Burn baby burn

I am in pain. A lot of pain. My back is really, really badly burnt.
I’ve just come back from a bar that I went to with a few of the guys and girls from the hostel where we met some American blokes. T’was a good night filled with jokes, English sing-songs and general banter. However, I had to return early becase everyone was persisting in slapping my freshly burnt back with those manly-affectionate slaps that blokes do. My back now hurts so badly I don’t know what I’m going to do.

Welcome to San Diego, bitch.

I think I upset some lady yesterday. I was walking down the street back to the hostel when I brushed past some woman. I had to, because someone was walking the other way. It wasn’t a hard brush, and I’m not exactly a well-built person so didn’t really think anything of it. However, as I was walking off I’m pretty sure I heard her say,

“Hey, Dog! What the hell? Watch where you’re going!”

I didn’t react because, last time I checked, I wasn’t a dog, I was a human being. So I carried on my merry way. I’m pretty sure I heard a ‘bastard’ chucked in at the end but by then I was too far down 5th Avenue to care. Lovely place, this.

The Amtrak Diaries (updated)

Day 1 – Sunday 20th August, 12.00am

My travels got off to a great start; I got lost on the way to the station. It was only a 20 minute walk from the Super 8 motel, and Salt Lake City is built in an idiot-proof grid system but I still had to ask two people for directions. I think the main reason for my navigation malfunction is that the station is, well, not what I expected. I was looking for, what I imagined to be, a grand old building – something like Grand Central in NYC. What I envtually found was a glorified port-a-kabin, no bigger than a poor man’s bungalow. And quite frankly, this is outrageous! The Amtrak is the last bastion of the great adventure, its a ticket to anywhere in the biggest country in the world, the gateway to the land of the free, of opportunity and adventure. And instead of a grand entrance to this travel utopia, I find a building resembling a doctor’s surgery. In comparison, it is the tatty old wardrobe to America’s Narnia.

Of course, the room is filled with the usual random characters you’d expect to find. There’s the group of college boys, possibly Australian, complete with enormous back-packs, baggy shorts and sandals. I feel small in comparison with my single sports bag as they fill up row upon row of seats with a myriad of bags, holdels, rucksacks and record bags. They’re blatantly all got tiny penises.
Then there’s the generic fat lady, complete with what looks like a breathing assistant machine and listening to music on her 1980s style massive headphones. the room is also speckled with a few sleeping people, as expected, and a bearded man wearing a bobble hat and purple cardigan/head scarf combination has just walked in. The circle is complete.

9.00am, Monday 21st August
I awake in my train seat after a terrible nights sleep to the scorching Nevada sun. It must be about 9 am although we lost an hour crossing into Pacific time – to be honest, I don’t really know – I’m a little dazed. I’ve met my first travelling buddy; a young chap called Martin. 24, he’s a maths graduate from Warwick who has re-captured his lust for adventure after two years in work and is spending three months travelling across America and Canada. He’s well spoken, well, more-so than me, and dresses smarter than I do; so bascially, he’s a bit post, but nice enough. He joined the train at Salt Lake City, as I did, and before I fall asleep we exchange stories about the States. Actually, it was more me telling stories and him listening, I needed someone to talk to and to be honest Martin’s stories are a little less interesting than mine. Still, its nice to have a bit of company.

At the moment the train is rolling through Nevada at an infuriatingly noose-tighteningly slow pace. Outside the windoware miles and miles of nothing; imagine the background for the Wylie Coyote and Road Runner cartoons. I wonder down into the lounge carriage- it has large wall to wall windows and seats facing out for passengers to mingle and watch the world go by. I’ve missed breakfast and, a little dazed, hungry and blurry-eyed find a seat, next to Martin. He’s been up for two hours already and is playing about on his laptop. I slump into a chair and stare blankly into the seas of nothing that is Nevada. Something is missing. I’m enjoying being tis self-standing traveller but I’m missing a piece somehow. Got it. I realise how much I am looking forward to seeing Seb at LA airport. I know once we start out journey for proper that it is going to be a top adventure.

After a few minutes I get bored and return to my normal seat leaving Martin to whatever it was hes doing. With nothing to do I close my eyes and try to get some more sleep. Hopefully, when I wake I’ll be in Sacramento, the largest part of my journey over.

6.00pm, Monday 21st August
The train is about to roll into Sacramento, six hours late. I’ve missed my connecting bus to Stockton and the subsequent train to San Diego, all I can do is get into Saco and see what options I have. There’s no rush though, I have four days rest in San Diego and if I am a day late whose to know? A cheeky cancellation here and everyone’s happy. At the moment, though, I am in need of the five S’s; shave, shit, shower, sleep and sex. I’m seriously devoid of all five at the moment.

8.22am, Tuesday 22nd August
Yet another terrible nights sleep precedes the second leg of my journey. The bus from Oakland, CA to Santa Barbara was the most cramped and uncomfortable experience ever, one no human should have to repeat. Still, I made it through, a bit traumatised but in one piece. I was sandwiched in between a fat American (surprise, surprise) and some young English bloke, both asleep and sweating heavily. I tried my best to sleep for most of the journey so I wouldn’t have to deal with or remember most of it.
The train is now sitting in Los Angeles station, less than three hours from my finally destination of San Diego. After departing Santa Barbara I was welcomed awake by the sun rise over the Pacific. It was beautiful and almost worth the previous 30 hours of painful travelling. Now, eight hours behind schedule I’m tantalisingly close to the end. I have no plans but to relax in San Diego by the beach for the next three days; I think I’ve earned it.

Cheeky new pics

I’ve uploaded a few pictures from the last couple of weeks. The co-ordinator of our last camp in Mountain Home, Idaho took loads of photos and is sending them on CD to me in England so I will upload them when I return.

Enjoy!

Coach first, friend second. Probably an entertainer third.

It’s over. My last ever day of coaching in the States was a memorable one. We were still at camp two hours after we finished signing balls/shirts/kids and generally having praise lavished on us from all sides. All week the parents and kids have been superb, making us feel like royalty and giving us a week we’ll never forget. Last night they held a barbeque in our honour and presented us with a cake made out in our names, t-shirts and even dog-tags with our names on. It was treatment I’ve never recieved before and doubt I will again. They took us into their hearts, and all because we gave them a little bit of fun for a week.

One of the coaches of the teams on camp paid me the highest honour today when he said I should forget about journalism aa a career and stick to coaching because “You’re brilliant with the kids and excellent at soccer.” It was a heart warming a acolade to finish the summer on and one I’ll always treasure. We left an everlasting impression on this small town (the wanker incident aside) and they left an everlasting impression on me.

I auctioned off my boots (and subsequently my coaching shirt ) signed and all for a grand total of $42 on camp today, which will help nicely towards the travelling over the next five weeks. On Sunday I head down to San Diego to chill out for a few days and then I’ll pop to LA to meet Seba on Saturady.

This evening I’ve just returned home from an afternoon boating on a reserviour with the other three coaches, a family and the aforementioned coach, his family in toe. It was a great, relaxing way to finish off the week. We’ll leave Mountain Home the toast of the town having really earned our bread this week.

A bad influence

Camp this week has been great. We’ve had a top atmosphere on camp, all us coahes have got on really well and formed a tight camadorie, and the feedback has been nothing short of excellent for this first-time camp. The only downside is that we may have left a rather immature legacy here in Mountain Home.
It started at the High School training I went to on Monday night. (Oh, I scored just the four goals at training last night, but thats another story). The kids were asking me all sorts of questions regarding the UK and making me say random words and phrases in my ‘cool’ english accent. Talk soon turned to swear words and they asked me for english ones. I reeled off ‘wanker’ hoping they would get a bit of a titter from it and nothing else. However, they absolutely lapped it up. They wouldn’t stop saying it and now it’s spread all over town. All the kids are saying it on camp, dropping it in every five seconds and even some of the parents are using it in their vocab. They all know what it means because we meticulously explained it but they think the word is so funny they’re utilising it wherever they can. I feel really bad because no doubt once the novalty of the camp dies down all they’ll be able to remember is that it was the one where the english guys ‘taught us wanker!’

This week I’ve been paired with some right characters. There’s Scott ‘Dangerous’ Bewsick, the guy that has less luck with two-wheeled vehicles than he does with the ladies. Two weeks ago he came off a mountain bike on a jump and knocked himself out, resulting in 12 stitches and a $500 medical bill. This week he came off a dirt-bike and left a 12 inch graze on his shin, and just today he whacked his back in the pool playing headers. He’s a walking accident, but a doctor’s dream.

And then there is Paul, a lovely bloke but seems to have no opinion of his own. He will repeat anything you say during a conversation. Example:
Me: “…well, yes, the Americans leave their doors unlocked because they have a trusting mentality.”
Paul: (In a voice that hints at deep knowledge on the current subject) “Yes, they’re very trusting.”
And yesterday he produced the single best answer to a question ever in the barbers shop;
Barber: “So, what would you like done?”
Paul: “I’d like it cut shorter, please.”
Comedy genius, he just doesn’t know it.

Tomorrow is my last campo ever and possibly my last ever day of coaching. I’m auctioning off my Nike Total 90 boots and generally having a ‘Coach James is Great Day’. Can’t wait.

Famous (again)

Last night I trained with a local high school boys team, partly to fuel my fitness regeme and partly because I was desperate to play some footy. I’ve been here for six weeks and haven’t kicked a ball in anger once.
Anyway, needless to say I was awesome. It was like, well, playing with a bunch of seventeen-year-olds! When I turned up it was like a celebrity rolled into town, they were all looking at me and wispering to each other. They asked me if I played for Real Salt Lake, Manchester United and various other teams. They didn’t seem upset that when I said I didn’t.
In the game at the end of training I completely dominated and scored a great goal, anytime I did something good they were ‘ooh-ing’ and ‘arr-ing’. It was great to be centre of attention.

I’m going back tonight, naturally and look forward to more star treatment.

This afternoon we got taked to Mountain Home Air Force Base and got to sit in an F-15. I’m not usually bothered by stuff like that but it was pretty cool. I was very tempted to press the eject button like some silly child but thought better of it. There’s something about cool machinery that appeals to the male psychie.

It’s been a while

In May MLS Camps made us complete an assignment on ‘Me.Inc’. This is a theory, complied by some bloke whose name escapes me, which poses that each of us has a brand and to utilise it to the max would help us move forward in life, socially and work-wise. He argues that our brand is made up by our personality and honing it by polishing the strong points of it helps us make more of an impact on others and life. Fair enough.
It may have seemed like a rather futile exercise back then, and something only a company run by an American would make its employees do, but recent events have made me think about Me.Inc. Not so much how my brand can help me make more of an impact in life – I already spun that out for more than it was worth for the assignment – but more about what sort of person I am.
You probably already have an idea of what sort of person I am; kind? I hope so. Friendly? I’d like to think so. I’m not particularly cool or good looking but I think the previous qualities count for more and I try to associate myself with similar folk – hence why most of you are ugly as fuck!
Where I’m going with this is that out here I’ve come into contact with lots of other people and thus many other qualities. Some of them great, some not so. There is Scott Reynolds, our district co-ordinator, who is one of MLS Camps’ few American employees but that has nothing to do with what follows. Scott is quite a selfish individual – prepared to make others’ lives harder work (in this case the coaches working  in his region) to make his better – especially when a $15,000 carrot is hanging infront of his nose (basically, if he can meet a certain profit target for MLS in the near futures he stands to make $15,000). Instead of making this a possibility by whatever fair means anyone else would, he does it by cutting corners; making coaches pay for hotel rooms out of a pittance wage when he has requested them back to Salt Lake City, forcing coaches to go beyond the call of duty and then not being prepared to meet them halfway or offer them praise. It is us after all working in the field with the clients, getting our hands dirty, so to speak.
Last week he made a mistake. He forgot to tell a cluster of coaches to take a rental car back to Enterprise and it stayed with them for an extra week. I joined that cluster last week and saw the extent of Scott’s Me.Inc. Instead of accepting his mistake and working towards a swift solution he threw his toys out of the proverbial pram big time. He started claiming the coaches were stealing from MLS and tried to make them pay for the renting of the car for that extra week. He claimed he’d told one of the coaches in the cluster via email to tell the captain of camp about the car. The coach he told – Matt, only 19 – can’t even drive! Thankfully, the captain of camp, a bloke called Michael Stones, was a strong individual. While other captains may have buckled and followed Scott’s instructions, Mike stood his ground and refused to pay. He also backed Matt, who said he hadn’t recieved any sort of instructions about the car. Poor Matt ended up being on the receiving end of some very abusive and unprofessional calls from Scott. To put it short he treated Matt like shit. Mike was very good at backing Matt and supporting his group. He showed far more professionalism and organisation than Reynolds ever has this summer. Mike showed me an email from Scott which, coming from a journalism student’s perspective, was embarrasing to read. A dyslexic 10-year-old could have done better. Not only that but it was so unprofessional and abusive that it beggered belief it could have come from somone with so much responsbility in a multi-million dollar making company. Scott had made a mountain out of a very small molehill with the only intention of to try and save his own face.

After a few days of solid resiliance from Mike, Scott finally backed down (after Matt forwarded his recent emails from Scott which clearly showed no instructions had been administered) and shut up. His whole attitude over the week and his way of dealing with the situation showed to me what sort of person he is, and made me appreciate I am not like that. I like to thnik I would have dealt with the situation with more compassion and common sense. What’s worse is that on Saturday we saw him at the Real Salt Lake – Real Madrid game and he was all smiles, as if nothing had happaned. No apology, nothing. Selfish and two-faced. I just hope his new wife (married as of last Saturday) doesn’t get the same treatment when she accidentally hides his car keys.

You now want to know about the Real Madrid game, don’t you? It’s how it sounds; Real Madrid played, and beat, Real Salt Lake 2-0 in a mid-season friendly for Salt Lake and a pre-season one for Madrid. Madrid join countrymen Barcelona and a host of British clubs, including Palace, who have come here as part of their pre-season training, partly I reckon for footballing reasons and partly to cash in on the ’soccer-boom’. With Salt Lake ‘borrowing’ Madrid’s pre-fix they’re hoping to play on Real’s tradition and world-wide popularity while their namesakes are probably more concerned with the economic benefits of tapping into the world’s largest economy. Whatever, its nice to see both sides of the Atlantic coming together in the name of football/soccer.

One of Real Madrid’s playerd also has a ticket for the soccer gravy train; Becks has a soccer school in L.A. and his 45-minute run out in the second half was possibly the most watched event ever in Salt Lake. Maybe is was his recent ommision from Steve McLaren’s England squad or the money spinning potential of being here but he seemed to play with a real spring in his step. It was the first time I’d ever seen him play in the flesh and what struck me was his positional sense. He is very good at finding space and being an outlet for defenders and midfielders; yet when Real attack he is also the first to support. I saw him make a couple of overlapping runs down the right; something considered quite ‘un-Beckham’ especially at this late stage in his career. At half time all us coaches were asked to give out free soccer balls to the crowd. It’s amazing how crazy peoplel will go for free stuff, all we had were crappy soccer balls yet people were climbing over each other to geth them off us. Crazy.

I’ve already out stayed my welcome on the internet so will return tomorrow with more crazy goings-on.

Bye

James

The end is near, my friends

I’m contracted to do two more weeks of camp but we’re all getting the last week off, so I’m heading down to L.A. in preperation to meet Seba next Saturday. So this weeks camp will be potentially my last ever for the company, assuming I don’t return next year, assuming again that I have a job, assuming once more I can be arsed to find one.

We’re in Mountain Home, Idaho, my sixth state in six weeks. I get around, huh? I will post a long and much more interesting blog tomorrow that I wrote on the journey here from Salt Lake City.

Till then,

James

Bored no more

There was me moaning that nothing has happened this week, that there’s been nothing worth writing home about, and as soon as I do something happens. Yesterday, after camp, one kid was left waiting for his parents to pick him up. He was only little, 7-years old, and while all the other kids were picked up by mum, dad or whoever, little Brian was left waiting. Even though our coaching was up we are obliged by MLS Camps to wait with kids who aren’t picked up because leaving them on their own can create all sorts of problems and potentially leave us open to be sued. So we waited – for 1 and a half hours.
Finally, Brian’s dad turned up, fully apologetic and muttering some lame excuse about being caught up at work. Needless to say none of us were very happy with him and they swiftly left.

We thought nothing of it until we arrived at camp this morning. Brian’s dad instantly greeted us again saying how sorry he was and offering us breakfast. On the boot of his car was a giant pastry thing laid out and cut up. All the other coaches politetly declined, but I jumped at the chance and grabbed a few pieces. Brian’s mum then offered us some menus from a local Australian restaurant and told us to choose a main course and a dessert for lunch. So, as I type a bacon-barbeque burger is on its way to the field accompanied by a New York style cheesecake. Along with that is the other seven coaches orders. Brian’s dad made a very expensive mistake yesterday!

The other issue that has made the week more interesting, but on a more solemn note, is that Littleton was the venue for the Columbine shooting a few years back. Knowing this makes me feel sad; but in a reflective way. That tragedy seemed a million miles away when it happened but now I am right where it took place and some of the families I’m deeling with could well have been involved.