Diamond Geezers, Episode 47: N’Diaye = Hard, With a Vengeance
We’re coming up for the international break, and there’s both good and worrying news. The good is that Byron Bubb has finally been recognised for almost two seasons of near-perfect performances with a call up to the England Under-21 squad. It’s a remarkable achievement for a player in Division Two, and I’ll certainly be encouraging him to tell Chris Kirkland, Titus Bramble and Joleon Lescott how great the housing options are in Irthlingborough. The down side of this news is that both games come right before the League Cup Final against Liverpool, so while I’m obviously delighted for young Byron, I also hope he doesn’t play too much. Fingers sort of crossed for you, buddy.
Eamonn Bannon, one of my more Scottish coaches, comes to see me in my office. He voices concerns over the fitness of Benjani after a poor showing in training today. Now, I have a decision to make here. Benjani has been a pain in my arse from day one with his proclamation that he already wants to move to a “bigger” club, as if that’s even possible, but I know full well that giving him a warning for unprofessional behaviour is going to upset him. Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t care less about making him upset, but my issue is that he might disrupt my squad with his whingeing. I briefly consider letting it go, but then snap out of it and realise that no player is bigger than me, or the mighty Diamonds. Professionalism is the very least that we expect here. I storm out onto the pitch, drag him aside and hand him an official warning.
I take it all back. You’re a rough diamond, Benny. We love you.
The good news keeps on rolling in. Despite Assane N’Diaye telling me that he didn’t want to leave Shakhtar and was worried about differences in language and lifestyle if he moved to Nene Park, my expert negotiating skills, ability to really understand and empathise with the needs and feelings of young professional footballers, plus £22,000 per week and a massive goal/assist bonus seems to have convinced him that his future is white and blue. I knew I could do it. He agrees to join us, work permit pending. Get your stamps out, DWP. This lad is dynamite.
Okay: enough good news. It’s time for the second leg of the Vans Trophy South Final against Wycombe. Last time out, we struggled through to take them down by a score of 4–2, with their two goals only really happening because Hugo was having a day off in goal. Today, all my best players are back in the team except for Benjani, who’s at 72% after basically not showing up for training — but that’s ok. Meysam is back, and Sir Les was always here. We just need to not completely wet the bed, and we should be in the Vans Trophy Final proper. Keep it tight, chaps.
Three minutes in, I realise that I’ve accidentally left Rob Green in goal and Pinheiro on the bench. “You deserve it, Rob!”, I shout, while saying a quiet prayer that he doesn’t completely banjax me. Fortunately, Javan and Sir Les are into the action early, testing Martin Taylor in the Wycombe goal, but after 29 minutes, disaster strikes. Big Billy, our captain and mightiest hero, goes down injured — and since I’ve only got Kalvenes on the bench, who I really don’t trust at centre-half, I introduce Mad Dog McKinlay and shift Mahouvé into the back four alongside Lucic. He won’t care; as long as he gets to assault someone, he’ll be happy.
Unfortunately, it spells the beginning of a very good period for Wycombe, and Carter, Devine and Bacon all manage to conjure shots on target — but Green flies around his goal palming and parrying everything away, completely justifying his very deliberate selection. It’s a top performance from my second stopper, and we reach the break level at 0–0 — but with Wycombe having the better of it overall.
At half time, I decide to go for rigidity over flair. I cancel my full backs’ forward runs and tell them to man-mark Wycombe’s wingers, while also telling Mad Dog to give as many dead legs to Micah Hyde as he can without getting sent off. The second half starts quietly, which is exactly what I want — until Byron Bubb tears into the box, tries to go around Taylor, but the Chairboys keeper wipes him out! It’s a penalty, and while Bubb is collecting the ball, our wonderful, beautiful referee sends Taylor off for a professional foul. Wycombe reserve keeper Mark Osborn comes on for Sean Devine, but there’s nothing he can do about Bubb’s pen, and he makes the score 5–2 on aggregate.
The red basically ends Wycombe’s participation in the game, so on 70 minutes I make my protectorate subs to keep Gazza and Sir Les fresh for our upcoming games, and in the last minute, Møller — on for Ferdinand — hits a taking-the-piss effort from fully 35 yards that creams past Osborn and seals our passage to the Vans Trophy Final. Never in doubt.
Costacurta has twisted his knee and will be out for two weeks, which mercifully looks like will be fine for the League Cup Final. Thank goodness. You rest up, Billy — you probably weren’t going to play over the next few matches anyway. The news rolls in that we’ll play Chesterfield in the Vans Trophy Final on 20th April — it’ll be a lovely curtain-jerker to end the season. We’ll have already secured a double by then, so we’ll be in full-on party mode.
There’s more good international news for my players, as Aiden McVeigh remains in Northern Ireland’s U21s and Marcel Mahouvé makes the Cameroon squad. Again though, Mahouvé’s game is only four days before the League Cup Final… if he gets injured, I will be apoplectic.
Morten Knutsen comes to me to tell me he’s unhappy with training again. You’re not even taking training any more! That’s it — I’ve had quite enough of this nonsense. Consider yourself transfer listed and poleaxed to the reserves forever. I just don’t understand why you’d become a professional footballer and then complain constantly about training, even when you’re not made to attend it. Some would say it’s a bug in the software; I’d say Knutsen is a grade-A berk.
I’m really not in the mood for the games against Stockport and Wrexham, our final two league fixtures before the biggest match in our history. I rotate my team entirely and let the game go right ahead, no messing around. First up: Stockport. Let’s take care of them nice and quickly, please.
Well, it’s an eventful first half. Both teams notch from their first shots on target to tie the score at 1–1 after just seven minutes, but the real story starts half an hour later. Mad Dog McKinlay, snarling and shuddering with rage as usual, squares up to Stephen Clemence and shoves him in the chest! It seems perfectly reasonable to me, but not to our cretinous referee, who shows McKinlay a straight red card and puts us down to ten men. I sigh and carry on as normal — we’re missing a DMC, but I’d rather go all out to win rather than try to defend a draw for an entire half.
Whenever we really need a hero, there’s one man that consistently steps into the breach. No matter how much or how little he plays, his commitment to the Rushden and Diamonds cause should never be understated. That man is the Great Dane, Peter Møller, and… well. We’re playing the whole second half a man down, and this is what happens. When he finally retires, he’s getting his own marble bust in the Nene Park Hall of Fame.
The board are delighted with the win, and I graciously accept their praise before going down to the showers and leaving a bar of mahogany and bergamot soap in a little gift bag next to Møller’s locker. He’s earned it, the musky giant.
While I’m down there, I notice Gazza curled up in a ball on the physio’s table. Aware that this might be some kind of prank, I go over and shoot a glance at physio Derek Alexander, who tells me he’s torn his calf, and is going to be out for the rest of the season. It’s a hammer blow — our Geordie trickster is the irregular heartbeat of my midfield, and even though he’s clearly getting close to the end of his playing career, I’m certain he would have started the League Cup Final. I hand him his waders, and close the door gently behind me.
Right then, Wrexham. I’ve put Ronaldo in the team and brought Phillip Creaney up from the reserves to have a nice sit on the bench. Nice and easy now please, everyone. A win here means guaranteed promotion, but that’s been a foregone conclusion for a long time. Let’s just get this over with.
The first half unfortunately shows that Richard Gough, our almighty Scottish Zeus, is finally past it. Lee Trundle makes mincemeat out of him to score twice for Wrexham, and though he’s grateful to Eddie Forrest and Chris Brandon, who both score to keep the game level as we go in for half time, his first-half score of 5 is enough for me to hook him for Victory, with Kalvenes moving to centre-half. It’s a shame, but inevitable — though he isn’t the only one who isn’t performing. I chuck young Creaney on for Farnerud as we start the second half, and I have to say, he’s very impressive — making some excellent runs from midfield, winning tackles and headers, and even pops up to tuck home a rebound to put us 3–2 up! After that, Wrexham tire, and my reserve force pushes forward to plunder a couple more goals from the hopeless Mark Crossley in the Red Dragons’ goal, and with that, our first big target of the season is secured: we’re champions, and your mighty Diamonds will be playing Division One football next season, guaranteed!
England U21s beat Northern Ireland U21s 2–1 in a tale of two Diamonds — Aiden McVeigh gets the goal for Norn Irn, but Byron Bubb doesn’t even make the bench for the Young Lions. I can’t pretend I’m not happy; McVeigh is a sparkling prospect, and Bubb is one of my most important midfielders who I really didn’t want to get injured on international duty. He can’t come home quickly enough. The same goes for Marcel, who I’m delighted to hear only plays 53 minutes for Cameroon against South Africa, and comes back at 100% fitness. Thank goodness for that.
In transfer news, I’m forced to increase my offer for Azar Karadas in a deal I don’t think will go through before the transfer window closes next week. Also, Matt Le Tissier agrees an end-of-contract move to Kilmarnock — he won’t be missed — and a 17-year-old Braintree midfielder I’ve been tracking is offered a contract by… Sparta Rotterdam?! I check his Transfer page, and he’s also being scouted by Colombus Crew and Crystal Palace. I have unwittingly unearthed a gem. I ask Susan to send his parents a gift basket of the silkiest oils and creams to accompany my £325 per week contract.
The transfer window snaps shut on my fingers, and my entire deal for Assane N’Diaye is completely cancelled. Why? Why cancel it? Just put it off until the window re-opens! Fuming, I go back to Shakhtar to renegotiate the entire process. What a waste of time. If someone else tries to nick him while my back is turned, I’m going to be livid.
We’re fast approaching the League Cup Final, and I await the customary injuries that usually accompany such an occasion. With four days to go, Billy McKinlay goes down for ten days with a gashed head; of course he does. Fortunately though, that’s all there is, and Costacurta returns to full fitness just in time for me to wrap the entire squad in cotton wool and bundle them onto Chugger for the long drive to Cardiff.
Next time, we play Liverpool, at the Millennium Stadium, in the League Cup Final.
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