Foal From Grace - A Borussia Mönchengladbach Sequel to 'Singing the Blues'

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Season Two - 2027/28

Part Thirteen
​

Welcome back to Foal From Grace! Two familiar faces help to summarise all the preparations that've been made for my second season at Borussia-Park.

This part is spread across multiple posts, so make sure to catch the whole piece!

Series Links

​

“We can’t hear you, Keith. Are you muted? Try clicking the button with the microphone on. Nope, wrong one, your video’s gone too now. Oh, picture’s back, but still no sound. Now we can see your screen. Why are you looking at -”

“Oh my DAYS, Keith, it’s the button on the left, at the end, that literally says ‘unmute’ underneath it!”

“Thanks, Matt, very clear instructions,” my former assistant manager, Keith Downing, says. “Now, how do I…”

“Towards the middle, there should be an icon labelled ‘share screen’, or something similar - click that,” I explain.

“Yeah, no one wants to know why you’re researching the best way to dispose of a human body,” my other ex-assistant, Matt Gardiner, adds.

“It’s for a crime novel I’m working on,” Keith says. “I’ve been enjoying the free time I’ve had over the last year and really cracked on with some personal projects.”

“I’m a little jealous,” I chuckle. “Wish I had the time to work on a creative-writing project.”

“I think you should settle for having won a treble in your debut season at Borussia Mönchengladbach instead,” Keith smiles back.

“Very true,” I grin. “Anyway, how’ve you both been? How’s the allotment coming along Keith?”

“It’s been great! I’ve had beetroot, salad onions, and carrots in abundance this year, just need to get to grips with looking after tomatoes a bit better, but Matt said he’ll come round sometime because he’s got some tips th-”

Matt clears his throat quite aggressively to stop Keith in his tracks.

“I think you’re misremembering, Keith. I said I’d send my MOTHER round - you know gardening’s not for me,” Matt says, not quite convincingly enough for me to believe him, but I humour him and pretend his macho persona remains fully intact.

“That’s very kind of you Matt,” I note. “How’s coaching the kids gone for you?”

“Dont wanna talk about it,” he grunts.

“Why not? Finish bottom of the league?”

“No, they won it, in fact,” Matt says. “Problem is, I got the boot after only a few weeks. Apparently, eleven- and 12-year-olds can’t handle a bit of tough love.”

“Didn’t you tell me you called them ‘rat-faced, yellow-bellied, nail-biting cowards’ when they were a goal down at half-time?” Keith asks.

“I did, and I regret nothing - those girls went on to win 4-1,” Matt smirks.

“Deine Freunde klingen lächerlich,” Alexis Geiler comments, not looking up from the Spanish textbook she’s taking notes from on the other side of the room, making me snort.

“What was that?”

“That was my Head of International Managerial Affairs,” I say.

“I didn’t say ‘who’, I said ‘what’,” Matt frowns.

“If I remember my brief German studies correctly, it sounded like they said ‘Your friends seem ridiculous’ to me,” Keith says.

“You’re mistaken, Keith. She said that you ‘seem fun’,” I lie.

“Oh, well, I do apologise. How nice,” Keith beams, though Matt seems less than convinced. “Anyway, that’s enough about us - you’ve been having a busy summer, Nicole!”

“Indeed,” I say, puffing out my cheeks. “I wasn’t planning on it, but a €52 million budget and the omnipresent-threat of Saudi Arabia’s state-backed spending rearing its head again left me with rather a lot to play with.”

“How much was it you got for Reiss Nelson and Devyne Rensch, again?” Keith asks.

“€65 million from Al-Ittihad and €60 million from Al-Nassr, respectively,” I answer. “They both offered half those prices originally, then accepted our first counter offer - I feel like we could’ve gotten even more ludicrous fees for them after that.”

“Their wages must be bonkers?”

“The equivalent of €800,000 a week, each.”

“Bleedin’ ‘eck,” Matt says, eyes widening. “That’s life-changing money.”

“Pretty sure all top-flight footballers are already on life-changing money,” I laugh. “It’s not like many other jobs regularly pay the millions that professional football does.”

“Very true,” Matt nods. “I don’t imagine your other exits feel like they’ve missed out, for example.”

“No, not really - the combined €57,275,000 from the transfers of Oscar Fraulo to Wolfsburg, Giorgio Cittadini to Parthenope, Simon Walde to Hertha, and Ivan Nevistić to West Ham suggests there’s plenty of wages flying around for them too,” I reason.

“And it’s only been a couple of first-team loans out so far, right?” Keith checks.

“Right. Emanuel Emegha has been shipped off to PSV to try and discover some form after his injury, like Nelson Weiper did at Valencia -”

“Don’t you mean ‘rediscover’?”

“I meant what I said,” I scowl. “Then Rafael has gone to Paderborn for the next two seasons, so he can get the playing time he needs to develop, given opportunities would be limited if he stayed here.”

​

“How much did you pay for him in January?” Matt queries.

“We were paying for his potential,” I mumble.

“€22 million, wasn’t it?” Matt teases.

“Well, yes, but not all up front,” I note, trying to salvage some dignity.

“Whatever helps you cope, boss,” Matt sniggers.

“With Rafael leaving, then, you needed a new backup goalie,” Keith observes.

“Correct, hence Oliver Christensen came in from Fiorentina. He was first choice there, but they missed out on Champions League qualification and he wanted to leave, so he felt like a sensible choice - especially as he profiles very similarly to Gregor Kobel,” I explain, sharing my screen so I can show the reports on my signings to my old colleagues, something I realise I’ll have to pretend I didn’t do.

​

“How much?” Matt asks

“Potentially €31,500,000.”

“WHAT?!”

“Wait, you know how this works by now, Matt,” Keith says, with a wry smile. “How much is due after 50 league games, something your backup ‘keeper is highly unlikely to achieve any time soon?”

“€17,500,000,” I giggle. “Good catch, Keith. I have no idea what the Italians were thinking.”

“Clearly, they weren’t,” Matt says, bluntly. “Same could be said for Crvena zvezda letting you sign a centre-back as good as Miloš Šarac for a possible €11 million, especially when Lyon fleeced you for an initial €45 million for Abderrazak Talbi later in the same window, who isn’t that much better - if he is at all.”

​

“How do you know the financial details of our transfer business?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ve got my sources,” Matt shrugs.

“It’s not me,” Alexis calls.

“It’s not,” Matt confirms.

“What do your sources make of the arrivals of Mark Barber from Spurs and his ex-teammate Pierre-Emile Højbjerg, on loan from Juventus?” I ask.

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

“I watched Barber in the Championship with Southampton last season, whatever you paid is probably a steal because he has huge potential,” Keith interjects.

“It was €22 million, rising to €33 million with add-ons.”

“Bargain,” Keith says.

“I agree,” Matt adds. “Højbjerg is obviously a very different scenario to Barber, but an experienced head, with Bundesliga and Champions League experience, is exactly the sort of player that can prove to be invaluable to a squad - especially with how young your team is.”

“Right, like that 17-year-old you signed from Hannover,” Keith notes.

“You mean Cardo Makengo?” I open his report on my computer. “He’s mainly here to develop for now, rather than going straight into the senior team, given there’s not going to be a lot of chances for him to get minutes.”

​

“What did he set you back?” Keith asks.

“Just over €14 million.”

“WHY did you spend so much on Talbi?!” Matt groans.

“Because he’s left footed and I panicked!” I shout, far louder than I intended. My former assistants stare at me silently as Alexis finally peels her eyes away from her studies. I clear my throat before continuing much more quietly. “I need some more young options for left centre-back, and I didn’t want to miss out, especially with Manchester City sniffing around Dan-Axel Zagadou. Besides, Cardo was only so cheap because of his release fee, so we dived in there straight away when Chelsea and Real Madrid began making half-baked offers.”

“It was a summer all about release fees,” Alexis says, going back to her notes.

“That’s right, three in total.”

“Blimey, all that money spent up front - did you feel alright, gaffer?” Matt winks.

“Not really, but I had two more targets I wanted and I wasn’t missing out on them: Wouter Burger for €55 million from Bayer Leverkusen, who will slot in perfectly on the left of our midfield diamond with his excellent engine and passing range, and Tariq Lamptey from Brighton for €62 million, someone I believe to be one of the best wing-backs on the market.”

​

“Both signed for less than their predecessors were sold to Saudi Arabia for, I see,” Matt says, scanning the screen, clearly impressed despite his best efforts to appear emotionless. “Some decent business you and your team have done here, chief.”

​

“With all these signings, and the treble last season, I presume you’re favourites to repeat your success?” Keith says.

I throw my head back in wild laughter. It takes me almost a minute to finally compose myself again.

“No. Not even close.”

​

“The media don’t know what they’re talking about,” Matt says. “We all saw the odds they gave us at Blues.”

“Exactly, though I’m quite worried that Bayern will come fighting back with a vengeance,” I sigh. “They don’t settle for second-best for long…”

“Well, their kits will be second-best this season, that’s for sure,” Alexis says.

​

“Isn’t that the same manufacturer as we had?” Keith squints.

“It is. I was told then it was a local lady, but I’m being told the same again here, so who knows what’s going on. Maybe it’s that same lady who blogs about me,” I shrug.

“What a ludicrous thought,” Matt snaps. “Bloggers don’t do graphic design, it’s not in their nature to be good at writing AND illustrating.”

“I like the blog,” Keith says, making Matt and me raise our eyebrows. “What? I’ve had a lot of free time and thought I’d check it out. Makes for a good read, though the way she ends things with Harry is a bit unbelievable.”

The blood drains from my face at the mention of Harry’s final visit to my office.

“It’s all dramatised though, right? She’s probably making stuff up for views, to keep readers hooked,” Matt reasons.

Phew.

At that moment, a doorbell can be heard through on one of the others’ microphones.

“Ah, that’ll be my pizza.”

“It’s barely ten o’clock in the morning, Matt,” I judge.

“I’m unemployed, there are no rules,” he says, a little too proudly.

“I like that way of thinking, Matt. Perhaps I’ll order one myself,” Keith chuckles. “In that case, it’s probably best we both go, Nicole. Good luck for your first few games.”

“Alright, no problem, have a good few weeks” I say, hiding how sad I am that I couldn’t talk to the pair for longer. “Are we still on for meeting up when I’m in Brum for the Super Cup?”

Both my ex-colleagues beam from ear to ear.

“Oh, Nicole,” Matt starts.

“We wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

* * * * * * * *​

Thank you for reading! A link to my socials and my previous story can be found on my Linktree, and please follow the thread to be updated every time there's a new post!

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Part Fourteen
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Welcome back to Foal From Grace! Four different competitions, two trophies on the line, and my first face-off with Birmingham City since my departure just over a year ago - buckle up for a loaded episode.

This part is spread across multiple posts, so make sure to catch all six games!

Series Links

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“What’s the matter, boss?” Kevin Nolan asks, noticing the look of slight concern on my face when he walks into our dressing room at Borussia-Park.

“I have this weird feeling in the back of my mind that I just can’t place,” I sigh, slumped on the bench. “Like Blues have been relegated in an alternative universe, or something similar…”

“You say the weirdest things sometimes, you know that?” Zlatan Bajramović says, following Kevin through the door. “It’s probably just the nagging sense of dread that comes with facing Bayern.”

“Probably,” I nod. “I know we’ve beaten them the last two times we’ve played them, but it never feels any less intimidating.”

“For all we know, last year was an aberration,” Kevin says. “You’re right to be wary.”

“Am I though?” I ask, standing up. Kevin and Zlatan exchange a glance. “I mean, think about it: we won a treble last season, we strengthened our starting eleven over the summer, and Bayern have barely moved in the transfer market while some of their best players have angled for a move - shouldn’t we be more confident?”

“Maybe, but here’s the thing: they’re Bayern,” Zlatan says. “We may have won everything last season, but they won the previous 14 Bundesliga titles and it’s not that long ago that they won the Champions League. And, yes, we’ve strengthened, but their quality has always been so much higher that they stay streets ahead of us even by standing still.”

“I thought I was pessimistic,” Kevin mumbles.

“Sorry, I’m not having the best of times,” Zlatan says, dropping his head. “I know I shouldn't be so negative, I know I should be excited for a new season, but life’s been hard recently and I’m finding it difficult to be positive about our prospects.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.

“I guess, not that there’s a lot to talk about,” Zlatan answers, letting out a soft, ironic laugh, sitting down a couple of seats along from me. “Losing people you love is rough, my passions no longer interest me, and each day feels like more of a struggle than the last. What’s the point in getting up in the morning when nothing seems to matter anymore?”

“Because it’s all anyone can do,” Kevin says, perching next to our colleague. “Your pain will slowly fade, but you have to keep putting one foot in front of the other. If you don’t try to move forward, how can you expect to leave your difficulties behind?”

Zlatan nods, then quickly buries his head in his hands. Despite hiding his face, the movements of his back and shoulders tell us all we need to know.

I slide across and join Kevin in wrapping an arm around Zlatan.

“I love you, Zlats, and I’m here for you,” Kevin whispers, his own eyes starting to glisten. “It’s okay to be sad. Whatever you need, whatever you want, whenever that may be, I’ll be there.”

“Ditto,” I add. “You don’t have to deal with this on your own.”

Zlatan straightens his back, eyes red, and sucks lots of air in through his nose then out through his mouth, gradually settling his breathing back to normal. “Thank you, both of you,” he says, after about half a minute.

“Don’t mention it,” Kevin murmurs.

“If you want to take a bit of time to process, I’d understand. Why don’t you head home and look after yourself for a bit?” I suggest.

“NO,” Zlatan says, authoritatively. “No. I want to see us complete our domestic set, and I’m sure the boys can do it.”

“That’s the spirit,” Kevin says with a wobbly smile. “Let’s win this darn Supercup.”

​

We start the stronger of the two teams, the unhappiness present in the Bavarians’ squad over the summer not yet subsided and the disharmony clearly affecting their play. The usually imperious juggernauts look more like 1860 Munich as they stumble through the opening proceedings, and nothing sums up their plight more than Matthijs de Ligt receiving the ball from Marc-Andre ter Stegen in his own box, turning and just… stopping, like he can’t work out where one of his socks has gone while sorting the washing, allowing Nicolò Tresoldi to steam in, rob the Dutchman of possession, spin, and fire in from 12 yards.

Tresoldi has the ball in the net again within minutes, only to be flagged for offside, but even this show of insolence in the face of our illustrious visitors generates little reaction, and we don’t even face a shot on target until over an hour has passed, by which point Dominik Szoboszlai has lashed a second past Ter Stegen to put us well in control.

Yet again, Bayern barely respond.

After so much build up and so many sleepless nights, the former Champions cause so few headaches that we don’t even feel the need to get stodgy as we enter the final minutes.

Our painful loss on penalties last year still in our thoughts, our demons are exorcised as the final whistle goes and we win the German Supercup, the last of Germany’s domestic honours left for us to claim since my arrival.

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Over the break between campaigns, I started looking forward to which quaint stadium we’d be visiting in the opening round of the DFB-Pokal, however that excitement soon subsided when we got matched up with one of the only four 2. Bundesliga sides to go unseeded in the draw, Karlsruher.

Even though we’re not facing the usual batch of semi-professional footballers that are offered up as sacrifices to their Bundesliga overlords at this time of year, I still feel fairly confident in the abilities of my Backup Brigade to get past a side that nearly dropped out of the second tier last season, giving me the first chance to get a look at some of our new recruits in competitive action.

​

When we were drawn against the highest-ranked team possible, I knew our first-round tie wouldn’t be as easy as, say, our match against Homberg in the equivalent fixture last season.

What I wasn’t prepared for, was just how much harder they were going to make life for us.

It’s clear from the start that Karlsruher have been working on a plan to stifle us for several weeks, their press highly organised in a compact 3-5-2 that stops us from finding many routes through the midfield and drags the game down into a scrappy back-and-forth affair that suits our hosts far more than my boys, leaving us unable to fashion any major chances and forcing extra time.

The pattern continues during the additional half an hour as we’re about as creative as a football badge from the 2010s onward from open play. Even once we finally break the deadlock when Miloš Šarac heads in at the back post from the second phase of a corner, Karlsruher just go straight down the other end and equalise within minutes, meaning we’ve somehow ended up going to a penalty shootout, a shootout in which neither goalkeeper saves a single effort, leaving us incredibly relieved that Daniel O’Shaughnessy shanks KSC’s fifth penalty several yards wide.

We’re through to the second round, where we’ll face Hoffenheim - just like last season - and will have to step up our game from today.

Embarrassing.

* * * * * * * *
​

“It just had to be here, didn’t it?” I say to Krystian Bielik as we step off the team coach, acknowledging the gathered crowd as we do.

“There’s a certain irony in our first game against Blues since we left being held at Villa Park, yes,” he agrees as we head into the stadium and down the corridor. “Having the home dressing room hurts a bit, too.”

“I know, as if we ARE Villa, trying to beat Blues.” We both shudder.

“There’ll definitely be some people who’ll feel like we’re the villains of the piece, jumping ship within days of the club’s biggest triumph,” Krystian reasons.

“Yes, well, that’d be pretty unfair, considering how much of an influence we had on getting us there in the first place,” I note. I pause as we pass by the door to Birmingham’s quarters.

“Don’t, boss,” Krystian says, putting his hand on my shoulder. “There’s a time and a place, and this isn’t it.”

“I know,” I sigh. “It’s just -”

“Whatever you're about to say, it doesn’t matter,” Krystian says, cutting me short. “We’re here to represent Die Fohlen, so we need to act as such - regardless of our personal feelings.”

“You’re right,” I nod, pulling myself away from where our ex-team are gathered. “Let’s go.”

Before we can enter our dressing room, however, the door to Blues’ opens and Anel Ahmedhodžić, Krystian’s replacement as captain, pokes his head out. “Krissy? Gaffer?”

“Hiya, Anel, good to see you again. Y’alright?”

“Fine, thanks. Just wanted to ask you to stop eavesdropping and sod off to your own area - you’re the enemy now,” Anel glares, slamming the door.

Krystian and I stand on silence for a few seconds, staring at where Anel’s face had been.

“Well, they don’t miss us as much as I thought.”

​

Quite predictably, it’s the Champions League holders that take control of the early exchanges, and a well-worked move from the English side is capped off by Oscar Gloukh, firing past Gregor Kobel before we can get a foothold in the tie.

After we kick off again, we finally start gaining confidence, helped by Antonio Conte’s wariness with regards to pushing for more goals once ahead, and the belief that we can draw ourselves level begins to grow. On the brink of half-time, Szoboszlai grazes the bar with an audacious volley, and Tresoldi finds space at the front post around the hour-mark, only for Justin Bijlow to spread himself wide and block the flick from Luca Netz’s cross, with Ibrahima Konaté on hand to sweep away the loose ball, but it now seems inevitable that we’ll find our way past my former employers.

Which makes it even more heartbreaking when we concede the most un-”Nicole Andrews’ Birmingham” sucker punch moments later, Konaté lumping an aimless ball downfield that Edwin Zamudio can only head straight to Endrick, the Brazilian getting the ball out of his feet before curling into the top-left corner from the edge of our area.

With the second goal going in, our momentum is gone. We get the ball in the net via Jesper Lindstrøm, but Tresoldi is offside in the build up, and we slowly fade, the energy draining from our performance as the Bluenoses in attendance start the party early, revelling in the trophy that they’re about to win at the home of their biggest rivals. I’m sure I’d be in amongst them in other circumstances, yet all I feel is irritation as, despite having the better of the chances, my Borussia Mönchengladbach side can’t find a way past the two-time Champions of Europe.

Birmingham take the bragging rights in the inaugural Nicole Andrews Derby.

* * * * * * * *
​

With a 2-0 win, a 2-0 loss, and a 1-1 draw from our three games in cup competitions, it’s finally time to discover what sort of start we’re going to make to our league season, with a trip to Hoffenheim on the cards to open our Bundesliga campaign, the same opponents we faced in my first ever league match in Germany - what is it with Hoffenheim and repeat fixtures?

Despite the loss on Wednesday, it’ll be the same starting eleven that took on Birmingham as I look for my players to react to that disappointment in the West Midlands by putting Die Kraichgauer to the sword.

​

We look fired up from the first whistle, rattling the crossbar within the opening five minutes which causes Hoffenheim’s players to exchange knowing glances. They’ve been here before, on the receiving end of a post-disappointment Gladbach performance last season too, so few are surprised when Bielik heads in a Tariq Lamptey cross with enough power to launch a space shuttle, before Netz makes a first-time pass when intercepting a ball into midfield from a rattled Emanuel Aiwu to free Tresoldi to blast in a second a few minutes later.

With a two-goal advantage, we can afford to ease off the gas, controlling the tempo of the game for the remainder of the 90, and Hoffenheim struggle to find the urge to seize possession and break us down, letting us cruise to three points and a clean sheet on the opening day.

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

In a way, I feel a little guilty over the plight of Bayer Leverkusen. Brendan Rodgers’ side were in with a chance of qualifying for the Champions League when we played them in our penultimate game of last season, until Tresoldi scored a winning goal with only three seconds to play, condemning Bayer to the relative ignominy of the Europa League and, as a result, leaving their squad members vulnerable to being picked off by clubs in Europe’s premiere competition. Squad members like Wouter Burger, for example, being picked off by a club like us, for example.

Whilst we still have the luxury of a whole week between fixtures, I’ll continue to name the strongest lineup possible, so there are no changes from the opening day for our first home Bundesliga match of 2027/28.

​

A number of fans haven’t even reached their seats when Moussa Diaby lets us off the hook by directing a tame effort straight into the arms of Kobel when clean through one-on-one, and a decent percentage of those are still on the concourse when Tanguy Nianzou powers in Netz’s inswinging corner at the front post to capitalise on that poor finish. However, before the opening quarter of an hour has passed, Szoboszlai has the chance to double our advantage, only to be denied by an excellent save by Gavin Bazunu, and his failure to convert soon appears costly when Lee Kang-in later floats a free-kick towards the back post that Kobel misjudges, allowing Mattias Svanberg to gently lift the ball over our stranded ‘keeper and restore parity.

As the game wears on, our visitors continue to frustrate us, directing us down dead ends and nullifying our threat time and again, but if my teams have proven anything over the last five years, it’s that sometimes all we need to tilt the balance of play in our favour is a single set piece, a belief that comes to fruition when Nianzou is on hand again to react first and poke Dan-Axel Zagadou’s parried header over the line for our, and his, second.

With less than a quarter of the game to go, Leverkusen need to force the issue to get back into things, trying and failing to break through our backline again, but this means that gaps start appearing behind their own, and a fresh Emil Holm takes advantage by scampering through the left of Bayer’s tiring defence and lifting in a high cross that Tresoldi heads into the ground, wrong-footing Bazunu to double our lead and take all the points out of our visitors’ reach.

* * * * * * * *
​

“And that, Nicole, is why Ghost Rider will never be surpassed as my favourite Marvel movie,” Alexis Geiler says as she stands to open her blinds while the credits roll.

“I do enjoy it, to be fair, and the CGI holds up well against the test of time,” I nod from her sofa. “What do you make of claims it’s too different from its source material, though?”

“Ah,you mistake me for someone who cares about movies staying authentic to the literature they are based on,” Alexis says, taking the disc out of her DVD player and replacing it in its box. “I judge movies and books on their own merits, I don’t feel it would be fair to hold a grudge.”

“How can you separate them, though? Surely they should be considered alongside one another?”

“Well… no,” Alexis shrugs. “How to Train Your Dragon, for example, is both an excellent book series and an excellent trilogy of movies, however their narratives are completely different. Besides, if you’re always going to compare films to their books, you will almost always wind up underwhelmed.”

“True, like The Hunger Games,” I suggest.

“EXACTLY. Great books, great movies, but the movies just don’t hold up in comparison,” Alexis agrees. “It’s easier to avoid being disappointed if you don’t compile the two.”

As I take my phone out of my pocket and take it off of ‘Do Not Disturb’, several emails flood my screen, one of which catches my eye. “Speaking of disappointed, the highly exciting Champions League league phase draw has been sent through from UEFA headquarters.”

“Oooooo, let me see!” Alexis says, excitedly, jumping back onto the sofa and accidentally slapping me in the face with her cascade of hair in the process. “Oops, sorry, Nicole.”

“It’s fine,” I frown. “At least you don’t have it in a braid today, that would’ve been painful.”

With Alexis next to me, I tap on the notification and the email opens up in front of us.

“Well… could be worse…” Alexis mumbles.

​

“I mean, we beat Marseille and Wolfsburg last season,” I say.

“Qarabağ don’t have much recent success in Europe.”

“Spurs and Sevilla might be alright…”

“Barcelona got to the semi-finals last time out…”

“PSG won the whole thing two years ago…”

“And Chelsea are the first team to win the Premier League since you left… but, other than that, I am sure you won’t have too many issues,” Alexis laughs, nervously.

“Let’s just turn our attention back to St. Pauli this weekend and forget about all of those stresses,” I say.

“Only briefly, this is our free time right now, after all,” Alexis says, raising an eyebrow. “I know you’re resting Szoboszlai to bring in Lindstrøm, but are you still dropping Zagadou for Šarac?”

“Yes, he won’t stop grumbling about not being sold to Manchester City, so he can have some time on the sidelines to cool off a little.”

“Good choice. Now, back to business: next movie.” Alexis pulls back the folding door from the cupboards that line the whole of one of the walls in her lounge, revealing nothing but DVDs. “Would you like to browse?”

“We’ll have been knocked out of the Champions League by the time I get done looking through all of that.”

​

As the final whistle sounds, I allow myself a few small fist pumps before heading over to shake Adi Hütter’s hand, then join my players on the pitch for their celebrations. A goal each for the eternally reliable Lindstrøm, Lamptey, Netz, Nianzou, and Burger made for an incredibly comfortable afternoon of football, though Marlon Mustapha’s consolation immediately after our third did take a little of the shine off of proceedings.

As we approach the away fans, I catch up with my captain and vice-captain.

“Well done, boys, another excellent display,” I beam. “It’s been a great start, though the fact Bayern are already ahead of us on goal difference suggests they’re going to provide more of a threat from the off this season.”

“We’d be top on goals scored if SOMEONE hadn’t let a shot from 20 yards get past them,” Krystian smirks.

“Oh, spare me. It was right in the corner,” Gregor says. “Plus, you’re meant to be screening the defence. He was your man.”

“Come on, lads, don’t squabble after we’ve just won 5-1 away from home,” I plead.

“Sorry, boss, I should know better than to tease Greg when he’s already feeling sensitive,” Krystian says.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” my goalkeeper scowls.

“Well, this was our fourth game against St. Pauli since the gaffer and I turned up, and I’m still the only player to have kept a clean sheet against them,” Krystian mocks.

Gregor stares daggers at his teammate before turning to me.

“I’m handing in a transfer request.”

* * * * * * * *​

Thank you for reading! I know that today’s intro was a bit less fun than usual, but that’s because I wanted to highlight an issue close to my heart: Mental Health Awareness Month.

With society in the state that it’s currently in, a lot of people’s mental health is more strained than ever. If you’re struggling, just remember that you’re not alone. It might seem hard, but the best thing you can do is talk about it, be that with family, friends, or an overly sarcastic woman who writes silly stories about Football Manager.

That’s not the easiest thing to do for everybody, however, so I’m asking each of you to reach out to at least one person you know and check in with them this May. They might be completely fine, they might not want to talk about their problems, but you never know - you might make someone feel wanted when they feel more alone than ever.

Now, next week’s Foal From Grace is a little up in the air as (more positively) I’m off to Borussia-Park in the real world to see Die Fohlen take on Alexis’ Eintracht Frankfurt, so the best way to find out if a new instalment is coming is to follow my Instagram, which you can find on my Linktree along with links to my Twitter (screw you, Elon Musk), my previous story, Singing the Blues, and a new link to ‘CALM’, a charity dedicated to helping people who are struggling to cope in a world that so often doesn’t seem to care.

Look after yourselves.

Love, Nicole