Singing the Blues - A Semi-Fictional Story of Managing Birmingham City on FM23

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Part Thirty-Four​

Welcome back to Singing the Blues! The end of the Premier League season is here and preparations begin for our FA Cup final...

This part is spread across three posts, so please keep reading after the Newcastle game and again after the Everton game!

Season One
Season Two
Part Twenty-Four
Part Twenty-Five
Part Twenty-Six
Part Twenty-Seven
Part Twenty-Eight
Part Twenty-Nine
Part Thirty
Part Thirty-One
Part Thirty-Two
Part Thirty-Three
Part Thirty-Five
Season Four

Four games. Four games stand between us and history. Will we do it? Will we - hang on, this sounds rather familiar.

As movie night in one of our hotel’s conference rooms gets into full swing, I can’t help but stare at the fixture list and league table on my phone. There we are, sitting pretty at the top, that beautiful, little ‘C’ next to our name. I cross-reference our last opponents with the standings: it’s 6th-placed Newcastle tomorrow, then a cluster of mid-table teams to complete our league games. We can even afford one slip up, we only need three wins to beat both records, so we don’t have to worry about - no, not the correct way to think, aim to win everything, Nicole, don’t get complacent.

“I’d put your phone away,” Harry whispers.

“What?” I reply, quietly.

“Phone. Away. You know what Krystian can be like.”

“He’s a lovely bloke and I’m his manager, I’m sure he wouldn’t do anything.”

“Still, you really want to risk it?” Harry hisses, his eyebrows raising. “You’ve seen what he’s capable of.”

“I’ll take that chance,” I say. “I just can’t stop thinking about how close we are…”

“Stop dwelling on it, you’ll overthink everything and hate yourself if we fail; we should just be enjoying what an unbelievable season we’ve had.”

“I suppose,” I mumble, putting my phone back in my bag. “I just can’t find anything to distract me from it for long enough, now it seems so near.”

“What about the film you’ve put on then refused to pay attention to?”

“I’m paying attention… sort of.”

“Then what happened in the last five minutes?”

“I don’t think that’s an overly relevant question.”

“I fail to see how it could be more relevant.”

“You know, you’re really getting quite full of yourself rece-“

“ENOUGH!” Krystian Bielik roars, rising from his seat and striding to the laptop to the side of the screen, pausing the stream before setting his sights on Harry and me. “What’re the rules of movie night?”

“No phones on movie night,” I answer, meekly.

“And?”

“No sleeping during movie night,” Harry says

“AND?”

“… no talking during movie night,” I sigh.

“EXACTLY. Who made those rules?” Krystian snaps.

“That would be me,” I squeak.

“So, why do you persist in nattering with Harry?”

“Sorry…”

“It’s fine,” he frowns. As he makes his way back to his spot, Krystian grabs Neco Williams’ phone from his hands and hurls it across the room, waking Oscar Gloukh from his nap as it skims across his chest before hitting the wall with a loud ‘crack’. “Now, if I have to stop Titanic again, someone’s going to pay.”

​

Perhaps a story of tragedy and heartbreak wasn’t the best idea.

We are truly dreadful, mustering just one, off-target shot during the opening period as we split like an impending wall of death at a metal concert and invite Zinedine Zidane’s men to do their worst. Even changing shape at half-time has little effect as my side continue to muddle through, totally apathetic towards putting in even the minimum effort their astronomical pay checks should warrant.

Fortunately, David de Gea has some modicum of pride, single-handedly keeping Newcastle’s attack at bay as we labour to a goalless draw.

No more margin for error if we want both records.

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

No time to dwell on how deeply frustrating our performance in the North East was as we have to rush back to the Midlands for our final midweek match of the season, against West Ham. There is time, at least, to make Anel Ahmedhodžić the latest star to extend his contract, a rather pleasing trend that’s allowing us to plan our long-term future around some core members of the squad.

​

Back to the short-term, however, and the aforementioned fixture against The Hammers. Ian Maatsen will step back into the starting eleven, now that he’s recovered from the knock that kept him out of Sunday’s team, in our only change as my relentless optimism that the players who’d looked so dominant a few months ago will return to form persists.

​

We make up for lost time as Ahmedhodžić marks his new contract with a goal, heading in at the back post within the opening three minutes from Gloukh’s corner, and we soon have a second when Bob van Leeuwen wallops a strike through a cluster of claret and blue shirts. It’s starting to look like we’re getting back into the swing of things.

Then we slip again.

Our attacks dry up after the half-hour mark as we return to being as limp as over-boiled noodles and allow West Ham back into the game, Nikola Vlašić rolling in shortly after the restart to set nerves jangling. It’s only a combination of a lack of motivation for the visitors and some late-game stodge from ourselves that sees us over the line as we escape without any further damage being done, another wobbly step completed on our hunt for glory.

* * * * * * * *
​

Steaming onwards, it’s Saturday before we know it, bringing with it our final home game of the season: 14th-placed Leicester.

Having done little physically-strenuous training in the few days we’ve had to prepare, we have a squad that’s as close to full fitness as it gets at this point of the campaign, so there’ll be no changes from the side that squeaked a victory during the week as we aim to get the win that’ll take us onto 100 points.

​

This is much more like it.

We get another early opener when Maatsen taps in the loose ball after Wilfried Ndidi clears off the goal line weakly and we take charge, not allowing The Foxes a chance to get a foothold in the match as we stifle their creativity. Our guests offer almost nothing before a two-minute combination of a Williams thunderbolt from the edge of the box and Tahith Chong’s 50th goal under my management see us into a commanding lead by the break.

We slow the game down and conserve our energy after the interval in the hope that Leicester will show few signs of life, given their mid-table status has now been locked in, and we’re delighted that they hold up their end of the bargain, showing catastrophically low levels of interest in fighting for this lost cause during the second half. Except for Ismaïla Sarr, that is, who takes advantage of De Gea’s own low levels of interest in keeping another clean sheet and receiving the bonus that comes with it by adding a late consolation.

Never mind - we’ve rolled into triple digits, matching Manchester City’s benchmark campaign of 2017/18.

* * * * * * * *
​

So, it comes down to this. Our last fixture of the season, away at Goodison Park. A draw? Our own spot as the holders of the record for most points in an English top-flight season. A win? Immortality as we also grab the win record to go with it. A loss? Well, no one ever remembers who did it second.

Tanguy Ndombele dropping out of the squad with a gashed leg he injured during training is the only alteration as we target our place in history.

​

It’s a tame first quarter before the tie bursts into life when Dele Alli stabs in the rebound from Ben Godfrey’s shot to symbolise that this is going to be the sort of challenge we really didn’t want to have to deal with today.

“Hey, gaffer?” Keith Downing says. “Remember that time you used Dele as an example of failure?”

“Sod off.”

Not to worry, Endrick sweeps in an equaliser from close range moments later and we’re back on track, right?

Wrong. Hardly any time has passed before Bielik totally fluffs dealing with Vitalii Mykolenko’s low cross and Emil Forsberg has poked in at the back post, things going from bad to worse before the first period’s over when Alex Scott sprains his knee, an issue that’ll keep one of our most influential players out of the impending FA Cup final.

With the position we’re in, something needs to change. We exit the dressing room having adjusted to our 4-2-3-1 shape and throw caution to the wind, chucking men forward as we look to change our fortunes, and we restore parity shortly before the hour when Endrick and Van Leeuwen link up yet again. Not satisfied, we push for more, getting increasingly risky with our play as we hunt for a winner, and that moment seems to have come when Bob steals in to nod us ahead with time running out, the 18-year-old coming up trumps yet again at the vital moment.

However, our euphoria is incredibly short-lived. Straight from kick-off, Nathan Patterson launches an innocuous ball long that should be fairly easy to deal with, yet Ibrahima Konaté’s brain seems to decide that now is the time to force a restart and install updates, the Frenchman chesting straight to Anthony Gordon so he can whip the ball in for Dwight McNeil to finish. Back to square one.

Then, minutes later, I yearn for square one to return as McNeil floats a corner to the back post for Godfrey to nut in and tilt the scales back in Everton’s favour again because, obviously, nobody in yellow wants to be remembered as the best side in Premier League history.

Time’s not on our side now and we’re running on fumes, any hope of setting a new win record gone as we enter injury time, but I’m sure we can nab an equaliser to move us to 101 points. How long? Five minutes? That’s alright, plenty of time.

One minute passes.

Then another.

Then two more.

Now we’ve got a corner - one final throw of the dice. I always back us to score from corners. Demarai Gray swings it in and Godfrey heads out to a raucous ovation from the killjoys’ fans, but it’s straight to Jobe Bellingham and the youngster returns the ball to Gray who, rather than sending it back into the box, decides to drive inside, beating two defenders and fashioning space for himself. Is he going to hit it from that angle? Of course he is. Is it going in, though?

Oh yes.

Talk about final day excitement.

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

“Well, Harry, here we are again,” I smile as I’m handed the key to my room at our hotel.

“It’s quite fitting that we’ll end our season in the same way it started: at Wembley, fighting for a trophy. We’re even staying in the same hotel,” he grins.

“What room are you?” I ask.

“314, you?”

“316. Guess we’re neighbours,” I say.

“At least that’ll be convenient for bringing the game over tonight, it’s not exactly small.”

“What did you bring?”

“Dead by Daylight, the collector’s edition.”

“That box is enormous,” I scoff. “How did you manage to fit that in a suitcase, let alone without arousing suspicion?”

“I’m resourceful,” he shrugs. “Plus, I’m not against bribing people with food, as you well know.”

“Very true,” I say as we step into the lift and hit the ‘3’ button. “Do you have to share with anybody?”

“Not anymore,” Harry says. “I used to have to share with Maik Taylor, but I’m on my own now we’re not skint, thankfully.”

“I’d love to share with Maik, I could talk to him for hours - he’s my favourite ever Blues player,” I say as we reach our floor and step out. “Was there a problem with him?”

“He falls asleep quickly and snores like a he’s got a leaf blower stuck in his throat.”

“Ah, not fun then,” I nod, stopping as I reach my door. “Right, I’m going to have a nap for an hour or two, so I’ll message you when I’m awake and you can mosey over?”

“Sounds great, Nicole, see you soon.” We smile to each other as we swipe our keys in our doors and enter our rooms.

I’m glad to discover that the mini-fridge is filled with complimentary alcohol, seeing as I’ll likely want it irrespective of the result tomorrow, though I’m disappointed by the toiletries being mounted on the wall, rather than being supplied in tiny bottles. I know it’s better for the planet, but I’m stingy and like to wash with shower gel I haven’t directly paid for for a week or so after my stay.

I lift my suitcase onto the luggage shelf and gaze out of the window at the London skyline for a few moments, the arch of Wembley an iconic part of the scenery. My breath shortens and my heart-rate quickens as I start thinking about the final. Now is not the time for a panic attack, I decide, so I peel myself away from the view and flop onto the king-sized bed. I’ll calm down with a nap and some gaming once I wake, that sounds like a plan, I think to myself.

I manage to push the question that’s been stuck in my head since we beat Wolves in the last round to the back of my mind for long enough that I drift off, only returning for a split-second before I go:

Are we good enough to complete The Double?

* * * * * * * *​

Thank you for reading! Please follow this thread to keep up with the updates, and feel free to follow me on Instagram and Twitter!

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Part Thirty-Five

The 2025 FA Cup Final​

Welcome back to Singing the Blues! It's our first FA Cup final. I don't think I need to say much more to hook you in.

This part is spread across three posts, so please ensure you read the whole final and keep reading after the game!

Season One
Season Two
Part Twenty-Four
Part Twenty-Five
Part Twenty-Six
Part Twenty-Seven
Part Twenty-Eight
Part Twenty-Nine
Part Thirty
Part Thirty-One
Part Thirty-Two
Part Thirty-Three
Part Thirty-Four
Season Four

​

I don’t want to get up. Getting up hurts. I’ll just stay in this duvet cocoon where it’s safe.

I could try opening my eyes, I suppose. Might not be the worst idea. Okay, here goes. NOPE, DIFFERENT PAIN BUT JUST AS BAD. Why didn’t I shut the curtains? Who needs this much sunlight? Am I a sunflower?

Now there’s noise. There just had to be noise. Which lunatic set an alarm? Probably me. Probably thought I’d want breakfast. Moron. All I want is for the world to disappear so I can’t feel anything anymore. Someone, please, make it stop. Just make it all stop…

< < < < < < < <​

“Do you think they’ll stop?”

“Stop what?” Harry asks.

“The columns of fire,” I answer. “It’s breezy and some of us have long hair, adding fire to the mix doesn’t seem overly sensible.”

“Why didn’t you tie it back, then?”

“I’m at Wembley for a cup final, not working behind a deli counter,” I scowl. “They definitely won’t turn them off, even if I ask them, will they?”

“Probably not, they’ll say it’s all part of the spectacle.”

“I’m sure setting me ablaze will delight TV audiences worldwide.”

“You’d be surprised,” Harry says. I glare at him. “Oh, come on. Are you telling me that you wouldn’t be rewatching that moment forever in gif form?”

“Not if it’s me!” I shout.

“Get over it, Nicole, and get out there with your boys and win this final.”

* * * * * * * *​

I’m getting out. I can’t lie down any longer. My back will start hurting if I stay here much longer and the thought of greasy food is slowly winning me round. Alright then, Nicole, time to move.

I swing my legs round and haul myself upright in one motion that is much less fluid than it should be.

oooOOW.

The searing sensation in my head I expected, but the white-hot, piercing pain in my foot I did not. I ungum my eyes again and the knitting-needle-through-the-frontal-lobe feeling returns, but I’ll deal with it this time. I lift my foot to find a generator model dangling from my sole, impaled in the ball of my foot. I squint around at my floor to see more miniatures from Dead by Daylight littering the soft, grey carpet, along with various cards and tokens, like somebody had broken in and ransacked the box to look for something hidden while I was asleep.

I want to know what happened with this game.

< < < < < < < <​

“I want to know what’s happening with this game,” Matthew Gardiner grumbles. “Does no one want to win? Is nobody going to have a shot in anger?”

“Stifling UFC’s threat was always the plan,” I say. “Be patient, we have plenty of time to catch them out.”

“It’s nearly half-time already and we haven’t threatened at all,” he replies. “It’s not like Ian’s going to score this free kick, is it?”

​

“I stand corrected. Excellent strategy, gaffer.”

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

It’s a good job I’m good at strategies.

I roll over the bed, feeling like a cricket ball rattles around my head as I do so and, to my delight, find that the scattered figurines are mostly confined to my side, making it much easier to plot a route out of my room. I would collect up all the mess, but I’m concerned that my eyes will drop out of my head if I bend over. I hop and stumble my way through the carnage, avoiding a second maiming in the process, and swing into the bathroom to inspect my appearance.

Blimey, I look delightful. The dark rings under my eyes are such a deep purple that they’re nearly black and make me look like I’ve been punched on both sides in a symmetrical fashion, there’s a noticeable mark on my cheek where I’ve slept with my face on my hand, and I have a mysterious, brown mark on my Disney-themed pyjamas. At least I dyed my hair for the final yesterday, that makes up for the rest.

I attempt to tame my mane and figure that Harry will probably have some idea of what’s gone on, so I exit the loo, grab my key card from the port above the now-empty mini-fridge, and make the quick journey to the next room over.

“Harry?” I call with a brisk tap of my knuckles. No answer.

“Harry?” I repeat, giving a firmer knock this time. Still no answer.

“HARRY?” I slam the palm of my hand on the door and it shifts slightly. He must have left it on the latch for some reason. I hear a faint groan that I presume means I can enter, so I let myself in and turn the corner to stand at the end of his bed.

“Mornin’, Nicole,” Harry slurs out, clearly having just woken up. “Nice choice of nightwear.”

“Same could be said for you.”

< < < < < < < <​

A lot of the same could be said about the second half as the first. UFC are nowhere to be found, totally neutralised by our tactics, and we think we’ve sealed the victory when Endrick bends in from the edge of the box, only for the Brazilian to be flagged offside.

But it doesn’t matter in the slightest. Our opponents show little threat and a one-goal lead with time ticking away is exactly the kind of position we love, so, with five minutes to go, we drop into our trusted 4-1-4-1 and hit the stodge button, something that hasn’t failed us in a long time and doesn’t today.

It’s six wins from six against UFC.

It’s the third cup win in our history, the first FA Cup of those.

It’s the victory that makes Birmingham City your 2024/25 Double winners.

* * * * * * * *
​

“I know we’ve just won The Double, but did you really have to sleep with just those on?” I ask Harry, placing a strong coffee on his bedside table and slumping into the armchair beside it.

“They’re part of our Double Winners range, of course I did,” he replies, pinging the waistband of his new underwear with his thumb.

“There are also pyjamas in that range,” I say, sipping my own coffee.

“They’re too restrictive, I like feeling free.”

“Free’s one word for it,” I frown.

“You came in here,” he shrugs. “You knew the risks.”

“I wanted to find out if you knew why my floor is littered with remnants of board game.”

“That would be because you were playing as the antagonist and the three of us were about to win, so you swept everything off the table before you could lose.”

“Sounds like me.”

“You even sent my ice cream flying.”

“That’d be this stain then.” I point to the mark on my chest.

“No, that was the nosebleed.”

“I had a nosebleed?”

“No, Keith did.”

“So, why’s it on my clothes?” I ask, puzzled.

“Matthew used it because you were between the bathroom and him, so he just grabbed what was closest.”

“And my pyjamas were an acceptable alternative to a towel, were they?”

“You know what you’re like when you’ve had a bit to drink, it’s dangerous going within range of your flaily arms,” Harry scowls.

“I’m not that bad, am I?”

“Why do you think Keith had a nosebleed?”

“Fine,” I sigh. “Sounds like it was fun, at least?”

“It was,” Harry smiles. “I’m surprised you got that hammered when you still have your squad report to write.”

I say nothing.

“You’d forgotten, hadn’t you?”

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

David de Gea is a very good goalkeeper (you don’t get the World Goalkeeper of the Year award and claim the Premier League Golden Glove if you’re not, after all), though I’m slightly concerned that more than half of the 29 league goals he conceded came over the course of the last 11 of his 38 appearances. It may have been because of fiddling with the system in front of him, it could have been fatigue, or possibly complacency as we reduced the title race to a precession. Regardless, whilst it would be possible to upgrade on the Spaniard over the summer, I don’t feel it’s a priority as I’m convinced our vice-captain will return to form after the break.

Jack Butland has done exactly what we’ve wanted from him: steady pair of hands that could be relied upon to step in whenever we needed him, without complaining about his bit-part role, whilst also helping with UEFA’s homegrown rules. He’ll probably see his game time reduced further next season as Josh Griffiths has had a great season on loan at Sunderland and looks set to return as back-up, but there’s no reason to let Butland go. Unless he wants to. Then I may panic.

Player and Signing of the Season Ibrahima Konaté’s totem pole-esque powers at corners have been tremendous, nearly reaching double digits, and his performances, along with Anel Ahmedhodžić’s, have somewhat overshadowed Krystian Bielik’s. Our captain hasn’t been as dominant in his new position this season and his occasional lapses in concentration have been much more costly with nobody behind him to cover for him. As such, a shift back to our 4-3-3 shape next season looks likely so we can return to getting the best from him.

All of our back-up centre-backs have done well when called upon, which only makes it harder to decide who’s the most likely to be moved on in the event of another tactical shift, but Andrew Omobamidele’s age and Jerry St. Juste’s versatility make Wesley Hoedt the odd one out. He hasn’t done anything wrong, but cashing in before his contract runs out next summer, rather than giving a new deal to take him into his mid-thirties, feels like the right thing to do.

32 goal contributions between Neco Williams and Ian Maatsen is a rather tasty increase of nine on last season’s combined total and both of them exceeded their xG and xA per 90 minutes, so, similar to De Gea, they should only be replaced if the right option becomes available, and only at the right price.

Gonçalo Esteves and Daouda Guindo have both been… fine, but neither of them have set the world alight. Loan moves for both of them next campaign might be best to help kick their development on and avoid stunting their growth with limited minutes at St. Andrew’s.

Tahith Chong continues to be the love of my professional life, racking up another 26 goal contributions that took him to triple digits since I took over despite being forced to learn a new position, but Oscar Gloukh is pushing him close with how impressive his second campaign here has been, scoring eight more and assisting nine more than when he played as our striker, and top shirt-seller Alex Scott continues to go from strength to strength, while Tanguy Ndombele’s quality and experience has helped calm and balance our young midfield.

Demarai Gray has continued to do well, despite his limited minutes, and has the same job-for-life status that Butland does due to his homegrown status, however I do feel that it’s finally the end of the road for Juninho Bacuna in B9. The Curaçao international has dropped down the pecking order substantially and can no longer justify being one of our higher earners in his reduced role. Jobe Bellingham has also seen his game time reduced and has struggled to keep up with the rate the rest of our squad has improved, however he’s still very young and has plenty of time to make good on his potential.

This has truly been Bob van Leeuwen’s breakout season. 21 goals and eleven assists is an incredible return for a player who only turned 18 three months ago, and I no longer need any convincing that he’s going to be a superstar.

The same can be said for Endrick. When the Brazilian joined in January, it was on the presumption that he’d be eased into the team slowly while we worked on a new system to fit him into with Bob, but his performances were so good that the plans had to be accelerated - and I’m glad they were. 27 goal involvements in 24 games is nuts anyway, but especially so when it’s from an 18-year-old who’s just moved to a new country, with a new language, in the middle of the season, and I’m delighted that he hit the ground running.

Danny Namaso has been a little disappointing and it’s worth considering looking for a more consistent rotation option if he can be sold or loaned out, while Jonathan Ikoné has done about as well as can be expected, though it’s worth weighing up whether moving him on before he hits 50 league games and we have to pay another lump of money to Fiorentina would be a good idea.

* * * * * * * *
​

“So,” Technical Director Craig Gardner starts. “Seems like you think the key is in improving the depth, rather than the first eleven, right, Nicole?”

“Correct,” I nod, still feeling a little groggy. “I didn’t have enormous confidence in our rotation options to step up and that definitely showed towards the latter end of the campaign when our better players began to fade after playing every three-or-four days.”

“We still managed to do The Double,” Director of Football Luke Dowling says.

“We also got dumped out of Europe and became more error prone than a Conservative government,” I retaliate. “We need a stronger squad so I can feel more comfortable with resting players and hit all the targets I’m setting us.”

“And what would those targets be?” Craig asks.

I lean forwards and steeple my fingers, resting my chin on the tips.

“I want to win the lot.”

* * * * * * * *​

Thank you for reading! I just wanted to take a quick moment to offer my condolences to the family of Trevor Francis after his untimely passing this week. Trevor was one of the best, if not the best, to ever play in royal blue and will be sorely missed. May he rest in peace.

Please follow this thread to keep up with the updates, and feel free to follow me on Instagram and Twitter!

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Season Four

Part Thirty-Six
​

Welcome back to Singing the Blues! With the dust settling on the triumphs 2024/25 brought, how did we prepare for 2025/26?

This part is spread across two posts, so please ensure you read the whole thing and don't miss out!

Season One
Season Two
Season Three

​

“Eighth!” I slam a newspaper down on Harry’s desk as I turn up for the final day of preseason. I stab an aggressive finger at the predicted league table. “EIGHTH!”

​

“Good morning to you too, Nicole,” Harry mutters, not looking up.

“Can you believe this?!” I shout, still pointing at the table.

“I know, I didn’t know they even made physical newspapers any more.”

I huff and stomp into my office, chucking my bag onto the new chair by the window as Harry follows swiftly behind.

“At least we’re predicted to finish above Villa, that hasn’t happened before,” he notes. “And our odds have shortened by a factor of six.”

“True, but Tottenham are apparently more than twice as likely to win the league than us, despite them finishing 12th and us setting a new points record,” I snap.

“I thought you’d be pleased to not be favourites and have the expectation that comes with it,” Harry shrugs.

“I’d like some expectation to succeed after winning four pieces of silverware over the last two seasons! There’s also that nonsense doing the rounds about a secret linked with somebody at the club and I’m starting to get quite agitated by the endless speculation,” I whinge.

“It’s probably nothing,” Harry says dismissively. “You’ve got a squad of 26 -“

“27, Daouda’s not left on his loan just yet.”

“Fine, 27, whatever. Point is, they’ll all have some sort of secret. They all claim to be interested in women, for one, and that’s rather unlikely from a statistical standpoint.” I nod in acknowledgement. “Let’s do something to get your mind off all this.”

“Like what?”

“Why don’t we run through the comings and goings ahead of this weekend’s opener? I know you enjoy that,” Harry suggests.

“That’s true, I do enjoy summarising nearly three months’ work in one post with you.”

“Post?”

“Perfect Off-Season Tête-à-tête.”

“That’s rather unnecessarily convoluted.”

“I think it works for some reason.”

“You should also make it clearer that you’re abbreviating.”

“Who for?” I frown. “I’ll only ever say it to you.”

We stare at each other in silence for a moment.

“I think we should move on.”

“Agreed,” Harry says. “Shall we go over those who left first?”

“Yes,” I reply, breaking the eye contact, circling round my desk, and flopping into my seat, Harry taking the one opposite me. “There wasn’t as many as previous summers, which either means that we’re getting close to a high-quality squad, or we’re too complacent.”

“I prefer to think it’s the former,” Harry smiles.

“So would a complacent person.”

“At least I’m not paranoid.”

“Anyway, there’s been a few loans, plus Wesley Hoedt left for Hull, Juninho Bacuna went to Zenit, and Jonathan Ikoné went to Atlético Madrid, while Malachi Fagan-Walcott’s gone to Anderlecht with an option to buy him in a deal that could rise to £5.9 million.”

“Not bad for someone who cost £140,000 and has made one appearance for us. How much did we save by selling Jonathan before he hit 50 league appearances?” Harry asks.

“£8.5 million.”

“Crikey.”

“I know,” I say. “The irony of him leaving as we switch to a system that’d be a better fit for his abilities is not lost on me, but he was going to cost us far too much in wages and clauses to just be a squad player.”

“Makes sense,” Harry says with a swig of his tea. “Anyone else?”

“Not yet. We’re waiting for Daouda Guindo to finalise his loan to Borussia Mönchengladbach and have just received a bid from Fiorentina for Neco Williams, but he’s already told me he’s not interested in joining them.”

​

“What about the arrivals, then?”

“I’m very happy with who’s joined,” I say, pulling open a draw and dropping five folders onto the desk. “And I know you love a dossier.” I slide the first across to Harry.

“I really do,” Harry beams, picking up the papers and flicking through. “I’m impressed with the detail in this one, I didn’t expect so much.”

“The same effort needs to go into the big-money signings as it does the cheaper ones, and that’s definitely true when you’re asking the board to spend £4 million on an 18-year-old goalkeeper from Argentina. Fortunately, the recruitment team backed up my claim that Patricio Merlo from San Lorenzo has all the tools available to him to get to the very top of the industry.”

​

“He already looks pretty decent,” Harry nods. “Looks slightly prone to doing something bonkers, though.”

“As long as it’s bonkers in a good way, I don’t really mind, like it’s bonkers that we got Ilgaz Garhan from Konyaspor for just £11 million up front.”

​

“He’s fairly well-rounded, but I’m not sure I understand your hype, he’s not got outstanding technical ability,” Harry frowns.

“Did you catch his age?”

Harry flicks back through the file and his eyes widen.

“Did not catch that he was also 18…”

“Hence my excitement,” I say with a wink.

“I get it now,” Harry says. “Were there any more teenagers, or have I accidentally aged them all by several years in my head?”

“No, everyone else is in their twenties,” I smile, passing him another binder. “The next youngest is Roméo Lavia - another who’s ‘fairly well-rounded’.”

​

“Blimey, he must have cost a fair whack, given his age, quality, versatility, profile, and homegrown status.”

“Only £25 million. All up front, mind, but definitely worth it.”

“How the heck did we manage that?” Harry asks, his gaze snapping away from the statistics in front of him.

“Southampton went down, didn’t they?” I say. “He had a relegation release fee and we made sure to act quickly so that nobody else could swoop in.”

“I like it, very nice signing,” Harry says. “I’m not used to us paying so much in one go, you must’ve been feeling faint.”

“It did make me a little itchy, but the Michael Olise deal that sees £27.5 million spread out over four years, with £9 million in add-ons, calmed me back down. He’s got such a good eye for a pass, I’m sure he’s going to cause no end of mayhem out wide.”

​

“Does that fee make him our record signing?”

“It does,” I answer.

“Does he start, in your best eleven?”

“He does not.”

“Why spend so much then?”

“Because he’s got bags of potential and is already a very good player. If Chongy or Endrick ever get poached by another club, or we change shape again, then we’ve got a replacement ready to go.” I explain. “Plus, Palace dropped their asking price massively after we showed interest in January and he kicked up a stink over them asking for £75 million, so I felt like we needed to move while we could pay less than half of that.”

“Very well argued.”

“Thank you.”

“Still a lot of money to pay for a back-up.”

“Who knows, with the effect of form, he may start yet,” I sigh. “I presume you’re happier with the initial £13 million to Bayern Munich for Calvin Bassey?” I add, pointing at the last folder on the desk.

“Yes, yes I am,” Harry says. “Can’t see anything that stands out as exceptional, but looks very solid.”

“Check his physical report.”

Harry turns to the penultimate page.

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

​

“I see.”

“Exactly.”

“And he’s taking Ian’s place?”

“He is. That's the only change in personnel, though there’s the change in system to one that focuses on having the right-back get forward while the left-back has more of a defensive responsibility.”

​

“Remember when you struggled with a lack of left-footed options two summers ago?” Harry chuckles. “A quick look at the squad suggests that’s not an issue any longer…”

​

“We’re set up for it now,” I shrug. “Plus, we’re working on a mirrored version of the formation for our right-footed attackers, should the need arise.”

“I must say, I’m very impressed,” Harry beams, passing all the reports back to me. “Some very astute signings.”

​

“I’m so very glad to have the seal of approval from my PA, I’m not sure how I’d have coped without it.”

“No need for that, Nicole.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine, you can’t dampen my excitement for our sesquicentennial campaign - especially with the kits released for it now.”

​

“You know who’s not excited?” I ask.

“Who?”

“UFC fans, off the back of their five point deduction for breaching FFP rules.”

​

“Very true,” Harry laughs. “And, with how soon we play them, hopefully we can help pile on the misery.”

“Hopefully, but we’ll have to be careful about getting too confident before we’ve even kicked a ball,” I begin.

“With the start we have, there’s a good chance we’ll be the ones feeling miserable soon.”

* * * * * * * *​

Thank you for reading! Please follow this thread to keep up with the updates, and feel free to follow me on Instagram and Twitter!

 

[mitqa83]

Unbelievable career! Please, do more

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Part Thirty-Seven​

Welcome back to Singing the Blues! 2025/26 kicks off with four of the Sky Six to open the campaign - is that an onslaught we can survive?

This part is spread across three posts, so please keep reading after the Manchester City game and again after the Tottenham game!

Season One
Season Two
Season Three
Part Thirty-Six

​

“Why are we here?”

My assistants pause their chat and slowly turn from the whiteboard to face me.

“… for the Community Shield, gaffer,” Keith Downing answers.

“Yes, but why are we here to play the Community Shield?” I ask.

“We won the Premier League and the FA Cup,” Matthew Gardiner frowns. “Or had you forgotten already?”

“Of course not,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I want to know why I’m sat in one of the dressing rooms at Wembley, preparing to compete for England’s supercup, when Manchester City haven’t won anything.”

“Because they finished second in the league,” Matthew says, squinting slightly as though I’ve just asked an offensively inane question.

“Yeah, that’s just how it works when anyone does The Double,” Keith agrees.

“But WHY?” I moan. “We won both trophies and you have to win one of them to qualify, so why the heck do we have to play a runner-up when we should just be awarded the silverware?”

“It’s how it’s always been done, take it up with the FA if you have a problem with it,” Matthew snaps, turning back to his set-piece work drawn on the board.

“I did.”

“And?”

“They ignored me.”

“Did you come across as whiny and condescending?” Keith queries.

“I’ve seen her strongly-worded emails,” Matthew says before I can respond, still studying his diagrams. “They’re very well structured and argued in a way that seems understanding and accommodating, whilst also carrying an undertone of implied violence.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you to say,” I blush.

“If they’re that good, I’d love to see you write a novel, or a blog, or something,” Keith smiles. “Y’know, any sort of creative writing project.”

“Who has the time?” I sigh. Both my colleagues nod, solemnly. “Speaking of time, it can’t be long until the boys come back in, right?”

“Correct,” Matthew confirms. “So, for goodness’ sake, don’t tell them how meaningless you think today is, in the grand scheme of things.”

​

When Anel Ahmedhodžić nods us ahead in the fifth minute, I briefly get optimistic that we can get the better of City again, having beaten them at last on New Year’s Day.

Then Erling Haaland equalises two minutes later.

No matter, we’re a strong group and will persevere, our resilience showing as we survive a minor siege and reclaim the advantage when Endrick curls through the Sky Blue ranks from the right for our new number seven, Oscar Gloukh, to volley in from the edge of the area.

This time, we’ll be sensible. This time, we’ll hold out for longer. This time, we’ll… let Man City keep the ball for over a minute from their restart and stand off of them, until Calvin Bassey makes his first major impact on his debut by fouling Phil Foden when he slips into our box. Fabulous. Haaland, obviously, converts the resulting spot kick.

After the roller coaster of the opening period, the second half fizzles out into a stalemate and, before we know it, we’re headed for penalties. This is fine, we’ve practised these yesterday and, with David de Gea between the sticks, I remain confident, even after Gabriel Barbosa converts City’s opening penalty, as Arda Güler steps up to take our first.

My confidence evaporates within seconds as I watch Güler’s effort sail over the crossbar and into the stand behind. Bother. Not to worry, I’m sure we can bounce back from this, De Gea is going to save at least one, right?

Wrong. Our opponents are at their ruthless best as they score all five of their penalties, claiming the Community Shield that we rightly deserve.

Just a glorified friendly, anyway. Definitely not furious…

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Despite that disappointment, we do have a few bits of good news: first, Daouda Guindo completes his loan switch to Borussia Mönchengladbach - an important move that should get him more game time and help with his development.

​

Then, Jerry St. Juste becomes the latest member of the squad to extend his deal with us, after Bob van Leeuwen, Krystian Bielik, and Demarai Gray agreed new contracts over the summer. The Dutchman will mainly be deployed at right-back this season, but his versatility will likely be crucial as we attempt to fight on multiple fronts.

​

“Good job again on the contracts, Luke,” I say to my director of football. “Any luck with David?”

“No,” Luke Dowling replies. “Not while there’s still interest from Saudi Arabia that’s bumping his asking price up.”

“How much is he on?”

“£42,000 per week.”

“How much does he want?”

“At least £94,000 per week.”

“Wowzers.”

“I know,” Luke grimaces. “We’re finding contingency plans, just in case.”

“Keep me posted, please,” I say. Luke nods. “He doesn’t seem distracted, at least, so I’ll play him while he’s still here - starting with Hull at St. Andrew’s tomorrow.”

“Making any other changes to last weekend’s team?”

“Yes,” I chuckle. “I’m ready to rotate, now you’ve done the work over the summer for me. Ilgaz, Tanguy, and Michael will come in for Ibrahima, Oscar, and Chongy; given we’ve got West Ham to come on Wednesday, I’d like to keep things fresh.”

“Sounds great,” Luke smiles.

“It does,” I say. “Until Hull now pull off the upset of the season and send me into a downward spiral of doubt and self-loathing.”

​

I needn’t have been so nervous.

We’ve flattened Hull on most occasions that we’ve played them and this time is no different, Alex Scott rolling in Endrick’s pull-back to nab our opening league goal of the campaign for the second time in three years before claiming another when he finishes Van Leeuwen’s exquisite through ball with a suitable level of panache.

Last season’s winners of the Championship offer little threat but instead attempt to stem the flow for the remaining hour, a strategy that appears to be working until it falls apart in the final 15 minutes, Ilgaz Garhan scoring from a corner on his debut and Endrick capping an excellent display by adding our fourth from the spot after he was felled by Thilo Kehrer, sealing the three points as we bounce back from our frustrating day at Wembley at the first opportunity.

* * * * * * * *
​

There’s little time to revel in our victory as we soon have to head south for the aforementioned clash with West Ham, high on confidence as our success was shortly followed by a loss to rivals Chelsea for the Londoners.

There is time, however, to send Mycael on a season-long loan to our affiliate club in League One, Fleetwood.

​

Back to players who are sticking around and, having rested several of them on Saturday, the tweaking continues as Ibrahima Konaté, Gloukh, and Tahith Chong return to the starting lineup while Bassey, Bielik, and Michael Olise drop out, being replaced by Ian Maatsen, Stevica Gajić, and Güler as I hope my efforts to keep players fresh will be paid off with another win.

​

You get the feeling it’s going to be your day when a fierce-yet-speculative shot from your winger gets parried straight into the face of your opportunistic striker by the goalkeeper and into the net for an early lead, and that’s exactly how it pans out after Van Leeuwen’s fortunate opener.

The Hammers struggle to get going as we breeze through the first half, Chong claiming one for himself after his sort-of-assist, ahead of Konaté nutting home in similar style to Garhan, and there’s little improvement from our hosts after the break as we cruise our way to a second, comfortable victory on the bounce.

* * * * * * * *
​

As the weekend soon rolls around again, we remain in the Capital as we travel to another of West Ham’s rivals: Tottenham Hotspur.

Having lead the way for the majority of the 2023/24 title race until we snuck up on them like a librarian, Spurs suffered somewhat of a hangover last season as they stumbled to 12th, though they’ve won both of their games so far this time round and are showing signs of being back to their best, so this is unlikely to be as easy a fixture as Hull and West Ham proved to be.

In light of Spurs’ strength and our increased tactical flexibility, we switch to our shape that favours right-footed wingers and increases our solidity at right-back, in an attempt to contain Son Heung-min and Destiny Udogie, with St. Juste, Gray, and Danny Namaso being drafted in to fit the adjusted roles while Bielik and Bassey are restored after their rest during the week.

​

There’s a few wobbly moments as we settle into our alternative system, but we soon tighten up and the effect of shoring up our right side shows - the issue, however, is we don’t seem overly keen to attack.

With the creativity and explosivity of Chong and Endrick missing, we provide little threat over the course of the first half, yet it’s all change for the opening ten minutes of the second period as Nélson Semedo launches himself through the back of Gloukh with all the grace of a police officer on a children’s slide, before Van Leeuwen bends a strike from the edge of Spurs’ box into the bottom corner. They’re down to ten and we’re a goal up, surely we’ll roll our hosts over now, right?

No. What follows is another 30 minutes of tedium before I decide it’s time to stodge up for the first time in 2025/26, leading to another ten minutes of even less action.

Oh well, three wins and three clean sheets to leave us as the only team with a 100% win record will do just fine.

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

That clean sheet would turn out to be De Gea’s last for the club as Al-Ittihad finally make their interest concrete with a £10.5 million bid, which we duly accept. David’s been excellent for us since his January 2024 arrival, but his dip in form at the end of last season, combined with his desire to be made the best paid player by almost £30,000 per week at the age of 34 and with his limited ability on the ball, meant that accepting the offer seemed the best course of action for us.

Thank you for your service, David, I hope you enjoy your £195,000 a week with minimal tax.

​

We’ve acted quickly though, bringing in Justin Bijlow from Sporting CP for an initial £11.5 million that feels like somewhat of a coup, given he’s seven years younger than De Gea and a better fit for our tactical style. He also only wanted a £66,000 weekly wage, which is much more fitting for our current structure.

​

Additionally, whilst we were waiting for the paperwork to go through on both deals, we were pleased to learn that our Carabao Cup third-round tie would be at home to League Two Doncaster, theoretically the easiest opponent we could face at this stage.

​

Focus returning to the Premier League, Bijlow is being thrown straight in at the deep end as we return to St. Andrew’s and entertain Chelsea, the side we secured the title against last campaign as we finally got our first win against them at the sixth time of asking.

Neco Williams, Chong, and Endrick return as we flip back to our usual setup, aiming to prove that our last meeting was no fluke.

​

“1-0 is starting to become a bit of a meme now,” I say.

“The last two didn’t finish 1-0,” Harry shrugs.

“We can deem those games outliers, now that five out of seven have ended with the same score.”

“Does it really matter?”

“Every statistic matters.”

“That’s a little obsessive,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. “I don’t know why you’re reading so much into it, Chelsea won the first four but, thanks to Alex, we’ve won this one.”

“That’s true, and I’m pleased, but it’s still very peculiar,” I reply.

“I agree, Nicole, but mainly because you’re the authority on all things peculiar.”

* * * * * * * *
​

As the first international break of comes and goes, so too does deadline day, the only deals that we complete before it shuts being a loan out and a loan in as Andrew Omobamidele heads to Club Brugge on loan after complaining about his lack of game time, understandably so after his importance to our first title win, while Axel Tuanzebe fills his spot in the squad as I don’t want to put the responsibility of Champions League football on Upston Stern’s shoulders before he’s ready.

​

And, on the topic of the Champions League, I almost missed the email sent to me over the break that confirmed our league-phase fixtures. No, I’m not happy that the grandeur of the monotonous group-stage draws have been replaced with a suspicious email that could be easily mistaken for a phishing scam, and no, I’m not happy to have Real Madrid in January again.

​

However, whilst our first match in this season’s competition is only days away, we can’t let that distract us from our trip to Old Trafford on the Saturday prior.

We have a perfect record across our six meetings with Manchester UFC, which makes it curious that Wayne Rooney feels the need to call us ‘overrated’ in his pre-match press conference, so, despite their five-point deduction mysteriously vanishing along with the bad vibes that came with it, we clearly need to ram home our superiority over his side with an unchanged eleven from two weekends ago.

​

For a long time, it appears my bravado was misplaced. Outside of a scramble in the UFC penalty area, chances are at a premium and it’s our hosts that go closest to taking the lead when Otávio is played through by Bruno Fernandes, only for Bijlow to stand tall and prevent the Portuguese forward from scoring the first goal against our new ‘keeper since his arrival.

But, as has become fairly common since the turn of the year, it’s the man who wore the ‘magic’ socks who makes the difference for us.

First, Van Leeuwen capitalises on a deflection off of Anthony Rouault to ghost in and head us in front, then grabs a second by thumping in Chong’s low cross from close range moments later as the clock ticks down towards injury time.

Bob’s quick brace knocks the stuffing out of UFC and they have the look of parents during the last week of the summer holidays, desperate for their torture to end and services to no longer be required, so we put the Mancunians out of their misery by easing off and just holding onto possession until the referee blows for full-time at last.

* * * * * * * *
​

Community Shield troubles aside, it's been exactly the sort of start I was after, especially considering we’ve played four of the Sky Six already, even bettering three of them in successive fixtures. There’s been no losses within 90 minutes, there’s been no goals conceded for five games, and there’s already four goals on the board for Van Leeuwen. The early signs are promising, but can we sustain our form as we go on our hunt for more major silverware?

At this point, anything is possible.

* * * * * * * *​

Thank you for reading! Please follow this thread to keep up with the updates, and feel free to follow me on Instagram and Twitter!

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Part Thirty-Eight​

Welcome back to Singing the Blues! The Champions League, Liverpool at Anfield, and Doncaster Rovers at home in the Carabao Cup - do games get much bigger than this?

This part is spread across three posts, so please keep reading after the Marseille game and again after the Crystal Palace game!

Season One
Season Two
Season Three
Part Thirty-Six
Part Thirty-Seven

“Did you realise that Bob’s second goal at the weekend was his 50th goal contribution?”

“I did, Harry,” I answer, squeezing between his chair and hotel bed to take my place opposite him at the inadequately-sized table.

“Why didn’t you make a bigger deal about it, then?” he frowns.

“I congratulated him and bought him a nice bottle of wine. As he’s only half-way through his first year of being allowed to drink and probably hasn’t moved on from shots and cider, I imagine he’ll give it to his parents. It's the thought that counts, I suppose,” I say. “It’s more than I did for Neco, Ian, Anel, and Alex when they all got past 100 appearances for me over the last few games. Did you expect anything different, given that’s what I did for Chongy and Oscar when they hit the same landmark?”

“I dunno, maybe a little public acknowledgement,” he grumbles.

“Like this?”

“Like what?”

“Don’t worry.”

“I’m going to now, aren’t I? Telling people not to worry just makes them more worried.”

There’s a firm knock from the hallway that makes Harry jump slightly.

“Now I’m doubly worried.”

“Don’t be,” I chuckle. “That’ll be dinner.”

“Room service?”

“Sort of,” I say as I roll across Harry’s bed for an easier escape route. I hoick my trousers back up and neaten my top before opening the door. “Hey, guys, come in.”

“What are you two doing here?” Harry says as Keith Downing and Matthew Gardiner pass me, joining us in the room and making it feel rather cramped all of a sudden. “I thought you didn’t like playing with Nicole, especially after the carnage that followed the FA Cup final?”

“We don’t,” Keith answers. “But she said she’d pay for dinner.”

“Plus,” Matthew adds. “She promised not to get angry if any of us call her a twa-“

“So, what did you get to eat?” Harry asks. Matthew grumbles to himself, disgruntled that his chance to swear was cut short.

“We’re in France, a country renowned for its refined, classic cuisine, a food capital of the world, one could say,” Keith says. “So, obviously, the boss here sent us to Burger King.”

“I do love the sight of grease leaking through a paper bag,” Harry replies, looking a little disgusted. “Why didn’t you take advantage of being in Marseille and treat us to some of the local delicacies, Nicole?”

“As Keith said, I offered to pay,” I shrug.

“How generous. My room’s going to stink of fat and sweaty beef now.”

“I thought about that.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” I say. “That’s why we’re not in mine.”

Harry lets out a weary sigh.

“Fine. What are we playing?”

“Uno, not enough space for a board game with all four of us,” I say.

“Makes a change, I guess,” Keith pipes up.

“First of many on this trip,” Matthew says.

“It is indeed,” I nod. “With Ilgaz, Ian, Stevica, Tanguy, and Michael coming into the side, the rotation era is well and truly under way.”

“It must be good, feeling able to rely on everyone who steps into the team at last?” Harry says.

“Bold of you to assume I’m ever confident or comfortable.”

“You should be though, we’ve got good squad depth at last and should go into games confident we’ll win, regardless of who’s playing,” Keith says.

“I’m tired of you jinxing things, Keith, just stop talking from now on,” Matthew grunts.

“Don’t worry, Matthew,” I start. “If things go wrong tomorrow, Keith’s being thrown into the Vieux Port.”

​

There were some tired legs after our efforts at Old Trafford, hence the shuffle in personnel, but the combination of the remaining, slightly-drained players from that victory and the rustiness of men who’ve been thrusted into the eleven for the first time in around a month leads to a somewhat disjointed start, and Marseille take advantage when Martín Satriano evades Ilgaz Garhan early on to nod the French side in front.

The initial response is disappointingly lethargic, akin to watching a dog’s chew toy slowly reinflate after the squeaker has been ripped out already, but we’re handed a lifeline when Eric Bailly misses all of the ball while he attempts to tackle Alex Scott and we’re awarded a penalty as we head towards half-time. With Oscar Gloukh on the bench, responsibility falls on Michael Olise’s shoulders to take the spot kick, and the forward duly delivers by thumping into the top-left corner.

As the second half descends into scrappy chaos, the tie looks to be petering out as we drift towards our first dropped points of the season in our opening Champions League fixture. Drifting towards dropped points, that is, until Gloukh slides Endrick through as injury time looms and his fellow substitute drills in from the tightest of angles to put us ahead at last, so I hurriedly scribble down everyone’s stodgy positions and pass over the instructions as we successfully shut down the final few minutes.

Keith’s safe from being chucked into the sea this time.

* * * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Fresh off of our continental success, we’re back in B9 on Saturday as Leicester journey across the Midlands.

With those who played given a rest from training and those who didn’t feeling much fresher, we name a full-strength team as Anel Ahmedhodžić, Calvin Bassey, Krystian Bielik, Gloukh, and Endrick return, safe in the knowledge that they’ll all get a break when the Carabao Cup rolls around in midweek.

​

“Another job well done, gaffer,” Keith says. “Not always easy to face Leicester, especially when they’ve started well.”

“There’s still a minute left,” I snap.

“And we’re 2-0 up.”

“Irrelevant,” I say. “We’ve played well and I’m glad Oscar managed a goal and an assist, but you’re asking for trouble every time you celebrate before the final whistle.”

“Lighten up, boss, they’ve not threatened since that offside goal, there’s no way this is the first time we concede in the leag-“

Matthew shoves Keith forwards and he tumbles off his seat before he can finish his sentence.

“For goodness’ sake, Keith!” Matthew barks as Youri Tielemans launches a hopeful ball forwards. “How many times?!”

Ahmedhodžić, flagging a little, misjudges the flight of the pass as it sails over his head, landing perfectly in James Maddison’s path, the Englishman taking one touch to steady himself before rifling into the far corner.

“Ah,” Keith mumbles from his prone position. “Well, at least -“

Keith’s cut short by Matthew again, this time from his fellow assistant throwing a bottle of water next to his face that explodes upon hitting the ground, drenching my overly-confident colleague.

“For the last time,” Matthew growls. “Shut up.”

* * * * * * * * *
​

With our 100% winning start to the Premier League extended, all those who started Saturday’s success are given the chance to rest on Wednesday as we welcome Doncaster Rovers to St. Andrew’s for our maiden adventure in the Carabao Cup this season, naming a completely changed side as the League Two side come to visit, with Patricio Merlo, Upston Stern, and Axel Tuanzebe being given their first starts for the club.

Hopefully, the Backup Brigade can get the job done against fourth-tier opposition.

​

I know I was expecting a bit of a dip in quality, but I’d still have liked a more comfortable experience than this.

Truthfully, Rovers offer very little, clearly content to grind out a draw and try their luck at penalties, but we struggle to get going in spite of their meekness. It’s not until we’re nearing the interval that we finally make some headway when Tanguy Ndombele gets irritated enough at the fact he has to play in a fixture of this magnitude to order Roméo Lavia forward as he searches for a pass, splitting our guest’s defence as he sends the ball after the Belgian and Lavia, enjoying his first start in blue, duly smashes past the on-rushing goalkeeper to open his account for the club.

Whilst the second period feels livelier than the first, largely thanks to Kieran Hamer hitting the woodwork twice, we’re unable to kill the game, so we inch to victory whilst feeling that we could have made life much easier for ourselves, something we’ll hope to do in the round of 16 as we’re drawn away to the only club outside the top-two divisions to still be in the competition: Bolton Wanderers.

* * * * * * * * *
​

“Was today your original wedding date?” Matthew asks as our players file out of the dressing room to head to the pitch.

“It was,” I sigh. “It’s a glorious date made up of a cube number and two square numbers, three if you include 25 as well, but we had to move it to the international break once it became clear that a career as a football manager was viable.”

“What’s your new date, then?”

“10th of October, which is also pretty satisfying when you write it as 10/10.”

“Any reason in particular?”

“Uhhhh…”

​

“I just like the way it looks…” I murmur.

“Was Beth okay with this?” Harry queries.

“Only after I agreed to handle all the rearrangements and pointed out that working in football has increased our combined income by an astronomical amount.”

“Yet she still works, in spite of this?”

“She’s not a charity case, Harry.”

“Sorry.”

“I am hoping Crystal Palace are a charity case, though. I’m a bit scared by their impressive start to the season that sees them in third, but I hope a nice, fresh, full-strength lineup will do the business,” I say.

The three of us pause, staring at Keith as we wait for him to say something outrageously optimistic. His pale eyebrows lower.

“Oh no, I’ve learned my lesson. You’re not getting anything confident out of me.”

​

When Mykola Shaparenko, under no pressure whatsoever, passes straight to Endrick and the Brazilian plays Bob van Leeuwen through to break the deadlock, I get the impression it’ll be another of our bog-standard successful days at the office.

Boy, was I wrong.

In one half an hour stretch, split by the interval, we add another four goals to our total, courtesy of a Tahith Chong Special, a Gloukh penalty, an Ibrahima Konaté header, and a wicked Endrick volley, as we bring The Eagles crashing down from the sky, and there’s still another 30 minutes left to play. Will this be it? Will we put six past an opponent at last?

I begin to think not as the chances start to dry up while the game winds down, and our luck seems to have run out when Konaté hits the bar from successive corners, so I reluctantly accept that we won’t hit our magic target this time.

That’s until Olise whips in a cross from the left and an awkward bounce bamboozles all of the Palace defenders, but not Endrick. The teenager’s on hand to prod in at the back post as the light fades on regulation time, at last securing the elusive six-goal haul that I’ve craved for so long.

What wonderful compensation for having to move my wedding.

* * * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

With the biggest victory of my tenure secured, we’re off on our European travels again as we head to Salzburg to face their branch of the Red Bull Group on Wednesday night.

After our last excursion was much more nerve-racking than I’d have liked, it’ll be just the two changes to Saturday’s lineup this time as Jerry St. Juste and Lavia rotate in for Neco Williams and Scott, aiming to follow up on our weekend success with another excellent performance.

​

You wait until your 170th game to score six goals, then do it again in your 171st.

Salzburg are blown away in the first half as Konaté, Ahmedhodžić, Chong, and Lavia help us stroll to a four-goal advantage by the break that allows us to take our foot off the gas once play resumes, but my boys clearly don’t get the message and continue to probe, Endrick grabbing a fifth before Arda Güler converts a penalty to score his first goal for the club with ten minutes still to go. Could we extend our biggest winning margin at the next opportunity?

No.

Don’t be so greedy.

* * * * * * * * *
​

With another easy win notched up, I have the sneaking suspicion that our Saturday-evening match at Anfield will be a little trickier.

Though Liverpool haven’t had an incredible start, Jürgen Klopp’s side is still rather intimidating, even if Jude Bellingham has only been named on the bench, so we return to the side that smashed Crystal Palace in the knowledge that the upcoming international break will give a good chunk of the squad a chance to recuperate.

Is Jude’s dropping a sign that he’s unsettled and that we could tempt him into a sensational return to St. Andrew’s?

Probably not, he’s recently signed a new contract on more than £200,000 a week and is likely just tired after Liverpool’s own European efforts.

Oh well.

​

We get off to exactly the kind of start we were after, silencing the raucous crowd within ten minutes when Van Leeuwen taps in Scott’s pull-back, and Liverpool don’t know how to react. They have plenty of shots, but they’re all speculative and low on quality, the closest The Reds come in the opening period being a Mohamed Salah free kick that clips the crossbar.

Our hosts offer even less quality after the break and, just as it looks like they might be growing in confidence, Scott and Van Leeuwen kill the game with a rerun of the first goal, a setback that, this time, Liverpool can’t recover from as they wilt like underwatered plants in 30-degree heat.

Another unforgettable victory at Anfield that sends us six points clear at the top after eight fixtures, and another day when it’s all about Bob van Leeuwen as he reaches ten goal involvements for the season already.

If we’re honest, though, it’s been a long time since it’s not been about Bob van Leeuwen.

* * * * * * * *​

Thank you for reading! Please follow this thread to keep up with the updates, and feel free to follow me on Instagram and Twitter!

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Part Thirty-Nine​

Welcome back to Singing the Blues! Manchester City are back again - can we get revenge for the Community Shield?

This part is spread across three posts, so please keep reading after the intro and again after the Bolton game!

Season One
Season Two
Season Three
Part Thirty-Six
Part Thirty-Seven
Part Thirty-Eight

Here I am again, stood in the pouring rain, fretting about the imminent threat of Manchester City. With the form we’re in and how inconsistent City have been so far, you could be forgiven for thinking I’d be less concerned than usual, but that actually increases my terror. We SHOULD beat them, which would make it even more painful in the event that we lose, irrespective of the cost of their squad compared to ours.

I turn and squelch away from the touchline of the soggy and low-quality practice match to grab my flask of tea from the dugout where my assistant managers are clearly very dry and far too comfortable.

“Shouldn’t have your hood up, boss,” Matthew Gardiner says. “Makes you look weak.”

“Who told you that, Toxic Masculinity Weekly?” I snap. “Please, either of you, feel free to join me out there.”

“No can do, gaffer,” Keith Downing beams. “This is meant to imitate a match and you can’t have more than one member of staff in the technical area, so we’re doing our utmost to make it feel as real as possible.”

“Didn’t they scrap plans for that rule after Eddie Howe got sacked?”

“That’s neither here nor there,” Keith answers, shaking his head and waving away my question. “Point is, we’re dry and you’re already wet, so why can’t we stay here?”

“Because neither of you came to my wedding, so you owe me this.”

“You didn’t invite us,” Matthew frowns.

“Irrelevant.”

“It’s not really, though, is it?” Keith reasons.

“I didn’t invite anybody who works here, not when people are, supposedly, keeping secrets from me at the moment,” I say. “Please? It’s wet, I’m lonely, and there’s only so many times I can tell Arda that he needs to put some effort in before I lose my patience and send him to fill up water bottles.”

“Fine,” Matthew sighs, standing up. “Let’s go, Keith.” He turns and stares at his apprehensive colleague.

“Give me a second, I’m gonna go and grab my coat,” he says, scurrying towards the changing rooms.

“Coward,” Matthew mutters as he joins me in the downpour.

“I thought climate change would take Britain from cold and wet in October to warm and sunny, but it’s just made it warm and wet,” I complain, holding my hood over my head. “So, you either sweat in a coat to stay dry, embrace getting drenched, or wear a poncho like you’re getting ready to go on the water rides at Thorpe Park.” I turn and squint through the rain at my assistant as we near the pitch. “Are you sure you don’t want anything to keep you dry?”

Matthew stands with his shoulders back and chin jutting out as he surveys the training session, looking like a hardy captain in the midst of a storm at sea as he hunts the one catch that’s always evaded him, only he’s wearing questionably-tight polyester that spoils the look a little.

“I’m committed now, Nicole.”

“Suit yourself,” I shrug. “Any late intel on City?”

A devilish smile spreads across Matthew’s face.

“Oooohhhhh, yes. Apparently, João Cancelo pulled up in training this morning and isn’t going to be fit to play, so Spalletti’s scrambling a bit because they’ve got no other right-backs in the squad.”

“What happened to Rico Lewis?”

“Sent him to Köln on loan, just before the window closed.”

“After they sold Kyle Walker to Real Madrid earlier on deadline day? Seems a little short-sighted.”

“Very,” Matthew grins. “Tahith’s going to have a field day.”

“As long as the rest of the eleven can do their bit and funnel the ball to him whilst keeping Haaland and the gang quiet,” I grimace.

“We’re going full-strength, this is the best chance we’ve got.”

“Good grief, that’s bordering on optimism, Matthew,” I snigger.

“Can I let you in on something, boss?” Matthew says, suddenly sounding even more serious than usual.

“Of course.”

“I actually prefer Matt to Matthew, but told everyone it was the other way round so I can make them feel uncomfortable when they want to shorten my name.”

“That’s delightfully cruel,” I say. “Especially as no one can be bothered with full names in football.”

“It’s the little things in life.” Matt nods.

“Is this the first time we’ve been alone together for long enough for you to share that with me?”

“I used to avoid being caught alone with you because I never used to be one for chat, but you’ve managed to pull it out of me over time,” he says. “ARDA! IF YOU’RE NOT GOING TO TRY IN TRAINING, HOW DO YOU EXPECT TO GET IN THE TEAM?”

“Nice work,” I mutter as Arda Güler bursts into a sprint with the haste of somebody who’s just had the life of their favourite pet threatened.

A few moments pass, the only sounds the rain bouncing off my hood and the shouts of my players, before either of us speak again.

“Keith’s not coming back, is he?” I ask.

“Of course he’s not.”

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

​

Another fixture against Man City, another fixture when I wonder why we bother practising defensive corners when nobody’s going to mark Rodri as Jack Grealish swings the set piece right onto the bonce of the monolithic midfielder to glance in before some fans have managed to finish their last pints and get to their seats.

Something’s a little off, however. Despite taking the lead, our visitors seem content to sit on it, rather than going for the jugular. Bafflingly, we have time to grow into the game and gain confidence, something City soon come to regret allowing after a six-minute spell that sees Bob van Leeuwen stab in Endrick’s pull-back from the edge of the six yard box before the Brazilian gets on the scoresheet himself, easily spinning José Gayà when he comes tight and drilling into the bottom corner. We even have an offside effort sandwiched in between, for good measure.

The Mancunians look stunned. Their air of inevitability from the Pep Guardiola days is long gone and there’s a lingering sense of doubt that appears to have set in, evidenced best by Gayà as the left-back starts playing like he’s the teenage centre-back that’s making his debut out of position, not Isaiah Dada-Mascoll on the opposite flank. As Endrick receives a pass from Neco Williams on the corner of the box, the Spaniard is uncertain of what to do and, not wanting to get spun again, decides to stand off our forward. Endrick, having a great game already and syphoning all of Gayà’s self-belief with every touch of the ball, sees the space he’s been allowed and fancies his chances, almost causing a sonic boom as he belts a left-footed effort into the top-left of the goal, completely out of Ederson’s reach.

The last team to win the Premier League before us are now well and truly stuck in the mud with no sign of getting going again and when Stevica Gajić curls in a late corner, Aymeric Laporte totally misjudges its flight as it whizzes over the defender’s head to be prodded in by Tanguy Ndombele for his first goal of the season, our fourth and final of this comprehensive victory.

* * * * * * * *
​

We’re staying in B9 as Wednesday brings our first home tie in the Champions League this season, against Atlético Madrid.

Roberto Martínez’s side have made a poor start to their domestic season, finding themselves eighth in La Liga, but have managed to just about keep themselves in the top half of the European mega-group, so goodness knows what type of performance to expect from Jonathan Ikoné’s new team. As such, changes are kept to a minimum from Saturday’s triumph, with Jerry St. Juste the only player coming in while Williams recovers from a tight hamstring.

​

We get a pretty clear picture of which Atleti have turned up after the first quarter of the game passes and we’re three goals to the good, a double for Endrick and a worldie from 25 yards for Alex Scott with the outside of his boot.

Los Colchoneros look hopeless and the tie looks like it could get out of hand when we grab a fourth and fifth in both the first- and second-half 48th minute, Anel Ahmdhodžić flicking in from a corner and Endrick completing his hat-trick with another blockbuster that pings off the underside of the crossbar en route, but we gradually ease off to save our legs for the weekend, settling for just the five.

Koke scoring a consolation via Ibrahima Konaté’s face, with Ikoné getting the assist after coming off the bench, does take a little of the shine off of proceedings, but we’ve once again proven that we’re ready to tussle with the big boys at Europe’s top table.

* * * * * * * *
​

Does anybody really like Leeds? I know their fans do, but does anyone else? I mean, truly? Does anyone rank them as their second-favourite team? Didn’t think so. It’s for that reason, along with the knowledge that this entire eleven will get a rest in the Carabao Cup on Wednesday, that we restore Williams to the lineup and go with the strongest team possible as we travel to Elland Road, looking to make it a perfect ten wins from ten to open the Premier League.

​

“So, Nicole, what did you make of that?” I’m asked by the commentator for Match of the Day.

“Well, I’m pleased we won but we weren’t at our best today, that’s for sure,” I answer.

“A goal each for Ibrahima Konaté and Roméo Lavia sealed the 2-0 for you of course, but an injury to Tahith Chong in the first half must have been very disappointing?”

“Obviously. We knew the risk of playing pretty much the same side three times in a week yet thought we could push through this last fixture. Clearly, it was one game too far for Chongy, but there’s no one to blame but ourselves.

“For what it’s worth, I did feel that Michael Olise did a great job replacing him out there,” I continue. “It’s never easy coming off the bench earlier than planned, but he caught up to the pace of the game so quickly, his role in winning the penalty a perfect example.”

“I know that Oscar Gloukh missed that spot kick, so it hasn’t made much of an impact, but did you feel that it was the right decision to award it in the first place?” the presenter quizzes.

“Yes, it was a stonewall pen’.”

“Dean Smith didn’t think so.”

“Dean Smith is Leeds’ manager and a Villa fan, of course he isn’t going to think so,” I frown.

“Do you really think his support for Aston Villa is necessarily a factor?”

“It’s not going to help, is it?” I grumble. “Can I go yet? I shouldn’t have brought that lot up, I always manage to get myself in trouble when Villa becomes a topic of discussion.”

“Perhaps your support for Birmingham City is a factor?”

“Sod off.”

* * * * * * * *
​

Continuing our travels, we’re going north again on Wednesday as we head to managerless Bolton for the fourth round of the Carabao Cup.

Having run our first-choice lineup into the ground over the last week, to the point that I’ve had to give Ahmedhodžić a week’s holiday to try and recover, it’s all change for this tie as we trust our rotated squad to do the job and get us into the quarter-finals.

​

If there were any fears of a lacklustre performance to match that of the Doncaster tie in the last round, Ndombele puts them to bed early on by spanking in from 15 yards before nabbing the assist for Olise 90 seconds later when the winger rolls into the bottom-right corner. He doesn’t stop there either, stroking home another from the edge of the box, though his partner in midfield, Lavia, can’t allow the spotlight to be completely on Ndombele, tripping Duncan Watmore in added time to gift Bolton a needless penalty that Aaron Morley duly dispatches.

Despite this lifeline being handed to Wanderers, Josh Griffiths is barely tested again on his return to the team, and it’s two of our forgotten youngsters who combine as time ebbs away, Kieran Hamer poking in Jobe Bellingham’s low cross to put the final nail in the coffin and send us through as the only team NOT to require penalties.

And our draw? Back to where it all began for me - a trip to Luton.

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Returning to the Premier League for the third of our four away games in a row, we’re off to the Potteries as we visit Stoke City, back in the top flight for the first time since 2018.

A win in this tea-time kick-off would see us break the club record for consecutive victories, currently 15, so the full-strength team that beat Leeds is restored, with the exceptions of the injured Chong being replaced by Olise and Ilgaz Garhan deputising for Ahmedhodžić while he continues to be locked out of Wast Hills until he can climb the stairs without having an asthma attack.

​

Our growing trend of fast starts is on show again as Van Leeuwen and Olise fire us into a two-goal lead just after the quarter-hour mark, and we’re playing well enough that I get the feeling this could be another giant margin of victory.

Then everything kind of… stops.

The intensity vanishes for the rest of the half, perhaps with one eye on our jaunt in the Champions League to come during the week, so I ask for that energy to re-emerge in my team talk. My boys show their eternal commitment to my instructions by playing out the remainder of the match in exactly the same style as they did the latter two-thirds of the first period, all the while Stoke sit back and look nervous to make any sort of move, like when you spot a large spider scuttle under the sofa and live in a state of constant paranoia until it shows up on the ceiling three days later.

It may have been in underwhelming fashion, but we’ve now extended our winning run to a level never before seen at Blues.

* * * * * * * *
​

“This’ll be the second time you’ll have gone to Naples this year, right?” Beth asks as I’m packing.

“It is, we’ve been drawn against Parthenope at an earlier stage than when we played them last season,” I answer.

“Happy to be going back?”

“Sort of. They beat us there last time and they’re having a good season so far, but it felt like they pushed their luck a bit when we lost, so I’m hoping we can get the better of them this time with an improved team and a system that's a bit less leaky.”

“I meant the city, but alright,” Beth mumbles.

“And,” I continue, not hearing her. “Anel’s feeling refreshed, so he can slot back into our defence too.”

“You’re losing my attention now…” she whispers.

“But, the best part,” I add, still not aware of her comments. “Is that they’ve said you can come with us this time.”

I zip my suitcase closed and straighten up, the grin wiped from my face when I see Beth’s unimpressed expression.

“You thought you’d give me 12 hours notice of a trip to Italy?”

“In retrospect, I probably should have told you last week.”

“Don’t worry,” she chuckles, her faux-frosty demeanour dropping. “I thought this might happen one day, so I packed bags for different climates in preparation for the day you finally invite me along on one of your trips.”

“How long have they been prepped for?”

“About three years, but I repack them every couple of weeks so I can wash my clothes and make sure they don’t smell stale.”

“Oh,” I squeak. “Sorry, I shouldn't have let them make you wait so long…”

“Don’t worry,” Beth winks. “I’d rather Naples be my first football trip than Burnley.”

​

Giacomo Raspadori rounds Justin Bijlow within minutes and I start digging my fingernails into my seat to try and contain my anger, but the leather is as relieved as I am to see my goalkeeper recover to swipe the ball away from the Italian before he can sort his feet out.

Our hosts are the more assertive side but we’re the ones to break the deadlock, Williams whipping a first-time cross to the back post for Endrick to nut in from close range, though we can’t reach the break unscathed when we’re caught out by a long ball and Raspadori has more composure when one-on-one this time.

“We need to start making the most of set pieces,” Matt advises me as we’re walking back out for the second period. “The way this is going, it’s probably our most likely route to goal.”

“Definitely,” I nod. “Oscar! Ibrahima!”

Gloukh and Konaté stop in the mouth of the tunnel to let me catch up with them.

“You know as well as I do that our corners have been naff so far.”

They look at each other with confusion.

“Pants.”

Still confused.

“Useless.”

“Ah,” says Oscar. “Bit harsh, but I’ll let it slide.”

“So, Ibrahima, I need you to be more aggressive with your runs and I need you, Oscar, to start doing a better job of sticking the ball on his head,” I explain.

“Seems simple enough,” Ibrahima says.

“Easy for you to say,” Oscar frowns. “Alright, boss, we’ll do our best.”

With my directions taken in, we win our first corner of the half after six minutes. Up Gloukh steps and he fizzes in a far more threatening ball than he managed in the first 45, eluding everybody on its seemingly laser-guided path to Konaté’s noggin to be smashed past Alex Meret, the pair making me so proud in the process. They didn’t come over to celebrate with me, the one who gave them the advice, but that’s fine. I’m not upset. I just don’t want you looking at my face for a few moments.

With the advantage regained, we hunker down and tighten up a little, determined not to let our lead slip again. Evidently, Parthenope get the message and figure that trying to break us down for a second time isn’t worth their effort, especially when we get stodgy with five minutes to go, so cede the points to us, allowing us to maintain our 100% record in Europe.

​

And, thanks to our substantial victory over Salzburg, we have the best goal difference in the Champions League too. Can you guess what that means?

That’s right, my friends: into the Carabao Cup quarter-finals, six points clear at the top of the Premier League, and the best record of the 36 clubs in the Champions League group.

Can anyone stop us?

Well, Man City did in the Community Shield. I’ll try again:

Can anyone ELSE stop us?

* * * * * * * *​

Thank you for reading! Please follow this thread to keep up with the updates, and feel free to follow me on Instagram and Twitter!

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Part Forty​

Welcome back to Singing the Blues! It's all about the locals with six fixtures in the West Midlands, including two derbies...

This part is spread across three posts, so please keep reading after the Newcastle game and again after the Nottingham Forest game!

Season One
Season Two
Season Three
Part Thirty-Six
Part Thirty-Seven
Part Thirty-Eight
Part Thirty-Nine

“Have you ever considered using a tablet for all your match notes, Nicole?” Harry asks.

“I prefer using paper, don’t want to be too reliant on technology,” I mumble. “Why?”

“I don’t appreciate that I have to balance my tray on my lap,” he frowns.

“You aren’t going anywhere,” I shrug.

“It’s also not very environmentally friendly.”

“We take the coach to all our domestic games, rather than a plane, so that’s already helping our carbon footprint,” I retort.

“I thought that was to increase togetherness?” Harry says.

“That’s also true, and I think you can see the results in how harmonious it is within the group.”

“Like Keith and Matthew?” Harry jerks his head towards my assistants on the opposite side of the cafeteria. Keith Downing is talking at the speed of sound while Matt Gardiner’s staring ahead, unblinkingly, like he’s the unlucky teacher that got asked to help chaperone the school trip when they were supposed to have the day off.

“I don’t think they need to get to know one another any more than they already do, to be fair,” I grimace. “If anything, they could probably benefit from spending some time apart.”

“You’re not thinking of firing one of them, are you?” Harry whispers.

“What?! No!” I hiss. “I’m suggesting they have a break from each other’s company, not threatening them with a small-scale version of the Hunger Games to decide which one gets to keep their job.”

“Sorry, I jumped to conclusions there,” Harry murmurs. “I don’t cope well with the thought of people leaving us.”

“That’s one of the few inevitabilities in football I’m afraid, Harry,” I say. “We’ll all move on at some point, when the time is right. Some will be on good terms, some will be mutual, and some will be explosive. Some will be sudden, some will have had the writing on the wall for a long time, but it’ll come to each of us eventually.”

“I reckon I’ll know about a month in advance.”

“Any reason?”

“No,” Harry says, quickly. “Just my notice period…” He awkwardly fidgets with the sheets of paper littering the table. “Is this the final lineup for tomorrow evening then?” he asks, lifting up a scribbled diagram from under a mass of opposition notes. I nod. “Still making changes, even with the international break coming up?”

“Not much choice,” I answer. “It was a big effort against Parthenope on Wednesday so a few of the boys aren’t completely fit, hence Ian, Stevica, and Tanguy coming in for Calvin, Krystian, and Oscar. Newcastle have been disappointing this season and Zidane’s under pressure, so I’m hoping there’s still enough quality there to see us come out on top.”

“Should be, two of those three were regulars when we walked the league last season,” Harry notes.

“And Stevica’s one of the most highly-rated teenagers in world football, along with Bob and Endrick.”

“As much as I love Bob, we really don’t talk about Endrick enough,” Harry says. “44 goal involvements in 38 appearances is bonkers.”

The sound of shattering china and the clatter of cutlery hitting the ground fill the air from across the dining room, cutting our conversation short and drawing the attention of everybody in the vicinity. It doesn’t take long to notice what’s happened.

“Oops,” Matt says, totally unconvincingly, Keith’s meal now strewn across the floor.

“Yeah,” I start. “I need to find them new friends.”

​

Having been concerned about those coming into the lineup, it’s one of the stalwarts in Ibahima Konaté that lets me down early doors when Allan Saint-Maximin loops in a deep cross and Dominic Calvert-Lewin evades our centre-back to power in at the back post, but the enormous Frenchman soon has an opportunity to make amends.

“Why is Ian taking this, Matt?” I mutter.

“I’m not sure,” Matt grunts, tapping his tablet. His frown softens as he checks his corner instructions. “Ah, I may have forgotten to tell them who should take corners when Oscar’s not playing.”

“What have you been doing with them?!”

“We only had 20 minutes to work on set pieces once we got back on Thursday morning, it’s been a busy week!” he shouts.

Ian Maatsen swings the corner to the front post and Konaté thunders a header past Alban Lafont, to a cacophony of noise.

We both look at each other.

“Get Ian over here and tell him Tanguy’s meant to be taking them, boss.”

With the score now level, the match settles into a bit of a holding pattern. Konaté does go close a couple more times from corners, but Tanguy Ndombele can’t replicate Maatsen’s feat and we kick off the second half with the niggling sense that it’ll take something special to get things going for either side.

So, up steps Endrick.

As the ball comes to Javi Galán, the Spanish full-back takes a heavy touch, allowing our forward to capitalise and bend a first-time effort into the top-left corner from 25 yards, taking the proverbial roof off of St. Andrew’s, and the Brazilian is back at the heart of the action seven minutes later when he converts the penalty that we’re awarded when Alex Scott gets cleaned out by Maxence Lacroix.

Once we get our third, The Magpies look bereft of hope. Such is the downturn in their performance, we don’t even feel the need to get stodgy as time ebbs away and, when the final whistle goes, it seems a mercy.

“Unlucky, Zizou,” I say as I shake Zinedine Zidane’s hand. “Did you want to come back to my office for a drink, once you’re ready?”

“Maybe not, Nicole,” he replies. “I’ve been told I have a virtual meeting with the board I need to attend…”

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

From one club that sacked their manager to another, we return from the international break for a short trip across Birmingham for the first Second City Derby of the season.

You can imagine my disappointment at not being able to taunt Danny Cowley again, but it’s little surprise that he was sacked by Aston Villa as our rivals sit just above the relegation zone. Despite their lowly position, however, we’ll be going as strong as possible with our midweek tie against Genk appearing to be a good opportunity to rotate, so Calvin Bassey, Krystian Bielik, Oscar Gloukh, and Tahith Chong return to the starting eleven, though Ilgaz Garhan has to take Anel Ahmedhodžić’s spot again while the Bosnian begins another period of leave after returning to training looking like he’d jogged all the way back to the West Midlands from Eastern Europe.

​

We start brightly and are rewarded for showing our attacking intent when it would be much easier to wilt under the pressure, that man again, Endrick, curling past Emi Martínez in the twelfth minute, and we never look back.

We look totally in control, even after Bassey is forced off with a fractured toe, as Villa’s performance is indicative of a team in their league position. A poor pass here, a missed interception there, a scramble in the box from a poor clearance that they just about cope with, the pattern goes on and on until, around the hour mark, Konaté glances another header in off the post for his third in three to give us the breathing room in the score line that was already evident in the play.

We ease off for the final half an hour to save some legs for Wednesday and, just as Villa show signs of life, we squash their comeback like Manchester UFC fans did for a certain individual a few years ago, stodging up the final five minutes as we get the better of our enemies yet again.

* * * * * * * * *
​

Sacking season is in full swing as eleventh-placed Manchester City part company with Luciano Spalletti following a 3-2 loss to Leicester, but it’s another underperforming team that travel to B9 for the Champions League league phase in the form of Genk, the Belgian side that are fifth from bottom in the jumbo-league and, bizarrely for its reigning champions, seventh in the Jupiler Pro League.

With our guests’ questionable form in mind, we ring the changes. Jerry St. Juste, Maatsen, Stevica Gajić, Roméo Lavia, and Ndombele step into the side as we aim to keep our spot at the top of Europe’s biggest competition intact.

​

The first half passes without so much as a peep of a chance, much to my chagrin, so I have some choice words for my boys at half-time. That does spark another goal for Endrick, but we revert back to mediocrity as we make Genk look like much harder work to break down than we should reasonably expect.

Then, Arda Güler has the most eventful ten minutes of anyone under my stewardship.

First, the attacker hits the byline and sees his pull-back stroked in by Lavia. Two minutes later, Güler pokes in one for himself, before adding his second, our fourth, four minutes after that with a sensational break during which he carries the ball from inside his own half, beating three men, before squeezing in from close range. And what does he do to cap this marvellous cameo from the bench mere moments after that?

Why, he fractures his toe and will miss the next month, one of the busiest periods of the season, of course.

* * * * * * * *
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Continuing the theme of sides near the bottom of their table, our next visitors are 19th-placed Nottingham Forest in the Premier League and rotation is rife again as Neco Williams, Axel Tuanzebe, Ahmedhodžić, Bielik, Gloukh, and Danny Namaso step off the carousel, whilst Lavia keeps his spot over Scott as our number 17 has seen his high standards dip over recent weeks.

Can we keep up our impeccable form, despite the litany of changes?

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A quarter of the game gone and we’ve had the first shot, worth an xG of 0.01.

We do have a few more shots by the break and even hit the post, but can’t make the breakthrough, yet Forest have the more noteworthy 45 by failing to have a single effort in the opening period. Despite this, they go closest to breaking the deadlock after the restart when Dominic Solanke breaches our backline, only to be thwarted by Justin Bijlow as our new ‘keeper continues to make an impressive start to his Blues career.

The first goal wasn’t far away, though - just not for our visitors. Once again, it’s our right-sided centre-back getting on the end of a corner, only, this time, it’s Tuanzebe who nuts in, rather than Konaté, as the DR Congo man gets his first for the club whilst playing the game’s starring role, winning everything in the air all match before getting shoved over by Nuno Tavares when preventing a late counter, resulting in the Portuguese receiving his marching orders for his second yellow card and effectively ending the match as a contest.

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