[FM15] Raising Cain

Boys will be boys. I don't know if that's good or not! Thanks for the comment, my friend.
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The two sat at the Coach and Horses enjoying an evening meal.

Things were going just fine for Stacy Cain and Boyd Stokes. They were close, and she didn’t mind that at all. She had yet to decide how close she truly wanted to be, but she knew that what she wanted was not far away.

She wanted to hurt Kyle Cain as badly as he had once hurt her, but she had some serious thinking to do after she accomplished her goal.

She was pregnant, and the baby was most certainly Kyle’s. She wanted a good future for the child, and Kyle was a part of that whether she liked it or not.

Boyd also made more money than Kyle, and could provide better for a child he said he wanted to see grow up. That was big of him, certainly, almost gentlemanly in his way.

He was certainly sweet on Stacy, finding time during his work day to be with her and to place his work as close as possible to hers.

His mind certainly seemed made up, but Stacy did wonder, to use the crude expression, which of his heads he was using to think. Surely, nothing good could come of a liaison, but then, Stacy wasn’t necessarily seeking love.

She was seeking revenge.

For years, her nightly thoughts had returned to Charlotte Weber and the woman’s lip-lock on her husband at that damned party, and the feelings of abandonment which had naturally followed.

While she slept next to Kyle, she thought about someone else doing the same thing, and her resentment grew. To keep peace in the family, she had agreed to forgive Kyle his transgression and try to move forward. But it was difficult, and she felt people could understand that who knew her and knew of the family’s situation.

And when he had lost his position at Torquay, it was the catalyst for everything. She saw the opportunity to get rid of some of her personal demons and also a chance to get even. At that stage of her life, gaining that little satisfaction was starting to mean more and more.

As Stacy and Boyd sat together in London, Kyle sat alone in Oxford, trying to enjoy a meal.

Jenna was off with her young friend and Kyle tried to put everything in perspective.

She was a teenage girl, for crying out loud. They were supposed to be interested in teenage boys. That’s how it works.

But still, his time with her was precious since when they weren’t out eating or at home, he was working. He continued to work extremely hard with his players – that was one reason why they were successful, after all – and as such, time with the most important person in his life was critical.

Now, she wasn’t there. She was boy-crazy.

Booth had really minded his “p’s and q‘s” at training that week, to his credit. Kyle had met with the youth staff, explained the situation, and asked for a report – not in terms of his football ability but rather about his personality.

The reports were generally good – teenagers do sometimes act like teenagers, to the annoyance of the people who train them – and so Kyle had elected to keep his cards close to his vest in terms of dealing with the budding relationship.

On another front, though, Kyle was really stewing. Quietly, he had had some inquiries placed and it turned out that the guy Stacy was with that day was her boss.

“What. The. Hell,” Kyle thought. Over and over again.

He figured his wife was trying to play a fast one – he had been expecting something along those lines ever since she had left their flat – and as such he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of falling apart if something happened out of his sight.

Or even in his sight.

His anger grew. It seemed to be doing that quite a bit lately, to the point where sometimes it was hard to keep everything in perspective.

Things were going great on the field. That couldn’t be argued. But there was something very important that was missing, and Kyle was beginning to see it.

Stacy’s boss showed her far too much deference. Jenna was seeing someone who showed his boss no deference at all.

But more importantly, life was not all football, as so many lovers of the beautiful game like to think it is. There was more to it than that.

There was family. Or, in Kyle’s case, there wasn’t.

I reckon there are loads of ways Kyle can stick it to Stacy and he ought to be actively seeking the opportunity to do so

There are a number of ways, Josh. But right now Kyle is trying to make up his mind about how hard he wants to fight. He may not be a good man, but he has a conscience and right now he's trying to figure out which road to take. Thanks for the comment as always!
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10 February 2015 – Accrington Stanley (14-4-11, 9th place) v Oxford United (12-7-10, 11th place)
Sky Bet League Two Match Day #30 – The Crown Ground, Accrington
Referee: Andy Davies

To make matters worse on the injury front, there was a midweek match.

Kyle gave everyone who had survived the Luton match two full days off from training to rest tired legs and recharge batteries.

He wanted to give Maddison a rest since the on-loan midfielder’s form had dropped rather dramatically from its highs of a few weeks prior. Yet Kyle couldn’t spare the teenager, and he felt badly about that.

So Maddison, who thought he was being trained too hard anyway, got two days off from it entirely, and as such that made him happy.

The trip to what is known commercially as the “Wham Ground” was one of the longer ones the Us would take all season. Lancashire was over three hours away by coach and nearly 200 miles. So they left on the Monday evening for the Tuesday night match, with the players trying to snatch a little extra rest and sleep on the trip.

Kyle didn’t like the way the schedule fell, but knew that Stanley would have it nearly as bad after playing on the preceding Saturday themselves. They just didn’t have to travel.

John Coleman’s team was one of the ‘streak’ teams in League Two, but was coming off a 3-1 loss at Plymouth just a few days before. They were on a ‘bad’ streak now, with only three draws to show from their last fifteen points on offer, prior to which they had won six of seven. Before that, they had a four-match league losing streak and a Johnstone’s Paint loss followed immediately by four wins on the spin.

So you could figure what kind of team you’d see based on how well they had been playing, Kyle thought. Not surprisingly, he wanted to get on the home team early.

But there was also this to consider. Stanley were two places, and five points, ahead of Oxford in the table. They were where Kyle wanted to be, and there was no more direct way past them in the table than to beat them on their own ground.

The XI looked fairly familiar at this point, mainly because there were so few other options.

Potts was welcomed to the squad by being asked to make his second start in 72 hours. Ssewankambo deputized for the injured Mullins – but there were no other changes to the eleven from the Luton match. Kyle was very concerned about tired legs. But he had no one else.

Grimshaw was still a ways away from match condition and so started on the bench when Kyle would rather have seen him at right back. He needed match time to gain that fitness and he didn’t want to run the risk of the Manchester United man hurting himself in a u-21 match.

As such, when the match kicked off, Kyle thought of the old child’s rhyme: here comes another one, just like the other one.

Accrington got the first corner of the match and also the first good chance, as Shay McCartan tested Ashdown six minutes into the match. They also got the first goal, as midfielder Josh Windass made like his striker father Dean – not by grabbing an opponent’s testicles as his dad had infamously done, but rather doing so figuratively with a spectacular finish from ten yards off defender Seamus Conneely’s cross.

That didn’t bode well. But Oxford responded almost immediately, with none other than Jake Wright rising to head home Maddison’s corner in twelve minutes.

It was the skipper’s first goal for the club – but it took him six seasons at Oxford to finally get it. It was his first goal for anyone in eight years and just the third goal of his career.

For crying out loud, Gordon Brown was the Prime Minister and Helen Mirren was playing the Queen the last time Jake Wright had dented the twine of an opposing goal. His reaction was predictably priceless.

“Look and see if I’m burnt,” Kyle smiled as he looked at Fazackerley. “I think we just got hit by lightning.”

After the fast start to the match the teams started to settle in a bit. Piero Mingola’s shot was spilled by Ashdown in sixteen minutes but the keeper claimed Stanley’s best chance for some time afterward.

Oxford was not generating the kinds of chances they usually did, and that was a topic of concern for Kyle as the half wore on. They looked tired, and there wasn’t really a lot to be done about that. Accrington was tired too, only they didn’t look like it.

The teams swapped corners just after the half four and then Stanley had the best chance yet to take the lead, with Liam Goulding somehow finding a way to fire into Ashdown’s body with the keeper down after a goalmouth scramble in 36 minutes.

Luke Joyce was next, and Ashdown saved his long-range effort too, a few minutes later. Kyle was ready for halftime to come and when it did, he changed up his tactics.

Out went the 4-1-3-2 along with the highly pedestrian and very disappointing Hoskins and on came Long and 4-2-3-1. The added help in the midfield would hopefully help with some of Accrington’s possession dominance.

Unfortunately, it didn’t help much. Oxford was very much on the back foot as the second half began.

Another fellow having issues with consistency was Dunkley, who had his hands full with Gray – but not his hands full of Gray, which would have been cheating. But perhaps that might have been a better option, as the striker proceeded to give the Us a truly torrid time in the first ten minutes after the interval.

But the breakthrough, when it came, had nothing to do with Gray. It had plenty to do with Windass, who won a free kick from Long thirty yards from goal – and more to do with Lloyd Jones, who gathered the rebound from Windass’ set piece and buried it behind Ashdown to put the home team ahead 2-1.

With 54 minutes on the clock, there was still plenty of time, though, and Kyle knew it.

Nothing happened, though. That was alarming.

The second holding midfielder, Ssewankambo, came off in 71 minutes and as Kyle looked down the bench he saw Campbell, who had been well and truly rooted to the reserves since his return from injury. And with good reason.

He saw Godden, who after nearly two months at the club still hadn’t really shown he grasped the concept of the base tactics and was goalless for the senior squad.

“Eeny-meeny-miney-moe,” Kyle mused to himself as he mulled his choice. He finally picked Campbell.

But really, nothing helped. Hoban looked just as horrible as Hoskins had, and Kyle finally hauled him off too just before the end in favor of Godden. He couldn’t have been any worse.

He wasn’t worse. But he wasn’t better either, and Oxford’s great run under Kyle Cain came to an end as it began to rain.

It had to end sooner or later. But Kyle was hoping it would end with a bang rather than with a whimper.

Oxford United: Ashdown: Whing, Dunkley, Wright (captain), Potts, Ssewankambo (Campbell 71), MacDonald, Maddison, O’Dowda, Hoban (Godden 87), Hoskins (Long 45). Unused subs: Clarke, Grimshaw, Rose, Collins.

Accrington Stanley 2 (Josh Windass 10, Lloyd Jones 54)
Oxford United 1 (Jake Wright 12)
H/T: 1-1
A – 1,505, The Crown Ground, Accrington
Man of the Match: Jake Wright, Oxford (MR 7.5)

Ouch! That's a horrible place to travel all that way to and lose. Suppose it was coming though

Tough loss, but sometimes, it can happen like that. Good work on the story also man.

Tough result there, mate

It wasn't fun, that's for sure. It was bound to end, but ending that way wasn't what I had hoped for.
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At least Wright had been good.

He was about the only one, though, and as Kyle waited for a post-match invitation from John Coleman which never came, he mulled over his first league failure as Oxford manager.

The word was that Coleman didn’t care for Kyle and he had spread the word quietly around the Crown Ground that this was in fact the case.

Kyle didn’t really care – he preferred to extract his revenge on the pitch rather than in the press or through any war of words – and he had bigger fish to fry than John Coleman in any event.

The team had fallen eight points off the playoff hunt due to other results and now stood tenth on goal difference. They might as well have stood on Mars for all it mattered to Kyle.

He was not pleased, and had let the squad know he expected better in the future – good run notwithstanding.


It was a long coach ride home, and Kyle started a text conversation with Jenna to pass the time. That was a good thing. Whenever he could hear from his daughter, he felt better.

They chatted for awhile – Kyle was starting to get over his fear of leaving the teenager home alone when Oxford was away from home – until at about dinner time, she begged off.

“Dad, Miles wants to meet me at the mall for dinner,” she said. “Do you mind?”

His first thought was “of course I bloody mind”, but since he was still about sixty airline miles from Oxford and he was in no position to enforce his wishes, he acceded to her request.

“Be careful,” he texted instead. Then he shut off his phone, leaned back in his coach seat and sighed.

Good update man, shows just what's going through Kyle's mind and his emotional state.

Thanks very much! Kyle is a bit of a mess at the moment.
___

They had a good time, Kyle supposed. Jenna arrived at home punctually at ten o’clock, because the next morning was a training day and the young defender knew the boss would skin him alive if he was either unprepared, or worse yet, late.

The two sat, Jenna doing her homework for the next day’s school while her father broke down video of Burton Albion’s 0-1 home loss to AFC Wimbledon on the Tuesday, and noted that after the early rash of good results after Nigel Worthington’s hiring, the team seemed to be back in the morass which had seen Jimmy Floyd Hasselbaink let go.

Jenna looked up from a history text and her eyes narrowed as she looked at her father while he took notes on Burton’s 4-4-2.

“Dad,” she said, “how come you never ask me if I have a good time with Miles?”

Kyle put down his pen and looked at his daughter.

“Because, at age sixteen, there are some things a doting dad doesn’t want to know,” he said, intending his words as a joke.

“Dad, you make me sound like I’m some kind of whore,” Jenna said, and Kyle reacted sharply.

“Never,” he snapped. “Don’t you dare!”

“Look, I have fun with him, and I think you know that he’s always ready for training the next day. He’s a good friend, Dad. He’s a nice guy. I like him a lot.”

“I know you do,” he answered, now definitely on the defensive, but wondering why Jenna had asked the question.

“Were you waiting for him to ask your permission or something?” she asked, just a hint of a smile returning to her face.

“In this day and age, that isn’t a bad idea, especially when I’m your friend’s boss,” he answered. And when, predictably, Jenna rolled her eyes, Kyle saw his chance.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, now leaning toward Jenna. “What I’m not seeing from either one of you is respect. Your mother isn’t showing any either, and if the last few months are any indication, maybe your old man deserves a bit. What do you say?”

Jenna tossed her head back, her hair falling back over her shoulders as she thought it through.

“You know I love you, Dad,” she said. Kyle nodded.

“Thank God for that. At least somebody does.”

“I do see your point. But this is my first boyfriend and I want to enjoy this. He’s a good guy.” She was repeating herself.

“Why do you have to convince me?” Kyle asked. “He’s the one who needs to do the convincing.”

“Because your little girl isn’t old enough to make her own decisions.”

“No, because you’re under my roof and as long as you are, there are rules,” Kyle said. “Please, Jenna, you know I love you like nothing else on earth. So can you please humor me?”

“You’re such a traditionalist,” she said, and then said something she couldn’t resist saying.

“Did you ask permission when you slept around on Mom?”

Kyle looked at Jenna with a sad expression. He said nothing in return, simply picking his computer off the table of his den, retiring to the master bedroom, and closing the door.

“If you want to play first team football someday, you’re going to have to make better decisions than that.”

Kyle stood at training with young Miles Booth watching him in a passing drill. The drill called for an overlapping fullback to play a wall pass into a midfielder, move around him, receive the return ball and select a target – either a forward or the midfielder – with a second ball under defenders’ pressure.

Booth had taken the pass well enough, but tried to force an off-balance ball into the box for forward Luke Hastings, who was covered like a blanket by central defender Cian McCormack and who had no angle to the ball due to the positioning of goalkeeper Jack Stevens.

“Miles, you need to play with your head up and you need to see when your man has no path to the ball,” Kyle said simply. “A cutback to Kieran here would have been the better play. The defense was sagged off him and he could have moved in either to shoot or to find you again if you ran laterally along the back line.”

Kyle pointed to midfielder Kieran Andrews, who was standing all by himself. He hadn’t moved since the manager had stopped the drill, and neither had anyone else.

Kyle was getting a chance to teach, something he found surprisingly enjoyable, but the circumstances made this lesson a bit awkward.

“Just wanted to make something happen,” the youngster said, and Kyle thought it might well have been a double entendre.

“You made something happen, all right,” Kyle said. “You turned over the bloody ball. Take what the defenders give you and find the open man. Now, let’s do it again.”

For his part, Kyle didn’t notice anything different about the defender since he had started seeing Jenna. He had always been anxious to please, but now his usual air of quiet confidence seemed forced. He fancied her, that was obvious, and the reverse was also true.

Where Kyle had issues was with how everything had been handled. So far, he had been left to guess about everything and he hated that feeling.

Miles ran the drill again – better this time – and Kyle moved on to other things. The youngsters liked the fact that the senior team manager seemed to have more time for them these days and after a time, they even figured out why.

They also figured out that the manager’s irascibility in drills carried a message too.

“God forbid you should hurt that girl,” Hastings warned Booth after that day’s training. “You’ll get us all killed.”

There was a long conversation between manager and player coming up, and Booth knew it. He was also doing everything in his power to avoid it, so he really couldn’t have been surprised when the manager called him into the office after the Friday morning session – right before the senior team coach pulled out for Staffordshire and Burton-on-Trent.

The manager’s office was a place no player wanted to be, and Kyle knew that. He chose his own turf quite deliberately for this conversation, because he wanted to be in control on more than one front.

He hadn’t spoken to Jenna since her hurtful words – it seemed she could be just like her mother in that department when she truly wanted to be – and so when Miles entered the office, the manager was not in the best of moods.

“Sit down, take a load off,” Kyle said, waving Booth to the chair opposite his desk. Kyle switched off the big-screen television on the right-hand wall and turned to business.

“Now, let’s get right to this,” Kyle said. “The purpose of this meeting isn’t to hold anything over your head, but rather to let you know a few things about how we’ll be operating from this point forward because of your relationship with my daughter.”

For a change, there was no riposte from the person Kyle was talking to, and he appreciated that.

“Your decision is your decision,” he said, to the teenager’s considerable surprise. He stared at Kyle, who noted the small beads of perspiration forming on the youngster’s forehead. It hadn’t been a terribly warm day, being mid-February, so there was only one explanation for them.

“And my goal isn’t to be tough on you,” he added. “But honestly, without you coming to me and telling me what the hell was going on, you put me in a very difficult position.”

That was different. Kyle was starting to lean on the boy and he knew that for everyone’s good, that was how it had to be.

“I can’t show you any favoritism, and it wouldn’t be fair to be too hard on you,” he went on. “Do you see the problem?”

Booth nodded. He wasn’t sure if he should say anything, so Kyle decided for him.

“Tell me what made you think this was a good idea,” Kyle said, his eyes seemingly boring holes through the boy’s forehead.

Nervously, Booth shifted from side to side in his chair. Kyle hadn’t meant for this to be quite so uncomfortable – at least, not completely – but he was genuinely interested in what the player had to say.

“Well, we hit it off after training about a month or so ago, and I guess I didn’t see any harm,” he said. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the tips of his fingers as he spoke.

“I am not in the business of telling my daughter who she can and cannot socialize with,” Kyle said. “But this is very awkward. And if the two of you should have a falling out, then you see what position that creates.”

“I do,” Booth answered. “But really, I didn’t think of that. I just like Jenna, that’s all. Is there any harm in that?”

“Yes and no,” Kyle said, “from a father’s point of view as well as a football manager’s. I’m going to expect the very best from you, both in training and off the pitch when it comes to Jenna. She’s very important to me, at the moment she’s all the family I have and, well …”

Kyle’s voice trailed off. He hadn’t expected to show such weakness, especially such sudden weakness in front of a seventeen-year old boy. Miles Booth had kicked Kyle Cain right where it hurt the most and he hadn’t even realized it. The manager finished his sentence.

“…well, I need her.”

Booth looked at Kyle and if he thought he could have gotten away with it, he would have pitied his boss.

After a long, awkward silence, Booth spoke again.

“Well, I promise to be good to her,” he said. “Is that all, boss?”

Cheeky, that kid.

Kyle looked at him and sighed.

“Yeah, Miles, that’s all,” he said. “We’re leaving for Burton now and if I find out anything bad has happened while I’m gone I’m going to grind up your parts and serve them to Ollie the Ox. You read me?”

Booth stood, and prepared to leave.

“I read you,” he replied. He left the office and as he headed down the hall to the players’ exit, he took out his phone to text Jenna.

“It went great,” he wrote. “Meet you tomorrow after training?”

14 February 2015 – Burton Albion (10-5-17, 17th place) v Oxford United (13-7-11, 9th place)
Sky Bet Match Day #32 – Pirelli Stadium, Burton-on-Trent
Referee: Scott Mathieson

Kyle was looking for a bounce back.

After the Accrington setback, he was very interested in seeing how Oxford would perform. His first league loss in charge had hurt, and had led to a redoubling of his efforts in the video room and in tactical consideration for the matchup with Albion, a talented but underperforming side.

Greeted warmly at the stadium door on Princess Way by Nigel Worthington upon arrival, Kyle accepted an invitation for a cuppa after the match. It was yet another cold, windy day and East Staffordshire seemed no different than Oxfordshire in that regard.

He also had a plan for the match that seemed a bit odd – four of the five loan players at the club were in the XI and Godden was on the bench. Of the eighteen players dressing for the match, only thirteen carried actual Oxford United contracts.

Grimshaw was getting his first start for the club at right fullback, match ready or not. He was needed too badly and so, in the young man went. Potts got his third straight start at left full back, Ssewankambo got the start in the holding position, Maddison held down his usual spot in the center of midfield and Godden wound up on the bench backing up Hoskins and Hoban, who this time led the line instead of playing off the lead striker’s shoulder.

Hoskins seemed to be a real hit-or-miss proposition for Kyle and that was annoying, since as a former striker himself the one thing he valued the most in a player was consistency. He didn’t always see that from Hoskins and as such his goal was to try to find the role where he would give the best performances the greatest percentage of the time.

He felt he shouldn’t have to do that – professionals should approach their craft and play like professionals all of the time – but he had no choice. Hoskins was the best striker he had when he was right. It was Kyle’s job to try to make him right and keep him there.

As the teams prepared to take the pitch, Kyle approached Grimshaw, and the Manchester United man wore a facial expression that was a mask of concentration. His close-cropped black hair and regular features made him look almost generic in appearance, but that hardly mattered. The boy looked ready to play and that was what mattered most.

“You can do it,” Kyle reminded the fullback, and he got a curt nod of thanks in reply. The lines of players began to move and before long, the match was ready to begin.

Oxford had drawn well at the Pirelli Stadium in the past, being the visitors in the club’s record attendance match in 2010, attracting 6,192 – or exactly one more carbon-based unit than had come to see Manchester United face Albion in the FA Cup in 2006.

Today, the South Stand had considerably fewer in attendance, and the match began with Oxford attacking the Rotala Stand to the west and defending the Coors Visitor Stand to the east.

Dunkley, who had been preferred in central defense to Whing, had the first play to make in the match, heading Robbie Weir’s early ball behind and into the Oxford support for a corner in the first three minutes, and the Oxford men got their lines cleared with some ease.

Yet it was the Brewers who dominated the early going. They got the second chance too, as defender George Taft bulldozed his way through the Us defense to get a free header off another corner in sixteen minutes, only to put his effort wide to the left of the well-beaten Clarke’s post.

Kyle knew that his keepers knew that losing matches or playing poorly could be bad in terms of keeping your place, and so Clarke got his chance to re-impress the boss.

Veteran striker Stuart Beavon was next, threatening the Oxford penalty area in twenty minutes only to be clattered to the deck by Dunkley. The defender was fortunate to stay out of referee Scott Mathieson’s book, and Damien McCrory’s set piece went wide on the restart.

Oxford had been fortunate. However, when Oxford got the ball, their movement was excellent and the home team was forced to foul. The numbers of fouls began to mount fairly quickly, reaching eight in the first twenty minutes, and forcing a minor change of tactic from Worthington to avoid the possibility of yellow cards for persistent fouling.

The change away from a high-pressing, hard-tackling game gave Oxford some breathing room, and on their good run of form, giving them space was something teams generally wanted to avoid doing.

Beavon then barely missed when Oxford didn’t account for Albion’s counter game and this was only twenty-two minutes into the match. The Us’ first good chance didn’t come until twenty-five minutes, when Hoskins took a potshot at goal from thirty yards that dipped on its way to keeper Jon McLaughlin, who had to look sharp to save his blushes.

United got the ball back down the wing a few minutes later, and MacDonald found the overlapping Ssewankambo in the right corner. The on-loan player looked toward the goal – and then did exactly what the young Miles Booth had failed to do in that drill. He laid the ball back to MacDonald and started a run down the back line. MacDonald’s return ball was perfect and Ssewankambo’s second ball – this one into the box – found the foot of Hoban, who drilled it past McLaughlin to put Oxford into the lead.

“I wish the boy could have seen this,” Kyle thought to himself as he watched Hoban celebrate.

The goal had come more or less against the run of play, and goals like that are always welcome to see. But seven minutes later, the Us were celebrating again thanks to another brilliantly-taken goal.

It started on the left this time, with Potts the creator. The on-loan West Ham man lofted a beautifully weighted forty-yard through ball to Hoskins, who took the ball deftly off the toe of his right boot, brining the ball to ground as Hoban began a run to his left. Hoskins’ diagonal ball to the left sliced Albion wide open, and using the defender as a brace, Hoban shifted to his right and beat McLaughlin from the penalty spot to put United up 2-0 away.

That was the kind of response Kyle was looking for and as he looked to Fazackerley on his right, the assistant manager was thinking the same thing.

His ready smile was wider than ever, and he spoke first.

“Maybe we really are onto something here, Kyle,” he said.

“First time I’ve ever heard you admit that.”

“Cynicism is an assistant manager’s job,” the older man replied. “But that was a thing of beauty.”

Indeed it was, and the United men got to half still ahead by two goals even though the play had been more or less even.

The only issue of the half was Hoskins pulling up lame just before the halftime whistle grabbing at his left calf.

As such, the second striker was first on the agenda for Kyle at the break.

“Not too bad, boss,” Hoskins said, sweat and rain dripping from his chin beard as he spoke. “I can play.” Kyle looked at Andy Lord for a second opinion.

“We’re two up,” Lord said. “Right now I don’t know that it’s wise to risk it. He’s got a bit of swelling. It’s almost surely just a strain but if he works it too hard it could get worse.”

That was what Kyle needed to know, so he tapped Godden on the shoulder – his only spare striker for the match – and told his fifth loan player that he was going in. All five Oxford loan players would be on the park at the same time in the second half.

For his part, Worthington hauled off defender Mark Howard, who had been culpable for not getting Hoban marked on either of his goals, and replaced him with his captain, Ian Sharps.

Godden made his presence felt after only two minutes in the second half, ripping a low drive that Taft managed to turn behind for a corner before it reached the lower left corner of the net.

Maddison then fed a ball forward and found Dunkley, who was nowhere near where he was supposed to be, and he headed over. As he jogged back to his position, Kyle whistled to get the defender’s attention and pulled him over to the touchline for a quick word.

The word, unfortunately for Dunkley, was “think”.

Dunkley wanted to get on the scoresheet given the score and, as an aggressive player himself, Kyle couldn’t blame the youngster for that. But given the score, keeping the ball out of the goal would ensure a win. That kind of brainpower showed why Kyle was a manager and Dunkley was not. As yet, anyway.

Joe Doyle’s header just after the hour was easily handled by Clarke and then Ssewankambo tried to score his first goal for the club, striking from a sharp angle but instead finding the side netting. He wanted very much to prove his worth to the club by scoring but Kyle gave him the same talk he had given Dunkley, only without the sharp edges.

The teenager, Doyle, came off after Ssewankambo’s attempt, in favor of the Dutchman Abdelnasser El Khayali, but it didn’t help Worthington even though the latter was a more offensively minded player.

Oxford was starting to find its stride defensively, and that was wonderful since with two loanees in the back line finding that understanding was both vital and rather difficult.

Grimshaw was playing with great industry but without the style the scouts had seen when watching Manchester United’s u-18s. That was still good enough for League Two, though, and Kyle soon realized that he had little to worry about from his right flank.

And then it was Ssewankambo sending the ‘other’ loanee, Godden, away on the right with half a step on the defense. That was all he needed in 77 minutes, as he smashed his first goal for the club home to the lower right corner of McLaughlin’s net. Godden couldn’t have thrown it in a better spot, and thirteen minutes from time the points were in the bag.

That allowed Kyle to rest Wright’s legs for a bit, and Ssewankambo came off to both a rousing ovation from the traveling support and a handshake from his manager. The rest was easy.

Bounce-back, indeed.

Oxford United: Clarke: Grimshaw, Dunkley, Wright (captain, Whing 78), Potts, MacDonald, Ssewankambo (Long 78), Maddison, O’Dowda, Hoskins (Godden 45), Hoban. Unused subs: Ashdown, Bevans, Ashby, Rose.

Burton Albion 0
Oxford United 3 (Hoban 29, 36; Godden 77)
H/T: 0-2
A – 1,718, Pirelli Stadium, Burton-on-Trent
Man of the Match: Patrick Hoban, Oxford (MR 8.8)

For a change, Kyle was expansive in a post-match interview. Churchill was happy – hell, everyone associated with Oxford was happy with this win – and Kyle felt he could show a bit of emotion.

“To come back after a difficult loss is the hardest thing there is to do in this game,” he pronounced. “And these players have just done it, beating a good side by three goals away from home. They can play their music on the way back, I’ll even listen to the hip-hop stuff. They were great.”

Churchill smiled. “So, what you’re trying to say is that you’re pleased with this group of players.” Tongue planted firmly in cheek, the Oxford Mail reporter was trying to draw another reaction from the boss.

“Umm .. yeah, that’s what I’m trying to say,” Kyle said, laughing as he got the reporter’s joke. He had been hoping to see Vic Young’s smiling face after the match, but the Mail had sent the ‘other’ reporter and when he won, Kyle found Bill Churchill a lot easier to take.

In fairness, the local press had been pretty good to Kyle, given the circumstances under which he took over the larger of Oxford’s two major football clubs. They had given him time – and of course, a great run in the league hadn’t hurt matters any.

There was other good news after the win. For a team that was completely at sea on arrival, the 3-0 win over Albion meant that Oxford United now had a positive goal differential for the first time all season. 46 for, 44 against. There was a lot to be happy about.

So as the team got on the coach for the trip home, Kyle texted Jenna and jokingly suggested that Miles might want to leave since Dad was on the way. And since it was St. Valentine’s Day, perhaps Kyle had other thoughts on his mind regarding keeping tabs on his youth defender.

“Dad, don’t be ridiculous,” his daughter replied. “I’ll order a pizza when you get close and we can have a nice night watching telly.”

That seemed more like the Jenna Cain that Kyle knew, and he settled in for his now-customary post-match nap as the coach pulled out of the Pirelli lot and headed south for the trip home to Oxfordshire.

Every now and again, the coach would be passed on the M40 by visiting supporters who were racing the players home. The car driver would honk his horn, the coach driver would reply, and those players who weren’t trying to nap at the same time as their manager would enjoy an experience that never seemed to get old.

The Oxford United players were the toast of the town. There was nothing wrong with that. They were playing superbly and even with the occasional hiccup, there was enough confidence in the team and in the community to make certain that any losing skid wouldn’t get out of hand.

But, Kyle had been more right than he knew. As the trip moved on, Jenna turned to Miles as they sat on the couch.

“I think Dad knows,” she said. “We’ve probably got another hour and then we’ll have to say good night.”

The seventeen-year old defender sighed heavily. “I hate this part,” he said, and Jenna nodded.

“I don’t like it either, but if you want to keep playing football for my father you’re going to have to toe the mark,” she said with mock severity.

“What if I played for another club?” Miles asked, his eyes shining as he looked at his girlfriend.

“Why on earth would you want to do that? We’d never see each other.”

“Just checking.” Miles gave Jenna a grin that could be described as impish. He was teasing her, but what he really wanted to know was if Jenna would stay with him, without asking in so many words. In that respect, the lad was wise beyond his years.

In other respects, not so much.

“If we only have another hour, I’m going to enjoy it,” Miles said, and Jenna giggled in reply. “After all, it is Valentine’s Day.”

They had an enjoyable evening as father and daughter, and Jenna didn’t say a word about Miles. Both of those things were important to Kyle.

Kyle wanted to know if Jenna had talked to Stacy that weekend, though. He knew something was amiss with his wife and it didn’t exactly take a rocket scientist to figure that out.

He also knew that Stacy might try to enlist Jenna if she decided she wanted to hurt Kyle badly enough. The two hadn’t exactly seen eye to eye since Stacy had left – either in a literal or figurative sense.

Stacy also knew that her daughter was involved in the first serious relationship of her young life and she wasn’t there to help reinforce some home truths about men that she had learned from her daughter’s father. That was unfortunate.

Men were scum. That was more unfortunate. It was also the home truth she wanted her daughter to know.

But as Kyle sat in his chair watching video of Mansfield Town, his own thoughts drifted a bit. He was no closer to figuring out who his wife’s paramour really was, but right at that moment, he was thinking about someone else.

Allison Austin had waved at him after training, as he passed by DW Sports Fitness, across the street from the stadium. She had had eagle eyes to spot him, that was for sure, and when he figured out who was waving at him, his eyes were as good as hers.

Her long blonde hair seemed to wave in the wind, what of it he could see, and that was how he figured out who it was.

She seemed nice. But he couldn’t show what he was thinking – not if he ever wanted his wife back. And, despite all that had gone on between them, he still did.

That was how he was supposed to behave, and since that fateful Christmas party day, that was exactly how he had behaved. Properly and correctly.

Kyle sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair.

Back in the day, he’d have gone right up to a woman like Allison and probably fallen for her, in his way. She was exquisite. Yet for all practical purposes, she was made of Kryptonite.

Charlotte had been different. But then, she was special, and she was definitely different.

Kyle thought back to things he shouldn’t have been remembering, wondered who it really was that was spending so much time with Stacy, and realized that sometimes when you make your own bed you occasionally have to lie in it.

Jenna was texting while sprawled on the couch, and Kyle didn’t have to ask twice about who was on the other end. She really liked Miles, Kyle reckoned, and there wasn’t any harm in that.

Kyle didn’t want to be harsh and he didn’t want to be overprotective. He just didn’t want to be alone. Why was that so hard for people to understand?

Come to think of it, that was what had gotten him in trouble with Charlotte Weber. She had taken him by storm and before he knew what had hit him, he was waking up next to her in an East London motel. From that point forward, he couldn’t stop.

Until, that is, he had been made to stop.

As he thought it through one more time, his phone buzzed with the arrival of a new e-mail. His personal mail wasn’t used very often for obvious reasons, but it was in action now, so he opened the app.

Oddly, it was from Diana Moore, who had absolutely zero need for his personal e-mail address. Their correspondence was supposed to be professional in every respect – especially after her complaint against the Oxford manager.

He wondered where she could have found it, and finally gave in to curiosity and opened the mail.

“Would like to talk with you about the team for Saturday,” she wrote. “Nothing for publication of course but we have promotions going regarding Will Hoskins and I need to know if he’s going to be in the eleven.”

Then he read on and couldn’t hide his surprise.

“Maybe over coffee in the club cafeteria?”

Kyle thought for a moment, and placed a call to Eales before accepting the invitation.

At first, Kyle thought it was a simple setup job, but the more he thought about it the more he realized he might be over the proverbial barrel.

Accepting placed him in a position he didn’t want to be in. Refusing would have placed him in a position even worse.

Paranoia was a sensation Kyle was good at feeling, for all the wrong reasons. Like paranoia would be good.

Showing up would place Kyle around someone who had tried to wreck him and whom he disliked intensely. If he didn’t go, all the crap might start up again if Moore went to Eales and complained. That was why he had called the chairman.

“Lesser of two evils” choices never really appealed to Kyle. The “lesser evil” was still … you know … evil.

And he definitely thought that if Moore was not Beelzebub in the flesh, she was certainly a lesser minion. But he also felt he had no choice.

So it was that he met the woman after the Thursday training session for time he really didn’t care to spend.

He let her buy her own coffee.

But once the conversation started, Kyle tried his best to forget the past and simply tried to answer her questions as best he could.

“I know you aren’t going to tell me your eleven and you might not even know them yet,” she began. “But can you at least tell me if Will Hoskins is likely to play some role?”

That was different from Moore. Gone was the brash insistence on having her own way, replaced instead by something Kyle hadn’t expected to find. She seemed almost human.

“I don’t know if he will start, you are right about that,” Kyle began. “But given the way he has been performing, I’d imagine that he’ll play some sort of role. Really, we’re better with him out there than we are with him out of there.”

“We wanted to do a poster,” Moore said. “It wouldn’t have done for him to be the subject of a giveaway and then not play.”

Kyle knew perfectly well that it would have done just fine – the only person who really seemed to care about the issue was Moore. Injured players are the subject of promotions around sport and that’s how it is. Clubs spend money on these items and they’re going to get them into the hands of their fans regardless of how it happens. Otherwise it’s wasted money, and no sports team likes to have that happen.

Of course, sometimes bad things happen – a player who is the subject of a shirt giveaway requests a transfer, for example, and then the club can’t unload the stuff no matter how hard it tries. But that wasn’t the case here, and Kyle tried to see Moore’s position. She just wanted to know if she could distribute items in a positive environment.

But he couldn’t resist asking, and he had to. She couldn’t be that stuck up, could she?

“Why did you complain against me, Ms. Moore, when we can have perfectly pleasant conversations like this one instead?”

He hardly recognized his own voice. He sounded almost friendly, and that wasn’t something he was terribly interested in being to this person.

“Why, Mr. Cain, I’m surprised you would ask such a question,” Moore responded, and Kyle thought he might have blown it again. “I didn’t like how you treated me, so I thought I’d try to show you that you can’t just treat people like chattle, even if you are the ‘boss’.”

At that, Moore made little quotation marks with her fingers to emphasize her point.

“Yes,” Kyle thought to himself, “you really can be that stuck up.”

Kyle looked at her, and considered his next words carefully. He also played his ace in the hole.

“Well, I guess I’m not used to people lying to my face and then complaining when they get called on it, to be perfectly honest with you,” he said, taking a sip of coffee. He searched the younger woman’s eyes for a reaction and was not surprised when he got exactly what he was after.

“So that’s what this was all about?” she asked. “That note I wrote you?”

“You mean the note you never meant to honor? From my point of view, yes,” Kyle said. He then raised his fingers as Moore had done.

“And, by the way, I am the ‘boss’,” he added. “Mr. Eales has made that clear. Now, I’ve done everything you asked and I can prove it. And since it appears that we’re going to have to work together, maybe we should get a few other things straight.”

“Such as?”

“Well, let’s start with your sarcasm. That can stop effective immediately. Then we’ll move on to your attitude. That can change, also effective immediately. And, since we’re making changes, let’s move on to how we speak to each other.”

She looked at him, dumbfounded.

“On match day, you may report to the media room to get the eighteen and starting eleven with everyone else,” Kyle said. “I’m getting tired of you insisting on special favors and special treatment in exchange for rudeness in return. If you want access to the team sheet early on, you are going to have to earn it.”

“How dare you,” she began, but Kyle cut her off.

“The boss is talking, which means you aren’t,” he said. “Now, I’m going to do my level best to be a good boss, but to reinforce my point, I think it’s best that you look at this.”

Kyle reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope with the club crest on it. He placed it on the table before Moore, who opened it and read the contents.

“It’s an organizational chart,” she said.

The envelope may as well have contained four aces, because he was playing them. Moore’s face resembled a busted flush, as she realized full well what it meant.

“Very perceptive,” Kyle responded. “It’s entitled Matchday Structure, and you’ll note your position is placed underneath mine as the designee in charge of football operations.”

Moore looked at the sheet, saw that it was signed Daryl Eales, Chairman, and folded up the paper.

“You won’t mind if I keep this,” she said.

“Not at all,” Kyle said. “For all I care, you can staple it to your forehead. But in matters such as these, you are officially not the boss. So, Ms. Moore, we can do things my way now, and I will do the very best I can to avoid offending your delicate sensibilities. Are we clear?”

Her head was spinning. Diana Moore was at sea.

“All right,” she finally said, rising to leave. Kyle watched her go.

“I did say I’d finish this,” he said. “And though she probably isn’t done, this sure feels nice.”

Kyle felt a bit better about himself as he drove home that night.

At last, he had finally been able to speak his mind. Yet at the same time, he thought about something negative, and that bothered him.

He had needed someone else’s permission – in this case, Eales’ signing of the org chart – before he felt he could simply say what was on his mind. That bothered him.

It might not have been the best idea in the world to show Moore the chart, but she was being deliberately insubordinate and that would surely get someone else in a similar situation sacked. Wouldn’t it?

He was supposed to be the boss. On match day, he was the boss until Eales told him otherwise. Yet he felt like he still needed to ask Daddy for the car keys on Saturday morning.

From a sense of feeling emasculated, Kyle really thought he had a ways to go. He felt better for finally having told Diana Moore what he thought of her, but he still felt something was missing.

Deep down, he knew what it was.

Jenna was out when Kyle arrived at home that night. He assumed she was with Miles, and a quick text message confirmed his suspicions.

Ah. Suspicions.

They were really the issue.

He wondered where Stacy was and who she was with. He felt that went a long way toward explaining his issues with respect, emasculation and generally feeling like he wasn’t worth it.

He was having good success on the pitch. He was working harder than ever and as at least a partial result of some of that work, Oxford United had gone from a relegation candidate to a potential playoff contender in just a few short months.

Yet he felt unfulfilled. Christmas, when he had last seen Stacy, was far into the rearview mirror now. He felt alone.

The place was dark when he arrived, so Kyle flipped on a lone light by his sitting room chair, headed down a mostly-dark hallway to the master bedroom, and changed his clothes.

He entered the bedroom looking like a football manager and left it looking like a 40-year old couch potato.

The tracksuit was gone, replaced by a sweatshirt and sweatpants that didn’t match each other. He wore old tube socks that felt good on his feet, slippers, and a bathrobe. He flopped down in his chair and turned on a repeat of the Championship’s Match of the Day from midweek. Fourth-placed Cardiff City raced off to a 3-0 lead at home to Blackburn and then held on to win 3-2 in a match with a drama-filled finish.

Kyle marveled at the resources available only two leagues up, and wondered how much more additional work it would take to get his current club up to that level.

Or the First Division, where Oxford once was. It seemed an impossible task.

But then, the impossible is what football managers are asked to do all the time.

Impossible, Kyle thought to himself as he watched the end of the Championship match. “Hell, I don’t even know where my wife and daughter are. How am I supposed to think about the Championship?”

To the southeast, Stacy Cain lay in bed looking at the ceiling. She was having much different thoughts about work.

She looked across at Boyd sprawled across half of the mattress to her left. He was covered in perspiration – but then he had worked hard too, and had well and truly earned his reward.