This is episode 31, so you have an awful lot of catching up to do…
I awoke several hours later in a daze. I peel my face away from the leather office chair and check the fax machine… there’s some pieces of paper on it. One says Deportivo have accepted my £2m offer for Sebastian Abreu, and the other says I’ve offered him £16,000 per week. Ugh. That Susan is a terrible influence. Considering that’s all my remaining money and would definitely plunge us into financial ruin, I pour a large glass of water over two Alka Seltzers and withdraw the bid.
I’m going to have to work through the hangover today because it’s League Cup second round time, and we’re all aboard Chugger for the short trip to The Valley. Charlton Athletic are 22nd in the First Division, only three places above us on the great football ladder if you’re keeping score at home, but their dismal start to the season disguises the squad they’ve got at their disposal. Remember this is 2002 and then bear in mind that their squad contains GK Stuart Taylor, on loan from Arsenal, Paul Konchesky, Jason Euell, Scott Parker, Christ Bart-Williams, Chris Armstrong, Radostin Kishishev, Mark Fish, Danny Shittu, Luke Young and Jonathan Fortune. They are not going to be pushovers, and my strikers are going to have to step back into the breach and pull their respective weights if we’re to have any hope of seeing our name on the trophy.
As such, I make a few alterations. Kalvenes is finally back, so he comes in for Underwood. Gough replaces Costacurta, although big Billy has a better average rating than Scottish Zeus, so I’ll have to keep an eye on that. Farnerud seems to have really kicked on this season so he retains his spot despite being a little tired, but Bubb comes in for Brandon and Sir Les for Renner. Pflipsen has really fallen off a cliff, form-wise. His average rating is 6.0 from five starts, and that just won’t do. I ask my assistant manager Roar Hanset for a report on Karlie, and he tells me he thinks his presence is of great benefit to the club. I’m sure it is big man, but not in the first team – Gazza starts in his place. At the back of Chugger, I notice Jamie Davies peeking at me over the seats. I see you, lad.
It’s a bewildering first half. The opening exchanges see Charlton on the ball an awful lot, but probably sensing me watching his every move, Richard Gough is colossal at the back, beating Jason Euell to a pulp and totally demoralising the Addicks every time they approach our territory. The rest of my veteran superstars take note and follow the lead of our almighty skipper: Gascoigne and Ferdinand combine to first set up Mahouvé, and then Javan, who both have efforts on target saved by Stuart Taylor. Just as I’m starting to get that sinking feeling, Taylor’s afternoon unravels.
Your mighty Diamonds, doing exactly what I’ve been telling them to do ever since I walked through the door, put together a fantastic team move involving Risp, Javan, Duff, Mahouvé and finally Gazza, who gets into the box and squares the ball to the far post where Javan has made up about 50 yards to tap home our opener! I feel relieved to see the screen flash white and blue, but little do I know that we’re just getting started.
As the players line back up for kick-off, I notice Gazza rummaging around in his shorts. I guess he must keep his bag of party tricks in there, because as the referee’s whistle goes, he takes a pass, jinks past Kinsella, then past Robinson, shimmies to the edge of the box and unleashes an absolute thunderbastard that clatters into the top corner! An unbelievable solo effort from Gazza – the Rushden Ultras are dancing and singing his name in the stands!
Javan then decides he wants in on the act: he forces Taylor into two decent saves, before beating Fortune and aiming for Gazza’s top bins, Taylor saves again, but this time Byron Bubb is there to tuck home the rebound! We’re 3-0 up at the Valley! Javan even finds the net again before half time but it’s ruled out for offside, so he petulantly kicks the ball away and gets himself a booking. I’m so busy making a note to send him to a military camp in the summer that I don’t see Mahouvé limping in central midfield. Our great destroyer isn’t going to make it out for the second half, which is a blow, but on the plus side, Mad Dog is foaming at the mouth behind me, so I think we’ll be okay.
Comfortable at the break, I also decide to replace Gazza to protect him for future games. As you can probably imagine, his workout and nutrition plan consists of getting a cab into town and buying a fish supper, so he is always the first person to be knackered – at half time the whole team is at around 90%, whereas our Geordie trickster is at 78%. I decide to give him a rest and see if Chris Brandon can emulate him.
Five minutes into the second half, Risp goes down injured as well. Costacurta comes on, and that’s all my substitutions made. Five minutes later, Andy Todd scores for Charlton with a header from a corner, and my pelvic floor is getting the workout of its life – but it’s all for nothing. The Addicks, and Taylor in particular, are inept; especially once I draw us back a little by reducing our forward runs. An entire 20 minutes goes by with no commentary – it’s just what I wanted, and the game finishes with a pretty routine 3-1 win for your mighty Diamonds. We march on in the League Cup once more.
The injury news isn’t great, but could be worse. Mahouvé is out for two weeks with a stubbed toe (as if), while Freddie has gone a step further and broken one of his, so that’s three weeks on the shelf for him. Jamie Davies and moany Chris Plummer return to my senior squad as cover. I realise I don’t have a reserve DMC, so Jamie Davies will have to do for now, but just in case, I offer back-up terms to none other than England international DMC Carlton Palmer, who’s kicking cans down the road in Rowley Regis with nothing better to do.
Between injuries and tiredness, we could really do without a long trip to Wigan, but that’s what we’ve got. The squad is in about the same state as Chugger, who splutters and backfires his way down the M6 as I try to arrange the little pieces on my tactical magnetic whiteboard into some sort of coherent team.
A few weeks back, Rob Chandler suggested we play a 4-2-3-1 with inside forwards, which I’m not desperate to try – but with Mad Dog as my only fit DMC, I might need to have it in my back pocket in case disaster strikes. However, to start this one, we’ll go with our trusty 4-1-3-2 featuring a whole lot of rotation. Sir Les, Bubb, Farnerud and Gough are all less than 100%, which isn’t the worst thing, but I want to try to rest them if I can. As a result, Monk, Brandon, Andersson and Renner come in, with Billy Costacurta and Mad Dog also replacing Risp and Mahouvé.
Wigan are a good team but are having a weird season, mainly due to their weird formation. Brian Little has them set up in a 3-5-2 with wing-backs, but lots of very bizarre runs. They have great strengths, mainly Ged Brannan in midfield plus Mark Rivers and Lee McCulloch up front, but they have one gigantic weakness: Simon Colosimo at centre-half. Hello again, old chum. More of the same, if you would.
Gazza is basically taking the piss out of Division Two. Only three minutes are on the clock, and he’s at it again – honking the nose of Brannan and tricking his way to the edge of the box, where he looks up and wallops one into top bins to give us the lead. However, Wigan hit back immediately – Gascoigne concedes a corner, Peter Kennedy lobs it into the box, and McCulloch powers a header past Pinheiro to tie us up. However, after that, it’s all us, and I’m not surprised at all to see Andy Marshall have the game of his life in the Wigan nets. He saves from McKinlay, Monk, Renner, Gazza, Brandon and Andersson to single-handedly keep the score 1-1 as we go in for half time. They’ve got their goal from their only shot on target, whereas we’ve had eight.
The players enter the dressing room, where I use my whiteboard and several eclectic body movements to show them that they need to put the ball *past* Marshall rather than straight at him. They look at me like a dad who’s had too many sherries at a wedding, but nevertheless seem to understand.
The problem with my advice is that, despite the fact that Brandon, Renner and Gazza are regularly skinning Colosimo and hitting the top corners, Marshall is still saving them. Wigan do have a couple of efforts on goal themselves in the second half, but nothing that Hugo can’t handle – and despite throwing on Sir Les, Farnerud and Bubb, we’re obviously not going to beat Marshall again today, and we’re forced to accept a draw. I’m not happy at all, but only with the scoreline – we did all the right things, and we were generally excellent. The standard of goalkeepers in this league is just on another planet compared to Division Three.
I’m frustrated but not gloomy. We remain unbeaten and top of the league on goal difference from Tranmere Rovers, plus we are playing well. I just wish I had a steady source of Kryptonite to sneak into the jockstraps of these opposition keepers. I’m developing a hernia just sitting on my couch.
In happier news, we don’t have to sign Carlton Palmer on a free transfer because I also submitted a loan bid which has been accepted, and we welcome our new third choice DMC from Walsall: Mamadou Bagayoko. Yes, okay, fine, I did mostly sign him because his surname is quite similar to CM legend Ibrahima Bakayoko, but in my defence, he’s also quite good at Jumping. Welcome, son.
The League Cup third round is drawn, and it’s a big juicy plum. For one, it’s that rarest of beasts, a home draw – but as well as that, we will also welcome Premier League Newcastle United to Nene Park. Not only will we see Richard Gough vs Alan Shearer and Laurent Robert vs Mike Duff, but it will also be a massive day for Sir Les and Gazza, who’ll presumably receive heroes’ welcomes from both sets of fans. I absolutely can’t wait.
Chugger cruises confidently into the home car park on his lovely new wheels as I consider the visit of Norwich City, who we’ll face in a few days’ time. Considering their stature you’d think they’d be higher in the league than 13th , but not only do they also play Wigan’s weird 3-5-2 that doesn’t really work, they also don’t quite have the stellar names I was expecting to see. Wales international Chris Llewellyn is probably their best player, but he’s stuck at left wing-back despite obviously being a very attacking winger. I get a red marker pen and draw arrows towards Mike Duff on my tactical magnetic whiteboard.
We are looking good. We’re still missing Marcel, Freddie and the Great Dane through injury, but otherwise, the week-long interval between games gives even Gazza the opportunity to get himself back to 100%. As a result, I pick my team based on form, and the only slight surprise is Renner in CM instead of Brandon, who’s actually made a disappointing start based on his numbers, and Farnerud, who has been good but doesn’t provide as much of a goal threat as I’d like. Renner has 7.75 from his four appearances so far and that’s good enough for me.
Norwich have one notable injury to sweeper Andy Edwards, who has unfortunately been absolute garbage so far this season and would have been a welcome addition to their side. However, in his absence, I don’t see another player capable of playing the sweeper role, so I suspect hilarious Canaries manager David Mitchell will simply pull a Llewellyn and play someone out of position. They also have interesting news in goal: their regular number one Paul Crichton has been such a butterfingers that the even rubbisher-looking Jason Batty has taken over in nets. He’s got 38 caps for New Zealand but he isn’t even their first-choice goalkeeper. I feel warm and tingly inside. Surely, Jason Batty can’t continue this trend of unbeatable GKs. SURELY.
He cannot, and the first half is… well, let’s put it this way. If you’re a Norwich fan, it might be best if you skip this bit.
We go in 6-0 up at half time – that’s right. We put six first-half goals past a woeful Norwich who, by my count, have at least half their team playing out of position in order to accommodate Mitchell’s brain-dead formation. The damage is done in the time it takes to microwave a ready meal: with six minutes on the clock, Javan has met a Gascoigne pass to open the scoring and then crossed for Mike Duff to beat Batty in the air and double our lead. In the ninth minute, we’re 3-0 up – this time Gazza mops up a Javan attempt to get himself on the scoresheet, and this game already looks over. Unfortunately for Norwich, I have created a monster in Irthlingborough, a snarling cabal of merciless Canary-crushing renegades, and they simply won’t stop.
Javan rounds almost the entire Norwich team to score an outrageous solo goal in the 14th minute, then puts the ball on a plate for Sir Les to extend our lead further. And it’s not over yet – just before half time, Renner charges through on goal, the hapless Batty clips him on the way past, and it’s an obvious penalty. It’s only a booking for the Norwich GK, who was probably hoping for a red so he could just go home, but instead he’s forced to pick a Byron Bubb pen out of the net and make an appointment with his therapist for first thing tomorrow morning. Even though we’re 6-0 up, we continue to maraud forward and both Duff and Sir Les have further appeals for penalties before the half-time whistle, but our cretinous referee takes pity on Norwich and waves them both away. Just imagine if they’d both been given as well – 8-0 at half time? Absolute scenes.
With the game obviously over at the break, I swap Gazza for Jamie Davies and Farnerud for Sir Les, swapping him with Renner who goes up top. The old guard have done their job. The second half starts, and it is a little more even –Norwich have nothing to lose and create a few chances as a result, but Hugo is not content to play the part of spectator and makes wonderful saves from Ian Ashbee and Marc Libbra. Meanwhile, at the other end, Meysam Javan is on a hat-trick, and you all know what that means – so when Duff pings a 30-yard ball into the box for Renner and he flicks the ball up first time, you just know that Javan is going to arrive to hit a trademark thunderbastard half-volley past an emotionally crippled Batty for our seventh. Mercifully for the Canaries, my players decide that’s enough, and it’s our final goal of the afternoon. Thanks for coming, Norwich. It’s been a riot.
That’s a new record win for your mighty Diamonds, and our phenomenal goal difference means we continue to top the table. I let the lads out long enough to have a Blue WKD each, but that’s it. Despite being in the mood to celebrate, we’ve still got business to attend to. Tranmere Rovers are right on our heels, and our next two games see us travel to Bristol City and then welcome our bitter rivals Northampton Town to Nene Park, so there’s no time to waste. Get those balls out, Roar. We’ve got some drilling to do.
Mike Paul – buy him a coffee, give him some sponsorship, do what you can…
