Lupine Dreams

Lupine Dreams

Chapter 1

Bill Wood was watching his team practice. His players were not surprised that he looked angry.

‘It’s crap,’ he said loudly as the Warrington Wolves Rugby League team went through a handling move. ‘It’s crap!’ He got louder. ‘It’s crap!!’ Shouting at the top of his loud voice, even though every pass had been caught by the player it was intended for. Bill walked to the middle of the practice field, he didn’t need to say anything, the players knew that he wanted them to gather around him.

‘What you are capable of is absolutely fucking irrelevant, the only thing that matters is what you do. Do not do things right every now and again, do things right every single time,’ his volume was somewhere between a shout and a raging scream. ‘You all know that wasn’t good enough, yet you serve that shit up anyway. We have a play-off game in two days, lose and we are done, our season is over again. Now can at least some of you act like you give a shit! We are running that play again until I am happy with it ten times in a row. That means ten times to the left and ten times to the right.’

There were a few soft sighs, gentle shake of the heads and some raised eyebrows from the players but no words of complaint.

When they had finally met Bill’s standards they gathered around again.

‘You know tomorrow is a day off. You also know that does not mean going out and getting pissed. Only the lads that need some work on their injuries need to come in. Rest up and get ready for the biggest game of the season. It is the season. You know Wigan will be ready for you, they will be looking forward to dominating you soft shits down the middle. They will be laughing about the last time we played and how much they bullied you all over the park. If you guys don’t find some fucking pride from somewhere it will get real ugly real fast.’

Bill walked off. It seemed an abrupt and harsh end to his speech, but all the players were used to the insults and the abruptness.

On their day off two players met up for a meal out. They liked to meet up at least once a week to have a catch up with no one else around. Ant Morris was a veteran prop forward, a freakishly big and strong man who had represented Warrington and England with great distinction for years. Dillon Mills was an all action second row forward whose aggressive and extremely enthusiastic style had made him into favourite amongst the Warrington fans. Neither would look out of place working at the entrance to a night club, and if they told someone that they were not allowed in they would not get many arguments.

‘What are you having?’ Dillon asked about Ant’s meal choice as they both had a menu in front of them.

‘I’m thinking the hunter’s chicken.’

‘Yeah that’ll work for me.’

‘One day you’ll have to choose for yourself.’

‘I sometimes choose the carvery.’

‘True.’

‘You don’t do it right every now and again, you do it right every damn time,’ Ant did an uncannily good impression of their coach.

‘He is sounding more and more like some sort of cartoon,’ Dillon conceded. ‘He has won two challenge cups with us to be fair, and we have both been here long enough to remember what it was like before him.’

‘He’s got a shelf life though. It’s like a stand-up comedian, the first time you hear the routine you laugh, maybe the second and third time too, but sooner or later they have to change the routine, or you will stop laughing. You can tell the new players like him for a year or two, that causes rifts between the squad too.’

‘Yeah we are definitely not getting along as well as we did those first two or three years after he started.’

‘Pretty sure this is going to be my last ride,’ Ant said.

‘What?!’

‘Been thinking about it for a while now, think this might be a good time to call it a day.’

‘Retire? Seriously? Come on pal you’re a long time retired.’

‘I know, but I just don’t think I can face another year of playing for that prick, and I don’t want to finish anywhere else apart from Warrington.’

‘You deserve a bigger ending than this though, finish with some silverware.’

‘You do know we are still in the play-offs right?’

‘Come on, we both know we are not a championship winning team, not been all year. That togetherness is missing, but next year could be the one, with a few changes.’

‘It’s not just the togetherness that’s missing though is it. There is no point mugs like us busting are arses down the middle when there’s nobody creative enough to take advantage of it. We are so short at half back, miles away from a Championship team and only Jordan gives us any strike out wide.’

‘I honestly don’t think Banksy is too far away from being a top-class half back, really think next year could be his year.’

‘How long have we been saying that for? He’s not nineteen anymore, can’t live off potential forever. Trust me he hasn’t got what it takes to lead a team.’

‘I think if we signed one top notch half back though he would make a good partner for him.’

‘That’s one of our problems, too many people wanting to play second fiddle to someone else. Not enough people with the balls to lead from the front and put themselves out there as top dog.’

‘There doesn’t seem to be as many leaders around as there used to be, in the game in general, not just at our place.’

‘Wouldn’t argue with that. Winning teams still seem to find them though.’

Jordan Dent was in his garage at home. He had turned it into his own personal gym years ago. Despite his coaches’ orders to rest up the day before a play-off game, Jordan was still exercising in there. His version of taking it easy was a lot different from most other players. Punching a heavy bag as if he was auditioning for a role in a Rocky Film, sweat was dripping off him as he punched. After five minutes or so of that he took off the boxing gloves and used the bag to practice his tackling technique on. Long ago he had made sure that the bag was firmly attached to the ceiling of the garage, getting it reinforced so that it could withstand the shoulder contact even from one of his hardest tackles. This time it had to withstand twenty hits, ten on each shoulder. Next came twenty minutes on his exercise bike and he finished up with two hundred skips.

Throughout the Rugby League world his athleticism was legendary, even the Australians acknowledged that he was a freak. He was six foot three and all his excessive fitness work over the years had helped chisel out a physique that could have allowed him to be a stunt double for Captain America. Most off all though he was known as an exceptional player who caused havoc out wide in opponent’s defences. He had played all of his eleven seasons as a professional for Warrington, so had yet to win that championship winning medal that his abilities deserved.

As soon as he got into his kitchen Jordan reached for a bottle of tablets and took four of them in one go, washed down with what was left of the energy drink that he had with him throughout his workout. After tossing his re-useable bottle into the sink he gently massaged his left shoulder with his right hand and grimaced. That grimacing became more pronounced as he moved his left arm around in a windmill motion a couple of times.

Liam Banks, the Warrington born half back, was in Wetherpoons in town centre around ten o’clock in the evening. One of the smaller players on the team, but still five foot ten with the toned figure of a super-middle weight boxer. His longish black hair was swept back and into an almost Elvis like quiff. He was talking to a girl around his age.

‘Do you actually expect that the fact that you have shagged my sister will be a turn on for me?’ She asked him.

‘Plenty of other girls have shagged me after I’ve done their sister. One girl even did it later that same night.’

‘Just because some girls are slags, don’t assume that all of us are.’

‘You calling your sister a slag?’

‘No, she got charmed into bed by a guy who offered more than he was ever willing to give. Naïve yes, slag no.’

‘Come on, you know you want to be with me, even just for one night.’

‘I really don’t. And please don’t use whatever lines you normally use at this point. I’m not going to be impressed by anything you say, whether it’s about Rugby or not. Speaking of which haven’t you got a big game tomorrow?’

‘So you do know who I am.’

‘Knowing who you are and fancying you do not necessarily go hand in hand. Shouldn’t you be resting tonight?’

‘Having sex the night before a game is good for me, boosts my self-esteem and makes me feel all alpha male like. It’s staying up all night looking for it that is the problem.’

‘So you best get on with your search for your latest slag then.’

‘Don’t you see that you’ll be doing the team, the fans and the whole town a favour by sleeping with me.’

‘Does that line ever work?’

‘Not yet. First time for everything though.’

‘Am I literally going to have to tell you to fuck off to get you to go away?’

‘No need for that, I can take a hint.’

‘Seriously?’ She said shaking her head.

Liam did wander off and leave her alone. The next couple of girls that he hit on had boyfriends, or at least that’s what that told him. But the fourth girl was reeled in by his charm and he had some company back at his house that night.

Brad Hughes was sat alone at home, watching videos. The footage he was watching was of himself. Clips from various games over the last couple of years. Despite only being twenty-three years old he had already established himself as one of the most reliable full backs in the Super League. He had built a reputation as a fantastic tackler and someone who was excellent at organising his team’s defence. On top of that he was as good as any full back in the league at catching high kicks. What really made him stand out though was his support play, it seemed like any time a Warrington player made a break through their opponent’s line Brad was instantly by their side to take a short pass and race to the try line. This ability had he had been in the top three try scorers in Super League in each of the last four seasons. The clips he was watching though featured none of those qualities. His most glaring weakness compared to many other elite full backs was his ability to deliver the final pass in attack to create a try. That skill of catching the ball whilst running at close to full speed then quickly executing a decisive pass was something that he struggled to accomplish even in training, never mind in the highly pressured environment of a match.

After an hour or so of watching himself make mistakes with that final pass, trying to learn from what he was doing wrong, he started watching some footage of other elite level full backs whose forte it was to provide that killer pass. Another hour or so went by of watching what he wished he could do more often. Brad then stood up in his living room, making the motion of catching the ball and passing it on in one motion. He did that for twenty minutes or so, then went out to his garage and got a rugby ball. Despite it being pitch black outside Brad started passing the ball against the wall to his house. The outside light came on but was not very bright. Brad would gently throw the ball up then catch it and straightaway pass it against the wall. He did that for an hour so, without any awareness of the passing time. Eventually he headed back inside and up to bed. He put some headphones on, started playing some music and tried to get to sleep. If you saw him walking down the street you wouldn’t necessarily assume he was a rugby league player, just a young man in good shape. Exactly six foot and a slim thirteen stones, he looked as if he would get hurt playing against many much bigger players, but his body seemed to have an elastic quality to it that kept him safe from getting hurt in collisions.

Chapter 2

The Warrington Wolves Stadium was crackling with tension and excitement. It was play-off time. The Super League season was a long one, each team played twenty-nine games, trying to win enough of them to get into these play-offs. After all those games, just a handful more would decide who would be the champions for that year. Warrington’s fourth place finish meant that they would start the play-offs with a home game against the fifth placed team where the loser would be eliminated from the competition and their dreams of a championship would be over for another year. That their opponents were bitter local rivals Wigan was adding greatly to the sense of excitement and anticipation. Wigan were the defending champions, who had got off to a poor start this year, when many of their star players were missing through injury but had finished it strongly to earn their spot in the play-offs. The darkness of the Thursday night sky and the floodlights added to the drama of the occasion. With no team having dominated the Super League season, many Warrington fans were still optimistic that this would finally be the year that their team would end their long wait to be Champions.

It all ended in tears. Particularly for full back Brad Hughes. Tears were rolling down his face within seconds of the game ending. His tearful state was captured by the television cameras and when that was flashed up on the big screens inside the stadium the sight was met by loud mocking jeers from the Wigan fans. He wiped away his tears and tried to stem the flow as he joined his teammates, walking around the edge of the pitch and clapping the fans. Many of the fans had already gone home, but there were still a couple of thousand or so waiting to applaud their players one last time that season. The players slowly made their way around the pitch, not as one whole group, but as a few little groups, some on their own, including Brad who cut the most forlorn figure at the back of the line.

When they got back to the changing rooms none of the players were speaking, they all just slumped onto the bench in their own designated spots. Some bowed their heads, others leant back and stared blankly across the room. After a couple of minutes of silence, the door was burst open with so much force that it almost came off its hinges. Coach Bill Wood slammed the door behind him.

‘Same shit different fucking year!’ He shouted, looking like he was almost foaming at the mouth. ‘When it really comes down to it everyone knows that Warrington will crumble. Congratulations for proving all your critics right once again. No wonder we lose the big ones when I’ve got a full back who can’t fucking pass, one of the basic requirements of the position.’

Brad Hughes closed his eyes and leant back against the wall and started banging his head back against the wall.

‘Wingers who can’t run for shit. A half back who couldn’t lead a game of Simon says.’

Liam Banks was shaking his head but couldn’t bring himself to look at his coach.

‘A pack of forwards who are nothing more than school yard bullies, and like all bullies once someone stands up to them, they shit themselves and fucking disappear.’

Ant Morris the veteran prop forward jumped up, hurled his water bottle across the room. ‘And a coach who hasn’t got a fucking clue what he is doing,’ he screamed whilst staring at his coach, then walked slowly right up to him.

‘Go on then hit me, a little guy in his sixties, sounds about right for a bully,’ Wood said as he locked eye contact with his big prop forward.

Morris stared intently at his coach for a few seconds, breathing heavily and clenching his fists. Then he turned away, marched briskly towards the shower room, kicked the door open, breaking it and kept going out of the changing rooms.

‘People will already be writing and talking about how I should go,’ Wood’s voice lowered in volume, but lost none of its anger. ‘They shouldn’t be having a go at me, they should be having a go at you, but people know they can’t sack the lot of you. So instead you can get me the sack. I’ve given absolutely everything for every game this year, I wonder how many of you can say the same,’ he looked around the room, nobody was making eye contact with him, some were shaking their heads, but most were either staring blankly ahead of them or looking directly down to the floor.

‘Warrington Wolves,’ the coach further lowered his volume. ‘Masters in mediocrity. Giving opposition fans something to piss themselves laughing about since 1955. Super league’s fucking after thought,’ he turned and walked out of the room for the last time that season, he wasn’t sure whether it would be the last time ever.

A couple of days after that defeat Bill Wood was playing golf with his old friend Tom. On the last hole Bill holed a tricky six-foot putt then clenched his fist and punched the air by way of celebration. His friend had a three-foot putt left that he could not quite get to go in the hole. Bill repeated his air punching celebration, the result of the two putts meant that he had won their match. Tom couldn’t help but smile as saw Bill’s celebrations as he went over to shake his hand.

‘Almost as if you like winning,’ Tom said.

‘Even more than I hate losing,’ Bill said as they shook hands, then he put the flag back in the hole. ‘Still my turn to buy dinner though,’ he added as they headed off the green towards the clubhouse.

Bill brought over a drink for himself and one for Tom to the table that Tom had picked out whilst Bill was ordering their food.

'Cheers Bill. So have they given you a clue about how safe your job is yet?'

'Think they are going to give me another year.'

'One more year?'

'That's the most I am hoping for to be honest. I've got a feeling they have got their eye on somebody in particular, and that they're not available until the end of next season.'

‘That must be a weird situation to be in.’

‘To be honest if we get off to a bad start next year, I can see them getting rid of me before the end of the season. Just to keep the fans happy if nothing else.’

‘If they make enough changes, they will give off the impression of progress.’

‘Exactly, you know them well.’

‘I just know how Directors work pretty much the world over in any organisation.’

‘Sitting safely up above the masses in their fancy boxes,’ Bill agreed.

‘Too true. Do you still love it?’

‘The coaching?’

‘Yeah.’

‘It drives me crazy, is all I can think about and stops me sleeping well at night. From what I’ve heard that sounds like love.’

Tom laughed a little before replying. ‘Definitely a few traits of love there. But you used to love your job more than anyone I have ever met.’

‘Probably because I never thought of it as a job.’

‘Seems like it feels like a job now.’

‘You’re right, you’re right,’ Bill nodded slowly.

‘Last few years your stress levels have definitely been cranking up.’

‘Think it is because the ultimate goal of a Super League title is actually a distinct possibility with this club and group of players. For years I coached without being near that, just enjoy the process of helping players and teams get better.’

‘The scoreboard takes care of itself.’

‘You don’t need to quote my own philosophies back at me.’

‘Is it still your philosophy? Do you still live by it?’

Bill sighed and leaned back a little in his chair. ‘Maybe I have got distracted by the prize.’

‘I’m just thinking if it is to be one more year, then it may as well be a year where you are true to yourself.’

‘If you’re going to get beat, get beat with your best stuff,’ Bill said with more nods.

‘Exactly, just think what you want to be remembered for. I still remember that young coach who would coach anybody who wanted coaching, whether he got paid or not. Who would come up with wacky ideas and his players all loved him.’

‘My players certainly don’t love me now.’

‘I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think.’

‘I tore into them after the game the other night, didn’t hold back, said some awful things.’

‘I’m sure they are over it already, they know it’s just a response to a massive loss. I’m sure it is repairable. Oh Olivia is on her way down by the way, she was out this side of town anyway so said she wanted to drop in and catch up with you.’

‘You and the missus ganging up on me as usual?’ Bill said with a smile.

‘Something like that. Actually here she is now.’

Tom’s wife Olivia came into the clubhouse and headed straight over to her husband who got up to give her a hug.

‘Get up then,’ Olivia said to Bill as soon as she had finished hugging Tom. ‘I can’t hug you while your sat down.’

Bill got up with a smile and hugged Olivia.

‘Lime and soda love?’ Tom checked with Olivia.

‘Please,’ Olivia said then sat down next to Bill as Tom went off to the bar. ‘So have you got over that horrific loss yet?’ Olivia asked Bill.

‘I see you’re going for the blunt approach,’ Bill replied.

‘I’m not going to change now. They looked like a team that didn’t like their coach.’

‘You might be right there.’

‘How does that happen?’

‘It happens at a lot of sports teams the world over.’

‘But how does it happen to you?’

‘What?’

‘You’re so likeable, anybody who knows you loves you. When you coached those junior teams years ago they loved you. The academy teams you coached thought of you as a legend and the semi-professional guys that played for you would have died for you.’

‘Do you and Tom rehearse this tag team approach?’

‘Wouldn’t call it rehearsing, but we do chat about it. Seriously if your players liked you the way we and your other friends do, I’m sure they would play better for you.’

Bill sighed then nodded a little. ‘You’re probably right, but think I am probably too far down this particular road to turn back now.’

‘No way. A bit of a charm offensive, a concerted effort to show them the real you and I really think they will start liking you pretty quick.’

At this point Tom came back to the table with Olivia’s drink.

‘She convinced you yet?’ Tom said as he sat down.

‘She does make a compelling point,’ Bill conceded.

‘The success of a coach isn’t just measured in the trophies they win, but in how many weddings and Christenings they get invited to,’ Olivia said.

‘If you’re so smart, how come you chose to marry him?’ Bill said, gesturing his head towards Tom and then letting out a little laugh.

‘We all make mistakes,’ Olivia smiled.

‘Best mistake you ever made,’ Tom joined in with the smiling.

Chapter 3

Bill was waiting in a prison visiting room, after a couple of minutes a young, athletic looking man, with a mohawk haircut and tattoos all down both arms and on one side of his neck, came and sat down facing Bill with a table in between them.

‘Wasn’t sure I would be seeing you again,’ the young man said to Bill in a strong New Zealand accent.

‘I still think we can help each other out Craig.’

‘Got a contract for me then?’

‘Let me be crystal clear here, whilst I do think you could help me, I’m certain you still need me a lot more than I need you.’

‘I don’t need anybody, never have, never will.’

‘And that attitude is one of what I am sure is a many complex reasons why you are in here.’

‘I’m in here because I punched a prick on a night out.’

‘Breaking his jaw in three places and leaving him in a coma for a few days.’

‘Just because it was a good punch, should I get punished anymore?’

‘We are getting off the point here. I need to know if you are worth the gamble.’

‘I thought you liked to gamble.’

‘I love it, but only when I’ve done my research and I’m confident, really confident that I know more than who I’m betting against.’

‘Doesn’t sound like gambling anymore to me.’

‘You’re confusing gambling with reckless risk taking. Look I know you can play, but can I rely on you. Are you the sort of person I can trust?’

‘If you treat me right, I will treat you right, I’m all about loyalty.’

‘If I’m going to take the biggest gamble of my coaching career on you, I need to know what can get that sense of loyalty from you.’

‘Honesty and fairness. Don’t bull shit me. Don’t come crashing down on me for everything you think is a mistake, that will create much bigger mistakes. Let me be me.’

‘Who is that though? Do you mean the drug taking, the alcohol abuse, the late nights and breaking the rules? You must see that I can’t let you do all that.’

‘That shit is the bigger mistakes, that’s the stuff I turn to when I am suffocated by pricks who think they can control me.’

‘Sounds like we would need to communicate a lot. I’m prepared to do that. Are you?’

‘If you talk to me rather than at me, I’ll communicate all day long.’

‘Not just me, I need you to agree to some weekly counselling sessions too.’

‘What the fuck?’

‘I’m no expert, but it seems clear to me that there are some issues going on with you that is at least partly responsible for your behaviour.’

‘I’m not lying on a couch and talking about my childhood.’

‘If you step on the field for me, I need you thinking about Rugby, I want a place for all the other shit that is going in your head to be able to be dumped. We will look around until you have someone you are comfortable with, but if you want to play for us you will do this.’

Craig sighed. ‘I can give up an hour a week I suppose.’

‘Can I trust you?’

‘I just want to play footy, that’s the only time I feel properly alive.’

‘Can I trust you?’ Bill leaned towards Craig and made intense eye contact.

‘Yeah,’ Craig nodded as he replied and returned the intensity with the eye contact.

‘Leave it with me,’ Bill said and got up out of the chair and headed out of the visiting room.

Jordan Dent entered Bill Wood’s office, exactly on time for their arranged meeting. Bill was sat behind his desk and he got up to shake Jordan’s hand.

‘Thanks for coming in Jordan,’ Bill said as they shook hands.

‘No problem coach,’ Jordan said as they ended their handshake, then both sat down either side of the desk.

‘We have improved your contract, but as always I feel it is only right to let you know about the interest from Australia. Have you had a proper look at the offers?’ Bill asked.

‘Yeah, yeah, very flattering as always.’

‘Canberra and Melbourne in particular both have great set ups at the moment, you’ll have a fantastic chance of winning a Grand Final down there in the next couple of years with either of them.’

‘Yeah, true, true.’

‘You’re still staying though aren’t you?’ Bill guessed.

‘I’m going to turn down your very generous improved contract.’

Bill sighed, a long-lasting sigh. ‘I always thought that one day the Aussie offer would be too tempting even for you. No one can blame you for going, I guess now is a great time for you to go, still at your peak.’

‘No coach, that’s not it.’

‘What?’

‘I am staying, I just don’t want you to pay me anymore than you already are.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Yeah, use that money somewhere else in salary cap to strengthen the squad with a new recruit or two.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘I can’t spend the money that I’m on now. I know it’s not crazy money of a footballer or whatever, but it’s more than enough for me. I’d rather I got paid less and we had more chance of winning.’

‘One more year over here again?’

‘Unfinished business,’ Jordan said with a stern, determined look.

‘From a selfish point of view, I’m obviously delighted. Of course I want the best centre in the world in my team. Guess I should be thankful that winning a Grand Final here with your home-town team means so much to you.’

‘Especially when we are so close.’

‘You really believe we are close?’

‘I think with some changes we could be right there.’

‘Is a new coach one of those changes?’

‘No.’

‘Honestly?’

‘Have you ever known me to be anything other than honest?’

‘Fair point. What changes do you mean then?’

‘Style of play mainly, I feel like we need to be freer, let the shackles off. The majority of the players in the squad haven’t got the right mindset for a grinding, structured style. If we try to play like Wigan and Saints then we will lose to Wigan and Saints, especially when it really matters.’

‘I hear that. How would you change that though?’

‘That’s your job coach.’

‘Fair enough,’ Bill said.

‘When I was a kid I had a few summers when I would go to watch the Summer Bash at Blackpool. Loved watching the championship sides play, obviously they weren’t as good as Super League teams, but they tended to play with a freedom that really appealed to me. Every year I would always look forward to Batley’s game, they were so entertaining, threw the ball around from one side to the other, plenty of offloads, loads of energy and always seemed to have at least one outrageous trick up their sleeve. After the first time I saw that team I remember checking who coached them. When you moved to Leigh, I saw that same style of play. When you came here, I was made up. We sort of had that freedom for the first year or two, but over the last three years we have become unrecognisable from one of your teams. It’s like you have lost belief in your style and tried to imitate the top teams. Coach you were born and original, don’t die a copy.’

‘Never realised you were my biggest fan.’

‘Why do you think I’ve put up with you for the last five years! Seriously though I’m not saying that style will guarantee us a Championship, but I definitely believe it is our best chance of winning one. Maybe even our only chance.’

Bill made a couple of notes on his pad. ‘I’ll definitely bear it in mind. Any other thoughts or suggestions?’

‘I need a flier on my wing. Seriously I can’t begin to tell you the difference that could make. Bobbie is great an all, and if I ever went into battle, I would want him alongside me, but he has the acceleration of a bus. If my winger is lightening quick, I can make him famous. When they are that quick I just need to get the winger in defense to slightly commit to me, a turn of the hips, a pointing of his outside foot and then I can give a pass in that instant and our guy is gone. When teams double up on me I can give him early ball and again he’ll be gone. If they start defending wider because they are worried about his pace, then I can start wreaking my own havoc in the extra space they give me. And I’m thinking you can turn Bobbie into a back rower, he can run all day and he loves the action – I genuinely think he gets bored on the wing.’

‘I do know that you’re at your best when you have a flier outside you, I’ve seen all your England matches. But somehow I don’t think Wigan will let us sign him, and fliers are hard to find.’

‘We’ve already got one, Benni in our under nineteens is scary fast.’

‘The lad can definitely run. You really think he is ready for Super League though?’

‘He’s tough enough, that’s the first box ticked. Defensively he needs improvement, but I can work on that with him, there’s nothing alarmingly bad about his defence. He might not be completely reliable under a high ball, but he has got great hands and I think with a little bit of work he will be good enough for that not to be an issue. On some kick returns he might not be strong enough to win the collision, but on other occasions if they give him a bit of room then he could be a seriously dangerous kick returner.’

‘Sounds like you have thought about this quite a bit.’

‘I have. Oh and when we play touch rugby in training a few times at the back end of the season, we were definitely on each other’s wavelength, he was virtually always where I wanted him. From those times I can also tell that he is totally coachable too.’

Bill made another brief note. ‘Anything else?’

‘Obviously with Jamie leaving we have a half back role to fill. Don’t really feel like we have anyone at the club who is ready to fill that role.’

‘Do you never see yourself as being our half back?’

‘If you think you have the best centre in the world, I would say play him at centre. I’m happy to fill in for the occasional game, or part way through a game if someone gets injured. But if you pick me as starting half back then the fans forums online might just explode with the amount of abuse you’ll get, and the board might get even more twitchy then they already are.’

‘I do appreciate your honesty. I do have a signing in mind, but it is a bit outside the box.’

‘Who?’

‘Let’s just say he’s in prison at the moment.’

‘No fucking way.’

‘You don’t rate him?’

‘I rate him. He’s a proper player by the way, great halfback. But he brings so much trouble with him, it would be a massive call to take a risk on him.’

‘When it comes to my job, I’m a dead man walking anyway, kind of makes me more likely to take a risk.’

‘He would definitely fit in with a new freer style of play.’

‘There you are, you’re coming round to the idea already.’

‘He could possibly be the missing piece in the jigsaw, but he’s more likely to get you fired.’

‘Good to get your feedback as always Jordan. See you on the first day of pre-season training if not before. Don’t suppose there is much point in me telling you to have a complete break.’

‘I will have one or two days off.’

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