As I cleaned off the last scratch of Fish and chips off my well designed plate, an overwhelming tiredness struck me down, and I whimpered off to bed, the warm covers forcing a heavy sweat in the hot summer period, even at such a late time. As I managed to drift off into a world of football dominated dreaming, a sudden catalogue of freakish images swept upon myself, and I shook violently in my sleep, getting hotter and hotter, before waking up soaked in sweat, almost as if I had been running a marathon in the Sahara desert. I looked in the mirror and saw the reflection of a terrified man, yet this was not a one time occurance. This dream had haunted me for months now, and my lack of employment gave me time to contemplate this sick imagery.
It dated back to April 2006, a time where I was coach at Burnley. As a Blackburn fan, this was uncomfortable enough, but my departure only made me loathe the Clarets even more. There were some decent Burnley folk around, and I often used to go around Burnleys town with friends, grabbing something to eat in one of a few decent restaurants. However, upon my departure, it emerged amongst a few that I was a Blackburn lad and fan. I wasn't high profile, but the sheer hatred in East Lancashire forced them to conspire against me, ending in a scary encounter outside a Burnley pub. After a quiet drink with some friends I was met with a flurry of drunken punches and mad faces, with one threatening to kill me. These faces and the flicker of a blade was the pictures in my sleep, as I honestly feared death that night, only to be saved by heroic onlookers who grabbed me and pulled me to safety. I hated the Burnley lot more from there!
The month or two from there have been a whirlwind of boredom and reflection, as I was jobless and in desperate need of money. My GCSE's couldn't help - I dropped them as I wanted to be a professional footballer. However, early promise was eradicated by a troublesome hamstring, which was as tight then as my finances are now. I lived in a small Burnley flat and had little job opportunities outside the beautiful game.
I flickered on the Tv to be met with some shocking news:
"Mark Hughes quits as boss of Blackburn"
I was shocked, failing to see reason, allegedly a dispute over transfer funding, although many saw fit to speculate he was eyeing a move to a bigger team. I saw my chance and quickly dialled Blackburn with a job application. After a few frantic calls back and forth they arranged me an interview for the following day. One problem: I had no suit and little money. I grabbed my credit card and raced into town, and managed to grab a nice suit at a low price, before getting an early night ahead of a busy tomorrow. I drifted off into a sleep, this time not accompanied by nightmares, but of dreams of myself holding a Blackburn flag above my head faced by flashing cameras?.
The next day I arrived at the club to meet John Williams for the interview, the clock at 9am and my body filled with nerves and my body uncontrollably sweating with anxiety. As I spoke to the chairman, I felt in a different galaxy, like my mindset had transferred itself from reality into the dreams of the football lifestyle. The interview seemed to be going well, and I substituted my lack of experience with broad knowledge of the beautiful game, outlining my plan from both a tactical and a personal perspective, showing Mr Williams I was more than prepared for the task ahead. The talk ended after a gruelling couple of hours, and I left confident that I was would be a forerunner for the greatest accolade a man could get: To be in charge of the team I love. How is something work/a job if it?s the thing you aspire to do more than anything?
The following day I arose to a brisk sunlight shining through my blue curtains, hopefully with the promise of a brighter day to the ones I had previously endured. After a few hours of meaningless rest I received a call?.on the other end of the phone was John Williams, asking me to come and meet him immediately. I raced off, greeted by a warm handshake. He told me he was pleased with my application and offered me the coveted position as Rovers boss. I duly accepted, with the world seemingly spinning around me, with past memories eradicated and a new beginning ensured. To call it the greatest moment of my life so far was an understatement. I swiftly called my family to inform them of the good news, and the coming night celebrated by opening a 10 year old bottle of champagne. I was ready to leave Burnley, looking out my window at the backdrop of terraced housing and smashed windows. My bags were packed, I was ready!
The first meeting was regarding his outlined plans and the transfer budget, and I was quietly satisfied with what was on the table. ?5,500,000 was good enough for me, and his plans of a mid table finish were realistic in my eyes. I left the meeting with a broad smile, prepared for the long, challenge ahead.
It dated back to April 2006, a time where I was coach at Burnley. As a Blackburn fan, this was uncomfortable enough, but my departure only made me loathe the Clarets even more. There were some decent Burnley folk around, and I often used to go around Burnleys town with friends, grabbing something to eat in one of a few decent restaurants. However, upon my departure, it emerged amongst a few that I was a Blackburn lad and fan. I wasn't high profile, but the sheer hatred in East Lancashire forced them to conspire against me, ending in a scary encounter outside a Burnley pub. After a quiet drink with some friends I was met with a flurry of drunken punches and mad faces, with one threatening to kill me. These faces and the flicker of a blade was the pictures in my sleep, as I honestly feared death that night, only to be saved by heroic onlookers who grabbed me and pulled me to safety. I hated the Burnley lot more from there!
The month or two from there have been a whirlwind of boredom and reflection, as I was jobless and in desperate need of money. My GCSE's couldn't help - I dropped them as I wanted to be a professional footballer. However, early promise was eradicated by a troublesome hamstring, which was as tight then as my finances are now. I lived in a small Burnley flat and had little job opportunities outside the beautiful game.
I flickered on the Tv to be met with some shocking news:
"Mark Hughes quits as boss of Blackburn"
I was shocked, failing to see reason, allegedly a dispute over transfer funding, although many saw fit to speculate he was eyeing a move to a bigger team. I saw my chance and quickly dialled Blackburn with a job application. After a few frantic calls back and forth they arranged me an interview for the following day. One problem: I had no suit and little money. I grabbed my credit card and raced into town, and managed to grab a nice suit at a low price, before getting an early night ahead of a busy tomorrow. I drifted off into a sleep, this time not accompanied by nightmares, but of dreams of myself holding a Blackburn flag above my head faced by flashing cameras?.
The next day I arrived at the club to meet John Williams for the interview, the clock at 9am and my body filled with nerves and my body uncontrollably sweating with anxiety. As I spoke to the chairman, I felt in a different galaxy, like my mindset had transferred itself from reality into the dreams of the football lifestyle. The interview seemed to be going well, and I substituted my lack of experience with broad knowledge of the beautiful game, outlining my plan from both a tactical and a personal perspective, showing Mr Williams I was more than prepared for the task ahead. The talk ended after a gruelling couple of hours, and I left confident that I was would be a forerunner for the greatest accolade a man could get: To be in charge of the team I love. How is something work/a job if it?s the thing you aspire to do more than anything?
The following day I arose to a brisk sunlight shining through my blue curtains, hopefully with the promise of a brighter day to the ones I had previously endured. After a few hours of meaningless rest I received a call?.on the other end of the phone was John Williams, asking me to come and meet him immediately. I raced off, greeted by a warm handshake. He told me he was pleased with my application and offered me the coveted position as Rovers boss. I duly accepted, with the world seemingly spinning around me, with past memories eradicated and a new beginning ensured. To call it the greatest moment of my life so far was an understatement. I swiftly called my family to inform them of the good news, and the coming night celebrated by opening a 10 year old bottle of champagne. I was ready to leave Burnley, looking out my window at the backdrop of terraced housing and smashed windows. My bags were packed, I was ready!
The first meeting was regarding his outlined plans and the transfer budget, and I was quietly satisfied with what was on the table. ?5,500,000 was good enough for me, and his plans of a mid table finish were realistic in my eyes. I left the meeting with a broad smile, prepared for the long, challenge ahead.
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