructions from myself to get them where they need to be. If I was able to I would grow a beard to try and resemble the host of said show I would, however I am much more AVB than Roy Keane (literally the only manager I could think of to ever sport any sort of beard) so that won’t be happening.

Your modern day amateur player seems to be entirely dependant on texting or ringing on the morning of the game, with either long winded stories about vague injuries, or questions about grounds we are playing at. Regardless of if we have been there before or already had this information relaid in numerous forms. I am hoping that this desire to talk to me is some form of new player at a new club enthusiasm and will abate once the season starts, however in the mean time I am trying unsuccessfully to recruit a new breed of less needy players! although I haven’t had a single phone call or text from any of the posters I have put up. The act of making and printing a poster and taking it round places asking it to be fastened up in their establishment itself seems to be out of date, as many of the places no longer seemed to have a community/advertising board or no idea if it was something their manager would be willing to let them do in his/her absence.

With your average player seemingly not ever checking the facebook group, despite their timeline activity indicating they spend all day on facebook. It seems like my unlimited text and data policy will be getting put to serious use.

CV – experience of being in charge of 14 idiots…

August 4th 2012 will always be known as the day I made my historic debut as a manager. I ended up playing in goal, we lost 5-2, it rained, I should have expected all this as the omens weren’t good and I always end up playing in goal, as all goal keepers seem to be unreliable toss pots…

The Omens – 

Upon setting up the team I was informed that the club had a kit put aside. By put aside, they meant to say abandoned, un-washed, having last been used over a year ago during a mudstorm. I was handed this kit and took it home, excitedly opened it out the bag to show to the masses that had gathered to see this un-veiling (those masses, were in fact a single mass, a single massively unimpressed girlfriend who seemed less than delighted that there was more of my teams shit in our house) of the first kit of my new team.

The issue was that this was in actual fact the 2nd kit of one of our other sides, a side that apparently seems to be made up of people who once spent an entire game either throwing mud at each other or rolling around on the floor. Anyone who entered my kitchen on Friday, may have initially thought I was creating some kind of elaborate tactics plan using the kitchen floor, buckets and storage boxes, what I was actually doing in fact was using anything I found in the basement that looked like it wouldn’t leak water when filled with kit and vanish stain remover, whilst swearing and ranting about how much vanish stain remover costs and what wankers everyone who plays for my team are.

Upon finally getting the kit washed (and most of the staining removed on all but a few shirts) I made use of the nice weather to line dry it (I had also used fabric softner, I really spoil those lads!) however I might as well not have bothered. As despite setting off Saturday morning in glorious sun so bright I cursed not taking sun glasses, myself and the kit were soon drenched after a freak rain storm opened up for 10 minutes, totally soaking myself and everyone else apart from one lad who ran off into a portaloo. The quick thinking by him to take what others saw as a cowardly act, has actually already bookmarked him as someone that could potentially be a captain for the side. Anyone that would rather hide in a plastic box that smells of shit, than get wet. Is clearly someone that is capable of inspiring people through the act of swearing and shouting at them I imagine.

The Game –

The game started very nervously, this was to be expected as only 3 of us had ever played together (and by played together, I mean been sub together and stood and moaned about being sub) and quite a few of the others were either playing their first 11 a side game or the first game in a number of years and this showed. The first half possession was mainly in the other teams half at the feet of the defenders due to our seeming inability to co-ordinate any sort of team pressing. After making one sterling save one on one (no doubt the opposition striker was paralysed with fear at the sight of my 6ft, 11st 2lb frame rushing out at him) and our team forcing a fine save at the other end after a well worked move, we found ourselves 1-0. Following a throw-in that we re-acted too slowly to, one of the oppositions midfielders optimistically took a swing at a bouncing pass from 35 yards that flew off his foot and sliced over my head for what appeared to be the only goal he had ever scored judging by how he played the rest of the game.

Half time came and went and we soon found ourselves back on level setting at 1-1 after an extremely well worked piece of football brought us level. Sloppy marking from set pieces saw us fall 3-1 behind and the game went on to play out a 5-2 defeat.

Plenty of positives to build on, and I managed to palm off some of the bags of team balls onto one of the other managers, meaning less shit in my house.

Management is where slow players go…

Management is where old players go…

Before signing yourself up to the life of a Saturday Amateur football manager you have to meet at least a few of the following criteria.

1) can’t really be bothered with training now a days but happy to stand around at training chatting to others and shouting at the players to run around cones even if its raining?

2) Unlimited text’s bundle on your mobile phone contract. (the most important credential)

3) The understanding of your colleagues, loved ones and boss that if you receive a text and start mumbling something along the lines of “stupid fucking twat” that they are best just to leave you alone as someone has probably just pulled out of a game or training at the last minute with some horseshit excuse.

4) Too old, slow or a perennial injury lister to warrant selection anymore.

Of course you could just take up golf instead and I wished I had done that myself however there is a distinct lack of coats with peoples initials stitched on in the game of golf, and I do love knowing which coat is undisputable mine!

My managers career began in a less than Hollywood way, I hadn’t been getting a game and was asked by the club (no doubt because of the amount of moaning I was doing) if I would consider running a new team they were thinking of doing. I saw this as an ideal way of playing myself for the last twenty minutes of games, a bit like Kenny Dalglish used to do, except without the racism or dislikable interviews (hopefully).

The journey of making a new team began on a forum advert.

Players Wanted!

The majority of people seemed to interpret this as: time wasters wanted! As all the advert seemed to attract was either massively keen people who seemed to be touching a football for the first time in their life. Or people who would send constant updates on their availability but then never actually turn up for training despite sometimes telling you “ I’m 5 minutes away pal”