Back to the Footture: E17

Walking down the road to Rugby park on the Friday after returning from the land of clogs and poppers, I have to say it is a glorious feeling. Who would have thought that back in the days when I was destroying my office at the thought of Callum Hendry leaving us, that we would go to Ajax, captained by Billy Gilmour and leave with 3 points from a Champions League game.

Well, it happened.

My wander down the road is interrupted by a phonecall screeching into my headphones. It’s a Russian agent advising that his client has accepted my offer to join us in January. He’s not Ethan Ampadu but he’s still bloody good. I tell him to send everything over and we’ll see him in 2024.

We come crashing back down to earth as we board the Saturday morning bus to the home of 1960s children’s comics. Alan Stubbs is still as fucking miserable as every and his Dundee side are languishing in 10th place despite the signings of Milos Degenek, Saido Berahino and Leon Balogun. Ikechi has also pitched up there and I greet him with a hug. What a guy. The only downside from our Champions Leage victory was injuries meaning we are forced into a couple of changes. Still…what a lineup.

Dundee struggle to live with us in the first half and we go in 1–0 up after a goal from Williams. Cummings and Berahino limp off for them, meaning their attack is made up of a piece of sellotape and some old blu-tack. We seal the deal in the second half with goals from Ante and Charly, the only blot on the copybook being an injury for big Kostas.

We leave Dundee full of energy and Alan Stubbs looks like I’ve pissed in his Cornflakes. Job done.

Wednesday rolls around. The streets are full of Blue and White everywhere you look, augmented by the odd Spanish flag and offers of Chorizo infused pastries. That’s right, Barcelona are in town. And Ronald Koeman’s men are about to face a rubbery surface and a ground filled with fans tanked up on pies and Buckfast.

It’s fair to say they are strong. A midfield of Gavi, Pedri and De Jong is probably even to Ante, Kenny and Billy. Julian Alvarez has signed to lead the line along with Memphis. They’ve even got Aguero and Leroy Sane kicking about. Kostas being injured means a huge opportunity for young Jay to come in. I bring Charly back in and Mikkel goes into his preferred central position and we line up in a giant block of Fuck You. As we run out onto the pitch, a packed out Rugby Park erupts to greet their heroes. A solitary tear runs down my face as the Champions League anthem plays.

Not because of emotion, but because Catts accidently elbowed me in the kidneys. Bastard.

An early opportunity for Charly from a set piece sees the ground freeze in anticipation, but its deflected away by the wall. They are nearly on their feet as Kenny fires in a shot on 15 minutes but Ter Stegen deals with it well. I hadn’t even spotted Arkadiuz Milik in their squad pre-game, but he tears past Jay and gets in a shot that looks to be heading in until Coniah stretches out a hand to palm it wide. Just before the half-time break, more excellent interplay from Charly sees Billy slip into the box and put the ball past the keeper…and wide of the far post. All of a sudden there is a roar as Gavi is on his back and Bilal is being shown a red card for shoving him over.

Plans. Window. Fucking out of.

We get to half-time with the score at 0–0 and having had the better of the game. However I tell the boys no matter how incompetent I think Ronald is, this is going to be the toughest 45 minutes we’ll ever have.

Mikkel tries to make it easier, but his volley slides over by a couple of yards. Barca bring on Ansu Fati and his directness suddenly has us at 6’s and 7’s and all the chances fall their way. Aguero hits wide before another Coniah save from Gavi and then Kenny gets injured…Jacek comes on. Time seems to be taking an eternity as Coniah makes save after save and Williams Velasquez blocks 3 shots in a minute. Ten minutes to go and all of my fingernails have gone and I’ve started my 4th pack of chewing gum. Ajeti then decides to have a slaloming run that intially has me yelling at him to hoof it, then as he slips through I’m on my feet and….JUST WIDE ARGH!

Ansu Fati picks up the ball again and drives into space before pinging in a shot that beats Coniah, but not the woodwork. Phew. And then suddenly the ball is up their end and Jacek feeds Billy Gilmour who hits an absolute howitzer that Ter Stegen can only turn wide. The corner comes in and the ball breaks to the edge of the box…where Barcelona accelerate way. Ansu drives into our half, and its 3-vs-1. He looks up and picks out Sane at the back post, who shoots and Coniah saves…but he can’t hold on and Milik is following up…BUT SAVED AGAIN…but this time it drops to Ansu who slides it round Coniah to finish….WIDE! ANSU FATI HAS PUT IT WIDE OF THE RIGHT HAND POST!

The goal-kick is long and Williams wins the header which breaks to Ante. He turns and finds Billy 30 yards out, who takes a touch and as the ball drops he hits it…wide. And the whistle blows…hand me a drink.

We retire to the hotel after the game and the players, to a man, look gassed. They get the rest of the week off, other than Bilal — who is put into Anger Management in a small community centre in Irvine. Our only news of note is an away draw to Celtic in the League Cup pending our tie against Annan. Lovely — another fucking hard game for my paper thin squad, and a club record £660k in matchdday revenue from the Barca game. This is then bolstered by Malaly agreeing a move away to Niort for £500k.

Aberdeen are our next opponents. Despite a strong squad, they are languishing in 8th and Stephen Glass seems to be feeling the pressure.I can see him on his phone looking up flights to Atlanta and long range shipping prices on his phone. Goralski comes in for Dougall in our only change.

We start in our usual formation but are forced back into our Wall Of Fuck formation after Ramirez opens the scoring on 9 minutes and we are getting torn apart. Almost immediately Billy hits the post and Enzo misses two great chances to level. Billy hits the bar with a free-kick on the stroke of half-time and we go in 1–0 down.

I push the wingers up to support Enzo and he hits the post just before the hour as we push for an equaliser. I decide to go for broke and pull Ajeti off to be replaced by Robbo and two minutes later he causes enough confusion in the box to give Enzo space to slide in a leveller. It’s all us now with Bilal looking like a new man, and his driving run ends in a perfectly hung cross that deflects back for Robbo to smash home. Enzo adds to our lead on 80 minutesand despite a late consilation from Oshilaja, we run out with a 21-shots-to-6 3–2 win.

Sunday morning we jump on a plane to prepare for our next game. Besiktas the destination. As we visit the ground on Tuesday for a training session, the good ole’ “Welcome to Hell” banners are rolled out. Well they’ve never been to fucking Methil — Hell would be a fucking 2 week holiday with sun towels.

Its fair to say that the transfer gods have shat all over the Turks. They haven’t signed anyone in 3 seasons and their squad consists of a very angry looking Adem Ljajic, 1-time-Leicester winger Rachid Ghezzal and not a lot else. Am I confident? A little. Less so when we walk out onto the pitch and I get hit with a voodoo doll that resembles a pint-sized Carlos Valderrama.

We sit back and invite the pressure, which proves to be a mistake when Kenan Karaman rifles in a shot in the 16th minute that Coniah can only watch rip past him into the top corner. It takes us til the half-hour to create anything — Ante tees up Enzo to head wide and then the Frenchman batters a half-volley to the moon. We create more chances with Til trying to get up to support Enzo, but it’s still 1–0 at half-time.

I tell the boys I need more from them and to go out and be more clinical, finishing my emphatic teamtalk by flicking up a water bottle for Ade Akinbiyi to head into the corner bin. It’s the tonic the boys need, and Ante drives forwards after the break and hits a low shot from the edge of the box to equalise.

Gerson should put us 2–1 up straight away but he hits it wide, and suddenly it’s all us — granted I’d rather the chances fell to someone other than Ajeti who has turned into some kind of freewheeling Eastern-Bloc David Luiz- firing a howitzer in that is turned over the bar. It’s dominant stuff as we cross over into the final stanza of the game and we win a free-kick 25 yards out. Billy steps up, looks over to me (and I swear he gives me a wink) and hits a ball over the wall….AND INTO THE TOP CORNER!!!

I scream at the boys to keep their composure, but Beskitas break and Karaman nearly levels but his shot squeaks past the post. With 5 minutes to go, we are beginning to solidify and win the ball on halfway. Ante looks up and hits a glorious through-ball for Guus to run onto. He takes it in stride, looks up, and dinks a wonderful Stud-Esque lob over the keeper and into the back of the net! 3–1 in Turkey!!!

As I hug Catts in the dugout and wave to the fans posted into upper deck of the stand behind the goal, Robbo looks like he has a 4th but it’s flagged offside. I’m not even angry. How can I be?!

I mean…what the fuck is going on?!

There couldn’t be a better time to welcome John Terry to Rugby Park, and he comes up an gives me a hug, then hands me 5 grand and takes a plate from the pre-match buffet and loads up. Ann Budge stands in the corner and looks on as her phone pings, presumably to tell her that the club account has exceeded its overdraft.

We’re fully fit to face the Jambos and we remain unchanged giving us a very fucking mean looking spine. I push Guus up but keep Billy roaming from deeper. This should be fun. Or at least it was until I remember Hearts beats us in the cup final and I go into a Malcolm Tucker-esque diatribe about wanting to win. This will be like the Shawshank redemption, only with way more shit and no fucking redemption.

Gerson gives us the lead after 24 minutes with a planted header from a free-kick from Mikkel. Our increasing pressure is rewarded on the stroke of half-time as Jacek gets his first goal for the club getting on the end of a cutback from Billy. Hearts get a goal back on the hour when Joe Ralls converts a spot-kick.

And then Billy gets injured.

And then Arlind gets sent off.

And then Ralls equalises with the last kick of the fucking game and the last thing I remember is running up to the referee and calling him an “Onion faced bastard” before Catts drags me back into the stand and locks me in a darkened room.

Fuck you John Terry. Fuck you Joe Ralls. And Fuck You Succession-the-TV-Show. Should have bought Hearts and liquidated the fuckers.

Billy is out for two weeks. We’ve got the international break coming up so he withdraws from the Scotland squad and I cross everything that he’ll be fit for our next league game against Rangers. But first, League Cup vs Annan.

That’ll do Pig.

That’ll do.

We get the sweet relief of the international break for me to relax and do a little review of myself. Having decided that we are actually still a very good footballing side, and that we will do what we normally do against Rangers and hopefully batter them.

I spend the rest of my free time during the international break looking to see if there are any bargains kicking about, predominently from the Premier League. I draw a blank, but come up with a very interesting target or two in Portugal that seem interested. And then, it’s Ibrox. 1st vs 2nd. Good guys vs Wee guys. We go for the Euro special and our strongest non-Billy-including side.

We start well without creating anything clear cut, and then James Tavernier comes into our half and hits a hot drive that Coniah does well to turn round. In the 24th minute, Guus gets some space and drives at goal, firing in a shot that the Man of A Thousand Nipples can only parry to Enzo, who tucks it in like a prize drag-queen.

It’s all looking rosy until band on the stroke of half-time, when Ballo-Toure makes a mazy run through our defence, down the left and squares to Waghorn who finishes well and levels it up. Our half-time teamtalk seems fucking worthless when Coniah makes another good save and Waghorn then puts a chance wide.

I respond by pushing Guus up the pitch, but to be honest other than a couple of late chances for the merurial Dutchman, the second half is a complete snoozefest. We don’t deserve the win, but we also don’t deserve the point. It’s very frustrating.

Nevertheless, we remain top of the tree.

Catts signs an extension to his deal just a couple of days before the home fixture against Besiktas and the team club together to buy him a punchbag with a picture of 101 great Newcastle goals. Billy is fit for the tie — which is a huge boost for us. I decide to stick with the Euro formation but have Guus further up the park from the start. There are a rabid 800 fans behind the goal that have flown in for the game, and the away section looks like a pan-fire in Gourock by the time that we enter. The home fans have decided to counter with drums and blue flares, so by the time we enter it looks like a Call of Duty mission in the Notting Hill Carnival — only with more shouts of the referee being a bawbag.

Guus nearly gets us off to a tremendous start as his 2nd minute shot is saved, and the resulting corner sees Williams head over. We create further chances for Enzo, Gerson and Billy — but none of them have the ability to break the deadlock. It takes until the 21st minute for Ante to ping in a glorious cross which Guus rises highest to meet and power a header past the keeper. 1–0 and Rugby Park is on fire!

We really should extend our lead but at half-time its 1–0. News filters through from the Barcelona vs Ajax game that Barca are leading, meaning that if we win this game, qualification is secure. I tell the boys in the changing room and their slightly shaky demeanour is replaced by one of steel, with some extra steel.

Guus has another couple of chance and Enzo gets booked for battering one-time Sunderland defender Valentin Rosier. Bilal and Robbo enter the fray just after the hour — and it is the madcap Dutch-Turk that scores next, rifling home from a set piece deflected back to him giving us a previous 2–0 lead. From there on in it is a masterclass in how to keep the ball and kick fuck out of people without getting caught as Ante and Kenny absolutely boss the show and we see out the game with barely even a whisper of a scare…the full-time whistle blows and I anxiously look up the latest from Amsterdam…

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!