Back to the Footture: E27

After an absolute heart attack of a game against the Monster Botherers, I have to say that a few days off does us all good. The squad as a whole does the North Coast 500 and other than a minor prang outside Golspie involving Armando and a local farmer, I think it’s safe to say its a great way to have spent the week. It also stopped me from any more frivolous transfer dealings — never a bad thing given my club accountants currently hate my guts (We’ve lost £21m this year due to my Champions League Gambling in the January window).

Never fear though, as whenever there is an upside, what follows is generally a steep downhill slope to ineptitude and grimness. Otherwise known as St Mirren FC. As we arrive at the ground, we take the iron hoardings off the windows and carefully navigate our way to the changing rooms in our club-branded hazmat suits, lest we be infected by the methadone infused air. It’s the Scottish Cup, and as I traditionally lose in a heart wrenching manner I think it’s only fair to rotate and try to get knocked out.

Well that wasn’t really in the script but I will absolutely take it with both hands. A tremendous performance with Paul Nebel leading from the front and scoring a brace and Armando adding another in the first 15 minutes of the game as we blow St Mirren away like a piece of silver paper in the wind. Kik adds a late fourth and its the easiest voyage to the next round we could have possibly had. Lovely.

Next up, we get the home comforts after the post-Paisley quarantine as we welcome Graham Alexander and his Motherwell team to Rugby Park. Graham and I have had our differences — notably the bread roll incident — but things have thawed over time. They also have several ex-Killie players in their ranks in Lewis Ferguson, Dimitri, Stephen O’Donnell, and Aapo Halme amongst others, so the build up has a friendly feel. That is until Ryan Hedges drives a pass into the dugout and I spill my Bovril all over one of the directors. It’s full-strength kill-mode time — bar Osame who is still feeling the effects of a dip in the sea on a Scottish Beach.

Georgios tees up Simone for an early chance which flies wide, before Troost saves well from a header from Vasilios. We certainly have the possession and the chances, but the clinical finishing bonus seems to sit with Motherwell as they take the lead when Dimitri bundles in a rebound. This stings us into action and Billy has a shot which is saved, but Vasilios is there to nod home as the ball floats back out to equalise, and right on the half-time whistle a through ball from Simone finds the perenially grumpy Georgios to fire home on the angle — giving me a “get it up ye” gesture as he celebrates.

Lee Erwin gives us a scare as his looping shot bounces onto the top of the bar and over early in the second half, before Vasilios has another header brilliantly tipped wide by the annoyingly good Troost. I look to the bench with 20 minutes left and the in-form Paul Nebel forces another stunning save with his first touch. Its alamo-esque as we rain down shots and fury, and eventually this tells when with 84 minutes on the clock Vasilios gets his second as he links up with his fellow Greek Georgios. 3–1 — Sayonara you amber fucks.

Next up, in our tour of Scotland’s Drug hotspots its Easter Road and Steven Davis’ Hibs side, who have improved since he took over in that they’ve actually won a couple of games. They are still in 11th, but 12 points clear of the worst Aberdeen side ever. They were busy in January, bringing in no fewer than 10 players — so every scout report I have gets chucked in the bin as we’ve no fucking clue what they’ll look like. Morten drops out for Ante and Aymen for Osame in our two changes as we look to steamroller the north of Edinburgh yet again.

Despite being told they’re setting up in a 5–3–2 Sweeper formation, they come out block 4–4–2 and Josh Doig has an early run snuffed out by Simone. Suddenly we attack and after a couple of shots are blocked, Georgios forces Neri to save, but he can only palm it out to Billy who gives us the lead. We double our tally when Guus rams a header home from another flappy effort from Neri, before Simone completes his masterpiece of a first half by laying our third on a plate for Georgios, the grumpiest Greek since Zeus accidently announced himself as the God of Chunder by mistake at a seminar.

With one eye on the Champions League we get the players rested early as we pass Hibs into submission. Billy has a shot whip past the post and Paul has a goal disallowed for a dubious offside, but its a clean sheet and 3 points yet again with Simone conducting us like an Operetta.

The Old Firm derby the next day sees Celtic triumph 2–0 — meaning that in the second week of February we have a staggering 19 point lead on Rangers (Granted they have a game in hand). We could win the league before the split at this rate.

Not that I have time to think about that as we welcome the Portuguese powerhouse that is Sporting to Rugby Park on Tuesday. It’s not quite Jardel territory but they are very good. Key man James Maddison is injured, but they still have a wealth of talent to call on such as Reinier, Diogo Jota, Pedro Goncalves and Ronald Araujo. They are a youngish team, and incredibly mobile — though they don’t have Billy Gilmour which is a big black mark against them.

Despite a bruising Yoga lesson on the Monday afternoon (never hire an ex-Spetznatz instructor) we are in good shape for the game. Per is ineligible meaning Kerr comes back into the lineup, and Billy drops into his deep-lying conjourer-of-fucking-doom role. My teamtalk is brief as the noise from the stands is deafening — and with a quick “Fuck You” from Georgios it’s away we go!

Simone nearly gives us the perfect start with a shot that beats the goalkeeper and flashes wide, before Guus forces the first save in the 6th minute with a header that Rui Silva does well to palm away. The ball is cleared, but only as far as Ante — who looks up and curls in a deep cross…TO BILLY AT THE BACK POST WHO MEETS IT ON THE VOLLEY!!! IT FLIES PAST SILVA!!!! 1–0!!!

Sporting wake up a bit and we cede possession to them to prevent their running in behind. they have a couple of penalty shouts turned down, including a theatrical dive from Fred — but its him that equalises when Coniah can’t make a shot from Tomas safe and the Brazilian is there to knock it home with the composure of a hitman on Ketamine. 1–1.

Both sides take a few minutes to suss each other out and my opposite number Abdullah Avci keeps shouting something in Turkish to which Pedro Porro keeps shrugging his shoulders. Guus picks the ball up and weaves forwards, playing the ball to Georgios. He drives at the centre back, moving to the left and backheels the ball into the path of Osame, who swings in a first time cross at pace to the penalty sport…AND SIMONE MEETS IT WITH A BULLET HEADER!! IT’S 2–1!!

Yet again we switch off and after a good save from Coniah, Goncalves blasts over from 8 yards. As they look to pressure us, we get a break and Billy brings the ball forwards, careering past 3 defenders on his way into their half. He looks up and plays a ball over the centre back for Guus to run onto…which he does and coolly tries to lob the onrushing keeper…..AND THE BALL DROPS INTO THE NET!!! GUUS ASTUDILLO!!!!

I give Catts a free shot on the way to the changing rooms and as I’m clutching my kidney it’s absolutely certain in my mind that this is real and we are somehow 3–1 up. Absolute fucking focus is required here and I tell the boys that we have to see this out — otherwise heads will fucking roll.

Osame takes this to mean taking on the entire defence himself, and another mazy run sees a cross to the back post which Vasilios heads agonsingly wide of the far post, but he makes no mistake a couple of minutes later when Guus does an Osame and curls a ball to the back stick for him to tap in past a sprawling Silva. 4–1!!

James Maddison limps on on the hour to try and inject some life into the Portuguese, who by now have started arguing amongst themselves and with Avci. I bring on Morten and Paul for some fresh legs and we keep the pressure on them, with a Billy free-kick being tipped over and a last gasp tackle from Diogo Jota nearly giving us a 5th. Georgios tries to emulate Guus with a chip, but it ends up somewhere near Darvel, and another volley is saved by Silva. Billy comes off to a standing ovation in the 85th minute and despite a late effort from Jota, which Coniah saves, we have no more scares and pull out an astonishing 4–1 win.

Its a sensational evening. The Portuguese disappear quicker than a sardine up a drainpipe and we sing long into the night with a club record £865k in our pockets from the game tonight. I throw a bag of 10p’s at the club accountant in the suite after the game and tell him to ram it up his personal account sideways. I’m the fucking boss round here.

Curiously we have no game at the weekend — which is inexplicable but I’ll take it. It gives us plenty of time to get out to Lisbon and turn the water in the fountains blue. A city tour and a couple of stunning meals later and it’s Wednesday night in Lisbon. The atmosphere is at fever pitch and the Jose De Alvalade is a sell-out with 62,000 fans expected — including 2000 from the West Coast. As we warm up, I tell the boys to drink it in and enjoy the occasion. Guus drops out the XI and we go with a triple engine room and Billy leading the charge from the centre of midfield.

Billy gets an early yellow for scything down Goncalves, but he has the first effort on goal when he links up well with Georgios and a lay-off is hit fantastically, but not faraway enough from Silva to curl in as the keeper tips it wide. Thereafter follows around 25 minutes of absolute nothingness as Avci yells something about Crab Kalash and Sporting dominate the ball but cannot break us down.

With a couple of minutes left in the half, Jota breaks down the left and curls in a cross, which Fred heads well wide. From the restart, Lee Kang-In comes forwards and takes on Simone. He beats him, and then beats Justin and as Coniah comes out he theatrically falls to the ground….and the referee points to the spot and produces a yellow card for Coniah!! FUCK!! Pedro Porro steps up for Sporting….ITS SAVED BY CONIAH BUT PORRO IS ON THE REBOUND….ITS SAVED AGAIN AS CONIAH TIPS IT OVER!!!!! The resultant corner is cleared and the half-time whistle blows with our players engulfing Coniah as he walks off.

We start the second half in better order with more of the ball, but can’t seem to create ashooting opportunity. One of these moves break down and Sporting shift the ball forwards at pace. Lee gets it and looks up, picking a perfect pass for the bulldozing Artur Cabral to run onto it and slam it past Coniah to give them the lead. Hmmm…

Osame has been dreadful and Morten ineffecutal so Paul and Guus come on as we chase a leveller moving back to our home formation. Simone looks like a man freed and wins us a free-kick 35 yards out as Jota brings him down. Simone steps up and curls the ball into the box, where Vasilios rises highest to head it back across goal…AND INTO THE FAR CORNER!! 1–1 GAME ON!!

Justin Che wins the ball from kick-off and surprises everyone with a long run through the Sporting defence and unleashing a howitzer that Silva watches flash past the stanchion of post and bar — before Pedro Goncalves weaves forwards and picks out Lee on the edge of the box, who places his effort towards the corner….but Coniah reaches to tip it wide! After such a poor first half the stadium is alive and we nearly silence it when Guus knocks the ball down for Georgios to slam in a shot that ricochets back off the post. Pedro is running Kik ragged and I bring on Williams to kick him, and its his challenge that wins the ball back on the left in our half. He plays it central where Vasilios has drifted infield and he chips a first time ball over to Paul on the left. He drags it infield and slaloms past one…past 2…AND REACHES THE EDGE OF THE BOX….HE SCORES!! PAUL NEBEL WITH A MAGICAL SOLO EFFORT YET AGAIN!! 2–1!!

We baton down the hatches as Pedro Goncalves and Tiago Tomas wage a two man war on my sanity as they dribble through the defence time after time only for the final ball to be lacking or for a defender to somehow get the ball away. With a minute left, Jote gets away from a knackered Gilmour and sprints down the left of the penalty area, tucking the ball back for Tiago Tomas to shoot….CONIAH GETS A HAND TO IT….BUT IT COMES BACK OUT TO NUNO MENDES TO TAP IT HOME…2–2….

So fucking near…

But United have drawn with Feyenoord…we’re so fucking nearly there!!