Raising Cain
June 1, 2014
Press Association
"Torquay United Football Club have terminated the contract of manager Kyle Cain with immediate effect.
The Gulls’ relegation from League Two into the Vanarama Conference made the 40-year old’s position untenable in the eyes of many observers, and board chair Thea Bristow made the move today after the club’s relegation was confirmed.
“Surely no one worked harder in his job than Kyle Cain did, and we thank him for that,” Bristow said in Torquay’s official club statement. “But we also needed results, and Kyle couldn’t provide enough of them to keep us in the Football League.”
“We wish Kyle the best of luck in his future endeavours.”
“So, that’s that, then.”
Kyle Cain sat back in his living room chair. It was threadbare, but that was all right. His professional life was too, so they matched.
The former Leyton Orient striker had done two things of note in his life, only one of which was admirable: first, he had spent his entire career at his boyhood club.
Second, he had spent nearly every penny he had made in the game in a bewildering variety of ways.
He had done everything except gamble on his club and go to prison. He had spent money on drink. On women. On trips. On good times. The Torquay job had come at the perfect time because it allowed him to stay in the game he loved while rebuilding his bank book, to a modest extent.
Only the club didn’t win.
He had tried everything. Positive motivation, negative motivation, no motivation. He admitted that the last idea was the worst – where, in the club’s penultimate match of the season, he had given no team talk at all prior to a 4-nil hiding at home to Mansfield Town -- the match that confirmed his team’s relegation.
Bristow had allowed him to manage one more match, perhaps out of a sense of pity as much as anything else.
He worked hard. He worked insanely hard. But in his hand, as he sat in his chair, he clutched a P45 which he had squeezed into an accordion-shaped mass of paper, wet with the sweat of his hand but still readable and legible. That was a good thing.
He had been on a one-year contract and as a result had no severance package. He was under stress.
A lot of it, in fact.
Across from his chair, Kyle’s wife sat silently.
Stacy Cain’s face bore the look of a woman who has been through a lot but who didn’t see any better options. She read from a Kindle while her husband sat across their sitting room and brooded.
Both the Cains were East London born and bred – not Cockney, but you could see it from where they were. Kyle had grown up almost within sight of the Matchroom Stadium – along Manderville Street, just on the other side of Hackney Marsh from the ground.
Stacy had grown up on Glenarm Road, less than a mile from Kyle. She had watched him play at Hackney Marsh as a schoolboy and celebrated with him when he signed for The O’s. They had been married for twenty years. Now, they had just moved home, across the street from the ground, in the Oliver Road Allotments.
Their ‘drum’, in the local parlance, wasn’t a lot to write home about. It was enough. That was about all that could be said about it. Most of their remaining savings had gone into the place.
Kyle felt guilty.
“Bloody failure I am,” he said.
“Oh, seckle,” she replied, looking up from her reading. “You did what you could. But now we’ve got to figure a way out, yeah?”
Kyle had spent some of his money on Stacy. She appreciated that, even if she hadn't appreciated -- at all -- some of his other spending. But they had reconciled, and they were a team again.
Their daughter, sixteen-year old Jenna, was sat at a desktop computer playing Minecraft. She had been the only child, the apple of her father's eye, and had always been his biggest supporter. Including his wife, at times. That was hard to admit. But he had deserved that.
"Yeah," he finally said. "We've got to figure a way out."
Kyle leaned back in his chair, and wondered how that was supposed to happen. His reputation was, to be kind, unsettled. His first managerial stint had ended not only in failure, but in relegation. Who on earth would take that kind of chance?
There was no money in the bank. There was no severance. Kyle wondered what he was going to do.
Author’s notes: FM15 with Home Nations loaded. Starting, obviously, as “unemployed”.
ttl
1 September 2015
June 1, 2014
Press Association
"Torquay United Football Club have terminated the contract of manager Kyle Cain with immediate effect.
The Gulls’ relegation from League Two into the Vanarama Conference made the 40-year old’s position untenable in the eyes of many observers, and board chair Thea Bristow made the move today after the club’s relegation was confirmed.
“Surely no one worked harder in his job than Kyle Cain did, and we thank him for that,” Bristow said in Torquay’s official club statement. “But we also needed results, and Kyle couldn’t provide enough of them to keep us in the Football League.”
“We wish Kyle the best of luck in his future endeavours.”
# # #
“So, that’s that, then.”
Kyle Cain sat back in his living room chair. It was threadbare, but that was all right. His professional life was too, so they matched.
The former Leyton Orient striker had done two things of note in his life, only one of which was admirable: first, he had spent his entire career at his boyhood club.
Second, he had spent nearly every penny he had made in the game in a bewildering variety of ways.
He had done everything except gamble on his club and go to prison. He had spent money on drink. On women. On trips. On good times. The Torquay job had come at the perfect time because it allowed him to stay in the game he loved while rebuilding his bank book, to a modest extent.
Only the club didn’t win.
He had tried everything. Positive motivation, negative motivation, no motivation. He admitted that the last idea was the worst – where, in the club’s penultimate match of the season, he had given no team talk at all prior to a 4-nil hiding at home to Mansfield Town -- the match that confirmed his team’s relegation.
Bristow had allowed him to manage one more match, perhaps out of a sense of pity as much as anything else.
He worked hard. He worked insanely hard. But in his hand, as he sat in his chair, he clutched a P45 which he had squeezed into an accordion-shaped mass of paper, wet with the sweat of his hand but still readable and legible. That was a good thing.
He had been on a one-year contract and as a result had no severance package. He was under stress.
A lot of it, in fact.
Across from his chair, Kyle’s wife sat silently.
Stacy Cain’s face bore the look of a woman who has been through a lot but who didn’t see any better options. She read from a Kindle while her husband sat across their sitting room and brooded.
Both the Cains were East London born and bred – not Cockney, but you could see it from where they were. Kyle had grown up almost within sight of the Matchroom Stadium – along Manderville Street, just on the other side of Hackney Marsh from the ground.
Stacy had grown up on Glenarm Road, less than a mile from Kyle. She had watched him play at Hackney Marsh as a schoolboy and celebrated with him when he signed for The O’s. They had been married for twenty years. Now, they had just moved home, across the street from the ground, in the Oliver Road Allotments.
Their ‘drum’, in the local parlance, wasn’t a lot to write home about. It was enough. That was about all that could be said about it. Most of their remaining savings had gone into the place.
Kyle felt guilty.
“Bloody failure I am,” he said.
“Oh, seckle,” she replied, looking up from her reading. “You did what you could. But now we’ve got to figure a way out, yeah?”
Kyle had spent some of his money on Stacy. She appreciated that, even if she hadn't appreciated -- at all -- some of his other spending. But they had reconciled, and they were a team again.
Their daughter, sixteen-year old Jenna, was sat at a desktop computer playing Minecraft. She had been the only child, the apple of her father's eye, and had always been his biggest supporter. Including his wife, at times. That was hard to admit. But he had deserved that.
"Yeah," he finally said. "We've got to figure a way out."
Kyle leaned back in his chair, and wondered how that was supposed to happen. His reputation was, to be kind, unsettled. His first managerial stint had ended not only in failure, but in relegation. Who on earth would take that kind of chance?
There was no money in the bank. There was no severance. Kyle wondered what he was going to do.
# # #
Author’s notes: FM15 with Home Nations loaded. Starting, obviously, as “unemployed”.
ttl
1 September 2015
# # #
Thanks for reading!