Welcome back?

He's suntanned. He's got a twinkle in his eye. He's got an 'umm' to say and he's going to say it. He's contrite. Ever so contrite. He's sorry Critch. He's regretful Critch. He's wistful Critch. He's romantic Critch. He's Critch on his knees begging for forgiveness. He's yeah but no, it wasn't actually my fault when you really think about it Critch. 

Thoughtful 'umms'. High pitched 'umms'. Sad umms. Determined 'umms.' 'Umms' that say what words can't. 

He can't wait to get back on the grass, back in the dressing room, back to getting this place rocking Critch. He's the greatest hits of Critch vol2. Classic Critch. 

Remember the good times? Remember the wins? Remember Wembley... Please. Everyone. Wembley. When it was wonderful. When we used to look at each other and there was nothing but love in the air and sweet joy in our hearts. One mistake babe. I made one mistake. Are we really going to throw everything we had away, for one mistake? I can't go back in time but if I could babe, I'd do it Critch. 

He loves us. He loves alignment. It's all about things being aligned. He loves Simon Sadler. More about alignment. He loves the lads. He loves the groundsman. Him and Flynny are aligned. Simon and him are aligned. Simon and Flynny are aligned. Everyone loves each other. It's a perfectly aligned isosceles triangle of alignment and love. Throw in the gang in the office and it's a love square. Hey, add in the guys down at Squires Gate and the gym and it's a love Hexagon. It's any shape you want. Love and alignment. Maybe it's a wheel. Maybe it's a spinning wheel of love with an impish, twinkly eyed polo shirted fella with a look of contrition and a steely resolve to put things right as its hub.

He's back and it's all about the culture and not about me at all Critch. 

I like to imagine his first job was to go into the room where the training bibs are kept and refold them all to be neater. I like to think of him opening the cupboard where those little plastic disc things they use for warm ups are and ensure they were all in equal piles organised in colours and the piles then arranged according to their place on the colour spectrum. 

He's obviously already texted Charlie Kirk. That goes without saying. He's definitely binned Mick's classic driving music tapes from the ghetto blaster in the dressing room though he did give them a quick blast and nodded his head along to Marrilion. As he listened, he got a bin bag and collected all the empty bottles of lifting supplements that Appleton crushed with his fist and launched towards the bin. He's in the zone now. He mouthed the words to 'Your the Voice' by John Farnham as he tidied... 

He's rubbed off TC's diagram of a goal with a stickman labeled 'Jerry' and an arrow pointing towards it. He paused for a moment. Sighed. Then rubbed out Yates' name. Things to do... 

He looked around. He took a deep breath. For a moment, everything felt heavy. He's gone the long way round to get back to right where he was. Has he made a terrible mistake? He could be living a life of limited pressure, sitting behind his desk in some academy somewhere, sifting through the profiles of young kids and deciding who is going to close down their man and follow instructions and who isn't. He could live without all this. The taunts that will follow defeat. The scrutiny. The questions. The long drives home. 

He's pensive and reflective Critch. 

He opens the window. He opens the blinds. Sunlight streams in. The dust motes twinkle in the shafts of summer sun. It's incredible how light travels through all that vacuum and darkness and yet, ends its journey here and now, in this very room. The fresh, sea air floods the space. He breathes it in. He hears the cry of a seagull, wheeling its way around the stadium on the air currents that swirl around the stands. 

He thinks of what it was like. His eyes soften. His breathing is shallower. He's home. He's got a job to do. He allows himself a small smile. 

He reaches for his phone. 

'Janine. I think I've done the right thing. Put me a bottle of Kaliber in the fridge. I'm going to let my hair down tonight' 

He picks up his laptop. He goes to the mirror. He checks his collar is properly even. He puts a few strands of hair in place. He takes a another deep breath. 

He's ready. 

He reaches for his phone again. 

"Actually, Janine. The Kaliber can wait. I've got stuff to do tonight.... I know love, I know... But... Tactical masterclasses don't plan themselves..." 

He's got all that stuff out of the way now and got a job to do Critch. 

Onward!