Inspired by the work of Iain Macintosh, and with far too much time on his hands, Simon Furnivall has ventured back into the world of Football Manager-based storytelling. Last week saw his side actually win games and him become rather enamoured with winger Robert Evans. Will the love affair last?
“Aye, nice weather, I thought it rained constantly in Wales.” I was enjoying myself and started to consider whether this was something all managers should do, going round and shaking each fan by the hand. Perhaps a little impractical at Old Trafford, but with just twenty people scattered around Maes Tegid, it was worth the ten minutes it took.
It was also an opportune time to do it, on the back of two wins. Had I tried the same after the Carmarthen match, I may well have been met with a few choice words. Instead I was greeted with warmth and a few offers of sly alcoholic sustenance, which of course I accepted.
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My tactical talk to the team before I’d left them alone to motivate themselves in their uniquely Welsh manner had been one of Redknapp-esque simplicity.
“Give the ball to Robert. As often as possible.”
I was unafraid to admit that I was developing something of a crush on the ‘Welsh Messi’ (and I was secretly hoping that nickname caught on) as he continued to be the one shining light in the fight against relegation. With Chris Gethin injured, it was all upon the shoulders of Evans, and to my quite obvious delight (I may have squealed) he was up to the task.
In the 4th minute he raced down the right wing and delivered a cross which Danny Williams headed straight against Josh Macauley. The deflection wrong-footed the Llanelli ‘keeper and trickled over the line, and ten minutes later we had the unbridled joy of a two goal lead when Evans ran beyond the defence and lashed a shot into the bottom corner.
I may have said some regretful things as Llanelli fought back to 2-2 early in the second half, but I apologised for them all ten minutes from time when Evans proved that he truly was our saviour, crossing for Mike Thompson to head home the winner.
***
“It’s sat in the stands.”
“What is?”
“The reason we didn’t win today, didn’t even look like winning.”
“Are you openly admitting that you’re a one-man team.”
“Damn bloody right. When that man is Robert Evans, who wouldn’t be?”
His injury had hit us hard. A twisted ankle, nothing serious, but it had robbed us of our one creative threat. Against Port Talbort we hadn’t even mustered a shot on target, and after shipping four in front of a die-hard crowd of thirteen against Havorfordwest, I had no choice but to admit it. We were nothing without Robert.
I prayed long and hard that he would be back for the trip to Newtown, I even sacrificed a few sheep, but it was to no avail. We trudged into another game Evans-less, and I expected nothing other than a defeat. Marc Lloyd-Williams did little to dissuade me of that belief when he put the hosts into an eighth minute lead, but the fact that they seemed happy to sit on it, comfortable in our lack of invention, prolonged our slight sense of hope.
It was never going to be a pretty goal without Evans on the pitch, but an almighty punt up the field by Shaun Kelly put Macauely in the clear. He dithered, dallied and still had the time to pick his spot past Dave Roberts, such was the lack of pace in the Llanelli defence. It was our only shot on target (as opposed to the fifteen that our hosts managed) but it was enough for a point. Unfortunately, Airbus took all three against the mighty TNS and we were, once more, left rooted to the bottom of the table. That night felt like a good time to discover what copious amounts of Welsh whisky would do to me.
