Misdirected.
Two flights, 12 hour in the air, one confused call the the club secretary from the arrivals hall in Athens International Airport and I finally arrive at Croft Park, Northumberland. Bottles of cheap ouzo clink in the airport duty free bags as I shuffle up to the club reception. A small group of staff are gathered with a limp banner emblazoned with "Welcome To Blyth Spartans Eion Murphy".
"I think there may have been a miscommunication as to the location of the club." I say, trying to inject every minute of frustration of the 6 hours in a cramped budget airline flight into just one sentence.
A man wearing the puffa jacket of an assistant manager strides forward offering his hand. "Ye donnart gadgy. Weel yer heer new."
"..." I feel a sense of unreality passing through me. A disconnectedness from my body. My face is surely blank, mouth slightly open as my brain runs through the checklist "Any drugs taken recently? Excluding that noxious inflight meal, no . You did really get on the plane from Greece? Yes. And you are awake? Yes. You did land in England? Yes. They speak English here? Yes. Was what you just heard English? No."
I thought I wouldn't have to learn a foreign language. Maybe I can get a translator? I clamp my mouth shut, plaster on a grin and nod dumbly as I shake my assistant managers hand.
"Ahm Alan Davies. Leets geet ta wirk"
Oh good.
I'm shown to a small worn room containing a wooden desk, one chair on rollers (one wheel missing), one chair with spindly metal legs and cheap plastic seat, a battered blackboard and an overwhelming air of frustration. The only light is bare and the narrow windows are high in the wall.
On the desk sits a team report, assembled by the coaches. Flipping through it I see their assessments of the players, tactical recommendations and predictions for the season. The fact that it consists of mostly blank pages with photos, the players name and some variant of word "SHIT" scrawled across them doesn't really fill me with confidence.
Closing the door behind me I decide on set of tasks.
- I will...
... Knock knock. "Mr Murphy the board are here and they want to know how we'll do for the season?" Well, at least the secretary can speak English. After the start I've had with this club I at least want to appear competent when it comes to evaluating the year long prospects of the club at which I've just arrived. Glancing down at the dossier I say "I think we'll do ok". She nods her head and darts out of the room.
- I will...
"Mr Murphy the press are here to interview you". So soon? What is this? Overload the new guy tactics? "Get them some tea and biscuits, I'll be there in a bit". It's time to take control. The press can wait, I'm going to get my plan sorted. I will:
- interview the staff properly.
- check the club financials.
- meet the team and do my own evaluation.
- watch that first team vs reserves match.
- get a list of possible players to bring in if they're necessary.
- look up wikipedia to be able to bluff knowing about this club.
- hire a translator.
But first, I've got to talk to the press.
Greek column image from flickr user zone41, rolltop desk steroscopic image from wikimedia commons.
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