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Post by coffers on May 24, 2006 13:55:38 GMT
What you want is a DM in front of the back 4. Guarin would be a cracking buy. Hang on you can't afford him, just get who you can and ignore me as you seem to be doing ok on your own anyway. GW!KIU! :thumb:
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Post by Sonic on May 25, 2006 0:43:07 GMT
I've been using 1 up front, and it seems that it scores a shed load of goals. That way you can be more defensive, and Moo can have the moral superiority.
Weymouth are kicking arse, and look a bit out of reach already.
ANother month like that, and you might even be able to attract a DMC who can tackle, even have a stat of 5.
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Post by Moo on May 25, 2006 8:26:31 GMT
I don't want moral superiority, that's Nark's job.
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Post by Mr Bismarck's Electric Donkey on May 25, 2006 15:42:59 GMT
Christmas time... mistletoe and wine... Children singing... what the fuck is that? This is the shit I'm dealing with by christmas, as teams realise I am da aweZ0me! by lifting St All Bran up to fourth in the table. This is a tactic I actually used at CotDII. When I was bottom of the league. And very, very drunk. If you rotate all of the arrows 90 degrees in some random direction then you'll find the formation Horn played against me in the same game. It finished 0-0, as we just danced around the pitch for 90 minutes, while Horn shouted out bizarre snatches of English like a coked-up parakeet playing a word association game. Anyway, the game against Lewes where they stuck out that abomination of a formation predictably ended 0-0. Then I lose 2-1 to Chris Sutton United, our goal coming after Widespred Disappointment is sent off. The plank. A win finally arrives against mighty Chorley in the FA Trophy Vase Cup Pot Dish Spoon, with two Sunday School Exile goals, which we back up with our best performance of the season, against runaway league leaders Weymouth, as we destroy them, umm, 0-0. That game is on boxing day, which that the game three days later is far too soon as all our players are knackered. Fortunately, we're playing Histon who are shite, despite being 8th - the bookies make us 6-1 on for the game. Nobody told Histon this though and they're all over us, with only atrocious finishing stopping them taking the lead. We do that on 43 minutes with a goal from Purple Hayes and then double our lead through the same scorer, when Victorian Birdbath's first touch is a sweet pass through to Hayes for a peachy goal. Distance Toffee decides my heart rate isn't quite high enough five minutes later and gets sent off for kicking someone in the face, which seems a bit harsh. Histon score, but can't find the second, so we're into the new year with a 2-1 and bounce back into third place, four points behind Eastbourne and fourteen behind Weymouth. We get more good news to end the year, as we nab a DM from Peterbrough, despite having no cash whatsoever, as we send Cat Sand and Double Dip to the league one team in return for Shoot Puke, who should stroll into the team, especially with Toffee suspended.
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Post by Moo on May 25, 2006 16:01:10 GMT
It's a bit on the mental side, I agree. Formations like that should contain a hazard warning.
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Post by coffers on May 25, 2006 17:06:07 GMT
That's the sort of crap formtion I sometimes used against crack top Euro teams in the early days of Noisy-Le-Sec playing in Europe. :humb: I seem to remember 0-0 draws using it too.
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Post by Mr Bismarck's Electric Donkey on May 31, 2006 12:37:58 GMT
January 2006
January is a busy, busy month for staff in your local job centres, as a clutch of managers are shown the door, starting with Joe Royle at Ipswich, who's replaced by David Platt.
Steve Coppell is fired at Reading, then in a neat moment of history he takes over at Crystal Palace, who sack Dowie. Glenda is out at Wolves, falling on his sword with his team bottom of the Championship. Curbishley and Big Sam are favoured to go next, along with wee Gordon Strachan, who isn't doing enough in Scotland, only leading his Celtic side to, err, first place.
Anyway, back to the only manager who counts, me and a month that starts with a bit of a ruckus, then builds up to a high point where it can properly collapse.
Our first game is against second-placed Eastbourne and it's the first game for new DM Shoot Puke, who runs the midfield for us, bringing a balance that allows defender Burning Ants the freedom to get forward and belt home a 20 yarder.
10 minutes before the half Puke is identified as our class player and therefore marked for termination, sent to the dressing rooms with a bad leg bruise.
Eastbourne start to boss the game and equalise on 76 minutes to seal an undeserved draw, a point I make after the game when I tell the press that Eastbourne were lucky and will absolutely not gain promotion if they play that way for the rest of the season.
That seems to unsettle Eastbourne boss Garry Wilson, as he spends a coupe of weeks focused on me and not his team and Eastbourne slump as we beat Carshalton, Newport and Eastleigh, 2-1, 2-0 and 3-1 respectively, with three goals from midfielder Shelf Clown and two from Purple Hayes.
Playing every three days isn't too hot for the team and an injury to Widespread Disappointment, mixed with exhaustion for Method Actor leaves me with no one at all to play in right midfield for the game against Eastleigh. I look around the squad and find New Do who I signed at the end of November last year, then forgot because he's mostly shite.
On he goes, while I watch through my fingers, until he scores one and sets up another. I then go in front of the press and claim prescience and brilliance.
The smug glow lasts a week, until Conference National team Stevenage dump us out of the FA Trophy with two goals in the first ten minutes.
This is where things start to go a bit wrong and I find out that shouting at players makes you disloyal.
Apparently, the correct way to face adversity is with a speech of Crispin Crispian, this Saturday shall ne'er go by, from this day to the ending of the world, but that we in it shall be remembered. We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; for he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, this day shall gentle his condition and gentlemen in Slough now-a-bed shall think themselves accursed that they were not here.
Shouting "Score a fucking goal you clueless fuckheads!" isn't quite on the same literary plane.
That's what I do though, as the Stevenage loss, mixed with two games a week produces a mix of fatigue and sudden lack of confidence that strips the team of any ability.
The rot isn't immediately apparent, as we drop a 0-0 at home to Weston Super Mare, but things seem to be going against us when a thoroughly dominant performance in Yeading also secures only a scoreless draw, dropping us back into third place.
My tingling Spideysense of impending doom is shown accurate when midtable nothings Havant and Waterlooville spank us 3-0, at which point I just explode in the dressing room, covering everyone present with spittle and partly digested bile after I threw up in my own mouth watching our abject performance.
At the end of the game we haven't scored for 405 minutes and second-leading scorer, forward Victorian Birdbath, has limped off with an injury that turns out to be broken ribs.
Because broken ribs looks like fun, Shoot puke comes back from his dead leg for a game against Basingstoke on January 31 and leaves seven minutes later with a cracked ribcage.
The game ends 0-0, pushing our virginal spell out to 495 minutes - eight hours and fifteen minutes.
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Post by Moo on May 31, 2006 12:54:20 GMT
Have you tried ticking the "Shooting = Yes" box?
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Post by Mr Bismarck's Electric Donkey on May 31, 2006 12:54:57 GMT
Yes, but I can't find my bullets.
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Post by coffers on May 31, 2006 13:27:41 GMT
Take a sledgehammer to the lot of them, they obviously deserve it. Anyhow where's the leafy branch when you need one?
BOONY!
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Post by Moo on May 31, 2006 14:10:44 GMT
He's on holiday I think, may be back tomorrow.
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Post by coffers on May 31, 2006 15:52:34 GMT
In that case S1ut had better hold his horses until he gets back.
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Post by Mr Bismarck's Electric Donkey on May 31, 2006 22:38:27 GMT
February 2006Nine hours and 45 minutes. You can fly from London to Vancouver, Canada in nine hours and 45 minutes. You can watch all three Lord of the Rings movies. You can watch almost 14 Jack Bauer hours on DVD.
Yes. We still haven't scored by the end of the first game of February; a 2-0 defeat to Farnborough.
Six games without a goal now, but looking at things it wasn't too terrible. We'd lost two league games and been dumped out of the cup, but our solid defence had pulled three draws out of run of crapness up front, so I decided to stop fucking whining.
Right then. Shouting at my players had pissed them all off and dropped my loyalty down to one. Out of twenty. Obviously pointing out to people how inept they are in a loud voice is bad, mmmmkay.
So, if I can't shout at my players I'll have to shout at someone else's. Up next is Hayes, so they'll do. I phone the local paper and tell them we're going to kill Hayes this weekend. They shouldn't be on the same field as us, as they're an embarrassment to the sport.
Five minutes after I hang up I phone back. "And another thing..." I tell the paper that manager Willy Wordsworth has a silly name and is likely only to have Hayes relegated this season.
3-0 to St Albans, with a goal from Victorian Birdbath after 17 minutes and a pair from Purple Hayes to close out the first half.
Our scoreless run lasts 602 minutes. Ten hours and two minutes.
Thank fuck it's over.
The week after we score again - a last gasp equaliser from Hayes for a 1-1 with Dorchester, but we should have won.
So, let's look at this children. Play the game... draw. Tell the opposition they're a bunch of inbred cock swallowers with no more right to take to God's field of play than a Welshman and we win. Hmmm.
So I phone the papers again and point out that Bognor Regis are a joke team and that their victory over us earlier in the season was an abberation on par with Stuart Ripley's international career.
That works. Purple Hayes scores again and then, when Widespread Disappointment sees his penalty saved, Shelf Clown is on hand to roll the ball into the empty net.
Who's next? Thurrock? That place is full of fat ugly women who smell and their manager likes to poke his fingers up ferret hoops.
Three-nil you say? Purple Hayes scores on six minutes, Cereal Optimist blats home a scorcher on 10 minutes and then Sunday School Exile, in for an injured Birdbath, scores the third after half an hour.
Cue counter attack and lots of standing around reading the paper to close out the game. When Eastbourne draw we're back within three points of second place.
Unfortunately, my media rating is starting to slump now, as I presume the papers are getting bored with me. So I have to take the week off of insulting people, but it doesn't matter, as our counter attacking style gives us a 2-1 win in Cambridge, with a brace from Hayes, for the 22 yeard-old Striker's 15th and 16th goals of the season.
Eastbourne lose, which is handy, as it ties things up in second place. The papers say we still have a shot at the title, but those people can't count, as Weymouth are 21 points clear with 10 games to go.
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Post by Sonic on Jun 1, 2006 0:15:49 GMT
Your going to have to speak up a bit, I've developed deafness after reading that last post. Well done on break your scoring drought and getting back into 2nd place. I take it your now playing for a playoff spot to be promoted.
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Post by coffers on Jun 1, 2006 7:35:26 GMT
THird place even, Nice work on the mind games stuff, it works better at the lower levels than the Higer didvision. Oh, and congratilations on rediscovering what goals are!
KUTGW! :thumb:
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Post by Moo on Jun 1, 2006 8:13:53 GMT
Good update, Stoo. A nice bit of tauntation of the opponents there, completing copying what I did in my Newcastle game to win the title from ver Pooh.
Playoffs, eh? Ha!
:thumb:
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Post by Mr Bismarck's Electric Donkey on Jun 1, 2006 17:35:12 GMT
March 2006
We start March tucked into third place, happily tooling along, thinking we have a good chance to overtake Eastbourne with a late run and nick second place and the easier playoff game.
Purple Hayes is banging in the goals and other players are starting to show their worth, for example defender Cocktail Cubs, who is really proving to be a rock next to loanee Burning Ants, giving us the stingiest defence in the division.
So it must be time for a big barrel of cock to appear, because the only thing that can ruin the unstoppable momentum of our juggernaut ship of harmony would be something or someone monumentally stupid.
That'd be me then.
For background, I currently make £100 a week, supplementing my income by selling Siberian Tussock Moths on EBay and frequent deposits at the North Hertfordshire Sperm Bank. Important not to get those two jobs mixed up.
Anyway, our AssMan, Chicken Pilot, passed his critical eye over our team at the start of the season and stated that there was "no way" we could avoid relegation without seriously strengthening the squad - a position he maintains to this day.
So after we beat Maidenhead 3-0 to go second, I'm a little annoyed when the St Albans board appear and offer me £80pw to sign a new deal for three years. A twenty quid per week pay cut, for the immense job I've done this season.
Fuck off!
I stick in an offer for £130pw, hardly breaking the bank, but after we draw 2-2 with Bishops Stortford, (making 5-5 across the two games against them this season), the board come back with £90. Still a paycut. So I tell them to get lost, rejecting the contract offer.
Which is where stuff hits the air circulating device.
News breaks that I'm not going to be at St Albans next season and all the players, bar five or six disloyal tossers, immediately get a nark on, morale plummeting across the team from a range of superbs and very goods, down all the way to very poor across the entire starting eleven.
Purple Hayes, who notched his 20th and 21st goals of the season against Stortford is now considering leaving altogether.
After a bit of scrambling around I find the "request new contract" button and click it frantically. The board agree I deserve a new contract, but aren't in too much of a rush to offer me another new one.
With their talismanic manager still without a contract the team flashback to the period where they couldn't score, at all, mustering 0-0, 0-0 draws and a 0-1 defeat against Welling, Sutton and Histon, respectively.
The defeat against Histon season forward Victorian Birdbath heading to the trainer's room with a torn thigh muscle that will rule him out of the rest of the season.
But we'll be ok, provided we still have Purpl... crap. Hayes scores our goal in a hard fought 1-1 with league leaders Weymouth, but is then lumped off the field with a leg injury and will miss... the rest of the season. In the same game, goalie Turkey Baster gets kicked in the face and is gone for about three weeks.
Nice.
The 1-1 with Weymouth is followed by a 0-0 with Lewes and then another 0-0, against Carshalton, as we're left to play loanee Sunday School Exile up front on his own.
So, with three games to play we're seven games without a win, there are two games left to play and we're one point above sixth placed Histon.
One point away from losing our playoff spot.
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Post by coffers on Jun 2, 2006 7:34:46 GMT
Ouch big-time! You should have just keep negotiating up to the point you got into the play-offs at the very least. Probably. You have your work cut out now. Even if you get to the Play Offs, the team might still be too low on morale to do anything useful, especially now that you've lost your best player and keeper.
FXD you'll still make it.
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Post by Moo on Jun 2, 2006 8:08:24 GMT
s1ut, you're an asshat of the highest order.
I can't see the point of demanding extra cash, TBH, it's got to come out of a budget somewhere and that would be your wage budget to help sign other players. If I had my way, I would negotiate any contract offer down to a quid and then have all that extra money to persuade someone good to join my club.
Someone like Wayne Allison.
In short, you're a big fairy.
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Post by coffers on Jun 2, 2006 8:11:59 GMT
Moo:
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Post by Moo on Jun 2, 2006 9:04:45 GMT
He deserves it, Coffers.
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Post by Boony on Jun 2, 2006 11:08:49 GMT
:thumb: Well done, s1ugt. KUTGW!
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Post by Mr Bismarck's Electric Donkey on Jun 2, 2006 13:09:48 GMT
Fuck off, the lot of you. I wouldn't take a paycut if I was the manager of St Albans so I'm fooked if I'm going to do it in the game.
I'm trying to maintain an edge of realism. In a game that just saw Fergie fired as manager of Man United and several high class managers touted in his place, like Ranieri and, err, Steve Bruce. Hahahahahahahaha!
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Post by Mr Bismarck's Electric Donkey on Jun 2, 2006 14:02:06 GMT
End of Season 2006Before the final two games I tool around pretty much everyone in the conference national and league two and even a few Scottish clubs, offering out loans like Yes Car Credit, making full use of the Non-negotiable/Decision Tomorrow options, so that I can be turned down quickly by, well, everyone.
Except Wayne Allison... he agrees to come to the club on loan and I breath a sigh of relief. Then cry a little when Allison's club also agree to sell him to Hinckley, so he cancels his loan and buggers off to them.
I do, however, find an AMRL/ST in the shape of Missing Letter, for free, with a 50% sell-on fee if I move him on for cash at any point. He'll go up front along with Sunday School Exile straight away, even though he's not match fit.
So, the first game of the rest of our lives then and we're on the road to play in mid-table Newport. They look very midtable as they get five good chances and score on 20 minutes.
This is the point where I decide I can't be bothered with a slow death, preferring the blaze of glory instead and so give everyone bar the centrebacks and lone forward the old Up Arrow and switching to all out attacking.
On 36 minutes we're back in the game as forward Swimming Stone sends in a back post cross that hits the back post and wrong foots the keeper, leaving most of the goal open for Burning Ants to equalise.
Give it another four minutes and we're in front, with a goal from left midfielder Back Pocket who hasn't ever looked like scoring before in his life. He sneaks in at the back stick and sidefoots in Gentleman's Club's long cross.
Give it another four minutes and (ooh, deja vu), we're further in front, with one of the most rediculous goals I've seen, as a Newport defender sends the ball back towards his keeper very slowly from about 30 yards, but I presume the "McShane" in goal for Newport is Ian McShane, as the fatty can't get to the ball and then engages in the world's most slow-motion chase, as the ball rolls in.
When Method Actor joins the growing injury list on the hour, we lose our midfield control and it's backs-t'-wall thereafter, Newport scoring on 78, but they can't find the equaliser, leaving us with a most unlikely win.
One game to go and we're three points clear of sixth, as Maidenhead, Histon and Cambridge City all draw, meaning I only have to worry about Histon going into the final game - they need to win and I need to lose in the final week to dump me out of the playoffs. Ian-terestingly, I play second placed Eastbourne, while Histon play third-placed Weston Super Mare. We're both away from home.
It's a busy start in Eastbourne, with three goals in the first fifteen minutes, the home side getting the better of it, with two strikes either side of a header from defender Burning Ants who grabs his second goal in two games.
Time ticks on through half time without further action, and we're down 2-1 at the break. Histon and WSM are stuck at 0-0, although Histon have lost star winger Daniel Flack to injury.
The second half is underway and we push forward looking for an equaliser, as a 3-1 defeat is as useful to us as a 2-1 and going nuts in attack worked the week before.
Nothing going here though, and the few travelling fans groan as word comes through of a Histon goal; Neil Kennedy scoring his 10th of the season.
Nine minutes later the Saints' fans are cheering again, not for us, but for Weston Super Mare as defender Joe O'Cearuill scores only his second goal of the season, to tie the Histon game at 1-1.
Time is ticking and finally runs out in Eastbourne without us managing another shot on target. We watch the last two minutes of the Histon game and, to be fair, it's all WSM as the Mare pour forward, but are caught offside 17 times in the game - the final result... 1-1.
We're in the playoffs.
Fourth place, a home and away coming up against Weston Super Mare.
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Post by Moo on Jun 2, 2006 14:08:08 GMT
Weston-Super-Mare, eh? Well, let's hope you don't make a foal of yourself then.
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