I Gotta Have Raith-a Raith-a Raith-aaah...

Not trying to give out tips here, as that would be against GR etiquette, but you need to get a better scout.

But a Hornet story! Huzzah! It means I won't have to read Stu's pathetic efforts!

!!1!

Yay a hornet story and good work on a ice start even if tehy are just friendlies.

KUTGW! :thumb:

Excellent, Hornetto! Lovely bit of imaary with you "jumping" out of the chair. I can't see that ever happening with Boony, as a) he doesn't have any chairs on account of moving house and leaving such luxuried behind him and b) he's too "under-tall" to jump. By about eight foot.

KUTGW! :thumb:

That's a strong table for Boonysex....

I'm evaluating FM07, 800. It's a bit of a culture shock after a few years away. Many's the screen I have stared at blankly with no idea what I'm seeing.

An involuntary, somewhat Tiger Tim-ian fist-pump is my favoured method of goal celebration. The hot weather over the weekend meant that I had to have the bedroom door open to get a bit of a through-breeze going on. This in turn led to various relatives poking their heads round the door to investigate what might have been causing cries of "G'WAN THE PUFFIN!", "POCKET BILLIARDSAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHEEEEEEEESSSSSSSS!!" and/or frenzied bouts of swearing to echo around the house.

Morton are 4-6 favourites to be promoted from the division this year, with Peterhead, Stranraer and Brechin at 6-4, Sterling 3-1 and Ayr at 20-1.

Where are we on that list? Glad you asked.

“By pricing your team at 25-1 the bookmakers clearly think that relegation is a real possibility and you should be gearing up for a long, hard and ultimately disappointing season.”

Ha, more fool them – I’m ALWAYS gearing up for a long, hard and ultimately disappointing season.

SL2, A vs. Ayr United
For all that, though, we’re made slim favourites over the 6th favourite for promotion at their place. So what, and indeed, the fuck?

There are early danger signs when we hit the woodwork twice in the first ten minutes, but the deadlock only lasts until the 16th when the Puffin drifts a free-kick in looking for I’m A Locksmith on the penalty spot. Centreback Eddie Forrest manages to get in front, but in the process pings the ball past his stranded keeper. We’ll take it.

We totally boss the first half, and get just reward just after the break – Dandy Highwayman nips in front of his man to intercept a crossfield pass, knocks it back to My One Dad who finds Pocket Billiards in tons of space outside the penalty area. Billiards looks up, shifts the ball and mails in his Goal Of The Week application from thirty yards plus.

We fall back for the last half-hour with the job done, and run out time without facing any serious threat. That’ll do!
Ayr 0-2 Raith (Forrest 16(og); Pocket Billiards 52), MoM – USS Tiny Penis

Post match, the Ayr manager has a bit of a whinge about a peno that wasn’t given. Putting on my best Arsene Wenger specs, I smugly tell the press that I thought the ref made the right decision. So suck it, you whining bitch.

League Cup, A vs. Ayr United (SL2)
Eh? What? Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?

And now we’re listed as 1-2 on to win, with “the odds firmly stacked against Ayr”. Bookies = cocks.

We’re one down after two minutes, Andy McLaren swinging his boot wildly at a bouncing ball 25 yards out and somehow finding the back of the net, but it’s massively against the run of play and justice is done on 40 minutes, the Puffin giving it some dead-ball welly from 30 yards. Two diagonal balls from deep provided by Meat On The Ledge are finished with two sumptuous volleys and the final scoreline pretty fairly reflects the run of play.
Ayr 1-3 Raith (McLaren 2, Peckham Puffin 40; I’m A Locksmith 47; Pocket Billiards 82), MoM – Meat On The Ledge

Ayr boss Robert Connor has a massive Francis-ian whinge at all and sundry – his players for being shite and the ref for not disallowing the third goal for offside. I call him a cock-eyed whining cock, and get on with my life.

SD2, A vs. Greenock Morton
Are we even allowed to play games at home, then?

Morton are everyone’s favourites for promotion, but for a while it looks like we might upset their applecart a bit, USS Tiny Penis smacking in a free kick off the head of some schmoe in the wall. But we’re undone in the space of five minutes by our two normally-reliable centrebacks, first Cool And Froody giving away a pen with a clumsy trip, then DJ Homunculus getting caught in possession and having to just watch forlornly as Never A Frown is beaten one-on-one. First loss of the season, but still signs of encouragement – we had the edge in possession and more chances, even if our finishing let us down somewhat.
Morton 2-1 Raith (USS Tiny Penis 23, Linn 34(pen), McGarrigle 39)

Challenge Cup, H vs. Elgin City (SL3)
It’s over in 20 minutes. Time Tuba shows all his positive attributes with his first and second of the season – a powerful header from a Dandy Highwayman free kick with less than 2 minutes on the clock, then chasing down a hoofed clearance to fire in from a tight angle five minutes later. Another breakaway, and, to coin a phrase, “SHIT! DID YOU SEE THAT? That boy’s got a foot like a traction engine!” USS Tiny Penis hits a thirty-yarder that fizzes and bends like a Simon Jones inswinger. The keeper barely sees it, much less moves. There’s still time for two Elgin players to get sent off, the first for kicking at Tiny Penis, then another for pushing at Pocket Billiards after our skipper offered his sympathy for their bad luck. Ho ho ho.
Raith 3-0 Elgin ( Time Tuba 2, 6; USS Tiny Penis 20), MoM – USS Tiny Penis.

The draw sees us entertaining Premiership Motherwell in the League Cup, and away to Forfar in the Challenge.

SL2, H vs. Brechin City
11 shots between us. 1 on target. 50% of the action in the middle third. Not many interested.
Raith 0-0 Brechin

Finally, a loan request goes through! 17-year-old Hibs goalie In The Fat Field arrives for the season, and immediately ousts Never A Frown between the sticks. Another four or five people announce they’ve no intention of coming to us on loan. Pricks.

League Cup, H vs. Motherwell (SPL)
Nice goal on the half-hour, My One Dad playing a neat through-ball to which Peckham Puffin does the necessary. But pressing for a second, we get punched in the joy department – Motherwell break down the wing, knock in a cross that looks to be outside the danger area only to have a bastard with a name like an attempt to cheat at Scrabble swivel and hit the sort of volley that finds the pie-stand 99 times out of 100.

Guess where the 100th one ends up.

Even so, we battle hard and make it all the way to extra-time, where I suddenly realise that we have exactly one penalty-taker with a skill higher than 7, push forward and get us caught twice on the break.

Shagwallets.
Raith 1-3 Motherwell (aet) (Peckham Puffin 32, Vadocz 36, McCormack 103, Archdeacon 118)

Then, to add insult to grievous fucking injury, the following day’s papers are all about how easy the game was for Motherwell. Easy? They had to come from behind and got taken to extra time by a part-time side TWO DIVISIONS BELOW THEM, you WANKERS.

Still, sixteen grand for making the second round eases the pain a wee bit.

SL2, H vs. Stirling Albion
I’m asked for my comments in the run-up to facing this mob, “a mid-table side possibly playing above themselves”, and whom we’re slight favourites over given the home advantage. Since club captain Pocket Billiards is already slightly narked at me for “causing unnecessary controversy” (oooooooh! Get HER!) I elect to bite back the obvious reply – you know, the one about my enemy’s screams, the taste of his blood, the lamentation of his women etc. Instead, I go with “they’re a decent outfit that we can beat if we play well”.

I know. I know. I feel unclean.

We have fifteen shots to their 2. We have 4 on target to their none. We win 2-1.

Our finishing is starting to be a wee bit of a concern, to be honest. It could have been worse, too – well after the 4 minutes of stoppage time had run out, Stirling had the ball in the back of the net only for the goal to be correctly chalked off for offside. Lumme.

To be fair, if it had been allowed it might have taken a team of proctologists a week to get the referee’s stopwatch back.
Raith 2-1 Stirling (Graham 59(og); Pocket Billiards 66, Cashmore 79) MoM – Meat On The Ledge

Still, the press like it. “Vintage display”, “Stirling Albion taught a lesson”, “breathtaking display”… And who am I to argue? Still, Striling boss Allan Moore takes time off from being a comics God to throw a Warnock regarding the disallowed goal. Suck it, you loopy bearded genius!

Challenge Cup, A vs. Forfar (SL2)
Forfar are level with us on points in the league at the mo, and the bookies make them slight favourites. But we’ve been fast starters all season so far, and this is about the fastest – straight from the kickoff, a nice bit of interplay between My One Dad and Meat On The Ledge gives Dandy Highwayman a yard or two of space on the left touchline. As the fullback comes over to close him down, the Highwayman cuts inside and seeing Pocket Billiards pulling off the shoulder of his marker slips a pass inside the left centreback that Billiards darts onto and rolls across the keeper into the bottom corner. 23 seconds played, 1-0 Raith.

Then… the wheels come off a bit. A scramble after a corner leads to Paul Tosh having a thrash from distance that takes a wrong-footing deflection off DJ Homunculus and spins in off the post. And things get even worse for Deej on 25 minutes when under no pressure he plays a backpass to the wrong side of In The Fat Field and the Hungarian goalie can only watch the ball trundle by into the net. Two for Forfar in the space of three minutes. Erk.

To the team’s credit, they don’t fall apart and press to get back into it. In first-half injury time, a long throw from our own half is badly misjudged by a Forfar defender, and winger Ask Doctor Stupid is onto it like a ferret up a trouserleg. Coming into the penalty box, his touch pushes him a bit wide but he keeps his cool and does the sensible thing, cutting it back toward the far post where Dandy Highwayman is on hand for the close-range header.

Halftime, and it’s bigtime “you can win this!”, with special words for the Deej about how much faith I have in him (trans. – “I have two competent DC’s and you’re one of them. Pull your fucking finger out or we’re doomed”). And by gum, we look up for it in the second half, controlling the tempo and peppering the Forfar goal. Not peppering enough, mind, because somehow we get to full-time without breaking the deadlock. And then to halftime in extra time. And then with five minutes to go, sub winger The Dance Settee is setting up for an indirect free kick just outside Forfar’s area when he looks up and sees a man in a red shirt lurking all alone on the other side of the box. A quick pass, a couple of touches to get it under control and fullback Dead Plasterer’s Society (for it is he) bulges the net with a right-footed jackhammer of a shot. GOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAALLL!

I am delighted. It says so, right on the full-time team-talk.
Forfar 2-3 Raith (aet) (Pocket Billiards 1; Tosh 22; DJ Homunculus 25(og); Dandy Highwayman 45; Dead Plasterer’s Society 115) MoM – Pocket Billiards

We draw boredom specialists Brechin in the next round. One for the narcolepsy sufferers to avoid.

I’m second in the manager of the month voting to Jim McInally of all-conquering Morton. The board are encouraged by my start. Damn skippy.

:moop: I fear that all we'll see of the Simon Jones inswinger these days is in similies such as this one...

Anyway, cracking start there Hornet, and as ever I'm loving the writeup. I can imagine you staring at the little dot$ running around with a frantic passion, and I reckon you should probably buy ear-protectors for the kids lest they pick up some frightfully inappropriate language...

KUTGW! :thumb:

My problem is going to be that while my first XI is as good as (almost) anyone's at this level, the squad is absolutely paper-thin. We go three-deep on the right, at striker and (possibly) at centreback, but a patented Hornet UFT is only a couple of injuries away.

So yeah. Stroll on Christmas. Faliure is funnier than success, anyway.

Well, the month gets off to a cracking start with my best defender, Cool And Froody, twisting his knee and going out for a week or four. Butt Out Of Hull is first choice to replace him at the back. Cockflaps.

SL2, A vs. Stranraer
Currently rooted to the bottom of the table without a win or indeed a goal, there are worse places to have to go without your defensive talisman than Stranraer.

We came. We saw. We went home with the points.
Stranraer 0-3 Raith (Ask Doctor Stupid 16; Peckham Puffin 41, 47) MoM – Peckham Puffin

Up to second in the table, behind only “Bloody” Morton. Hurrah!

Challenge Cup 3rd Round, H vs. Brechin City (SL2)
Christ, Brechin are tedious. So tedious that after twenty utterly uneventful minutes our defence falls asleep and a half-cleared cross bounces to Steve Ferguson who rifles the ball home from the edge of the box.

We pour forward like the 5th Cavalry, but Brechin’s goalie is having a bit of a blinder and halftime comes and goes with no more scoring. I give it some “keep doing what you’re doing”, and lo and behold, we do. 65 minutes, about two minutes before we’d be having the helmsman set course for the Panicky Substitution Zone, My One Dad gathers a clearance and slides it back to Ask Doctor Stupid. The good Doctor looks up and launches a diagonal pass that comes down 45 yards later covered in snow and, more to the point, right in the path of Pocket Billiards bursting into the box. Billiards takes one touch and finishes with aplomb to square things up.

From there, there’s only one team in it and it’s just a question of whether we’ll get the winner in normal time. We don’t and, to make matters worse, the Puffin picks up a yellow for shirt-pulling five minutes from time that’ll keep him out of the semis if we make it. Grr.

The team talk is variations on a theme of “play your game and the goal will come”, although I take a minute to tell the Puffin that this is his moment, that he’s The Chosen One. The Top Dog. The Big Man. The Head Cheese. The Numero Uno Honcho. Etc.

Things don’t go entirely to plan. Two minutes into extra time, Meat On The Ledge does exactly what every schoolboy footballer in the country is told never to do – play a pass across the face of his goal. Stephen Hampshire grabs the opportunity for Brechin’s second shot on target the entire game, and their second goal. That’s caused some cat/pigeon intermingling, and no mistaking.

The next fifteen minutes is an Am-Dram re-enactment of Rourke’s Drift, with the Brechin defence playing the plucky doomed Redcoats and Raith filling the role of tens of thousands of massively hacked-off Zulu tribesmen. Half-time in extra time passes by with attack after attack being repulsed, and we’ve gotten to the traditional stage of abandoning all pretence of clever football in favour of pumping ball after ball into the box and hoping for the best. 7 minutes to go to the final whistle, and Brechin scramble another cross away, the ball eventually finding its way back to goalie In The Fat Field who pumps the obligatory big blooter as far forward as he possibly can. My One Dad gets up with the defender and flicks a header on and just like that, the Puffin is behind a back four that was trying to push up to clear their lines. The keeper rushes out to narrow the angle, but Peckham Puffin nudges the ball a yard to his right and applies an ice-cool finish. G’WAN THE PUFFIN!

Try as we might, we can’t get the winner, and with two minutes to go I yank the Puffin and USS Tiny Penis in favour of Time Tuba and The Dance Settee - ie two subs with Penalty skills higher than 2.

It’s a decision that doesn’t look too clever when we miss two of our first four penalties, including a full-on Chris-Waddle attempt to put the ball into low Earth orbit by the Tuba.

Fortunately, Brechin send their first pen wide and Hungarian toddler In The Fat Field saves THREE more to send us into the semis! Get in!
Raith 2-2 Brechin (aet, 2-1 on penalties) (Ferguson 20; Pocket Billiards 65; Hampshire 93, Peckham Puffin 113) MoM – Pocket Billiards

Naturally, the Brechin boss throws a bit of a wobbler about the winner, despite replays showing at least two of his clodhopping defenders playing the Puffin onside, one of them by about three yards. Suck it, you dreary fuckmuppet!

The draw pairs us with First Division Ross County at their gaff.

SL2, H vs. Peterhead
Having seen off the bottom team in the division last week, it’s nice having the mob who’re second bottom turn up asking for more of the same.

Peterhead pack the midfield to try and gum up the game and stifle our supply of balls forward.

It doesn’t noticeably work.
[i[Raith 3-0 Peterhead[/i] (Peckham Puffin 7, 54; Meat On The Ledge 41 (pen)) MoM – Peckham Puffin

It’s roughly at this point I discover the training screen. And furthermore, discover how big a difference it makes training full-time players as opposed to part-time ones. This seems like a good time to offer the Puffin a new contract, for the same cash he’s on now - £200 a week – but for an extra year and full-time not part-time.

Well, you’ve got to try this things, haven’t you?

SL2, H vs. Forfar Athletic
Home advantage makes us narrow favourites, but we’re taking nothing for granted because they ran us really close in the Cup a few weeks ago, albeit thanks to a couple of slightly spawny goals.

Sure enough, although we grab the lead early – a nice interception by USS Tiny Penis and an even nicer ball into the box for Peckham Puffin to finish off – Forfar get right back at us and on the stroke of halftime scramble a corner home, meaning the honours are even as the teams troop off. Pocket Billiards gets us back in front five minutes, almost making a mess of a lovely cross by the Puffin before getting the ball back under control and thumping it past a keeper caught halfway between coming for it and staying on his line. The lead lasts only 4 minutes though, nice wingplay seeing a good cross whipped in which Greg Tade meets with a diving header for his, and Forfar’s, second of the game.

From there, it’s the Peckham Puffin show. Three minutes, two goals – sprinting after a hoofed clearance and tucking it neatly past the keeper, then a gorgeous turn-and-strike from the corner of the box to wrap up his hat-trick and the game. THRIKER!
Raith 4-2 Forfar (Peckham Puffin 6, 77, 80; Tade 44, 56; Pocket Billiards 52) MoM – Peckham Puffin

Everyone in the entire world has a simultaneous orgasm regarding the Puffin and his performances. The papers say he’s great. A hack asks me what I reckon, I say he’s great, Puffin’s chuffed that I rate him. The Dundee United boss says he’s great, Puffin’s chuffed about that too. We’ve got Alloa next, their boss says he’s great. And that Peckham Puffin Must Be Stopped, which sounds like an episode of The Tick.

Magoo can’t see what the fuss is about, mind.

In the interest of heading off a potential sulk before it starts, I call the local rag and tell them that I reckon that the Puffin’s strike-partner Pocket Billiards is playing well, too. Because he is. Billiards feels the love. Which is nice.

SL2, A vs. Alloa Athletic
Alloa lie 4th in the table at the mo, so this promises to be a toughie. And so it proves. The first half’s a pretty dour affair – Alloa have most of the play and most of the shots on goal, but the better quality chances fall to us. Even so, we’re pretty fortunate to get to the break without conceding, and for the first time I wheel out a negative team-talk, questioning the team’s passion.

Which seems to do the job.

Amidst “they look really fired-up” and “the manager must take credit for this” messages, the Puffin and Billiards bag one apiece and we’re now six games unbeaten in the league, with five straight wins. Lordy Mister McRawdy.
Alloa 0-2 Raith (Peckham Puffin 55, Pocket Billiards 70) MoM – Butt Out Of Hull

That lifts us to the top of the table, a point ahead of still-unbeaten Greenock Morton. It can’t possibly last.

Challenge Cup Semi-Final, A vs. Ross County (SL1)
The bloody Puffin is suspended, so Time Tuba comes in up front. All and sundry (including, bizarrely, Coventry midfielder Colin Cameron) have tried to scared me crapless regarding this lot, particularly their pace from midfield.

Naturally, I scoff at such lily-liveredness.

Whilst simultaneously preparing a defensive 4-4-2 with our defence sitting deep, hoping to spring Billiards and the Tuba on the counter, and/or nick a goal from a set piece, obv.

And the plan works! Alright, “plan”. OK, scheme. Fine, “obvious tactic” then. Anyway. Free kick in the 10th minute, Dandy Highwayman does the business. Hurrah!

Of course, Ross County break straight back down the other end and score. Hurroo.

Halftime and… actually, we’re playing pretty well. Weird. The congestion in midfield seems to be nullifying their skill advantage to a degree, chances are at a premium at either end and our lumping the ball up the park in the vague direction of the Tuba looks as likely to produce a goal as any other tactic.

As, in fact, it eventually does.

Ross County launch a long throw into our penalty area, with no less than seven Raith outfield players in close attendance. Butt Out Of Hell knocks it down, USS Tiny Penis boots it forward, Time Tuba brings it down at the halfway line, outmuscles one defender, jinks past another and just like that he’s 40 yards out with only the keeper left to beat. He hares forward with the entire Ross County defence in hot pursuit, sets himself up on his right and buries it past the goalie’s outstretched fingers.

It leaves us a lot of time to defend a lead, and the last twenty-five minutes are hairier than Chewbacca having sex with Dave Lee Travis, but somehow we cling on and we’re in a (crap) cup final! GO ON!
Ross County 1-2 Raith (Dandy Highwayman 9; Gardyne 12; Time Tuba 66) MoM – Time Tuba

It’s Gretna in the final, another 1st division outfit. In other news, the Puffin signs full-time papers with us and so is locked up until June 2009. And Cool And Froody is back from his injury! Suddenly, everything’s coming up Raith Rovers!

SL2, A vs. Brechin City
Ah, that’s what you need to bring you back down to Earth. A trip to fucking Brechin, and the inevitable draw that comes with it.

To be fair, we get it in slightly more interesting fashion than usual – the Puffin puts us ahead on the stroke of half-time, but aptly-named twat of a ref Mark Twaddle hands DJ Homunculus two yellows in swift succession to leave us facing 40 minutes with 10 men. We hold out for roughly 3 of them, and the last half-hour is strictly one-way traffic, but we hang on for a point that maintains our unbeaten run.

Everyone gets the “decent performance despite result” talk, except Deej who gets called a stupid cock.
Brechin 1-1 Raith (Peckham Puffin 24, Connolly 56)

Deej gets a warning, which he accepts he deserves. Damn right you do, sunshine.

Morton can only manage a draw that gives Stranraer their second point of the season, so we stay top by a point.

| Pos   | Inf   | Team        |       | Pld   | Won   | Drn   | Lst   | For   | Ag    | G.D.  | Pts   | 
| ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| 
| 1st   |       | Raith       |       | 9     | 6     | 2     | 1     | 18    | 6     | +12   | 20    | 
| ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| 
| 2nd   |       | Morton      |       | 9     | 5     | 4     | 0     | 16    | 8     | +8    | 19    | 
| ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| 
| 3rd   |       | Cowdenbeath |       | 9     | 5     | 2     | 2     | 20    | 15    | +5    | 17    | 
| ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| 
| 4th   |       | Brechin     |       | 9     | 4     | 3     | 2     | 13    | 6     | +7    | 15    | 
| ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| 
| 5th   |       | Alloa       |       | 9     | 4     | 1     | 4     | 11    | 12    | -1    | 13    | 
| ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| 
| 6th   |       | Forfar      |       | 9     | 3     | 3     | 3     | 13    | 13    | 0     | 12    | 
| ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| 
| 7th   |       | Stirling    |       | 9     | 3     | 2     | 4     | 14    | 14    | 0     | 11    | 
| ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| 
| 8th   |       | Ayr         |       | 9     | 1     | 4     | 4     | 8     | 15    | -7    | 7     | 
| ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| 
| 9th   |       | Peterhead   |       | 9     | 1     | 3     | 5     | 7     | 17    | -10   | 6     | 
| ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| 
| 10th  |       | Stranraer   |       | 9     | 0     | 2     | 7     | 4     | 18    | -14   | 2     | 
| ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| 

The Puffin gets Player Of The Month, I nab Manager Of The Month, the board and fans are pleased…

Why do I feel the words “cometh before a fall” hoving in the general direction of this topic?

Dude, this is amazing. It seems like every decision you make is the right one. Keep on keeping on....

Oh, and I just noticed you putting the months in the title of the post. Cunning.

One thing I hate about FM is the crap lines in the text printouts. This is, I think, why most of us use screenshots these days... This, and the fact that a screenshot actually shows the whole league table at once, rather than a handful of teams and a stupid scrollbar.

Anyway - nice work, and long may it continue. If any story is going to get me back into FM, this one will.

Which "difficulty setting" did you use?

Yeah, it's called "Manager Experience" you can choose from ex-International, ex-Professional, semi-Professional and Sunday League Player, and Automatic, whatever that is. I chose Sunday League for the Blyth -> Workington save and look what happened there.