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Tom Crouch stepped confidently into the small portacabin office, resplendent with the glittering array of certificates and awards accumulated by boss Gorgo1 over his managerial career.

He stood in front of the perfunctory pin-board and scanned the contents.

"Frosties Swimming certificate - Bronze"
"Butlins 5-a-side Winner 1995"
"Whipsnade Zoo Employee of the Month 2001"

Underneath was a wall with good luck messages and tokens sent from some of the manager's celebrity contacts.

A framed picture of Noel Edmonds, inscribed with "Good Luck"
A black-and-white photograph of the manager and Bobby Ball, at what appeared to be a glittering reception.

Crouch sneered. He wasn't fazed by the reputation of the manager. He'd walked into this office to play hard-ball, and by God he wasn't going to...

"Hello Thomas"

The voice was flat and emotionless.
Crouch jumped, despite himself. He turned, and framed in the doorway was the manager, silhouetted against the slate-grey sky. His hulking frame throwing a looming shadow over the player.
Crouch audibly swallowed.

"Hello gaffer... I wanted to talk to you about my cont..."

"Ah yes. Well.... let's not spoil a nice afternoon with talk of anything so dirty as.... money"
The last word was spat, flatly, into the still air. A silence ensued that was only broken by the distant hum of a lawnmower.

"Take a seat Thomas".
It wasn't an invitation, it was an order. Crouch stumbled backward and sat hard onto the rickety office chair.

Gorgo1 silently moved around and sat at his desk, facing the player.
Without speaking, he carefully opened one of the pedestal drawers and placed a baseball bat on the desk with a dull clunk.
His eyes met those of the player.

"I do hope we can come to some agreement, Thomas. It would be such a shame to spoil our heretofore excellent working relationship."

The door to the portacabin swung shut..... and negotiations began.