A story in FM 2010. Please be aware that the views held in this story are mostly fictional. Though many of the characters are real, I am only responding to events the game throws up in a story manner. Some real life backstory may be used too, but, in the main, this is a fictional piece of work and no offence is meant or should be taken from it.
Being Bastian…
Friday, June 12th 2009.
“I am the greatest manager this country has ever produced,” I announced to the baying media.
A sudden, deathly silence befell the room…
The journalists scrambling for space; the hustle and bustle of public-relations forcing the over-eager back behind the designated line; the shuffling of feet, jostling of elbows and scratching of scribbling pens all came to an abrupt stop. Even the crazy haze of unrelenting flashbulbs halted, and I was left to wonder if hearts and batteries had died before my very eyes. This cattle-mart had closed temporarily and time itself appeared stuck at a bemused crossroads. The gentle humming of electrical equipment sprawled throughout the room provided the only murmurings of any existence…
“Better than Lattek?” cried one of the pompous faces in the crowd, finally breaking the unearthly silence, whilst sending the amassed collection of vultures into a crazed chorus of hearty laughter.
“What about Hitzfeld?” another mocked, “Or Magath? Indeed, what about the great man sat at your side?”
“Today…” I began, attempting to hide the tremble growing in my throat as the foolishness of my rash statement hit home, “Maybe not,” I paused, trying to regain my composure. After all, I’d only ever managed in the youth divisions before today, but if I backed down now I’d be a laughing stock, “Tomorrow? For sure.”
I heard the drawn-out cry of fine leather under stress -- I knew the legend sitting next to me had shifted on his seat and I guessed I was now the centre of his attentions. I turned and faced him -- praying he wouldn’t see the single bead of sweat meandering down my forehead. He stared back at me over the rim of his glasses -- deep into my eyes, deep into the depths of my shaken soul.
“I believe him,” he declared, eventually -- refocusing his steely glare on the gathered crowd, “If I didn’t, he wouldn’t be here.”
I sighed with relief.
The rest of my press conference passed into the nothingness of foggy memory. As a result of the bravado of my opening statement, I had unwittingly placed a noose around my already frail neck. I could feel an aura of disbelief within the room and dreaded the headlines that would follow -- “Who does this guy think he is?” someone muttered.
I could see his point. I’m no Sir Alex Ferguson or Jose Mourinho. Not yet anyway…
“This press conference is now closed,” the head of public-relations announced to my relief, “This way, gentlemen,” he added with a smile, showing us the way backstage.
“Now, I know I said you have to be confident in front of the press Bastian,” the club legend whispered in my ear as he placed a comforting arm around my shoulder and led me away from the media circus, “But I didn’t mean that confident. If you weren’t under pressure before, you certainly are now.”
“Yes,” I mumbled in agreement.
“Ah, don’t worry about it. You have my backing and, more importantly, the majority of the club’s board back your appointment too. You’re my choice Bastian. I know you won’t let me down.” he added with a confident, reassuring smile as we passed by the last of the trigger-happy cameramen.
“Thank you Der Kaiser. I will try my best,” I replied with renewed vigour.
“I know you will. Bayern is a great club. Besides, if you don’t bring home a trophy after that press-conference you’ll be laughed out of town,” he chortled, before adding, “And you can stop with this Der Kaiser business too. Have you seen my legs recently? I’m hardly the defensive powerhouse of seasons past. Call me Franz, it is my name after all.”
***
Saturday, June 13th 2009.
It was 7am when I walked into the kitchen -- the aroma of brätwurst browning under the grill eased the ache of my rumbling stomach. I sat down and enjoyed breakfast with my wife, Anita.
“The paper’s arrived,” she said, sliding it across the table.
“Really? It’s early this morning, isn’t it?” I replied.
“Yes,” she confirmed, “The paper-boy bypassed the whole estate and came running straight to us.”
I knew then that the headline would not be kind to me…
The Dutch Master is gone. Now for der Dorftrottel!
These were the unfortunate words etched into the front page of the morning paper . The same paper my family, my friends and my neighbours would all read in due course. It wouldn’t be long before the whole of Germany and beyond laughed at my expense.
“Maybe they‘re right?” I mused aloud, “Maybe I should have stayed with the Under-19s?”
“It doesn’t matter what they say or write Bastian,” my wife snapped in anger in response to the harsh words written in blood-red ink, “You were hand-picked for this job ahead of many great managers. It’s time for you to step out from the shadows and take your place in the limelight. You’ll show them. You‘ll show them all.”
Anita is my rock… my guiding light.
***
Saturday, June 13th 2009 -- 7.45am.
“Bastian!” a sweet voice called as I walked to my car, “Bastian Badstuber!” I turned to see a pretty young woman scrambling towards me with clipboard in hand.
“Sorry, but interviews are by appointment only,” I replied.
“Please,” she puffed as she came to a stop a yard or so before me, “I’m not from the papers.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I’m at university,” she replied, “I saw your press conference yesterday. I like your manner. I love your self-confidence. I want to write an essay on you. Please?”
“No thanks,” I answered politely. She was a fine woman -- 21 at a guess, with black, shoulder-length hair; dark brown eyes behind slim framed glasses; golden skin, and an hourglass figure like that of the dreamiest librarian. Her perfume tingled and tantalised my nostrils. She was a beauty, for sure, but I didn’t have time for essays.
***
Saturday, June 13th 2009 -- 9am.
I arrived at the club’s training ground an hour before training was due to commence. Andries Jonker (my assistant-manager for the coming season) greeted me at the facility’s entrance and led me inside to the lounge.
“Well Bastian,” he began, “I thought you might want to get a feel for the team as soon as possible.”
“Yes, of course,” I replied. I’d seen them train and play matches before, but never in the role of First Team Manager.
“Good,” he added, “I’ll organise a training match against the reserves for 11am. That’ll give you time to introduce yourself to the players before the coaches put them through their warm-up sessions.”
“Sounds good,” I replied. It was the first time I’d met Andries and I must admit that I was impressed with his attitude and personality. I have no doubts he will prove a valuable asset to me during the coming year.
***
Saturday, June 13th 2009 -- 9.30am.
The players arrived for training in drips and drabs. I welcomed each and every one of them with a handshake and a smile -- engaging in idle chat for a moment or two. I didn’t need to know their back-stories or what made them tick just yet -- that could wait for another day. Today was about settling into my new surroundings and casting my eye over the talent available.
***
Saturday, June 13th 2009 -- 10.45am onwards.
I’d selected a squad of 21 players for the training match and ran it by Andries.
“A basic 4-4-2 formation?” he queried.
“Yes,” I answered, “I thought it best to keep everything simple for this game.”
“Good idea,” Andries replied with a nod of his head, “Let the players impress you without constraints.”
“That’s the plan,” I mused.
“Right, I’ll gather the players and inform them of your starting line-up. Kick-off’s in 15 minutes.”
“Thanks,” I answered, “I’ll grab a couple of coffees and meet you at pitch side.”
***
Bayern Munich vs. Bayern Reserves.
“Go out and enjoy yourselves,” I told the players before the game, “Show me how good you are.”
The match was good, though littered with substitutions. I was happy to see most of the squad take to the pitch for at least 25 minutes. I was impressed, in particular, by the Croatian lad Ivica Olic. His work rate was phenomenal and he fully deserved his two-goal haul. French international Franck Ribéry, the team’s star player, completed the scoring in the second-half with a sure finish from the edge of the box.
The game proved a worthwhile exercise. Certain questions were answered, but, in truth, many stones remained unturned.
For one, I wasn’t sure if 4-4-2 would provide the results required to keep me in this job. It worked today, but today was only a low-key kick-about against inferior opposition.
At least we have more friendly games coming up soon to iron out any problems. Andries has compiled a pre-season fixture list for the first-team, in which we'll pit-our-wits against Vannes OC, Zulte Waregem, Antwerp, KV Mechelen, Urawa Reds and Ascoli. All of these games will be away from home. I will trust his judgement.
This afternoon I am due to meet Franz to discuss possible transfers. I imagine Uli, Karl and Christian will be there too -- they are the president, chairman and director of football, after all. It will be an honour to meet these former greats.
***
Saturday, June 13th 2009 -- 3pm.
Headquarters of FC Bayern München e. V.
“Good afternoon Mr. Badstuber,” the president’s secretary smiled as I entered the reception, “Go straight through. They’re expecting you.”
“Thank you.” I replied, whilst pushing open the door and stepping into the president’s plush office.
“Bastian,” Franz smiled, “I heard about the game today. Good result.”
“Yes,” I replied, “It was a good run-out. The reserves put up a good fight.”
Franz then introduced me to Uli Hoeneß (the president), Karl-Heinz Rummenigge (the chairman) and Christian Nerlinger (the Director of Football). I can’t deny I felt a little inferior in their company. After all, I’d watched these guys strut their stuff on the greatest stages of football. Obviously, I was too young to have seen Uli play live, but my father had been an avid fan of the club and had bought all the end-of-season videos. My father loved this club -- it’s such a shame he couldn’t see me right now. His son Bastian in charge of his favourite team. He would have been so proud of me.
“Finally,” Karl smiled, shaking my hand, before, tongue-in-cheek, “I’ve waited a long time to meet Germany’s greatest ever manager.”
“I’m guessing you saw the press conference,” I laughed.
“Yes,” he replied, “I like a man with confidence.”
A nice light-hearted beginning I thought, but it didn’t take long for the real business to start…
“We are the bookies favourite’s for the title -- obviously, we expect you to achieve this. Last year was unpleasant for us -- sure, Wolfsburg are a good team, but we should be above them. Bayern Munich doesn’t recognise second place,” Uli said with a stern undercurrent to his voice.
I took this as a veiled warning -- my position in the club is by no means 100% secure.
“Christian takes charge of transfer matters,” Uli told me, “If you feel we need to strengthen a certain position, tell him. He will do the rest.”
“Ok,” I replied, “Do I get any say in the players that come in?”
“Usually, I’ll write up a short-list,” Christian began, “Then I’ll bring it to you and see what you think. You can add some suggestions to the list at that point and then I’ll take it from there. The final say is mine -- I have to protect the long term aims of the club, but, of course, you will have some input. After all, there’s no point in me signing a player you don’t like.”
“That sounds fair,” I replied. I understood the need for some sort of consistency when it comes to signings -- if things don’t go well, I might not be the manager this time next year.
“The scouts are currently running the rule over the entire national team set-up. There’s some great German players out there and it would be good if we could bring some home-grown talent to Bayern. Khedira and Ozil have come to our attention after some great performances and we’ll be keeping a close eye on them over the coming weeks.”
Khedira… Ozil… mouth-watering prospects, I thought. It would be good to have them in my team.
“We don’t have much money left on the budget this year though,” Christian added, “So we might have to wait until January to approach their clubs.”
“Yes,” Karl interrupted, “We’ve spent heavily already this summer. The stadium repayments are a strain on our finances too, but Audi have recently paid 90 million euros for shares in FC Bayern München e. V. This will help pay off the stadium debts, so any monies collected from out-going transfers can at least go straight into the kitty for new players.”
To some, including myself, Bayern could be considered a complicated club. It is ran by FC Bayern München AG, a spin-off organisation owned by FC Bayern München e. V. -- Audi and sports giant Adidas both own shares in the latter.
“Don’t forget about Deutsche Telekom,” Uli added, “We’re negotiating a new kit sponsorship deal with them at the moment. Hopefully, we’ll be able to add some of this to the transfers fund.”
The meeting came to a close at 3.45pm and Franz offered to take me on a guided tour of the stadium. I’d worked at Bayern for five years now, but, in my role as youth coach, I had rarely gotten to visit the famous Allianz-Arena.
***
Please be kind, lol. Updates will follow in next day or two.
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