This is episode 36, so you have an awful lot of catching up to do…
“Gaffer? Gaffer!” shouts Roar, as I attempt to retreat to my office to introduce myself to the gorgeous decanter of bourbon that’s sprawled across my desk. “The press are here, they want to talk to you!”
I dread talking to the press, vultures that they are, but despite my reservations, they’re actually here to do me a favour. They’re interested in talking more about Chris Plummer, who’s still complaining to anyone that’ll listen – namely the red tops, who have little else to do – that he’s unhappy about having to actually earn a first-team place rather than just be handed one. In light of their interest, I realise I have an opportunity to get rid of the moany ballbag, and so I tell them he’s officially being transfer listed for £1.5m. Instantly, Crewe, Everton and Sunderland mark themselves down as interested. Mission accomplished.
The cups are all well underway now, and following our demolition of Newcastle last time, we’re back on the road for our League Cup fourth-round clash. Stoke City aren’t a Premier League team in 2002, and in fact were only promoted to Division One through the playoffs last season. Despite being noobs in the league, they’re actually making a pretty good fist of it so far, settling themselves into an impressively average mid-table position after 18 games.
Although Stoke are technically above us on the great football ladder, it’s hard to feel intimidated by their squad. Literally half of their starting team is from Iceland, but they’re less plucky internationals and more bargain bin at the budget supermarket. This is probably due to their manager being ‘Chicken’ Gudjon Thordarson, a fellow native. I reckon if we turn up and do a professional job, we should be able to make off with a few bags of frozen peas and a ticket to the last eight.
After my reserves won last time out against Dulwich Hamlet, all my heavy hitters return to the side. It’s a familiar starting team to any Rushden Ultras, and in particular, I’m looking forward to seeing Mike Duff vs Matty Taylor down our right flank. The most experienced centre-half pairing in world football will anchor my back line, while I hope that Gazza, Bubb and Andersson will continue to provide the ammo for Javan and Sir Les to fire us into the next round.
Two minutes are on the clock, and Costacurta is on the ball. He strokes the ball left to Kalvenes, our Norse crusader plunders his way down the left flank, crosses for Javan, he smashes a half volley that keeper Thordur Thordarson can only parry, and Gazza!! GAZZA IS THERE! It’s 1-0 Diamonds! And that’s not the end – Thordur, son of Thordar, is having a shocking opener in the Stoke nets, and when Martin Andersson lobs the ball into the six yard box, you better believe that Sir Les climbs highest and nods home our second! There are just three minutes on the clock and we’re already 2-0 ahead!
Sadly, Thordarson, our 12th man and presumably the manager’s brother or perhaps son, goes down with an injury in the 11th minute and is forced off. He’s replaced by the greatest substitute goalkeeper in the world, Neil Cutler, who proceeds to prove that he should have started the game by summarily saving from Gough, Gazza, Javan twice and Sir Les before the half time whistle goes. The Potters have had a couple of efforts, but only one on target, so we go in at the break two goals to the good and bossing this game. Bubb and Gough are both on 6s at half time, but I decide not to rock the boat too much, and send the lads back out for the second period.
It doesn’t start brilliantly. Stoke have rallied at the break and come out firing; in the first ten minutes, both Bjarni Gudjohnsen and Carlos Marinelli have hit the bar, and my defence are groaning under the pressure. Shortly after, Bubb stops the rot and hits a volley that Cutler turns away, but then Stoke are back again – this time it’s striker Rikhardur Dadason who’s having a go, first narrowly missing the target when clean through on goal, then forcing Pinheiro into a flying stop to hold our advantage. It looks like it’s just a matter of time before we concede, and I press Tactics to make my changes – but before I can, bloody Meysam Javan has rifled in a trademark half-volley, Cutler has made yet another save, but this time Mike Duff has given up defending and arrives in the area to bash home the rebound! It’s 3-0, against the run of play, and I decide that’ll do – Gough and Bubb, still both on 6s, make way for Reid and Brandon, and I attempt to close the game down.
However, my subs are bad luck charms, and immediately, Gudjohnsen loses Reid inside the area and drills a low shot past Pinheiro to reduce the deficit to 3-1. There are about 15 minutes to go, including stoppages. Fearing a last-minute collapse, I make my final change – Bagayoko comes on for the tiring Gascoigne, Mahouvé moves up into centre-mid, and is told to put in one or two robust challenges in on Gudjohnsen in the closing stages to try to neuter a Stoke comeback. It works, there are no further chances, and the game finally, mercifully ends with a 3-1 victory for your mighty Diamonds. Thank goodness for that.
Agonisingly, Crewe go down to Sunderland in extra time, so our quarter-final date is set: we’re off to Wearside in just two weeks’ time. However, there’s no time at all to think about it because while we’re still on the bus home, I’m forced to consider the visit of Cardiff City. I’m glad I told the lads not to get changed from Stoke, because we’re going to have to run straight through Chugger’s smelly doors and directly onto the pitch at Nene Park.
The Bluebirds are clearly the favourite team of any neutral Second Division fans: they’re 10th in the league, they’ve scored as many goals as second-placed Tranmere, but they’ve also conceded more than bottom-of-the-table Cambridge United. They’re a team that you can’t even begin to prepare for; goalkeeper Roddy McKenzie is theoretically rubbish, but strikers Rob Earnshaw and Peter Thorne are absolute dynamite. I pause for thought, consider my plans, then write ‘attack AND defend’ on my tactical magnetic whiteboard.
I’m forced to make some changes from Stoke. Gazza is busted, so Jamie Davies comes in. In fact, my whole midfield needs to change, so Brandon and Farnerud take their places either side of him. Goughy is tiring and deteriorating, so I give Reid a start alongside Costacurta; Jamie Victory will attempt to shackle Cardiff’s arch-creator Jason Fowler (15 assists in 22); Sir Les is knackered so Renner will take over up front; and Marcel the Destroyer will be tasked with sending José Ricardo Duno back to Venezuela for an extended holiday. Hold onto your pants, everyone. I’ve got a feeling this could be a doozy.
The first nine minutes go by with no commentary, and the mood is tense. Finally, your mighty Diamonds are on the ball: Javan chips it right, in the direction of Mike Duff. Duffer lays it inside to Brandon, who squares again for Davies. Davies strides forward, looks up, slides a ball ahead of Victor Renner, and my new third-favourite striker latches on to it and batters past McKenzie to give us an early lead! We love an early lead these days, and you know what we love more? An early double-lead, and my team duly oblige – Brandon beats the traitorous Danny Granville down the right and lobs a cross to the far post, and Renner is there again to nod home our second with just 15 minutes on the clock!
Another unbelievable start, but Cardiff aren’t going to have that, and their bizarre team suddenly spring into life. Left winger Leon Jeanne goes on a mazy run that my midfield can’t stop, and he eventually thumps a shot from the edge of the box that flies past Pinheiro for 2-1. I am perturbed, and for good reason – just a few minutes later, Fowler wriggles away from Jamie Victory down the right and crosses for none other than Duno, who I can’t believe has managed to escape the attention of Mahouvé, to blast a shot high into the top corner that Hugo can’t reach. As quickly as we were two goals up, it’s 2-2, and my carefully planned tactics are about as useful as a Wetherspoons wine list. I shout furiously at my players to stop letting goals in and start scoring them again, because that’s the way to win football matches. Realising their error, Renner, Mahouvé, Brandon, Duff and Farnerud put together an absurd team move that rips Cardiff apart, eventually feeding the ball into the feet of Meysam Javan, and he smashes a low shot past McKenzie to put us 3-2 up and conclude a bonkers first half.
Having absolutely no idea what to do at half time, I do what any great manager would do: nothing. The second half kicks off, and it’s like two heavyweights with massive paws and no guards slugging each other in the face. McKenzie saves from Mahouvé, then Pinheiro saves from Fowler. Javan catches a trademark half-volley that ricochets back off the bar, then Earnshaw has a point-blank header saved by Hugo. With both teams trading blows in a pitched battle and Cardiff’s forwards attempting to cause havoc, it must be said that Mahouvé and Costacurta are like Roman gladiators, flying into tackles and headers all over the pitch. It’s a tense finish and I’m more sweat than man as Pinheiro saves again from Hughes and launches an instant counter-attack: Bubb, on as a sub, collects the clearance, advances forwards, then feeds Javan in the box – he takes a touch and finally, thank goodness, bonks a final speculative effort goalwards that beats McKenzie. It’s 4 -2, and after a match that I feel like I’ve been playing all afternoon, we’ve squirmed out with a win. Jesus. I need a bath.
After returning from my Matey bubble adventure, I settle down to check my mail, and there’s dreadful news. Gazza has torn his groin – I decide not to ask how – and will be out for three months. We’ve got Sunderland in the League Cup quarter-final after our next game against Cambridge, so he’ll be devastated, and so am I. Shorn of my best midfielder, I glance out of the window at the Nene Way training and five-star hotel complex, and notice Karlie Pflipsen moping around, upset that he isn’t a first-team regular. Well Karlie, you’ve been god awful so far this season, but it’s your lucky day. I’ll give you another chance, but I’m also promoting Mattias Andersson to train with the seniors, and I don’t want to see any bellyaching.
In other transfer news, good old Exeter City offer me the princely sum of £0 for Gary Setchell, a generous offer that I wholeheartedly accept. At the same time, my newest end-of-contract player arrives. I only signed him because I was going to re-train him as my starting left-back, and I’ve signed two much better ones since then, but regardless – welcome, Morten!
And while the revolving door is still spinning, we kick Gary Setchell into it, and that’s the end of his tenure at Nene Park. An interloper from the very start, he’s finally gone, and Morten Knutsen will take his place in the reserves. What’s that, Morten? You’re unhappy with training already?
Fantastic.
Mike Paul – buy him a coffee, give him some sponsorship, do what you can…
