It started as just another quiet day in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. I had just arrived at the facilities of the Harrisburg City Islanders, as small United Soccer League club with whom I was employed as an assistant coach. From the outset I knew that it wasn't going to be an especially happy day. The team was mired in a 10 game winless skid. The fanbase, tiny though it was, was getting restless and had threatened to boycott the games. George Howard, the manager and my boss, was firmly on the hot seat. Thus, I wasn't expecting things to be all sunshine and kittens when I arrived on the Island, but nothing could have prepared me for what was to happen.
It was typical for me to meet with George the day after a game, and I knew that he would likely be his normal irate self on this morning. The team had just returned last night from a 4-0 drubbing at the hands of the Wilmington Hammerheads. As I strolled to the office, I immediately noticed that most of the training staff refused to look me in the eye, let alone say good-morning. There was more going on than post loss withdraw. As I arrived in George's office he immediately motioned for me to take a seat at his desk. As I sat, I, in a vain attempt to break the silence said, "Rough one last night, eh George?"
"Indeed it was a rough one Rob, and we can't let this continue," George said forcefully, cutting me off. "I'm under authorization from the general manager to make any changes that I feel to be necessary for the well-being of this club."
"Well Georgie," I said "let's get at it then, where do you think we should begin?"
"The primary problem is our lack of funding, we can't bring in any good players to be competitive in this league without money, and the board has already committed all that they were willing to commit." George explained firmly.
"Well, I don't really see how we can work around that, unless we start scouting and bringing in some cheaper players." I responded in an effort to be helpful.
George, who must have expected this response, continued unblinkingly: "The decision as to our next step has already been made, and it involves you."
"Me!?" I practically spat, "I can't fathom how I can be of any use in this situation George. Do you want to explain?"
"It's quite simple Rob, we received an offer from a club to buy out your contract, they want to hire you on as their manager, Congratulations!"
As I heard this, I practically jumped with joy, me, a manager! I was curious as to who the team was though, thinking it was likely a USL Development team like Ocean City, but that didn't really matter. I was going to have my own team!
"Wow George, Thanks!" I said, trying to cover my emotion as much as possible and ultimately failing. "Which club is it?"
George got this wry grin on his face, and my heart immediately fell. "This must be a joke, it has to be," I thought internally.
"Chimney Corner, a Northern Irish League 2 team, they have been in a pretty sorry run over the last few seasons, and nobody on the planet seems to be willing to take the job." George was practically laughing at this point, which led me to continue to believe that this was still a very elaborate joke.
"Come on George, you're not serious, are you?" I asked, rather exasperated, as I'd been through pretty much every emotion possible in the last 45 seconds. "Why would a club from Northern Ireland want an American assistant coach from some rank team in a run down city?"
"I am serious, and the answer is quite simple." George was now in some weird mix of being amused and being matter-of-fact, it was quite bewildering to watch. "As I said, Chimney Corner has struggled mightily over the last few seasons, and it's been really hard for them to find a manager who wants to rebuild the mess, which is why they've offered us good money for the rights to you."
"How bad are we talking?" I asked, reaching for a glass of water.
"They have a combined record of 7-13-68 over the last three seasons."
The water that I had been drinking was now all over George's desk, "George, are you serious? That's 34 points in 88 games! They literally average .38 points per game! You can't expect me to go there, it's career suicide."
http://i1333.photobucket.com/albums/w625/chrisrippeon57/ChimneyCorner1_zps2c30508e.jpg
(They really are quite bad)
"I'm afraid you don't have much choice." George suddenly looked extremely grim. "The fans are demanding a change here, and we need the funds." "I can't make you accept the job at Chimney Corner, but if you don't take it, I'm afraid i'm going to have to fire you in order to pacify the fans."
My bewilderment and shock now turned to venom. "I understand now George, you're going to make me the scapegoat for this ten-game skid, you're untouchable because of how much ownership spent to bring you here, but me, I'm just a lowly assistant, so of course no one cares if I'm out." "Ultimately though, people will realize that it's been your rank coaching that has drug us this far down! A five-year old wouldn't have managed to drop a game to Wilmington 4-0."
George looked calm, but his eyes now blazed with some form of hatred I'd yet to see in his normally muted face."Fine, Rob, you can think what you want, you are done here either way, but I need to know if you are going to take the Chimney Corner post or not."
At this point I took a moment and thought, would an assistant who got fired from a low-level American team really have another chance of getting a job of their own. Chimney Corner might be a horrifying post, but at least it would be a post of my own.
"George, I can't approve of what you have done here, but you can call them and tell them that I'll take the job." Then, in an effort to throw in another pot shot I said "I hope you enjoy the money, because you wouldn't be able to put together a quality football team with entire budget of the US Military."
I could tell that George wanted to respond in kind, but he simply said, "I'll let them know, they'll likely be in contact with you tomorrow. Now please, you know where the door is."
As I left George's office, it hit me, and I could only think to myself, "what the heck have I gotten myself into?"
It was typical for me to meet with George the day after a game, and I knew that he would likely be his normal irate self on this morning. The team had just returned last night from a 4-0 drubbing at the hands of the Wilmington Hammerheads. As I strolled to the office, I immediately noticed that most of the training staff refused to look me in the eye, let alone say good-morning. There was more going on than post loss withdraw. As I arrived in George's office he immediately motioned for me to take a seat at his desk. As I sat, I, in a vain attempt to break the silence said, "Rough one last night, eh George?"
"Indeed it was a rough one Rob, and we can't let this continue," George said forcefully, cutting me off. "I'm under authorization from the general manager to make any changes that I feel to be necessary for the well-being of this club."
"Well Georgie," I said "let's get at it then, where do you think we should begin?"
"The primary problem is our lack of funding, we can't bring in any good players to be competitive in this league without money, and the board has already committed all that they were willing to commit." George explained firmly.
"Well, I don't really see how we can work around that, unless we start scouting and bringing in some cheaper players." I responded in an effort to be helpful.
George, who must have expected this response, continued unblinkingly: "The decision as to our next step has already been made, and it involves you."
"Me!?" I practically spat, "I can't fathom how I can be of any use in this situation George. Do you want to explain?"
"It's quite simple Rob, we received an offer from a club to buy out your contract, they want to hire you on as their manager, Congratulations!"
As I heard this, I practically jumped with joy, me, a manager! I was curious as to who the team was though, thinking it was likely a USL Development team like Ocean City, but that didn't really matter. I was going to have my own team!
"Wow George, Thanks!" I said, trying to cover my emotion as much as possible and ultimately failing. "Which club is it?"
George got this wry grin on his face, and my heart immediately fell. "This must be a joke, it has to be," I thought internally.
"Chimney Corner, a Northern Irish League 2 team, they have been in a pretty sorry run over the last few seasons, and nobody on the planet seems to be willing to take the job." George was practically laughing at this point, which led me to continue to believe that this was still a very elaborate joke.
"Come on George, you're not serious, are you?" I asked, rather exasperated, as I'd been through pretty much every emotion possible in the last 45 seconds. "Why would a club from Northern Ireland want an American assistant coach from some rank team in a run down city?"
"I am serious, and the answer is quite simple." George was now in some weird mix of being amused and being matter-of-fact, it was quite bewildering to watch. "As I said, Chimney Corner has struggled mightily over the last few seasons, and it's been really hard for them to find a manager who wants to rebuild the mess, which is why they've offered us good money for the rights to you."
"How bad are we talking?" I asked, reaching for a glass of water.
"They have a combined record of 7-13-68 over the last three seasons."
The water that I had been drinking was now all over George's desk, "George, are you serious? That's 34 points in 88 games! They literally average .38 points per game! You can't expect me to go there, it's career suicide."
http://i1333.photobucket.com/albums/w625/chrisrippeon57/ChimneyCorner1_zps2c30508e.jpg
(They really are quite bad)
"I'm afraid you don't have much choice." George suddenly looked extremely grim. "The fans are demanding a change here, and we need the funds." "I can't make you accept the job at Chimney Corner, but if you don't take it, I'm afraid i'm going to have to fire you in order to pacify the fans."
My bewilderment and shock now turned to venom. "I understand now George, you're going to make me the scapegoat for this ten-game skid, you're untouchable because of how much ownership spent to bring you here, but me, I'm just a lowly assistant, so of course no one cares if I'm out." "Ultimately though, people will realize that it's been your rank coaching that has drug us this far down! A five-year old wouldn't have managed to drop a game to Wilmington 4-0."
George looked calm, but his eyes now blazed with some form of hatred I'd yet to see in his normally muted face."Fine, Rob, you can think what you want, you are done here either way, but I need to know if you are going to take the Chimney Corner post or not."
At this point I took a moment and thought, would an assistant who got fired from a low-level American team really have another chance of getting a job of their own. Chimney Corner might be a horrifying post, but at least it would be a post of my own.
"George, I can't approve of what you have done here, but you can call them and tell them that I'll take the job." Then, in an effort to throw in another pot shot I said "I hope you enjoy the money, because you wouldn't be able to put together a quality football team with entire budget of the US Military."
I could tell that George wanted to respond in kind, but he simply said, "I'll let them know, they'll likely be in contact with you tomorrow. Now please, you know where the door is."
As I left George's office, it hit me, and I could only think to myself, "what the heck have I gotten myself into?"
