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Adam Chabukiani: Defying All Odds

The story of a young Georgian refugee, born through the chaos of the Abkhazia War to find his feet in the footballing world.
Started on 5 October 2015 by Jack
Latest Reply on 5 July 2019 by Justice
21 January 2005

The next morning, Adam was in the Bradford training ground car park. Doug, the driver, had gone to get a cup of tea from the canteen while Adam sat in the car finishing off some emails before training. He heard Windass tooting and saw his Bentley drive up to the security barrier at the entrance of the car park. He pulled up in the space next to Doug's car. Adam slouched down lower in his seat. He had no desire to talk to Dean Windass.

Through the open window, Adam realised Windass was on the phone - and he could hear exactly what Windass was saying. Adam felt his heart pounding. For some strange reason, it felt as though his whole career at Bradford depended on listening in on Windass' call.

However, the more he listened to Windass' conversation, the more embarrassed Adam was becoming.

"Yes," WIndass was saying. "I will do lots of work with the charities and I will visit all the local schools. It is very, very important that I do the good work outside of the football. There is nothing more important that this." Adam felt his cheeks flush with shame. He had misjudged Windass badly. Here Adam was spying on him and all Windass was talking about was what he could do for the local community.

Adam sent his last email and looked at the time on his phone. Training was starting in twenty minutes. It was time to let his vendetta against Windass go. Time to get ready for training. Adam was just about to sit up and open the door when, through the wing mirror of Windass' car, he saw Windass look around him, checking to ensure that no one was there. There was a look in his eyes that seemed to say he was hiding something. Instinct told Adam to stay exactly where he was. He slouched back down into the seat.

"And the reason I make myself act like this saint is that it means no one will suspect me!" Windass said. And then he started laughing. The sound alone made Adam shudder.

"Of course I can make it happen, you dick!" Windass whispered angrily. "I already have a plan. It is simple but genius. In a very big game, near end of the season, I make sure I get a red card after five minutes... I'll do a bad foul and swear at the referee or something. Anyway, I am sent off after five minutes. And then we know for sure that Bradford lose this game. It is one-hundred percent they will lose because they have stupid players. Without me, they are nothing. They will lose badly.

"So, I tell you which game, you make the bets on Bradford to lose and you win your money. Lots of money. All the money I owe you and more. In one match. Like I say, it's simple and genius."
Adam felt his heart start to speed, start to hammer away inside his chest, while his brain attempted to decipher what exactly was going on.

"Yes, I know how much I owe you!" snapped Windass. "Why do you think I joined this shit club? I'm here to do this. Just wait. Let me make a good reputation first so nobody suspects me and then I'll call you and tell you which match... Don't worry, I can do this. You will get your money! Now leave me alone!" and then Windass hung up the phone, looked around one final time, got out of his car and went into training.

Adam watched him go and, as soon as Windass was out of sight, he breathed in a massive gulp of air. He'd been holding his breath for ages. He could not believe what he had just heard. Adam thought Windass might have been up to no good, but fixing matches - this was something else. The feeling in Adam's stomach told him that there was going to be some serious trouble ahead.

But there was no backing out of it. Adam was part of this now, whether he liked it or not. He knew exactly what he had heard and, more importantly, he knew he had to do something about it.
21 January 2005

See, everyone?" Bryan Robson was saying. "If we just give the ball to this lad, he can work magic for us. Do things that no one else can do. He is a special player."

Windass had just bent a perfect free-kick right into the top corner of the goal and Robson had stopped training for the third time to personally praise his new signing in front of everyone else. It was becoming too much for Adam. It was almost as though Bryan was sucking up to Windass. Why don't you just go over and kiss the bloke if you think he's that amazing? Adam thought. But you don't know what I know. You don't know the truth about him... why he's really here... what he's planning...

said Robson, now strolling over to the kit bag and blowing his whistle hard and loud. "Gonna mix it up a bit now, bring a little competitive spirit into things. Full-size game, proper match tempo, and we're gonna have young'uns versus oldies. Under twenty-fives in bibs that side, over twenty-fives that side. I want a hundred per cent but NO crazy tackles, we've a big game on Saturday."

It had been ninety minutes since Adam had heard Windass' phone call. Heard his plan. His plan to fix a game. His plan to cheat. Every minute seemed like a week, with sickness pumping through Adam's body like poison as he tried to work out what he should do, who he should tell.

Now he was watching Windass juggling the ball in the centre of the pitch. Windass was chewing gum, looking around him at the other Bradford players. It was so clear to Adam now. So clear that Windass thought he was better than anyone else here. He didn't respect them. He didn't respect football. Even before the practice match kicked off, Adam could feel his forehead glisten with a film of sweat. Tension raged within him. He had to do something to stop this traitor.

And then suddenly, as Windass picked up the ball and started doing his fancy skills, the answer came to Adam in a flash. There was a way to stop Windass; a way to prevent him from being able to carry out his plan. It was so simple Adam couldn't believe that he hadn't worked it out earlier. He had to take Windass out! Adam did not like the idea of fouling another player on purpose - and he certainly would not have considered doing it with any other player - but for Windass, for a cheat, he was prepared to make an exception. Adam turned and charged at Windass.

He quickly built up to his top speed and then launched himself at Windass with a flying, waist-high, kung-fu tackle. He gave them everything he had. He had to take Windass out of the game for months... it was the only way.

But Windass was too quick. He swerved out of the way before Adam could make contact. Adam went flying through the air, studded boot outstretched, a look of pure aggression etched on his face. But he got nowhere near Windass.

"Ey!!" Windass shouted furiously, throwing his hands up in the air. "You're fucking crazy! What are you doing, little boy?! Do you want to kill me, you dickhead?!"

"Piss off!" Adam roared, springing up off the ground and sprinting straight at Windass. "I know what you're doing, you che-" but before he could get the words out, before he could tell everybody what he'd found out, what was going on, he felt his legs and body being lifted powerfully from the ground and marched off the pitch. He struggled but he couldn't release himself from the grip.

Both Bryan Robson and the Bradford captain had hold of Adam and they would not let him go until he was far away enough from the other players not to be a threat.

"Get rid of him!" shouted Windass as they dragged Adam away. "I'm not playing in the same team as that idiot!"

"It's him!" Adam screeched, pointing at Windass, unable to control his emotions when they finally put him down. "We've got to stop him! You don't know what he's up to!"

"Go and wait for me in my office!" shouted Bryan Robson, so angry a vein was bulging out from the side of his forehead.

"But Bryan!" Adam said. "You don't understand! It's Windass! He's going to f-"

"Now, Adam! Get in my office NOW!!!!"
Bryan Robson's Office

Adam sat in Robson's office, waiting. His heart was still racing and fists still clenched. He wished he'd had the chance to give Windass everything he deserved. He might not get another opportunity. How could he do it? How could he cheat football? Adam wouldn't allow him to. He couldn't stand by and watch this traitor use Bradford like this. Bradford was the team that Adam thought about when he went to sleep. It was the team that was written in his blood. That meant he had to stop Dean Windass. Because he was the only person that could.

"I'm disappointed in you, Adam," Bryan Robson announced, sweeping into the room like a hurricane. "Seriously disappointed." he was staring at Adam now. His eyes were harsh and cold.

"I'm sorry boss, but you don't understand. It's Winda-"

"I haven't finished yet,"
Robson barked. "The reason I'm so disappointed in you is that you're a huge Bradford fan. You're always going on about how you were always used to come down and watch us when you were a kid, about how proud you are to play for the club. You, of all people. I didn't expect you to react like this."

"React to what?" Adam asked. "I don't understand."

"React like this to us signing Windass!" said Robson, his face reddening with anger. "Windass is the biggest signing we have made since Bradford's relegation from the Premier League. And how do you react? Like a spoilt child! Just because the guy plays in your position, from the minute he walks through the door, you go into a strop and start causing problems for the rest of the squad. I mean, what was that out there today? It was an absolute disgrace! That's what it was!"

"Boss," said Adam, suddenly aware of the gravity of the situation facing him. "Boss, it's not like that. I haven't got a problem with Windass because he plays attacking mid. It's... it's something else."

"What is it then, Adam? If it's money, then you can forget it; you've just signed a new contract. You're the high-"

"No," said Adam. "It's not about the money. Well, not as far as I'm concerned, anyway."

"What are you talking about, Adam?" Robson demanded. "And let me tell you, this had better be good because I'm rapidly losing patience."

"Windass!" Adam spluttered. "He's a cheat! A fake! He's planning to throw a game! I heard him on the phone about it this morning!" now he'd said it, Adam felt the relief seep through his body. It was as though a huge pressure had been released. A burden lifted. Now Bryan Robson knew the truth and he could deal with Windass himself. Adam sensed Bryan Robson's stare zoning in on him.

"Who's he working with?" asked Robson. Adam suddenly felt as though he were the one on trial.

"I don't know," said Adam. "There was no name."

"Which match is he planning to throw?"

"I don't know," stammered Adam, searching his brain for what he had heard. "I think one at the end of the seas-"

"OK," said Robson, with no trace of emotion in his voice. "I think I've heard enough of this. This is not what I wanted to do, Adam, but the way I see it, I don't have any other choice." and then, right there in front of Adam, Bryan Robson took out his phone and called his old friend Raymond Porlock - the manager of Bradford Park Avenue Football Club. It was that quick. Before Adam had a chance to say another word, he was out of Bradford City.

Adam was told not to report to Bradford City for training the next day but to head to Bradford Park Avenue instead. Tiny little Bradford Park Avenue. In the sixth tier of English football. Adam was almost happy. It felt like he was heading home. He had watched Bradford Park Avenue until he started earning his own money to go to Bradford City matches.

"A three-month loan period," Bryan Robson had explained on Bradford's website. "To allow Adam to rediscover his form and confidence away from the pressure of the Football League. It's the best thing for him right now. He'll come back a much better player."

But Adam knew the truth. Adam knew that he'd been shipped out because the manager thought that he held a grudge against the star player. Because the manager thought he was there to cause trouble. The most haunting of all were Robson's last words as he practically shoved Adam out of his office: "If you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone - and I mean anyone - if you undermine the best season this club has had since relegation from the Premier League, I swear Adam, I'll see to it that you never play for Bradford City again."
22 January 2005

"Don't worry, I'll make sure it's still there when you get back," said a familiar voice as Adam cleared out his locker the next morning. It was 7.30 a.m. He was supposed to be at Bradford Park Avenue at 8.30 a.m. to meet their manager, Raymond Porlock, in his office.

Adam turned around to see Archie Fairclough, Bradford City's assistant manager, standing behind him.

"That's if I'm ever allowed back," said Adam. There was a tear in his eye, and when he looked at Archie, Adam could see that he was upset too. After all, when Adam had arrived at Bradford like an injured puppy, barely able to walk, let alone run, it was Archie who had patiently but brilliantly coaxed him back.

When it looked like Adam's body had been broken, like he had no future in football, Archie was the one who fixed him. Adam would not forget that. Ever.

But now all their hard work, everything they had achieved together, was going down the drain. As rain pelted against the roof of the Bradford training ground, the pair of them stood in silence for a second or two.

"I don't understand why he's doing this," Adam said, his voice breaking. "Why is he sending me away, Archie?"

Archie pursed his lips. It looked as though he wanted to say something but didn't know how. "Sometimes, Adam," he said, trying to find the words he needed. "Sometimes, things happen for a reason. We don't know why at the time, but when we look back... when we see things for what they really were... then we understand."

"I don't even know what you're talking about, Archie," said Adam, putting his bag over his shoulder as he prepared to walk out of the Bradford City training ground. "All I know is that I fucking love this club. And now I'm being chucked out."

"Look, Adam," said Archie firmly. "You've been through worse than this and come back from it. So get your head down, work hard and just make sure you get back here as quickly as you can. OK?"

Adam turned and looked at Archie. He knew how much Archie wanted him to succeed. "OK," said Adam. "See you around, Archie."

"Hey!" shouted Archie, as Adam opened the door to leave. "Remember... never bet against Adam Chabukiani."
Loving the start for your story.
Really amazing writing. And definitely some really dark stuff there at times. As it had to be due to the circunstances.
But really nice way to tell the story, I'll be catching up in the next days ;)
Wow ... it's an emotional roller-coaster, that's for sure.
Murtagh: Thanks man, I appreciate it. I hope to start writing more about the actual football soon, but it depends on update speed. Loving your story as well!

FormIsntAll: There'll be a few more twists and turns to come :P
22 January 2005

"Raymond Porlock," announced the man, extending his hand to shake Adam's. He was having his first meeting with his new manager, Raymond Porlock, boss of Bradford Park Avenue. He'd spent the last few minutes waiting for Porlock, listening to the sound of rats scurrying beneath the floorboards.

Now they were sitting in Porlock's office, and for a moment, there was a silence as the player and the manager stared at each other across the desk. Porlock had a face unlike any that Adam had ever seen before. He was old - at least fifty, maybe sixty - and his face was wrinkled and weathered. How many nights must Porlock have stood on the touchlines, in the freezing cold, bellowing out instructions to his players, trying to eke out that extra ten percent? He had seen everything football had to offer.

And yet, at the same time, his eyes were fresh, sharp and playful. They were alive with ideas, bright with enthusiasm. The word in the game was that Raymond Porlock was also slightly eccentric. Had his own way of doing things. Or, to put it another way, he was as mad as a box of frogs.

"Now, what happened at City, Charlie... I want you to forget all about that," Porlock was saying.

"Adam," said Adam.

"What?" asked Porlock.

"My name's Adam."

"I know what your name is," said Porlock. "But we all have nicknames here. Yours will be Charlie. Now, where was I? Yes, this is a new start for you, Charlie. A new dawn. I want Park Avenue to be the place where you get back to your best. And that will be good for everyone. If you can get back playing how we both know you can, then that will be great for you and cracking for Park Avenue! Back of the net, eh?"

"Yup. Back of the net," Adam said, smiling. But inside, he was thinking: Just get me back to City. As soon as possible!

23 January 2005

"Morning, lads, gather in," said Raymond Porlock, marching into the dressing room the next morning. He looked odd. He was wearing a lime green tracksuit top and he'd paired it with bright blue tracksuit bottoms, one grey sock, and one pink one.

"Right, it's Harrogate Town tomorrow," said Porlock in his husky, croaky voice. "It's the big one; could be at least a few thousand watching." Adam tried to recall the the biggest crowd he'd played in front of. Probably twenty-five thousand.

"So, by way of preparation, what I want you to do between now and tomorrow's game is... and this is important... I want you to imagine all the Harrogate players - the entire team - on the toilet." the Park Avenue players all dissolved into laughter. Even Adam.

"Seriously, Mr Porlock?" they teased. "So shall we imagine them going for a piss or a shit, then?" Raymond held his hand up to quell the chuckles.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen. I'll have you know that I've been studying a bit of psychology in my spare time, and one of the books that I read clearly states that if you are going into a situation that is making you nervous, just imagine your opponents sitting on the toilet. It makes them less intimidating. More, you know, human.

"Listen, lads,"
he said, aware that the giggles were starting up again. "Trust me, it's all this modern claptrap that'll get us promoted - I swear!"

Adam felt like standing up and saying, "I'm sorry, I don't think I should be here. I need to get back to Bradford City now," and walking straight out of the door. But Adam stayed sitting down. As a leak from the ceiling continued to drop cold, dirty water onto his forehead, he bit his lip so hard that he could start to feel the hot, sickly taste of his own blood in his mouth.

It was his big mouth that had got him into this situation in the first place. And he'd decided to keep it firmly shut from now on. He had fallen a long way. But the journey back was even further.
23 January 2005

Bradford Park Avenue 1 - 0 Harrogate Town | 56 minutes.

"And Chabukiani's on the ball now, rampaging through the Harrogate defence. They're not content with a 1-0 victory, they want a second! Still Chabukiani... He's past three... past four... And Chabukiani still goes on - just witness the pace! A step-over now, and another one! But look at Smith! He's charging back at Chabukiani now and... oh! Oh no! That is an awful tackle. He's hacked down Chabukiani from behind with a crushing foul. Oh, and the replay makes it look even worse! He's trapped Chabukiani's knees between his legs... Apologies to those watching who are squeamish... Those replays showing the knee being bent almost backwards are quite sickening..."

The stabbing pain shot through Adam as he lay crumpled in a heap on the ground. Writhing in agony, he raised his hand in the air to call for the physio. Almost instantly he felt a cold hand on his shoulder. But when he opened his eyes, he did not see the physio or one of his teammates, he saw the smiling face of an assassin.

"Now you got what you deserve," said Charlie Smith, leering over him. "I hope you never play again." Smith was instantly shown the red card by the referee, but a ten-year prison sentence would have been more appropriate.

Not that Smith was going off the pitch or anywhere else. He stayed exactly where he was, standing over Adam, laughing at him, while Adam was lying prone on the ground, clutching his knee in agony. Adam almost couldn't see through the pain. The torture tore through him like a furious forest fire. Smith knew exactly what he was doing. In an evil scissors motion, he'd wrapped himself around Adam's knee, crushing it and twisting it until it broke.

Now, as Adam was carefully lifted onto a stretcher and given oxygen to breathe in, the pain was almost too much to bear. All that training. All that exercise. All those hours fighting his way back from the last injury. Now Smith had killed those dreams. He'd slashed them apart in a cruel and cold-blooded manner. Adam knew why. Charlie Smith was the man on the phone to Dean Windass.

The word 'irreversible' rang around Adam's head. It was the end now.
6 June 2005

"Adam," said Raymond Porlock. "Take a seat,"

"Good morning, Mr Porlock," said Adam.

"I understand from Bryan Robson at Bradford City that your contract has been mutually terminated, yet you have recovered from that injury back in January?" Porlock inquired.

"That is correct, I found myself in an impossible position with Mr Robson. Besides, I can't and won't play football at this kind of level ever again. It's too much for me."

"So, what brings you back here, on this lovely summers day? Shouldn't you be out there in Ibiza right now?" the room fell silent, while Adam thought of the words to say to his former manager.

"Mr Porlock, I understand you have an academy here, or at least a juniors side linked with the club,"

Raymond Porlock cut Adam off mid-sentence, "Why, yes, we have an Under-18's team, quite a decent one as well, especially for a club in our league,"

"I want a job there." said Adam, without warning.

Porlock allowed himself a few seconds to take in what Adam had said to him.

"Okay. I didn't expect this to be a job interview when you first called me yesterday evening, but it looks like we're heading that way. What can you offer to Bradford Park Avenue, Adam?" Porlock quizzed his old employee.

"I think it would be an easier question to ask 'what can't I offer to this team', Mr Porlock. responded Adam. "I grew up watching this team since arriving from Georgia, I know the struggles of being a young footballer, believe me, it's still fresh in this memory of mine," Adam pointed towards his temple, to show that his memory as a battered and bruised youngster was still fresh in the memory of the former wonderkid.

"Mr Porlock, I can help these kids mentally and physically, let's not forget I was one of the highest rated youngsters in the English game not a long while ago. I still have that talent, and obviously my medical conditions has stopped that from growing. I just want to stay in football. That's all I want."

Porlock stared at Adam intensely. Adam didn't know what on earth was going on in his interviewers head and mind, but he was worried. What do I do if I don't get this? I haven't been to school since when I was at Leeds! I don't want to be stacking shelves in ASDA all my life! Adam's voice inside him was shouting at him.

A minute had passed before Raymond Porlock broke the silence, "Okay," he said.

"Okay..." Adam repeated, waiting eagerly for Porlock to finish his sentence.

"Do you still have your Park Avenue tracksuit that we gave you in January?" Porlock asked.

"Well, I don't really look out for it everyday, but I think so, yeah,"

"At least we'll be saving a bit of cash then, if you have. We'll get your contract sorted. You'll be the Under-18's assistant manager, Brian Rochester will show you around and get you started. Welcome aboard, once again, Adam." Porlock congratulated.

"I won't let you down, Mr Porlock."
12 December 2009

It had been almost five years since Adam Chabukiani had retired from football. It had been just over four years since he was hired as Bradford Park Avenue's Under-18's assistant manager. Today, John Deacey had been named as Bradford Park Avenue's new manager, following Raymond Porlock's retirement at sixty-seven years old.

Deacey had been interviewed in the local paper, Bradford Telegraph & Argus, saying that he wanted his backroom staff reshuffling. "I believe Porlock did an excellent job here in maintaining a steady position for this club, but I think he had the right people in the wrong places during his time here and I really want to fix that during my time here." he said upon taking over from Porlock.

Adam Chabukiani was part of the staff that Deacey had inherited from taking the Park Avenue job. He had been called into the large round table that separated the twelve members of non-playing staff. John Deacey had it reserved especially for this meeting in the local pub. It was a good way to get people talking to each other that are far away from each other in terms of work area. Deacey had made it clear that there was to be no redundancies this evening.

Adam wasn't so confident he was going to get any massive change out of this meeting, like everyone else did, but he still went nevertheless, he saw it as a good way of socialising with people he wouldn't normally socialise with on a daily basis more than a backroom reshuffling process.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Deacey began. "How are we all today?"

The members' voices just turned into a loud competition of voices, fighting against each other. Deacey couldn't understand how anyone was feeling today, so he just supposed they were all okay and carried on with the purpose of the meeting.

"As you all probably know, I called this meeting to begin my personalisation of my backroom staff, if you have any qualms about changes, feel free to pop up at any point and voice your concerns."

The population began to murmur before Deacey's gruff voice halted anymore discussion. "Jonny, I want you to become our Head Physio, you report back to me with Lee and Pete's reports on fitness, injuries, whatever."

"Sure, boss, that's fine by me, boss." replied the new Head Physio, Jonny Smith.

"You have a young team there, I want them trained up to be just like you. Lee, Pete, I want you to listen to Jonny as much as possible and take in whatever he says, he's a good man is Jonny." said Deacey, to which Lee Bullock and Pete Abassi nodded their heads in acknowledgement of their new boss.

"Jamie and Danny, I'm not a fan of player/staff roles at the club, would you be happy to drop back into just playing now?" asked Deacey, opening up discussion between the two players/coaches.

After a few minutes discussion between Danny Schofield and Jamie Price, the pair came to a conclusion. "No," Jamie said. "We're entering the last few years of our playing years, I hope you respect our wishes to develop in our coaching ability whilst being available to play for the team on matchdays."

"Yes, I suppose you're right with that. You will remain as coaches, whilst being on the matchday list." Deacey sighed.

"Thank you, Mr Deacey." replied the pair.

"Now, the youth team. I understand it's a hard job for you, Mr Rochester, having to run two teams in the under-18's and the reserve team, so I will be hiring a new assistant manager for you, as well as a new youth coach."

Adam glared at John Deacey. Had he just forgotten he was there?! He was the assistant manager to Mr Rochester! He couldn't just do that?! "Excuse me for butting in here, Mr Deacey, but I am the assistant manager to Mr Rochester in the academy? What will happen to me? You promised us all that there were to be no redundancies?"

"Ah, Adam, I was just getting round to you. As you may all notice, Alex Aca is not with us today. Aca was the assistant manager to Mr Raymond Porlock for many years, and he has understandably left to go into retirement alongside Mr Porlock. That means there is an absence for my assistant manager. Adam, you will take up that role for me."

Adam sat up in amazement. He was startled. He came into this meeting expecting to stay in the same role, a first team coach if he was lucky. But assistant fucking manager?! That was unbelievable!

"Adam, I've been told about how you have performed alongside Mr Rochester with the kids and it's fair to say I've been extremely impressed with what I have heard about you. I believe that you give me that youthful side that's been needed in the first-team for a long while. You will be promoted with immediate effect."

Adam tried his best to sound professional and mature, not the overexcited and giddy vibe flowing around his stomach, "Why, thank you Mr Deacey, and to you, Mr Rochester, it's been a pleasure working with you over the last few years." Adam said.

"And you too, Adam. You deserve this chance, trust me." said his old boss, Brian Rochester.

Adam left the pub absolutely smashed that night, celebrating his promotion in the wildest way possible. It was a good night. And a good future ahead of him.
Jack's avatar Group Jack
8 yearsEdited

Deacey departs Bradford Park Avenue

27 April 2015
By Ian Whiting

Boss John Deacey has left Bradford Park Avenue by mutual consent today just two days after the Conference North club’s season ended.

First-team coach Jamie Price has agreed to take on the temporary role of first-team manager, until John Dean finds a permanent replacement for the 54-year-old manager that took control of Avenue in 2009 after Raymond Porlock's 10-year spell as manager.

Deacey steered Bradford to safety after a horrendous run of injuries in the first half of this season left them second bottom in January. He returned from a short break due to health concerns and the results picked up remarkably, leading to him being named manager of the month in February.

Deacey said: “I have decided to step down and give someone else a chance. I’ve got the club into mid-table and brought some silverware so I’m leaving it in a good position.

“I would like to wish the club every success in the future and I wish the supporters well as they have been great to me over the years. I can be proud of the job I’ve done in difficult times and I feel I’ve played my part in bringing Bradford Park Avenue back into the limelight.”

Price, who had been part of Deacey's coaching staff following the retirement of Porlock, and player-coach Danny Schofield have impressed since taking up coaching roles this campaign.

Avenue chairman John Dean said: “John Deacey has done a fantastic job for us and we are immensely grateful for the role he has played in bringing us this far. We wish him well."

Bradford Park Avenue's John Dean may look to bring in Ian Yeowart or Robert Page, formerly of Port Vale to the club. Deacey's assistant manager, Adam Chabukiani also remains at the club, and so he may be approached for a managerial role at the club - his first in his footballing career.
30 June 2015

Adam was just in the Trinity Shopping Centre in Leeds when he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He was still earning £75 per week, and he had spent most of it already. He was on his way to Mr Pretzel's as he looked at his phone to see who was calling. It was a phone number that Adam did not recognise.

Adam was reluctant to pick the phone in case it was just spam from Payment Protection Insurance, but he did anyway.

"Adam Chabukiani? Is that you?" said the man on the other end.

Adam noticed that it was a landline phone call, not on mobile. "Yes, who is this, sorry? I just don't have this number saved on my contacts," Adam stated, looking once more at his iPhone screen to check if he actually recognised this number.

"It's Doctor John Dean." Adam then realised who he was talking to.

"Ah! Hello Dr Dean! How are you?" Adam said cheerily.

"Not too bad at all, how is yourself, Mr Chabukiani?" the chairman asked Adam.

"I'm alright, just doing my bit of shopping in Trinity aren't I, eh?" Adam chuckled.

"Are you now," John said, he sounded quite stressed, but putting on a happy tone to make sure Adam didn't spot it. "Listen, Adam, are you able to come down to Horsfall any time soon, buddy?" John inquired.

"Errrm, what time is it now?" Adam asked himself, taking his phone away from his ear to check the time. "Twenty to four... What's the latest you'll be about, Dr Dean?"

"Just name a time," said Dean.

"Well, I have to be at a friends' house for eight o'clock, but there's a bus back to Bradford in a few minutes which I could catch?" Adam suggested to his chairman.

Dr John Dean fell silent on the phone for a moment, as if he was thinking. "Sure, just come at whatever time, call me when you are about, if that's OK?"

"Sure," said Adam.

It had been just over two months since John Deacey left the club and Adam hadn't really thought about Bradford Park Avenue recently, being on his holiday and everything. He hadn't a clue what this meeting was about.

Adam walked into Mr Pretzel's about a minute after he had ended the call with Dr Dean and ordered himself a cinnamon coated pretzel, with Nutella spread around it a bit. He loved the taste of it, but his fingers were always left sticky as a result of holding the pretzel, with the cinnamon peeling off onto his fingertips. It was time to catch the next bus back to Bradford now.
Jack: I think it's just great how you're doing.
And I know it goes a little late, but congratulations on making the youth english team :D
Very enjoyable your updates.It'll take a while to catch you up, but I'll be writing here what I'm thinking on your adventure.
30 June 2015

Adam turned up at the Horsfall Stadium at five o'clock. He was greeted by the two stewards of whom Adam had got to know well in his time at Bradford Park Avenue. Dean, a big bustly bastard from Chapeltown had been on a few nights out with the Georgian local celebrity in his time, and was one of Adam's best friends.

"I'm here for a meeting with the chairman today, Deano," Adam had explained on the gate outside the ground.

"Ey, might be about that job vacancy, you never know do you?" Dean winked at Adam.

It was at that moment that it had hit Adam, could this possibly about the job? He'd heard a few rumours over the past few months, with different names being banded about the local press, but none had come to any avail.

Dr John Dean's office was located just behind the West Stand of Horsfall Stadium, it wasn't a huge space, but it was obviously enough space for Dr Dean. His office door didn't have any iron plating on it, signifying that it was his office, like he had seen at both Leeds and Bradford City. He knocked twice on the thick wooden door.

"Who is it? Is it Mr Chabukiani?" said Dr Dean, his voice muffled from behind the door.

"Yeah, it's Adam." clarified Adam.

Adam heard his footsteps behind the door, before it creaked open. "Ah, glad you came so early!" said a delighted John Dean.

"Ahaha, yeah," Adam said, awkwardly.

"Please, sit down!" invited the chairman.

Dean had pulled up a comfy blue computer chair for Adam to seat himself on, meanwhile Dr Dean returned to his armchair behind his computer and stack of papers.

"So, why am I here today, boss?" asked Adam.

"Listen, Adam," Dean began. His forehead creased as though he had a concern to put across to Adam. "Mr Deacey left all the way back in April, it's now June. We still haven't managed to find a replacement for Deacey and we're rapidly approaching preseason." this sounded promising for the young Georgian.

"Obviously, Jamie Price has done a bit of work since Deacey left, but he is still technically a player, and I do not want to give a man two responsibilities, it just doesn't happen in my club. Now you've seen a lot of things happen at this club, I've known you ever since Mr Raymond Porlock introduced you to me," when Dean mentioned Porlock's name, his voice broke a little, as though he was talking about a dead relative.

"You've been here for ten years now, starting in 2005 when you were just a seventeen year old. You've seen this club stay static for all of that time and you must be so frustrated that nothing has been done by any regime to take the club up the footballing ladder, I know I am, I don't like the supporters not trusting me because of these managers doing nothing but consolidating, do I?"

"I understand you, Dr Dean, yeah." Adam agreed with what his chairman was saying.

"I've been trying to hunt down a new manager for little more than two months now, and now I'm starting to believe that the answer to that problem is right under my nose.

"I'm talking about you, Adam."
Adam's back shot up the chair like a rocket on lift-off.

"You want me? You want me to manage my club?" Adam needed to correct himself, "Sorry, sir, your club. You want me to manage your club? I'm honoured by the offer, but are you sure, Dr Dean?" asked Adam, with his brain going ten to the dozen.

"Adam, I know that you're a 26-year-old lad, I know that most managers are middle aged, but I've tried middle aged managers, I've tried old pensioners, you've worked with them both yourself, they don't work. I want to go to the other end of the spectrum, I want a man with potential, a bit of charisma and fire in their belly, I know you've got all of that inside you, I've already have rave reviews about you from just about every senior member of staff and player that has ever been at the club."

"But, Dr Dean," Adam was scared of talking himself out of the job, but he felt like he had to voice his concerns - it was his first ever management role! "I have no experience of managing a team, never mind a senior team with people already older than me! Why would they want to listen to some young kid who's suddenly become their manager overnight?"

Dean took a moment to think of an answer to that before saying: "Adam, you're older than a few players here, does that mean you look down on them?"

"Well, no, they're talented lads, I know that." Adam answered.

"And you are a talented man, you've got that energy a young soul should have, you have pride in this club, you were rated one of the best youngsters in the country before your injuries for God's sake! If you think people won't respect you here, I'm glad to say that you're absolutely incorrect. Some of the people here worship you, especially the young lads."

Adam felt a burning sense of pride in his belly as Dr Dean said those words. It felt special to be spoken about in that manner. It was the deciding factor to Adam taking the job, as well.

"Yes. OK. Yes, I'll take the job. Just give me that document and show me the dotted line.

"Great stuff, I'll get it all sorted out for you now and you'll take the team's first training session of the season on your birthday - think of it as my present to you." Dr John Dean smiled at his new manager.

You are reading "Adam Chabukiani: Defying All Odds".

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