[FM17] The Maple and the Eagle

[bigmattb28]

The season was over, but the silence in Scott Lanowski’s flat felt louder than any stadium. The league table said another third place finish, overachievers by anyone’s measure. But numbers didn’t soften the ache of falling short, nor did they answer the question gnawing at him; what now?

Leândro was gone. Koftas was still a question mark. Zygmunt would return to Lazio and Kwiatkowski’s loan from Wisła Kraków had run its course. The spine of his team was being pulled apart piece by piece, and the promises of tomorrow felt thin against the weight of reality.

Scott stood by the window, city lights bleeding into the dark, and let the thought settle. He could stay. He could fight again with whatever scraps were left and patch the squad together whilst chasing the promotion dream that had just slipped through his hands again

Or he could leave. Either take some time off or maybe go somewhere new. Somewhere that tested him, demanded more and maybe gave him the chance to step into becoming the manager he kept telling himself he could be.

He thought of the call earlier in the year from Sofia, as well as from Sarajevo. The calls he hadn’t really wanted to take, but they were reminders that people were watching. That he wasn’t just a small time story in Wrocław.

The season had ended. But for Scott, the real decision hadn’t even begun.

Indecision clung to him like a second skin. Part of him wanted to fight again with Ślęza, with the club that had given him the chance to show what he’s made of and to prove that third place wasn’t the ceiling but a stepping stone, a necessary rung on the ladder. Another part whispered that he’d already done his proving here, dragged a modest club further than anyone thought possible. To stay might mean loyalty, but it might also mean stagnation.

The papers only twisted the knife. Wisła Kraków, the big team fallen on hard times, had sacked Tomasz Kafarski after failing to claw their way back up. Within hours, Scott’s name had been mentioned, tucked neatly among a list of candidates. A rumor, maybe. Or maybe someone had decided his work in Wrocław wasn’t just a fluke.

He wasn’t sure how he felt reading it. Pride, yes absolutely, but fear too. A name like Wisła wasn’t just a job; it was a weight, a stage where failure echoed louder than success. And he wondered if he was ready for it, or if walking into a fire like that would burn away everything he’d built. He’d refused to comment on the speculation when asked by a member of the media on his last obligation before breaking for the summer.

Scott sat alone in his flat that night, the city outside humming with its usual noise, oblivious to the storm in his head. A glass of whisky sat untouched on the table. He stared at it like it might hold an answer, but none came.

What now? Start again with Ślęza, try to get over a line they might never cross? Or walk away before the weight of loyalty pinned him down for good?

He thought of Koftas and Leândro, a pair of unspectacular forwards that formed an unbreakable bond on the pitch and that shared most of the club’s goalscoring burden. He also thought of the players who had bled for him on cold nights in the forgotten corners of Poland whilst doing everything he asked, and more. He thought too of Kraków, of Sofia, of Sarajevo and of the voices telling him he could be more. One road promised comfort, the other danger and opportunity. Both carried the risk of regret.

When he finally switched off the light, he hadn’t chosen. And maybe he didn’t want to, because the moment he did, one part of him would be lost.

== == == == ==​

The office smelled of stale coffee and damp training gear. Marcin Lachowski, his director of football leaned against the desk, arms folded, eyes on Scott like he’d been waiting for this moment all year. Peter Basista, his assistant, sat opposite, tapping a pen against a notepad but not writing a word.

Scott didn’t know where to start, so he didn’t. He just let the silence hang until Marcin broke it.

‘You’re leaving, aren’t ya’? he said flatly. No accusation or malice, just pure fact.

Scott rubbed at the back of his neck and shook his head slightly ‘I haven’t actu…..’

Marcin cut him off ‘you don’t need to say it’ his voice quieter but sharper ‘we’ve seen it in your face these last few days, maybe even weeks. The way you look past the pitch or the walls sometimes, it’s like you’re already somewhere else’

Scott looked down at the desk. There was no way to dress it up ‘it’s not that I want to, it’s more like that I have to leave’

Marcin gave a small nod, like he’d rehearsed it in his head already ‘well whenever it’s settled, when or if you go, we go. The next man will want his own people. And we won’t hang around pretending to be wanted. If you stay, we stay, if you go, we go, that’s it’

Peter leaned forward, finally stilling the pen ‘if you’ll have us that is. Doesn’t matter if it’s Poland again, Bulgaria, Bosnia or Mexico. We built something here, we’ll do it again at the next place’

Scott felt his throat tighten. These were two of the men who had carried the weight with him, the ones who’d patched the holes when everything looked like it might cave in. Leaving Ślęza was one thing, but leaving behind these two, it twisted the knife deeper.

He gave them both a slow nod ‘whether the next step is here or somewhere else, I want you there’

For a moment, none of them spoke. The only sound was the faint hum of the radiator, filling the silence of three men who knew a chapter was closing, even if the book hadn’t shut yet.

Marcin broke the silence by asking ‘do you have something lined up? Krakow want you I’ve seen, and didn’t the chap in Sarajevo say he might be back in touch?

Scott shook his head ‘nah, nothing yet. It could be a while, months even. If we leave any time soon it could happen quicker but, I don’t know, that’s what scares me the most, the waiting, the uncertainty’

The words hung in the air, heavier than any tactic board. late night or early morning team talk. Waiting. Uncertainty. Scott had lived with both before, but never like this.

His eyes drifted to the training ground outside the window, half lit by the sinking sun. How many hours had they bled into that grass? Scott sat there a while longer after Marcin’s question, the quiet pressing down on him like a weight. The thought of waiting months, maybe longer, scraped at the back of his mind. He hated drifting. He hated not knowing.

His mind then wandered and it carried ghosts. Alain Ngamayama, the center half scoring twice in the away win at Polonia Bytom in Scott's first game against his former team, the same season they survived in the ii liga. Koftas celebrating with arms outstretched after scoring the equaliser away at Znicz Proszkow that secured promotion to the i liga the season after. And Koftas scoring a hat trick away at Chojniczanka Chojnice, there were many more memories, and that's all they would be now, there would be no more to add.

Ślęza wasn’t just where he worked. It was where he’d bled, where he’d grown and where he’d been reminded what football could mean when you stripped it of money and glamour and only left the fight.

But every memory pulled at him the same way, they were already in the past.

Scott stood, slow but deliberate ‘I need to talk to Slawomir’ he said. His voice was steady now, firmer than it felt inside. The decision had landed, even if his heart still lagged behind it.

 

[bigmattb28]

Scott didn’t knock, he pushed the office door open like a man carrying a weight he couldn’t set down anywhere else. Slawomir Sobczak was behind his desk, papers stacked neatly in front of him, glasses perched low on his nose. He looked up, and for a fleeting second, Scott thought the chairman already knew.

‘Scott’ Slawomir said evenly ‘come on in and take a seat, I hope you’re well’

Scott did as he was told, though it felt less like an order and more like walking into a confessional booth. The air in the room was heavy and not hostile, but charged and with a spark, like both men understood something was about to shift.

Slawomir folded his hands, waiting. Scott cleared his throat, the words slow to come ‘I won’t dance around it, it’s taken a while but I’ve made my decision. I’m leaving Ślęza’

Silence. The kind that fills a room like smoke, heavy and suffocating. The chairman’s eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger but more in calculation, trying to weigh the words against the man he’d come to respect.

‘You… you’re serious?’ he asked finally, the words seemingly struggling to come out.

Scott didn’t flinch ‘yes, I am. I owe this club a debt of gratitude. But I need to see what I can do somewhere else. I feel like I’ve done all I can here with finishing third twice in a row. It’s good enough to be proud of and seen as overachieving, but not good enough to get us over the line, and maybe that’s the ceiling for me here and as far as I can take us. I can’t keep wondering if there’s something more out there for me’

Slawomir leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing just a touch and hint of a smile forming ‘the ceiling, eh? Funny thing about ceilings, Scott, sometimes they’re real, sometimes they’re just in your head. Are you sure this is the club’s limit, or are you just afraid of trying and failing again?’

Scott let the words hang and was hurt by them. They stung because there was a truth in them, but also because he knew his own answer.

Slawomir softened, his voice carrying more weight than reproach ‘I can’t stop you if your heart’s already made up. But don’t dress it up as the club’s failure if what it really is that it’s your own ambition pulling you elsewhere’

Scott shifted in his chair, jaw tight ‘It’s not fear of failing again, Slawomir. We’ve all fought for every point here. I’ve wrung this squad dry at times, but twice we’ve been this close, twice we’ve fallen short. I know the team weren’t expecting to even stay in the league, but coming so close twice, I can’t ignore the thought that maybe I’ve taken them as far as I can’

Slawomir tapped a finger on the desk, slow, deliberate ‘or maybe you’ve built something that just needs one more year to break through. You think another man will do better with these players? With this fanbase behind them?’

Scott didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The silence betrayed him.

Finally after a long enough silence to be classed as awkward Slawomir let out a long breath, the fight leaving his voice ‘you’ve done more than anyone associated with the club ever thought you would when you took over 4 years ago, and with that I feel you’ve earned the right to choose your path, Scott. No one can hold that against you. If your ambition takes you away from here, then go with my respect. Just don’t forget that you’ve given this club belief and the feeling that the underdog can rise up, and that’s no small thing’

Slawomir leaned back in his chair, eyes heavy but steady ‘it’s settled then. I won’t stand in your way. But I’ll tell you this, Scott, you’ll always have a place here. Ślęza will remember what you’ve done’ he waited a moment before saying ‘just promise me that you leave with the same honesty you’ve always shown’

Scott rose slowly, the scrape of the chair loud in the stillness. He extended his hand, and Slawomir took it, firm and lingering ‘thanks’ Scott said, voice rougher than he’d intended ‘for trusting me and keeping me on when you took over, and giving me this chance to see what we could do’ he waited a moment then said ‘I won’t forget what you and this club have done for me’

Slawomir had the final word as he said ‘good luck out there, you’ll need it, although we both know you’ll be fine’

Scott left the office with the words echoing in his head, heavier than any victory or defeat.

== == == == ==​

Scott lingered in the empty corridors, the hum of the old floodlights bleeding through the walls. His footsteps echoed in the silence, each one a reminder of the four years he’d spent here, the arguments in these halls, the discussions with staff, the laughter, the nervous pacing before matches that mattered more than they should have.

He paused at the dressing room door, running his hand along the scarred wood. How many times had he stood here, about to deliver words meant to steel the team for battle? But this time, there would be no tactics, no rallying cry. Just the truth.

He drew in a breath. Heavy. Final. And then he pushed the door open.

 

[bigmattb28]

The room was thick with chatter when Scott stepped in, the kind that always buzzed after training and was filled with a different kind of energy, the energy of a season well done and dusted. Boots scraped against the floor, tape was ripped from ankles, and the smell of sweat clung to the air. But the noise died the second they saw his face.


He didn’t bother with small talk. Not this time ‘gents’ he started, voice low and steady ‘listen up, I need you to listen as this isn’t easy’


A ripple of unease moved across the benches. Leândro leaned forward, arms on his knees, eyes narrowing despite his knowing his time as a player was up. Latka sat straight backed, ever the professional when Scott spoke, sensing something big was coming. Malania froze mid lace staring at the floor. Young Zygmunt shifted uncomfortably, already sensing what was coming.

Scott took a breath ‘I’m leaving the club’

The silence that followed was deafening. Then it broke.

‘You’re doing what?’ Malania’s voice cracked with disbelief.


‘No… no way’ said Latka, shaking his head ‘you can’t mean that’

Scott raised a hand and nodded ‘I do. It’s not about you, or the season, or any of the battles we’ve fought. You’ve all given me and the club everything. But I feel like I’ve taken us, you, as far as I can. Twice we’ve overachieved, twice we’ve finished third, twice we’ve knocked on the door and hit the ceiling. Maybe someone else can take you through it’

It was Koftas, Scott’s first signing at the club who exhaled sharply, jaw tight ‘so that’s it? You build this team, this club up just to then walk away?’ His voice was more wounded than angry.

‘Miko, my boy’ Scott said softly ‘you’re someone that has carried this club on your back. You’re a big reason why we’ve come this far. But I can’t keep asking you, or anyone else for miracles. Not anymore’


Koftas had looked at his feet when Scott had spoke, let the silence linger before finally looking up, eyes glassy ‘you brought me back here after the first loan season, told me that I belonged and helped me develop, you’ve told me you’ll stand by me while I recover from injury. I don’t know who I am in this team without you’


Scott crouched down a little, leveling his gaze with him ‘listen, this is football. Players move on. Managers too. It’s all part of the career. Doesn’t make it easy, but it’s the game we chose. Clubs survive us all’


Koftas shook his head ‘it’s different with you. You’re not just any manager here. You’re…..you’re the one who made us believe. You made me believe’


Scott put a hand on his shoulder ‘and that belief doesn’t vanish just because I’m gone. You’ve got it in you, you’ll keep fighting, no matter who sits in the office. I promise you that’


There were other voices now. Malania nodded slowly, quietly ‘I knew this day would come, just wasn’t expecting it so soon’ Takas, still just a kid in football terms, asked in a small voice ‘so who do we play for now?’


Scott let the question hang, heavy as lead. Then he said ‘you play for Ślęza. Same as always. This club’s more important than any of us. And if I’ve done anything here, I hope it’s made you believe you can fight anyone, anywhere’

Scott let the question hang, heavy as lead ‘you play for yourselves and for each other. For the badge on your shirt and the fans that come every week. The foundations we’ve built here…. it’s real and it doesn’t vanish just because I’m not on the touchline. This club will keep fighting, with or without me’ He waited for a response, and when none came he continued ‘as for me? I need to see if I can build something again, somewhere else and take the next step. That’s how I’ll grow. That’s how we all do’

No one moved for a long moment. Then, slowly, the players began to nod. Reluctantly. Resentfully. But with respect.


Scott stood there, drinking in the sight of them. His team. His nearly men. He wanted to etch every face into memory before turning away.


The silence that followed felt like it might swallow the room whole. A few of the younger lads kept their heads down, jaws clenched, as if looking up would make the truth sting worse. Koftas shook his head slowly, hurt etched across his face.

But from the back of the group, Marcin gave the faintest of nods. Not agreement, not quite approval, just the recognition of a man who understood why another might need to take a step into the unknown. Peter’s eyes met Scott’s next, and he offered the same quiet acknowledgement. They didn’t like it, but they got it.


Before leaving the room he turned and said ‘thank you, all of you, for everything


And then he walked out, leaving the silence behind him, broken only by the sound of boots tapping nervously against the tile.

 

[bigmattb28]

The office was stripped bare now. The walls where tactics once hung looked naked, like they’d forgotten their purpose. Files had been boxed, the desk cleared, the chair pushed back for the last time. It didn’t feel like his room anymore.

Scott wasn’t the only one leaving. One by one, his lieutenants had made the same decision. Piotr Anusiewicz, who’d kept the team sharp and fit when the schedule chewed them up. Peter Basista, his right hand, the voice that echoed his own on the training ground and from the sidelines. Marcin Lachowski, the quiet architect behind the transfers and contract negotiations. Blazej Radler, who’d looked to shape the future through youth. And the scouts Ortner, Drechsel and Pepic who’d gone into the shadows to find the names that gave Ślęza that fighting chance. They all stepped away now, clearing the decks for the next manager to come in with a clean slate.

Four seasons. That’s what Scott had given them. Four seasons that felt like a lifetime. Survival in season one finishing a remarkable fifth in the league, sticking to the game plan and winning fifteen games through grit and sheer determination. Season two, the promotion year, chaos, momentum and belief. Seasons three and four, back to back third place finishes in i liga, the second tier, coming ever so close to promotion to Ekstraklasa. Close enough to taste the top flight, never close enough to bite it.

His record sat there in the books, cold numbers to measure warm nights and bitter mornings; 76 wins, 32 draws, 39 losses. A 51% win rate. Enough to prove he could survive, build and to prove he could overachieve. But not just enough to take Ślęza that one step higher.

And that was the truth he carried with him as he walked away.

The press releases were done and the news confirmed officially, the handshakes and photographs filed away and time would continue on. By the time Scott wandered back down the tunnel, the stadium was empty. No chants from the crowd, no media, cameras or facilities staff going about their day. Just silence.

He stepped out onto the pitch one last time. The grass still carried the scars of another long season, torn divots waiting to be stitched back together by the groundsman’s hands during the off season. He walked to the dugout, let his hand rest on the worn wood of the bench where he’d lived and died through ninety minutes at a time.

For a moment he closed his eyes. He could hear the roars, the groans, the laughter of victories that had seemed impossible and the hush of defeats that had hurt like open wounds. Four years. A lifetime packed into them.

Then he turned, gave the ground one last look, and walked away.

Ślęza didn’t wait long to fill the void. Within days the announcement came - Ryszard Klusek, fresh from stepping down at Radomiak Radom, who’d finished third in ii liga, the division below. Not a big name or a headline grabber, but sometimes clubs don’t chase fireworks, they reach for a man who can steady the ship, keep it afloat while the waters calm. Can he do what Scott couldn't? Time will tell.

The irony wasn’t lost on Scott when he heard the name. Klusek had replaced him at Polonia Bytom, inheriting the team that survived relegation despite an eight point deduction, that Scott left behind after that lone season. He’d overseen their slide into relegation, the same year Scott was lifting Ślęza into ii liga. Football’s full of shadows like that, careers criss-crossing, names haunting you from old dressing rooms.

This time Klusek wasn’t coming in to chase dreams. He was coming in to hold the line.

== == == == ==​

 

[bigmattb28]

Scott Lanowski is no longer the man on the touchline in Ślęza. The dugout, the shouts, the routines, all of it there belonged to someone else now. He’d walked away, and the silence that followed was louder than any crowd.

It didn’t take long for his name to surface again. Managers who win promotion and then steady a club in the second tier don’t fade quietly. Raków Częstochowa came knocking, their offer dressed up as an opportunity to rebuild a fallen side. But Scott saw through it. Relegated from i liga, Raków were headed for another season of long bus rides, smaller stadiums, smaller crowds, smaller ambitions.

He didn’t leave Ślęza just to start over in the same trenches. Not with nothing but survival on the table. His ambitions were bigger than that now, even if he hadn’t yet figured out where they would take him. So he turned it down. Respectfully, but firmly. The calls would keep coming, he told himself. Somewhere out there was the right fit, something that matched the hunger still burning inside him.

The carousel didn’t slow. Names circled the papers, his among them. Olympiakos Volos cropped up in Greece, but nothing ever landed his way, just whispers in columns and murmurs on the forums. That was football; smoke without fire, until suddenly it wasn’t.

Then came a call that cut through the noise. Górnik Łęczna. A club with history, but fresh wounds in the form of finishing bottom of the Ekstraklasa last season, humiliated, battered and bruised. They’d be a giant among the division Scott knew too well, the very league where he had dragged Ślęza to back to back third place finishes.

‘Favorites to bounce straight back’ the caller told him, voice slick with certainty.

Scott sat with the thought long after the line went dead. Could he do it? Take a team stitched together with parachute payments and expectation and turn them around in a single season? It would mean stepping into a dressing room used to losing, into a club desperate to erase a year of failure.

It gnawed at him. He hadn’t managed to get Ślęza over the line, hadn’t cracked that final barrier. Łęczna would demand it of him immediately. No learning curve, no breathing room. Just results, straight away.

For the first time since he’d walked out of Wrocław, he found himself leaning forward, imagining the weight of a fallen giant, and wondering if this was the mountain he was meant to climb.

They met at Marcin’s flat, three mugs of coffee cooling on the table between them. The phone call from Łęczna was still buzzing in Scott’s head when Peter finally asked ‘so what do ya’ wanna talk about Scotty?’ with a sheepish grin, already knowing the answer

Scott smiled knowing he wasn’t pushing buttons, just getting straight to the point ‘you mean the elephant in the room, not Marcin’ with a laugh, he continued ‘Górnik Łęczna’

Marcin didn’t bite as was his way but said ‘they’ll go straight back up, with or without us’

Before Scott could reply Peter said ‘oh yeah, just like Wisla did last season?’

He was right, Wislaw Krakow came down last season and struggled, going through two managers and currently looking for their third in the last year.

Marcin again didn’t bite and said ‘that’s different. Łęczna won’t lose half the squad, aren’t in money troubles and have a squad stronger than Krakow did, and dare I say stronger than we did last season’. Not expecting anything back he continued ‘I’ve looked into them, I do think it's a ready made project, decent budget not that we’ll need to sign anyone and we’d be favourites every week, not scrappy underdogs’

‘The thing is, it’s Poland again, home. Same league, same grind even if it is just for the one season. I don’t know if I want to go down that road, not right away I mean. I keep thinking back to January, I had Bulgaria and Bosnia call me and be genuinely interested in me going there, that would be outside the comfort zone’ he waited a moment before adding ‘I know you both, and Blazej, said you’d come with me wherever I go, I don’t want you holding out for me, if anything comes up for you I would expect you to take it’

Marcin looked up and said ‘you think you’ve outgrown Poland? You’ve only been back five years, it’s not Canada but….’ Scott cut him off

‘No, not outgrown, just…..I don’t want to feel like I’m going in circles here. I don’t want to be seen as the steady hand when things go wrong, never the bride always the bridesmaid kind of thing. I just want to see what’s out there, places like Greece I’ve been mentioned, Spain, Hungary there’s a million places I could go, we could go, to test ourselves differently’

‘You’d easily get Łęczna promoted, there’s not a lot of challenge there, is that it?’

‘I don’t know, it’s just what comes after that? Could we build that team in Ekstraklasa? Would we just oversee another relegation?’

‘Are you seeing it as a sideways step?’

‘Yeah, I think I am, and if I’m wrong and we fail than I’ve taken the safe bet and still failed, that’s the bit that’s eating at me’

The room went quiet for a beat, each man weighing the same truth from different angles.

Scott left Marcin's flat later that night no closer to an answer. The call from Łęczna had stirred something in him, the thought of bouncing straight back with another Polish club, bigger than the last two he had managed, and of proving that he could finish the job he never quite managed at Ślęza. But the unease lingered. It felt too close to what he’d just walked away from. Too familiar. Too safe.

== == == == ==​

 

[bigmattb28]

The call came on a damp Thursday morning. Scott almost let it ring out, thinking it was another agent sniffing around on Łęczna’s behalf. But the voice on the other end was different. Polished English, accented but clear.

‘Mr. Lanowski? This is Edas Alihodzic, president of Željezničar Sarajevo. I’d like to speak with you about our vacanc

Scott straightened in his chair. He jotted the name down, heart ticking a little faster. Bosnia. A new country, a new league. Not the safe, predictable move. Something else. Something riskier.

Scott frowned, he wasn’t expecting that.

‘Are you there Mr. Lanowski?’ The voice was low now, measured and carrying that Balkan edge. ‘I’ll be direct, the team was relegated last season, we should’ve gone straight back up this season, but the manager, he failed us. That cannot happen twice. We want promotion this season. No excuses, anything else is failure. I believe you are the man that can deliver it’


Scott frowned, the bluntness jarring ‘that’s a big ask. You’ve just….’

Esad cut him off ‘no excuses, none. Željezničar is not a second rate team, certainly no second division club. I have a feeling you want to prove yourself after narrowly missing out in Wrocław, you can do that here with us. There’ll be no time to settle, no time to build. I’m sure you can handle that’


Scott leaned back in the chair, lips pressed tight. He’d dealt with pressure before, but the tone here felt less like belief and more like a threat ‘I’d need to think it over, time to talk to my staff, review the club, the current squad and……’


Cut off again, Esad’s reply was sharp, with an almost impatient tone ‘then think quickly. There’s plenty of others that will be wanting this job. But I believe you are the right man to take us up, and then build, if you are brave enough to take it that is’

The line went dead. Scott exhaled, staring at the silent phone. He felt more cornered than courted, the words still echoing: no excuses… failure… think quickly.

It didn’t sit right. Not at all.

A while later after he’d processed the call he thought about it. Promotion to the Premijer liga this season, no bedding in period and possibly not much time to go over things with Marcin and Peter, which would mean no time to find his feet. Straight to the point, straight to the pressure, straight to business. He thought back to Ślęza, the near miss with promotion, the frustration of falling short and wondered if this was the same trap all over again.

‘I appreciate the call’ Scott said carefully ‘It’s a big challenge you’re talking about’

Esad didn’t hesitate ‘Željo is a big club. We cannot live in the second division. We will give you the tools, but the demand is simple: win promotion. You’ve done it before, you can do it again here’

Scott let out a slow breath. The weight of the proposition hung heavy. This wasn’t just another job offer. It was a gamble, the kind that could either elevate his career or break it.

== == == == ==​

 

[bigmattb28]

Scott sat with Peter, Marcin, and Blazej later that evening in a small cafe. Three coffees, one half eaten pasty sat there along with the hanging silence until Marcin finally broke it.

‘Well?’ he asked ‘how was the call with Sarajevo?’

Scott rubbed a hand across his forehead and said ‘pushy, far too pushy. The guy didn’t ask me anything about what I wanted to do, long term plans, if I wanted my own staff or anything like that. Just didn’t even want to hear anything from me. He just said one thing, promotion or bust, and that’s this season. Anything else is failure’

Peter whistled under his breath ‘that’s… blunt’

‘Blunt’s one word’ Scott muttered ‘felt more like an ultimatum than a job offer’

Blazej leaned forward ‘Željo is a big name, Scott. If you take them up, you’re a hero. But if you don’t…’

‘That’s it’ Scott said, eyes fixed on the table ‘it’s not just pressure that seemed suffocating already. I don’t want to walk into a job where the chairman’s already got the axe half raised before I’ve even put a team out’

Marcin gave a slow nod ‘feels wrong, then. If your gut says no, don’t force it. We’ll go where you go, you know that. But we don’t want you walking into a trap’

Peter leaned back in his chair ‘another opportunity will come, one that might even be better suited. Somewhere you can breathe, build something. Doesn’t have to be now, doesn’t have to be them’

Scott sipped at his coffee, cold by now, but didn’t answer straight away. Esad’s voice was still ringing in his head, harsh and unyielding. He couldn’t shake the sense that if he said yes, he’d already be one step from failure.

Scott sat back in his chair, the dregs of his coffee bitter on his tongue. Željezničar Sarajevo had finished second in Prva liga FBiH, the second division. So close to promotion last year and still the biggest name in that division. On paper, it was an obvious opportunity, a ready to go team in many ways.

But the tone of Esad Alihodžić’s call lingered like smoke. No warmth, no give and no sense of partnership, just the demand. Promotion this season along with no excuses. It felt less like an invitation and more like being shoved into a corner.

And yet, he found himself thinking back to another call. During the winter break Gojko Drasković at Slavija Sarajevo had rung him. They actually ended up finishing bottom of the Premier League of Bosnia, adrift and broken, and still Gojko had sounded desperate enough to gamble on him back then. Scott had turned it down, not wanting to leave Ślęza mid season. But the thought returned now, nagging, maybe Bosnia was where the path would lead.

He tapped his fingers on the table, jaw tight mind running. He wanted back in as soon as possible, that was the truth he couldn’t ignore. Every day out of work felt heavier, a reminder he wasn’t in the dugout anymore, wasn’t part of the fight. But was Željezničar the right job? Or just the first one that came with a famous name and impossible demands?

The question hung there, no easy answer in sight.

== == == == ==​

 

[bigmattb28]

Scott had the phone in his hand, thumb hovering over the last call. He almost pressed it, almost gave Alihodžić his answer, whatever that might’ve been, he still wasn’t entirely sure. Then it rang again. Another number he hadn’t saved.

He swore under his breath ‘what now?’

The voice on the other end was calm and steady, but it carried a gravity that made Scott sit up straighter.

‘My name is Šefkija Vila. President of Velež Mostar Fudbalski Klub. Forgive the intrusion, but I’ll be direct, we need a manager. Not just any manager, the right one. Someone to bring this club back to where it belongs’

Scott rubbed the bridge of his now half expecting this to be another hard pitch, another man telling him what he must do and when he must achieve it. But Šefkija wasn’t pushing. His tone was deliberate, weighty even, every word like a stone placed carefully in a wall.

‘You’ve shown you can raise a club beyond its ceiling’ Šefkija said ‘we’ve been watching. We don’t want someone to survive, we want someone to make us contenders again. That man could be you’


Scott leaned back, staring at the ceiling. First Slavija a few months ago, then Željo and now Velež in the space of two days. Bosnia wasn’t just knocking on his door, it was trying to drag him through it. And for the first time since leaving Ślęza, he felt the cold edge of choices pressing hard against him.

== == == == ==​

Shortly after that call Scott sat with Peter, Marcin, and Blazej in the same quiet corner of the cafe as the previous day, the kind of place where voices never seemed to rise above a murmur. The table between them was littered with coffee cups, notebooks, and Marcin's open laptop.

He laid it all out. Željezničar’s pitch was pushy, urgent and almost seemed desperate. And now Velež Mostar’s call, careful but firm, ending with an invitation ‘they want me in the room’ Scott said, fingers drumming on the table

Peter leaned forward ‘and you’ll be going?’

Scott nodded once ‘yep, doesn’t mean I’ll take it. But I do want to hear them out’

Marcin folded his arms ‘Željo are a big club fallen on hard times and they probably think they can bully you into it. That tone never sits right does it. And Velež? Sounds like respect from another big team fallen on hard times, professional too. Sounds like they’ve actually thought about you, not just a name on a list’


Blazej added quietly ‘Velež Mostar is no small club Scotty. History, they’ve won a decent amount and a big fan base. They’ll demand a lot but they might give you the room to build’

Scott stared at the dregs of his coffee. Two roads, both leading into Bosnia, both full of risk ‘It feels like a test’ he said ‘Željo’s all pressure. Velež…..maybe there’s something real there and room to build. But either way, once I step through that door and meet with them there’s no turning back’

== == == == ==​

The train cut through the valley like a scar, steel grinding against stone. Scott sat by the window, eyes fixed on the jagged mountains rising and falling against the horizon. Bosnia wasn’t Poland. The air smelled different, the light fell heavier and the silence carried its own weight.

Mostar came into view in fragments, the mountain Velež, after which the team is named, tiled rooftops as well as the famous bridge arching across the river like a promise and a warning all at once. Scott stepped off the train and felt it in his bones - this was a footballing city. A place where history and expectation pressed down together.

At the station, Sefkija Vila’s driver was waiting, a hand painted sign with Lańkowski scrawled in thick black marker. No fanfare or welcoming speeches, just a nod toward the car. Scott followed, suitcase in hand, the streets of Mostar sliding by outside the window. Posters for Velež games clung to walls, weathered but proud.

Every turn of the car brought the club closer, the interview closer, and the decision looming larger. Scott had walked into plenty of dressing rooms, faced crowds, stared down opponents. But this felt different somehow. This was about where his story went next.

== == == == ==​

The car slowed, nosed through a set of rusted gates and pulled up outside the ground, a sign proudly proclaiming the team's home as Vrapčići. Scott stepped out, boots crunching on gravel and looked up.

The stadium wasn’t grand. The stands bore the stains of time, paint peeling in strips and one of the floodlights leaning like a tired soldier. But there was history here and Scott could feel it in the bricks, in the faded murals and in the way a couple of the locals walking past paused, eyes narrowing and measuring him already.

Scott smiled slightly and drifted a little, suitcase in hand until he found himself staring through a gap in the locked gate. The pitch stretched out under a fading afternoon sun, grass patchy but alive, lines marked like veins. He imagined it full, the roar of supporters rising like a storm, every chant demanding not just football but redemption.

A whisper crossed his mind; Željo wants it too. Maybe harder. Maybe louder. But Sarajevo had left a bitter taste in his mouth. Too pushy and far too desperate it felt. Here, right now this felt different. Not easier, but more human somehow, more welcoming.

Behind him, the driver cleared his throat ‘they are waiting for you inside, Mister Lańkowski’

Scott gave one last look at the field. He knew this would be more than an interview. This was a test of whether he believed he could carry a club back to its place, whether he had it in him to take that extra step, get over that hurdle of the finish line in the way of promotion.

He straightened his jacket and tightened his grip on the suitcase handle, then walked toward the doors.

== == == == ==​

 

[bigmattb28]

The office smelled of old wood, a haze still hanging in the air despite the window cracked open. Across the desk sat Sefkija Vila, sharp suit, sharp eyes, a man who gave nothing away unless he chose to.

‘Scott’ Vila said, his voice low but firm ‘thank you for coming to Mostar. You know why you’re here’

Scott nodded ‘of course, we’re here to talk about Velež. About what’s next’

Vila leaned back, folding his arms ‘last season we finished fourth, we were close, but not close enough. This year we must compete. I won’t pretend like it will be easy, and I won’t call hiring you, or any other manager a quick fix. Promotion is what we’re working toward, but we both know it has to be earned. What I care about is that we’re in the fight, that we look like a club with purpose. Anything less, and we’ve gone backwards’

Scott let the words hang in the air before answering ‘oh I completely understand. I reviewed the squad before coming here. There’s a decent core there, as well as some young players I’d like to work with, and some experienced heads there. But they’ve not been consistent enough, at least from what I’ve found. They’ve got habits from this level that need breaking if they’re going to push higher’. He took a breath, steadying himself ‘If you offered me it and I took this job, I’d expect us to challenge for promotion out of the Prva liga FBiH. That has to be the aim. I can’t give you an idea on when, or even a three maybe four year plan until I’ve spent time with the team, as well as getting my own guys in to work here with me’

A thin smile crossed Vila’s lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes ‘good. You speak my language. Ambition, I like that’ He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, tone sharpening ‘but talk to me about the plan you just mentioned, what about after promotion, whether that’s this year, next or whenever, what about after?’

Scott thought about it, but Vila didn’t give him chance to speak, breaking the silence ‘do you see this club as just a stepping stone for you? Or do you see what I see, in that Velež be restored, not just promoted but standing proud again in the Premier League once again. Competing. Belonging. Winning. Can you picture yourself leading that?’

Scott met his gaze. The pushiness reminded him of the Željo call, but Vila’s edge was different, not desperation, but expectation, the kind of pressure that carved men into champions or left them broken.

‘I think promotion is the first test’ Scott said slowly ‘we need to earn the right to be back where this club belongs. From there is when we build. It’s not about shortcuts, it’s about a foundation. If we get that right, then yes, I see Velež becoming more than just another promoted side. But it has to be done step by step, that’s how I’d do it’

For the first time since the meeting started Vila nodded, a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. He set his empty glass down with a quiet tap and leaned forward ‘I like that. It’s what I hoped you’d say. But now comes the question I’m not sure how you’ll answer. Tell me, looking back at your time with Ślęza, if you could have your time there again would you do anything differently? And if not, how do you see those experiences helping you here, or perhaps holding you back?’

Scott paused, weighing the words carefully, expecting such a question ‘differently? Yes but also no. At Ślęza I felt that I’d hit a ceiling there. Two years running we finished third, and both times I genuinely thought we could push that extra step. Maybe I was too loyal to the club, maybe even too loyal to the players I trusted and I’ll admit I was probably too reluctant to gamble on change when it might have made the difference. That’s something I’d look at again’

He leaned in slightly ‘but what I did learn is how to build consistency. Four years there from fighting relegation to touching promotion to the top division, to becoming a club that could stand toe to toe with anyone in the division, not only that but we too it to my own team Slask, who at the time were challenging for a top six spot in the Ekstraklasa. That kind of squad which was built on characters and resilience is something I know how to put in place. Here in Mostar I’d use those lessons right from the off, not to fear change but to balance it with stability. If I can get that right and you already think I can just by me being here, I think Velež won’t just be competing in this league. We’ll be building for something stronger and looking to get out of it’

‘Good answer I like that. You’ll have your chance to prove it, if we decide you’re the man.’ The silence that followed was heavy, both men knowing the decision would shape more than just a season.


Vila let the silence stretch, eyes fixed on Scott as if trying to measure the truth in his words. Then he said, low but sharp ‘that all sounds good. Stability, foundations but tell me, do you actually have the edge to take that next step? Because I don’t want a manager who builds walls and stops at the roof. I want one who knows how to break through it’

He didn’t wait for Scott to answer and said ‘I know you’d been able to make Ślęza competitive, that’s what made me as you here today, but can you make a team competitive when it really maters the most? That’s the only difference that counts’

Scott didn’t rush with his answer. He let Vila’s words hang, chewing them over before answering ‘You’re right there, I haven't proven that yet. Twice in Ślęza we finished third, which was higher than anyone inside or outside the club thought we’d finish, but I’ll tell you now, close doesn’t cut it, and that’s the reality of it’ he waited a moment then said ‘but those two seasons taught me something, and that is I know what not taking that extra step feels like, I replay the decisions I made and should’ve made all the time in my mind and I don’t want to feel the need to do that again’


When Vila just nodded, indicating Scott to continue, he did ‘I’m not pretending I have all the answers, not yet anyway. But I think I can take that next step here. If you’re looking for someone thats been there, got promoted and got the t-shirt then I’m not your man. But if you’re looking for someone that’s hungry enough to turn lessons and experience into wins, then I am most certainly your man’

== == == == ==​

 

[bigmattb28]

Scott sat in the dim hotel room, the streets of Mostar a low hum beneath the window. His notes from the interview still lay scattered across the desk, squad lists, formation sketches and half scribbled ideas. He hadn’t touched them since leaving the stadium but he’d replayed every word instead, every look across the table wondering if he’d done enough, if Vila had truly believed him. That’s if he even believed in himself.

The phone buzzed on the bedside table, the screen lighting the shadows. For a second, he just stared letting it ring out. But curiosity got the better of him and he picked it up.

‘Scott’ Šefkija Vila’s voice came in steady and measured ‘I’ll cut to it, we want you at Velež. The job is yours if you want it’

Scott sat for a moment, closed his eyes letting the weight of it all settling on him. Relief, excitement and fear all tangled together. Four years of building, a couple of near misses and lessons, had brought him here. And now, another chance. Another fight. Another test.

Scott didn’t say yes right away. He drew a breath, steadied his voice ‘Thank you, truly thank you for the offer. There is one thing we didn't touch on earlier. I can’t do this alone. My staff have been with me, grown with me and know my ideas and methods. If I take the job, I will do it on this one condition, they come too. I need your word on that’

There was no pause, no hesitation as Šefkija replied ‘if they’re your men, they’re Velež’s men. Bring them in. This is your team to build up how you see fit. If your coaches are part of that process, then I’m happy for you to bring in who you need’

That was all Scott needed. He accepted the offer without knowing the financials, he wouldn’t have to worry about that he was sure. His ended the call, confirming he’ll be there in the morning to finalise things, and he sat back against the headboard, staring into the dark, already thinking about the days ahead in his new job.

Later that evening on the long road back to Poland he carried the weight of it in silence. The towns blurred past the train window, Bosnia giving way to Poland and still his mind turned over the same thought; it was real now. He was leaving again, stepping into something new, possibly something bigger.

When he finally met Marcin, Peter and Blazej in the quiet corner of a Kraków café, he didn’t dress it up ‘Mostar’ he said simply ‘is a go. I took the job. And you’re coming with me, so pack your bags, we’ve got a job to do’

For a moment none of them spoke, then Peter leaned back a slow grin breaking, while Marcin just gave the sharpest of nods already thinking ahead. Blazej only exhaled, long and heavy, like he’d been holding it in for weeks.

The decision was made. The next fight was waiting.

 

[Mikeyfmcodarmy]

Loving this cannot wait for the next chapter.