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[notmanagingwithjuiliusshine-blog]

4. Yellows - On our way to the Europa League

‘Yellows - Yellows - Yellows.’ Julius bounded out of his room in triumphant mood. Another seven hour stint last night and he’d taken Las Palmas to the brink of a Europa League spot. He was so jubilant that If he were capable of skipping he would do, instead he galloped along the best he could in a half jig half lumbering buffoon kind of way. Everything seemed brighter this morning, the troubles of yesterday a mere nasty hiccup he reconciled to himself.

‘I’m sorry for my outburst yesterday mother.’ He’d entered the kitchen to find his mother had emptied the contents of the bin onto the dining table. She looked up at him forlornly. ‘You off out?’ She asked. The woman looked pathetic and he felt partly responsible. ‘How about I get us a Ruby tonight hey?’ He said stepping by her to get his coat. ‘I’m only trying to do my best for you Julius, I worry that’s all.’ ‘Worry, about me?’ He had another flashback to the previous day. Shaking his head he tried to distance it from his mind.

‘I had such a day of it yesterday you wouldn’t believe it, but I’m back firing on all cylinders now.’ She watched as he struggled to put on his jacket and doubted if he’d ever be firing on all cylinders. ‘Those savages at the football club haven’t got a clue, not a clue!’ He said as he attempted to untangle himself from the Web like coat. ‘Oh have you been sacked again hunny?’

‘SACKED!’ Julius staggered backward, entwined in his jacket, his head caught in the hood. ‘How dare you even suggest such a thing, I’m talking about that shower down the road here.’ ‘Oh I thought you were on about your game again.’ There was silence.

Having finally managed to untangle himself Julius shot a death stare at his mother. ‘You shouldn’t discuss things you know nothing about mother!’ Valerie was too weary to try and engage in another battle royale so she simply nodded her head in resignation. ‘Those damn fools are running that little club into the ground over there and nobody is willing to stand up and save it.’

She watched silently as he wound himself up once again, he was always doing this, always getting so self righteous about silly unimportant things. ‘I tell you they’re afraid of change. They always are mother, afraid of progress, stuck in the dark ages. Well Alf Ramsey is long dead and gone, that’s what I say.’ She nodded once more and stared at the beast she had produced. ‘If I were in charge that club would be a little gem, promotion after promotion with me at the helm.’ Was it her fault he was like this? Was she that bad a mother?

Having finally tamed the coat Julius straightened his hair. ‘So I’ll get a Ruby for us on my way back then, okay?’ He said looking once more at the sad state his mother seems in. ‘That’ll be nice, thank you.’ She answered was a slight smile. Looking at the mess in front of her Valerie rubbed her aching forehead and took off her rubber gloves in resignation. ‘Another lesson is it Julius?’ She asked scanning the heap for her cigarettes. ‘That’s why I’m putting on my driving gloves mother, that is unless you thought I was donning these in preparation of bashing your head in with a wrench!’ There was an eerie silence between them until Julius finally began to chuckle. His laugh unnerved her and she squirmed a little in the chair clutching her dented but still usable cigarettes, he wouldn’t, would he? Julius curled his top lip, happy with his quick wittedness and just for a second a thought crossed his mind. He couldn’t, could he?

[notmanagingwithjuiliusshine-blog]

3. Las Palmas, glory, glory.

'He's gotten no better Roger, I can't ever see him getting out of this funk of his.' The sun was flooding in through the kitchen window and Valerie Shiner shuffled in her seat. 'No' She continued 'you're lucky if you see him before midday and that bloody shirt he's never out of it!' She took a drag from her menthol cigarette and shielded her eyes a little. A worn slipper hung from the point of her big toe, swinging aimlessly always on the point of falling to the floor. 'What can I do, you know he's stubborn to the point of_' She hesitated to take a another drag, the house quiet and peaceful. Ahead tiny specks of ash sparkled in the wave of sunlight and she shook her head at the state of the back garden. '_that's all well and good saying that Roger_' The phone flipped from one ear to another '_but what would he do, he's thirty three and not far off matching the same on the scales!’ She choked hard as Roger intercepted with the word FAT. 'Alright there's no need to be offensive' She hit back, a mother's love never far away. 'I've probably mothered him too much but after his dad left us what was I supposed to do.' The last of the cigarette was stubbed out with real meaning. 'No he hasn't sorted out the garden yet!' She responded sharply. 'He's said he'll get to it soon as he's finished with his latest project.' ‘Well I doubt it'll be today no, not after I found him slumped in the bathroom at three in the morning.’ She lit another cigarette and took a couple of short toaks. ‘Well the ambulance guys said he'd swallowed his tongue_’ She shook her head in weary dismay. ‘_I don't know Roger they think he probably drunk a whole bottle of port and passed out!’ 'Outrage! Utter outrage!' Julius Shiner stormed into the kitchen and headed straight for the fridge, the hem of his white triple XL Italia '90 T-shirt flailing half way up his pale blotch marked thighs, his feet scuffed along the worn tiles in his favourite football slippers. 'Where's the juice mother?' He barked angrily. Really he should have his own fridge in his room, he reconciled to himself once more. 'Mother!' His voice echoed into the vast chasm of the fridge again. 'I should have my own fridge, why won't you allow such a tiny privilege, they get better treatment-’ He tried but failed to think of a quick comparison and instead just let out an inexhaustible sigh. Searching for another cigarette from the crumpled packet on the table Valerie Shiner noticed the sunlight slip by the window and she felt cold. Julius felt slighted, as if he had time to be wasting out here! His own fridge would make this type of trip redundant, think of all the wasted scouting time! He tried to send a scouring look across at his mother but she was deep in concentration trying to fish out another cigarette with only the nails of her left hand. 'Uhhhummm' he sent out a strange coughing sound to try and get her attention. It didn't help. Lowering his huge frame he hovered in front of the fridge. The chill air began to bite at his chest and he groped a grubby paw at his becoming nipples. His eyes stung as he peered again over at his mother. She was sat at the table by the doorway, phone stuck to her ear, cord trailing from its mounting halfway down the hallway. 'Mother get off the phone and placate me!' His shrill voice, whiney even to his own ears, cut and broke like a man left with only a few precious seconds left to live. 'No it's the first I've seen of him all day.' He watched with contempt as she twirled the cord between her forefinger and thumb. ‘I told you Roger that was this morning, early, about Two or three-ish.’ 'Honestly!' He cried in frustration as he delved back into the fridge. His bulbous hands and wrists catching against the shelves as they glowed redder and redder, unaccustomed as they were to physical labour. ‘God knows what the ambulance people think of us, such a thing to see that early in the morning!’ Julius fought against the flashbacks, the flashing blue lights, the men in uniforms, the smell of urine. 'He's looking for juice' he heard her say into the telephone, followed by 'I know but you know what he's like.' 'Women will you get off that phone honestly there must be more important things that need doing?' He snapped. I bet she forgot the isotonic too, he raged inside. ‘Isotonic Lucozade Sport?' He growled in bitter resignation and waited for a reply. 'The elixir of sporting performance mother where is it?' The coldness was now reaching almost unbearable levels and his temper was growing sour by the second. 'I must have my sport tonic!' He cried out desperate now for his mother's full attention. She was still on the phone! 'Roger says it's not good to be drinking all that sugary stuff all the time. Might make you dry up inside.' 'What does bloody Roger know?' Infuriated he tried to turn his bulk to face her. 'He says you'll end up rupturing something if you're not careful.' 'Does Roger know better than John Barnes now?' 'What hunny, sorry Roger was saying something about youth delinquency and fizzy drinks.' 'John bloody Barnes mother I think you'll find he doesn't lie to kids, not like your one time favourite Jim'll fix it!' 'Oh why's he always got to bring Jim'll fix it into things Roger?' She said with a real sense of dismay turning to the table and resting on her elbows. 'He's always got to be so sarky with everything hasn't he.' Turning back to the fridge Julius cursed Rogers name under his breath. The two of them had lived happily until that infidel Roger came snaking along, now it seemed there was a block in the road at every turn. 'What the Christ on a bike is this?' He screamed, sending the contents of the top shelf flying. 'How many times mother this is not a Tesco's house!' By now he was sat squat on the floor the rolls of his stomach fat dripping towards the cold tiled floor. 'What has gotten into you lately?' He panted, grabbing the bin at the second or third clumsy attempt as he began clawing things out of the fridge and dumped them unceremoniously whilst eyeing his mother with a fierce loathsome disapproval. 'You'll have to go out and get some more!' 'He's throwing it all away, can you believe it Roger?' 'Roger! Bloody Roger!' Hitting out at the bin and then the door of the fridge Julius maneuvered his giant frame with painstaking disgrace across the floor of the kitchen. 'Give me that damn phone, I'll tell Roger what he can do with a Tesco's mango and guava smoothie!' Valerie shook her head in dismay. 'You'll never guess the state he's in.' She exasperated. 'He's sprawled out on the kitchen tiles like, like, like I don't know what' She coiled her legs up to her chest. 'What's with you Julius?' He never used to be this much trouble. Always such a sweet boy he was.' Flicking the phone cord at her thirty three year old son as he rolled from one fat laden side to another she truly wondered where she had gone so wrong. ‘Honestly Julius I can't have a phone call in peace now!’ Valerie Shiner collected up her bits from the kitchen table into a neat pile. She turned towards her son and took out another cigarette. ‘Don't look at me like that, it's because of you I'm getting through so many of these!’ ‘Weak!’ Julius shot back at her, three babybels jostling for space in his mouth. ‘I swear you're sending me to the knackers yard with all your goings on!’ Julius having pulled himself up using the sideboard pulled out a tray and began loading up more food. ‘You'll definitely have to get more food you know, the stuff you've got is utter rubbish!’ ‘It's not that simple is it Julius, that's perfectly good food and you've gone and thrown it away. Where do I get the money to buy more?’ Julius didn't have time to listen to more of his mother's excuses. 'I can't stop now mother Numancia have just offered 1.5 million for our right back and I'll be dammed to Colchester and back if I'm gonna accept such a crappy offer!' She watched him shuffle off with a packet of ham, spray cream and half a lemon meringue pie which she had been hoping to tuck into that evening in front of Eastenders. ‘Roger you still there? He thinks money just comes at the click of your fingers that boy!’ She heard him kick open the door to his bedroom. 'That'll be him holed up in that room till God knows when now' She continued. ‘I don't know he plays that bloody stupid game till all hours.’ ‘He needs a bloody good kick up the backside if you ask me.’ Roger said from the other end. 'He tells me there building a statue of him' 'Rubbish it's just a bloody game on the computer!’ I know Roger but it keeps him out of harm's way, I don't know what I'd do if I ever lost him.’ ‘He needs a large dose of reality that boy!’ ‘Roger please I know you're right_’ She felt teary again. ‘_but he's all I've got.’ ‘You're too good to him Valerie.’ ‘I think he's coming back.’ She could hear his shuffling feet coming back up the hallway. ‘Everything okay sweetie?’ 'Hang up that damn phone you gossip.' He demanded as he began rooting through the biscuit tin. 'Oh he's getting all rough and moody again, like he does.' 'When's the statue thingy being shown hunny, Roger wants to know?’ His rage for Roger was untold and if he'd had a free hand he'd have ripped the phone line from the wall. However food was vital at this important stage of negotiations. 'It will be in Spain won't it mother and as you can't be bothered to get me my own mini fridge I doubt you'll get off your fat arse and fly to Spain for the peoples great heralding of a man they've come to think of a folk hero!' 'Oh I think we'd have to go to Tenerife or something and I don't think I'd like all that heat and nakedness Roger!' 'Tenerife! Bloody Tenerife!’ Julius slammed the door to his room hard and placed the last of his supplies onto the bed. Tenerife! He shook his head and checked the screen. Still on an international break, good he should have enough time for a bit of scouting before the next set of fixtures. His glorious run as Las Palmas manager had seen the team reach unprecedented heights and now was no time to sit back and reflect on the glory. Pulling up his ‘working’ chair he wanted another look at the Norwegian leagues, there was always a bargain to be had there. Shoveling in the lemon meringue pie he meticulously searched through every club, and then every level of the national side. A young centre back called Vegard Hansen soon caught his eye and he sent the scouts out to watch him in his next couple of games. At only nineteen he was perfect for moulding into a Shiner star, the name he gave all the young players who he plucked from obscurity and turned into international stars. He had good pace and stamina states, great in the air and could pass the ball as well. Julius savoured the last of the pie and could already see young Hansen stepping out of defence with the ball and spraying wonderful forty yard passes. Without another thought he put in a one hundred and fifty thousand pound offer.

[notmanagingwithjuiliusshine-blog]

2. Flying young wingback

For half an hour Julius had sat stewing over a pint of lager and lime as nearly thirteen pounds worth of pick n mix were continuously chewed through. He eyed the manager Stanley with hatred, how irresponsible it was to be drinking with the team he muttered to himself. If he had the strength he'd head over to the chairman's office right this second and register his dissatisfaction, but it was the other side of the ground and he didn't want to give up his seat. His spirits were lifted a little some minutes later as he saw Langley the left winger who he had such high hopes for stood alone at the far end of the bar. Reluctantly and very ungainly he moved his bulk from the chair which had been blocking all three fruit machines and made a beeline for the willowy winger. Stuart Langley saw him coming but couldn't avoid the inevitable. He sipped nervously at his lemonade eyeing the oncoming behemoth as he impossibly made his way through the gathered crowd. He swallowed slowly, the fizzy bubbles clashing against his teeth and burning the back of this throat. Only one thing stuck in his head, why would someone have hair like that? He'd never seen anything like it, the tightly curled ringlets of mousey brown hair were headed straight for him and he knew it. ‘Stewie, Stewie.’ He called, his flip flops making a sticking squelching sound as he charged through the crowd. It was a white man's afro! The thought very suddenly and firmly stuck in Langley’s head. By now he knew it was already too late to try and run, his eyes seemed to burn as the light faded, blocked out by this tumultuous being that was headed at him. ‘Stewie great game today son, great game.’ Langley looked at him with a mixture of bemusement and fear etched across his young face. ‘Thanks.’ He managed meekly. Julius pushed his way right up tight to the lad. ‘You've got something boy, something no one else at this club can see but me.’ He said jutting out a fat finger into his face. Langley said nothing. ‘The problem is that idiot of a manager doesn't know how to get the best out of you, I'd turn you into a top pro in a matter of months.’ The boy was clearly overwrought, he moved back until he hit the edge of the bar. ‘You should be a flying wing back son.’ Julius continued, forcing his huge gut upon the young player. ‘Retraining every day until you've mastered it, but then_’ Julius paused to reach across and grab a half drunk pint of brown liquid from the bar. He glugged half of it and then placed it back on the bar. ‘_the problem we've got boy is that damn manager of yours, he's never going to change to a back three.’ Rubbing his unshaven double chin Julius contemplated something for a moment. ‘Do you fancy starting a player led call for that chomp to be given the chop?’ He looked intently at the boys face for any sign that the rest of the players might share his distrust of the manager. There was no response. ‘No?’ That's a shame.’ He liked the boys quiet respect and he ruffled his hair. ‘You'll have to move, a transfer is the only answer then.’ The young player stood wide eyed not sure what was going on. ‘I tell you it's all about free thinking football, thinking outside the box, reinventing the goal.’ Julius looked hungrily for acknowledgement. ‘Standing still is dying in this game Stewie.’ ‘It's Stewart.’ ‘Yeah whatever.’ Julius dismissed. ‘The thing is a great wingback will always guarantee you a solid seven point six week in week out. How's your finishing? You take free kicks? Penalties?’ The boy was trying not to stare but there was something caught in the guy's beard, a slice of onion maybe? ‘Stuart are you okay?’ A voice from over Julius’ shoulder suddenly said. ‘This guy says I need a transfer Dad, I think he's an agent.’ ‘I'm Paul Langley, Stuart's father.’ A tall grey haired man stepped in next to the winger and held out his hand and Julius shook it but only after eyeing it suspiciously, he'd read once that you should always pause when a handshake is offered and give a look of suspicion and aloof indifference. ‘Pleasure to meet you.’ He said. ‘So you're an agent are you?’ ‘Me? How dare you imply such a thing!’ The man looked confused. ‘The only agent in my eyes is, was and always will be Eric ‘Monster Monster’ Hall, all others are imposters or charlatans CHARLATANS!’ The man looked at his son who offered a bemused shrug of his shoulders. ‘I think we better be off Stuart don't you?’ ‘But wait we've got plenty to discuss, with my help your boy could be playing international football for Hong Kong or the Seychelles in ten to twelve weeks.’ ‘His mother will be expecting us for dinner.’ The boys father added, putting a protective arm around his son and guiding him away. ‘Any far eastern blood in the family?” Julius leaned against the bar and pulled in a couple more half drunk pints. Why was he wasting his time on this bunch of amateurs anyway. He'd won league titles and cups in seven different countries, if they couldn't see talent when it was right in front of them then it was there loss. He gulped down a third of a pint of what appeared to be flat cider and pulled at the waistband of his trousers. Any number of those football league sides were bound to get in touch soon anyway, how could they fail to be impressed by the CV he sent out. The thought of fish and chips on the way home sprung into his mind, if he gathered a few more surplus pints he'd be merry enough to wolf down a double battered sausage and chips with a pickled egg obviously and be ready for a long stretch at the game by the time he got home. ‘Hey there he is.’ Jon Stanley called out, beer in hand, surrounded by half the playing staff. His face was red from where he had been laughing so much. ‘I tell you he's a right fruit loop, thinks he knows everything this one.’ He reached over and firmly gripped the back of Julius’ shoulder. ‘I'm telling you this is the bloke right here.’ Nonchalantly Julius tried to ignore the crowd he could feel gathered behind him. He picked up another dead pint and lifted it to his lips. If that fool wasn't prepared to listen to him before why should he give him an audience now he thought to himself. ‘Here Geoff pass us down one of those letters from behind the bar.’ He heard Stanley say. ‘Which one you want? The one about signing up an African team as some kinda feeder club or the gem about signing that Korean kiddie just for the shirt sales!’ There was a stifled ripple of laughter. ‘The one about painting little dotted lines onto the pitch so the players know which way to attack.’ Now the laughter erupted into a roar that bit at the back of Julius’ neck. ‘Pass it over Geoff it's gotta be my favourite’ The barman reached up between the optics and took down one of the framed letters. ‘Here you go.’ He said handing it over. ‘We thought it was just some little kid writing in that's why we put them up behind the bar, kinda sweetie don't you reckon. But it turns out this fool right here was responsible.’ Julius felt compelled to face his tormentor. ‘Ah I see you've come to your senses finally Gaffer.’ He said turning quickly, trying to take the upper hand. ‘Gaffer?’ Stanley could hardly control himself. Julius was determined not to be put off. ‘Yes’ He continued ‘Well I guess that's what you like to be called, all very common, northern and distasteful if you ask me, but that's you Gaffer I suppose.’ ‘What did I tell you hey, totally wacko!’ They all laughed. ‘Bloody hell boss look what he's wearing!’ A tall blonde guy with a busted nose, who Julius recognised as the centre back Armstrong, stood pointing. He was laughing so much he spilt the majority of his pint over himself. ‘He's one of the first to go. A centre back from the dark ages, couldn't pass urine that one!’ Reaching into his bumbag he searched for the transfer list, that would appease the masses he thought to himself, settle the rabble. ‘I know a couple of defenders we could pick up for thirty of forty thousand each that would make this fool redundant.’ ‘Oh just thirty of forty thousand!’ Stanley said sarcastically. ‘Yes, they'll do to get us out of this crappy league, plus a couple of loan signings from one of the East Anglian powerhouses.’ ‘Maybe we could stick him in goal lads, he'd pretty much fill the bloody thing!’ Armstrong chipped in through further raucous laughter. Julius felt all their laughter raining down on him. It burnt his cheeks and made cold sweat run down his back. ‘Idiots! Idiots and scumbags!’ He cried out still trying to find that transfer list. ‘In all the time you scoundrels have been here not one of you has applied himself fully to the cause!’ Somehow now his hand had wedged itself inside the bumbag and as he tried to release it he overbalanced on the bar stool and sent his legs flying into the air, his head crashing against the bar. ‘You should all be ashamed!’ He yelled as his huge bulk came to rest on the sticky clubhouse floor, his eyes filling with tiny silver pinpricks. However by now the crowd had started to move away, an air of pity very much in evidence.

[notmanagingwithjuiliusshine-blog]

Bloody Barniehammer!

'Gad zooks!’ What an outrage!’ Julius Shiner was boiling with rage. ‘How dare you stand there limp chested, half a tub of turbo oil gunk in your hair, with that smile, may I add only a deviant could be proud of and accuse me of knowing nothing about the glorious game!’ The match had finished over an hour ago and Julius had plenty of time to stew on the negatives he'd seen. Having placed himself strategically by the door he lay in wait for the team's manager and now was his chance. He tugged at the strap on his bumbag before fishing into it to retrieve another handful of pick n mix. ‘The only way to improve this team is by free-thinking’ He stated firmly between audible chews of sour cola bottles, his red marked skin displaying his rage further in angry hives. ‘Free what?’ Jon Stanley, manager of Ryman league southern side Barniehammer Town, had been ambushed. ‘It's obvious you haven't got a clue!’ Julius had the bit between his teeth now. He waddled closer, scuffing his feet along the old worn carpet. ‘Free-thinking is the only model to be followed in modern football.’ His fat index finger wagging around in midair furiously. ‘Yeah well I've never heard of it.’ Stanley scanned the room for a quick exit. Over by the bar the team, his team, were celebrating that afternoon's victory. ‘It's been nice chatting to you.’ He offered towards the huge bulk of a man who it was now becoming clear was trying to pin him into the corner of the club house. Julius was having none of it, with another sugar filled hit from his bumbag he went again. ‘Now your left winger is good, pacey and wiry I like that,’ He was speaking quickly, like he always did when he got excited. ‘_with some good training he'll make a fantastic wing back. Switch to three at the back and you'll dominate the play.’ His tongue swirled around the roof of his mouth savouring the sweet and sour juices. What is this idiot blabbing on about Stanley thought. For the first time he took a good look at the weird creature in front of him. He didn't even know guys like this existed, he was almost disgusted at the sight of him. ‘We've been playing well the last few games, I think we've got things under control on the tactics front cheers.’ He offered in his best diplomatic tone. ‘Nonsense the team is dying under your tutelage!’ Julius forced himself closer. ‘Everyone's a critic.’ Stanley half smiled feeling increasingly uncomfortable. ‘Don't fob me off with one liners!’ Julius bite back, scratching at a sore patch of eczema behind his right ear. They were almost nose to nose and Stanley wretched at the stench of his breath. ‘Look we've won today, there's always one or two things to work on.’ He tried again. ‘but let's enjoy that and have a good evening.’ Stanley took a big step back, how’d this gotten so far, all he'd wanted was a quick drink with the lads after the game, it'd been a hard week and he was entitled to celebrate. ‘One or two things wouldn't even scratch the surface of all the things I saw wrong out there today!’ ‘Hey.’ There wasn't much more he was willing to listen too. ‘There's a lot of people around here who reckon what I've been doing here has been a success mate.’ ‘Success? You call mid table obscurity success?’ ‘For a club of our size, with our budget, yes.’ Maybe he should hit him, he had the kind of face you'd love to hit! ‘Ah yes the budget I wanted to talk to you about that. Now as I see it you need to increase revenues and you know the easiest way to do that?’ ‘I'm sure you're about to tell me.’ ‘Simple you need to arrange glamour friendlies, that's how you rake in the cash.’ ‘Yep right we'll think that over, thanks for the advice buddy.’ ‘Buddy!’ Julius got the feeling he was being fobbed off. ‘Buddy!’ He exclaimed once more, a chunk of halftime burger dislodging from his teeth. Stanley watched in slow motion disgust as the offending gristle shot between them and landed on his arm. ‘GLAMOUR.’ He mouthed slowly. ‘I'm talking about Benfica, Chelsea, Rosenborg, Ajax.’ Stanley laughed unsure really if what he was hearing was just all a big joke. ‘Celtic or Rangers now they always say yes to friendlies.’ ‘I think I'm needed over by the bar’ Stanley broke in trying not to look the fat sweaty monster directly in the eye. Julius sensed the manager was edging away and went for him with both barrels. ‘I think you should resign!’ The two of them struggled ungainly as Stanley tired to free himself from the prison that this crazed fan had made in the corner by the fruit machines. ‘You've done nothing but drag down the standard of this club!’ Julius raised his voice hoping to gain support from other nearby fans. ‘Resign I say!’ He reiterated louder. Strangely no one else chirped up which irked him further. Stanley sighed heavily and shook his head, you really don't expect this kind of thing as manager of a non league side, sure you're probably closer to fans at the this level but surely they realise you're just a normal bloke trying to do right by a little club like this. ‘If I were in charge of this team we'd be flying up the leagues, you've damaged most of our lads beyond repair with your kick and rush shenanigans!’ That was it! Stanley had had enough of listening to this rubbish. He pushed purposely by, shaking the over sized monster only slightly but just enough to see a chink of light and a way past. ‘How dare you, you, you brute!’ Julius reached a sweaty hand and swatted at the balding forty year old. ‘Look buddy don't get crazy with me, I've talked to you for a bit but now I've got other people to see okay.’ ‘What sort of manager hasn't got time to converse with the club's fans. Shame on you’ Julius raised his voice again but still no one joined in. He straightened the lower half of his top which had ridden up to reveal his porcelain white gut in the tussle. Stanley was desperately now looking over to the bar, to safety. ‘Jumbo get us a pint in.’ He called out. ‘Drinking as well this close after a game, you should be sat as your desk pouring over the data from the game on your laptop.’ ‘Look mate I don't know who you think I am but we haven't got a bloody pot to piss in let alone a damn laptop!’ ‘Vulgar!’ ‘Hey that's life in non-league football.’ He tapped Julius sarcastically on the shoulder and moved passed, the air suddenly seeming instantly fresher. ‘Idiot! I shall head to the chairman's office right this second and demand your sacking this very evening!’ ‘And he's gonna listen to you is he?’ ‘Why wouldn't he?’ ‘You're wearing flipflops and shell-suit trousers you moron!’ ‘How dare you! These are official Olympique Marseilles training bottoms! And if my mum hadn't ruined it with bleach obsessed cleanliness I'd be resplendent in the matching top!’ Stanley burst out laughing. ‘Did she confiscate your toys too buddy, cos I think you're missing a few marbles as well!’ Swaying backwards Julius felt the rage burn up his neck. ‘Plebeian! I've written you several letters outlining the ways our team can improve, have I received a reply, no. I come to you now with tips, advice, pearls of wisdom out of the goodness of my heart all because I don't want to see this gem of a club run into the ground and what do I get in return, hey what do I get?’ Choking on his own bile Julius paused for air. Stanley had walked away offering a offensive hand signal as his parting gift. ‘Get back here you, you, you savage!’ He hollered after him with no reply. Staggering backwards he felt for the chair, all this excitement had taken its toll on him, he had been on his feet all afternoon. Fishing into his bumbag he sort out another fist full of pick n mix to liven up his diminishing spirits. How dare that idiot treat him like some nobody, didn't he know who he was, didn't any of them know who he was!