Fantasy football

IT'S a tough job this management lark.
Highly unpredictable.
And just when you think things are going right, something comes along to knock you on your backside.
I've every sympathy, Paul Buckle.
Mind you, I'm not having to give any team talks, sort out tactics or anything like that.
Just like millions of others up and down the country, I am talking about Fantasy Football. I'm given a massive wad of cash (more than Mr Buckle, certainly) and can pick and choose between the best talent in the country.
There's no bartering for players, thinking you've been successful in signing someone only to see them join another club, and no fall-outs with agents.
Simple.
Or not.
Until now I have been flying at the top of the two leagues I've entered, staring down at my opponents and thumbing my nose.
I'm the kiddie with the best football knowledge, my sixth-sense has been phenomenal, it's no contest from now until the end of the season.
Wrong.
I was in the office, doing a jig to celebrate the fact I had taking the plunge and selected Fernando Torres as my captain.
Yes, that's the one, the Spanish striker who had scored just two goals since joining Chelsea from Liverpool for the small matter of £50m.
And hasn't been able to hit a cow's arse with a banjo since.
I just had a feeling, though, that he would do something special at home to Swansea on Saturday and he certainly did.
Early on he scored. That's double points.
In your face, all those who didn't register he was about to embark on a scoring streak.
Nothing can go wrong now.
But hold on. The Sky announcer is talking about a sending off at Stamford Bridge.
And, would you believe it, it's Torres, my captain, sent down the tunnel.
There is laughter all around me and I am forced to hide behind my computer.
Fortunately, where things have gone Pete Tong for me, Mr Buckle seems to have got it right. In real life, Rovers are 1-0 up at league leaders Morecambe thanks to our on-loan central defender Cian Bolger.
It lifts my spirits a bit.
Unfortunately midway through the afternoon they are sinking again.
We're 2-1 down.
Not only that but I have now established that another of my three-pronged fantasy strike force Bobby Zamora isn't even PLAYING for Fulham. Nil points.
Bugger.
I have to bury my growing disappointment by taking a lift up to the ninth floor so that I can walk out onto the balcony for a cigarette.
I know now how that ex-Argentina manager Cesar Minotti feels. Remember the guy? Used to stand on the touchline chain smoking during the 1978 World Cup.
I settle for one roll up.
And return to my desk.
Not long to go in the afternoon, and I'm feeling like the new Plymouth Argyle signing who's opened his first wage packet. A day full of promise about to be ruined.
Passing the TV I take a glance at the screen.
What the hell? Morecambe 2, Bristol Rovers 3!
How did that happen? I was only out of the room five minutes.
Suddenly life looks so much brighter, for me, for Paul Buckle, and for Gasheads all over the world.
It's a nervous wait for the final score to be confirmed.
But there it is. Classic goals from Scott McGleish and Joe Anyinsah have turned it around, even though Morecambe hit the post and missed an open goal in injury time.
Get in!
Last week, our manager Mr Buckle was being accused of everything under the sun.
This week he is a tactical genius.
Swings and Roundabouts.
Meanwhile, the final blow to my fantasy team.
Sir Alex Ferguson has LEFT OUT Wayne Rooney, my third striker, the lynchpin of my team with two hat-tricks in his last three games.
In one desperate afternoon, my team has sunk from top to eighth in the division.
Rovers, meanwhile, have gone from 16th to 12th and just a couple of points off a play-off spot.
The football Gods are laughing at me.
And so are my mates.
But despite my desperate days as a manager, I can't help walking around with a big smile on my face.