What is the definition of commitment? Today, Sunday, it would be watching U7 soccer in the rain, at lunchtime, on the Bluff. Hoping that enough kids would turn up to field a full team and hoping that the other team would at least turn up.
As it happened 8 kids did turn up for us but neither of our two goalkeepers and the other team was a no show. Fortunately we scraped a game together with another team in the same predicament as us. We lost 2-0. Oh well, there is always the next match. Its not only about winning we tell our kids. My ass!
Arriving at this particular club today (Fynnlands on the Bluff) I wondered what makes a group of people - the club members in this case - not want to get organised and be better than the last time they were there. I can only compare my observations to the last time we played there last season and my own experiences with Toti FC. Surely, if the goal nets have holes in them last season it would be on a list to repair before the next season, if the club run catering counter wasn't effective you would make an effort to get more organised, if there were damaged things that people, especially kids, could hurt them selves on, you make an effort to make it safe. Surely, at Fynnlands, like at every club there are members / people from a diverse range of professions that could offer their services pro bono to better the club (and their child's experience of sport). In comparison, at Toti, it seems to get better each week. Things happen. Expectations are exceeded. Regularly. Big up to the committee, you are doing us proud.
So it's 1997. I'm running Edwards in Bournemouth - the place is rocking. Bonus time rolls around and max bonus is achieved. New Land Rover Defender is bought. We have bought our first apartment. Life is good but as usual for me at that time of my life, I'm getting restless. Done this thing now, time for a bigger challenge.
The call I have been waiting for eventually comes. I am offered a secondment as Area Manager looking after a patch of pubs in what seems the other side of the world. Devon & Cornwall. Now on a map it doesn't seem too far from Bournemouth, Dorset. Until you try and drive the shortcut. The miles barely roll over but it seems to take forever. Country lanes as wide as a cupboard door consume you car whole. Sheep everywhere - except for the weather you would be forgiven for thinking you are in Australia (I can sense the excitement in Oz at the mention of sheep).
Here's your car, oh and use your own cellphone. Oh and here's a lap top too. Send us a report now and again. Training? Yeah we'll get to that. Oh yeah and can you drive two hours to go to a one hour meeting. Would you mind? Not at all sir, looking forward to the challenge I say. Sir. The naivety of the hungry to succeed.
It must be said here that as time rolled on there was a decided focus on training so I can't and shouldn't complain at all. Just those 6 weeks.A learning curve of considerable note.
It seemed to go on forever. The secondment I mean, between doing all this I was still running and responsible for Edwards. At last, I was offered a permanent Area Manager position. OK it was in Birmingham. You ever been to Birmingham? In the late 90's it wasn't the cultural capital it is today. But it probably was a whole lot better than it was in the 80's. 21 pubs in the city center...off you go my son. So for 6 months I trampled the city of Brum, calling on, encouraging & cajoling pub managers, not all of whom had too much good to say about the company that both paid them and put a roof over their heads. Only one event really stands out, one of my boozers was a traditional football pub and after one particular home derby a riot erupted between fans of opposing teams, the end result was that the pub was trashed. Completely! All the windows put in, the fridges and tills broken, everything.
Fortunately that stint lasted only 6 months before I was offered a position in south London. So off we went to live in Wallington nr Sutton. This time 18 pubs in the south east of London - pretty much from Blackheath south to Bexleyheath and west to Bromley. Same shit as before, the only difference this time; the company was on a mission to invest in it's estate. So hour after hour was spent in planning / investment meetings. Mile after mile was traveled to these meetings. Looking back at it now it was a bizarre time - we were expected to do forecasts on the potential of the pub and were considered - silently - to be failures if the realistic forecast couldn't fit the investment in. And the investment would run into hundreds of thousands of pounds per site. It wasn't unusual for a refit to cost 700k +. We already owned the bricks and mortar. At these times, you get so wrapped up in what you doing that you stop seeing reality. I know this happens with most people in business, the difference is that we weren't spending our own money, it was the companies, and they had plenty of cash and not a lot of sense.
Its now 1998, a holiday is beckoning. So we pack our Land Rover full and head south for Morocco. Just the missus and I. Freedom again and I have to admit that it memories flooding back of when I traveled just with a backpack. Through France & Spain, narrowly missed being ripped off just before crossing the Gibraltar straights. Morocco is Gods Own Country - hauntingly beautiful and completely abused by its resident Arabs. Desert, as far as the eye can see as you get further south, mountains, higher than you can imagine and heat, enough to fry an egg on the bonnet of your car. Camping on the roof of our Land Rover, we were able to stop anywhere and anytime. The downside, where ever we stopped, no matter how remote the place, an Arab would appear as if out of no where. The economy of the northern part of the country through the low Atlas is driven by the drug trade - cannabis to be exact. Obviously as tourist we were expected to partake in this....hmmm, let me think! Lets buy drugs in an Arab country, I wonder if they'll lock us up? Its a bit like those drug mules who every year get caught carrying drugs from South America to South Africa....persevering stupidity! Anyway, back to Morocco - not wanting to buy drugs we were chased and almost forced off the road. Fortunately we had just filled our tanks so could outrun our pursuers. Interesting times!
Back to the UK. A salary needed to be earned. It's now the end of '98. My sister has arrived from South Africa. My wife is about to find out she is pregnant for the first time and another job move is imminent....
Until next time.
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