GONE TO PUBLISH!

It won't be long, now! Everything has gone up to the publisher except the manuscript and Gibbo's photos. You will soon be reading this moving life story that has taken over two years to write. The book will be published in hard cover, paperback, and e-book and will, within a few weeks after publication, be available on Nook and Kindle. Please congratulate Gibbo by signing on to the blog and leaving him a comment here from time-to-time.

            Through tears of remembrance, Gibbo relives the pain of loss that sends him spiraling into despondency as childhood dreams are dashed on the rocks of bereavement. He takes to the soccer ball that is his bastion, to the game that identifies him, learning that there is eventually a reprieve and he must make the exchange of beauty for ashes if he is to move on in life.

Follow Gibbo as he coaches and teaches soccer in the Black Country of England, in America, and with his soccer camps the world over, including Coaching for Conservation in Botswana, Africa.

But far more emotional than Gibbo’s trials and triumphs in the world of soccer is the thought of his grandchildren a continent away, growing older and taller by the day, and he is not there to see it happen. He learns a man’s worth is not measured in dollars and cents or in British pound but in a job well done whether in Europe, South Asia, Africa, or the USA, and that the icing on his cake is an annual trip to The Black Country of England to strengthen the ties that bind.

Jane Bennett Gaddy

Writer for GIBBO

DAISY BOO—

—the lovely little gift from above, newest and youngest of Gibbo's granddaughters! If there is anything more precious, Coach Gibbo doesn't recognize it. He has four beautiful granddaughters. Some folks wait a lifetime to get that many girls in one family. Gibbo is blessed beyond mention.

LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE

Eyes big and blue and liquid as the ocean

Lips, sweet and red as a summer's rose

Cheeks awaiting Mama's kiss

A million baby thoughts stirring in that

infant-precious head.

Mischievous, cunning, brilliant—

All the blessings of Baby Boo!

She will soothe the harshest day,

Relieve the pain of the longest night.

Is there anything, anyone, can take her place?

Oh, nothing, no one!

God makes no mistakes.

He gives the good and perfect gift,

The gift of life and love and laughter and a million

days of endless pleasure.

Jane Bennett Gaddy
Writer for GIBBO
Trinity, FL

OUR GIBBO

 

Crafted with enormous appeal, GIBBO is a moving account that sweeps the reader into the world of a young lad born and raised in the Black Country of England in the shadow of The Hawthorns, home of West Bromwich Albion, Gibbo’s football team then and forever. He finds refuge among the legends of England in the halls of its School of Excellence there in the West Midlands, a place rich in history and steeped in the glory of medieval times.

COMING SOON! 

You will finally be privileged to hold a hard cover 

copy of GIBBO and read his life story from beginning to end, a story certain to be read over and over again.

Jane Bennett Gaddy
Trinity, Florida USA
Writer for GIBBO

Posted 16th November 2011 by Jane B. Gaddy

 

ABOUT LIFE—

FROM GIBBO

You can, if you have the greater desire, teach someone

how to do a thing so well that you give them your passion.

You can light their fire and then you can stand proudly

alongside them while they show the world 
what they’ve learned about team.

About heart. 
About power. 
About success. 
About life.

Paul André Gibbons

Jane Bennett Gaddy, Ph.D.

Writer for GIBBO

World Class Soccer Coach 

WELCOME HOME, GIBBO!


Our globetrotter is finally home from India, Botswana, England and other ports of call—a full summer, indeed; and with one more read and edit, we will be ready to publish this book! Now is a good time to do so before summer comes to a close and Gibbo gears up for the fall, gathering his soccer teams around him and bearing down in another year of great teaching and learning experiences in the world of footy.

A huge highlight of the fall season, as Gibbo has announced, is that Alex Tesevic with Racing Club de Strasbourg will be guest coach for soccer camp at Leighton Park, Palm City, Florida again this year, August 8-12. 

Paul refers to Alex as The French Lad in terms of endearment, always happy to have this great friend, great coach, fly in from France to join him in the love of their lives—Football! Gibbo has promised that I can get to meet Alex this time, and I plan to hold him to it. Just maybe he will bring him over to the Nature Coast if he can pull himself away from his beloved Martin County for just a few hours. I’m counting on that! 

I hope you are as excited as we are about publication. I’ve just learned that our publisher will not only offer the book in paperback and hardcover, but in format for all electronic devices, such as Nook (Barnes&Noble), Kindle (Amazon), Sony, Android, iPad, PC, Mac. Basically, any device to which a book can be downloaded. We want you to plan to purchase a hard copy (whether paperback or hard cover) because Gibbo wants to autograph it for you. We will be having lots of book signings on the East Coast and West Coast of Florida. Hopefully, Gibbo will be able to sign copies and offer them in India, Botswana, and England.

I have discovered the urgency

of cherishing every moment,

of loving intensely,

and of making sure my life counts for more than me.

~Paul André Gibbons~

Jane Bennett Gaddy, Ph.D.
Writer for GIBBO

Trinity, FL

Posted 29th July 2011 by Jane B. Gaddy

 

NEXT STOP—BOTSWANA!

 
Can it be? 

A year has passed since Gibbo slid down the globe and boarded a prop jet in Johannesburg for the two-hour run to Botswana, where his life would change forever. You can't take a trip like that and not have a heart change and a life change. It's not the thrill of a trip to a foreign country. Gibbo has visited many countries in his lifespan. (Not that he's old, mind!) He never stops traveling from country to country, and who knows what the future holds for him. So what is it?

Lesley Boggs, Director of Coaching for Conservation (C4C), said it best after Gibbo's last year's visit to a village called Maun.

Not everyone gets it. But Paul, in a quiet, caring, and gracious way, simply fell into step and put into place the pieces of the puzzle that were missing to make the parts of the whole come together. His eyes give away his warm heart. . .  We look forward to next July already to hear the chants of  Gib-bo, Gib-bo— 

Well, it's time!

The children of Botswana will soon hear the voice of their hero once more, and we can hardly wait to read the story when he returns. 

Speaking of reading the story—we are almost there. And I'm being as positive as I know how, in consideration of my client, a certain Mr. Gibbons. Yes, we have written the last word of his story. Paul is reviewing the chapter I just sent him; we will meet on the Nature Coast when he returns from Africa; and it will be off to an agent or a publisher. I cannot wait to get this book out there to his fans (and mine). We will be making some announcements soon, and I hope you are as excited as we are.

Thanks for staying with us on this blog. We know we have many readers out there. I see the stats every day, and it is amazing the countries that hit our site on a daily basis. Please take a moment to respond right here and sign on so we can come to know you. You are the reason we do this.

The blog will continue for awhile until Gibbo gets so "world class" that he will leave this writer eating his dust. It has been a grand almost two years, a long time coming, and 82,000 words later, we are bringing it to a close so you can get your hands on it.

Thanks, again, for reading. It has been a most interesting ride for this southern girl, writing life story for "the little Viking"! He's our hero.

Jane Bennett Gaddy, Ph.D.
Writer for GIBBO

Posted 11th June 2011 by Jane B. Gaddy


 

RETURN TO INDIA—

In Costa Rica, the phrase I treasured was Pura Vida

(wishing you the pure life).

In India, they use a similar word

—Namaste—a beautiful greeting that means I bow to you.

These are gracious people, including the young ones.

Hemanshu knew Florida at IMG Academy in Bradenton, for awhile playing tennis there. He was an Olympic tennis player for India, a wonderful man of impeccable character. Heman, I called him, took our tired bodies to our resting place, where we crashed sometime around five o’clock that morning, knowing we had to get up early and face the day lagging. I was still on American time and my body was out of whack. There was no time for recovery, and just because we crashed didn’t mean we were going to sleep. It was impossible. And my poor son looked like the ungrateful dead. We peeled off the socks, our dogs barking, lay down on our beds and watched wall-eyed as the sun rose over New Delhi, India from our windows. With little to no sleep, we hopped up early and tried our best to stand on our own two feet.

The miserable sensation of fighting sleep deprivation and fatigue that first night in New Delhi brought back a memory of Mr. Bean, one of England’s funniest comedians, sitting in a quaint English church on a wooden pew trying his best to stay awake and entertain himself whilst the vicar drones on and on.


Mr. Bean falls asleep, jumps awake, sticks his fingers up his eyelids to hold them open, rolls his eyes, turns his face inside out, and plays the part of a contortionist before he finally hits the floor on his knees and face, with feet pointing upward, stiff as a dead mackerel, then jumps awake and returns to his seat to finish off listening to the sermon whilst entertaining himself in sundry ways until the final “Hallelujah Chorus” is sung, hallelujah being the only word of the song he knows, and which he sings to the top of his lungs. (This might well be the world's longest sentence!)


There were numerous episodes that topped Mr. Bean’s antics in the pew that first night in New Delhi with Sean and I pulling every trick out of the bag to keep ourselves awake.You'll have to read the book to fill in these blanks.

And—wait until you read the account of our day in the marketplace in Old Delhi! It was an experience we will never forget, Sean leading the way. Just to give you a clue, the title of the chapter is "Bonanza" and the caption goes like this:

We gathered up our purchases and started back

to our rooms at the college. It was not long

before we knew we were in leaf-bowl encumbrance,

chased by a laxative-injected mango.

from  GIBBO

Jane BG

Posted 15th May 2011 by Jane B. Gaddy


 

SLEEPLESS NIGHTS—

Looking back I see that my kids had to create their own happiness after Lyn and I split up. I’m glad they’re happy now, at least to the degree possible under the circumstances. I reflect once again on the song of tobyMac, I don’t want to gain the whole world and lose my soul. I’m trying to learn to make it my business to take into consideration the consequences for my own actions.



There is a strangeness that grips me. My adult children live on another continent. Sometimes I think I squandered away the formidable years of their lives, although that was not my intent. Not by any stretch. I struggle with that every day of my life, often pondering what on earth I can do to recall those years and fill in the spaces.



Then I am reminded it is never too late to do it right, but I have also learned it is impossible to retrace my steps, to look back on yesterday as if I could change a single thing.

I still have requirements on me, and I contemplate how I will deal with those things that may have been left undone. When I weigh up the fact that I may have, through the years, considered another's child (my many soccer children) before my own, I find myself awake in the small hours of the morning.

There is nothing more painful than sleepless nights.

From GIBBO's Story
Jane Bennett Gaddy, Ph.D.

Posted 8th May 2011 by Jane B. Gaddy


 

THE GREAT ESCAPE—

My thoughts raced back to the day Bamber and I watched with a keen eye as a young Bryan Robson played the intermediate league game at Spring Lane in the Black Country. It was the first time I ever laid eyes on him, and as I look back, I count it one of the highlights of my career—predicting that Bryan would one day play for England.

He did play for England, representing his country on ninety occasions. He was the sixth and most capped player for England of all time and has the eleventh highest goal scoring tally with twenty-six. Robbo was captain of his country sixty-five times. Only Bobby Moore and Billy Wright captained England on more occasions. It filled me up to think that I was about to be on my way to spend a day with West Bromwich Albion and the legendary Bryan Robson, thanks to my mate, Bamber.

I left the Treasure Coast that day, driving over to meet the lads, feeling like a schoolboy again with thoughts that it would be just like the days when Bamber and I used to watch Albion train when we were so very young.

I knew the venue well. They would be training where some of my Coerver Elite boys’ teams have played a few tournaments in the past—Disney’s Wide World of Sports, a lovely venue, indeed. I arrived, got out of my car, and walked to the kiosk where Bamber had told me to check in.
 
It was one of those goose-bumps moments, and so I shivered as I made my way to the pitches, deep inside relishing the privilege that was about to be mine. The baseball stadium was to the left, and in the distance I could just make out the medieval-type flags waving in the cool Florida breeze, telling me where the footy fields were. I was getting close, and when I saw those players in a practice game wearing Albion colours and stripes, I knew I had arrived, and my heart skipped a beat or two.

I could see Bamber in the distance, walking toward me. He put out a hand and said in his typical broad accent, “A doo, mucka.” We shook hands and stood there watching our heroes play. Just like we used to all those years ago. We were school boys again. Living in another moment of glory.

Robbo was performing at his best amongst the players. There he was head coach, and he couldn’t resist playing the game he loves so much, always leading by example, doing what comes naturally to him. He wasn’t that skinny little fifteen-year-old Bamber and I first saw at Spring Lane that day so long ago, but he still played with all the flair of a football legend, such a stylish player. Always.

After the game, Nigel Pearson came over and introduced himself, we talked for awhile, and then he introduced me to Robbo. We participated in a little photo op. I value that photograph with Robbo to this day. He and I chatted briefly, I wished him the best for the season, then thanked him for including me on this one magnificent day, and I expressed my appreciation that Bamber had arranged for me to be there. 

 

This well-earned break in Orlando, a tactical move by Robbo, surely sparked some much-needed energy and momentum for Albion. They started to win a few games, made a remarkable comeback to become the first Premier League club—the top division team in fourteen years to avoid relegation, having been bottom of the table at Christmas that year. Robbo led the team to that “last-day” breakout. They call it The Great Escape. I’ll never forget the day. Such a Happy Christmas, indeed!


Excerpts from GIBBO
Jane Bennett Gaddy, Ph.D.

Posted 4th May 2011 by Jane B. Gaddy


 

BLOND HAIR, BLUE EYES 

AND A CROOKED SMILE—

Within a couple of years, I was back with a vengeance. I was always popular with the kids at school, and at twelve and thirteen, more so than ever. I had a fan club. The senior girls all fancied me no end. They teased me so much it was difficult not to blush. They liked my blond hair, blue eyes, and the crooked smile that was bound to escape my sometimes melancholy spirit, at some point breaking through to the mischievous side that propelled me in my teenage years. They liked rock stars and soccer players, and I could head in either direction.

             The counter culture offered me everything I could dream of, but with temporary fulfillment. I tried the long hair, attitude, The Who, Zeppelin, Marc Bolan, Carnaby Street. The rebellious scene that was so me. I dressed different from everyone else, and when the fads came and went, I still had my own style, influenced obviously but I kept my own image, easily identifiable. However, when my mates, Robbo and Hurkey, went into skinhead mode, I stubbornly declined.

          

            Times were changing and I would not be left behind. I attempted to be the things I had never been and to do the things I’d never done. The things my mother would have helped me through. But she was gone. My dad was a fine man who loved us very much, but he was not my mom. At least I was picky about the girls, always comparing them to Mom.



Coming Soon—GIBBO
Jane BG

Posted 2nd May 2011 by Jane B. Gaddy

SUCH WAS MY PASSION—

I grew up loving football, but
when I began to realize a true passion
for the game, I was
twelve years old.
That year I played my first proper game.

Imagine me,
a "fusty" at senior school,

and it was on a

Saturday morning.
We had a game in Bloxwich,
on Field Road

if memory serves me correctly.

           

I left The Watering Trough 

at nine o’clock in the morning, 

traipsed through the streets 

with my togga boots 

tied around my neck, 

to the bus station, 

took the one to Bloxwich, 

got off and walked onto the field
to meet my teammates.

We put on our famous royal blue silk shorts and canvass-like shirts of blue and white quarters. The shirts were like a tent, heavy; and if it rained they were unbearably weighty. On our chest was the famous “Blue Coat” badge. By half time I was crying tears of passion, begging the teacher, “Put me in goal—anything.” The second half I went in goal. It was pathetic. We lost the game 15-0. Every time we took a goal kick, it went straight to our opponent and they scored. After that game the teacher made me captain and centre forward, such was my burning passion for this game.

From GIBBO's Story
Jane Bennett Gaddy

Posted 30th April 2011 by Jane B. Gaddy


 

AS TIME GOES BY—

Called The Watering Trough when I was growing up, the old building has taken on a new face and a new name now, but all the memories are still there.

If the walls could talk of the past—
they might speak of laughter-filled days, broken hearts, triumphs and trials all jumbled together. Of Mom and Dad and Heather and me.Of slipping downstairs late at night to feast on a hot roast beef on crusty bread with a noggin o' chaise, just me and my dad sitting in the open windows facing the street, lights turned low, the street lamps and lights of the cars passing on the motorway casting shadows across the table while we talked in low voices so as not to wake Mom and Heather who had long since gone to sleep. 

Those were good times for me. And when my dad thought it was time to get some sleep, he would send me up the stairs to bed. I remember holding to the hand rail, smooth from years of traipsing up and down those stairs. Such a handsome piece of wood with my DNA all over it. And such great remembrances of Dad sitting at the table until his day finally ended and he climbed the same stairs to Mom.

            If memory serves me, there was a fireplace in every room. Much needed during the five months of winter every year. When I was younger, I would trudge to the third floor at night to a bath near freezing until Mom would add a kettle of hot water from the stove, making it bearable. Quite warm if she added two. Ahh! Getting out to a towel warmed at the stove, and putting on layers of flannel, I would run to my bed and pull the quilts to my neck. Even with all the cover I could still draw in a breath and when I exhaled, watch the air around me turn frosty white. The windows, glass and lead, were all iced up not just on the outside but on the inside.

I have substantial memories a couple of years prior to turning ten. Before that would be those conjured from what I’ve been told or from photos so poignant as to stir remembrance whether it is there or not. 

But after age ten, things changed. 
Dramatically. 



From GIBBO.
Coming soon!


Jane BG

Posted 2nd April 2011 by Jane B. Gaddy

 

A FOOTBALL LEGEND

I could see The Albion floodlights from my top bedroom window, a lovely sight. And just around the corner Albion owned a house which was used to accommodate some of the players. Bryan Robson lived there at one time. When I first saw Bryan play I was with my mate, Mark Gascoigne (Bamber), who ended up as assistant kitman at The Albion. We went to watch the intermediate league game, which was the league in those days for the youth players.

Bamber and I were such Albion fans. 

We heard that Aston Villa had two kids, Bryan and Alan Little, and we were looking at the youth players to see who might have a good future. The league games were held at The Albion training ground at Spring Lane, aptly named, not for a nice spring day, but for the legacy of the Black Country. A lot of the factories made springs there.

We watched the game, during which I noticed this kid about fifteen years of age. I said to Bamber, “I don’t know who that kid is, but one day he’ll play for England.”

That kid was Bryan Robson. He later became an Albion legend then moved to Manchester United and subsequently captain of England. Later, after Bryan left the house in Handsworth Wood, another Albion legend moved to that house—Cyril Regis. I got to know the big man a little, too.

Paul "Gibbo" Gibbons

In a few short weeks, 

I had filled my mind 

with stories of football heroes, 

both players and coaches, 

and Gibbo introduced me 

to the great
soccer coach, Thomas Rongen.

I got his autograph on a photograph in a newspaper article, enjoyed some chatting time with Thomas and his darling wife, Gail, while we sat perched high in an executive box at Raymond James Stadium watching the USA play El Salvador. We won 1-0. My first professional soccer game ever, an international game, at that!

I’ve read portions of life stories of some of the greats, including Bryan Robson, Gibbo’s all-time favorite footballer. He handed me Robbo’s book published in 2006, entitled ROBBO, My Autobiography, and I got on football overload just trying to keep up.

 ROBBO 

What a guy, or as Gibbo would say, 

“A proper bloke!” 

He won my heart. 

He has an amazing vita 

and nostalgic ties to West Bromwich Albion, 

a story all its own.
You'll get to read about it in GIBBO'S STORY!

Jane Bennett Gaddy

Posted 29th March 2011 by Jane B. Gaddy

CHLOE

He can put a winning smile on a face,

and I will always remember and cherish him

as someone who did that for me.

Her name means Princess of Grass. Mark and Lori Stokes could have picked no better name for their daughter, Chloe, for she is truly supreme on the soccer field. She’s twenty years old at this writing, a footy player in the true sense of the word, a Coerver coach, and Gibbo's friend for life. She has a love and fervor for football that has surpassed any fears that tagged along as baggage in her quest for perfection of the beloved game.


Chloe was the first player/coach I interviewed when I started to write Gibbo's story. Scarcely taking a breath, she began with the year she and her family met Gibbo (she was nine years old), and she talked about the impact he had on her life for over ten years.


With Gibbo's help she faced her fears and finally learned it was all about  . . .

 . . . the passion within and mustering the courage to release the inhibitions and let the creative take charge. Gibbo had passion, something I evidently lacked, and I wanted this same passion. I knew I had a natural gift from God, but Gibbo made me believe in that gift. He knew how to deal with me, looking far beyond my stubborn will to see the player within. He called it the true greatness in me.

Chloe Stokes

Posted by Jane Bennett Gaddy, Ph.D.

Writer for GIBBO

Posted 23rd March 2011 by Jane B. Gaddy


 

A REALLY GREAT DAY!!

And did those feet in ancient time 

Walk upon England’s mountains green?
And was the Holy Lamb of God
On England’s pleasant pastures seen?

I was born on St. Patrick’s Day, 
March 17, 1954.

The year West Brom Albion 
won the FA Cup.

I cannot forget the beautiful tradition and unwavering reality of coal pits and rising smog of earthy industry that have always joined hands with the Monarchy to keep the balance.


The green hills and valleys beckon souls
to come and live and play in the
pleasant land that birthed
the Magna Carta and the
King James Bible.


We’re a nation of punk rockers
and footy fans who live one
generation behind another,
and we never expect that part to change.


It’s pubs and shops, factory workers and financial traders.
It’s a spot of tea at the appointed time,
announced in my poshest English accent.
It’s medieval buildings;
it’s blimey;
it’s bloke;
it’s Baggies.


It’s Albion till I die.
Forever.

Happy Birthday, Gibbo!!!
You are loved!

Posted 16th March 2011 by Jane B. Gaddy


 

My Treasure Coast

Tucked away on Florida’s Treasure Coast is a small town called Stuart, a place I call home for the second time since coming to America. It’s the only incorporated city in Martin County and is a part of Port St. Lucie in Palm Beach County for keeping up with statistics. I’m told Stuart weathered some nineteen hurricanes between 1871 and 2005, not that many, all tales being told. I’ve endured a couple of those Treasure Coast hurricanes myself, thinking that enjoyed is a better word only during the eye of the storm when all around me is quiet and serene. Then the stormy blast resumes. Not so enjoyable. But I’ve found that another one of life’s essentials is a proper mixture of storms and tranquility. Gives us perspective.

I live on Hutchinson Island, a barrier island bounded on the east by the Atlantic Ocean, on the south by St. Lucie Inlet, on the west by the Indian River, and on the north by the Ft. Pierce Inlet. The view outside my windows and from my balcony is breathtaking.      

During the day, the river lazily snoozes on its own giant li-lo, making its way to the wide open arms of the sea, resting, gliding under the rays, so calm, the light eastern breeze naturally cooling every creature in its path. A boat sails by in the distance, the white foam obediently trailing behind. Another boat pulls up to the docks and a school of those bait fish jump right out of the way, the boat never apologizing in the slightest, just a customary interference for the underwater critters. November to March is beautiful in south Florida, mild temperatures both night and day with far less humidity.

On the beach at midnight, the regal full moon hovers close, and the gentle breeze bounces off the sea, searching through my hair like a thousand pieces of lace. Across the swell and under the big light of a starry sky, a cluster of shining diamonds shimmer and bounce on the surface, and those fluffy white clouds now turned to grey, still comfort me like so many fuzzy soft and favorite blankets.

    
The sounds,
the smells,
the warmth,
the sensations enliven me.

    
This is my Treasure Coast.


Paul "Gibbo" Gibbons
Jane Bennett Gaddy
excerpts from GIBBO

Posted 12th March 2011 by Jane B. Gaddy

He Spoke Her Language

Sometimes you meet someone, in an instant you relate, and the dynamic is incredible. That's how I felt when I met Breno Figueiredo. 

I've had to piece the puzzle together while writing Gibbo's story, and when he told me he wanted me to talk to Breno, I didn't immediately tie him to Gibbo's U19 soccer team that won the Norcross Nike Cup in Atlanta back in December. I went back and looked at the photo again and there was Breno holding the Cup! Fantastic! So, after the fact, I pulled the picture back up and posted it on the face of the blog. 

I've accumulated so many fond memories for myself in this year of writing for Gibbo. One of my best is the time I spent with Breno on a Saturday afternoon in Trinity, Florida. He's a unique young man, just as all the U19 soccer teammates. They have individual personalities and special ways of expressing themselves.

Jane BG

________________________________________

I had three of my U19 boys with me. We were in tournament in Land of Lakes near Tampa. Jane and I met up at Crispers in Trinity Crossing Shopping Plaza. It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, and we chose to sit outside under the Key West fans enjoying some mango tea while we edited the manuscript. I was happy to see Jane. It had been several months since I moved to Stuart from the Gulf Coast of Florida, leaving her alone with her computer and to muddle through without me. We had lots of work to do, but I wanted her to spend time with one of my players from Martin County. I introduced her to Breno Figueiredo. A player, yes, but more than that, he’s a friend. She and Breno talked while Sergio, Chris, and I ate lunch. I’ve introduced Jane to so many people, it’s a wonder she doesn’t dump me and fold up her computer. But she assures me it has all been to her gain. With Breno, I can assure you that is the truth. Here’s what he said to Jane. He spoke her language.

Jane BG

GIBBO'S STORY

Posted 27th February 2011 by Jane B. Gaddy


 

COMMUNICATION AND MISS-TRANSLATION!

 English Rednecks

Three Entirely Gorgeous Men!

Sean
Daniel
Gibbo

Gibbo wishes he could speak as properly as I! He calls me on the phone and says, "Allo mate!" and when he hangs up, it's "Bye, y'all!" He makes a good comeback from a fake southern drawl when after he says "Allo, mate!" he begins to roll off a full page of French, to which I can only wish to reply. I cannot even think to say, "Bonjour, ami! Comment vas-tu aujourd'hui?" 

To him, speaking "Black Country"

or French is as easy as falling

off a log. And for some reason,

it makes y'all sound a tad

—disgusting!

But he insists that y'all is just the very best of words.
And... it translates well, don't you think?
There is no mistaking the meaning.
Well... we're writing this book, and
at the weirdest times, that y'all word
pops up and he won't consider letting
me delete it.
Is it his most inner hidden
secret love for Paula Dean?
Do you suppose
he was named for Paula?
And now he feels obligated, y'all!

For example....
and this is Paul speaking.

Daniel came to the U.S. and stayed with me for a while. He went to school in Gallatin for a couple of months, found it embarrassingly easy and simple, nothing like the rigors of education in England. He was playing for my U18 club team. I have to say, one of the best inventions in the South is y'all. I love it! don't know why that popped up, but it's there now, and it stays. Unless the publisher didn't print it for some reason, in which case I have just wasted a minute of my life writing this piece of rubbish!

We had a free kick about 20 yards from the edge of the box. We took the kick, and our big lanky forward, who was losing his hair by the minute, looked like a 30-year-old, never mind 18! The ball was going toward him. As he was trying to head the ball toward the opponent's goal, he accidentally got his hand into the way instead. So, it should have been a free kick to them, right? Wait for this one... you will love it! The referee got it completely wrong, the worst refereeing decision in the history of footy. He walked toward our penalty area, which, of course was some 80 yards away at the other end of the pitch and gave the other team the penalty for intentional hand ball in the box, y'all! (There it is again!) He red-carded our player in the process, too! There was nearly a riot. The referee didn't have a clue what was going on. "For," and I quote, "deliberate hand ball in the box." Right rule... wrong box!

Some things just don't translate properly. In the last five minutes of a boy's evening game against a top high school team, the floodlights on, grass kept like Wembley by Rufus Lassiter in Gallatin. It was the best pitch I'd ever seen. We were winning, trying to run the clock down a bit. I told Jason Hollins to get the bloody ball to the corner flag and put his foot on it. He did that okay—got the ball to the corner flag and kicked the crap out of it. He didn't understand. I literally meant for him to put his foot on it and shield it. I said, "What did you do that for?" to which he replied, "Because you told me to!" We just live and learn the proper translation of words from one continent to another, y'all. (I love that word!)

AND JUST HOW DOES THIS TRANSLATE?

 

From Gibbo's Story

Jane Bennett Gaddy

Posted 13th February 2011 by Jane B. Gaddy


 

Albion till I Die!

To understand me, you need to understand my passion.
If you're going to read my story
you need to know that soccer is football or footy.
For practically every nation on earth football
is a huge part of life. It's not a sport like
baseball. You don't watch it like
NASCAR, and you're not a fan
because fans are fanatics.

Football is a family institution.

The gathering of people who don't
necessarily have to know one
another to share a deep love,
a passion.

In England a child of seven
can tell you the subtle nuances
on the pitch, give you stats,
stats they learned from
their grandfather,
or the local newspaper,
or the telly.
It's a community, neighbors.
The way things ought to be.

Someone once said to Bill Shankley, ex-Liverpool Boss:
"To some, football is a matter of life and death."
His response: "No! It's much more important than that!"

A true supporter will say,
"We'll follow our club through thick and thin."
Albion fans take it a step farther,
quoting Frank Skinner, comedian and
devoted Albion fan:
"We'll follow Albion through thin and thinner,
for it's Albion till I die."




From The Lord's  My Shepherd: Gibbo's Story
Jane BG

Posted 4th February 2011 by Jane B. Gaddy

NORCROSS NIKE CUP WINNERS!

Christmas came early for Coerver Soccer Academy and 
Coach Paul 'Gibbo' Gibbons! 

The press release says it all...

Contact:  Jamie Chapogas 772.341.2235 

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:

COERVER SOCCER ACADEMY 
WINS U19 CHAMPIONSHIP IN ATLANTA

Coerver Soccer Academy participated December 4-5 in the 10^th Annual Norcross Nike Cup held in Atlanta, Georgia and managed a tremendous victory over the Dallas Texans.  CSA won against the Texans in PK’s, or “penalty kicks”.  The team was ahead 1-0 thanks to a “scud missile” shot by Nick Brewer, until the Texans tied in the last two minutes.  Fabulous saves by goalie, Kyle Gumm, in the penalty shootout prevented the other team from scoring.  CSA took the championship by a score of 2-1. The Nike Cup Tournament is a competition of some of the countries strongest soccer teams. Director of Coaching, Paul Gibbons, was ecstatic with the win. Gibbons said “Boy was it cold!  College coaches were impressed by our method of playing. The lads from the Treasure Coast represented the area quite well." 


Coerver Soccer Academy offers the highest quality soccer training available with licensed trainers on the Treasure Coast for boys and girls from ages 7 and up.  The U19 men’s team represents players who have studied under Paul Gibbons' direction to learn the world renowned Coerver method.  For more information about the club, please contact Director of Coerver Coaching Southeast USA, Paul Gibbons, at 772-220-2737 or visit his website at... http://www.coerversouthestusa.com/

Photo ID: 

Back row L-R

Patrick Pearson

Nick Brewer

Chris Kite

Lee Gubernick

Jordy Corrales

Jon Quintero

Breno Figueredo

Jake Lowe

Nick Maddalena

Chris Montagna

Tyler Smith

Front row L-R

Joe Meza

Kyle Gumm

Quinn Gray

Jorge Tovar

Posted 11th December 2010 by Jane B. Gaddy