Enrico Pucci
Member
- Joined
- Nov 22, 2013
- Messages
- 2,187
- Reaction score
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View attachment 241578If my Alfa Romeo is a metaphor for my life, you feel ever bump in the road but it corners like nobody’s business. When it’s running that is. My life bottomed out as the world’s economy collapsed in 2008 and 2009. The end began as my knees gave out. From a central midfielder for Bologna FC 1909 with a beautiful wife, luxurious apartment and all the trappings of the high life, I’d tumbled to dead broke, divorced, deeply in debt to the mafia and working for a pittance as a youth coach for my club. Eventually, the Alfa broke down and sat in my mechanic’s lot as I didn’t have the money to get it running.
And, yes, to answer any question right up front, I did have actual ties to the Camorra. They are Napoli’s crime syndicate. I was just a dumb, awestruck teenager when I met her. How was I supposed to know that she was the daughter of a mafia boss. He seemed so nice, so sophisticated and I was too naive to notice the signs that something might be off. And by the time I did notice, we were married. He’d loaned me money starting in 2008 to help prop up my failing restaurant. Never ever under any circumstances borrow money from the mafia.
I eventually landed a job as a manager and was gaining experience as well as winning. I got fired from my first job in Spain but got a job managing in London for a fourth division club. I got them promoted and was close to the play-off positions when my past connections with the mafia caught up with me. I was accused of fixing a match for the Camorra while managing in Spain.
I was guilty, but they had no proof. When the Camorra offers you an opportunity to eliminate some of your debt, you can’t refuse. Well, I suppose you can if you have a death wish. I don’t. The charges were eventually dropped but not before AFC Wimbledon sacked me.
It all worked out fine in the end. I’d gained a girlfriend of mind-boggling beauty. A year after we’d met, Gwen’s modeling career took off. Her image was plastered on billboards all over London. She had always wanted to live in Italy and followed me there when Bologna gave me a job managing their youth team.
Bologna got relegated amid protests and death threats against the club President. It was an utter disaster. The faction opposing the President forced him to accept me as the new manager.
So I had my dream job and life had been roaring along splendidly. To continue into the realm of tenuous metaphor, I’d been feeling the Alfa’s power and giving it the gas. I got us promoted and my second season in charge had gone well. We’d flirted with the top of the table through November but went ice cold through the winter.
Honestly, who would want to drive a convertible in winter.
We had enough points by February to avoid relegation and ended up tenth in Serie A. It was a solid first season back in the big time.
But before I could head out on my vacation, I got called into President Albana Gauraldi’s office. He demanded to know my plans for stopping the poor form he’d seen through 2016 and demanded that I stop conducting all the club’s transfers. He further demanded that I cede much of the control over to his Director of Football Roberto Savoia.
Savoia was responsible for putting the 2013/14 squad together that got my beloved Rossoblus relegated. I have no respect for the man and little time. Savoia demanded a wish list of players I wanted to sign so he could consider signing them. What both angered and scared me is the club’s war chest was going to be formidable. Savoia couldn’t negotiate his way out of a paper bag and I didn’t want to lose out on players because an idiot did the negotiating. I wanted to challenge for a European spot and Captain Asswipe and President of the Death Threats would ruin it all.
I lost my temper. Words were exchanged. I said that the club’s good financial health was largely due to me not them. The basic point I got across was they had brought the club to it’s knees and I was in the process of rebuilding it. I stormed out of the meeting. I am still an employee of Bologna. I’m still the manager. I haven’t read online that I’d been sacked.
Yet.
And, yes, to answer any question right up front, I did have actual ties to the Camorra. They are Napoli’s crime syndicate. I was just a dumb, awestruck teenager when I met her. How was I supposed to know that she was the daughter of a mafia boss. He seemed so nice, so sophisticated and I was too naive to notice the signs that something might be off. And by the time I did notice, we were married. He’d loaned me money starting in 2008 to help prop up my failing restaurant. Never ever under any circumstances borrow money from the mafia.
I eventually landed a job as a manager and was gaining experience as well as winning. I got fired from my first job in Spain but got a job managing in London for a fourth division club. I got them promoted and was close to the play-off positions when my past connections with the mafia caught up with me. I was accused of fixing a match for the Camorra while managing in Spain.
I was guilty, but they had no proof. When the Camorra offers you an opportunity to eliminate some of your debt, you can’t refuse. Well, I suppose you can if you have a death wish. I don’t. The charges were eventually dropped but not before AFC Wimbledon sacked me.
It all worked out fine in the end. I’d gained a girlfriend of mind-boggling beauty. A year after we’d met, Gwen’s modeling career took off. Her image was plastered on billboards all over London. She had always wanted to live in Italy and followed me there when Bologna gave me a job managing their youth team.
Bologna got relegated amid protests and death threats against the club President. It was an utter disaster. The faction opposing the President forced him to accept me as the new manager.
So I had my dream job and life had been roaring along splendidly. To continue into the realm of tenuous metaphor, I’d been feeling the Alfa’s power and giving it the gas. I got us promoted and my second season in charge had gone well. We’d flirted with the top of the table through November but went ice cold through the winter.
Honestly, who would want to drive a convertible in winter.
We had enough points by February to avoid relegation and ended up tenth in Serie A. It was a solid first season back in the big time.
But before I could head out on my vacation, I got called into President Albana Gauraldi’s office. He demanded to know my plans for stopping the poor form he’d seen through 2016 and demanded that I stop conducting all the club’s transfers. He further demanded that I cede much of the control over to his Director of Football Roberto Savoia.
Savoia was responsible for putting the 2013/14 squad together that got my beloved Rossoblus relegated. I have no respect for the man and little time. Savoia demanded a wish list of players I wanted to sign so he could consider signing them. What both angered and scared me is the club’s war chest was going to be formidable. Savoia couldn’t negotiate his way out of a paper bag and I didn’t want to lose out on players because an idiot did the negotiating. I wanted to challenge for a European spot and Captain Asswipe and President of the Death Threats would ruin it all.
I lost my temper. Words were exchanged. I said that the club’s good financial health was largely due to me not them. The basic point I got across was they had brought the club to it’s knees and I was in the process of rebuilding it. I stormed out of the meeting. I am still an employee of Bologna. I’m still the manager. I haven’t read online that I’d been sacked.
Yet.
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