Luck o’ The Irish – I’m here, just about

I wasn’t sat admiring the accolades and busts of such legendary names as Tevez, Palermo, Ruquelme, Banega or Maradonna. Not yet anyway.

Things moved fast, nearly as fast as my first time with a woman. But I wasn’t half as embarrassed this time as I was then. This time it was all about me. This time it was business.

I’m still sat outside the door, the boss’s door. My boss for now still inside debating in Spanish something I can’t quite understand. I can still see the obligatory scantly dressed young female that looks like she’d be impregnated if you looked at her flirtatiously, and she did that stupid giggle thing those receptionist types do and titled her head to the side and smiled, not for the first time either.

She disappeared and then reappeared in a flash with a tray with 3 glasses of some liquid, champagne maybe? It tastes like warm piss but I down it along with the other 2. As I do the 2 portly men leave the room and are making their way over to me. ‘¿dónde se ha ido mi champan moza? One of the men asks to which the girl just nods my way. I smiled back in the most awkward way possible. Try me fatso.

After going through the motions of plenty of hello’s, thank yous, I’m glad to be here’s, oh yes I’m sure we will I decided to accept that these 2 men along with my old friend back home have done something no one else would, or had the stones to do. And that was give me a job, an opportunity at a football club. Boca fucking Juniors no doubt. Except it was different.

I wasn’t sat in a club soaked in history in Buenos Aries. I wasn’t sat admiring the accolades and busts of such legendary names as Tevez, Palermo, Ruquelme, Banega or Maradonna. Not yet anyway. No, I was sat in the hallway of an office blocked called Tower Heights (really creative!) at the slightly less successful but just as much named Boca Juniors of Gibraltar, admiring, in the absence of notable players, the bust of the receptionist, who’s smiling at me again.

The taller of the men motioned me over and into his office, finally. He introduced himself as ‘Andrew Montegriffo, but call me Andy, thanks for coming in today Scott, I hope you’re ready to get to work’ and closed the door behind him.

I didn’t get chance to speak before he started speaking ‘Right, we both know why you’re here. I need someone with no baggage who will come in and oversee the team for this season. After that one of a few of things might happen. One, we get relegated and you leave. Two, we stay in the league and you leave. Three, I sell the team and the new owners sack you and you leave. Four, we do alright and I ask you to stay but you say no and you leave anyway. Or five, you stay. Any questions?’ A few actually. Why am I here? How did I get to be here? And what is that smell?!?

He continued ‘I’ve got one of my guys to look after you whilst you’re here to make it as comfortable as possible. Any questions? Yes and no, you asked me already but didn’t give me chance to speak. I’ll not bother trying again

‘No I think you’ve just about covered everything there. When do I get to meet the squad then?’

‘Whenever you want. You can go today, tomorrow, next week whenever. The league starts at some point this month so I’d probably go speak to them before then of course’ he said laughing. A joker as well, nice.

‘Right. I’ll er, get going then?

‘Right on’

I was hopeful that the rest of my career was as easy as getting my first job in it was.

As I left the room the girl on the desk wasn’t there smiling at me, so I went outside when I was approached by a man dressed in a white vest, sky blue shorts, pink sandals and wearing aviator sunglasses that stood out like a sore thumb and was holding his hand out.

‘You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me’ I muttered to myself and made my way towards him ‘I guess you’re waiting for me’

‘You the Irish lad?’ he said in a rough clearly English accent as we shook hands

‘Yep, sure am’

‘Andrews new guy for that shit showing of a team?

‘Guess so’

‘Let’s ride’

He led us to a battered up Ford Escort that had clearly seen better days. As we approached it he took off and asked me to hold his sunglasses, whilst he opened the boot and pulled a hammer out

‘It’s a bit temperamental, bare with me’ and he undid the bonnet and started hammering at the engine. After 6 or 7 rapid hits the engine whizzed into life.

‘How did that start without you turning the key?’ I asked, perplexed.

‘Keys already in the ignition, can’t take it out, the immobilisers shagged’

‘This is your (I really emphasized the word) car isn’t it?’

‘Oh yeah, it’s mine, not legally I’ve not paid for it, and don’t know where the logbook or whatever they call it over here is, but it is mine’

I really wasn’t convinced but got in the car anyway, what other choice did I have? During the 5 minute or so drive I tried to make conversation as best I could

‘You work for the club then?’

‘Not really, I’m kind of like Andrews dogsbody. I do all the grubby shitty jobs none of his other lackey’s will do’

‘Such as?’

‘Escorting wannabe football managers from the office to the training pitch’ Prick.

‘Right. What else?’

‘Anything really’

‘So is this your job then?’

‘My other job yeah. I’m a superstar DJ’

I rolled my eyes at that. ‘What’s your name then? I might have heard of you’

‘My names Leo, but everyone calls me Ace’

‘Ace DJ?’


‘So you just DJ here then?’

‘Nah, I’ve got gigs lined up all along the Costa del Sol, Lanzarote, Ibiza and Benidorm coming up’.

‘Nice’ I didn’t really know what else to say.

We made it to the Victoria Stadium where all teams in Gibraltar play, and others, such as ours who don’t have their own training set up also train there 3 times a week. I asked Ace ‘The team are expecting me aren’t they?’

‘Corse they are pal, they know you’re on the way bossman’

— — — — — — — —

Next chapter – Carry on wayward son, the journey’s just begun

Previous chapter – I’m leaving

First chapter – Part 1

— — — — — — — —

One thought on “Luck o’ The Irish – I’m here, just about

  1. Pingback: Luck o’ the Irish – Carry on wayward son, the journey’s just begun | On the Break

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