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. In the penultimate part of his journey into the depths of Welsh football, we find Simon still battling to save Bala Town from relegation.
There were still flecks of dried blood crusted onto my desk. Evidently Bala’s budget did not extend to a cleaning service. I hadn’t spent much time in my office since my little visit to check out the state of the local NHS, but now I was sat at my desk, the room growing darker and a large whisky in front of me. I had tried to avoid submitting to cliché, but alcoholism was a handy escape mechanism.
Trending
There was a quiet knock on the door as it opened and Steve crept into the darkness. He flicked on the light, disturbing a few of the flies in doing so, but as soon as he saw my face screwed up against the brightness he turned it back off.
“Come on, boss. No one expected five goals, let alone five wins. You’ve worked miracles with these boys.”
“Could do with some of that ‘water into wine’ stuff about now. Whisky’s running low.”
“Josh Macauley has scored six goals. Six actual goals. Round here that’s about as good as winning the Champions League. Three times. In a row.”
“Still going to get relegated though, aren’t we?”
“Probably, but how about this. We actually try to win some of these last ten games. If we do, you’re a saint, if we don’t, you can drink yourself into as early a grave as you want. Deal?”
“Sounds fair.”
“And today’s the cup, anyway.”
***
Just four weeks earlier I had been giddy with excitement. Our fifth win of the season had propelled us out of the relegation zone, and even more than that, it was an actual win away from home. Neath had been the hosts, but they had suffered at the hands of Robert Evans, the wing wizard scoring the first and setting up the second in a 2-0 win.
True, most teams had figured out our ‘get the ball to Robert’ tactic and his effectiveness had been dulled when he had three men marking him, but just occasionally he still broke through. Coming on the back of a 3-0 win over our relegation rivals, Prestatyn, the win over Neath meant that, for the first time since taking over this tiny excuse for a football club, I actually had hope that we might survive.
It’s the hope that kills you though.
Aberystwyth were a mere mid table mediocrity when we visited them after slaying Neath, and when Macauley scored the sort of goal of which few strikers of any level of competence would be proud, I was ready to crown myself King of the Valleys and march on into managerial greatness. I was put back in my place, however, as Lewis Codling, an arrogant little git with that ‘I was at a Premier League academy’ swagger to him, scored twice before half time. By the time they added a third my head was buried firmly in my hands.
Onwards and upwards though, with a visit from Camarthen, and once again Macauley gave us the lead. Once again we lost it though, and went on to lose the game; a combination we were beginning to specialise in. A defeat against Bangor City, who had played 84 minutes of the game with only ten men, ten days later confirmed my slump into depression and a cast iron certainty that the light at the end of the tunnel was the oncoming train of relegation.
***
I did my best to make myself look presentable as I headed down to the pitch for our latest humiliation. I’d never heard of Hawarden Rangers – I suspect that few people in Hawarden knew of their existence – but I was fairly convinced that they were about to knock us out of the cup. I was almost right.
Goals from Tony Roberts and Matthew Pennock had put them two in front by half time, but my team talk of “cheers” as I sank another whisky and slumped my head against the wall was clearly inspirational. Mike Thompson netted twice before the end to pull us level, and then again in extra time to put us ahead. Unfortunately, Pennock had his eyes on a penalty shoot out and tied the scores once more, but two goals from Mark Jones in the last minute of the extra thirty saw us safely through and into the quarter final. God only knows what horror awaited us there.
