Reports

At 4:00 PM in the exectutive lounge of The Beach Rotana, on the 18th floor, they served 'Afternoon Tea'. I'll be honest the whole thing baffles me a bit. You see at any other time during they day you can come into this lounge and get just about any drink you like, including tea. Breakfast is served starting at 6:30 AM and dinner time snacks at 7:00 PM. The only diffeence between now and any other time is they served biscuts and small sandwiches. So why call it 'afternoon tea'? I assume it has to do with the strong and long standing British influence the area has been under for the last few centuries. No matter, not being one to rock the boat I gather a few biscuts and a few tomato and cheese sandwiches and sit back down next to Oilig Petrolov, the russian oil man who so generously invested in the team at the begining of the season and whom The Shiek made my assistant coach.

I accepted my black tea with milk and sugar from Rose with a smile and she turned to Oilig and asked him what he wanted to drink.

"Vodka if you please." He said.

"Oilig we are still working." I noted.

"Ah yes your puritian american work ethic. How quaint! Orange juice then!" He said breaking into a wide grin.

Quaint was not how I was used to being reffered to, but he meant no harm so I let it slide. He wasn't actually a bad guy, just not a very diplomatic one. Perhaps that was the pot calling the kettle black? Grunting softly I dropped back to my laptop and the videos of our last game against PSV Eindhoven, not a stunning win but solid and I was never one to complain about three points. As I watched Jack Wilshere head home the second goal I saw Oilig shift uncomfortably out of the corner of my eye and glance my direction. I paused my video and looked up at him.

"Whats on you're mind Oilig?"

"I am concerned about the team's striking power. We do not have enough. Games are won by attacking and most of our games have only been won by slim margins. We only have Moura who can attack for us. Erplatz is not reliable and Butcher is still too young. Our midfield is strong and will become stronger, but we also need more strikers." He said with a firm set of his jaw. Petrolov was annoying as hell but he did have a good eye for the game.

I leaned back into the couch and crossed my arms over my chest. I rolled Oilig's words around in my head and he searched my impassive face for a reaction to his thoughts. After composing my thoughts I turned back to Oilig.

"Petrolov, I think you may be right. I hesistate to bring any one on in the middle of the season however, espically as that part of our team is already low on experiance levels. Tell you what, lets make this your little project. You get me a complete list of the teams overall experiance levels, when and where you think we could finish getting the players we have the experiance they need this season, and how you think we could afford another quality forward and get back to me. I'll look your plan over and we will see if it can be done. Fair enough?"

Breaking into a huge grin Oilig slammed his computer shut, gathered his suit jacket and without a word dashed for the exit to the exectutive lounge. There wasn't a doubt in my mind I would see that report on my desk first thing in the morning.