Chonky Panda Tactics
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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.Part Thirteen
“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.”
“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.
“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.”
“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.