A/N- It's fair to say this story has been in the pipeline for ages. It's based around the game of football, but will result in being a love story. How could it be anything but when Anna and Bates are involved? Not much of Anna in this chapter, but that will change in upcoming chapters.

Hope you enjoy :)

Disclaimer- Downton doesn't belong to us, mores the pity.

Robert Crawley took the long walk down the corridor to his new chairman's office. This was it, he was certain of it. Last season they had just avoided relegation by the skin of their teeth. Now the new guy was in charge, he wanted someone else to take the reigns. His assistant manager had left the day before to join a local club in a division higher up. Robert was doomed.

Downton Athletic were a small club based in Yorkshire, always languishing at the bottom of the league. League 2 to be exact. Robert had been hired to take the club on to better things. Narrowly avoiding dropping out of the league wasn't the best way to state his intentions.

Knocking on the door, Robert took in a deep breath as Charles Carson, the new chairman, asked him to enter. Opening the door, Robert stepped inside the room and took in the sight of the new chairman. Charles was a Downton Athletic legend, as was Robert although there was twenty or so years between their playing careers. Charles was a tough tackling midfielder in his day and stayed at the club throughout his career. Robert was a centre back, a rock at the heart of the defence and Athletic's most successful captain, leading his team to a couple of promotions in his time playing for them. He moved on to play in the top league for different clubs, but his heart remained at Downton Athletic.

'Robert,' Charles boomed, gesturing for Robert to sit down.

'If it's all the same to you, Charles, I'd rather stand.' Robert said, shifting uncomfortably from side to side.

'Look, last season wasn't great, Robert.'

'I know but...'

'Robert,' Charles interrupted. 'I am speaking. Please let me do so.' Robert nodded, smiling weakly before deciding to sit down after all. 'Now we've lost Patrick to those sods from up the road. Not ideal preparation for the new season. Now I have to decide what is in the club's best interests.'

Charles stopped speaking, waiting for a response from Robert. He remained silent. Charles cleared his throat. 'You can speak now, Robert. If you are to take the club forward, what do you need from me?'

Robert couldn't believe his ears. He looked up, the surprise evident on his face. 'You mean you're not sacking me?'

'Against my better judgement, no I am not,' Charles replied. 'The fans love you, well the majority because of your history with the club. And I'm not that keen to get lynched on my first day as chairman.'

'Right,' Robert smiled. 'A transfer budget of around ten million out of the question?'

'Afraid so,' Charles said. 'The club is in a good position financially and there will be a substantial budget. But not ten million. Also, there is the question of your new assistant. Anyone in mind?'

Robert looked beyond Charles at a team photograph on the wall from twenty years ago. Robert was captain, and sitting beside him was Downton Athletic's star striker at the time, John Bates. He had the world at his feet and after five successful seasons at Downton he became the clubs record goalscorer and still remained so to this day. Then he got his big money move to Manchester United. Everything was going right until a few games into the season his career was ended by a horror tackle. His right knee completely crumbled and as far as Robert knew, John hadn't kicked a ball since.

He and John had formed a strong friendship, rooming on away trips and living a few doors down from eachother in Downton. However, after John's injury he had left and moved down to London and they lost contact. Robert had no idea where he was, other than some hear say he had heard that John was involved in coaching a non league team on the outskirts of the capital. However, with John in his team in their playing days, Robert never felt like he would fail. He needed that belief to face the new season with Downton, John was the man he wanted.

Standing up and walking towards the photo, Robert took it off the wall and placed it in front of Charles. He pointed at the grinning John in the photograph.

'I want him.'

Robert walked out of the train station and towards the taxi rank. He hated London. Too busy and too big. That was why he had only spent one season playing in the capital for Charlton Athletic before Middlesbrough came in and rescued him. Despite growing up in the south, the North was where he belonged now. Reaching the first taxi, he looked down at the address he had been given.

'Where to, Guv?' the taxi driver asked as Robert got into the back of the car.

'The Kingfisher Stadium,' Robert replied. 'Is that where Hounslow Rovers play?'

'Not going to watch that pile of rubbish, are you?' The taxi driver asked as he drove away before looking in his rear view mirror. Robert knew the driver had just recognised him. 'Hang on, you're Robert Crawley.'

'I am,' Robert sighed, looking out of the window. 'I believe there is some kind of cup game there today.'

'On a scouting mission?' The driver laughed. 'You must be desperate. You know your old mate, John Bates, is assistant manager there.'

'Yes, I do,' Robert nodded.

'Great striker, he was.' the driver continued. 'That bloke who ended his career should have got jailed. Call that a tackle? More like a common assault.'

'Quite,' Robert agreed.

After a ten minute journey, Robert nodding politely as the drive spoke about the problems with football in England today, they pulled up outside a ramshackle stadium, falling to pieces.

'Here we go,' the driver announced.

'Great,' Robert said as he stepped out of the car. He walked to the drivers window and reached for his wallet.

'No charge, Guv,' the driver said. 'Enjoy the match.'

Robert paid on the turnstile and walked into the stadium. Leaning on a barrier in line with the half way line, Robert looked out over the pitch. Before too long, he had spotted his old friend. He was wearing a sweatshirt, shorts and football socks half way up his shins, the scar on his right knee clearly visible as he lead the players warm up. Robert chuckled as he heard John barking out his orders and was instantly taken back twenty or so years. John had always been a moaner on the pitch, calling for the ball, yelling if a pass to him went astray. His will to win was unlike any Robert had ever known back then or since. The perfect candidate for his assistant. One word summed up his old friend John Bates. Passion.

Hounslow Rovers were a couple of divisions below Downton Athletic in League Two and had just won promotion the season before, winning the league by quite a margin. Men in John's position just needed a lucky break, and Robert was here to provide that opportunity.

John stood arms folded, watching closely as his players went about their training drill. Looking to his left slightly, he saw a familiar figure on the touchline. His lips upturned into a smile as he realised who the man was. Looking to his fellow coaches, he asked them to take over before walking over to Robert.

'Robert Crawley,' he exclaimed, holding his hand out to his former team mate. 'What the hell are you doing here?'

'Just come to catch up with an old friend,' Robert smiled, taking John's hand in his. 'How are you?'

'Grand.' John said none too convincingly as he looked over at the team with a look of trepidation on his face.

'Really?'

'Not really, no.' John revealed truthfully. 'Are you staying to watch the match?'

'I am,' Robert replied, concern evident in his tone. 'I was wondering if we might catch up. Afterwards.'

'Sounds great, I'll see you in the bar.' John turned and pointed at a small building next to the grandstand on the opposite side of the pitch. 'It's there. Not as grand as the old days but still.'

Robert nodded, not averting his gaze from his old friend. He was smiling, it was as if they had never been apart. It was nice to see John again.

'I best go and make sure these lightweights are prepared. They may already be promoted and have a goal advantage from the first leg, but we have a cup to win.'

'You haven't changed a bit,' Robert remarked with a grin, John reciprocating before looking down at the turf beneath his boots.

John offered Robert his hand once more. 'I'll see you later, captain.'

Robert shook John's hand before watching as he ran off towards the players he was coaching.

'Oi, Turner. Get your arse in gear, I didn't say you could have a drink.'

After watching Hounslow Rovers win the cup on penalties, Robert waited patiently in the clubhouse for his old team mate. He was garnering much attention, a couple of football fans asking for his autograph and a photo. Robert was easy going when it came to this side of his job, it had been part and parcel of his life for the past thirty years.

A few of the players began to trickle into the bar, looking one and the same in their club tracksuits. Robert watched the door intently, until John appeared, his appearance much smarter than the one that had greeted him a couple of hours previously. He was in a light grey suit, and a tie which displayed the club colours, blue and white. John stopped, and looked around the crowd until he noticed Robert leaning against the bar. He smiled, and shaking a couple of hands on the way, reached Robert.

'What you drinking, pal?' Robert asked, patting John on the shoulder.

'Just a coke,' John replied, looking at the barman.

'Really? You used to drink us all under the table.'

'I'm a changed man, Rob.' John smirked slightly. 'I have the odd one, but only occasionally. Anyway, what brings you down here?'

'Well, I have a proposition for you.'

'A proposition?'

They were interrupted by John's phone ringing. Reaching into his pocket, he took a look at the screen and pressed dismiss call.

'You could have taken that,' Robert said as he paid the barman.

'It's nothing,' John shrugged, taking his Coke from the bar. 'What is your proposal?'

Robert took a sip of his lager top before continuing. 'As you know, things at Athletic last year weren't ideal.'

'I saw that, narrowly missing relegation on goal difference.'

'Thanks for reminding me,' Robert said, gently nudging John with his elbow. 'Anyway, the new chairman, Charles Carson has decided he doesn't want to sack me. Thank Goodness.'

'Wise man, he'd have a mutiny on his hands. Do they still regard you as God up at Highclere Stadium?'

'Only if we get three points. Anyway, he asked me what I wanted to make Downton great again. And that's what brings me here.'

'I see,' John placed his glass back down on the bar, before looking over his shoulder at his squad of players. 'You've had your eye on Smudge, our midfield dynamo. He's had Crystal Palace and QPR sniffing around so you'll have you're work cut out...'

'No John,' Robert interrupted, placing a hand on John's forearm. 'I want you.'

John looked back at Robert in amazement, before pointing at himself. 'Me?'

'Yes,' Robert said with a nod. 'You John.'

'I'm very flattered, and I know I was good in my day, I'm occasionally named among the substitutes here but I'm not sure I'd be able to cut it at Downton's level anymore...'

'No, no, no,' Robert shook his head. 'Not as a player. I want you to be my assistant manager.'

Remaining silent for a moment, John tried to take it all in. Downton Athletic was in his blood, he was still the clubs top scorer. And he shared a bond with Robert that obviously hadn't waned despite not seeing each other for the best part of ten years. If he admitted it to himself, he had itchy feet. But coaching at League 2 level was a whole new proposition to coaching Hownslow. Yes, he had all the relevant badges, obtained to stop him going crazy when he received his career ending injury. But it was a big step up. He needed time to consider Robert's offer.

'Of course, you'll need time to consider.'

They were of one mind.

'Yes. How long are you down here for?'

'Until tomorrow, I'm staying in London tonight.'

'Right, well here's my address.' John turned over a bar mat, took a pen from his pocket and began to scrawl on the back. 'Come for Sunday lunch, I insist. About half twelve?'

'Wonderful. I'll look forward to it.' Robert took the mat and placed it in his pocket.

'Now, how about we make a night of it? Down these drinks then go out for dinner?'

'You always did have the best ideas.' Robert answered with a smile. 'So long as it doesn't end up like the night we celebrated the glorious 1980 to 81 season.'

'You just can't let that go, can you? I don't see the issue, your eyebrows grew back didn't they?'

'Come on, Ma,' John moaned, leaning against the kitchen counter beside her as she basted the potatoes. 'You always make enough to feed a small army, anyway.'

'I know that, but it's unsettling having a complete stranger come to Sunday lunch. I feel under pressure to make sure everything tastes nice.'

'Ma, your cooking is always delicious,' John insisted, meeting his mother's gaze and smiling. 'Besides, Robert isn't a complete stranger. You've met him plenty of times.'

Before John's mother could formulate a response, the doorbell rang, the sound causing both John and his mother to look towards the front door. Leaving her in the kitchen, John moved down the hallway to answer the door.

'Alright captain?' John smirked, taking in the sight of Robert on his doorstep. 'You find it okay?'

'I got a taxi.' Robert replied, passing John a bottle of Coke. 'I remembered you said last night you don't drink anymore.'

'That's very kind of you, Creeps,' John took the Coke from Robert and stepped aside, allowing Robert to walk in.

'If you're going to call me Creeps, then I shall be referring to you as Norman from here on in.'

Many footballers give their team mates nicknames, and the players at Downton Athletic were no different. Robert was so called Creeps, short for Creepy because his surname was Crawley. Creepy Crawley. John's was Norman , because of his surname being Bates, the same as the main character in Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho. John could become a little hot headed and out of control on the pitch and his nickname was born.

John lead the way to the kitchen, Robert slightly surprised to see an older lady busy preparing dinner, rather than John's wife.

'Either Vera has got much more beautiful in the time we haven't seen each other, or this is Mrs Bates.'

'Robert, I'm surprised you remember me,' John's mother said with a chuckle, wiping her hand on her apron before offering it to Robert. 'And please, call me Dorothy.'

'Of course I remember Dorothy Bates,' Robert said, taking her hand and shaking it softly. 'Used to provide me and my team-mates with delicious sandwiches for our away trips. Is Vera here?'

'No,' John answered as he placed the bottle he was holding in the fridge. 'Seems we have a lot of catching up to do, Creeps.'

As the three of them ate, John explained all that had happened to him since he had disappeared from the limelight. After his dream move to Manchester United from Downton Athletic, all was looking rosy for John. His marriage wasn't perfect, but moving to an unfamiliar part of the world, both John and Vera had promised to make a real go of things. His pre season with United went swimmingly, he was in the starting line up for the first game of the season. In the first five games, he had scored three times. All that changed on an away trip to Southampton. Half way through the second half he was running towards goal when the centre back absolutely clattered him. John knew within seconds he would never play football for United again. His right knee completely shattered, as did his aspirations, his career virtually over. Moving to London with Vera, John struggled through another couple of seasons in the lower leagues but he wasn't the same player and retired just short of his thirtieth birthday.

Instead of standing by him, Vera belittled John, called him a failure for having to leave Manchester United, and the big pay cheque, behind. In response to her constant chiding, and to help deal with the despair of his career ending early, John turned to the bottle. He wiped football from his life completely. He just couldn't bear to be anywhere near a football match or even read about them in the paper.

To make matters worse, John's father died a year or so after he retired. His mother wanted to leave their native Ireland, so asked John if she could move over to London to live with him and Vera. He accepted, but this was the last straw for Vera. She moved out of their home, and Dorothy moved in. John didn't know it, but this was to be the best thing Vera ever did for him. They were now divorced.

Dorothy now firmly back in John's life, she convinced him to ditch the bottle and take up his coaching badges. His father, a footballer as well, wouldn't want to see John completely turn his back on his dreams of forging a career in the game. If he couldn't play, why not be a coach? She made John see the only time he was ever truly happy was when football was in his life.

Dorothy standing right by his side, it took time but John managed to claw himself from the brink. Now in his early forties, he had been sober for over ten years. Taking his mother's advice, he was now a qualified coach, if the opportunity ever arose he could coach teams right up to the Premier League. As soon as he qualified, he accepted a job with Hounslow Rovers, and that was where he found himself now.

'I'm so sorry you've had it so rough, John.' Robert said sincerely as he finished the last mouthful of his dinner. 'We all saw the tackle, it was horrific. I tried to get in contact with you.'

'I just lost all interest in football, Rob. I didn't want to be around anything to do with the game, including all the friends I had made. It was too painful.'

'But you've got your badges now?'

'I do, thanks to Ma going on at me...'

'Not going on, now,' Dorothy interrupted John, taking his plate from him and scraping his leftovers onto her own. 'Encouraging you to do them. And I was right, wasn't I?'

'Yes, you were.' John nodded, smiling at his mother. 'I love coaching. It's not as good as playing, but it's the next best thing.'

'Have you had a chance to think about my offer?'

'I've thought of little else since you spoke to me yesterday.' John replied honestly, meeting his old team mates gaze and smiling. 'It's a fantastic opportunity but with Ma down here and...'

'What offer is this?' Dorothy interrupted once more, standing up and carrying the empty plates to the sink.

'Well Dorothy, I have asked your son to be my new Assistant Manager. Up at Downton Athletic.'

'And you haven't accepted yet?' Dorothy was incredulous as she walked back to the table to collect up the empty serving dishes.

'Well, no. Truth is I wanted to run it by you and it would mean I would have to move to Yorkshire.'

'Go lad,' Dorothy's demeanour was insistent as she turned away from the table once more. 'I'll be fine here. I've got my friends, my afternoon club with the girls.'

'I know that, but Mam...'

Dorothy interrupted John by placing a hand on his shoulder, Robert smiling and sitting back in his chair watching the scene unfold before him. 'Go John, I'm a big girl. I do everything around here as it is. I'll be fine.'

'Only if you're sure.' John said before Dorothy shot him a warning stare. He smiled at the sight of it, before turning to Robert. 'Looks like we are back together again then, Creeps.'

After an uncomfortable meeting with the Hounslow Rovers chairman on the Monday morning, John had handed in his notice and was on the train to Yorkshire by Tuesday. Even though Dorothy had insisted she would be fine, John had taken it upon himself to tell his mother's closest friends of the change in their circumstances. His career had meant John lived comfortably, meaning he could afford to pay for the bills of his London home as well as find a new one in Yorkshire. To begin with, Robert insisted John stay with him and his wife, Cora.

John stared out of the windows as the Yorkshire countryside whizzed passed, full of thoughts of the new life he was to embark on. The truth was, his happiest years were spent in Yorkshire playing for Downton Athletic. He loved the club and the fact was he was still the club's record goal scorer, meaning the fans still loved him. The road of recovery he had travelled along had led him to this moment, he deserved this chance and he was determined to grab it with both hands.

John was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of a man singing beside him. Looking to his left, it soon became apparent the man was pointing at John, before he began to clap in time with his singing voice.

'Super, super John, super Johnny Bates.'

Furrowing his brow, John moved uncomfortably in his seat as the man continued to chant his name. The man had a small boy beside him looking just as embarrassed as John was right now.

'He plays on the left, he plays on the right, that boy Johnny Bates, makes Bradford look...'

'Alright, thank you,' John interrupted the rather passionate football fan before he filled the train carriage with expletives. 'A Downton fan, I take it?'

'For thirty years.' The man said proudly, pointing to a pin badge of the Downton Athletic crest on the lapel of his jacket. 'I've made plans to have my ashes spread across the pitch at Highclere, when the time comes.'

'Wow, that's err.. real dedication,' John replied weakly before moving his attentions to the young lad. 'Are you a Downton fan, young man?'

'Yeah,' the boy answered in a small voice. 'Me and Dad have season tickets.'

'Fantastic,' John answered enthusiastically, a smile spreading across his face as he moved to sit opposite the man's son. 'And is he this loud at games?'

The boy nodded, smiling himself now. 'He gets told off by the stewards all the time, but it's only because he cares.'

'I've been caring since I was your age, Nathan,' the man continued before looking at John. 'I was there the day you scored seven goals against Leyton Orient. You're name is still chanted up at Highclere. A proper legend.'

'You flatter me,' John responded, shaking Nathan's hand before his father's as the train pulled into Downton station. 'Lovely to meet you both, but I believe this is my stop.'

Arriving outside the main entrance at Highclere Stadium, the distant sound of the wheels of the taxi on the gravel were all John could hear. Walking towards the double doors beneath a massive Downton Athletic crest, John took in a deep breath as he walked inside. Closing the door behind him, the sound of two women chatting reached John's ears. One of them was Scottish, that much he could make out having had a Scottish grandmother, the other had a Yorkshire accent. Moving further into the building, he peered around the corner, stopping to listen to what the two women had to say.

'Well, I heard that his injury wasn't as bad as everyone thought,' John heard the lady with the Yorkshire accent remark. 'The real reason he left Manchester United was because he couldn't hack it at that level.'

'Yeah, having your cruciate ligament almost torn in two and your knee cap ending up at the back of your knee might result in your not being able to hack it at the level Man United play at...'

'Oh my goodness,' the Scottish woman exclaimed, standing up, her hand pressed firmly against her chest as John came into view.

'Mr Bates, you must see that I...'

'No it's alright,' John interrupted, holding his hand up to stop the now stuttering woman from trying to offer her apologies. 'I've heard all the rumours, the lies. I've lived with them for the best part of fifteen years. My name is John Bates, and I am the new assistant manager.'

'Welcome, Mr Bates.'

'Call me John, please.'

'I'm Elsie Hughes, club secretary,' the Scottish woman began, 'and this is my assistant, Sarah O Brien.'

'Nice to meet you,' John replied with a smile, shaking each of the women's hands. All three's attention was turned to that of a younger woman entering the reception.

'Elsie, have the suppliers got back to you about when my triangular bandages might be delivered?' The young woman asked, walking up to the desk and resting her arms upon it. 'Not much of a physio without bandages, am I?'

'They shall be here tomorrow, Anna.' Elsie answered, looking up at John who in turn, was staring at Anna. Anna followed Elsie's line of sight to the tall, dark gentleman, looking rather smart in a black suit.

'Ahh, am I witnessing the prodigal son returning home?' Anna asked, standing upright and smiling at John. 'You must be John Bates.'

'That I am,' John smiled, holding his hand out for Anna to shake.

'Anna Smith, club physio,' Anna introduced herself properly, John looking her up and down with an amused expression on his face. He had never encountered a female physio before. Not that the game shouldn't have them, rather that it was very rare. She was wearing a Downton Athletic polo shirt, tracksuit bottoms and trainers, the shirt and trousers monogrammed with her initials.

Noticing John was studying her closely, Anna interrupted the silence that had fallen across the room with a chuckle. 'This is only my works attire, I wouldn't dare go out in this get up.'

'No, it's just you don't often see a female physio.'

'I know, a female muscling in on your man's game...'

'Not at all,' John interrupted, shaking his head as he let go of Anna's hand. 'You must have a lot of the guys go down with groin strains.'

As soon as the words were out of his mouth he regretted them, Sarah behind the desk gasping at John's words, Elsie letting a small laugh at them. Luckily for John, Anna was laughing as well.

'The lads worked out early on I am pretty good at guessing if they are faking or not.' Anna said with a smile. 'Shall I take you to Charles and Robert? They are pitch side chatting to Joseph.'

'That would be great, thanks.'

With a nod in the direction of Elsie and Sarah, John followed Anna down a corridor that John instantly remembered from his playing days. Walking behind Anna, he looked up at the pictures on the wall, one making him stop and look for a moment. It was of him and Robert sweaty and dishevelled after a match, John bizarrely with a Downton Athletic scarf tied around his head, holding a trophy.

'Good times, eh?' John looked down to see Anna looking up at the photograph as well. 'My Dad used to come and watch Downton all the time. He was made up when he heard you were the new assistant manager.'

'Yeah, I'm looking forward to it.' John smiled, meeting Anna's eyes with his own.

'You know, if I had been the one treating your injury I reckon you would have played for Manchester United again.'

'You're rather sure of yourself,' John said as they began to walk once more.

'You have to be when you are the only female working with a squad of twenty testosterone filled footballers with egos bigger than the league position last year would suggest.'

John laughed at Anna's candour, she certainly seemed to be able to take care of herself in the environment she had chosen to work in. They soon reached the players tunnel, John stopping for a moment as memories of being a Downton Athletic player began to flood his mind. As she reached the bottom of the tunnel, Anna realised John wasn't beside her any longer. Looking back over her shoulder, she looked as he stood, frozen to the spot.

'Are you alright?' She asked, moving back towards him.

'Yeah,' John choked, rubbing a hand across his forehead. 'It's just, after all I have been through these past few years, I never thought I'd be back here.'

'Come on,' Anna said softly, placing a hand on John's shoulder. 'I know Robert can't wait to see you.'

Appreciating her encouraging words, John offered Anna a grin before following her out onto the pitch. Breathing in his surroundings, John couldn't help but smile as he looked around the ground. It hadn't changed a bit. There were a few more seats than he remembered, and as with the game nowadays there was advertising plastered everywhere but other than that it was still the same place where he had scored so many goals all those years ago.

'Norman.' John looked up to see Robert walking towards him, followed by a beaming Charles Carson and another gentleman John recognised but couldn't place.

'Cheerful,' John exclaimed, holding out a hand for Charles to shake. Charles was nicknamed Cheerful because he was anything but. When John and Robert played for Downton, Charles was a coach and his favourite pastime was to put the players through their paces by sending them on cross country runs. He rarely smiled.

'Welcome back to Downton, John.' Charles took John's hand in his. 'Robert insisted you are the man to help him in turning the clubs fortunes around. I hope he is right.'

'I do too,' John answered.

'You probably don't remember me, do you... Norman?'

'Of course I do, Pele.' John regarded the man standing to Robert's left. Joseph Molesley, that was it. Not actually Pele, but he was given this moniker because he wasn't the best footballer, the teams attempt at trying to be witty. Still, what he lacked for in technique, Joseph made up for in effort and determination, meaning by the end of his career he had made over four hundred appearances for Downton. 'You still working here are you?'

'Yeah, I'm the groundsman and kitman. I coach some of the youth teams aswell.' Joseph replied.

'We'd be nothing without him,' Robert said, tapping Joseph on the shoulder. 'The pitch always looks superb.'

'That it does, Creeps' John agreed, looking out over the pitch.

'Excuse me,' Anna began, raising her hand as if asking for permission to speak. 'Norman? Cheerful? Pele? Creeps?'

'Nicknames.' Robert enlightened Anna. 'It's a popular tradition between team mates.'

'Yeah, the lads here have them too.' Anna replied with a chuckle, adding before she walked away, 'they have a nickname for you, Robert and I can tell you it isn't as endearing as Creeps which is bad enough.'

'What's that then?' Robert called after her, Anna not turning to look back at him as she continued down the tunnel.

'Seems like you need my help getting those players into shape,' John said as all four men watched Anna disappear from view. 'And I can't wait to offer my assistance.'