Diamond Geezers, Episode 59: Legend Alert
It’s just a blip. It’s definitely just a blip. We haven’t been playing badly, we just aren’t blowing teams away in the manner that I’m used to. We will pull ourselves around if we just keep doing what we’re doing. I’m sure of it. Don’t worry about the fact that I’ve paced around my office so fervently that I’ve worn a circle in the carpet. We’ve got Wimbledon next, who are second-bottom of the league — it should be a game where we can get ourselves back on track. Then again, the games in which we’ve looked so unconvincing this season are the ones we’ve played against sides either in, or near, the relegation zone. It’s starting to make me nervous.
I think the biggest problem is that my “second” string, who have been so reliable in our climb up the divisions, aren’t able to regularly do the business any more. Unfortunately, with all the fixtures we’ve got to face due our foray into European competition, I need a very good first team, and an equally good second team… and right now, that’s not what we’ve got. My bid for Tobias Hysén is still in, who’d be a brilliant addition to my midfield rotation, but if things don’t pick up over the next few games, I’m going to have to start being ruthless with the likes of Brandon, Gatti and Davies, who are decent hands, but not the stars we need.
And so, to Selhurst Park we go, where Alan Pardew’s Chunky Gang — sorry, Crazy Gang — will greet us for what is a pretty important game considering our recent form. We’re only just behind top-of-the-table Wolves by two points, but with a game in hand, so we can regain our rightful spot at the summit as long as we keep winning. And in all honesty, we should be able to see our way past the Dons, who are not putting out a vintage side; their position in the league reflects the players they’ve got at their disposal. No longer the team of Fashanu, Ekoku and Jones, they are instead led by Luke Beckett and David Connolly, who are by no means awful footballers, but certainly aren’t legendary wearers of the famous blue and yellow that the Wimbledon faithful are used to seeing.
I’m tempted to feel overconfident, but instead, I’m pensive. I decide a return to my 4–3–1–2 is going to be the order of the day, particularly because Baggio is available, and statistically he’s been our best player so far this season. Ignore the red cards for slapping innocent men in the chops and instead focus on his four goals and seven assists in 12 games — and we’ll need him today, since Javan also needs a rest, so Sir Les and Møller will anchor my front line and do everything they can to get on the end of Il Divino’s laser-guided set pieces. Marcel Mahouvé is also tired and needs a rest, so the impressive Rhys Weston will come into midfield to replace him.
I’m happy to report that the first half is basically all us, but annoyed to have to tell you that we come in for the break at 0–0 after another spectacular performance from an opposition goalkeeper. This time it’s Jamie Pilkington who contrives to ruin the first part of my day with saves from Baggio, Bubb and Sir Les. The post also comes to the Crazy Gang’s rescue, denying Baggio twice from free kicks, and just as my long, constant scream has reached a note that is causing the glass in the dugout to crack, Møller goes down injured and has to be replaced by Javan. Not a dreadful swap, granted, but I really, really wanted to be ahead by half time with the players I lined up with from the start.
There’s basically an inquest at half time, where I carefully analyse everything that’s happened in the first period in an attempt to glean any kind of advantage in the second. I notice that the Dons’ right back, Damien O’Rourke, is having a stinker — so I tell Kalvenes to be more adventurous down our left flank, and also instruct my central players to pass the ball left more often to try to exploit that potential weakness. I restart, feeling good about my new tactics. We’re in with a shot here.
Two minutes into the half, Martin Andersson shoves Michael Hughes over and is sent off.
Another f — king red card. It’s almost more than I can stand. Why are my players sabotaging me like this? Have I got them wound up so tightly that they can’t stop themselves from acting out violence in virtually every game? There’s not much to do except go for a triangle in midfield, with Weston in DMC and Bubb/Baggio ahead of him — and bizarrely, we look even better with a man missing. Javan blazes an effort over the bar in what is becoming a bit of a trademark move for him, but it’s not long before Ben Dixon gets down the right and pings a cross to the far post where Javan heads down for an onrushing Byron Bubb to bash home his 5th goal of the season and finally give us the lead we deserve.
I collapse into a heap in my technical area just as Wimbledon, as noted by the commentary, begin to take “fewer risks”, which definitely seems like a mistake considering their numerical advantage — and so it comes to pass, as Weston robs Nielsen in midfield and clears the ball to Javan, 25 yards from goal. My favourite Swede looks to Row Z, sets himself, and smashes a ball towards them — but he mishits it beautifully, and the ball instead flies past Pilkington from range to put us 2–0 up.
I take the hint and make some subs to consolidate our lead; Baggio makes way for Gatti and Mahouvé comes on for Sir Les, leaving Javan as a lone striker. It works, and Wimbledon can’t do anything to get past my defensive players, who, it has to be said, are immense for the remainder of the game. Rosário especially, who has completed his comeback from that nightmare debut to compete with Javan for MotM, and eventually we run out 2–0 winners. Thank the good lord baby Jesus for that.
Møller is out for three weeks and Andersson is banned for the Newcastle League Cup game (of course) following his red card. I appeal, but expect nothing from the FA, of course. In fact, in Champ Manager history, I don’t think I’ve ever known a suspension to be overturned on appeal. If this is our time, I’ll let you know.
Meanwhile, several of my active bids are accepted. First, Braga accept my bid for Tó Madeira but he’s flat out not interested. I offer him a ridiculous contract anyway because I need that man in my life. Prospective troublemaker Nelson Vivas, two years after I tried to sign him while in Division Three, asks for a relatively meagre contract to sign for us from Inter Milan until the end of the season, so I offer it. Ben Dixon has a lot of potential, and played really well against Wimbledon, but he’s still very young and shouldn’t be in a position where he needs to be my main deputy for Mike Duff. Vivas, and his potential to add to my squad’s sulkiness and red cards tally, seems like the perfect man to take the pressure off him.
Swansea also accept my paltry offer for Simon Rusk, a very promising-looking DMC I’ve had my eye on for a while. Considered in some quarters to be an underrated CM01/02 stalwart, Rusk is only 22 but has tremendous numbers in key areas — anyone with 20s for Aggression, Bravery, Crossing and Strength will do well in my defensive central midfield position. Plus, he’s available for £350k and is happy as a Hot Prospect with half the wages that bloody Bernard Lama was on, so I fax my offer over and wring my hands impatiently. Sheffield Wednesday and West Ham are also in for him, so this will be a test of his ambitions. Do the right thing, lad.
In other news…
Wankers.
As you can see, Susan also drops me a note to tell me that my earlier offer for Källström is accepted, but he says he still won’t leave Häcken under any circumstances. I offer him a reasonable contract anyway, but accept my likely defeat.
There’s no time for anyone to accept my generous goal bonuses before we welcome the future sailors of Manchester City to Nene Park for our next Division One game. Farnerud and Benjani are both still injured, plus we’ve lost Møller to a twisted knee and Baggio is suspended. Without Il Codino, we drop back to our 4–1–3–2 and reintroduce Marcel the Destroyer into DMC to try to kill (probably) Grant Brebner before the day is out. I also swap my full-backs for the sake of freshness, but keep Couto and Rosário at centre-half as a reward for their outstanding performances against Wimbledon. Up front, Samba returns to partner Javan as I’m starting to really worry about the decline of Sir Les, and I need my young steed to step up in his place. I have a lot of confidence in the lad.
City arrive with former Rushden favourite Tarkan Mustafa very likely to start at right-back, but there’s trouble in paradise at Maine Road by the looks of it…
We’ll take him out to the Queen’s Head after the game and find out what’s going on there.
Although Jobi McAnuff and Paulo Wanchope combine to give me seizures in the opening ten minutes, it’s not long before we are on top. Javan and Gatti test Lee Harper in the City goal before eventually our pressure tells: Jamie Victory plunders down the left flank, as is his wont, and crosses low for the now-redeemed Martin Andersson to arrive and mop up to give us a slender 1–0 lead. We then have yet another penalty appeal waved away after 25 minutes in another example of referees clearly being instructed by the Football Association to stitch us up, and to be honest, my nerves could have done with a two-goal cushion, because the remainder of the half is more like a basketball game — each side pepper each other’s goals, finishing with 15 total shots on target between them, but thanks to some outstanding parrying by our respective keepers, we come in at half time with our lead intact.
The second half is more of the same, but you’ll be as delighted as my cardiologist to hear that our pressure eventually tells, and my defensive players are straight-up heroes. Firstly, I’m forced to throw the angry letter I’m writing to Mark Palios straight into the bin as Jobi McAnuff fouls Mahouvé in the box and our referee, Bradley Foreman, kindly awards us a penalty. Byron “The Terminator” Bubb steps up confidently and smashes the spot kick past Harper for 2–0 — and after a period of almost constant pressure, Bubb swings over a corner that Rosário rises to head home for his first ever Diamonds goal, right in front of the Peter De Banke Terrace! They’re still celebrating as Javan gathers a loose ball after the restart, beats Jamie Clapham, then hammers a rocket at Harper that he can only push away — but our nippy Player of the Year gets on the end of his own rebound to tuck home our fourth. My defenders, plus Mahouvé and Weston when he comes on, are enormous at the back, making key tackles and headers all over the place — and a special mention must go to Pinheiro, who has defied his critics (me) by making seven tremendous saves in that game. Danny Tiatto will be crying himself to sleep tonight.
Thank goodness — we’re back on track. Still allowing a few too many shots on target for my liking, but at the end of the day, a 4–0 win and a clean sheet is not something to get all knicker-knotted about.
Simon Rusk tears his groin almost clean off the night before he accepts my contract offer ahead of West Ham’s, but sadly, the board cancel the transfer after he obviously fails his medical. Sorry, Rusky. Maybe we’ll come back for you in the summer, if you can walk.
I’m about to close the office down for the evening. It’s late, I’m tired, we’ve got to go to Germany in the morning, and I’m looking forward to getting home and cuddling up with a nice glass of Vermouth. Just as I turn out the lights and reach for my jacket, the fax machine lights up and lets out its familiar binary screech. I decide to stay and see what the news is. Has Rusk had a groin transplant already?
The page slowly, agonisingly prints downwards. My eyes widen and widen as it becomes clear what is happening. We’ve spent three million of our pounds, but… we’ve got him. By the hammer of Zeus, we’ve bloody well got him.
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