MOSS SIDE BARROW BOY PART NINE

The Sheffield Wednesday homer came two days after our strenuous draw against Birmingham, and forced various changes throughout the side. Most important was the switch upfront, where both Paulo Wanchope and Andreas Andersson were flagging after their exertions at the weekend. The Costa Rican it was who made way for our mysterious Portuguese forward, To Madeira. I was convinced by now that the rest of the squad was unsure of his lineage, a suspicion he didn't help by the way his eyes changed colour to match his emotion. At present, they were black, and that meant neutral. I wanted them to turn a fiendish red by the time he was in sight of goal. To Madeira unsettled even me, and I've seen a lot of strange things (such as the way banks are still willing to offer me loans). I shuddered at the way I would ask him who he loved, and he would cross his arms and bellow "Ven-a-bles" with a look in his eye of utter malevolence. It was much like working with Steve Archibald once again.

Wednesday were enjoying their usual poor run, despite having quite a good team on paper. We knew that they had debt problems, and with more money in the kitty we could have taken advantage of this, but now that Mark Kerr was on board we had to ignore the urge to put in a derisory offer for Matthew Hamshaw. They still represented a tough prospect. Players like Gerald Sibon could always cause some damage, and he nearly scored in the fifth minute of our encounter when Daniel Andersson parried a lashed shot over the bar. We established control after some nervy moments though, and it was To Madeira who took advantage. Eyal Berkovic trawled into the area and found him in acres of space, Owls defenders keeping their distance as though in mortal fear. To could do little else but score, and his first league goal was the easiest of contacts. Ten minutes later, Stefan Selakovic took the ball out to the right, saw Kerr sprinting forward and laid it off perfectly. The young Scot showed why I coughed up the last of our transfer funds on him by hitting a shot sweetly with his right foot that sailed past the keeper. Wednesday struggled to drag themselves back into the contest, and despite a 77th minute strike from Efan Ekoku never looked like stealing the points from us.

This was more like it. I felt easier about relaxing during the international matches that were taking place over the next ten days whilst the team remained two points behind Millwall. Kristian Bergstrom and Selakovic left to represent Sweden; Berkovic joined his Israeli teammates and Kerr was packed off to play for the Scottish Under-21s. There was further good news when I was named First Division manager of the month, whilst Andreas Andersson clinched the equivalent award for best player, despite having an identical record to Wanchope. The Swede attributed his award to me, as per instructions from Vinny, claiming that I had allowed him to put the memory of working for Kenny Dalglish's Newcastle behind him. Good lad, I thought, though I hoped this wouldn't lead to calls from Alessandro Pistone and Gary Speed begging for moves to Maine Road. I'd accept a call from Jon Dahl Tomasson though.

Two pieces of transfer business occurred before the Nottingham Forest match. We waved an enthusiastic goodbye to Danny Tiatto, who joined Wigan Athletic for £625k, with a further £275k to follow after he logged 20 matches. The money banked was far less than Tiatto was worth, but we could do with the ease on our wage bill, and besides I got sick of the moaning Aussie and his tartish whines about being too good for the stiffs. Interestingly (to some), we would take on the Addicks shortly in the Worthless Cup, so Tiatto would get his chance to show why we shouldn't have sold him. For some reason, maybe the prozac, I wasn't quaking. To offet the loss of a not so important player, we snapped up attacking midfielder, Adolfo, on a free. I still had a feeling that Berkovic's future at the club would not last long, as he remained unhappy to be plying his trade in the second tier of English football. Fine by me. With Moukoko and Adolfo waiting in the wings, perhaps we would be able to get over his departure, if it ever came.

We were impressive against Forest, almost too good really. From the off, we took the initiative, with our disgruntled Israeli international belying all the bad press about him wanting to leave by scoring an impressively taken hat-trick. This was just as good. I hoped that more players would show their petulant side if this was to be their reaction. Actually, I could see where Berkovic was coming from. He was probably too good for this level, and was unlikely to ever see his lofty ambitions realised whilst playing within it. Paulo Wanchope grabbed our fourth, a move capped by yet another surging advance from our Eyal, whilst David Johnson and Eugen Bopp tried to keep things respectable with efforts that too advantage of a defence without the imperious Phyllis Pearce. Not that Espin played badly, though. The young Portuguese defender had a great game at the back, but the same couldn't be said for Alf Inge Haaland, who continued to struggle in defensive midfield. I started scouting for a replacement, but with money tight and Premiership class alternatives hardly queuing to join the Maine Road revolution, it was looking like a long hunt. Mick the Lips was going to be busy…

The story continues here...