Ipswich is a town drenched in excitement.
It’s knee deep in anticipation, soaked in ambition. The Shipp has sailed into its dock, which for those who don’t know is situated at a bend of the River Orwell and has been used for trade since at least the 8th Century.
I told the board I’d done my research before I signed the contract and I meant it.
My reign of terror at Portman Road is underway and my first month in charge has simply whizzed by. In fact, it felt no longer than a week.
My first challenge was to turn a team predicted to finish 14th in the Championship, to a team capable of finishing at least 13th.
It didn’t start well. No sooner had I put a picture of my mother on my desk and a poster of a cat hanging on a washing line on the wall, had star striker David McGoldrick waltzed in and caused a right ruckus.
“I want to go!” he screamed at me, or at least I imagine he would have done had it actually happened.
“Woah, woah, woah Dave,” I countered, shortening his name to let him know we were pals.
“You’re the main man, I can’t let you go.”
Long story short, Dave ended our conversation by telling me “Burnley was too big a club to turn down” and he would have “started a mutiny by the time he was finished.”
Meowwww. And really Dave, Burnley? Do me a favour. They hadn’t even made a bid.
Despite pretending to be some sort of urban pirate, I bared no grudge with Dave and started him in a gentle opening friendly with my reserves. Four goals later in a comfy 7-2 win, I knew I could talk him round. A bottle of Ouzo and a wild night in Liquid later, we were practically BFFs.
Back to the football though, I’ve decided to implement a diamond formation in my quest for glory. Following the success against my second string, a Conor Sammon worldie saw off Northampton 1-0. Cobblers. No, Conor Sammon honestly did score.
Cambuur were next (who?) with skipper Luke Chambers and that man Dave easing us to a breezy 2-0 victory. The diamond was glistening so much, Leonardo DiCaprio was searching for it. Still, early joy on the pitch was being spoilt by whiny players off it. Tommy Smith was the next one to threaten ‘mutiny’ following interest from Palace but after putting him in his place (I don’t even start him anyway, LOL), I could feel the respect oozing from every pore of my squad.
Midfielder Ryan Mason was added to the ranks on loan from Spurs just before a gritty 1-1 draw with Bristol City. Mason was joined by Ryan McLaughlin from Liverpool, as I looked to make minor modifications to a decent outfit.
I’ve been impressed by young Tyrone Mings and ex-Wolves rock Christophe Berra, defensively I’m a satisfied man. I still felt extra firepower was required but strike pairing Dave & Daryl (McGoldrick & Murphy) were easing those fears, both notching a brace as Dungannon (again, who?) were dispatched 4-0. To be fair, if they hadn’t scored against a team I assume was founded by staunch Dungeons & Dragons fans I would have probably released them.
Big Dave publicly announced his wish to stay at the Swich and I for one was the first to crack open the jaeger.
With the season looming large, there was just time for ‘The Friendly Cup’, a pointless tournament that resulted in my poor boys finishing dead last. A 3-1 defeat at the hands of Toulouse was disappointing especially after I decided to attack from the off.
Still, I had nothing to-lose.
A third-place play-off resulted in a 1-1 draw with San Jose Earthquakes and a devastating defeat on penalties.
The lads needed a boost and a midweek trip to T.G.I Friday’s did the trick, new signing Atdne Nihiu, bought from Sheffield Wednesday in my first monetary purchase, treated us to eight bottles of wine as me and my boys put the port in Portman Road.
Following some blood, sweat and tears on the training pitch, it was time for all the hard work to finally mean something as we welcomed recently relegated Fulham for the Championship curtain-raiser.
We were pumped.
I had no words to say beforehand. I simply strolled into the changing room and raised my hands in the air. The room went silent. I moved across to the speakers, whipped out my phone, slipped it in the dock and found it. Play.
Three and a half minutes later, Phil Collins dropped the drum solo and the bell sounded. Every man in blue leapt to his feet and roared out of the place, Luke Hyam smashing his head on the treatment table in an act of pure testosterone. We could feel three points in the air tonight and that’s exactly what we got.
Dave and Mason motored the Tractor Boys into a two-goal lead but slack defending allowed the visitors to draw level with just eight minutes left.
I turned to my virtual bench and saw the glistening bald head of Conor Sammon. He’d downed Northampton, could lighting strike twice?
On he went, the diamond was adjusted to a Mike Bassett inspired 4-4-2 and I urged strong, direct football.
Mings drove up the left, delivering a delicious centre that had even me heading the ball. Who was waiting to slam it home? Who else but the Sammon, as the hairless wonder soared like a, well a salmon to send the home fans delirious.
3-2, game over.
If that was just the first game, lord knows what the rest of the season will be like.
Only one way to find out I guess…
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