Ah, the first international break of the season.
A time where us second-tier managers can reflect on the success of our campaigns so far, sunning it up in Spain toasting a job well done or slumming it out in Scarborough watching DVD after DVD of defensive errors, just praying your pathetic players come back from a 0-0 draw against Estonia without a horrific 3G pitch-related injury.
For me, the fact I spent a couple of make-believe days in Mallorca tells you all you need to know.
The Town are on fire, the Championship is my metaphorical hoe and I am its pimp, slapping it all the way to the promise land.
Ok, it’s been five games, but needless to say things are going well. Second in the league ahead of my next fixture versus Millwall and the boys are bouncing off the walls. All because of LSD. And, no, not that kind of LSD, they’re just Loving Shipp’s Diamond.
The formation has remained and so has the triumph. Although to tell you the tale of my joyous start let’s first pick up where we left off…
Fresh from flinging Fulham aside in our first league match, we travelled to Cheltenham Town in the League Cup.
The coach journey across the country was jam-packed with so much banter even Richard Keys, Lord Banter himself, would have projectile vomited if he’d been present. The man taking most of it was poor Conor Sammon, his shiny head and stupid name attracting plenty of abuse.
“Oi Sammon, boil your head and eat it!” Jay Tabb piped up from the back. I had to laugh.
“You’ve got no hair,” followed young Elliot Hewitt, much in the style of the Wealdstone Raider.
Not quite as clever or insulting, more of an observation really, but he got a few pity laughs.
We finally arrived and after many a tear from the hugely sensitive Sammon, we romped to a filthy 5-2 success thanks to a hat-trick from my main man Dave McGoldrick. Skipper Luke Chambers and Sammon himself popped up too, meaning we cruised back to Ipswich in good spirits.
Next in the league was a tricky trip to Reading. One nil down, it looked like the honeymoon period was coming to an end. BAM, eat my comeback Reading. Dave smashed home an equaliser, Jordan Obita scored a welcome own goal and McGoldrick secured all three points with a late third. Three wins out of three, this management lark is easy.
Brimming with confidence, we were on the road again, this time to St Andrew’s where 10th placed Birmingham City awaited. Ham by name, ham by nature, we gave them a right royal porking. McGoldrick and Christophe Berra stormed us to a two-goal lead before they were reduced to ten men following a disgusting challenge that had me fuming on my imaginary touchline. Still, when they somehow pulled it back to 2-1, it needed a wonder goal from Luke Hyam to restore my two-strong advantage before Dave bagged his eighth goal in four matches. 4-1 and yes, we were top of the league.
Ever the realist, I knew it was only a matter of time before we got pasted. So alas bitter-rivals Norwich rocked up at Portman Road and for the want of a better phrase, ‘did us over.’ Three corners, three near post taps in, 3-0 defeat. Not like I told them to focus on DEFENDING SET PIECES beforehand either. Idiots.
After a firm dressing down, I demanded more in the second round of the League Cup, a home tie with Sheffield Wednesday. A limp, ED-like performance resulted in another loss, this time 2-0 and more angry team-talks.
With one game left before the good players leave for international duty and the bad ones hang around desperately trying to impress me while they’re away, I needed a reaction. Given we were playing Derby away, though, I didn’t have high hopes.
When we went behind after just four minutes, those hopes sunk even lower. But what we have here at Ipswich is special, I can tell. The lads rallied, fought for every second ball and soon enough they drew level thanks to Berra. New loan signing from Aston Villa, Jack Grealish, made the perfect impact from his role in the hole (snazzy rhyme), drilling us 2-1 up.
It just needed yet another strike from Davey Mac to wrap things up and leave us in the promotion places going into September.
I really did earn that pretend holiday, but I guess it counts for nothing if we’re not there come May.
If we are, I’ll be imagining a breakaway somewhere a lot better than Mallorca.
Picture provided by Steffen Egly via Flickr
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