Today was a quiet day. It rained, but that's to be expected. This is England, after all. The lads trained, and it was nice to see Francis Laurent out there doing light drills after four months out. He's the one player on the Lincoln books that I haven't yet seen in action—his hamstring injury predated my arrival.
I'm coasting on autopilot. The team picks itself most weeks, and I watch to see how the dynamics play out. There's not much to do, so I sit twiddling my thumbs—waiting for fresh drama to make life difficult. With a bit of luck, Woods will sign that contract offer tomorrow.
A note from your editor
I've really got into the swing of things over the past few weeks. I don't need to think about what I'm writing to put together an entry each day. That's great as a stream-of-consciousness look at my experience, but I fear it may become shallow if I let it go on much longer without a bit of deeper analysis.
After 106 days, it's not easy to think of something new and interesting to say. And we're at a point in the season—mid-October—where it's too soon to meaningfully evaluate progress or to prepare for the January transfer window. But I feel like I've missed opportunities to write something special—such as when Olembé suffered homesickness and needed a huge 34-day leave of absence (which is still 12 days short of completion).
I'm floundering, to be honest, not sure where to take this story or how to make (keep?) it compelling for another (roughly) 200 days. How do I externalise what I'm doing instinctively, reacting to what the game throws at me with no real understanding of why I make a particular decision. I'm largely just going with the flow; there is no method to my madness—at least that I can describe.
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