By the middle of the afternoon training was over. I'd met a couple of the other coaches at the club. Having a squad of different nationalities means that staff have had to learn a little of a few languages and the coaches had tried thier best to test thier English on me. Angel Pedraza had done his best to get me involved with the session (I was seriously out of shape and found myself wheezing like an old man a couple of times). I also met ex-Spain international Lopez Ufarte...I laughed at his name as a kid and couldn't help myself again today.

It all felt kinda relaxed and all those thoughts of not being the 'proper' manager seemed like a joke. I was mixing with the squad, sharing a joke with some of the English speaking players. It all felt great. I got a bit carried away and as we walked back to the complex I asked Ruben about team selection for the upcoming friendly. He went quiet for a moment before looking at the ground as he spoke - "you don't need to think about that Jon, you know that's not your problem, you just sit back and play the part, Almeria takes care of it all"

I'd fooled myself if I had begun to believe any different. I was a nobody and thats exactly why I'd been given this job. It's amazing how quickly I'd fallen into the trap of thinking otherwise, how a training top with my initials on and a player calling me boss had me feeling all those emotions again from my days in charge of Bournemouth.

I got back in the car and checked my phone. A text from Lucy telling me the airline had delivered my lost luggage and that she was at Pablo's bar. Great, I thought, 3 days here and my wife is on the booze.

I drove home to the villa (3 near misses and a road-rage moment) and walked down to Pablo's to find Luce. She had been surfing the web all day, ordering furniture for the villa and I was soon to discover, designing flyers for 'English lessons'.

"been busy I see, what's all this?"

"Pablo says I can use upstairs. It will give me something to do" She replied, scrolling down the flyer on the screen.

"why can't you just enjoy doing nothing for a while?"

Before she could answer Pablo had joined us with refreshments but the thought of more booze made me feel a little queasy. I sipped it slowly nonetheless.

"how was your day then boss?" asked Pablo, eager to hear of team gossip and who looked most likely to make the first 11 this season.

"Pablo, you are more of a manager than me my friend. They play Caudal tomorrow and no-one has even told me where that is!"

My wife looked a little concerned as my sips became gulps and the glass became more empty than full.

I could have stayed there for the rest of the day again but suddenly my mobile went off.

It was Ruben - "Jon, are you about? we need to talk about things"

I met up with Ruben a few streets away. He didn't drink so we ended up at a coffee place which to be honest was probably for the best. I started off asking a little about him (calling him Spanish when he is from Argentina etc). I felt a bit stupid as he began to tell me about his famous goalkeeping achievements whilst playing in Colombia. I felt I really should have known all that already but he didn't seem too put out by my ignorance.

He'd picked up on my reaction earlier and wanted to give me some encouragement. He talked me through some of what happened with Pellegrini and the problems it left behind. He'd worked well with him and the players had loved him. But he assured me that he would do all he could to help the players accept me.

He then looked serious for a moment and deep in thought.

"Jon" he said, "you need to be patient here. Almiera, he'll get what is coming to him you know. He's a dangerous man, but he is not above the law. I love this club, I hate seeing what is happening to it, the lies, the dirty deals. We can get this club back. Are you up to it when the moment comes?"

I sunk my coffee and looked him in the eye.

"I've never been more ready for anything in my life"

I woke with a clear head the next morning and feeling a little re-juventated. I had my own clothes again at last and felt like I'd had my first decent nights sleep for a while.

I drove to the ground (only one near miss, one road-rage moment) and parked up. I'd been told my Mark the day before that the club had finished clearing out the last evidence of Pellegrini in the managers office. But as I walked into it I could feel him everywhere. The big leather seat, the pictures of big victories on the wall. He would haunt this place for a while yet and the enormity of what I was involved in here began to hit home.

I'd not had much time to make the place feel like mine before I was to join the team for the trip to Caudal's little ground for the 3rd pre-season friendly. I had some catching up to do, the fixtures had begun whilst I was still selling hot-tubs in Bournemouth and so I felt like the new kid starting after everyone else at school.

The players seemed to have formed thier own little groups on the bus. The French guys were all sat together talking with a lot of passion about something they had seen on the news. The Spanish guys all tended to stick together too, some playing cards, some lost in the music of thier i-pods. Others seemed to have forged thier own little groups and it was plain for all to see that this didn't seem like a team with a collective spirit. At Bournemouth we had only had a bout 4 different nationalities and the players were easy to bond as one....frequent relegation battles will do that. Something was lacking and I knew enough about management to know that unless it was sorted it would effect the teams performances.

We arrived at the ground. Slightly bigger than I'd imagined it boasted average facilities and a healthy number of fans, eager to see a La Liga side take on thier local heroes.

As I walked towards the dressing room I saw that journalist again who had taken such pleasure in mocking my language skills.

"who's that guy again?" I whispered to Ruben

"Carlos Mendez. He is bad news. He used to drive Manuel (Pellegrini) up the wall with his comments"

I got inside only to hear the final words of Marco Almeria, giving a team talk to the players. My heart sank. Again I'd lost myself in the dream of being the proper manager. Ruben caught a glimpse of my face and put a hand on my shoulder....
"remember" he said, "patience".

The players looked a little dis-interested with whatever had been said to them. 3 of the players still had thier i-pods on. I looked at the flip-chart with the line-up on. He was starting most of the key players which I thought was a bit of a risk. Conditions had turned nasty out there and the rain was beginning to fall hard. None of this lot were match fit yet.

I walked out to the managers bench. There wasn't enough room for all the subs and with the pouring rain they were all sulking at having to either stand or sit on the wet grass. The seats behind the bench were very close and I can't say I was surprised to see Almeira sat right behind me.

The whistle went and he stood up. In fact he stayed stood up the whole half, ignoring the complaints from a guy behind him who's kids couldn't see. He barked instructions at the players all the way through. I felt like getting back on the bus for all the use I was. I sat there, rain lashing into my face, hearing his booming voice in my ear. I stood up at one point to collect the ball after a wayward pass. On my way back to the bench I caught sight of Carlos Mendez, he'd been watching it all unfold with a smug grin.

Friday 3rd August 2007
Hermanos Antunai, Mierles
att- 4,106

Reading in the press that I'd taken the rap for playing him just made me feel even more dejected. The team were to stop over at a hotel tonight before heading off to Huesca for the next friendly on Monday.

It was my birthday tomorrow and as I lay awake in the hotel room staring at the ceiling, for the first time since I arrived here I wanted to be back in England with my friends and family.

The team were given the day off by Almeria. Personally I would arranged something to build up team morale. I hadn't properly met the squad yet and it would be a great way for us all to bond.

As it happens they all seemed to head off in thier own small groups. The weather still wasn't great so many of them decided to stay within the hotel playing x-box and generally looking bored.

It gave me a chance to go through some of the changes that had taken place. A couple of new faces had come over from Liverpool on loan for the season - Emiliano Insua and Francisco Duran. They both seemed to have settled in quickly enough. They seemed pretty young though and I wondered whether what this team needed was a few players who were already playing thier best football now. Another lad had moved from Metz, again just a teenager, Miralem Pjanic who had cost about 1.8 Euros. There was also another young lad that the youth coach had been talking about and had high hopes for. He wasn't with the team here, he was with the B team back at the ground. A young lad - Henri Saivet.

I'd spent the afternoon scribbling notes down and I must confess, working out which players might be able to speak English.

My wife was driving up to see me with Mark and we were meant to be having a quiet drink here at the hotel to celebrate my birthday.

But as it turned out a group of bored footballers and a hotel bar on the club's bill was a dangerous combination.

The smashing of glass at 4pm should have been the first sign that things were going wrong.....

My wife turned up just as things had started to get bad. I'd been catching up with some sleep when one of the hotel staff began banging on my door. There had been a complaint from a guest after 2 players had caused some damage to thier car at the rear parking lot.

I was a bit sleepy and confused and didn't think it was the most serious thing in the world until I picked up on the word police in the middle of his second rant.

It seems that a kick about in the car park between some of the players had become a bit personal. Fabricio Fuentes had taken it upon himself to bodycheck Robert Pires hard enough to send him back onto the tarmac. This resulted in fellow Frenchman Pascal Cygan blasting the ball as hard as he could at Fuentes. Unfortunatly shooting was never Pascal's strong point and the ball went through the window of a BMW parked nearby.

By then Pires had got to his feet and thrown himself at Fuentes. Only Joan Capdevilla stepping in had prevented a decent fight.

I'd heard all this from the hotel manager 20 minutes after it happened. The players had gone off in different directions and there didn't seem to be any press lurking around to have seen it all happen. I managed to get the BMW owner to agree to let the club pay for the damage and handed over 100 Euros. I offered her the option of a signed Villareal shirt instead but she told me with a look of disgust that she was a Valencia fan and not to push my luck.

My wife was stood in reception watching me attempt to resolve the situation.

"where is Almeria? I thought he was supposed to be in charge" She asked

That was a good question, it seemed that he had been chatting up a girl at the bar who definatly wasn't his wife when it all kicked off. He'd chosen to quietly slip away rather than get involved.

Well, a bit of over excitement - always goes with the territory I suppose. But these things always seem to build up and I don't know why I was surprised when the word police was mentioned a few more times as the evening went on.

5 of us were round the table. My wife and me, Ruben and his wife and Mark. We'd steered the conversation away from football for once and were swapping stories of our own struggles to adapt to life in Spain. The club had booked me some Spanish lessons and a good job too as by the sound of it learning the language was going to make things alot easier.

Eventually talk moved on to Pellegrini's exit and Almeria's involvement in the club. Mark became uncomfortable at this point and made several attempts to change the subject. He was saved however by the sound of loud voices coming from the bar area next door.

What greeted me as I walked in was like something from a Tarantino movie. Our first choice keeper Diego Lopez was in the process of dropping a chair onto an already floored Guiseppe Rossi. Robert Pires was bleeding from the mouth but that wasn't stopping him from pinning Fuentes to the wall by the throat.

I wasn't sure what to deal with first when a shout of "look out" came from Mark as Cazorla crashed into the back of me and fell to the floor holding his nose. Above him stood Francisco Duran, holding his fist with a look of pain.

Picking up one of the thrown chairs I was startled by a flash bulb. The press, tipped off by a member of staff after the earlier incident had captured everything.

I'd like to think it was my authority as manager that restored some order but it was the shout of a policeman that did it. They began to pour into the hotel as the photographers clicked away.

Miralem Pjanic was pinned to the floor before long by 2 officers, his arm behind his back he was in obvious pain. I'm not sure he'd done much wrong. Duran was being dragged out by his feet. Lopez had lost the plot - he was fending off two policemen with a pot plant, waving it around like a baseball bat. I don't think they knew whether to arrest him or laugh.

The next thing I know however 2 officers are grabbing me. They pull the chair out of my hand and drag me towards the door. My attempts to clear my name in English get me nowhere as they bundle me into the waiting car.

The last thing I remember, as the flashbulbs lit up the car was the sight of Almeria, watching it all safely from the window of his hotel room.

It was 3am by the time we got back to the hotel. Mr Roig had made the appropriate phone calls and got all of us released. The exception being Lopez who, after being disarmed of his pot-plant was thrown into a cell for the night to sober up and calm down.

Some birthday that was, the CCTV footage already on YouTube, the press still at the bar getting drunk after thier dirty work. We'd been told to return to the ground first thing in the morning where the chairman expected us to explain the events of the last few hours.

I was woken at 8 by a call from reception. Roig was shouting at me in Spanish and I couldn't make out a word he was saying. It all became clear when my wife walked in with the newspapers and held them up to me as Roig continued to scream in my ear.

He eventually hung up. I read a couple of the headlines then groaned, falling back onto the bed, pulling the duvet over my head, wishing it would all go away.

'Villareal en la agitacion'
(Villareal in turmoil)

'La violencia del hotel a grega a los problemas de los amirillos'
(hotel violence adds to Yellow's problems)

'alborto del jugador en el hotel'
(player riot in hotel)

This last one had a picture of me on the front cover, chair in hand looking like I was in the thick of it.

On my way out of the foyer I picked up an English paper. At least I could escape the whole thing in that and read about what was going on in England.

I turned to the sports section expecting to read about Arsenal or Chelsea but no...we were there too...with a pretty good picture of Lopez looking like a crazed maniac.

I threw it on the floor but my wife picked it up and on car drive back she read me the whole painful report.

I drove on down the empty Sunday morning streets (3 near misses, no road rage) thinking to myself that Mr Roig will probably look pretty much the same when he gets us all together in a few hours time.

I'd like to be able to say that Mr Roig had calmed down by the time we all gathered in the club's lavish board room at lunchtime. I'm not sure what he was most annoyed about really, the player riot or having to miss out on his Sunday game of golf.

He yelled alot, promised fines for those involved and demanded public apologies to the hotel and on the club's website.

I will say this about the guy, he may be a bit of a tyrant but you can tell he loves the club and that's why he was so mad about the whole mess. What really wound me up though was the sight of Marco Almeria standing behind him looking displeased with us all...the cheek of it...he does a vanishing act as soon as there is any dirty work to do with the squad. Sometimes it's hard to believe that people like that will ever get what they deserve.

A couple of the players were nursing wounds. Francisco Duran had his hand bandaged, Pjanic was complaining of a shoulder strain and Pires of a wobbly tooth. Halfway through Roig's rant Lopez, finally released from the cells, bundled into the room looking very sorry for himself. He was kept behind after the rest of us were sent on our way.

As I left Roig said that he had seen the CCTV footage and was happy that I'd not been involved in the fight, but also that he will be keeping a close eye on me so I'd better stay in line.

The following day the players assembled for light training but the events at the hotel had cast a shadow over everything. Half of the squad weren't talking to the other half and some of the tackles flying in were far from friendly. I couldn't see how this team could bond in time for the new season.

The team bus left for Huesca that afternoon for the next friendly and when we arrived the press were everywhere. It was obvious what they were here to see and it wasn't the game. They wanted to see a team torn apart by in-fighting.

What they got was one of the laziest performances the club had put in for some time.

Monday August 6th 2007
El Alcoraz, Huesca
Att 1,218

When questioned afterwards he was heard to say that I had made a dissappointing start to my time at the club.

To make it worse, sat a row behind Almeria had been Carlos Mendez. This time he was to show no mercy in his column the next day in El Mundo.