View attachment 296252Sunday, 24 May 2015 11AM-ish
"Ciao, Luca," I said.
"Enrico, how are you?" my agent replied.
"You're back from church early," I said. There was some gurgling and snorting on the other end of the line.
"You are too funny," Luca said. "What's the latest, my friend?"
"I wanted your thoughts on how this might play out," I said.
"There are three likely scenarios. There are variables like how the media plays it and if either side decides to get nasty. First, they cave to your demands. Second, you cave and accept their demands. Third, I find you a new club."
"Okay," I replied. "I don't know if I'm up for playing a game of chicken."
"I know you love the club, Enrico, but you need to set that aside or they will use it against you..."
"But I really want to manage in Serie A," I interjected. "What if the only clubs to come calling are Serie B ones?"
"Enrico, Enrico, Enrico ..." Luca said. "After Wimbledon, there were moments you were convinced you would never manage again and be going to, and I quote,
Pound-Me-In-The-*** prison. And who talked you off the cliff?"
"You and Gwen."
"Right. Gwen and I. What you've done this season has been noticed. Trust me. You know I hear everything. Combined with your work at Cadiz and in London, you have an excellent track record of winning everywhere you go. And you've won the league twice in your four seasons. Two promotions? That is some serious ****, my friend. Serious ****."
"Thanks, Luca," I said. "This is why you're still my agent. You're the best."
"Anything else?"
"Oh, yeah, one more thing. I have some friends that are going to get some stories into the press about my contract situation as well as Casarini's."
"Okay, I'll keep an eye out for that. Ciao."
"Ciao."
