The news that pint-sized midfield hardcase Michael Richens had left us for the even more dismal environs of St Ives was, seemingly, accidentally announced at Saturday's fans forum by Paul Cox.
Paul seemed to believe we had all been privy to the behind-the-scenes contract shenanigan free-for-all that passes for a quiet close season at Latimer Park and already knew our former captain had left us. Guess again Paul!
I'm disappointed Michael has slipped away as he was showing serious signs of adapting to this level. And, given the number of borderline psychos on our books last season he also looked to be an increasingly level-headed influence on the park. He had been an integral part of the squad that had got us back into National League North but seemed to spend too much of the past two, curtailed seasons trying to prove his worth to the managers.
At least Coxy gave him a chance. Something Eaden didn't feel inclined to do. No sooner had Nicky joined the club than Richens was loaned out to Nuneaton, probably to make room for the quality raft of midfield signings Eaden was lining up for our tilt at a straight return to the Southern League.
Michael racked up an impressive 130 games for us in his time here and we all have many memories of his contributions over that time, and no, they weren't ALL yellow cards! Three particular recollections spring to my mind. In no chronological order, and with very few extraneous details, of course.
I remember one game where the forgotten opposition had an absolute slab of man-mountain winning headers for fun against our scared centrebacks. I don't know if Michael was directed by the Management or took it upon himself to man-mark this freakish giant, but soon he wasn't having it all his own way. Michael got right in his space and challenged him in that special way that smaller guys with a great spring do. Soon he was out-jumping and out-scrapping this colossal lump to such an extent that our opponents had to find another way of humbling our defenders.
Another great moment for Richens was his world class goal at Stratford a few seasons ago where he cracked a thunderbolt from fully thirty yards that, had it not hit the back of the net would probably still be going now. Unfortunately no recording exists of this goal, partly because Stratford didn't film the game (Micky Mouse club!) and partly because it was so cold that day that no-one took their hands out of their pockets to point a camera phone at the pitch. The goalie too might as well have had his hands in his pockets for all the chance he had of stopping the unstoppable.
My third, abiding memory of Michael came, effectively, just moments before the end of his Poppies career. It was on or about the 90th minute of the Leamington farce where we were all watching the horror unfold, hour after hour on our television screens from the comfort of our own homes. If you recall (!) we were shipping goals and players at roughly the same speed and our third early-bather of the evening was heading towards the rapidly-filling dressing room.
At the bottom of the screen Michael seemed to sum up the utter frustration we all felt. As the ref reached for his still-warm red card for the third time Michael moved towards him to try to diffuse the situation. As the card was raised and the player trooped off Michael threw his arms in the air and glowered with rage, frustration and resignation in a matter of moments. I've never seen a player so completely demonstrate what I myself was feeling. He was showing the impotent fury we were all feeling and anytime a Poppies players shows that kind of empathy you can't help but warm to them.
All the best Michael. Till next time!
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