The Rule of Law

So intrigued to see what happens next man, the quality of writing is brilliant, bravo sir, bravo!

Scott: Now you begin to see the intricacies of his elite managerial skills

Griffin: Thanks mate! I'm really enjoying writing it at the moment so there's much more to come

Alex was blinded by the flashbulbs of the press cameras as he sat down at the table. There was a jug of water in front of him, and behind him stood an advertising board with all of Leicester’s sponsors. Apparently this conference was going to be broadcasted all across the world.

Ranieri had told Alex that he didn’t have to do it – that the biggest priority was keeping his head 100% focused on Sunday’s fixture – but Alex said that he wanted to speak at the conference. That he had some things he needed to get off his chest. Alex looked around the room to see if he could spot his sports journalist girlfriend, Charlotte. He could usually find her anywhere in a crowd – a kind of sixth sense he had about her. She wasn’t there today, though. Probably at the office.

“So, Alex,” started one of the journalists. “You and Leicester City are right up there in with a surprise shot of winning the Premier League this Sunday. I’m sure you didn’t imagine that scenario a few months ago when you were down by the coast at Brighton.”

Alex smiled. “No, I suppose you’re right,” he said. “And I have to admit that in the beginning, it was difficult at Brighton. However, I learned a lot and made some great friends too. I’ll be as nervous as anything when I watch them on the TV tonight. If they can get into the play-offs, it’ll be a fantastic achievement for Hughton.”

“What do you think of Gokhan Inler being arrested, Alex?” asked another journalist. “And can you comment on the rumours that you two had a big bust-up?”

“Er, Alex does not have to answer that question,” said Paul Blake, Leicester’s press officer. “The Inler case is currently in the hands of the police, so-“

“Paul, it’s OK,” said Alex, gently. “There is something that I wanted to say about this. It’s important to me. Ever since I was signed for Leicester following my release, the club have helped me as a footballer but also saved me from mental breakdown after Manchester City released me. I owe the club my career and if the club thought that it was necessary to settle the dynamics and also aid my develop my talent with a fantastic manager in Chris Hughton, I once again cannot thank the backroom staff here at Leicester.”

Alex was just getting his phone out to call Charlotte to see if she’d seen the globally aired conference when a fat man pushed his way through the crowd of journalists and poked a voice recorder under Alex’s chin.

“Alan Nixon,” said the man. “From The Sun. Give us a couple words about the big game tomorrow,” he ordered.

Alex stared at Nixon. He was the one who had written hit pieces on Alex, damaging his reputation every step of the way. His face was as red as a tomato and he had blue veins poking out from his nose. His tie was decorated in crusty Greggs stains, and he had a hundred specks of saliva resting on his bottom lip.

So you’re the one who prints anything he can to hurt me and my livelihood, Alex thought to himself as he glared down at Alan Nixon. You’re the one who judges me. And now you want me to speak to you. You want ‘a couple of words’ from me?

“Yeah, sure you can have a couple of words, mate,” said Alex, drawing himself up to his full height so he could look down on Nixon’s fat, filthy plate of a face. “Alan Nixon is a tosser!”

There were a few gasps around the room of journalists. But Alex didn’t care. He had already waited too long for this moment to arrive.

“OK, that’s probably enough,” said Paul Blake, sweeping his protective arm around Alex. “You need to stop now, mate.” Then Paul turned and smiled apologetically to Nixon, saying, “Alex is under a lot of pressure. Sunday’s such a big game to him-“

Alex cut him off again, “No!” said Alex, freeing himself from Blake’s arm. “I’m not stressed at all. I know exactly what I am saying.” As Alex and Paul left the room, he could see all the other journalists were now laughing at Nixon, mocking him. He could see the anger and embarrassment leaping from his oily face.

GO ON LAD. About time someone put The Sun writers in their place. Absolute vermin they are.

2019-01-31 12:43#254630 ScottT : GO ON LAD. About time someone put The Sun writers in their place. Absolute vermin they are.

The choice of newspaper is no coincidence I'll tell you that

It was as though Alex was playing the game himself. He couldn’t stand still. He was jumping up and down and running around the room. He was watching Brighton & Hove Albion play. The game was being shown live on Sky Sports because, if they won, they would be confirmed in the Championship play-offs.

Now the camera was focusing in on Chris Hughton, who was bellowing instructions from his technical area. His voice was so loud today that even the crowd microphones were picking his words up.

Alex laughed. He remembered the time when, one day after Brighton training, as he was leaving, he’d seen Hughton standing by the side of one of the pitches shouting at the very top of his voice, but when Alex looked out onto the pitch, he’d seen that nobody was playing. He’d thought Hughton had actually gone insane.

“Mr Hughton!” Alex had said to him. “Who are you shouting at? The pitch is empty!” Hughton had pretended to look shocked at first, but then he’d smiled at Alex.

“When you step out onto the white lines, Alex, I’m pretty much helpless,” he’d said. “There’s only one way that I can affect the outcome while a match is happening – and that’s by bollocking you lot! Telling you what to do! But shouting is like anything else; there’s a technique behind it. And that’s what I’m doing now is perfecting that technique.”

“So... you are... practicing how to shout?”

“Got it in one, Alex!” Hughton had said.

But now, back on the TV, Brighton were attacking. Tomer Hemed had laid the ball off to Jamie Murphy, who was racing through. He was one-on-one with the keeper. He drilled the ball towards goal and it beat the goalkeeper, but then hit the post! However, that wasn’t all. The ball rebounded so hard that it smashed Murphy flat in the face and bounced back into the net!

“Ohhh, ya beauty!” Alex roared, sprinting around his living room in circles like someone doing a rain dance. “Go on, Jamie, my son! Smash it in with your face, why don’t you?! Don’t matter how they go in!”

Alex couldn’t wipe the smile from his face. Brighton had just made it into the play-offs! On the TV, Alex could see the whole squad huddled in the centre circle celebrating. Their pride and passion shone out. It was funny, Alex thought to himself, how football teams reflected the spirit of their manager. Alex knew that Hughton was mad about football.

This was a really, really nice post. When I can read a description of Nixon's face and compare it to people I've seen in real life, that's an important thing to a reader. Applause!

Hughton is a right laugh, it seems. Interesting way to score though!

TenThree: Thanks man! Really encouraging to have your support with my writing and I’m glad you’re picking up on the subtle details

Scott: I’m sure he’s got a very humorous approach to go with his professionalism, and I’ve scored a couple like that in my Sunday League days so don’t know Murphy

Love the style of writing here man, taking things to another level!

So, who is this Charlotte you speak of?

Griffin: Cheers mate

Justice: I'm sure Scott knows her well that's all

Alex looked out of the car window at all the kids pressed up against the glass. They had been waiting outside his house since this morning, just trying to catch a glimpse of him. And now, as he was leaving to head to the ground, they were there to see him off. As he started up the engine, Alex suddenly had a flashback to when he was one of those kids. He remembered how excited he was to see his grandad’s Manchester United teammates.

Alex got out of his car and made sure he signed every single one of the shirts and autographs for the kids. He knew that the next Alex Law was among that crowd somewhere. As he got back in his car, Alex breathed deeply and closed his eyes. Today was the day of all days. Leicester City’s chance to win the Premier League.

“Let’s have a look at the paper,” Alex said to Craig Shakespeare while he was getting a massage to loosen his muscles ahead of the game. Shakespeare shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

“Papers ain’t come in today, Alex,” he said. “Postal strike or something like that.”

“Craig, I’m a pretty bad liar – but you must be the worst liar I think I’ve ever seen,” laughed Alex. “You can’t even look me in the eye while you say it! Come on, pass it here, I know it’s a big game, but I’m not nervous. I promise.”

“Gaffer’s orders,” explained Shakespeare, holding his ground. “You’re not supposed to look at the papers.”

“Craig, either you give me the paper or I go get one off one of the fans. Your call.” Alex challenged the assistant manager.

Shakespeare considered his options for a couple of moments and then, with extreme reluctance, handed Alex the copy of The Sun. “Thank you,” said Alex, a little sarcastically. Then, instinctively, he turned over to read the back page. Alan Nixon had written yet another hit piece on Alex about his outburst at the reporter at the pre-match conference where he called Nixon a ‘tosser’. Nixon reiterated points that Alex Law was only a ‘child’ and that the final day nerves were getting to him numerous times in the article.

“What’s he doing reading that rubbish?!” shouted Claudio Ranieri, storming into the massage room and tearing the newspaper out of Alex’s hands. “I told you to not let him read it – under any circumstances!” he glared at Shakespeare. But it was too late. Alex had read every word.

Shakespeare is in trouble with Claudio, I bet. I'm interested to see if those comments will affect Alex in any way, whether that be positively or negatively. Loving these updates so far, very gripping!