Before we start...
It's been a while since I updated, and I really don't want to walk away from this. I've got a little writer's block at the moment, but I reckon I'll get through. Let's get this started, shall we?
I will find you..... and I will mentor you
It was a blustery, yucky Australian day. The beaches of Sydney were deserted but for one figure, a pale young man lying in the sand drawing football formations.
"I don't wanna go back," I muttered, as I put the finishing touches on my 3-5-2. It was now the 21st of September, and my plane flight was in just 4 hours. But I didn't feel like going back, not to the jeers of a town. My dignity was battered and bruised enough, I didn't need another knock. I wiped away the formation and started drawing a 4-2-3-1, when a polished shoe stamped onto the sand. I looked up at the leg, and then the torso, and then the face. It was an old man, who looked very much like Liam Neeson in his prime. Yes, let's call him Liam Neeson.
He spoke to me in a harsh, Swedish accent. His English was broken, but understandable.
"You call that formation? You manager?"
I nodded numbly, surprised at this man's sudden outburst at someone else's business.
"Where I come from, that is, how you say, dog's breakfast? Yeah, I like that saying." He spat on the formation, getting some saliva on my hand and then wiped it with his foot.
"That formation is dog's breakfast. You are stupid manager to use it. What is your name?"
I stood up, so I looked at him in his uninviting, brown eyes. "My name is Feliks Zemdegs, manager of Burgess Hill Town."
"I never heard of this Burgess Hill. You are nobody, yes?"
I was ashamed to say it, but I agreed.
"Then I will help you. Come, Pole, we talk formation. I help with Burgess Hill."
Although I didn't know it at the time, this was a major turning point in my tenure at Burgess Hill.