[FM17] The Maple and the Eagle

[bigmattb28]

Part one - The weight of expectation​

No one really knows how Scott Lańkowski got the job. Something to do with a favour to his old man (more on him as the story progresses) although no one wants to open up that can of worms.

Scott Lańkowski wasn’t born into greatness, and greatness never really seemed interested in meeting him halfway either. Entering the world on a chilly March morning in 1987 , in a corridor in the family home in the heart of Ottawa, the smell of stale beer and fried onions was the first thing to hit his newborn senses. His father, Piotr Lańkowski, a Polish immigrant with a stoic jawline, a fondness for vodka and at that time working as a carpenter but with a dream of making it in football, had come to Canada chasing the aforementioned dream. His mother, a fiery Québécoise with soft hands and sharper words, worked a local diner while old man Lańkowski was off building cupboards and beds while putting things in place to make it in football.

Scott grew up bilingual. His mothers native tongue is French, filling the air with the rapid fire French rhythm the language is known for. His limited Polish came mostly from his father's stern commands and reminisces of the team he supports, Slask Wroclaw, especially the title winning season of 1977, a few years before Piotr made it to Canada. The clubs crest, the famous green, red, black and white crest with an eagle adorned on it was as much a part of Scotts childhood as the cold summers and even colder winters growing up in Ottawa, Ontario.

English came later in his life, only when Scott was 15 did he start learning the language, mainly by circumstance and ambition. His father had already become efficient enough in English which was paying dividends, he was now the head scout for Toronto FC and was also working with the Polish national team as a scout, with that said he insisted Scott learn the language as it would be the key to opportunity, though Scott doubted how much opportunity a middle class kid with more dirt on his face than his boots learning English in a French speaking city would unlock.

But Scott was a listener, always had been. The kind of kid that would sit at the back of a room, taking everything in, blending into the shadows, absorbing the world one stray comment at a time. By the time he fully mastered English, to go with also being fluent in Polish, he spoke both languages the way he spoke French, like he owned them. Soft, deliberate and with the rhythm of a native speaker. No one would guess his native tongue wasn’t English or Polish, such was the efficiency he spoke those languages.

As is the case the world over, football was the constant. As Piotr had claimed daily, Śląsk Wrocław wasn't just a club, wasn’t just another result at the weekend, it was the lifeline to his past, his upbringing in the ghettos of Wrocław, it was also the way for them both to connect with each other. Even in the frozen heart of Canada they’d go and watch the local team they support, Toronto FC, and then huddle around the TV to catch the highlights of the Polish league late into the Canadian evenings. Piotr would narrate the game with the passion and fire of a man reliving his glory days, as if he was still on the terraces.

Scott learned early on that life didn’t hand out favours, not in Canada, not in Poland and certainly not on the pitch. Football was as much about hard work and survival as it was about flair and finesse. Maybe, just maybe, it was the hard work from his father that set Scott apart, the same hard work that might just define his career as a manager. As the first to training and last to leave, he had more workrate in him than the rest of his team combined.

But at that moment it was all just dreams of glory and fame. It wouldn’t be until June of 2016 before the dream became a reality.

-- -- -- -- --​

Posting in this forum as no one is active on the older FM threads. This is being played in FM17. I am a fair way through, so will have a lot of posts going up.

​

 

[bigmattb28]

Chapter 2​

The wind rattled through the Silesia countryside taking no prisoners. The clatter of things being thrown around was drawing out the voices in Scott Lańkowski’s head, telling him this was all a mistake. He stared at his reflection in the mist covered window, a young but weary face staring back. The man in the glass wore the look of someone who’d spent too many years fighting uphill battles in footballs non leagues.

Ottawa was home, sure, but the call of his dads nation, Poland, and the call of Europe was louder than anything. And here he was, heading south west from his dads home hometown of Wroclaw to Bytom, a steel grey city just north of Krakow, with a football club as battered and storied as its crumbling post industrial skyline.

Polonia Bytom FC. A club that had once danced with the giants of Polish football and competed in the old Intertoto cup now shuffled through the shadows and depths of the lower leagues. When the call came in Scott's first instinct was to say no, this had to be a joke. It wasn’t Slask Wroclaw, the club he grew up idolizing and dreaming of one day managing, but the truth was Scott needed as much of a fresh start as Polonia did. And taking the job was a gamble on both sides.

When he told his father about the job, his fathers voice was firm as always ‘You’re Polish my boy, no matter where you were born, despite what your mother says. Don’t ever forget that’. His father had left Wroclaw decades ago but his heart never left. For Piotr Slask Wroclaw was more than just a club, it’s an identity, heritage, love.

For Scott to take the job at Polonia Bytom, another Sliesian club with a deep history, although not direct rivals of Slask, felt somewhat of a betrayal to Piotr. But sentiment didn’t pay the bills, didn’t get your foot in the door and certainly didn’t offer any other chances to impress. Scott had a point to prove, to himself and anyone else watching

The stadium in Bytom was bleak, much a relic of better times. A small group of reporters and club officials were there to meet him as he walked through the main entrance, their faces a mix of skepticism, hope and anger. The chairman, Jakub Snochowski, a man teetering on the edge of meltdown, extended his hand and said ‘Scott, welcome to Bytom, you’ve got your work cut out for you’

That was putting it mildly, Scott thought. The club was a mess. Financial worries, a squad barely scraping by made up of free transfer cast offs, a couple of unproven loaned in players, and fans who switched between passionate loyalty and venomous disdain. Oh and not forgetting the small matter of the eight point deduction the FA had slapped on the club for this season. Scotts Polish was impeccable but the local press had got wind of him being born and raised in Canada ‘A foreigner managing Bytom, how low will this club stoop’ one headline scoffed.

The first day was a reality check. The pitch at the training ground was more dirt than grass, the players he met were fading veterans looking for a pay day before calling it quits and untested youngsters. He’d have to whip them in shape, and fast. He wasn’t here to play the saviour, he was here to survive!

The best way to describe the Polonia Bytom team would be that it’s made up of ghosts wanting one last run; it's a club clinging to faded glories gambling on raw potential. The veterans are battered and bruised, carrying the weight of the years on the legs that ached from playing in the Polish cold. They might be grinders, survivors who have fought for every blade of grass and bear the scars to prove it, but they don’t inspire confidence. It’s not pride for the badge or love of the game these old heads are playing for, it's the payday and last vestiges of pride, the grim satisfaction of defiance.

The youngsters at the club? They’re dreamers and question marks, the new toy with untapped potential, but nerves that could shatter under pressure. There had been a few tears from the young lads already when the league announced Bytom would be starting on minus eight points. Loan deals concluded as stop gaps, they’re cheap gambles in a game where the stakes are high and the patience is low. They’re running on adrenaline, desperate to get game time and prove they belong, even in the third division, and to turn that raw potential into permanence.

Scott Lańkowski has been told no matter what this is a one year deal. Get relegated, no matter you’re leaving anyway. Survive relegation, make a name for yourself in the process? Irrelevant, you’re here for a year and only a year. Do the impossible and finish high enough to get promoted? Sorry, it’s a year only deal.

The squad is a patchwork quilt of the desperate and determined, stitched together by necessity. The locker room hums with the tension of men on different paths, most nearing the end of the road, others just starting out and a couple more sitting somewhere in the middle, none of which certain where this season will take them.

On the pitch, they’re gritty and unpredictable. One minute, the veterans’ guile and grit hold the line; the next, the youngsters’ inexperience cracks it wide open. It’s a team fighting not just the opposition but time, fate, and the creeping specter of irrelevance.

Polonia Bytom is a club on the edge, a cocktail of cynicism and hope served up in a league that demands blood, sweat, and sacrifice. Whether they sink or swim depends on how well the old can teach the young and how quickly the young can learn. In this world, nothing is given, and everything is taken.

-- -- -- -- --​

 

[bigmattb28]

The key players​

Aging full back Marek Szyndrowski, a grizzled veteran with knees that creak like ancient floorboards. Marek might possibly be the glue that will keep the Polonia Bytom backline together, he’s a relic from a bygone era where tackles were war and the scars were worn like badges. His pace has gone for sure, but his high positioning ability and leadership skills gained from experience, in the third division, is going to be key. A man that’s seen it all but still plays like he’s got something to prove.

Matko Perdijic, the Croatian iron fortress between the sticks, a weathered veteran with reflexes that defy his advancing years. His hands are calloused from making a thousand desperate saves, face carved with mental fortitude of a man that’s stared down countless penalties and suffered the heartbreak from the ones he’s let in. He may not be the best keeper in the league, but he’s someone Bytom are going to need to rely on this season. Calm under pressure, his presence surely a safety blanket for a team that’s anything but secure.

Peter Bašista, the thirty something journeyman center half whose best years are far behind him, but whose heart refuses to admit it. A no nonsense defender who plays like every tackle might well be the last. His legs are heavy, his pace and acceleration are all memories, but he compensates with experience and a willingness to do the dirty work. He’ll be the player that will take the fouls the younger players wouldn’t dare to, all in service for the team.

Jakub Kuzdra, an untested, untried and inexperienced midfielder brought in on loan. He’s got the raw tools but none of the polish. He’s eager to impress, sometimes too eager, throwing himself into challenges seasoned pros would side step. There’s promise in his touch, potential is there in his stride but he’s green, but green enough to still correct every mistake with effort alone

Jakub Zmuda, another untried loanee, another question mark. Zmuda is a wiry kid with the energy of a jackrabbit and the composure of a gambler on a tilt. He’s got a bit of pace but little energy to harness it. He’s the kind of player veteran managers call a project, the kind that will either blossom under the right guidance or vanish into irrelevance without a trace.

Sławomir Musiolik, the last of the loaned in youth players, and the best of the bunch. A left winger who hasn’t met a defender he can’t underestimate. He’s got a cocky swagger born more of youthful energy than any accomplishment, but there’s something about him, a glint in his eye, a flash of brilliance in training that makes Scott wonder if this kid might just have what it takes. For now though, and the long season ahead, he’s as much a gamble as the other loanees, but he’s the one to keep an eye on.

Lastly, the captain. Marcin Lachowski, is a warhorse running on fumes and pride, the thirtyfive year old captain has seen the game chew up men younger and fitter than him. His legs are heavy, his lungs burn when he runs but his heart pumps pure grit and desire. He’s the guy the squad is going to rely on when they’re down a goal or two and the fans have turned hostile, the guy that plays through the pain because he’s more afraid of letting the team down than letting the injury get worse.

On the pitch Lachowski isn't fast but he’s sharp. He sees the pass before it happens, anticipates the danger like a patrol cop out on a bad beat. He leads by example, diving for headers, chasing lost balls like they’re lost causes, barking orders on the pitch like a drill sergeant with a whistle. He’s not the player he was at twentyfive, not by a long shot, but what he’s lost in speed he’s gained in mental ability.

Off the pitch he’s the glue holding the Polonia Bytom team together. The young players look at him like the leader that he is, older players look to him like a brother in arms. He’s not afraid to call out the slackers but he’ll be the first to throw an arm around a kid that’s struggling, offering advice and positive words. His spirit is unbreakable, though his body might be breaking down, he’s a man that knows the clock is ticking but isn’t going to let that define him. One last run, one last job to do, and that is to keep Polonia Bytom in the third division.

He isn’t just Polonia’s captain, he IS Polonia, scrappy, resilient and defiant in the face of fading glory. He’s the rock, the spirit and the rallying cry of the team, their leader in every sense. When his body does finally give in, the hole he’ll leave will be bigger than any goal he ever scored.

This squad is at a crossroads, the old guard refusing to fade, the young pups desperate to play and impress, and the club betting it all on a mix of wisdom, hope and potential. For Bytom it’s survival of the fittest and toughest, only time will tell who’s built to last.

Bytom is a tough city, it’s people are even tougher and the club is no stranger to struggle. It’s streets are still lined with the ghosts of a bygone era. The same struggles that weighed on the city were also the club's fuel, its heartbeat. The fans packed the stadium every match day without fail, their chants echoing into the night long after the game had finished. ‘It’s a double edged sword’ one staff member quipped, ‘they’ll cheer you as quickly as they’ll turn on you’

The first competitive game of Scotts tenure would be an away game against Kotwica Kolobrzeg, a team looking to finish as high as possible but with twice, if not more, the resources of Bytom.

– – – – --​

 

[bigmattb28]

Chapter 3​

The morning air in Bytom smelled like wet iron and old regret. The kind of air that sticks to your clothes and crawls down your throat and into your lungs. Scott Lańkowski walked through the gates at the stadium, Edwarda Szymkowiaka, his breath fogging up in the June chill. He didn’t feel like a manager, he didn’t even feel like himself.

Polonia Byton, once a big name in Polish football, now just a punchline with an eight point deduction to start the season, and with it the grim possibility of relegation hanging over it’s head. The players didn’t look up as Scott walked over the cracked floorboards of the locker room. A few nodded, some rolled their eyes. He’d been in the job less than 48 hours but the whispers had already started Who is this guy? Some no named nobody from Canada trying to profit off his dads name?


Lańkowski had asked himself the same question every day since agreeing to the job over a Skype call in Toronto. He’d been a so-so combative midfielder once, solid, hardworking but otherwise unspectacular. Coaching came later at the behest of his dad, Piotr Lańkowski, after his left knee failed him again and surgery couldn’t repair it. He was twenty five. The playing side of the beautiful game passed by him but coaching locally in Toronto, as well as afar for a season in Winnipeg, where he oversaw a miracle escape from relegation as a coach at FC Manitoba, and suddenly he was here, in Bytom, pretending he knew what he was doing, hoping to oversee another miracle escape.


The pitch was a disgrace, and that’s putting it lightly. Patches of mud where grass should’ve been, uneven around the center circle and corner flags, the goalposts rusted at the corners of the bar at both sides. He could see it in the players faces, they didn’t want to be here any more than he did. A mix of washed up veterans and kids who didn’t know better, all wearing the red shirts with blue stripes of Polonia Bytom. They were broken before the training session even started.

‘Right’ he said, hands clapping together to get attention. ‘Let’s get started’ His Polish was perfect although it did sound foreign. He felt like an imposter in his own words.


The warm up session was half hearted, the passing and moving drills even worse. Passes went astray, the movement lacking an edge. Tackles mis timed when it was easier to retrieve the ball. He called for all out attack from the yellow bibs, hoping to light a fire in the team, but all he got was more sloppiness, more effort seen by the players tying their laces than in the session. The club had an assistant for him manager, who himself reeked of cynicism and anger, who leaned in close

‘They don’t believe in you’ he muttered. Scott replied with ‘Not yet’

Scott Lańkowski didn’t need to be told the obvious. He saw it in every mis placed pass, the opposite to his every instruction being done. He didn’t blame them really, he didn’t believe in himself much either.

Eight points deducted, bottom of the league and favourites to drop like a stone even before the season had started. And now this squad, this motley crew of players was his, a team in name only. Polonia Bytom was dead on its feet, and Scott Lańkowski was the man tasked with resurrecting it. He felt the weight of his inexperience like a noose tightening around his neck

‘You call that football?’ he barked after another period of pathetic training. His voice cracked, betraying nerves. He stepped onto the pitch, mud squelching under his boots. ‘I do not care if we’ve got an eight point deduction, eight minutes left of the season or we've won the league by eight points. You play like this, you put this amount of effort in and we’re done. You want to be relegated, huh? Fine, i’ll walk out that gate right now, head back to Canada and be done with it, and you can handle it yourselves’

Silence. The players stared at him, their breath steaming in the cold just like Scotts. One of the older hands, veteran defender Marek Szyndrowski, stepped forward

‘And if we don’t?’ the man asked, his voice flat and face unreadable

Scott didn’t have an answer, not yet and certainly not a good one. He shoved his hands into his tracksuit bottoms pockets, staring at the players, at the bleak horizon beyond the stadium. ‘Then we fight. Every game, every minute, every **** second. We claw our way out of this hole, this mess or we die trying. But it starts right here, right now’

It wasn't a speech for the ages but it was enough. The session resumed and with it a little more bite, a little more energy and a little more urgency. It wasn’t pretty but it was something.

As the sun dipped to signal the end of the day, Scott stood at the edge of the pitch, hands still buried in his trouser pocket. The doubt gnawed at him, his constant companion. He didn’t know if he was up to the job, didn’t know if he could get the players on board and certainly didn’t know if he could keep Polonia Bytom afloat.

But for now he was here in Poland, his second nation. And sometimes, just showing up and being accounted for is the first step to greatness.

 

[bigmattb28]

Chapter 4​

The season started under a bleak cloud, as Polonia Bytom were already on negative eight points before a ball had even been kicked. Eight points, the kind of punishment that makes veteran players question their loyalty and young players question their dreams, their desires. But this was Polonia, a club too stubborn to die, and a team built on past glories and defiance. And they rolled into Kolobrzeg with something to prove.

Kotwica Kołobrzeg’s ground is a wind swept patch of grass by the Baltic, the kind of place where ambition went to drown. The home fans were loud, their jeers as cold as the sea air, but Polonia and their new rookie manager Scott Lańkowski didn’t flinch. The whistle blew, and they attacked like men with nothing to lose and everything to gain.

It started with an early corner in the first half. A high, looping in swinger came in like a dagger aimed at the far post. Peter Bašista, the old workhorse was wide open from the knock down and stroked home the ball at close range, and Polonia had the scent of blood. Six minutes into the new season, and the relegation certainties had taken the lead.

Before Kotwica could gather themselves and prepare to fight back, Polonia struck again. A high press right from kick off, the kind of pressure that turns defenders into deer in a headlight. The ball was played backwards slowly, but the defence, already breached, didn't want anything to do with it. It made its way back towards the keeper but the lone striker Varadi was there in a flash, picking up the loose backwards aimed ball and slotting it under the keeper. Two goals in two minutes, Bytom were in complete control

The second half was a masterclass in punishment. Varadi was replaced by Broz at the half. Varadi had run his socks off and was unlucky not to double his tally. Bytom smelled the weakness and exploited it with ruthless efficiency. Jakub Zmuda, one of the young loaned in players, a youngster with something to prove floated in a picture perfect cross from the left hand side. Broz rose above the covering defender and buried it. Three goals to nil. Easy.

Two minutes later and Zmuda and Stefanski playing a neat one-two to get Zmuda in space on the left, he threaded a perfect low ball into the box from the left hand side. Broz was buoyed by the first goal, ran onto it, cool as ice and finished it with clinical precision. Four nil now to Polonia, game over. The home fans fell silent, with more than a few heading for the exit, they’d seen enough.

When the final whistle blew it wasn’t just a win. It was a statement, a message to the rest of the league that Polonia may be going down, but they were going down swinging. Zmuda, one of the kids on loan, walked away with the man of the match award. Two assists, endless energy and the kind of performance those in charge at Polonia and his parent club Ruch Chorzow were hoping to see.

Four goals scored, none conceded and a mountain of deceit reduced to a manageable molehill. Polonia Bytom weren’t just playing for points, they were playing for pride and redemption, and the love of the game that never loved them back.

 

[bigmattb28]

Chapter 5​

Scott Lańkowski wasn’t sleeping much. The nights were spent reviewing game notes, going over reports and tactics and just bled into mornings, the stress carving into the hollows under his eyes. Polonia Bytom had started with a flicker of hope, two blistering wins that silenced the cynics, if only briefly. But football was a cruel and twisted lover. Five straight losses had brought reality crashing back down.

The eight point deduction loomed over everything, morning sessions, warm downs, team meals at lunch time like a lead weight around the neck of a squad of players, mish mashed together from the loan and free transfer markets, all of who were already drawing in doubt. Every mistake on the pitch, every misplaced pass, mistimed tackle or half chance squandered felt like another nail in the Polonia Bytom coffin. Scott tried to hold it together, but inside he was unravelling.

There was more than a little hope after the first two games. A four nil dismantling of Kotwica Kołobrzeg away in the first game, followed by another four nil win, the demolishing of Warta Poznan had the fans dreaming of not just a great escape but of a good season ahead. For a fleeting moment after two games it felt like the storm clouds had parted. But Scott knew better. Two wins might’ve secured six points, but athere are seventeen other teams above them and a lot more points to play for. Two wins helped but didn’t fix the broken mentality of a team that had been kicked down so much already.

Then came the slide. Four straight losses, each one a little uglier than the last. Conceding eleven in the process, a respite in the form of back to back draws, meaning the eight point deduction was cleared and Bytom were now only on zero points at the bottom of the table, which was celebrated by two more losses. Things weren’t just looking bad, they were looking catastrophic.

The biggest punch to the gut was the two nil home loss to Siarka Tarnobrzeg, where Mateusz Broż, the only striker with a natural nose for goal went down injured clutching his ankle. Scott stood helplessly as he was carried off on a stretcher, his eyes closed, not wanting to accept what was happening. He’d been a bright spot really, four goals and the only player attempting to score, always being in the right place even if his finishing had been off. Early reports say six weeks is how long he’ll be out.

Scot had pushed the players hard in training following the latest defeat, maybe too hard all things considered. Michal Chrabąszcz, a work horse in midfield, went shoulder to shoulder with Zmuda in defence in a routine drill. A loud pop, a muted scream and Chrabąszcz was on the ground clutching his shoulder. Dislocated from the fall. Three months on the shelf at least.

Scott cursed himself as he replayed the moment in his mind over and over again. Could he have stopped it? Could he have lessened the workload? Was it the intensity he demanded? Or was it just fate giving him the middle finger?

Rozwój Katowice at home in the next game and like every one of the thirty plus games this season, this was a must win. Down by one to a comical own goal after twenty two minutes, Scott stalked the sidelines as Katowice celebrated. Barking orders from the touchline, Bytom were at the Katowice defence right from the off and grabbed the equaliser four minutes later.

After clawing it back to one each they gave up another mid way through the second half, Katowice not even working hard to retake the lead. Scott felt like a man drowning or grasping at straws. But with five minutes to go, substitute Pielichowski frustratingly hit the ball from outside the box that fate felt deserved to go in the net. It bobbled as it landed, catching the keeper off balance and creeped over the line. It wasn’t pretty, it looked more like a lash at the ball out of anger than actually trying to score. For the first time in weeks, Scott felt like his team had some fight in them.

Next up for Scott and Polonia Bytom is Raków Częstochowa, the clubs big rivals. A team with more money, better form, more swagger and points than Bytom. The kind of team Polonia Bytom hates, the kind of team Scott would’ve hated as a player back in Toronto.

‘This is it’ Scott had told the players in the dressing room after training on the day before the game. ‘In the games we’ve had so far we’ve been kicked, punched and written off. But we’re still standing, clawing our way through them. Raków thinks they’re better than us, bigger even. We need to prove them wrong, we need to let them know we might be down but we’re not out yet. Our season starts tomorrow!’ he said emphatically, passionately, hoping to get some sort of response from the players.

He didn't know if the players believed him or even believed in him, he still wasn’t sure he believed in himself either. But it didn’t matter. This game, the derby, had to be the one. The one that kick starts the revival.

He sat alone in the office at the training ground long after the players had left, staring at his squad list. Two key names crossed out in red pen and only youth players available to replace them. He felt like drinking, the last drink he had two years ago when he was told his playing career was over. He allowed himself a small glass of cheap whiskey held in the office by the chairman.

As he drank it, the sharp stinging down his throat like a reminder to the upcoming battle against Raków, he whispered into the silence ‘Don’t screw this up Scott. Not this one’

 

[bigmattb28]

The derby​

The air in the city was heavy with tension and coal dust. Despite Bytoms rough form the streets buzzed with anticipation, locals gathered in dingy bars muttering about the derby. Raków Częstochowa, the enemy, the team with more money, more muscle and more points so far. Scott Lańkowski could feel the weight of it all pressing down on him like a bad hangover. Polonia Bytom are bottom of the league, scraping the eight deducted points off and sitting on exactly zero points, with a skeleton thin squad and the kind of luck that felt cursed.

He stood cramped in the hallway at the stadium, staring at the lineup pinned to the wall outside the changing rooms. His mind raced second guessing every choice. The previous seven games had been a death march to poor results, bringing with them injuries and shattered confidence. He didn’t know if he was ready, or even if the players were ready for this.

== == ==​

The stadium was filling early, the Bytom fans showing their support as the old stadium groaned into life as fans placed banners and flags draped in red and blue. Chants rising into the early afternoon sky like a battle cry. Scott poked his head out of the tunnel as the teams did their final preparations, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his coat with a nervous anticipation

Varadi had looked sharp in training, getting the starting nod due to the injury to Broz. Kalahur at left full back was always full of energy and didn’t show any worry for the big game despite his youth, quite the opposite, he seemed like he was up to it more than any other player. That’s not to say the rest of Bytom’s players weren’t confident. They lined up in the tunnel with the type of swagger of a team that expected to win. Scotts words in the days before still ringing in their ears - ‘Our season starts now!’

== == ==​

As the game kicked off the first whistle sounded like a gunshot. The derby was on and Bytom weren’t just fighting for much needed points, they were fighting for pride, survival and a reason to believe.

They started cautiously, as was the plan. Raków had sent the ball wide in the hopes of targeting the full back duo of Siodowy on the right and Kalahur on the left, with Sidowoy being caught in possession early on, and a cross floated into the middle. Perdijic, the veteran keeper made a great early stop from the point blank header from that cross. The sigh of relief from the Bytom fans could be heard around the full stadium. Scott barked orders to his right back, concentrate, don’t be hasty. His voice hoarse already.

The twenty third minute came like a flash of lightning. Siodowy making amends for his earlier lapse in concentration bombed on the overlap down the right, received the ball from Stefanski as the defending full back couldn’t keep pace. The cross from Sidowoy was nicked by a defender on the way and went out for a Bytom corner, the first of the game.

Lachowksi, the captain stepped up to take it from the Bytom right. His outswinger dipped quickly and dangerously at the near post. Batista, his only goal this season coming from a corner in the opening game, rose like a man possessed above his marker and flicked it toward the six yard box. Mroz, asked to attack from deep, rushed in unmarked to tap into the net from two yards out. The home fans behind that goal erupted as it went in. The noise from the other home fans came a second after, as did the smoke and the flares from the stand behind the dugouts. Scott punched the air as adrenaline surged through him like a drug. One nil to Bytom and fully deserved.

Raków pressed hard with their midfield carving out chances for the forwards, but Polonia held firm. Both sides traded blows, three good chances apiece and both keepers equal to all. The halftime whistle came as a blessed reprieve with the score still one to the good for Bytom.

In the locker room it smelled of sweat, anticipation and adrenaline. Scott stood before the players, holding a bottle of water and said ‘right, that was good. We held firm but they carved out a couple of good chances, chances similar to those we’ve conceded in other games’ he took a moment then continued ‘The second half is where we show them what we’re made of. They think we’re dead and buried, that we’re already relegated. They'll be thinking they will get back into this game but you’ve proved them wrong already. Keep our shape, stay disciplined and only make the forward move if you’ve got something on, and when you do hit them hard! Get out there and finish the job’

The players nodded, agreeing with the boss, some offering words of encouragement to each other. Mroz, still riding the high of his goal, was the first back onto the pitch.

Raków came out swinging, their opening dominance suffocating the Bytom back line and silencing the crowd. Perdijic became more a folk hero than a footballer as his double save five minutes into the half kept the score in Bytoms favour, then his reaction save from a long range effort that nicked Siodowy on the way to goal, held with a reflexive dive just as impressive. Scott was pacing the touchline, his jaw clenched at every missed chance from Raków, a stay of execution.

Then came the break in the game, the change that killed off the Raków momentum. Sixty three minutes on the clock and Raków were camped in the Bytom half. Mroz won the ball just outside the penalty area, looked to his to his left and threaded the ball by the advancing Raków midfield to the on loan Musiolik, who surged forward from his own half down the left, into the opponents half, all the way to the box where the advancing keeper rushed off his line trying to stop the young loanee. As the keeper was seven or so yards away Musiolik stopped, composed himself, opened his body up and placed the ball by the keepers right and into the net. The stadium all erupted as one this time, louder than before, the sound reverberating all across Bytom.

===​

The last half an hour felt like an eternity to anyone in Bytom colours. Raków threw everything at them, down the line, over the top, through the middle, but the underdogs from Bytom held firm. The ball hardly left the home team's half, with Perdijic making a number of stops to keep his team in the lead. When the ref did blow the final whistle it was like the release of a coiled spring. Bytom players collapsed to the pitch, some were jumping for joy and all were exhausted but triumphant. Scott stood frozen for a moment, his brain struggling to process what had just happened. Then he smiled, as he did the Raków manager came over and shook his hand and congratulated him on a well fought victory. Scott walked down the line, arms raised and cheering with the crowd.

The home locker room was electric. Players jumped and laughed, shouted, embraced at the enormity of the victory. Mroz poured water over the exhausted Perdijic a number of times, to which the keeper just smiled back. He was too worn out to react. Scott leaned against the wall taking it all in.

It wasn’t just a win. It was salvation, a spark to set off the rest of the season, a season that had been nothing but darkness with a couple of slight bits of light. For the first time in weeks Scott believed that Polonia Bytom might just survive.

After the game, Raków sacked Marek Papszun, this defeat to Bytom being their third in a row. They sat twelfth in the league and he was still sacked. Scott wondered how long he’d be kept in the job if being mid table was a sackable offence.

 

[bigmattb28]

January 2017 football news​

Danielle De Rossi leaves AS Roma after sixteen and a half years. He leaves for 1.5 million to Argentine league leaders Boca Juniors. In his first start two days later De Rossi scored the equaliser against Tigre, and almost secured the win but his long range strike was just a little too wide. There are protests outside the Stadio Olimpico as calls for Luciano Spalletti to be sacked are heard amid other non-printable words toward the manager. It takes a press release from Francesco Totti no less, to calm public wavering from the Roma fans.

Some big transfers were completed as Barcelona spent 40 million to sign Asier Illarramendi from Real Sociedad. Real Madrid weren’t about to be outdone as they splashed thirty five million on winger Vitolo, who’s leading La Liga in assists, from Sevilla. They do however sanction the sale of Nacho to Jose Mourinho’s Manchester United for twenty million.

The only other big Premier League transfer in January saw Virgil Van Djik leave tenth place Southampton and join sixth place Chelsea for thirty million. Southampton do fend off interest from Liverpool for striker Charlie Austin, thirteen goals so far as they look to push for a Europa league finish.

Big money came from China recently as well, as 2016 Chinese Super League runners up Guangzou Evergrande spent thirty nine million to bring in Sokratis Papastathopoulos from Dortmund, as well as sending a further thirty seven million to Porto for the signing of Yacine Brahimi. Both Dortmund and Porto were at the top of their respective leagues when these transfers were confirmed, both players in the starting line up suggesting the move to China is all about one thing.

== == ==​

The January weather brought grey skies, the colour of slate, over the city of Bytom, the kind of heavy cloud that felt like it would press a person to the ground if it decided to come down from the sky. But for once the gloom didn’t find its way into Scott Lańkowski’s chest. The Canadian / Polish manager stood at the edge of the training pitch, watching his team, breath curling out into the cold air. The players were running through drills with an energy he’d not seen in months, if at all.

Polonia Bytom had life again. Two wins and a draw from their last three had brought the faintest glimmer of hope. They still occupied the relegation zone, six points from safety, but the fight was back in the team, if there ever was a fight in them to begin with. The winter break came as a cruel interruption as the time off was like a dagger to their momentum. But Scott wasn’t going to let the frost outlining the pitch settle on their spirits.

Training finished and the players all filed back into the locker room. The cramped, steam-filled cool down area was soon covered in muddy boots, mud streaked bibs and training jumpers and empty water bottles but the atmosphere was lighter than it had been all season. Scott stood in the center of the room, his hand tucked in his tracksuit bottoms pockets, eyes scanning the room waiting for quiet

‘Alright, listen up. That was a good session’ he began with a low firm voice, the kind that demanded attention. ‘I know what you’re thinking, these last three games you really have shown up. Two wins and that draw, and all of a sudden we’re not the punch line any more, not the whipping boys of the league either. And you know what, that’s right, we’re not, but don’t think for one second that this fight is over. Fourteen more battles, fourteen more chances to secure survival left to go yet’

He pulled his hands out of his pockets and pointed around the room while saying ’look around you. Every single one of you has been written off. The press, the league, the other teams, fans and even yourselves I’m sure, all thought you’d be going down without as much as a whimper. But I don’t give a **** what they think, I only care what YOU think’

He took a moment and said ‘I’ll address the elephant in the room, Marek. He’s gone’ acknowledging Marek Szyndrowski being conspicuous by his absence. ‘He told me last night he wants to go, and lo and behold an offer came in from him shortly after that conversation, strange how fate works isn’t it’ it was a tongue in cheek statement, not a question.

He continued on ‘He did as well as his aging legs could do for us, and I thank him for that, but it’s no coincidence how well we defended these last three games and he wasn’t even on the bench. But we’ve got to forget that and move on, which brings me to the next piece of news I want to share with you’ he pulled his phone out and said ‘we’ve agreed a deal for Maciej Machalski, on loan. He’s not in the team at Pruszków so he’s coming here to get some game time. He’s hungry for minutes, he won’t let up to show he deserves a chance at Pruszków, that’s the kind of fight and determination you have to every single day until this season is over’

Scott’s voice hardened, his accent tinged with the edge of his father’s Wrocław roots. ‘We’ve got something here right now, something people who aren't here don’t see. Belief. And maybe a little bit of luck, finally. But belief doesn’t mean anything unless we fight for it. This break hasn’t been a holiday, you all know that. It’s a soft reset. A chance to build on that good form we had until the break. When we line up next week, from that game onwards every game is like a cup final. Every point is life or death, and I’ll say it, if you play like we have these last three games we WILL survive’

He let the silence hang and the players locked eyes on him, the weight of his words settling over them ‘So, go home tonight and rest. But when you wake up tomorrow I want you to ask yourself one thing: what are you willing to give to secure the survival you all claim you want? What are you willing to give for each other? Because as I’ve said the fight isn’t over, not by a long shot. When it is over, when the fight is done I want every single one of you to have given everything you had’

He nodded to the door and said ‘dismissed’, and the players left slowly, some high fiving, some clapping each other playfully, a team united.

Scott was the last to leave the locker room and as he did he switched the light off, and felt a flicker of something he hadn’t felt in months. Hope. For the first time this season survival felt more than just a dream, it felt like a possibility.

 

[bigmattb28]

Chapter 6​

​

The cold air in Bytom hit harder than usual, with fog creeping in. The floodlights weren’t on just yet, but the ground staff were ready if they needed to be switched on. The fans packed the stadium, their breath rising in clouds of defiant hope. Polonia Bytom had been battered and bruised enough times this season, but the lead up to the winter break gave them something, legs that ran harder and hearts that beat stronger. The eight point deduction was still a millstone around the teams neck but against the opponents for today, Radomiak Radom, Scott Lańkowski’s team looked ready to fight.

The roar of the fans was electric, every touch greeted with cheers that echoed off the terraces of the crumbling stadium. Polonia came out like a team possessed with unmatched energy. In the third minute, a darting run down the left by Musiolik received an alm ost wayward pass from Mroz, then chipped the ball into the box saving it from going for a goal kick. Mateusz Bro, back in the lineup, soared like a man with something to prove. His header slammed into the back of the net, and the stadium erupted.

Scott clenched his fists in triumph pacing the sideline like a predator. That was exactly what he wanted to see from Musiolik, chasing down a lost cause, resulting in a goal. He’d have a word with Mroz after the game, his sloppy pass nearly going out of play. The whole team was up for the game, playing with sharp intensity, aggressive tracking and unrelenting pressure. But the footballing Gods were fickle.

Radomiak hit back in the 16th minute, exploiting a moment of defensive chaos. A low cross was tapped in and sneaked past Perdijic in the Bytom goal, and the crowd groaned as the scoreboard flicked to one each. Scott cursed under his breath, but the worst was yet to come.

Just as Scott was pleased to see the hard and high work rate, he was cursing even more under his breath. Broz, energetic and lively after scoring the opener was chasing a loose ball in midfield, and lunged in for it recklessly. The studs up challenge sent the Radomiak player tumbling like a sack of bricks and the Radomiak players didn’t hesitate in surrounding the referee. It didn’t matter as his mind was made up even before Broz got to his feet. The red card coming out straight away. The stands erupted in outrage and Scott was livid.

Broz walked off the pitch down the tunnel with his head down as Scott glared daggers at him. He didn’t say a word to Broz, he didn’t need to. The look in his eye said it all without saying a word.

The inevitable came just before halftime. Radomiak capitalized on the numerical advantage slicing through the defence with ease, as Agu was unmarked inside the area to give them the lead heading intohalf time.

The locker room was a furnace of frustration. Scott slammed the door behind with his voice cutting through the tense silence. ‘Broz, what the **** was that?!’ he barked and his tone was scathing. The striker just sat on the bench and buried his head in his hands

‘You think we can afford this? You think we’ve got a chance with only ten on the pitch now? We’re already fighting a losing battle this season and then you go and pull that ****? What were you thinking? But before Broz could respond Scott said ‘forget it you won’t have anything constructive to essay anyway’ he then turned his attention to the players still elft in the game


‘The rest of you, forget the first half, we’re still in this. Play smart, play hard and play together. If we go down at least go down swinging’

Radomiak smelled blood. They pressed hard right form the restart and in the 57th minute, they found a third goal. A slick passing move carved open Polonia’s defense, and the ball was slotted home with clinical precision from the unmarked Kwiek.

Scott kicked a water bottle, his frustration boiling over. But he kept barking orders, pacing the sideline, demanding more.’We’ve got nothing to lose, push forward’ he yelled.


Polonia clawed one back in the seventy fourth minute. Varadi, weaving through defenders unchallenged, managed to get free of the last man and lashed a shot into the bottom corner. The crowd erupted again, their hope rekindled.

For the next ten minutes, Polonia threw everything forward leaving one man back, not bothered about a counter attack. Crosses whipped into the box, shots blocked, scrambles cleared. The equalizer felt agonisingly close, but Radomiak broke on the counter in the eighty fifth minute. A simple finish inside the box made it 4-2, and the fight drained out of Polonia’s players. The game was over.

Scott talked of bouncing back in the week between the Radomiak game. The next game seemed like a crossroads. GKS Bełchatów welcomed Bytom expecting an easy home victory over a team already dead and buried. Instead the were met by a team reborn. Scotts pre match speech was filled with fire and daggers, and the players responded.

Without Broz they didn’t struggle. Loan singing Machalski showing everyone what he’s got, scoring the opening two goals, and then setting up the fourth goal.

After the final whistle Scott stood on the pitch in front of the away fans, taking in the cheers from the handful that made the trip. The loss at home to Radomiak had hurt, but this was proof that his team still had fight left in them. Polonia Bytom weren’t dead yet.

 

[bigmattb28]

Chapter 7​

The streets of Bytom were still heavy with coal dust and doubt, but something had shifted in the air. Survival wasn’t a word that got whispered in back alleys or muttered over shots of vodka in dimly lit bars. It was a possibility now, a real, living, breathing possibility. Scott Lańkowski felt it in his gut every morning as he pulled on his hoodie and headed to the stadium. It wasn’t hope, exactly. It was more like a defiant refusal to die quietly.

Under the rookie managers watch the club had scratched and clawed their way out of the relegation zone finally after twenty six games. The defining game, a one all draw at home to Błękitni Stargard, saw them finally escape the drop zone after spending all season in the bottom four.

The game wasn’t pretty or an exhibition in exciting football. The turf was soaked and mud was everywhere. The wind howled, the stands creaked and every tackle felt like a declaration of war. But the point gained was enough to lift Bytom into fourteenth in the league. Scott had stood on the touchline in the downpour and watched as his team grinded out a result that felt like salvation. Definitely a point gained and not two dropped.

It was the clubs fourth game in a row unbeaten after the loss at home to Radomiak Radom right after the restart and the good form helped lift them up the table.

There was another loss on the journey for survival however. A three one defeat at Tarnobrzeg that felt like a gut punch on the road that could have sent the players spiralling back into despair. Scott had stared at the wall after that game, replaying every misplaced pass and the three defensive lapses before speaking to the players

‘This isn’t over’ his voice cutting through the silence ‘this one loss isn’t going to derail us, it’s merely an inconvenience. Heads up, chest out and go again, we’ve still got a long way to go yet’

And go again they did. Winning another three and drawing one since that loss. The biggest win came in the form of a two one victory at home to Odra Opole. Not big in terms of scorelines, they’d secured bigger wins this season, but big in terms of what it meant in the grand scheme of the season. This game was the kind of game that legends are made of.


Odra Opole had been the team to beat. Top of the league almost all season, a stark contrast to Bytom’s bottom four most of the year. Odra had already beaten Bytom earlier in the season but this was anything but another defeat for Bytom.


The goals still replayed in Scotts mind. The first a coolly placed penalty by Broz after thirty five minutes. Broz himself was clipped in the box in the buildup and put his team in the lead. The second goal just after the second half restart, a thunderbolt from center half Broniewicz that rattled the underside of the bar as it went in. An outswinging corner found Broniewicz wide open just inside the area. As the ball bounced he braced himself, leant back and put all of his might and anger through the ball with his right. The keeper tried and failed to stop the ball flying into the net.


Odra pressed hard after the second goal went in and got a goal back from a penalty of their own. The penalty was dubious, Kalahaur adamant he didn’t touch the forward but the ref had given it. Perdijic guessed right but the ball was too fast and went in.

Bytom didn’t panic or buckle. Perdijic was a wall in the goal making four key stops to keep his team in the game. Broz failed to convert a late run and cross from the left by Musiolik but it didn’t matter, Bytom won the game, and just about secured survival. Scott let out a roar when the final whistle blew, a sound like it came from his very soul.

That win meant heading into the final game of the season Bytom were sitting on thirty five points in thirteenth place, three points above the relegation zone. Rakow, Bytoms big rivals, on thirty three points in fourteenth and Katowice sat on thirtytwo in fifteenth.

If Bytom win they secure survival. A loss would mean they need results elsewhere to go their way to ensure survival.

 

[bigmattb28]

Chapter 8​

The final game of the season had all the subtlety of a public hanging. The air in Legionowo was thick with desperation, a feeling that had clouded over Polonia Bytom all season long. Scott Lańkowski had his eyes fixed on the pitch, watching as the selected starters held the responsibility of securing a survival nobody predicted would happen. He was a man on the edge, juggling hope and dread with his mind a whirlpool of what ifs.

As intended Bytom came out swinging and showing no fear. ‘I’d rather go down fighting than sitting back’ was Scott's last words to the players. They moved with a frantic energy, like cornered animals fighting for their lives. Every pass was crisp, every tackle perfect and every movement carried the weight of the season

Scott was barking orders from the sideline, his voice hoarse from shouting into the abyss every week. His heart was pounding in his chest with every touch of the ball by Legionowo and every attack they cut out.

The first half ended at nil-nil. The players came off the field, covered in sweat and weary from the energetic first half, but Scott barely noticed. His mind was racing already, trying to balance the knife's edge of tactics and motivation.

Half time came and went in a blink of an eye. Scott commended his team for taking the game to Legionowo and not conceding, and talking about fight and passion. The game restarted much like the first, fast, frenetic and end to end.

But then it happened, sixty minutes on the clock. A harmless looking left wing cross into the Bytom box. Mateusz Sidowoy, the full back coming back from injury and who had been a revelation in many ways, rose to clear at the near post, but he caught the ball on an angle, glancing off his head and looping over the Perdijic into the goal.

Silence. Then came the roar of the home fans. Sidowoy dropped to his knees, head in his hands and Perdijic grabbed him and picked him up ‘Forget it Matty, we’re not done yet’ was the veteran keepers words to the full back.

Scott felt the blood drain from his face. For a second the world narrowed down to that single, cruel and heartbreaking moment. He slammed his fist against the dugout roof showing emotion and anger he tried to contain. But then he forced himself to stop. There was no time for anger.

He wouldn’t be checking the scores of the other games, all he and the players cared about was their own result.

Bytom threw everything and everyone forward. Crosses from deep, long balls as soon as possession was regained into the box. They had chances to equalise, Varadi and Broz combining well, pulling saves out of the keeper. Sidowoy tried making amends for the own goal by bombing down the right wing and sending perfect crosses into the box, but they were cut out. The clock ticked down and with every passing second Scott felt the weight of the season pressing down harder and harder on him.

He glanced at his assistant who had a forlorn look on his face. He suspected he knew what was going on in the games at Katowice and Raków, and judging by the look on his face it might not be in Bytoms hands anymore.

The players were running on fumes. Broz tried a long range effort which wrong footed the keeper but was slightly too high. Varadi beat one defender on the turn, played a give and go with Broz but didn’t generate enough power on his first time shot to trouble the keeper. Then the final whistle went, and it felt like a punch to the gut. They had lost one nil.

Scott was frozen on the touchline as reality sank in. Some of his players collapsed on the pitch, the effort, the battles, the constant struggle was all for nought, they were relegated despite it all.

The Legionowo manager came over and shook Scotts hand, and as he did mumbled something about congratulations, or at least it sounded like that to Scott. But then Sidowoy jumped up screaming, so did Broz and Perdijic and came running over to Scott. The news that Katowice had lost and Raków conceded an equaliser meant one thing.

Bytom were safe. Just.

The tension in Scotts chest broke at once and was replaced with a flood of relief so overwhelming it left him dizzy. As he closed his eyes to let the moment wash over him the players all hoisted him and celebrated the unlikeliest of survivals.

== == ==​

The locker room was a strange mix of emotions, relief, exhaustion and sadness, all mixed in with a sense of disbelief. Scott stood in the center of the room, as he had done earlier in the day before the game, looking at his players, the men who had fought with everything they had to defy the odds.

‘You did it’ he started and the players cheered ‘it wasn’t pretty, it was ugly. But you went and did it. You gave everything you had and kept this club alive. Don’t let anyone tell you any different’

The players nodded, some managing faint smiles. Mateusz Sidowoy sat in the corner, still haunted by the own goal with his head down, and Scott walked over and clapped him on the shoulder.

‘You made one mistake’’ Scott said. ‘But you’ve been solid all season. Don’t let this define you. We survived because of the work you put in’. The full back beamed after the words from his manager.

Later, as Scott stepped out into the cool night air, he had brought a bottle of whiskey with him, either to celebrate an unlikely victory or to drown his sorrows. The job had aged him, taken years off his life. But for the first time, he allowed himself to feel something he hadn’t dared all season.


Pride.

 

[bigmattb28]

Chapter 9​

Football news June 2017​

In England there was excitement and tension aplenty on the final day. Arsenal had looked odds on to win the Premier League until a poor run of form towards the end of the season. Heading into the final game sitting top on 89 points they hosted already relegated Sunderland at the Emirates in a game most bookies had stopped taking bets on. A home win was more than certain and the trophy itself was sat at the Emirates at the start of the game.

At the Etihad, Manchester City, on 88 points, were set to face West Ham United who had narrowly avoided relegation themselves. They needed not just a win, but for Sunderland to achieve the unthinkable - take points off Arsenal. It was a scenario so improbable that City fans had resigned themselves to finishing second. But football, as always, had other ideas.

The atmosphere at the Emirates was celebratory long before kick off. Flags with the word CHAMPIONS waved around the ground, fans sang and a sense of destiny hung in the air. Arsenal started brightly, dominating possession and pinning Sunderland back. But as the minutes ticked by, the Gunners' finishing let them down. Giroud, Arsenals top scorer with 19 Premier League goals missing three early chances you’d bet your house on him scoring. Sunderland sat deep and dug even deeper in defence.

Then, in the 32nd minute disaster struck for Arsenal. Sunderland defended a corner and broke on the counter, Darron Gibson cleared the ball, it fell to former Arsenal man Seb Larsson on the right who drove up field. Easily getting into the box he had the simple task of laying it across the area for Jermaine Defoe to tap the easiest goal he scored all season. The Emirates fell silent, save for the ecstatic cheers of the traveling Sunderland fans.

News from the Emirates made its way around the Etihad as the home fans started cheering, their title win might still be on.

Manchester City had been ruthless. Sergio Agüero opened the scoring in the twelfth minute with a trademark finish, and from there it was a procession. By halftime, City were three goals to nil up, with Agüero adding a second and Riyad Mahrez all but closing the game out with a stunning strike from outside the area.

The second half at the Emirates began with Arsenal still trailing by one goal and throwing everything forward. Giroud finally broke through in the sixtieth minute, heading in a left wing cross from Alexis Sanchez to level the score at one each. The crowd erupted, the tension dissipating slightly. As it stood Arsenal were on 90 points now to City’s 91 with half an hour to play in both games.

But the Sunderland defence, that had been breached many times this season refused to buckle. The heroics from John O’Shea and Jason Denayer were a sight to behold. Nothing got past the experienced O’Shea, covering was Gibson and Cattermole, two players that had failed to impress all season now long looked like world beaters as Arsenal had all of the possession but nothing to show for it.

Ozil, Walcott, Sanchez and Giroud all came close but were not able to finish. Desperation was starting to creep in. Holding hit the bar from a header from a corner, Sanchez was one on one with Pickford but scuffed his attempt at lobbing the young goalkeeper. The clock ticked menacingly toward full time.

In Manchester the game was done and dusted. Aguero completed his hat trick before Jesus rounded out the five goal win. Attention was turned to the Arsenal game as the game in Manchester finished a few minutes before Arsenal’s game.

As the clock counted down Arsenal were camped in the Sunderland half, the ball raining towards the away goal. When the final whistle did go, the scoreboard read 1-1. Arsenal’s players slumped to the ground, they’d known City had been winning at the half, and the atmosphere in the Emirates, so confident at the start of the game, was deflated and eerily quiet.

At the Etihad the fans made it known Arsenal had drawn their game and this triggered wild celebrations. Manchester City in Pep Guardiola’s first season were Premier League champions. 5-0 at home to West Ham meant they ended on 91 points, Arsenal only behind by 1 point.

In the tunnel at the Emirates, the Premier League league trophy remained awkwardly unused. Officials scrambled to coordinate its transport to Manchester, but by the time it was dispatched City’s celebrations were well underway.

In the Championship Newcastle never really got out of second gear as they won the league on 112 points. Winning thirtyfive, drawing seven and losing only four. Nottingham Forest joined them in promotion after finishing runners up. Forest's fierce rivals Derby County won the playoffs to join them in the Premier League.

Adam Armstong, on loan from Newcastle to Barnsley ended the season as top scorer with 31 goals in a Barnsley side that narrowly avoided relegation form the second division.

In Italy it was Inter Milan that lifted the Serie A trophy. The other team from Milan, AC, were second. Napoli were third and surprisingly Juventus ended up way down in fourth. Due to this fourth place finish Massimo Allegri was sacked. Antonio Conte had declared he’d be leaving Chelsea toward the end of the season and he was appointed Juventus manager. Two days later Massimo Allegri was appointed Chelsea's manager.

There was a surprise in France as Monaco won Ligue 1, eight points clear of Bordeaux in second. PSG finished third. Unai Emery was sacked as PSG manager for failing to secure the league title and was replaced by Roberto Mancini.

 

[bigmattb28]

The office was dimly lit and felt like the kind of place where decisions are made with whispers and handshakes. The blinds drawn, two glasses and a bottle of vodka on the table, the overhead light flickering faintly, as if trying to decide whether to light up or not, casting shadows across the desk.

Scott Lańkowski sat opposite Jakub Snochowski, the chairman of Polonia Bytom, a man with a face carved by years of hard truths and impossible budgets. In front of them sat in between the empty glasses a single sheet of paper, the end of the road.

‘You’ve done the impossible Scott, I’ve got to say’ Jakubs voice a low rumble in the cool evening air. ‘I didn’t think we’d survive and hiring you was more based on that assumption than the thought of actually securing survival. Eight points those bastards at the league took off us, took off you before the season even began. I told you the squad was bare and you couldn’t improve it much. Yet somehow the team is united and still here, in the league. And that’s because of you’

Scott nodded slightly, saying nothing and pouring two shots of vodka. Compliments always felt like a prelude to bad news.

Jakub leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and said ‘but we agreed to a deal didn’t we. One year, regardless of how it goes, and here we are a year later in a much better position than I ever thought we’d be’

Scott took a deep breath, the weight of the season coming in that one breath, letting out a sigh tinged with fatigue. ‘Jakub’ he started, voice trying and failing to convey confidence ‘I came here expecting nothing, expecting you to sack me after a poor run of games, yet we’re still here. Not to sound big headed, but we pulled off a miracle, and if given the opportu….’ he didn’t get to finish the word before Jakub held a hand up and interrupted him

‘I know, Scott, trust me I do. But we agreed on a one year deal, nothing more, nothing less regardless of what happens. Now I know the players respect you, the fans haven’t stopped singing your name, but as a business man when I agree to a deal I honour it’

Scott didn’t have any words to try and convince Jakub to keep him on, but did he even want to stay on? It could possibly be harder next season, some of the older players are retiring, the back bone of the team will be gone. The young players on loan, would they sign on for another season? There’s no money to replace the players that won’t be back so maybe Jakub is doing him a favour.

‘I get it, you want to try and continue on with this team, but I’ve made commitments and can’t backtrack on those’ Scott didn’t ask what those commitments were and wouldn’t probe for an answer. Jakub continued ‘but instead of officially sacking you, I think you’ve earned the right to leave on your own terms, we can officially agree on a mutual termination’

As he left the office at Bytoms stadium the cool evening air of Bytom hit him like a wave, warm and heavy. The streets were unusually quiet for early evening, the hum of distant traffic the only sound Scott could hear.

He stopped at a crossing and looked up to the sky and felt a strange mix of emotions. Mostly relief, relief that the impossible job was over and he’d completed the task. He felt pride too, a stubborn pride in having defied the odds, silenced the critics and doubters and given the fans of the club a reason to believe. But the next thing he felt was uncertainty.

Uncertainty in what came next. He’d been given his start in management on a gamble, a one year deal at a club on the brink of falling into obscurity. And as this was in his mind he walked away unsure another opportunity would come up. Football has a way of chewing you up and spitting you back out, he knew that as well as anything. But he’d also caught the bug, the addiction of the game. The adrenaline of matchdays, the feeling of togetherness in the locker room, the agony and ecstasy of living on the edge. All of this was in his blood now.

He didn’t know where he was going in his career, or if he even had one to carry on in. But he knew one thing for sure, he wasn't done. Not yet. Not by a long shot.

Somewhere another club needs a manager, a manager that will take on a challenge no one else wanted, or had the stones to take on. What he didn’t know yet was that such a club wasn’t too far away.

 

[bigmattb28]

Summer 2017 transfer news​

This summer’s transfer window has seen massive moves across Europe, with record breaking fees and clubs reshaping their squads.


Biggest Transfers of the Summer:

• Antoine Griezmann: The biggest transfer of the summer sees the French superstar leaving Atlético Madrid for Manchester United in a blockbuster €100 million deal. Griezmann will lead Jose Mourinho's attack alongside Marcus Rashford
• Marco Verratti: Manchester City splashed €65 million to bring the midfield maestro from PSG, further strengthening Pep Guardiola’s control heavy style
• Diego Costa: Despite scoring 20 Premier League goals for Chelsea last season, Costa has moved to rivals and league runners up Arsenal for €60 million, a shock move that bolsters the Gunners’ attacking options.
• Aymeric Laporte: The French defender swaps Athletic Bilbao for PSG for €65 million as the Parisian giants aim to fortify their backline.
• Gonçalo Guedes: After failing to fully settle at PSG, Guedes makes a high-profile €60 million switch to Liverpool, adding pace and flair to their attack.
• Alexandre Lacazette: Following a 33 goal season in Ligue 1, Lacazette leaves Lyon for a surprising €34 million move to Benfica, looking to maintain his prolific form.
• Federico Chiesa: The Italian winger joins Tottenham Hotspur from Fiorentina for €33 million as Spurs aim to add creativity to their front line.
• Christian Pulisic: The American wonderkid makes a high profile move to Bayern Munich from Dortmund for €45 million, linking up with Sadio Mané, who also joined Bayern from Liverpool for €37 million.
• Jamaal Lascelles: The commanding center-back and Newcastle captain joins United for €33 million.
• Paul Dummett: Manchester United secure another Newcastle player, the reliable left-back, for €20 million.
• Juan Mata: After several successful years at Old Trafford, Mata departs for Barcelona in a €39 million deal.
• Harry Maguire: The Gunners shore up their defense with the €22 million signing of the promising English center back from Hull City.
• Andrea Belotti: After scoring 20 goals in Serie A, the Torino striker heads to Madrid for €35 million, aiming to add firepower alongside Karim Benzema and Ronaldo.

Back in the top flight under Rafa Benítez, Newcastle had a productive window:

• Fabian Schär: €6 million – Adds depth to their defense.
• Sergio Rico: €17 million – A high-quality goalkeeper acquisition from Sevilla.
• Milan Skriniar: €15 million – A talented defender brought in to anchor the backline following the departures of Lascelles and Dummet
• Jonathan Cafu: €5 million – A low-cost attacking reinforcement. Will feed off playing alongside Alexander Mitrovic
• Panagiotis Retsos & Olivier Ntcham: Loan signings to improve squad depth.
• Kylian Mbappé: A surprsiing transfer, but very ambitious loan signing from Monaco of the young French sensation who could be a game-changer.
• Jonjo Shelvey: Sold to West Ham for €27 million

This transfer window saw record fees spent across Europe, with Manchester United and PSG leading the spending spree. New stars like Kylian Mbappé and Federico Chiesa could light up the Premier League, while Griezmann, Verratti, and Costa headline marquee moves that will reshape Europe’s footballing landscape.

A last minute deal was also confirmed as Simeone Zaza has left Juventus and former Chelsea manager Antonio Conte to join former Juve manager Massimo Allegri at Chelsea. The sum of 75 million was paid for the striker that has scored an impressive 29 Serie A goals last season.

 

[bigmattb28]

The café was quiet, the hum of conversation low and unobtrusive. Scott Lańkowski was sitting next to the window, nursing a coffee that had long since gone cold. The cup felt heavy in his hand, much like the thoughts weighing on his mind.

The streets of Bytom stretched out before him damp in the morning rain, a city he had come to know intimately over the past year. Now, however, it was part of his past.

Leaving Polonia Bytom felt like stepping off a carousel after it had spun wildly for far too long. The relief of stillness was accompanied by a sense of disorientation. The job he was tasked with, unlikely survival, had consumed him, every waking moment spent wrestling with the impossible of turning a relegation bound team with an eight point deduction into survivors. He’d done it, barely. And the victory had felt hollow in the aftermath, like a battle fought well and hard, only to limp away from the battlefield.

He replayed the final meeting with Jakub, the Bytom chairman, that ended with him leaving in his mind a hundred times. He had earned an extension to his deal, he’d done something no one ever thought was possible despite Jakubs assertion of the one year only deal. The season was long and hard and had drained him emotionally and physically. But as the days passed he couldn't help but feel the pull of the touchline again. The roar of a crowd wanting the win, the surge of adrenaline with every goal, every tackle and every near miss. It was addictive.

However doubt lingered. Was he cut out for this? Could he continue in the role? Management was a thankless grind and his time at Bytom had aged him in a way he didn’t appreciate or had anticipated. He wasn’t sure if he had the resilience to go through it all again.

He’d decided that while he was in Poland he’d spend some time with relatives from his dads side in Wrocław. He’d stood at the edge of a quiet park taking it all in. The sun was dipping low on the horizon casting the city in shades of amber and gold.

Ottowa felt like a distant memory in the year he’d been in Poland. Back home he’d found coaching opportunities just coming to him without having to put effort in to find them, the kind of jobs that didn’t come with the weight of history or points deductions pressing down on him and the team every game. But it wasn’t just about football, it was family, familiarity and the ache of a city he grew up in.

Yet Poland, his second nation and his dads nation of birth had a grip on him. The streets of Wrocław whispered stories of his dads upbringing, tales of resilience and pride. Coaching in Poland felt like carrying a torch, a connection to something larger than himself. The challenge, the chaos, the passion was all intoxicating, even as it drained him.

He exhaled as his phone rang, his breath visible in the evening chill of Wrocław. To go back to Canada now would mean another fresh start, probably a lighter load, but a step away from the heart of what drove him.

When the call came in Scott was caught off guard. Ślęza Wrocław, a club from his father’s city, had seen their manager leave for pastures new and were interested in making him their next manager.

It was unexpected but flattering, and a sign that his work at Bytom hadn’t gone unnoticed. As he hung up the phone his stomach churned with a mixture of excitement and unease.

Wrocław. His dads home. The name alone sent shivers down his spine and conjured memories of his dads stories as a kid, tales of narrow streets leading up to the stadium of the other team in Wrocław, the team both he and dad support, Śląsk.

His allegiance was to the green and white of Śląsk, not to the city’s other team that he’d just been on the phone to. Ślęza, though... they weren’t Śląsk. Not that they had a big city rivalry with each other. Ślęza were just the other team in the city, the underdogs in the shadow of the bigger club. Even talking to Ślęza felt like a betrayal to his dad and walking into unfamiliar territory.

If he was to take the job it would feel like betraying a part of himself that had always been loyal to the green and white. And yet, wasn’t that what he’d done? Bytom had been a challenge no one wanted and he’d thrived in that role.

He leaned back in the chair and stared out of the window. Rain began to fall again, light and steady with the droplets racing each other down the glass. He thought of his dad, of the pride he’d felt and shown when Scott had taken the Bytom job. He imagined the look on his face if he told him he’d got the job in Wroclaw, just not for Śląsk.

Could he bring himself to do it? Could he stay here in the city he loves, and take the reins of a promoted team here that would always be second best in his and his dads heart? It wasn’t about loyalty he kept telling himself. It was the game, the job, the challenge and the chance to prove Bytom hadn’t been a fluke or beginners luck.

But it wasn’t just about football was it. This was personal. Wrocław is in his blood, a city he’d always dreamed about living in, and being connected to. The thought of leading a team here and leaving his mark on the city was intoxicating.

He finished his now cold coffee, the bitter dregs leaving a sharp taste in his mouth. He put the cup down with a quiet clink and noticed his reflection in the mirror. A man at a crossroads, with a decision to make, pulled between current loyalties and future ambitions.

The call from Ślęza had awakened something in him, a new sense of purpose, a hunger for the next challenge. But the decision wasn’t simple. It carried weight and emotions, the kind that pressed down on him as he left the café and stepped into the rain.

He pulled his coat tight and started walking, the rhythm of his steps matching the beat of his thoughts. Wrocław called to him, its streets and stories, its challenges and contradictions. Whether he answered that call remained to be seen. For now, he walked, the rain falling steadily, each drop a reminder that life, like football, was full of unexpected twists and turns.

 

[bigmattb28]

Scott Lańkowski sat on the edge of the bed in the spare room at a cousin's house in Wroclaw, staring out the window at the city skyline. He could make out the Wroclaw Stadium, home of Śląsk Wrocław in the distance.The city as always was alive with its usual hum, cars crawling along the cobblestones, the trams coming and going on time and the late night laughter from the bars.

‘Dad’ Scott began, his voice low and cautious ‘I’ve been offered the job in Wroclaw’

The silence at the end entered awkward territory. ‘Dad, did you hear me?’ Scott asked, assuming his dad was overjoyed at him being offered Śląsk job

‘Ślęza’ Piotr finally said, his Polish accent thick and familiar. ‘Not Śląsk’

‘No dad, not Śląsk’ the silence then became more annoying than awkward.

Scott braced himself and said ‘look I know how it looks. Trust me when I say it feels weird. Wrong even. Like I’m betraying something, us, you, Śląsk I don’t know. You always told me stories about the great Śląsk teams, about the first time you ever saw them play, I still haven't seen them play and I’ve been in Poland for a year. You told me about how Śląsk was the team that gave you and your friends something to believe in and now I’m……

‘And you think I’ll be angry’ Piotr cut him off with his usual firm and low voice

‘Yeah, something like that’

He could hear Piotr exhale down the phone line, the faint sound being carried across the world. ‘Scott my boy, Śląsk will always be in my heart, our hearts, that will never change no matter what. But this call you got, this offer, this is an opportunity son. A job doesn’t just fall from the sky for no reason, as I’ve always said everything happens for a reason. You’ve worked too hard in Bytom, done too much in a short space of time to let loyalty to our team hold you back. Ślęza isn’t the enemy, not even close. They’re just another team trying to survive, like Bytom was’

‘But it’s in Wrocław, your city, our city. How do I walk in the locker room and talk to the Ślęza players, them knowing who I support and me knowing they’re not Śląsk’

As quick as a beat Piotr said ‘That’s easy. You walk in as their manager, the boss’ took a moment and then continued ‘and you do the job. Do it with respect, authority and pride. You don’t need to forget where you come from, where you’ve been to take a step forward. Śląsk, if they come calling will understand, and if they don’t, that’s their problem, not yours’

Scott leaned back against the headboard and closed his eyes. His fathers words were steady and grounding, like they always were. Piotr had weathered his own storms, leaving Poland and chasing the dream in Canada, and raising a family far away from all he’d known. If anyone understood the weight of tough decisions, it was him

‘I just, I don’t know, I don’t want to let you down’ Scott said, voice barely above a whisper

‘How could you let me down my boy? You’ve done exactly what I did, just in reverse. I left Poland for Canada to work in football, you left Canada to go work in football in Poland. You’ve already made me proud Scott. And this with Ślęza is just the next chapter’

Scott nodded even though his dad couldn't see it. The weight he was feeling before the call now felt a lot lighter and the path a little clearer, and Piotr spoke before Scott could say thank you

‘Just do me one favour son’

‘What’s that?’

‘When Śląsk play Ślęza and you win, don’t ring me giving me grief or celebrate too hard’

Scott laughed hard, harder than he laughed in the last year and said ‘okay, deal’

As he hung up, the city outside and the future in it seemed less daunting. The lights of Wrocław were a little brighter, as was the future for Scott. It wasn't an easy decision to make, but it felt right, and for now, that was enough.

 

[bigmattb28]

Part 2 - The Homecoming​

Chapter 10.​

​

The rain was hammering down on the streets of Wrocław, glistening something like polished obsidian under the weak light of a flickering lamp post. Ślęza Wrocław, the city's other smaller team, wearing the gold and crimson jerseys had just clawed their way into ii Liga, the unforgiving third tier of Polish football. It was a promotion earned through hard work and grit, much like Polonia Bytoms survival was earned the same way, and no one was under any illusions. Staying in the third tier would be a completely different challenge than reaching it. A whole new battle was coming, a street fight where survival was the only prize.

Better to make history than study it.

Enter Scott Lańkowski, a man who knew a thing or two about survival. In Bytom, they said he was a miracle worker. Polonia Bytom had started their season with an eight point millstone tied around their necks. Relegation seemed inevitable, a slow march to oblivion. But Scott Lańkowski didn’t just keep them afloat, he made believers out of a team drowning in despair. It wasn’t pretty, but survival never is.

Ślęza’s chairman had seen enough. He didn’t need a showman or a visionary; he needed a fighter. Someone who could keep them punching above their weight in a league filled with bigger budgets and sharper teeth. They turned to Lańkowski, a man whose reputation was built not on glory, but on grit. On survival instincts.

The decision wasn’t just about football; it was about the identity of Ślęza Wrocław. They’d fought their way back to relevance, but the ii Liga wasn’t going to roll out the red carpet. They needed a manager who could navigate the tightrope of ambition and pragmatism. Scott fit the bill like a pair of well worn boots.

For Scott Lańkowski, the job was clear. Survival wasn’t just the goal; it was the only game in town. Ślęza knew they’d be in the trenches this season, and they wanted a man who’d already proven he could handle the mud and the blood. Lańkowski was that man, a coach who could turn adversity into just another obstacle to overcome. It wouldn’t be mission impossible, merely mission quite difficult.

As the shadows lengthened over Wrocław’s ancient streets, a new chapter in Ślęza’s story was beginning. It wouldn’t be glamorous, and it wouldn’t be easy. But with Scott Lańkowski at the helm, they had a fighting chance. And in the lower leagues, sometimes that’s all you can ask for.

q​

 

[bigmattb28]

Ślęza Wrocław the key players​

The team that Scott Lańkowski inherited wasn’t dripping with glamour, but in a league where survival was the name of the game, it was a lineup that promised grit, experience, and just enough spark to keep hopes alive. Each name was a character in a story of struggle, ambition, and the unyielding grind of lower league football.

Błażej Radler – The Captain.​

At 34, Błażej Radler was a man built for war. A grizzled center half with the scars to prove it, he is the kind of player who doesn’t flinch in the face of a crunching tackle or a high ball into the box. Radler isn’t fast anymore, ****, he probably never was, but what he lacked in pace he made up for with a mind like a chess master and a presence that could make a striker think twice. He’d seen it all, done it all, and as captain he was the spine of the squad. If Ślęza Wrocław were to survive, they’d do it on the shoulders of this defensive general.

Kajetan Latka – The Loyal Lieutenant​

At left back, Kajetan Łatka is Radler’s most trusted soldier. As vice captain the 25 year old has the look of a man who’d spent his career cleaning up other people’s messes. He is no stranger to the dirty work, chasing wingers down alleys and sticking a foot in where others wouldn’t dare. Solid, reliable, and a leader in his own right, Latka brought balance and stability to a team that would need every ounce of both..

Dawid Molski – The Young Gun​

At 22, Dawid Molski is the kind of right full back who could run all night and then some. He is the kind kid who doesn’t know when to quit with the kind of ability in the cross you’d kill for in a league where games came fast and hard and goals were probably going to be scarce. His is the kind of cross from the right that would hopefully carve through defenses like a hot knife through butter. Scott would be counting on him to provide the width and chaos, two things Ślęza desperately need.

Aleksander Kwiek – The Architect​

Deep lying playmakers don’t usually last until 34, but Aleksander Kwiek isn’t your average midfielder. With the ball at his feet he is an artist, painting passes that could turn nothing into something. Kwiek can’t cover ground like he used to, but he desn’t need to, he made the ball do the hard work. If Ślęza are going to create anything resembling a chance, it would flow through the boots of this seasoned maestro.

Kamil Mańkowski – The young sentinel​

Kamil Mańkowski is another right sided player. The 22 year old winger whose coaching reports give off the air of consistency and high decision making that is going to be key this season. He is the type of winger who could leave defenders grasping at shadows. Fearless and unpredictable, he is the kind of player who could win you a game, or lose you one, with a single touch. Scott knows Mańkowski’s type; raw, inconsistent, but capable of brilliance. If Ślęza need a moment of magic, Mańkowski is going the guy to provide it.

Jakub Jakobczyk – The sniper​

Jakub Jakobczyk, the 26 year old forward, isn’t flashy, but he has a knack for being in the right place at the right time. He will be one of the players tasked with taking on the goalscoring burden of the team, a player expected to throw himself into battles with center backs twice his size and still come up fighting. If Ślęza’s survival came down to a scrappy finish in a crowded box, you could bet Jakobczyk would be the one throwing his body on the line to make it happen.

Mateusz Sobczak – The Future Between the Sticks​

The first, a deal to bring in Mateusz Sobczak, a young goalkeeper on loan from Śląsk Wrocław. At 20, Sobczak is raw, but he has reflexes like a cat and high enough decision making that he can be relied upon despite his young age. He’d have his work cut out for him in the chaos of ii Liga, but as a keeper who could pull off the spectacular he might just be the difference between staying up and going down.

Mikołaj Kotfas – The Wildcard​

Another loan from Śląsk Wrocław, Mikołaj Kotfas is a young forward with fire in his boots and ambition in his veins. He hadn’t made a name for himself yet, but the potential was there. Quick enough in acceleration, instinctive and being able to make the right decisions, Kotfas could be the injection of youthful arrogance Ślęza needs, a player who didn’t know enough to fear failure.


Scott Lańkowski’s task was simple, if not easy; mold this motley crew into a team that could fight, scrap, and survive, just like last season in Bytom. The chairman had given him the tools, and the fans? Well, they were watching, waiting, and hoping. The season ahead would be a grind, but if anyone could make it work, it was Scott Lańkowski. After all, he’d built his small reputation out of doing the impossible.

 

[bigmattb28]

Chapter 11​

Scott Lańkowski had chosen the dive bar on the outskirts of Wroclaw for this meeting, the kind of place where no one asked questions and the jukebox sounded like it hadn’t been fed coins since the late 80’s. Sat across from him sat two men who’d been through war with him already; Peter Bastista and Marcin Lachowski. Two of his trusted comrades from their season in Bytom, two first team regulars he counted on all season, the first two names on the team sheet and now, possibly, the first two bricks in the foundation of his new backroom team at Ślęza Wrocław.

He took a sip of his drink, letting the silence hang like a low fog before speaking ‘I’m not gonna sugarcoat it boys, Bytom’s in trouble, big trouble. Money troubles. I know first hand from Jakub that he won’t be offering much financial incentive for this season, I figured you both knew that already though’

Batista nodded, his face a mask of quiet resignation. He’d spent enough time in the trenches of Polish football to know when a club was circling in the drain.

Marcin Lachowski just leaned back, arms crossed but with narrowing eyes. The look that said he’d already thought this through but wasn’t going to give anything away just yet.

Scott leaned forward, voice low and steady and said ‘Ślęza’s no palace, but we’ve got a chance here. A chance to build something. I need people I can trust. People I know that have got what it takes to survive when the odds are stacked against you’ he then looked at Bastista and said ‘Pete, you need an opportunity and I need an assistant manager. You’ve got the brain for it, you were my vice captain last season and you know how I work. This team will need some more discipline, structure and someone that can read the game. What do you say?’

He didn’t hesitate, he’d been in the trenches with Scott already and he knew the man didn’t make any promises he couldn’t keep ‘I’m in, I've already told Jakub I won't be staying anyway’ he said, voice steady and professional ‘let’s do it’

Scott nodded knowing Bastista would be in, then he turned to Lachowski. This would be tricker. Marcin Lachowski wasn’t just a former player or the captain last season, he was a thinker, a strategist, the playmaker. Scott knew he needed more than a coach, he needed someone who could handle the other side of the backroom game, the scouting assignments, the contract negotiations, the chess moves that happened off the pitch

‘Marcin’ Scott began ‘I want you to offer you something different. Director of football. You’ll run recruitment for me, set the scouts up, work the deals, help me bring in the players that we need to stay in the league. You’ve got an eye for talent and you both know this league inside out. What do you think?’

Marcin didn’t answer right away. He reached for his glass, took a slip and let the silence stretch. Finally he spoke ‘Director of football? Sounds like you’re trusting me with a lot Scott, you sure about this?

Scott just smirked, the kind of smirk that came from knowing he’d already won the argument ‘I don’t need to be sure Marcin. I just need to know you’ll put the work in. We’ll sit down, all three of us and go through the squad, figure out where we're thin, find players who can make a difference. Us three, we’ll build this thing together’

Lachowski nodded slowly, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth ‘alright, I’m in. But you’re buying the coffee for those transfer meetings’

Scott chuckled and said ‘deal. Welcome to Ślęza boys, let’s get to work’. They shook hands and sealed the deal.

Outside the rain had started to fall again, another steady drizzle that soaked the city’s streets but for Scott it was just another night, another step in a journey that would be as much about survival as it was about ambition. But with Bastista and Lachowski at his side he had the beginnings of a team, not just on the pitch but behind the scenes. And in a relegation survival fight that was half the battle.

 

[bigmattb28]

Chapter 12​

The rain was hitting the office window as Scott was sat down, the type of drizzle that seemed to seep into the bones and linger there. A single desk lamp was casting long shadows across the room, highlighting the stacks of paperwork and the empty coffee cups that had accumulated during Scotts short time in the job.

Sat across from Scott was Marcin Lachowski, sat with sleeves rolled up, a notepad in front of him and a pencil that kept swirling between his fingers. The newly appointed director of football had the calm and methodical demeanour of a man who saw the bigger picture even when the details were still blurry.

Scott leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight as he exhaled a long sigh, the stress of the day coming out in that breath. ‘We’ve got some gaps Marcin, big ones. If we’re going to survive we need to secure some reinforcements, not just bodies but players who know how to fight and grind out results. I’m not interested in shiny projects or gambling on potential again, I want grit and experience’

Marcin nodded flipping open his notepad ‘I’ve been on with it. I’ve got some deals lined up, free transfers that won’t dip into the small budget we’ve got. I’ve found a forward, Hubert Antkowiak is available on a free. He might be young at 20 but he’s already got a good number of games and goals under hie belt. He won’t be 20 goals a season but he’ll work his socks off and link up with Jakobczyk and Koftas well I’m sure of it’

Scott took a moment and said ‘he’s not flashy but as long as he’s happy doing the dirty work and take some hits, I’m happy to go for him’

Marcin made a note then looked up ‘you might not like this but I’ve kept in touch with people in Bytom. You know the situation there, he’s paying wages late if at all, he’s got debts piling up to his eyeballs so he’s letting players go’

‘Who you thinking?’ Scott asked, already running the names through his mind he’d happily bring from Bytom to Sleza with him

‘Mróz and Słodowy’ Marcin started, and when Scott didn’t say anything he continued ‘they’re both available. Mroz we know will run himself into the ground if you asked him to, and Matty was one of the players that shone last season’

Scotts expression hardened, knowing he’d worked with both players last season, knew exactly what they’d bring to his new team ‘their loss is our gain’ he said, made a note on his own notepad and continued ‘I don’t like the idea of raiding the club again, I got you and Pete and Bytom were good to me’ Marcin didn’t say anything so Scott then said ‘but no one gave me any favours last season and I’m not in the business of charity ether. Make the call to them both and we’ll both speak to them’

Marcin nodded, making another note before flipping to a fresh page ‘last one now, Mateusz Michalski. Attacking midfielder, creative, can pick a pass, reminds me of me in a way. He’s had a couple of clubs and never really settled. But I think he could be the creativity we’ll need this season to stay up. Him and Kwiek in the middle with Mroz supporting might just create something’

Scott nodded and said ‘Mateusz Michalski, I am sure I’ve seen him play. He could be just the spark we need, yeah, let’s go in for him’

Marcin nodded and the faintest hint of a smile formed on his lips ‘that’s four players boss, I’m sure we can get all of them in. Maybe not game changers on their own, but they’ll make us tougher, stronger and harder to break down. Survival players’

Scott agreed, a new sense of determination setting over him ‘that’s exactly what we need, survival players. We’re not going to get any favours from anyone, the whole league will see us as three easy points. We’re gonna be fighting for every point and clawing our way towards survival. With the squad already plus these four, they’ll give us a fighting chance’

The squad was starting to take shape, the pieces coming together like a jigsaw puzzle in shades of gray. It wasn’t perfect, but perfection wasn’t the goal. Survival was. And with these new faces, Ślęza Wrocław had just a little more muscle, a little more grit, and maybe, just maybe, a chance to keep their heads above water.