An American In... Ahem... Football (FM2010)
I Should Have Just Killed Myself...
... So there I was in England. After a whole year of chasing this Irish girl around from NY back to the British Isles, I was stuck in Brocton, England.
Area of natural beauty my ass...
I set up residence and was standing in the only shop in the village, staring at a pair of gardening shears and debating whether or not to ram them into my eyeballs when the unthinkable happened.
That's right. I had no job.
Yes yes, I know it's annoying when someone jumps into the middle of a story, so let me explain. My name is I grew up in the city that never sleeps, the city so nice they named it twice, the capital of the world, that place Kurt Russel escaped from three separate times. Yes, I'm talking about New York City. I was a day trader on Wall Street, a horrible one to be precise, so when I semi-accidentally clotheslined Maria while she was on "holiday" at that Chipotle on Stone street and fell head over heels in love with her, it was no surprise that I quickly packed my stuff and flew out to Ireland where I stereotypically got a job as a bartender. That was two years ago, and Maria decided that she wanted to go out and get a job, so I followed her across the river orwhatever the hell it is and we're in Brocton.
Great stuff, right?
So there I am. Maria is at work doing some interior design... thing and I'm contemplating suicide.
"Hey! You're a supporter!"
I turned, angered that someone would dare interrupt my emo thoughts for something so trivial. The man who badgered me was an older fellow, but that's not what shocked me. He was pointing at my shirt. And yes, I was wearing a New York Jets jersey.
"Hell yeah!" I shouted, trying to be as obnoxious as possible.
"Oh, that must be one of the older kits."
I smiled. This British dude understood good taste. "Yeah, it's a throwback. It's what they wore in the 60's." I dusted some imaginary dirt off the front.
"Did you ever play?"
"When I was younger. I used to average 4.2 points while playing defense per game." That was a blatant lie. I DID play Linebacker in high school, but I was lucky if I got 1 tackle per game.
"What? That's amazing! Say, do you have any experience coaching?" He asked.
"Yes." I lied.
"My name is Brian Townsend. I'm the chairman of Brocton's local football team. We could really use someone with your experience on our squad."
"Does it pay?" I asked.
So... apparently football means a completely different sport in England. Of course, I didn't find out about this until I signed the 5 year contract, not reading it of course. I was even more horrified when I saw our field:
And then the locker rooms...
"Wait... are those... trailers?" I asked, dumbfounded.
"Well, they are hospitality rooms too." Brian said with a wide smile. I instantly regretted not buying those gardening shears.
"What league are we in?" I asked.
"Out of how many?"
OH MY GOD...
Meeting The Staff
After nearly castrating myself after I found out that we are "affectionately" known as the Brocton Badgers, Townsend asked if I'd like to meet the rest of the staff. Thinking that the day couldn't get any worse, I said what the hell and he led me to the team's tiny, two room office.
There were three men sitting around doing god knows what. First I met Ben Harris, who would be my assistant coach. He spouted off something about how he's happy to work with a legend like me, blah blah blah. I couldn't help but notice that he looks like an ugly version of the black guy from Black Eyed Peas.
Then there's Lee Palmer who is my assistant's assistant manager. Why my assistant would need an assistant is completely beyond me but he seemed to be very indifferent to me coming on the team, so I automatically like him.
Lastly was the team doctor Tom Lee, who aside from having the least memorable name in the world, seems like he finished in the bottom of his class at medical school. So the team was obviously in good hands.
The Practice Match
So, Palmer comes up to me and says that he thinks we should schedule a friendly game against our team's reserves. Understanding that the term "reserves" means "bench warmers" I agree to it the next day.
As I drive my car to the field, I realize two things. Number 1, I'm driving on the wrong side of the road. Number 2 is that I'm out of clean socks for the week.
I get out of my car and the game looks like it's set to kick off. Palmer approaches me and tells me to watch out for Barry Blake, our star defensive player. I nod and the match starts. 5 minutes later, Barry is injured.
I wish I was making that up. Either way, we tie with our reserves 1-1 in this "friendly" making me realize that we suck.