Foal From Grace - A Borussia Mönchengladbach Sequel to 'Singing the Blues'

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Season Two - 2027/28

Part Thirteen
​

Welcome back to Foal From Grace! Two familiar faces help to summarise all the preparations that've been made for my second season at Borussia-Park.

This part is spread across multiple posts, so make sure to catch the whole piece!

Series Links

​

“We can’t hear you, Keith. Are you muted? Try clicking the button with the microphone on. Nope, wrong one, your video’s gone too now. Oh, picture’s back, but still no sound. Now we can see your screen. Why are you looking at -”

“Oh my DAYS, Keith, it’s the button on the left, at the end, that literally says ‘unmute’ underneath it!”

“Thanks, Matt, very clear instructions,” my former assistant manager, Keith Downing, says. “Now, how do I…”

“Towards the middle, there should be an icon labelled ‘share screen’, or something similar - click that,” I explain.

“Yeah, no one wants to know why you’re researching the best way to dispose of a human body,” my other ex-assistant, Matt Gardiner, adds.

“It’s for a crime novel I’m working on,” Keith says. “I’ve been enjoying the free time I’ve had over the last year and really cracked on with some personal projects.”

“I’m a little jealous,” I chuckle. “Wish I had the time to work on a creative-writing project.”

“I think you should settle for having won a treble in your debut season at Borussia Mönchengladbach instead,” Keith smiles back.

“Very true,” I grin. “Anyway, how’ve you both been? How’s the allotment coming along Keith?”

“It’s been great! I’ve had beetroot, salad onions, and carrots in abundance this year, just need to get to grips with looking after tomatoes a bit better, but Matt said he’ll come round sometime because he’s got some tips th-”

Matt clears his throat quite aggressively to stop Keith in his tracks.

“I think you’re misremembering, Keith. I said I’d send my MOTHER round - you know gardening’s not for me,” Matt says, not quite convincingly enough for me to believe him, but I humour him and pretend his macho persona remains fully intact.

“That’s very kind of you Matt,” I note. “How’s coaching the kids gone for you?”

“Dont wanna talk about it,” he grunts.

“Why not? Finish bottom of the league?”

“No, they won it, in fact,” Matt says. “Problem is, I got the boot after only a few weeks. Apparently, eleven- and 12-year-olds can’t handle a bit of tough love.”

“Didn’t you tell me you called them ‘rat-faced, yellow-bellied, nail-biting cowards’ when they were a goal down at half-time?” Keith asks.

“I did, and I regret nothing - those girls went on to win 4-1,” Matt smirks.

“Deine Freunde klingen lächerlich,” Alexis Geiler comments, not looking up from the Spanish textbook she’s taking notes from on the other side of the room, making me snort.

“What was that?”

“That was my Head of International Managerial Affairs,” I say.

“I didn’t say ‘who’, I said ‘what’,” Matt frowns.

“If I remember my brief German studies correctly, it sounded like they said ‘Your friends seem ridiculous’ to me,” Keith says.

“You’re mistaken, Keith. She said that you ‘seem fun’,” I lie.

“Oh, well, I do apologise. How nice,” Keith beams, though Matt seems less than convinced. “Anyway, that’s enough about us - you’ve been having a busy summer, Nicole!”

“Indeed,” I say, puffing out my cheeks. “I wasn’t planning on it, but a €52 million budget and the omnipresent-threat of Saudi Arabia’s state-backed spending rearing its head again left me with rather a lot to play with.”

“How much was it you got for Reiss Nelson and Devyne Rensch, again?” Keith asks.

“€65 million from Al-Ittihad and €60 million from Al-Nassr, respectively,” I answer. “They both offered half those prices originally, then accepted our first counter offer - I feel like we could’ve gotten even more ludicrous fees for them after that.”

“Their wages must be bonkers?”

“The equivalent of €800,000 a week, each.”

“Bleedin’ ‘eck,” Matt says, eyes widening. “That’s life-changing money.”

“Pretty sure all top-flight footballers are already on life-changing money,” I laugh. “It’s not like many other jobs regularly pay the millions that professional football does.”

“Very true,” Matt nods. “I don’t imagine your other exits feel like they’ve missed out, for example.”

“No, not really - the combined €57,275,000 from the transfers of Oscar Fraulo to Wolfsburg, Giorgio Cittadini to Parthenope, Simon Walde to Hertha, and Ivan Nevistić to West Ham suggests there’s plenty of wages flying around for them too,” I reason.

“And it’s only been a couple of first-team loans out so far, right?” Keith checks.

“Right. Emanuel Emegha has been shipped off to PSV to try and discover some form after his injury, like Nelson Weiper did at Valencia -”

“Don’t you mean ‘rediscover’?”

“I meant what I said,” I scowl. “Then Rafael has gone to Paderborn for the next two seasons, so he can get the playing time he needs to develop, given opportunities would be limited if he stayed here.”

​

“How much did you pay for him in January?” Matt queries.

“We were paying for his potential,” I mumble.

“€22 million, wasn’t it?” Matt teases.

“Well, yes, but not all up front,” I note, trying to salvage some dignity.

“Whatever helps you cope, boss,” Matt sniggers.

“With Rafael leaving, then, you needed a new backup goalie,” Keith observes.

“Correct, hence Oliver Christensen came in from Fiorentina. He was first choice there, but they missed out on Champions League qualification and he wanted to leave, so he felt like a sensible choice - especially as he profiles very similarly to Gregor Kobel,” I explain, sharing my screen so I can show the reports on my signings to my old colleagues, something I realise I’ll have to pretend I didn’t do.

​

“How much?” Matt asks

“Potentially €31,500,000.”

“WHAT?!”

“Wait, you know how this works by now, Matt,” Keith says, with a wry smile. “How much is due after 50 league games, something your backup ‘keeper is highly unlikely to achieve any time soon?”

“€17,500,000,” I giggle. “Good catch, Keith. I have no idea what the Italians were thinking.”

“Clearly, they weren’t,” Matt says, bluntly. “Same could be said for Crvena zvezda letting you sign a centre-back as good as Miloš Šarac for a possible €11 million, especially when Lyon fleeced you for an initial €45 million for Abderrazak Talbi later in the same window, who isn’t that much better - if he is at all.”

​

“How do you know the financial details of our transfer business?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ve got my sources,” Matt shrugs.

“It’s not me,” Alexis calls.

“It’s not,” Matt confirms.

“What do your sources make of the arrivals of Mark Barber from Spurs and his ex-teammate Pierre-Emile Højbjerg, on loan from Juventus?” I ask.

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

“I watched Barber in the Championship with Southampton last season, whatever you paid is probably a steal because he has huge potential,” Keith interjects.

“It was €22 million, rising to €33 million with add-ons.”

“Bargain,” Keith says.

“I agree,” Matt adds. “Højbjerg is obviously a very different scenario to Barber, but an experienced head, with Bundesliga and Champions League experience, is exactly the sort of player that can prove to be invaluable to a squad - especially with how young your team is.”

“Right, like that 17-year-old you signed from Hannover,” Keith notes.

“You mean Cardo Makengo?” I open his report on my computer. “He’s mainly here to develop for now, rather than going straight into the senior team, given there’s not going to be a lot of chances for him to get minutes.”

​

“What did he set you back?” Keith asks.

“Just over €14 million.”

“WHY did you spend so much on Talbi?!” Matt groans.

“Because he’s left footed and I panicked!” I shout, far louder than I intended. My former assistants stare at me silently as Alexis finally peels her eyes away from her studies. I clear my throat before continuing much more quietly. “I need some more young options for left centre-back, and I didn’t want to miss out, especially with Manchester City sniffing around Dan-Axel Zagadou. Besides, Cardo was only so cheap because of his release fee, so we dived in there straight away when Chelsea and Real Madrid began making half-baked offers.”

“It was a summer all about release fees,” Alexis says, going back to her notes.

“That’s right, three in total.”

“Blimey, all that money spent up front - did you feel alright, gaffer?” Matt winks.

“Not really, but I had two more targets I wanted and I wasn’t missing out on them: Wouter Burger for €55 million from Bayer Leverkusen, who will slot in perfectly on the left of our midfield diamond with his excellent engine and passing range, and Tariq Lamptey from Brighton for €62 million, someone I believe to be one of the best wing-backs on the market.”

​

“Both signed for less than their predecessors were sold to Saudi Arabia for, I see,” Matt says, scanning the screen, clearly impressed despite his best efforts to appear emotionless. “Some decent business you and your team have done here, chief.”

​

“With all these signings, and the treble last season, I presume you’re favourites to repeat your success?” Keith says.

I throw my head back in wild laughter. It takes me almost a minute to finally compose myself again.

“No. Not even close.”

​

“The media don’t know what they’re talking about,” Matt says. “We all saw the odds they gave us at Blues.”

“Exactly, though I’m quite worried that Bayern will come fighting back with a vengeance,” I sigh. “They don’t settle for second-best for long…”

“Well, their kits will be second-best this season, that’s for sure,” Alexis says.

​

“Isn’t that the same manufacturer as we had?” Keith squints.

“It is. I was told then it was a local lady, but I’m being told the same again here, so who knows what’s going on. Maybe it’s that same lady who blogs about me,” I shrug.

“What a ludicrous thought,” Matt snaps. “Bloggers don’t do graphic design, it’s not in their nature to be good at writing AND illustrating.”

“I like the blog,” Keith says, making Matt and me raise our eyebrows. “What? I’ve had a lot of free time and thought I’d check it out. Makes for a good read, though the way she ends things with Harry is a bit unbelievable.”

The blood drains from my face at the mention of Harry’s final visit to my office.

“It’s all dramatised though, right? She’s probably making stuff up for views, to keep readers hooked,” Matt reasons.

Phew.

At that moment, a doorbell can be heard through on one of the others’ microphones.

“Ah, that’ll be my pizza.”

“It’s barely ten o’clock in the morning, Matt,” I judge.

“I’m unemployed, there are no rules,” he says, a little too proudly.

“I like that way of thinking, Matt. Perhaps I’ll order one myself,” Keith chuckles. “In that case, it’s probably best we both go, Nicole. Good luck for your first few games.”

“Alright, no problem, have a good few weeks” I say, hiding how sad I am that I couldn’t talk to the pair for longer. “Are we still on for meeting up when I’m in Brum for the Super Cup?”

Both my ex-colleagues beam from ear to ear.

“Oh, Nicole,” Matt starts.

“We wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

* * * * * * * *​

Thank you for reading! A link to my socials and my previous story can be found on my Linktree, and please follow the thread to be updated every time there's a new post!

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Part Fourteen
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Welcome back to Foal From Grace! Four different competitions, two trophies on the line, and my first face-off with Birmingham City since my departure just over a year ago - buckle up for a loaded episode.

This part is spread across multiple posts, so make sure to catch all six games!

Series Links

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“What’s the matter, boss?” Kevin Nolan asks, noticing the look of slight concern on my face when he walks into our dressing room at Borussia-Park.

“I have this weird feeling in the back of my mind that I just can’t place,” I sigh, slumped on the bench. “Like Blues have been relegated in an alternative universe, or something similar…”

“You say the weirdest things sometimes, you know that?” Zlatan Bajramović says, following Kevin through the door. “It’s probably just the nagging sense of dread that comes with facing Bayern.”

“Probably,” I nod. “I know we’ve beaten them the last two times we’ve played them, but it never feels any less intimidating.”

“For all we know, last year was an aberration,” Kevin says. “You’re right to be wary.”

“Am I though?” I ask, standing up. Kevin and Zlatan exchange a glance. “I mean, think about it: we won a treble last season, we strengthened our starting eleven over the summer, and Bayern have barely moved in the transfer market while some of their best players have angled for a move - shouldn’t we be more confident?”

“Maybe, but here’s the thing: they’re Bayern,” Zlatan says. “We may have won everything last season, but they won the previous 14 Bundesliga titles and it’s not that long ago that they won the Champions League. And, yes, we’ve strengthened, but their quality has always been so much higher that they stay streets ahead of us even by standing still.”

“I thought I was pessimistic,” Kevin mumbles.

“Sorry, I’m not having the best of times,” Zlatan says, dropping his head. “I know I shouldn't be so negative, I know I should be excited for a new season, but life’s been hard recently and I’m finding it difficult to be positive about our prospects.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.

“I guess, not that there’s a lot to talk about,” Zlatan answers, letting out a soft, ironic laugh, sitting down a couple of seats along from me. “Losing people you love is rough, my passions no longer interest me, and each day feels like more of a struggle than the last. What’s the point in getting up in the morning when nothing seems to matter anymore?”

“Because it’s all anyone can do,” Kevin says, perching next to our colleague. “Your pain will slowly fade, but you have to keep putting one foot in front of the other. If you don’t try to move forward, how can you expect to leave your difficulties behind?”

Zlatan nods, then quickly buries his head in his hands. Despite hiding his face, the movements of his back and shoulders tell us all we need to know.

I slide across and join Kevin in wrapping an arm around Zlatan.

“I love you, Zlats, and I’m here for you,” Kevin whispers, his own eyes starting to glisten. “It’s okay to be sad. Whatever you need, whatever you want, whenever that may be, I’ll be there.”

“Ditto,” I add. “You don’t have to deal with this on your own.”

Zlatan straightens his back, eyes red, and sucks lots of air in through his nose then out through his mouth, gradually settling his breathing back to normal. “Thank you, both of you,” he says, after about half a minute.

“Don’t mention it,” Kevin murmurs.

“If you want to take a bit of time to process, I’d understand. Why don’t you head home and look after yourself for a bit?” I suggest.

“NO,” Zlatan says, authoritatively. “No. I want to see us complete our domestic set, and I’m sure the boys can do it.”

“That’s the spirit,” Kevin says with a wobbly smile. “Let’s win this darn Supercup.”

​

We start the stronger of the two teams, the unhappiness present in the Bavarians’ squad over the summer not yet subsided and the disharmony clearly affecting their play. The usually imperious juggernauts look more like 1860 Munich as they stumble through the opening proceedings, and nothing sums up their plight more than Matthijs de Ligt receiving the ball from Marc-Andre ter Stegen in his own box, turning and just… stopping, like he can’t work out where one of his socks has gone while sorting the washing, allowing Nicolò Tresoldi to steam in, rob the Dutchman of possession, spin, and fire in from 12 yards.

Tresoldi has the ball in the net again within minutes, only to be flagged for offside, but even this show of insolence in the face of our illustrious visitors generates little reaction, and we don’t even face a shot on target until over an hour has passed, by which point Dominik Szoboszlai has lashed a second past Ter Stegen to put us well in control.

Yet again, Bayern barely respond.

After so much build up and so many sleepless nights, the former Champions cause so few headaches that we don’t even feel the need to get stodgy as we enter the final minutes.

Our painful loss on penalties last year still in our thoughts, our demons are exorcised as the final whistle goes and we win the German Supercup, the last of Germany’s domestic honours left for us to claim since my arrival.

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Over the break between campaigns, I started looking forward to which quaint stadium we’d be visiting in the opening round of the DFB-Pokal, however that excitement soon subsided when we got matched up with one of the only four 2. Bundesliga sides to go unseeded in the draw, Karlsruher.

Even though we’re not facing the usual batch of semi-professional footballers that are offered up as sacrifices to their Bundesliga overlords at this time of year, I still feel fairly confident in the abilities of my Backup Brigade to get past a side that nearly dropped out of the second tier last season, giving me the first chance to get a look at some of our new recruits in competitive action.

​

When we were drawn against the highest-ranked team possible, I knew our first-round tie wouldn’t be as easy as, say, our match against Homberg in the equivalent fixture last season.

What I wasn’t prepared for, was just how much harder they were going to make life for us.

It’s clear from the start that Karlsruher have been working on a plan to stifle us for several weeks, their press highly organised in a compact 3-5-2 that stops us from finding many routes through the midfield and drags the game down into a scrappy back-and-forth affair that suits our hosts far more than my boys, leaving us unable to fashion any major chances and forcing extra time.

The pattern continues during the additional half an hour as we’re about as creative as a football badge from the 2010s onward from open play. Even once we finally break the deadlock when Miloš Šarac heads in at the back post from the second phase of a corner, Karlsruher just go straight down the other end and equalise within minutes, meaning we’ve somehow ended up going to a penalty shootout, a shootout in which neither goalkeeper saves a single effort, leaving us incredibly relieved that Daniel O’Shaughnessy shanks KSC’s fifth penalty several yards wide.

We’re through to the second round, where we’ll face Hoffenheim - just like last season - and will have to step up our game from today.

Embarrassing.

* * * * * * * *
​

“It just had to be here, didn’t it?” I say to Krystian Bielik as we step off the team coach, acknowledging the gathered crowd as we do.

“There’s a certain irony in our first game against Blues since we left being held at Villa Park, yes,” he agrees as we head into the stadium and down the corridor. “Having the home dressing room hurts a bit, too.”

“I know, as if we ARE Villa, trying to beat Blues.” We both shudder.

“There’ll definitely be some people who’ll feel like we’re the villains of the piece, jumping ship within days of the club’s biggest triumph,” Krystian reasons.

“Yes, well, that’d be pretty unfair, considering how much of an influence we had on getting us there in the first place,” I note. I pause as we pass by the door to Birmingham’s quarters.

“Don’t, boss,” Krystian says, putting his hand on my shoulder. “There’s a time and a place, and this isn’t it.”

“I know,” I sigh. “It’s just -”

“Whatever you're about to say, it doesn’t matter,” Krystian says, cutting me short. “We’re here to represent Die Fohlen, so we need to act as such - regardless of our personal feelings.”

“You’re right,” I nod, pulling myself away from where our ex-team are gathered. “Let’s go.”

Before we can enter our dressing room, however, the door to Blues’ opens and Anel Ahmedhodžić, Krystian’s replacement as captain, pokes his head out. “Krissy? Gaffer?”

“Hiya, Anel, good to see you again. Y’alright?”

“Fine, thanks. Just wanted to ask you to stop eavesdropping and sod off to your own area - you’re the enemy now,” Anel glares, slamming the door.

Krystian and I stand on silence for a few seconds, staring at where Anel’s face had been.

“Well, they don’t miss us as much as I thought.”

​

Quite predictably, it’s the Champions League holders that take control of the early exchanges, and a well-worked move from the English side is capped off by Oscar Gloukh, firing past Gregor Kobel before we can get a foothold in the tie.

After we kick off again, we finally start gaining confidence, helped by Antonio Conte’s wariness with regards to pushing for more goals once ahead, and the belief that we can draw ourselves level begins to grow. On the brink of half-time, Szoboszlai grazes the bar with an audacious volley, and Tresoldi finds space at the front post around the hour-mark, only for Justin Bijlow to spread himself wide and block the flick from Luca Netz’s cross, with Ibrahima Konaté on hand to sweep away the loose ball, but it now seems inevitable that we’ll find our way past my former employers.

Which makes it even more heartbreaking when we concede the most un-”Nicole Andrews’ Birmingham” sucker punch moments later, Konaté lumping an aimless ball downfield that Edwin Zamudio can only head straight to Endrick, the Brazilian getting the ball out of his feet before curling into the top-left corner from the edge of our area.

With the second goal going in, our momentum is gone. We get the ball in the net via Jesper Lindstrøm, but Tresoldi is offside in the build up, and we slowly fade, the energy draining from our performance as the Bluenoses in attendance start the party early, revelling in the trophy that they’re about to win at the home of their biggest rivals. I’m sure I’d be in amongst them in other circumstances, yet all I feel is irritation as, despite having the better of the chances, my Borussia Mönchengladbach side can’t find a way past the two-time Champions of Europe.

Birmingham take the bragging rights in the inaugural Nicole Andrews Derby.

* * * * * * * *
​

With a 2-0 win, a 2-0 loss, and a 1-1 draw from our three games in cup competitions, it’s finally time to discover what sort of start we’re going to make to our league season, with a trip to Hoffenheim on the cards to open our Bundesliga campaign, the same opponents we faced in my first ever league match in Germany - what is it with Hoffenheim and repeat fixtures?

Despite the loss on Wednesday, it’ll be the same starting eleven that took on Birmingham as I look for my players to react to that disappointment in the West Midlands by putting Die Kraichgauer to the sword.

​

We look fired up from the first whistle, rattling the crossbar within the opening five minutes which causes Hoffenheim’s players to exchange knowing glances. They’ve been here before, on the receiving end of a post-disappointment Gladbach performance last season too, so few are surprised when Bielik heads in a Tariq Lamptey cross with enough power to launch a space shuttle, before Netz makes a first-time pass when intercepting a ball into midfield from a rattled Emanuel Aiwu to free Tresoldi to blast in a second a few minutes later.

With a two-goal advantage, we can afford to ease off the gas, controlling the tempo of the game for the remainder of the 90, and Hoffenheim struggle to find the urge to seize possession and break us down, letting us cruise to three points and a clean sheet on the opening day.

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

In a way, I feel a little guilty over the plight of Bayer Leverkusen. Brendan Rodgers’ side were in with a chance of qualifying for the Champions League when we played them in our penultimate game of last season, until Tresoldi scored a winning goal with only three seconds to play, condemning Bayer to the relative ignominy of the Europa League and, as a result, leaving their squad members vulnerable to being picked off by clubs in Europe’s premiere competition. Squad members like Wouter Burger, for example, being picked off by a club like us, for example.

Whilst we still have the luxury of a whole week between fixtures, I’ll continue to name the strongest lineup possible, so there are no changes from the opening day for our first home Bundesliga match of 2027/28.

​

A number of fans haven’t even reached their seats when Moussa Diaby lets us off the hook by directing a tame effort straight into the arms of Kobel when clean through one-on-one, and a decent percentage of those are still on the concourse when Tanguy Nianzou powers in Netz’s inswinging corner at the front post to capitalise on that poor finish. However, before the opening quarter of an hour has passed, Szoboszlai has the chance to double our advantage, only to be denied by an excellent save by Gavin Bazunu, and his failure to convert soon appears costly when Lee Kang-in later floats a free-kick towards the back post that Kobel misjudges, allowing Mattias Svanberg to gently lift the ball over our stranded ‘keeper and restore parity.

As the game wears on, our visitors continue to frustrate us, directing us down dead ends and nullifying our threat time and again, but if my teams have proven anything over the last five years, it’s that sometimes all we need to tilt the balance of play in our favour is a single set piece, a belief that comes to fruition when Nianzou is on hand again to react first and poke Dan-Axel Zagadou’s parried header over the line for our, and his, second.

With less than a quarter of the game to go, Leverkusen need to force the issue to get back into things, trying and failing to break through our backline again, but this means that gaps start appearing behind their own, and a fresh Emil Holm takes advantage by scampering through the left of Bayer’s tiring defence and lifting in a high cross that Tresoldi heads into the ground, wrong-footing Bazunu to double our lead and take all the points out of our visitors’ reach.

* * * * * * * *
​

“And that, Nicole, is why Ghost Rider will never be surpassed as my favourite Marvel movie,” Alexis Geiler says as she stands to open her blinds while the credits roll.

“I do enjoy it, to be fair, and the CGI holds up well against the test of time,” I nod from her sofa. “What do you make of claims it’s too different from its source material, though?”

“Ah,you mistake me for someone who cares about movies staying authentic to the literature they are based on,” Alexis says, taking the disc out of her DVD player and replacing it in its box. “I judge movies and books on their own merits, I don’t feel it would be fair to hold a grudge.”

“How can you separate them, though? Surely they should be considered alongside one another?”

“Well… no,” Alexis shrugs. “How to Train Your Dragon, for example, is both an excellent book series and an excellent trilogy of movies, however their narratives are completely different. Besides, if you’re always going to compare films to their books, you will almost always wind up underwhelmed.”

“True, like The Hunger Games,” I suggest.

“EXACTLY. Great books, great movies, but the movies just don’t hold up in comparison,” Alexis agrees. “It’s easier to avoid being disappointed if you don’t compile the two.”

As I take my phone out of my pocket and take it off of ‘Do Not Disturb’, several emails flood my screen, one of which catches my eye. “Speaking of disappointed, the highly exciting Champions League league phase draw has been sent through from UEFA headquarters.”

“Oooooo, let me see!” Alexis says, excitedly, jumping back onto the sofa and accidentally slapping me in the face with her cascade of hair in the process. “Oops, sorry, Nicole.”

“It’s fine,” I frown. “At least you don’t have it in a braid today, that would’ve been painful.”

With Alexis next to me, I tap on the notification and the email opens up in front of us.

“Well… could be worse…” Alexis mumbles.

​

“I mean, we beat Marseille and Wolfsburg last season,” I say.

“Qarabağ don’t have much recent success in Europe.”

“Spurs and Sevilla might be alright…”

“Barcelona got to the semi-finals last time out…”

“PSG won the whole thing two years ago…”

“And Chelsea are the first team to win the Premier League since you left… but, other than that, I am sure you won’t have too many issues,” Alexis laughs, nervously.

“Let’s just turn our attention back to St. Pauli this weekend and forget about all of those stresses,” I say.

“Only briefly, this is our free time right now, after all,” Alexis says, raising an eyebrow. “I know you’re resting Szoboszlai to bring in Lindstrøm, but are you still dropping Zagadou for Šarac?”

“Yes, he won’t stop grumbling about not being sold to Manchester City, so he can have some time on the sidelines to cool off a little.”

“Good choice. Now, back to business: next movie.” Alexis pulls back the folding door from the cupboards that line the whole of one of the walls in her lounge, revealing nothing but DVDs. “Would you like to browse?”

“We’ll have been knocked out of the Champions League by the time I get done looking through all of that.”

​

As the final whistle sounds, I allow myself a few small fist pumps before heading over to shake Adi Hütter’s hand, then join my players on the pitch for their celebrations. A goal each for the eternally reliable Lindstrøm, Lamptey, Netz, Nianzou, and Burger made for an incredibly comfortable afternoon of football, though Marlon Mustapha’s consolation immediately after our third did take a little of the shine off of proceedings.

As we approach the away fans, I catch up with my captain and vice-captain.

“Well done, boys, another excellent display,” I beam. “It’s been a great start, though the fact Bayern are already ahead of us on goal difference suggests they’re going to provide more of a threat from the off this season.”

“We’d be top on goals scored if SOMEONE hadn’t let a shot from 20 yards get past them,” Krystian smirks.

“Oh, spare me. It was right in the corner,” Gregor says. “Plus, you’re meant to be screening the defence. He was your man.”

“Come on, lads, don’t squabble after we’ve just won 5-1 away from home,” I plead.

“Sorry, boss, I should know better than to tease Greg when he’s already feeling sensitive,” Krystian says.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” my goalkeeper scowls.

“Well, this was our fourth game against St. Pauli since the gaffer and I turned up, and I’m still the only player to have kept a clean sheet against them,” Krystian mocks.

Gregor stares daggers at his teammate before turning to me.

“I’m handing in a transfer request.”

* * * * * * * *​

Thank you for reading! I know that today’s intro was a bit less fun than usual, but that’s because I wanted to highlight an issue close to my heart: Mental Health Awareness Month.

With society in the state that it’s currently in, a lot of people’s mental health is more strained than ever. If you’re struggling, just remember that you’re not alone. It might seem hard, but the best thing you can do is talk about it, be that with family, friends, or an overly sarcastic woman who writes silly stories about Football Manager.

That’s not the easiest thing to do for everybody, however, so I’m asking each of you to reach out to at least one person you know and check in with them this May. They might be completely fine, they might not want to talk about their problems, but you never know - you might make someone feel wanted when they feel more alone than ever.

Now, next week’s Foal From Grace is a little up in the air as (more positively) I’m off to Borussia-Park in the real world to see Die Fohlen take on Alexis’ Eintracht Frankfurt, so the best way to find out if a new instalment is coming is to follow my Instagram, which you can find on my Linktree along with links to my Twitter (screw you, Elon Musk), my previous story, Singing the Blues, and a new link to ‘CALM’, a charity dedicated to helping people who are struggling to cope in a world that so often doesn’t seem to care.

Look after yourselves.

Love, Nicole

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Part Fifteen​

Welcome back to Foal From Grace! My debut Champions League campaign with Die Fohlen kicks off, and a clash at the Allianz Arena could set the tone for this season's title race.

This part is spread across multiple posts, so make sure to catch all six games!

Series Links

​

International breaks. Glorious fortnights without club football that allow managers and coaches time to regroup, to conceptualise new ideas, to train their players one-to-one, and prepare for the next fixture, all without having to rush. These breaks finally became bliss for me at Birmingham after a lifetime of wishing international football would disappear into the ever-expanding void of defunct footballing practices, never to be seen again like the Intertoto Cup, the chance for any team to be successful in Europe, and chain smoking. Oh, how I long for all the extra time on the training pitch with all my lads.

“Good morning, Nicole,” Alexis Geiler says as she walks through the door at 7 a.m. on the dot. “I see the jigsaw table is back out again.”

“More than half the first-team squad is away on international duty, so I told everyone to come in later today and enjoy some extra rest - there’s not a lot of work we can do as a team for the next few days,” I sigh. “When I first started out as a manager, it was only ever Juninho Bacuna jetting off with Curaçao that I had to worry about, but it’s getting harder and harder to get anything productive done during these breaks now.”

“Hence, the jigsaw.”

“Hence, the jigsaw,” I repeat, gesturing to the partially constructed puzzle laid out in front of me.

“Are we the only ones here, then?” Alexis asks, dropping her red rucksack next to her desk and sitting down.

“Think so,” I nod. “Zlatan has an appointment first thing to have his headaches assessed -”

“Skip the doctor and go straight to the herbal tea, it’s all he’ll be prescribed,” Alexis mutters.

“- and I’m assuming Kevin is still recovering from the England game last night.” I turn to my laptop and click my way through to his calendar. “Yep, here we go. ‘20:45: England match kicks off’; ‘21:08: Quick break to chunder after too many beers’.

“I’m not sure I’ve heard the word ‘chunder’ before.”

“It’s an informal, British term meaning ‘to vomit’.”

“Ah,” Alexis says, her face drooping from intrigued to disgusted faster than the average tenure of a Watford manager. “I probably could have guessed that from context, in all honesty. Why are you here, then? Why not spend some extra time with Beth?”

“She’s gone to visit her sister back in Britain and spend some time with our nieces. Now the house feels too empty, so I came here instead,” I explain.

“You should have said, you could have stayed at my place, rather than spend extra time at work,” Alexis says, sympathetically.

“It’s fine, I don’t want to be a burden. Besides, there’s free coffee here and I’m used to being bereft of my wife in this place,” I chuckle. “Just wanted to keep myself occupied somewhere that doesn’t make me feel lonely.”

“Hence, the jigsaw.”

“Hence, the jigsaw,” I repeat again, both Alexis and I smiling.

“What’s the picture of?”

“I don’t know, it’s one of those you have to work out as you go along,” I say.

“You must be the only person I know who’d do something that unnecessarily hard.”

“Well, you’ll be shocked to hear that Kevin lent it to me, actually, and apparently enjoyed finishing it very much.”

“Really?” Alexis queries. “I struggle to believe that.”

“That’s what he told me, and I tend to trust the man,” I shrug.

“I’m surprised. Good for him. I keep learning things about Kevin that I’d never have guessed,” Alexis admits.

“Which is odd, considering how open he is - we probably should know him better by now,” I say.

“True. One person I do know well, however, is you, and I know that you probably want a coffee right about now,” Alexis says, standing up again. “I’ll make you one, seeing as I want one too and you’ve probably made at least two yourself by now.”

“Thanks, Lexi, that’s very kind.”

Alexis rounds her desk and fiddles with the coffee machine for a moment, stopping in her tracks as she glances at the jigsaw.

“Nicole?”

“I’ve just seen it too.”

Even with only about a third of the puzzle complete, it’s become apparent what the final image is going to be.

Kevin Nolan has lent me a 1000-piece jigsaw of his own face.

​

With Schalke winless from their opening three games on their return to the Bundesliga, it’s hardly surprising that even our slightly rotated side totally dominate the first half, progressively getting closer and closer to finding the net until Tariq Lamptey cuts in from the right and lashes an effort past Marius Müller on the brink of the interval to finally give us the lead our play deserves.

The boys come out after the restart motivated to keep up the good work, barely giving our visitors a moment to breathe before Wouter Burger drills in a second from the edge of the area, and our luck looks to be in when Sékou Mara makes rugby fans proud by managing to clear the crossbar from only four yards out.

As time progresses, it looks likely we won’t add a third and start taking our foot off the gas, however this allows the side from Gelsenkirchen the chance to get themselves back in the game when Philipp Max cracks in a thunderous volley from 20 yards, so I, begrudgingly, set out instructions for getting stodgy and kill the tie as we muddle our way through the final minutes, creakily securing the three points when it should have been much more commanding.

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

After a gap year in the Europa League, Borussia Mönchengladbach and I both return to Champions League action, travelling to Spain to take on Sevilla in our league-phase opener.

With much harder fixtures to come, a win here against La Liga’s tenth-placed side could be vital, so I name the strongest set of outfielders I can, though Oliver Christensen steps in for Gregor Kobel between the sticks as I show faith in my backup ‘keeper to rise to the occasion against one of his former clubs.

​

Perhaps my team’s inexperience in Europe’s top club-competition could explain why they seem so over-awed by the pressure that comes with playing on the biggest stage, but the fact we don’t concede during a frenetic opening period that sees Konstantinos Mavropanos miss a free header at a corner and Rafa Mir pull his shot wide from the corner of the six-yard box is nothing short of a miracle as the Andalusians’ pedigree looks to be pushing them towards victory.

However, their intensity dips after half-time, and two chaotic minutes in the final quarter of an hour turn the game completely on its head. First, having grown in confidence, my boys have started playing some very nice football at last, and this finally produces a goal when Lamptey is let loose down the right and skids in a cross that Nicolò Tresoldi happily flicks past Etienne Green from close range. Then, straight from kick-off, Sevilla come flooding forward and Zeki Çelik loops a cross to the back post that, inexplicably, already-booked Óscar wafts an arm at, connecting and receiving his second yellow to reduce our hosts to ten without us even having touched the ball after scoring.

From here, the plan is obvious: get stodgy. And has it ever failed before? Not for a very, very long time, and never against a side a man light, and so it proves to be once more.

A victory and a clean sheet on our return to Champions League action will do very nicely.

* * * * * * * *
​

After an energy-sapping trip on Wednesday, the thing you need is to travel to the Allianz three days later, however the fixture computer has no sympathy for us and is clearly from Cologne, so off to Munich we go for our Saturday-afternoon clash.

Despite the travelling and quick turnaround involved, Bayern’s strength means I have little choice but to name a similar lineup to that which won in Seville, the only changes being Kobel’s return in goal and Jesper Lindstrøm getting the nod ahead of Dominik Szoboszlai after a series of impressive performances have earned him the chance to show what he can do against one of the best teams in the country.

​

For weeks, I’ve been telling myself that we’re reaching Bayern’s levels, closing the gap between us and the most dominant club in German football.

Today, however, crushed that idea.

From the start, Bayern look to have a point to prove. With disputes from the summer settled and Dani Olmo returned to the number-ten role after a baffling sojourn on the right for the Supercup, our hosts are back to their best, but not without a huge dollop of help from Kobel. Serginho Dest finds some space for himself on our left and sends an innocuous-looking cross towards the back post, however our vice-captain chooses to come rushing off his line and, not unlike Kelle Roos in the 2019 Championship play-off final, watches on in dismay as Gabriel Vidović mimics John McGinn, ghosting in front of the goalkeeper and heading into a totally unguarded net.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, we fail to respond, allowing Leroy Sané far too much space and time to pick his spot from six yards, only to uncharacteristically slice wide, before a low centre from the German winger ten minutes later is haplessly palmed into the middle of our penalty area by the shaken Kobel and Joshua Kimmich reacts first to stroke into our once-again-empty goal.

Having failed to muster a shot of any kind before the break, I share some heated opinions on their performance with my men, hoping to inspire some sort of reaction when they re-emerge from the dressing rooms for the second half, however that hope vanishes within seven minutes as Matthijs de Ligt powers in a corner, before Manu Koné goes hurtling through the back of Dayot Upamecano with two feet and a whole heap of frustration, receiving his marching orders for a tackle that would likely make a number of abattoir workers wince.

Weirdly, after being reduced to ten, we actually look like more of a threat, finally nabbing one back through a smart finish from Tresoldi, however the dye had clearly been cast already and we seemingly only found the space to score as a result of Bayern’s defence having fallen asleep after such a quiet afternoon in the sun. Our consolation wakes them back up and, predictably, Bayern start to strangle our play, completely controlling the final half an hour as we crumble when presented with our biggest test of the season so far.

Bayern remind us that, despite our success last season, this league is still theirs to lose.

* * * * * * * *
​

“It’s a good job we’ve had a bit of time to process that beating,” Kevin says as we watch a practice match on Saturday morning. “A whole week to get the lads to channel their hurt productively.”

“We do tend to react to defeats rather viciously,” Zlatan Bajramović agrees. “Like children that’ve had their teddy bears taken from them.”

“Not quite the fearsome analogy I was looking for, but it’ll have to do,” Kevin shrugs, before leaning back to peer around Zlatan at me. “You alright, gaffer? You’ve been very quiet.”

“I’m watching the play, making sure Pierre-Emile and Nico are slotting into the lineup as seamlessly as I’d hope,” I reply, not looking around. “As you should be, too.”

“I am,” Kevin frowns. “We’re all annoyed by the Bayern result, boss, don’t take it out on us.”

“Sorry, I won’t do it again,” I apologise. “I just really hate losing.”

“That can be helpful to get you to the top of the game, but you need to maintain a balance to make sure you don’t get on the nerves of all your players,” Zlatan reasons.

“I am aware of this and think I normally find that balance, but I take your point,” I nod. “I’ll try to -”

Before I can finish my sentence, Dan-Axel Zagadou comes sliding in on Tariq Lamptey just in front of us, nearly clattering my assistants and me with his follow-through.

“Good challenge, Daz,” Kevin praises. “Just mind the chief, she’s in a bad mood.”

“Whatever. Who cares?” Dan-Axel grumbles.

“What was that?” Zlatan asks.

“She’s not the only one in a bad mood, perhaps you should spend more time talking to your players,” Dan-Axel says, glaring at me.

“Is this still about Man City?” I scowl.

“Maybe, but it doesn’t matter.”

“Well, let’s evaluate this: Man City made a single bid for you, which was wildly below our valuation, before deciding they weren’t going to make another offer, so they clearly weren’t that invested in signing you,” I say.

“Sorry, I -”

“Then, despite them dropping their interest, you decide to sulk until well after the transfer window closed and disrupt the start of our season in the process,” I continue, my voice raising and drawing the attention of the whole squad. “This means I keep having to weigh up whether you can be trusted to play important matches and, just as I start to again, you proceed to switch off at a corner within minutes of the second half starting to let Bayern score their third.”

“Yes, but Gregor -”

“Now I don’t feel it’s worth the risk to play my best-performing centre-back from last season, because he’s unhappy about not getting his transfer to a club that had only minimal interest in him and couldn’t make another move for him for three months, even if they wanted to.” I’m now shouting. Some of my players are whispering to each other. Others are trying to hide their laughter. “So, tell me: why are you in such a bad mood when we’re the ones who have to deal with you sulking every gosh-darn day of the week about having to play for a treble-winning team on tens of thousands of Euros, despite you being happy to sign two contracts here within the last 14 months, you childish turnip?”

Everyone stares silently at us, Dan-Axel’s eyes swivelling in their sockets.

“Sorry I’ll try and put it behind me,” he mumbles.

“Good. You’re still not playing tomorrow, but you’ll be back in consideration after that,” I say, to which Dan-Axel nods and starts jogging back into position. “Come on, you’ve got a match to play - get back to it!” I shout at my players, jolting them back into action. As play resumes, I glance over to see both of my assistants looking at me.

“Okay, maybe I need to find a better outlet for my frustration.”

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

All the usual post-loss fire is out in abundance, as predicted, and Mainz don’t look like they’ll be able to cope as we tear through them like a chainsaw through jelly in the opening minutes, with Tresoldi nodding in his third in three games to put us ahead, but our intensity starts to dip and we have little more than our goal for our fans to shout about by the break.

Well, I had plenty to shout about, at least.

We start the second half like the previous 39 minutes of football never happened, right back to our incisive selves, and we’re rewarded with an almost identical start to that of the previous period, this time Liam Heywood, on as a half-time substitute, nutting in a front-post header from a corner.

From there, we settle into a pattern of control, something that’s much more comfortable with a two-goal lead than just the one, and, aside from one hairy moment at the death that saw Jonathan Burkhardt scamper through our backline before firing comically wide, our visitors offer little danger in front of goal, allowing us to get back to winning ways and for Kobel to redeem himself with a clean sheet after his atypically wobbly display last weekend.

* * * * * * * *
​

Be it when I was at Birmingham two years ago, or in my first Europa League adventure last season, Marseille started making a habit of popping up in the league phase of whichever European competition I’ve been taking part in, and this campaign is no different as the side from the south of France travel to Borussia-Park for our second fixture of this season’s Champions League.

With Zagadou putting his issues behind him, he’s restored to the starting eleven, along with Christensen and Heywood as they take the place of the rested Kobel and not-fully-fit Burger respectively.

​

The atmosphere at Borussia-Park is always spine tingling, but the way it amps up even more for my first Champions League game here almost makes me feel overcome with emotion when the noise from the Nordkurve hits me as I walk out of the tunnel.

Around the quarter-hour mark, I feel vindicated in my choice to keep Pierre-Emile Højbjerg in the lineup after his impressive performance against Mainz when the Dane follows it up by playing a sumptuous ball over the top for Szoboszlai to run on to and slot in, courtesy of a huge deflection off of Leonardo Balerdi’s left shin. It’s a glorious three minutes of smugness. Only three minutes, however, because Højbjerg then shows one of the tendencies that made him surplus to requirements at Juventus by careening into Sergio Reguilón like a cheetah on roller skates when he’s headed nowhere on the left of our box, landing Marseille a penalty that The Other Luis Suárez places perfectly into the bottom-right corner.

We struggle to recover from this setback, and things go from bad to worse when Lamptey is forced off with a back strain that’ll keep him out for around three weeks, but the funny thing in football is that momentum can swing from one direction to the other in a single moment, and that moment is when Isak Hien wrestles Szoboszlai to the ground as Emil Holm’s cross looks destined to float over everybody, handing us an unlikely lifeline that Tresoldi takes, thumping the spot kick straight down the middle and knocking the belief from Les Olympiens.

With their stubborn resistance finally broken, Marseille’s confidence vanishes. We go close to a third moments after our second, only for Lindstrøm to miss a free header from six yards out, but it matters for naught as our visitors fail to retaliate again and we scrap our way to back-to-back wins at the start of our Champions League campaign.

* * * * * * * *
​

Given Hertha only avoided last season’s relegation play-off by two points, I don’t think many would have predicted them to be seventh after six games this time out. However, they are, and a trip to the Capital is next on our agenda.

Whilst Kobel, Koné, and Burger can be restored to their starting berths after their absences for differing reasons on Wednesday, our team is weakened slightly by the loss of Lamptey at right wing-back. Nevertheless, it’s still as strong a side as I can name, the memory of being embarrassed at the Olympiastadion last season still vivid, as we aim to enter the October international break on a high.

​

Back in the dressing room, I’ve thrilled my players by letting them know that they’re being rewarded for an excellent showing by getting to stay another night in Berlin and enjoy themselves for a change. A Burger rocket and a Lindstrøm tap-in bookended a very competent performance as we seem to be getting back towards our efficient best and, with deeper analysis being saved for the coming week, the chatter has now turned to everyone’s plans for the next 24 hours.

“What’re you planning on getting up to then, boys?” I ask Tariq Lamptey and Krystian Bielik.

“Captain’s going to show me the sights,” Tariq says. “I’ve not been to Berlin before.”

“And I never tire of sightseeing,” Krystian adds.

“Sounds like fun,” I smile, moving further around the room to Luca Netz and Nico Schlotterbeck. “What about you guys, anything fun on the cards?”

“I’m trying to convince Luca to come with me to see Sachsenhausen, but he’s hesitant,” Nico answers, frowning at his fellow left-sided defender. “Do you not want to learn more about the political history of our country and the impact it’s had on shaping modern societies?”

“It’s unsettling, there is no way I am willingly going to visit somewhere so depressing,” Luca snaps. “Besides, I don’t need to learn any more than I already know, it’s not like history is going to repeat itself. As if anyone would scapegoat an entire ethnicity, religion, and/or minority group again, blaming them for the majority of their country’s problems in order to hide the greedy motives of politicians in power seeking to force through their ideals at the expense of the needy.”

“That sounds like what the UK does with asylum seekers,” Nico shrugs. “Right, Bossin?”

“Huh…” I murmur, a crippling sense of disgust creeping over me, so I edge away slowly until I reach Liam Heywood and Mark Barber. “Please tell me you’ve got something enjoyable planned.”

“We’re probably just going to stay at the hotel,” Liam says. “Football Manager 2028 comes out soon, so we want to finish the season on our network save. We’re also trying to decide if we carry on from when we were at Spurs as Porto and Benfica, or whether we start a fresh one.”

“Personally, I think we should start new and play as English clubs,” Mark says. “Now we’ve left, it doesn’t feel so dirty. Any ideas, gaffer?”

“One of you could start out as Birmingham, like I did,” I suggest.

“They’re far too overpowered, boss, it wouldn’t be a fair challenge for whoever doesn’t get them,” Liam reasons.

“Wow. I wish that was my problem when I took over,” I laugh, leaving the youngsters to their debate and sitting between my assistants.

“You’re unusually chipper today, chief,” Kevin says.

“On the surface,” I nod. “I could raise my concerns or pick at minor faults if I wanted to, but I DO understand that I need to cool it from time to time.”

“Why now, specifically?” Zlatan asks. “Not that I’m complaining, nor working on researching management techniques…”

“I don’t mind, Zlatan, I wouldn’t stand in your way if you decide you want to go into management - you’ve got to do what’s right for you,” I smile, receiving one in kind from Zlatan. “So, why now? Well, it’s simple really: a dozen of this lot are about to go away with their national teams. I want them to take positive memories from today so that, when they come back in a week and a half, they want to get straight back to giving their all to the cause - and we’re going to need them to.

“Judging by way Bayern and Dortmund have started, it’s looking likely to be a much tougher title battle than last season.”

* * * * * * * *​

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