I walked into the small conference room at the Broadfield Stadium expecting to see 1 has-been local journalist with a flash bulb camera. This was far from reality. Setanta Sports, Sky Sports, ESPN, BBC Sport and several other big sport news companies were present, with the odd regional and local journalist wriggling in between.

“Maybe the quality of football in the lower leagues is good here.” I thought to myself.
Vic Marley came in and sat down beside me, patting me on the back as he did so. He then started the proceedings by welcoming all the press with a short speech.

Before I knew it questions were being fired at me left, right and centre. Marley kept some order, by choosing the reporters for me.

James Harrison – Setanta Sports, “Tim, not much is known about you. How does an unknown 29-year-old land the top job at Crawley?”

Marley looked over at me as if to say, answer this one carefully, otherwise you can guarantee yourself another leg injury.

I paused for a moment before replying with, “I got lucky. After my injury, I earned my coaching badges and after a short term at my local club, fancied trying my hand at management.”
Marley looked satisfied enough. Even though Marley was a small man, he seemed to command tremendous respect from everyone within the club, and no doubt expected that from me too.

With Marley answering a couple of questions directed at him regarding the 6 points deducted from the club, I took the time to settle in my seat and take in the atmosphere. This seemed a big jump from my playing days in Regionalla Süd. Marley called for one final question.

Richard Cheeseman - BBC Sport, “What do you hope to achieve here?”

My first thought was how the hell he still had a job for asking a seemingly stupid question. But then when I thought about an answer, I realised I was the stupid one. Since getting on the plane from Hannover, I had assumed that I would be successful, but hadn’t set any targets.

“Right now we have only last season’s performance to go on and that wasn’t pretty. I think that I will know more of what we can achieve in the coming weeks, once I have fully assessed my squad.”

I chuckled to myself, “This management lark is easy.”

I had forgotten that I hadn’t even been taken round the club or met any staff yet.

With that, Marley thanked the press for their time, and beckoned me to follow him out of the conference room.

Marley shook my hand and introduced me to a small-framed man in a club tracksuit.

“Tim, meet the club Assistant Manager, Paul Raynor. He will give you a tour of the stadium and introduce you to the players.”

Raynor gave me a friendly smile and ushered me to walk with him.

As we walked down the hallway, I noticed the club photos lined up down the wall and a smile crossed my lips when I knew that I would be on the wall this year. Raynor woke me from my day-dream, asking me questions about my playing career.

“Err….13 seasons, from 16-years-old with VFC Plauen in Regionalla Süd. I used to play all across the back-line and the midfield and made 340 appearances in all competitions. As you can see though, damaged cruciate ligaments ended all that.”


Raynor smiled. I think that he wasn’t used to a German accent. As he led me into the changing room, I quickly realised that that wasn’t why he was smiling.

As the door swung open, I instantly felt a rush of embarrassment, mixed with laughter. All 17 first-team players were sat on the benches, dressed from head to toe in traditional German outfits. Leather shorts, feathered hats and giant false moustaches.


After meeting the players, I asked Paul to take me to see the other members of staff. I quickly came to realise why he said it wouldn’t take long. Walking toward the non-admin offices, Paul told me about the best players at the squad.

We got to the scouts office. I tapped on the door and swiftly opened it. No-one.

“I take it that they are all out scouting next opposition and things like that?”

Paul looked at me rather sheepishly, and it struck me. Neither of us said anything and we just moved onto the next office. Walking to the next office, I simply wrote in my little black book, “Bugger.”

Paul just opened the door, telling me that this was his office and he shared it with the other coaching staff. I was a little bit unsure of how to feel when the only coach in the room greeted me. I gathered his name was Dave, but I was still in shock that I had Farmer Fran from the Waterboy as my only other coach. Next was the physio’s office.


Once again, I wasn’t disappointed. After wafting the smoke away, I saw 2 of the physios sharing a joint, using the treatment table to play poker on, and the other taking a swig from a Jack Daniels bottle. Stunned, I just waved as if to say ‘hi’, and then slowly closed the door.

Paul just looked at me and calmly said, “I think we have one too many physios, don’t you?”

I just asked to be directed to my office so I could comprehend what I had just seen. Then after about 10 minutes, I posted 3 advertisements to the FA website forum and jobcentreplus, for a Fitness Coach, Goalkeeping Coach and a scout.

I got on the intercom and informed my secretary to let Marley know I was going back to my club-rented flat.

This is for you James, hope you like it

After spending most of the evening developing a new bald spot, I woke at 7:30am and made my first bad managerial decision. I put on my new club tracksuit and jogged the 3 miles to the training ground.


When I got there I was in a bad way. My stomach had radioed up that there was a pop tart with no crust on the way. So I nipped round the back to spot new Centre-half Dominic Shimmin coughing up a lung. I managed to hold back the urge to join him, and taking deep breaths and staggering past him, patted him on the head and said, “Jeeze boy, remember you need one of those.”

Paul was already putting the boys through their paces, minus Shimmin. I liked Paul already. He had a rather professional attitude, and was the only one who seemed to have a clue at this club. I resisted the urge to get involved, picturing my jog from the flat.

Both Paul and I went back to the club cafeteria to discuss tactics and team selection for the upcoming friendly against Shotts BA. Paul was rather aware, tactically and had a good inclination at judging the players abilities. But when he suggested playing a modified 5-4-1, I started to wonder if he had been in the physio’s office this morning. Nevertheless, we agreed that that was the tactic for the game, as he knew the players better. 5 wins from our 5 friendlies was the target, as Solihull Moors were the only real opposition in those 5.

Before leaving for the day, I visited Marley in his office to talk about getting some extra players into the club. “No” was the direct answer. He explained that the club was in dire financial trouble and he couldn’t afford to splash out on new talent. I said that was fine and left him a presentation portfolio on parent clubs and feeder clubs.

Walking out of Marley’s office, I spotted one of the physios sat in the faux leather chair, looking completely spaced out.

“Shimmin has damaged his neck. Something to do with being patted on the head when he was being sick. He’ll be out for 2 weeks. That is if his head don’t fall off.”

Shimmin reported a neck injury after an incident during training. Diagnosis from the club physio is 2 weeks out.

I thought the last bit was a wind-up, but I didn’t bite, considering the physio was off his face. But a feeling of guilt and a visualisation of the word I wrote in my little black book filled my head. Second day here, first injury and it’s my flipping fault.

Paul caught me just before I stepped out the door and asked when the eleven for tomorrow’s friendly would be named. “Tomorrow evening.”

8:15 Am. A large herbal tea and a bowl of cornflakes sat on my office desk as I checked my emails. Nothing really interesting apart from an interview request from the Crawley Echo. Then I noticed the flashing light on my phone voicemail. Marley had left me a message 10 minutes before I arrived.

“Tim, Vic here. Brilliant idea sonny, but I don’t think that the club needs a feeder club at the moment. We are looking into the possibility of a parent team however.” Never mind. It just means the youth team won’t get the opportunity for 1st team football this year.

The hotmail jingle went as I received 2 emails simultaneously. Jobcentreplus had pulled off a surprise and came back with applicants for the Scout and Fitness Coach posts. I spent about 40 minutes scrolling through the CV’s and offered 3 people jobs.

Danny Taylor. An ex-Horsham scout, Richard Beresford. Ex-Worcester. They both wanted the scout post. And as for the fitness coach, I plumped for Alex Bridges, a Personal Trainer and lifelong fan from Crawley.

I quickly got an appreciative email from Danny Taylor,

“Dear Tim, many thanks for you generous offer, but I must decline, Just this morning I signed a contract with Coventry City. Apologies, D. Taylor.”

“Git.” I grumbled in front of the screen.

The players went through a light training session, whilst Paul and I assessed them for any final changes. Everyone went into the changing rooms at the end of the session and eagerly awaited the run-down.

As Paul lined up the formation on the chalk board, a small group of the players groaned as if they knew this had been coming. I got the distinct impression Paul had tried this before. We quickly moved to the squad-naming to avoid further whining.


“Ok boys, the line-up is as follows: Goal….Clapham,
Defence….Thomas..Watson..Murphy..Wilson..Krause,
Midfield….Blackburn..Thompson..Vieira..Cook
And Pittman will play up front.”

Thomas Pinault, looked shocked, but wasn’t really trying to hide it. Paul had indicated that he had been temperamental since joining and was just to be ignored like a kid.

Pinault after hearing the news.

This is for you James, hope you like it