Back to the Footture: E15
We’ve come a long long way together. Through the good times and the moderately average. I would praise my squad but that would indicate that I like them, so I instead stick on Fatboy Slim as training amps up ahead of our first post-split fixture — before destroying the speaker with a well placed half-volley. We listen to proper music round here, none of this guff — and I stick on “Hold the Line” by TOTO in a vain attempt to teach our defenders something.
As usual, the SFA have been extremely kind to us and our first fixture post-split is at Ibrox for the 17th time this season. I brace myself for the standard 1-goal loss in an even game via a sending off and 2 disallowed goals/penalties after a honking performance by Tom Glover. I’ve tried everything (by which I mean vaguely tinkering with a working tactic) and my latest venture is to beef up the engine room by telling Ante to drop back and roam from deep. I have about as much hope in this as presumably Russell Brand has in waking up and not being a complete trollop, so I keep things relaxed pre-game — leaving the pre-match violence to Lee Cattermole.
Astonishingly, we take the ball straight from kickoff as Ante thunders into a challenge and gives the ball wide to Charly Musonda. He drives at the defence — toying with James Tavernier — and delivers a wicker cross that Enzo stoops to meet, sending the ball into the near corner past Areola! We LEAD! Even more remarkably the traditional equaliser doesnt follow immediately as Glover saves well from Sakala…what is going on?!
We sit deep and frustrate Rangers, who have a couple of efforts wide from distance. We win a corner which is met by Kosta…just over the bar. Alfredo Morelos and Callum Wilson then go close as they look to turn the screw in search of an equaliser — BUT SUDDENLY THERE’S A FLASHPOINT! CALLUM WILSON SEES RED! Callum Wilson has pushed Charly Musonda into the stands in an attempt to get the ball back for a throw in and he’s been binned!
Suddenly it’s all us and a Duelund cross misses everyone in the final minute of the half. When the boys come in they are bouncing and I tell them they have to focus. For once, a small window has opened and we are not going to end up hanging out of it with no trousers like Alan Partridge. We play out to the hour with no action as our engine room destroys any passing attacks with gusto. We get the ball forwards and win a free-kick 25 yards out. Mikkel’s effort is saved but the rebound drops to a steaming Dujon who batters it home via the upright! 2–0!!!
Rangers are stunned and Ibrox are reacting like someone has just offered to paint the seats green and pink. Ante nearly adds some gloss with 10 minutes left when a fierce half-volley is brilliantly saved by Alphonse ‘Nips’ Areola in the Rangers goal. Morelos hits the post again in the dying embers of time but the referee’s whistle blows. HOLD THE FUCKING LINE!
It. Is. On.
Inexplicably, we are in a position where with a bit of luck and a fair wind, allayed with winning all 5 post-split games, we could still win the title. This is incredible. The boys are hushed on the bus back as the realise what they’ve just done. We’re absolutely in the fight. I busy myself in the week sorting out the departures of first season heroes McGrandles, Grant and Goode. So long and thanks for all the fish guys.
We get the joys of a home game next as we face-off against St Johnstone, as we play the wonderful Nicolas Cage to their Golf Obsessed John Travolta. I want to absolutely ruin them. They managed to draw 2–2 with Celtic in their first game with Shaun Rooney dominating. Man-for man, we should win the game…but paper never maketh three points — only blood, guts and Ante Palaversa are the known solutions to that problem. I push the Croat back forwards and keep the faith with our heroes. They deserve it.
Well, as long as they fucking win.
Its another incredible start as Rodney drives forwards, plays a one-two with Enzo and slips it back to Ante who slides it past Clark in the first minute. And our joy extends in the 15th minute when Mikkel is brought down and steps up himself to convert the penalty and give us an early 2-goal advantage. Shaun Rooney then gets sent off two minutes later and that is all she wrote.
The 16112 crowd are treated to some scintillating football as we cut through at will, our lazy finishing the only downpoint of the first half. We do get a third midway through the 2nd half as Mikkel finishes a Dougall pass and it’s as comfortable a 3–0 win as you’ll ever see. But what of the other results…
HOLY FUCKANORY!
Am I a little disappointed we didn’t win by a bigger margin and reduce the 3-goal gap? Yes. Do I really care? No. IT. IS. ON.
Our next game is a huge one. Rangers and Celtic are stuttering like a 7 year old being asked about his opinion on the economy, or Boris Johnson being asked about anything other than wanking off pigs. Its time to welcome the factory of Beige that is Jack Ross and his Hibernian team. Scotty is back in training but I resist temptation to risk him, especially given how solid Dujon has been.
It takes us a little longer to break the deadlock, but we do in the 26th minute when Enzo creates a yard of space with his back to goal and turns to shoot low into the bottom corner. Hibs are in the game, with Boyle looking menacing, and he tees up Joe Newell to equalise 5 minutes later. But Enzo is on the case, and he gets free of marker to rise and meet a Kenny Dougall cross and give us the lead again. Right on the stroke of half-time, he manages to hold off Porteous and clip the ball to Mikkel who head towards goal…Off the bar…but there’s a rebound….OFF THE POST! FUCKING FUCK FUCK FUCKING FUCK.
I’m pleased, but I want a 2-goal cushion. Charly nearly provides this with a wicked free-kick that just evades the far corner, and Mikkel misses his 5th shot of the afternoon. Hibs suddenly turn the pressure up and Nisbet and Sobowale have shots wide. I respond by bringing on Robbo and putting Ante back into the engine room for the final ten minutes. Rodney gets a chance to bury the game but the keeper saves, and then James Scott gets on the end of a long ball and shoots….SAVED BY GLOVER! The resulting corner comes in and Newell meets it, Glover can only tip it away and Paul Hanlon nods it wide from 2 yards…I’m bellowing at the referee to blow for full-time and when he does, I sink to my knees in ecstasy.
It’s a precious win, but what of other results?
Celtic lose, and are therefore out of the race. We are 3 goals behind Rangers, and really need them to slip up…WHY ARE WE HERE?!
Beautifully our dream will be ended in game 37 as the SFA have sent us back to Celtic Park where our record is abysmal. I go for the Engine Room block, and Scotty is back on the wing in place of Dujon. If we are sitting deep we need his creativity on the break. I shake Ange’s hand when I turn up and ask him if he’s picked the u12s so we can stop Rangers — he laughs and walks away.
*Gulp*
An early chance for Chris Wood drifts wide before Starfelt stings Glover’s gloves (Lol). Our sitting deep stops most traffic but we are creating precious little. It’s a very cagey first half and our only attacking endeavour of note is a late free-kick from Mikkel which Siegrist drops, unfortunately to safety.
I push Ante forwards for the second half as we have to create something. Celtic have the same idea and our tactical changes cancel each other out as we play some football that Jack Ross would call scintillating. Both sides are struggling, and Mikkel at least forces a save when an overhit cross is dropping into the far post until a Siegrist hand tips it over. We get a corner with 5 minutes to go, and Ajeti rises….THE FUCKING CROSSBAR ARGH!
It’s 0–0. And with that I would guess we can turn the machine off…
DOCTOR GET IN HERE, GET THAT MACHINE BACK ON AND GET THE DEFIBRILLATORS OUT!!!
Holy fucking shitballs Batman. Say it one more time for the folk at the back.
IT.
IS.
ON!
It’s in our hands. It’s scarcely believable.
Rugby Park becomes a compound for the week. The players get rooms at the hotel and we have a steadily increasing number of press-conferences, media appearences and engagements throughout the week. I send the players out to a couple of local schools through the week to hand out any merchandise I can steal from the club shop and by Saturday, the town is fully Blue and White. I take a walk out the ground to get coffee on Saturday and it takes me fully 2 hours by the time I deal with people shaking my hand and offering me things.
I decide late on to bring Dujon back into the lineup. Scotty drops to the bench. Ante remains in the engine room for the start to see how we go. I do not want to have to chase this game. The players get a huge ovation as they wander out to warm-up as I sit in the changing rooms under the stand. I look around the room. This is it. I can scarcely believe it as I wander out to the dugout and the whole stadium gets to it’s feet.
We start well in possession and pick up a nice tempo. Our engine room is ticking early doors and some strong work sees the ball break loose to Charly inside their half. He drives forwards to the edge of the box and hits a shot from the top of the D….INTO THE TOP RIGHT CORNER! KILMARNOCK HAVE THE LEAD!
Aberdeen come back into the game and a free-kick from Ramirez is blocked and Kosta comes up with a couple of key defensive headers. Mikkel then forces Bachmann to turn a header round the post and Dujon fires well over from a good ball by Dougall. Danny Loader is causing a few issues but gets caught offside just inside our half. Kosta runs to grab the ball, throws it down and launches a long raking diagonal across to the right hand side of the box, where Dujon is sprinting forwards. Time seems to slow down as he gallops towards goal and leaps ahead of Bachmann to meet it. Time seems to slow down as the ball travels through a perfect parabola, hits the turf and nestles in the far corner! ITS 2–0!!!!!
I send the boys back out for the second half with no words, just a quick fistbump and slap on the back as they leave to go back out. The 17,000 fans in the stadium are singing, but you can still sense a nervous tension. This is amplified when Benning gets free and hits a shot that Glover can only parry into the path of Hedges, who slots home to halve our advantage. Shit.
One time Killie loanee Joe Pigott comes on and shoots wide just after the hour after an Ajeti header is saved. I throw my watch away, and tell my staff that if anyone goes near it I will kerb-stomp them on the edge of the steps. Ante tries to calm my nerves with a wonderful solo effort, but as I reach up to punch the air, Daniel Bachmann reaches to tip it over. Matty Kennedy then gets away and hangs up a cross that Pigott meets, but Glover is equal to it and pushes the ball to safety with a quarter of an hour to play.
Scotty comes on for Dujon and Mikkel takes a step back as I tell the boys to “do the TOTO” and Hold the Fucking Line. The seconds ebb away as we keep the ball in midfield or drop deep to see off the ever increasing attacks from the Dons. Ramirez swings in a cross to Pigott who heads wide with 5 minutes left. I turn to the stands and implore them to give us one more lift through to the end of the game. Scotty runs the ball into the corner and wins a throw in deep in their territory as I withdraw Enzo and bring on Robbo to rapturous applause. Byrne goes back to throw the ball in and I’m suddenly hit from behind, as my staff jump up and down on me. As I hit the deck, I can see Kosta and Arlind in a heap and Ante and Kenny jumping around mobbed by fans…
WE’VE DONE IT!!
Scarves, Hats and liquids of varying proof are flying all over the place as the Aberdeen players run down the tunnel. The fans are all over the pitch and I find myself hoisted on the shoulders of the players as we gather in the centre circle in a giant huddle of joy. How we have achieved this, I’ll never know. It’s bigger than David, Leicester City and the Jamaican Bobsleigh team combined. We have to evacuate the ground back to the stands as a Helicopter circles in to land where we stood. And out walks a man, carrying a trophy. Our Trophy.
Its the first title win by a non Old-Firm team since 1985. The next 10 days are a haze of events, interviews and alcohol as we celebrate everywhere that we can. Robbo and Rodney take the trophy on a tour of the local primary schools and we even manage to raid an episode of Sportscene in Blue and White balaclavas. The Scottish Football awards are sensational as well as the Rangers players stick around for approximately 2 minutes and I win Manager of the Year as 4 of our players make it into the Team of the Year.
It would be easy to forget that we also have a Scottish Cup final and a highly improbable treble to play for. But we eventually get reminded when I’m told we have missed the pre-game photoshoot on the Friday. Gathering up what’s left of my squad, we head to Hampden, followed by 25,000 of Ayrshire’s finest.
I decide to leave Ante in the engine room again given the occasion, and will look to bring him out into the midfield once we’ve got a foothold in the game. Otherwise we are unchanged. John Terry greets me with a brown envelope filled with £50 notes and tells me to “Treat yourself, Son”. The man is basically a fictional Ray Winstone character by now. The players look years wiser as we step out to the pitch, and I leave it up to Catts to do the final teamtalk. It’s time.
Hearts start well, but we create the first chance when a long cross Kosta finds Dujon at the back post and his header hits the base of the woodwork and bounces out. The next period is quiet and Gary Mackay-Steven limps off tobe replaced by Ikechi Anya, who I greet warmly before trying to trip up as he sprints on. Another good move creates an opportunity for Enzo — saved well by Adam Davies — and the game drifts towards a drab 0–0 at half-time.
Hearts come out firing, and Robbie Brady flashes in a delicious ball that Kosta heads away. I push Ante up and tell the boys to ping it about a bit more. Disaster strikes though as a corner on the hour is headed in by Matty Godden to give them the lead. I push the wingers up and bring on Scotty and Daniel, and the former nearly does the trick with a neat shot that sneaks wide. I bring on Malaly in desparation and go one at the back, and he has two shots saved before a third in the final minute looks to be heading in…but Davies saves! The resultant corner comes in, but its cleared by Anya and the referee blows his whistle.
Fuck.
We donate the runners up medals to a group of fans that stay to applaud the Hearts team and we make our way back down the road. On the Monday, I get a knock at the door and get handed a big bundle of papers with our performances.
I wait until the analyst goes out the door, then turn to my iron cast bin, dropping them in and setting them on fire with the ash from a giant fucking cigar.
I can analyse when I’m dead. We are Fucking Kille.
