Moshe Gariani
Well-known member
- Mar 10, 2005
- 12,351
This clip was used in one of the Leeds Poly MSc sessions on handling negative emotions.
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[Football] Love This. Suck sh*t Potter
- Thread starter nickjhs
- Start date
Silverhatch
Well-known member
Being calm and measured enabled them to extract a world record compensation fee for a managerial appointment. They were f***ed off though at having to recruit a new coach just six games into the season.
- Thread starter
- #183
What else do you expect from a world class poker player?
ExmouthExile
Well-known member
- Feb 11, 2005
- 1,810
Brighton brought the best out of Potter, not the other way around. Average manager, League One level at best. Looks like he’s beginning to realise this.
Pevenseagull
meh
- Jul 20, 2003
- 21,523
I reckon Watford
- Thread starter
- #186
I don't fully agree. Sure it took time for his style to mature and gel with the players but by the time he pissed off we were in excellent form and the talk of the pundits. What is very clear from the form of players when they leave us, and Potter, is that the club clearly has a very symbiotic approach; it takes time for these players to find the form they had playing for us. Potter is no exception. As much as I dislike him for his complete and utter lack of respect for the opportunity and patience afforded to him, I still think if WH gives him time and space, he will get results.
Uh_huh_him
Well-known member
- Sep 28, 2011
- 13,994
Absolutely this. I can’t really blame him. Unlike most top coaches his route to the promised land was to make the family endure eight years on a frozen tundra where it’s dark for six months of the year. Now he’s got a nice house in one of the best cities in England, kids settled in school, wife likely has a fulfilling life with some good local friends and, thanks to Chelsea’s financial incompetence, it was all getting funded.
A more ambitious coach would have tried to get back in the game asap. He’s taken what suits him once he’s had to. His LinkedIn probably says “open to opportunities in the Brighton and London areas”.
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stewart12
Well-known member
- Jan 16, 2019
- 2,164
Graham Potter’s muscles ached as he pedaled away on his Peloton bike, the digital display in front of him counting down the seconds of his latest futile attempt to outpace his lingering regret. The West Ham training ground loomed in the distance, but Graham had no urgency to head there. He’d been avoiding the place for hours, just as he’d been avoiding eye contact with himself in the mirror lately. Sweat dripped from his forehead, mixing with the salty tears that streaked his face.
He wasn’t even sure when the tears had started. Perhaps it was when he caught sight of the Peloton instructor’s overly cheery encouragement, so at odds with his inner monologue. Perhaps it was earlier, when he’d scrolled through his phone during his warm-up and seen, once again, the endless stream of unanswered texts he’d sent to Tony Bloom.
Tony. The man who’d believed in him when no one else had, who’d stood by him when Brighton was floundering. The man who’d given him the chance to carve his name into Premier League history. “Good luck at Chelsea,” Tony had said the last time they’d spoken. The words weren’t bitter, but the unspoken disappointment behind them had been deafening.
Graham had typed out apologies a hundred times since leaving Brighton, but the words never seemed enough. Even now, he stared at his phone screen, the last message he’d sent glaring back at him: "I’m sorry, Tony. I should have stayed." No reply. Of course not. What was there to say? He’d made his choice.
The bike beeped, signaling the end of his session. He slowed his pedaling to a stop and stepped off, his legs trembling as he staggered to the kitchen. A single bottle of Huel sat on the counter, its beige contents a dismal reminder of his new life. He cracked it open and took a long, bitter swig, grimacing at the taste. It was supposed to be efficient, nutritious—everything he’d told himself he wanted. But it was joyless, just like everything else these days.
He slumped onto the couch, the half-empty bottle dangling from his hand. Memories of his time at Brighton flooded his mind. He saw the Amex Stadium bathed in evening sunlight, the cheers of the fans after a hard-fought win, the camaraderie of his players. He remembered the way the city had embraced him, how he’d felt like he belonged there, like he was building something meaningful.
And then he saw the headlines from his time at Chelsea. The articles dissecting his every decision, the relentless scrutiny, the impatience. He’d thought it was the big leagues, the pinnacle of his career, but it had chewed him up and spit him out. And now? West Ham. A club that tolerated him but didn’t love him. A far cry from the warmth he’d left behind.
His phone buzzed, snapping him out of his thoughts. For a brief, foolish moment, he hoped it was Tony. But it was just another reminder for tomorrow’s press conference. He tossed the phone onto the coffee table and rubbed his temples. The loneliness was unbearable. He wanted to call someone, anyone, but who would answer? The bridges he’d burned felt irreparable.
As the evening stretched on, Graham found himself back on the Peloton, the monotony of the pedaling his only solace. The tears came again, unbidden and unrelenting, as he thought about everything he’d lost. He’d traded loyalty for ambition, stability for a fleeting dream, and he’d ended up with nothing but regret.
“Tony,” he whispered into the empty room, his voice cracking. But there was no one to hear him, no one to forgive him. Just the soft hum of the Peloton and the distant echoes of a life he’d left behind.
He wasn’t even sure when the tears had started. Perhaps it was when he caught sight of the Peloton instructor’s overly cheery encouragement, so at odds with his inner monologue. Perhaps it was earlier, when he’d scrolled through his phone during his warm-up and seen, once again, the endless stream of unanswered texts he’d sent to Tony Bloom.
Tony. The man who’d believed in him when no one else had, who’d stood by him when Brighton was floundering. The man who’d given him the chance to carve his name into Premier League history. “Good luck at Chelsea,” Tony had said the last time they’d spoken. The words weren’t bitter, but the unspoken disappointment behind them had been deafening.
Graham had typed out apologies a hundred times since leaving Brighton, but the words never seemed enough. Even now, he stared at his phone screen, the last message he’d sent glaring back at him: "I’m sorry, Tony. I should have stayed." No reply. Of course not. What was there to say? He’d made his choice.
The bike beeped, signaling the end of his session. He slowed his pedaling to a stop and stepped off, his legs trembling as he staggered to the kitchen. A single bottle of Huel sat on the counter, its beige contents a dismal reminder of his new life. He cracked it open and took a long, bitter swig, grimacing at the taste. It was supposed to be efficient, nutritious—everything he’d told himself he wanted. But it was joyless, just like everything else these days.
He slumped onto the couch, the half-empty bottle dangling from his hand. Memories of his time at Brighton flooded his mind. He saw the Amex Stadium bathed in evening sunlight, the cheers of the fans after a hard-fought win, the camaraderie of his players. He remembered the way the city had embraced him, how he’d felt like he belonged there, like he was building something meaningful.
And then he saw the headlines from his time at Chelsea. The articles dissecting his every decision, the relentless scrutiny, the impatience. He’d thought it was the big leagues, the pinnacle of his career, but it had chewed him up and spit him out. And now? West Ham. A club that tolerated him but didn’t love him. A far cry from the warmth he’d left behind.
His phone buzzed, snapping him out of his thoughts. For a brief, foolish moment, he hoped it was Tony. But it was just another reminder for tomorrow’s press conference. He tossed the phone onto the coffee table and rubbed his temples. The loneliness was unbearable. He wanted to call someone, anyone, but who would answer? The bridges he’d burned felt irreparable.
As the evening stretched on, Graham found himself back on the Peloton, the monotony of the pedaling his only solace. The tears came again, unbidden and unrelenting, as he thought about everything he’d lost. He’d traded loyalty for ambition, stability for a fleeting dream, and he’d ended up with nothing but regret.
“Tony,” he whispered into the empty room, his voice cracking. But there was no one to hear him, no one to forgive him. Just the soft hum of the Peloton and the distant echoes of a life he’d left behind.
POSKETT AT THE VALLEY
Well-known member
He’s only human…of flesh and blood he’s made.
I was thinking 'selfish'.
Living apart from the family did not help Maureen at ManUre.
Apparently Pep's missus has moved back to Spain....
And let's see whether Slot's family spend a second year living Dutchland.
No, I think putting family first, above selfish workplace ambition, is an admirable quality that takes courage.
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RandyWanger
Je suis rôti de boeuf
What was he expecting? The man never did well at The Amex, 14 home games without a win. Only 1 win at the Amex in the calendar year of 2020. 3 months without a win between September 2021 and Boxing Day. 3 months without scoring at the Amex between January and April 2022.
Selfishness and ambition go hand in hand. None of those coaches would have achieved their trophies by moving back home with the Mrs.
It's why the vast majority of us on this board have lives that are relatively ordinary compared to many we discuss.
And there is something DEEPLY selfish about dragging the family to the arse end of Sweden for a job by the way.
Not Andy Naylor
Well-known member
And born to make mistakes.
Change at Barnham
Well-known member
Blimey, some of that Potter period was very bleak.
I think my lowest point of the Amex era was when we lost 0-3 at home to bottom of the table Burnley in Feb '22.
I left home in Bognor by car at noon and due to various traffic problems I didn't get into the ground until 10 mins after kick-off at 3.10.
A journey that normally takes only an hour and a quarter.
The Albion then produced a terrible display, never looking like scoring. I just couldn't see where our next goal was coming from.
Ironically I was quite sad when Potter left us. I thought we had just turned a corner and I felt that he owed Tony Bloom and the fans some loyalty for the patience most of us had shown.
But I also couldn't blame Potter for securing his family's financial security for life by taking Chelsea's millions.
Out of Potter, De Zerbi and Fab I would take the calm of our Premier League rookie manager all day long.
Fab's still learning and we're sharing the journey with him, even though many find his personality irritating and some of his tactics confusing.
West Ham fans deserve Potter, let's see how much patience they show as he tries to build a team in his own identity. In fairness Potter even makes Moyes look exciting.
The irony of it all is that the manager most likely to appease the West Ham fans demand for excitement is probably Roberto de Zerbi. They would love him.
Meanwhile amid all the chaos, I'm strapped firmly in the Fab Cab.
Nobby Cybergoat
Well-known member
- Jul 19, 2021
- 9,832
I think so
What I will say about Potter is he started well with us and was able to make a defensive team come out of it's shell extremely effectively. We didn't have that good a squad when he joined.
However by the time he left we had a very good squad. Probably the best in our history and we did alright with it, but not amazingly. RDZ did better.
Maybe this is Potter's skillset, getting a lower down team to start playing better football. But I guess it's not really working with West Ham
Deportivo Seagull
I should coco
The simple answer would be that football has moved on and his conservative approach based upon ball retention and slow build ups has had its day, when teams like to sucker you in and then hit on the counter. He's had his time. WH was a typical potter performance. 2-1 with less the 10 mins left and instead of packing the midfield and killing the game, he brought on another defender and sat really deep inviting us to have a go. As I say typical potter performance.
Tom Hark Preston Park
Will Post For Cash
- Jul 6, 2003
- 74,008
Had to do a double-take to check which of the two managers you were talking about there
- Oct 20, 2022
- 8,271
Agree with this.
He started with 3 at the back and 4 in MF and no forward striker so it was a bit weird set up against a team that plays wide in attacking areas and plays a high FB line. I think his subs just reverted back to more standard Potterball in the hope they’d catch us on the CA. FH on the other hand knew exactly that by bringing on fresh legs on both wings it would consolidate our game plan.
I disagree.
First he didn't 'drag'. Can you imagine Potter dragging anything anywhere?
Second as an unemployed ex footballer with a degree in emotional intelligence from Newcastle-under-Lyne sixth form college,
you have to take whatever opportunities arise.
For your family.
I just deleted the bit about the bully imperative from the post to which you reply.
Perhaps I should have left it in
