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Posted (edited)
18 hours ago, Tony Rodriguez said:
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Transfer rumours & targets


By Doha,
May 11 in Port Vale present

  20 hours ago, darren1810 said:

I wonder if Enoch Andoh would ever of been a decent sale. We will never know as sadly injury curtailed his Vale career but when he was on song he was flying. 

Remember his debut i think it was away to Crewe?? but he ripped them a new one that day they couldn't play him at all

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  • Replies236
  • CreatedMay 11
  • Last Reply1 min
  20 hours ago, darren1810 said:

I wonder if Enoch Andoh would ever of been a decent sale. We will never know as sadly injury curtailed his Vale career but when he was on song he was flying. 

I’m sure a prem side was watching him quite early on. Shame about his injuries think he would have been a real player 

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  On 17/05/2021 at 12:20, tisdeano said:


If we are going to do the whole academy / youth system properly then we need even more

tis the silly season me thinks!😄

Edited 20 hours ago by geoff1
spelling
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  On 17/05/2021 at 08:25, Playa Amodores said:
I find Amoo, such a frustrating player. I hate it when he has the ball, he’s half way inside the opposition half facing toward the opposition goal with one defender beat and no one behind the defender. Why does he have to try and beat the defender, when all he needs to do is push the ball passed the defender into the hole and the sprint around him. He can gather the ball and cross it or depending on his position can cut in and create a chance for himself.  He isn’t that good at beating a defender and this would improve his assists and goals scored figures. Ainsworth used to do it a lot. Stanley Matthews did it and stated it was the speed over the initial few yards that beat the defender.
I think that the game has moved on from a player being able to beat a man the same way everytime. Back then they may have played against a player a few times, have a scout report and in Ainsworth's day watch a couple of match videos.


Now they have reports that go into a ridiculous level of detail with outcome % and all sorts. They will get videos of a winger taking on the full back hundreds of times.


Strikers used to be able to make an entire career by going around a keeper the same way when they ran through on a 1 on 1 now they have to mix it up otherwise they get found out.


Some players are just good enough to do the same thing over and over again like Arjen Robben did but most, especially at our level now have to have a variety to their game.


The last example for us that I can remember of someone getting away with using the same trick each time was Sean Rigg and his stepover to make space for a cross.
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Presumably Brexit means we can no longer go shopping on the Continent as Mr Rudge occasionally did? It is not a subject I have heard mentioned anywhere.  

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  20 hours ago, geoff1 said:
tis the silly season me thinks!emoji1.png

Not at all, it’s the way we are going Geoff
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    Transfer rumours & targets


    By Doha,
    May 11 in Port Vale present

      20 hours ago, darren1810 said:

    I wonder if Enoch Andoh would ever of been a decent sale. We will never know as sadly injury curtailed his Vale career but when he was on song he was flying. 

    Remember his debut i think it was away to Crewe?? but he ripped them a new one that day they couldn't play him at all

    Like
    • Replies236
    • CreatedMay 11
    • Last Reply1 min
      20 hours ago, darren1810 said:

    I wonder if Enoch Andoh would ever of been a decent sale. We will never know as sadly injury curtailed his Vale career but when he was on song he was flying. 

    I’m sure a prem side was watching him quite early on. Shame about his injuries think he would have been a real player 

    Like
      On 17/05/2021 at 12:20, tisdeano said:


    If we are going to do the whole academy / youth system properly then we need even more

    tis the silly season me thinks!😄

    Edited 20 hours ago by geoff1
    spelling
    Like
      On 17/05/2021 at 08:25, Playa Amodores said:
    I find Amoo, such a frustrating player. I hate it when he has the ball, he’s half way inside the opposition half facing toward the opposition goal with one defender beat and no one behind the defender. Why does he have to try and beat the defender, when all he needs to do is push the ball passed the defender into the hole and the sprint around him. He can gather the ball and cross it or depending on his position can cut in and create a chance for himself.  He isn’t that good at beating a defender and this would improve his assists and goals scored figures. Ainsworth used to do it a lot. Stanley Matthews did it and stated it was the speed over the initial few yards that beat the defender.
    I think that the game has moved on from a player being able to beat a man the same way everytime. Back then they may have played against a player a few times, have a scout report and in Ainsworth's day watch a couple of match videos.


    Now they have reports that go into a ridiculous level of detail with outcome % and all sorts. They will get videos of a winger taking on the full back hundreds of times.


    Strikers used to be able to make an entire career by going around a keeper the same way when they ran through on a 1 on 1 now they have to mix it up otherwise they get found out.


    Some players are just good enough to do the same thing over and over again like Arjen Robben did but most, especially at our level now have to have a variety to their game.


    The last example for us that I can remember of someone getting away with using the same trick each time was Sean Rigg and his stepover to make space for a cross.
    Like

    Presumably Brexit means we can no longer go shopping on the Continent as Mr Rudge occasionally did? It is not a subject I have heard mentioned anywhere.  

    Like
      20 hours ago, geoff1 said:
    tis the silly season me thinks!emoji1.png

    Not at all, it’s the way we are going Geoff
    Like
  •  

Is that this why we tend to fart about with the ball when there has been ample opportunity to get it into the box? It really frustrates me the amount of times I've seen us with the opportunity to cross it, and then lose it and give away possession. 

Edited by KEV.WILLIE

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17 hours ago, werstayinup said:

Depends what you want from the whole new set up,if you want to aim really high then maybe more coaches at that level will be needed,you would be surprised

 

13 hours ago, LancyTony said:

Think you might be confused.com?

 

probably after watching vale for 67 years!

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17 hours ago, werstayinup said:

Depends what you want from the whole new set up,if you want to aim really high then maybe more coaches at that level will be needed,you would be surprised

i really would!🙄

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2 hours ago, geoff1 said:

 

probably after watching vale for 67 years!

Could be - you have almost 10 years over me. And I actually understand you thinking that we may have too many coaches - but, if you break it down, like this: 

Will we get a well-trained team without a coach? Probably not?

If we bring in just 1 coach, will he be an all-rounder, or a specialist? Probably an all-rounder won't be as good as a specialist - but, then we need a specialist for each discipline...so that's 4.

Then, are these coaches going to be training the youngsters, too, or do we need coaches who specialise in training and developing kids?

It soon mounts up, Geoff...and that's not even considering fitness, etc!  I believe we're finally putting a good foundation in place. Fingers crossed!

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On 17/05/2021 at 17:21, darren1810 said:

I wonder if Enoch Andoh would ever of been a decent sale. We will never know as sadly injury curtailed his Vale career but when he was on song he was flying. 

Yes, he would! He was exciting...raw, but exciting and I've never seen one of our players fouled so often by so many different opponents. It's a crying shame we couldn't develop him on...he could have had a great career!

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You walk down the stone steps, as darkness surrounds the air around you with an eerie, menacing silence. You dare not make a sound as you tip-toe through the maze of seemingly abandoned corridors. You hug your withered parchment to your chest as you scurry through, careful not to drop it in this cruel and hostile place.

Some say these crumbling tunnels were used long ago, but that is legend by now, and those who had uttered it have long since perished without a scrap of evidence to cling to. But you believe. You have to believe.

After what seems like hours of oppressive cold and blinding blackness pressing against your eyes, you see a faint glow in the deep, blurry distance. Hurrying hunchbacked towards it, you see the twinkle of sharp, icy, steel locks, bolts and hinges - apparent only through the dancing rays of a flickering torch light standing guard.

As your piercing pupils dart wildly across the sight in front of you, your mouth instinctively free-falls. Bewilderment, elation and excitement explodes in your heart. There is a sign decorating the door, carved into rippling wood. You recognise it as the graceful oak tree that stood until recently out in the daylight. Its ceremonial chopping could mean only one thing, so the myth goes. It was planted on the day of Port Vale’s last successful transfer window, in bountiful days seldom remembered. The eager hands that tended the soil that day could not have imagined the sandy, desert wasteland that would ensue before it could be uprooted, and celebrations could begin. The pain. The hurt. But here it was, felled, etched and mounted. Even in the dim embers, it was clear as day.

The dusty, charred-brown parchment still tightly scrunched in your fist, you bang frantically on the echoing, ominous door to confirm your hopes and dreams. A face suddenly emerges in the hatch. It is walled on all sides by an uncompromising metal sheen, but this is no match for the glint of determined hunger in the eyes meeting your gaze. “Welcome to the transfer operation centre war room battle planning strategic hub analytical intelligence centre” exclaimed a gruff bark. “2.0” came a equally passionate voice from inside the secure room “we did have a conference centre set out upstairs.” “Enough of this time-wasting” interrupted the first person “pass through the missing piece.” In a state of existential shock, awestruck glee and vindicated, renewed belief, you hastily push the precious merchandise through the hole and a swift hand snatches it from your grasp like a venomous snakebite.

You don’t mind that the frail parchment is pulled through suddenly and the reinforced hatch gets slammed in short order behind it. They have a job to do and you are simply thankful to be included, even if fleetingly.

As you skip away with a glowing sense of accomplishment, the day was only just beginning inside the chamber, despite the sun setting in a purple haze out amongst the clouds. Technology the world has never seen, experts from all over the globe and newly designed techniques fashioned solely for this ambitious purpose are all being employed on a vast warehouse floor bustling with earnest activity. Above them are two sultry figures, standing arms folded on their balcony, watching it all unfold below with a cunning, collective curl of the lip. As they unveil the image on the parchment with a flourished unrolling, they turn to each other and nod with mirrored, gleaming smiles.

Holding the four corners between them, with a glowing sense of endeavour that only a plan in action can provide, they stick it right in the centre of a whiteboard populated with hundreds of dog-eared mugshots of players. Some were crinkled, the creases telling tales of being passed around in anxious musing. Some were scratched out in fury, others circled with fervour, but each and all lead to this moment. Every hopeful little face has been reviewed and categorised, but none hold a candle to this missing link. This beautiful, diamond in the rough. Some will be honoured with a supporting role to the main act, but it’s painstakingly obvious to everyone in the bunker where Vale’s future lies. As the puppet-masters step back and admire their completed mission, they simultaneously burst into tears in fierce anticipation of the masterpiece fans are about to experience. They fold into a heap of released emotion. With their last morsel of energy they stare up into the eyes of the man who will single-handedly lead the Valiants away from League 2 obscurity. They grab their comrade’s shoulders, shaking, giggling and fighting back joyous screams. Then quietly ... they whisper in one united breath ... “Theo is the one.”

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1 hour ago, LancyTony said:

Yes, he would! He was exciting...raw, but exciting and I've never seen one of our players fouled so often by so many different opponents. It's a crying shame we couldn't develop him on...he could have had a great career!

Enoch Ando was a brilliant little player. You could see that someone was going to hurt him, he needed protection from the referee's. I believe a move to Spurs was on the horizon. Just shows how cruel the game can be.

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Could be - you have almost 10 years over me. And I actually understand you thinking that we may have too many coaches - but, if you break it down, like this: 
Will we get a well-trained team without a coach? Probably not?
If we bring in just 1 coach, will he be an all-rounder, or a specialist? Probably an all-rounder won't be as good as a specialist - but, then we need a specialist for each discipline...so that's 4.
Then, are these coaches going to be training the youngsters, too, or do we need coaches who specialise in training and developing kids?
It soon mounts up, Geoff...and that's not even considering fitness, etc!  I believe we're finally putting a good foundation in place. Fingers crossed!
The bizarre thing is we only have a strength and conditioning coach for the first team at the minute so I'd say we're light in that department
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On 12/05/2021 at 15:59, philmpv said:
On 12/05/2021 at 15:52, ClntonBoulton said:
They've just been released by us......as well as Connor Head, Connor Trap and Connor Mark.....

Don't forget Connor Play

Also Connor B Bothered we've had a lot of his relatives over the years.

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1 hour ago, 1 said:

You walk down the stone steps, as darkness surrounds the air around you with an eerie, menacing silence. You dare not make a sound as you tip-toe through the maze of seemingly abandoned corridors. You hug your withered parchment to your chest as you scurry through, careful not to drop it in this cruel and hostile place.

Some say these crumbling tunnels were used long ago, but that is legend by now, and those who had uttered it have long since perished without a scrap of evidence to cling to. But you believe. You have to believe.

After what seems like hours of oppressive cold and blinding blackness pressing against your eyes, you see a faint glow in the deep, blurry distance. Hurrying hunchbacked towards it, you see the twinkle of sharp, icy, steel locks, bolts and hinges - apparent only through the dancing rays of a flickering torch light standing guard.

As your piercing pupils dart wildly across the sight in front of you, your mouth instinctively free-falls. Bewilderment, elation and excitement explodes in your heart. There is a sign decorating the door, carved into rippling wood. You recognise it as the graceful oak tree that stood until recently out in the daylight. Its ceremonial chopping could mean only one thing, so the myth goes. It was planted on the day of Port Vale’s last successful transfer window, in bountiful days seldom remembered. The eager hands that tended the soil that day could not have imagined the sandy, desert wasteland that would ensue before it could be uprooted, and celebrations could begin. The pain. The hurt. But here it was, felled, etched and mounted. Even in the dim embers, it was clear as day.

The dusty, charred-brown parchment still tightly scrunched in your fist, you bang frantically on the echoing, ominous door to confirm your hopes and dreams. A face suddenly emerges in the hatch. It is walled on all sides by an uncompromising metal sheen, but this is no match for the glint of determined hunger in the eyes meeting your gaze. “Welcome to the transfer operation centre war room battle planning strategic hub analytical intelligence centre” exclaimed a gruff bark. “2.0” came a equally passionate voice from inside the secure room “we did have a conference centre set out upstairs.” “Enough of this time-wasting” interrupted the first person “pass through the missing piece.” In a state of existential shock, awestruck glee and vindicated, renewed belief, you hastily push the precious merchandise through the hole and a swift hand snatches it from your grasp like a venomous snakebite.

You don’t mind that the frail parchment is pulled through suddenly and the reinforced hatch gets slammed in short order behind it. They have a job to do and you are simply thankful to be included, even if fleetingly.

As you skip away with a glowing sense of accomplishment, the day was only just beginning inside the chamber, despite the sun setting in a purple haze out amongst the clouds. Technology the world has never seen, experts from all over the globe and newly designed techniques fashioned solely for this ambitious purpose are all being employed on a vast warehouse floor bustling with earnest activity. Above them are two sultry figures, standing arms folded on their balcony, watching it all unfold below with a cunning, collective curl of the lip. As they unveil the image on the parchment with a flourished unrolling, they turn to each other and nod with mirrored, gleaming smiles.

Holding the four corners between them, with a glowing sense of endeavour that only a plan in action can provide, they stick it right in the centre of a whiteboard populated with hundreds of dog-eared mugshots of players. Some were crinkled, the creases telling tales of being passed around in anxious musing. Some were scratched out in fury, others circled with fervour, but each and all lead to this moment. Every hopeful little face has been reviewed and categorised, but none hold a candle to this missing link. This beautiful, diamond in the rough. Some will be honoured with a supporting role to the main act, but it’s painstakingly obvious to everyone in the bunker where Vale’s future lies. As the puppet-masters step back and admire their completed mission, they simultaneously burst into tears in fierce anticipation of the masterpiece fans are about to experience. They fold into a heap of released emotion. With their last morsel of energy they stare up into the eyes of the man who will single-handedly lead the Valiants away from League 2 obscurity. They grab their comrade’s shoulders, shaking, giggling and fighting back joyous screams. Then quietly ... they whisper in one united breath ... “Theo is the one.”

im speechless 🙂

 

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1 hour ago, dishydave said:
2 hours ago, LancyTony said:
Could be - you have almost 10 years over me. And I actually understand you thinking that we may have too many coaches - but, if you break it down, like this: 
Will we get a well-trained team without a coach? Probably not?
If we bring in just 1 coach, will he be an all-rounder, or a specialist? Probably an all-rounder won't be as good as a specialist - but, then we need a specialist for each discipline...so that's 4.
Then, are these coaches going to be training the youngsters, too, or do we need coaches who specialise in training and developing kids?
It soon mounts up, Geoff...and that's not even considering fitness, etc!  I believe we're finally putting a good foundation in place. Fingers crossed!

The bizarre thing is we only have a strength and conditioning coach for the first team at the minute so I'd say we're light in that department

You're right - no point in getting only the first team into fighting condition! Good habits and practices need to run throughout the club!

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1 hour ago, 1 said:

You walk down the stone steps, as darkness surrounds the air around you with an eerie, menacing silence. You dare not make a sound as you tip-toe through the maze of seemingly abandoned corridors. You hug your withered parchment to your chest as you scurry through, careful not to drop it in this cruel and hostile place.

Some say these crumbling tunnels were used long ago, but that is legend by now, and those who had uttered it have long since perished without a scrap of evidence to cling to. But you believe. You have to believe.

After what seems like hours of oppressive cold and blinding blackness pressing against your eyes, you see a faint glow in the deep, blurry distance. Hurrying hunchbacked towards it, you see the twinkle of sharp, icy, steel locks, bolts and hinges - apparent only through the dancing rays of a flickering torch light standing guard.

As your piercing pupils dart wildly across the sight in front of you, your mouth instinctively free-falls. Bewilderment, elation and excitement explodes in your heart. There is a sign decorating the door, carved into rippling wood. You recognise it as the graceful oak tree that stood until recently out in the daylight. Its ceremonial chopping could mean only one thing, so the myth goes. It was planted on the day of Port Vale’s last successful transfer window, in bountiful days seldom remembered. The eager hands that tended the soil that day could not have imagined the sandy, desert wasteland that would ensue before it could be uprooted, and celebrations could begin. The pain. The hurt. But here it was, felled, etched and mounted. Even in the dim embers, it was clear as day.

The dusty, charred-brown parchment still tightly scrunched in your fist, you bang frantically on the echoing, ominous door to confirm your hopes and dreams. A face suddenly emerges in the hatch. It is walled on all sides by an uncompromising metal sheen, but this is no match for the glint of determined hunger in the eyes meeting your gaze. “Welcome to the transfer operation centre war room battle planning strategic hub analytical intelligence centre” exclaimed a gruff bark. “2.0” came a equally passionate voice from inside the secure room “we did have a conference centre set out upstairs.” “Enough of this time-wasting” interrupted the first person “pass through the missing piece.” In a state of existential shock, awestruck glee and vindicated, renewed belief, you hastily push the precious merchandise through the hole and a swift hand snatches it from your grasp like a venomous snakebite.

You don’t mind that the frail parchment is pulled through suddenly and the reinforced hatch gets slammed in short order behind it. They have a job to do and you are simply thankful to be included, even if fleetingly.

As you skip away with a glowing sense of accomplishment, the day was only just beginning inside the chamber, despite the sun setting in a purple haze out amongst the clouds. Technology the world has never seen, experts from all over the globe and newly designed techniques fashioned solely for this ambitious purpose are all being employed on a vast warehouse floor bustling with earnest activity. Above them are two sultry figures, standing arms folded on their balcony, watching it all unfold below with a cunning, collective curl of the lip. As they unveil the image on the parchment with a flourished unrolling, they turn to each other and nod with mirrored, gleaming smiles.

Holding the four corners between them, with a glowing sense of endeavour that only a plan in action can provide, they stick it right in the centre of a whiteboard populated with hundreds of dog-eared mugshots of players. Some were crinkled, the creases telling tales of being passed around in anxious musing. Some were scratched out in fury, others circled with fervour, but each and all lead to this moment. Every hopeful little face has been reviewed and categorised, but none hold a candle to this missing link. This beautiful, diamond in the rough. Some will be honoured with a supporting role to the main act, but it’s painstakingly obvious to everyone in the bunker where Vale’s future lies. As the puppet-masters step back and admire their completed mission, they simultaneously burst into tears in fierce anticipation of the masterpiece fans are about to experience. They fold into a heap of released emotion. With their last morsel of energy they stare up into the eyes of the man who will single-handedly lead the Valiants away from League 2 obscurity. They grab their comrade’s shoulders, shaking, giggling and fighting back joyous screams. Then quietly ... they whisper in one united breath ... “Theo is the one.”

 

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4 hours ago, 1 said:

You walk down the stone steps, as darkness surrounds the air around you with an eerie, menacing silence. You dare not make a sound as you tip-toe through the maze of seemingly abandoned corridors. You hug your withered parchment to your chest as you scurry through, careful not to drop it in this cruel and hostile place.

Some say these crumbling tunnels were used long ago, but that is legend by now, and those who had uttered it have long since perished without a scrap of evidence to cling to. But you believe. You have to believe.

After what seems like hours of oppressive cold and blinding blackness pressing against your eyes, you see a faint glow in the deep, blurry distance. Hurrying hunchbacked towards it, you see the twinkle of sharp, icy, steel locks, bolts and hinges - apparent only through the dancing rays of a flickering torch light standing guard.

As your piercing pupils dart wildly across the sight in front of you, your mouth instinctively free-falls. Bewilderment, elation and excitement explodes in your heart. There is a sign decorating the door, carved into rippling wood. You recognise it as the graceful oak tree that stood until recently out in the daylight. Its ceremonial chopping could mean only one thing, so the myth goes. It was planted on the day of Port Vale’s last successful transfer window, in bountiful days seldom remembered. The eager hands that tended the soil that day could not have imagined the sandy, desert wasteland that would ensue before it could be uprooted, and celebrations could begin. The pain. The hurt. But here it was, felled, etched and mounted. Even in the dim embers, it was clear as day.

The dusty, charred-brown parchment still tightly scrunched in your fist, you bang frantically on the echoing, ominous door to confirm your hopes and dreams. A face suddenly emerges in the hatch. It is walled on all sides by an uncompromising metal sheen, but this is no match for the glint of determined hunger in the eyes meeting your gaze. “Welcome to the transfer operation centre war room battle planning strategic hub analytical intelligence centre” exclaimed a gruff bark. “2.0” came a equally passionate voice from inside the secure room “we did have a conference centre set out upstairs.” “Enough of this time-wasting” interrupted the first person “pass through the missing piece.” In a state of existential shock, awestruck glee and vindicated, renewed belief, you hastily push the precious merchandise through the hole and a swift hand snatches it from your grasp like a venomous snakebite.

You don’t mind that the frail parchment is pulled through suddenly and the reinforced hatch gets slammed in short order behind it. They have a job to do and you are simply thankful to be included, even if fleetingly.

As you skip away with a glowing sense of accomplishment, the day was only just beginning inside the chamber, despite the sun setting in a purple haze out amongst the clouds. Technology the world has never seen, experts from all over the globe and newly designed techniques fashioned solely for this ambitious purpose are all being employed on a vast warehouse floor bustling with earnest activity. Above them are two sultry figures, standing arms folded on their balcony, watching it all unfold below with a cunning, collective curl of the lip. As they unveil the image on the parchment with a flourished unrolling, they turn to each other and nod with mirrored, gleaming smiles.

Holding the four corners between them, with a glowing sense of endeavour that only a plan in action can provide, they stick it right in the centre of a whiteboard populated with hundreds of dog-eared mugshots of players. Some were crinkled, the creases telling tales of being passed around in anxious musing. Some were scratched out in fury, others circled with fervour, but each and all lead to this moment. Every hopeful little face has been reviewed and categorised, but none hold a candle to this missing link. This beautiful, diamond in the rough. Some will be honoured with a supporting role to the main act, but it’s painstakingly obvious to everyone in the bunker where Vale’s future lies. As the puppet-masters step back and admire their completed mission, they simultaneously burst into tears in fierce anticipation of the masterpiece fans are about to experience. They fold into a heap of released emotion. With their last morsel of energy they stare up into the eyes of the man who will single-handedly lead the Valiants away from League 2 obscurity. They grab their comrade’s shoulders, shaking, giggling and fighting back joyous screams. Then quietly ... they whisper in one united breath ... “Theo is the one.”

Jackanory, circa 71 or 72 I think. Either Johnny Ball or Floella Benjamin?

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14 hours ago, 1 said:

You walk down the stone steps, as darkness surrounds the air around you with an eerie, menacing silence. You dare not make a sound as you tip-toe through the maze of seemingly abandoned corridors. You hug your withered parchment to your chest as you scurry through, careful not to drop it in this cruel and hostile place.

Some say these crumbling tunnels were used long ago, but that is legend by now, and those who had uttered it have long since perished without a scrap of evidence to cling to. But you believe. You have to believe.

After what seems like hours of oppressive cold and blinding blackness pressing against your eyes, you see a faint glow in the deep, blurry distance. Hurrying hunchbacked towards it, you see the twinkle of sharp, icy, steel locks, bolts and hinges - apparent only through the dancing rays of a flickering torch light standing guard.

As your piercing pupils dart wildly across the sight in front of you, your mouth instinctively free-falls. Bewilderment, elation and excitement explodes in your heart. There is a sign decorating the door, carved into rippling wood. You recognise it as the graceful oak tree that stood until recently out in the daylight. Its ceremonial chopping could mean only one thing, so the myth goes. It was planted on the day of Port Vale’s last successful transfer window, in bountiful days seldom remembered. The eager hands that tended the soil that day could not have imagined the sandy, desert wasteland that would ensue before it could be uprooted, and celebrations could begin. The pain. The hurt. But here it was, felled, etched and mounted. Even in the dim embers, it was clear as day.

The dusty, charred-brown parchment still tightly scrunched in your fist, you bang frantically on the echoing, ominous door to confirm your hopes and dreams. A face suddenly emerges in the hatch. It is walled on all sides by an uncompromising metal sheen, but this is no match for the glint of determined hunger in the eyes meeting your gaze. “Welcome to the transfer operation centre war room battle planning strategic hub analytical intelligence centre” exclaimed a gruff bark. “2.0” came a equally passionate voice from inside the secure room “we did have a conference centre set out upstairs.” “Enough of this time-wasting” interrupted the first person “pass through the missing piece.” In a state of existential shock, awestruck glee and vindicated, renewed belief, you hastily push the precious merchandise through the hole and a swift hand snatches it from your grasp like a venomous snakebite.

You don’t mind that the frail parchment is pulled through suddenly and the reinforced hatch gets slammed in short order behind it. They have a job to do and you are simply thankful to be included, even if fleetingly.

As you skip away with a glowing sense of accomplishment, the day was only just beginning inside the chamber, despite the sun setting in a purple haze out amongst the clouds. Technology the world has never seen, experts from all over the globe and newly designed techniques fashioned solely for this ambitious purpose are all being employed on a vast warehouse floor bustling with earnest activity. Above them are two sultry figures, standing arms folded on their balcony, watching it all unfold below with a cunning, collective curl of the lip. As they unveil the image on the parchment with a flourished unrolling, they turn to each other and nod with mirrored, gleaming smiles.

Holding the four corners between them, with a glowing sense of endeavour that only a plan in action can provide, they stick it right in the centre of a whiteboard populated with hundreds of dog-eared mugshots of players. Some were crinkled, the creases telling tales of being passed around in anxious musing. Some were scratched out in fury, others circled with fervour, but each and all lead to this moment. Every hopeful little face has been reviewed and categorised, but none hold a candle to this missing link. This beautiful, diamond in the rough. Some will be honoured with a supporting role to the main act, but it’s painstakingly obvious to everyone in the bunker where Vale’s future lies. As the puppet-masters step back and admire their completed mission, they simultaneously burst into tears in fierce anticipation of the masterpiece fans are about to experience. They fold into a heap of released emotion. With their last morsel of energy they stare up into the eyes of the man who will single-handedly lead the Valiants away from League 2 obscurity. They grab their comrade’s shoulders, shaking, giggling and fighting back joyous screams. Then quietly ... they whisper in one united breath ... “Theo is the one.”

Long. But good post.

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15 hours ago, Potsman said:

Also Connor B Bothered we've had a lot of his relatives over the years.

he conner be that good.

1 hour ago, ValeCW said:

Long. But good post.

 

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  • robf changed the title to Transfer rumours, targets & new signings

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