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

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Part Twenty​

Welcome back to Foal From Grace and happy Pride month! The DFB-Pokal quarter-final, the Champions League last 16, and a Rhein Derby signal the business end of the season arriving today.

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

Series Links

​

I’m feeling very cosy as I sit on one of the sofas in a break room at Borussia-Park, my legs across the cushions, my headphones on, a blanket over my legs, and a cup of tea within reach on the wooden table I’ve pulled close to me as I write down some ideas with different coloured pens in my tactics notebook while the squad go through some gym work, planning for both this season and next. If we stick with the same shape, where would we need to upgrade? If we swapped to the 4-3-3, how could I make us less susceptible to counter-attacks? Is there a different shape we could change to, such as a back four with a double pivot?

Having completed the audit of my current players for each formation, I’m midway through writing down possible transfer targets when my music gets interrupted by my ringtone. Frustrated, I mute the call without turning over my phone and go back to what I was doing, but I’ve barely found the page I was on before the ringing starts again, so this time I pick my phone up off of the table and look at the screen to see who it is that’s bothering me, discovering it’s Krystian Bielik, putting my notebook down on the table before answering.

“Can I help you, Krystian?” I snap.

“Hey, boss, are you busy?” my captain asks.

“Very,” I say with slightly less conviction, having glanced at my blanket before replying. “Do you need something?”

“Um… well… it’s just…”

“Spit it out, Krystian, I’ve got things to get back to,” I say, gazing at my tea.

“Okay, okay. After we finished in the gym, Gregor suggested we have a table tennis tournament,” Krystian explains. “We paired up, worked out the structure, and started going through the group games, but things may have gotten a little out of hand after one matchup…”

“How ‘out of hand’?”

“Not too much. In fact, maybe I shouldn’t have bothered you, don’t wo-”

“Krystian, you’ll tell me what happened right now.”

“Miloš threw a medicine ball at Jesper and now there’s a shattered mirror.”

“WHAT?!” I shout, hurling my blanket off and sitting upright. “Is everyone okay?!”

“Yeah, don’t worry, Jesper’s quick and there’s a reason Miloš isn’t a goalkeeper,” Krystian states. “There is a lot of glass though. Do you think you could come down and help us sort this out?”

“For goodness’ sake,” I grumble. “Fine, I’ll be there soon,” I add, hanging up and putting my phone back on the table. I sigh and begin to slowly rub my temples with the thumb and little finger on my right hand. How did things get so heated?

An unexpected touch on my shoulder startles me, my knee jolting into my mug and knocking it, and all of its contents, onto the floor, the tea soaking into the carpet as I pull off my headphones and look up at a sheepish-looking Alexis Geiler.

“I’m genuinely getting worried about how easily startled you are,” she says.

“I’ve met baby deer with stronger constitutions, I’ll admit,” I reply. “Is this about the medicine ball?”

“Yes, Edwin just WhatsApped me,” Alexis sighs. “I wanted to offer you some moral support.”

“I’d appreciate it, thank you,” I chuckle, standing up. “Just a second.” I turn my notebook over and take one of the little cards out of a homemade pocket on the back, placing it next to my stuff on the table. “Alright, let’s go.”

“Do you seriously have notices ready to go that say ‘Sorry about the mess, I’ll be back to clear up soon - Nicole’?” Alexis asks as we make our way through the complex.

“I’m tired of writing new messages every time I leave chaos behind, saves time this way,” I shrug. “Speaking of messages, though, since when are you on WhatsApping terms with Edwin Zamudio?”

“Since he offered to help me practise my Spanish,” Alexis answers. “It’s rather beneficial to have a native speaker to learn with.”

“How’s that been going?”

“Very well,” Alexis smiles. “I’m getting competent enough to hold my own in most scenarios now. I could probably do with a trip to a Spanish-speaking country to really accelerate my learning, but I’m satisfied with how much I’ve grasped the language so far.”

“The speed at which you learn languages is so impressive,” I say.

“Well, yes, that’s one of the reasons I’m employed here.”

“Just take the compliment, Lexi,” I snigger.

“I appreciate the compliment, I’m simply pointing out that I’d be a pretty terrible interpreter, or ‘Head of International Managerial Affairs’, if I wasn’t any good at learning languages,” Alexis states.

“Remind me not to praise you for the job you do again,” I mutter as we reach the games room and I take a moment to decide how to approach things, eventually settling on ‘disappointed mother’ as I open the door. “Now, boys, how many times have I told you to play nicel-”

I stop dead in my tracks as I scan the room. There is no broken mirror. What there is, however, is a big, black love heart on the white wall that, on closer inspection, is made up of writing, with the phrase ‘Class of 2028’ neatly scribed just above, my whole squad standing next to it with ear-to-ear grins spread across all of their faces.

“What… what’s this?” I mumble.

“This, boss, is our first Wall of Promises,” Krystian says, proudly. “Each of us have written an ambition of ours into this heart so that, over time, we can see just how many of our goals we achieve, with the plan that we’ll make this an annual tradition and leave memories for future generations to look back on and be inspired by. What do you think?”

“I love it,” I beam. “Were you in on this?” I ask Alexis, to which she smiles and nods in response, making me laugh. I turn back to the wall and step closer to read some of the messages. “‘I want to be part of another ‘invincible’ league season’, no prizes for guessing that one,” I say, winking at Krystian who smiles back. “‘I want to captain England at a World Cup’, who’s this?” Liam Heywood raises his hand to take credit. “I like it, Liam, love the ambition. ‘I want to run my own food truck, specialising in pancakes’. That’s an unexpected one, who wrote that down?”

“That was me,” Tariq Lamptey says.

“It’s not a footballing ambition, though.”

“No one said it had to be.”

“And this plan, is it for when you retire, or are you starting soon, attempting to balance the life of a professional athlete with that of a small-business owner?”

“I’m feeling very targeted here, chief.”

“Sorry,” I say, glancing back at the wall. “What’s the gap for?”

“That’s for you,” Krystian explains, walking over and handing me a black marker pen. “What are you going to add?”

“That’s easy,” I smile, removing the lid and reading out what I’m writing, as I write it. “I want to always be at least as happy as I am now.”

“That’s a sweet thought, Nicole,” Alexis says.

“Very,” Krystian agrees. “Is there anything you can think of that we can do to help keep you this happy?”

“There is one thing,” I say, handing back the pen. “You can beat Mainz on Wednesday to put us into the Pokal semi-finals.”

​

We’re all over our visitors from the off in a performance that’s the complete antithesis of the one put in against the same opponents a week and a half ago, causing no end of problems and probably deserving of more than just the one goal from the spot by half-time from Nicolò Tresoldi that we get.

Eventually, though, we’re rewarded for our endeavour. Having kept up the pressure after the restart, an incisive ball from Dan-Axel Zagadou that takes five Mainz players out of the game allows Tresoldi to double his tally for the evening, and he doesn’t have to wait too long to claim his hat-trick by flicking in Robin Gosens’ daisy-cutting cross from the left soon after to put us in complete control.

Whilst an unfortunate deflection that results in a Bielik own-goal does take a little of the sheen off of proceedings, it’s still a confident and competent display that sees us march on to the final four.

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

With progress in one cup secured, our opponents in the other are confirmed as we’re drawn against Italian giants Juventus in the Champions League’s last-16 stage, with a trip to the Allianz Stadium on the agenda for the coming week.

​

First, however, we have to deal with Hertha at Borussia-Park on Saturday.

Adi Hütter’s men have proved problematic for me in the past, memorably handing me my first Bundesliga loss last season, so I can’t make the wholesale changes I would like to with the trip to Piedmont looming and have to settle for just the five, Gregor Kobel returning for league duty in goal, while Zamudio, Lamptey, Manu Koné, and Dominik Szoboszlai are rested, with Nico Schlotterbeck, Joe Scally, Gustavo Gallardo, and Jesper Lindstrøm stepping into their starting berths.

​

We’re indebted to Kobel when he makes a tremendous reflex-save to deny Kerem Aktürkoğlu after a link up with fellow former-Fohl Jordan Beyer in a fiery start to a game that very quickly goes cold. Both teams are disjointed, both teams are lacking spark, and both teams seem disinterested in creating chances. Even switching to our 4-3-3 at the interval makes little difference, other than making me more frustrated than I had been previously.

But, when you need them most, leaders deliver.

As Luca Netz’s corner goes sailing over everybody gathered at the front post, it’s Captain Bielik that’s made the perfect run, losing his man to tap in the dropping ball at the back post just before the hour-mark.

I hoped that making the breakthrough would encourage a bit more quality from my boys, however the outfield fail to kick on, and we go from our captain saving us at one end to our vice-captain doing it at the other when Kobel makes an incredible stop to keep Yacine Adli from converting from six yards as time ticks away.

Shut the door, stodge it up, and send our visitors back to the Capital without any points, courtesy of our figureheads stepping up at the vital moments.

* * * * * * * *
​

There are many ways one can enjoy the extra day of February we get every four years, almost all of which I would prefer over a Champions League last-16 match in Turin against Pep Guardiola’s fear-inducing football, however beggars can’t be choosers so I’ll be spending my leap day in 2028 constantly feeling on edge and worrying about how my unflappable team of winning machines will stand up against the master of tiki-taka.

After getting a good amount of rest into a number of key players’ legs over the weekend, it’ll predictably be Oliver Christensen stationed behind the strongest outfield-ten possible, aiming to put us into a favourable position for the second leg against the current Serie A leaders.

​

Back in the dressing room, the number of thousand-yard stares is telling. Few of the lads look ready to listen as I sit on the table in the middle of the room and get ready to give my team talk, but it could be a very long time if I wait for them to mentally return to Earth on their own.

“Zlatan, could you give us the attacking statistics for the first half, please?” I request.

“We had one shot, not on target, with an xG of 0.09,” Zlatan Bajramović says. “Juventus had seven shots, one of which was on target, totalling an xG of 0.46.”

“What happened at half-time, Kevin?”

“You got the guys to switch to our 4-3-3, though asking Krissy to drop slightly deeper than usual,” Kevin Nolan states.

“Now, what were the full-time stats, Zlatan?”

“We finished with four shots, one on target, for an xG of 0.48, while Juve managed 18 shots, four on target, making an xG of 2.58,” Zlatan announces.

I puff out my cheeks. “I don’t think any of you need me to tell you that that’s… pretty rough.” My squad all solemnly nod their heads. “As such, I only have one thing to say to you…” They all look at the floor and brace themselves for what they expect is about to come.

“I’m sorry.”

The boys all look up again and stare at me in bemusement.

“Could you say that again please, boss?” Krystian asks.

“I said that I’m sorry,” I repeat. “You were holding your own at a new stadium against one of the best-drilled sides in Europe. So, what did I do? Changed your shape to get you to push for a goal, opening the door for Juventus. I let you down, and I apologise. Now, the fact you threw yourselves in front of every shot, closed down every angle, and, in Oliver’s case, made crucial saves means you earned that 0-0 draw through sheer guts and guile in spite of me, for which I thank you - we’re still in with a good chance of going through.”

I stand up and judge the mood, noting that everybody seems to have perked up significantly.

“That’s what we do here, right?” I continue. “We take accountability for our mistakes and strive to not make them again?” Lots of murmurs of agreement and happier faces now. “Well, that’s what I’m doing. Thank you for bailing me out this time.

“I promise it won’t happen again next week.”

* * * * * * * *
​

I don’t often feel pleased as a result of Köln’s success, however their progression into the Europa League last-16 stage meant Bundesliga officials saw fit to rearrange our Rhein Derby for a couple of weeks down the line, in order to avoid too much of a clash with either of our European fixtures. As a result, while Juventus battled in an energy-sapping 2-2 draw at Lazio on Sunday, I could sit back, plan training around Heywood’s inclusion over Wouter Burger, get angry about Wolves winning the Carabao Cup, and just take my time over our preparations. What could possibly ruin these few days?

​

Ah, yes. I’d forgotten about the DFB-Pokal draw.

Great.

​

The difference a week can make.

We’re cohesive, fluid, and comfortably better than Guardiola’s tired side in the opening period, Lamptey making the difference show when he bends his first-time effort from the edge of Juve’s area in off of the left post. It could easily be 2-0 only a few minutes later too when the goalscorer skids a cutting ball through the Italians’ backline for Heywood, but Dennis Seimen - in for how-on-earth-did-he-end-up-here Angus Gunn - spreads himself well to deny the English midfielder.

Perhaps inevitably, however, Juventus improve after the break, and an inch-perfect counter-attack led by Federico Chiesa scythes through us just ten minutes after play resumes, the attacker’s low cross being spanked in by Dušan Vlahović with enough force to generate a tornado in Belgrade.

This time, though, I hold my nerve. I refuse to panic and switch shape, meaning our approach doesn’t change overall and our visitors are forced to repeatedly attempt low-quality shots as time wears on and we look more and more poised for extra time.

That is, until one of my truest friends makes a triumphant return.

As Lindstrøm runs up to take a late corner, I notice Tanguy Nianzou lose his man at the front post like Marc Roberts and Ibrahima Konaté did so many times before him when I was at Blues, freeing himself for a clear run at the inswinging ball that he crashes past Seimen and Borussia-Park erupts. Substitutes go hurtling down the touchline, drinks go flying, and I’m pretty sure I caught Kevin jumping into Zlatan’s arms like a soldier reunited with their significant other after months away on tour. In amongst the the bedlam, I scramble to get my instructions over to the players to shut down the remaining few minutes, eventually succeeding in doing so and I can finally breathe a sigh of relief when they perform exactly as I ask them to, utterly ruining both sides’ momentum as injury time comes and goes without note.

My trusty duo of near-post corners and late-game stodge come through once again as we advance to the quarter-finals of the Champions League in dramatic circumstances.

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

I’m hoping for less anxiety when we return to Bundesliga action the weekend following our Champions League classic when mid-table Hamburg make the journey south-west, and I’m optimistic we can make light work of Die Rothosen even with a few fitness-related adjustments being made to our starting eleven.

​

When Szoboszlai hits the woodwork before Hamburg manage to get a touch on the ball, it feels like it’s going to be a good day, and a rampant first half that sees Burger, Koné, and Lamptey all get on the scoresheet confirms as such as we pick our visitors apart.

I would say things settled down after the restart, however that’s only true in regards to the number of goals being scored. Other than one chance where Jamie Bynoe-Gittens dribbles straight through both our midfield and defence, only for Kobel to spring into action to smother the effort from close range, it’s all Borussia, pulling Hamburg this way and that as we carve through them repeatedly, only to find our end product lacking, forcing us to ‘settle’ for the 3-0 victory that secures Champions League football again for next season.

Before the middle of March.

Gosh, these boys are good.

* * * * * * * *
​

“Here they are,” I announce, beaming as my squad file into the video room. “The lads that’ve now won a record 20 Bundesliga games in a row and are in uncharted territory for the club after going an unprecedented 32 games unbeaten in all competitions - have I told you all that I love you?”

“You have, and it’s still weird,” Krystian says in the front row.

“Thanks, Captain, your thoughtful words mean the world to me,” I sigh. “Aren’t you the one who decided to write the Wall of Promises in the shape of a love heart?”

“I struggle to understand the complexities and contradictions of my emotions too, even now I’m 30, but this isn’t the place to analyse it.”

“Fair enough,” I say. “Has anyone seen Edwin yet?”

“He left to join up with the Mexico squad this morning,” Kevin says.

“We couldn’t keep him? Even for the Rhein Derby?” I ask.

“No, we weren’t allowed to prevent him from travelling,” Zlatan grimaces.

“I did put it in everyone’s calendar last week,” Kevin says.

“Did you? I don’t remember seeing that,” I frown, questioning my memory.

“I did,” Abderrazak Talbi chimes in. “I got quite excited because I thought I might get a chance to play.”

“I suppose you probably will,” I say. “Right, that’s something we’ll have to sort out in training today. Before that, though, we’ve got the Champions League draw to watch together. Are we ready to go, Zlatan?”

“All set, they’re about to start,” he confirms.

“Excellent,” I say, taking my seat to Krystian’s right as Zlatan unmutes the stream. “Any hopes for who we might get?”

“I don’t know who I want, but I definitely don’t want Ajax after they knocked Bayern out,” Gregor says, sitting on my other side.

“I’ve forgotten, are PSG still in?” Tanguy asks from the back-left corner.

“No, Chelsea dumped them out in the play-off round,” Kevin says, leaning on the wall by the door. “Who’d have thought that spending all that money could result in them still being shi-”

“We’re out first again,” I interrupt, gesturing at the big screen. “That keeps happening recently.”

We all wait with baited breath as the ceremony host rummages through the balls to pick out our opponents, eventually lifting one out, opening it up, and taking out the name inside: Arsenal.

Krystian and I both stand up instantly as our eyebrows head in the opposite direction.

“Not terrible,” Dan-Axel shrugs. “Remind me who they beat to get here again?”

Krystian and I answer in perfect, angry unison:

“Birmingham City.”

​

It’s a pretty tense affair at the RheinEnergieStadion until Enoch Mastoras’ dreadful clearance is spanked in from 20 yards by Lamptey and the game starts to come to life. We look settled by taking the lead, slowly taking control of play and creating more chances than our rivals before the interval, which makes it infuriating that, within five minutes of the restart, a hopeful lump forward from Dennis Geiger is chested down by Nicolas Jackson and walloped in on the half-volley by Moise Kean to level, because preventing him from scoring against us is apparently more difficult than teaching a three-legged badger to become a mixologist. Things get nervy again, the confidence our goal brought disappearing in an instant as our quality wanes and the chances from open play start to dry up.

As we enter its final quarter of an hour, however, the match starts unexpectedly revolving around one man: Dan-Axel Zagadou. First, he thunders us back into the lead at a corner, before he’s then the next of our players to touch the ball after play resumes when he has to clear Aster Vranckx’s effort off of our line after the Belgian had rounded Kobel. As time ticks down, I decide it’s time to kill the game and get stodgy, but centre-of-the-universe Zagadou has other ideas, winning the ball from Kean on the edge of our penalty area and looking up to spot Tresoldi bolting into space, finding the Italian with a pinpoint pass. Tresoldi brings the ball under his spell and threads it through the backtracking defenders to set Szoboszlai free, and Dominik’s finish is emphatic as he slams past Robert Popa to ensure all three points return with us to Mönchengladbach, keeping our lead at the top of the Bundesliga in double digits as we enter the final international break of the season.

Whisper it quietly, because Bayern and Arsenal won’t be pushovers in the cups, but are we on for a second treble in a row?

* * * * * * * *​

Thank you for reading!

I don't usually like to make requests like this, but I have a little favour to ask. Each June, I always lose followers on Instagram, presumably as a result of my refusal to shy away from celebrating Pride. I was hoping, with your help, that I could finish June this year by having at least as many followers as I started, and to show that love always wins and there's no reason for anyone to be ashamed of letting their colours fly. If you do, you'll get to see all the extra content that relates to the save, along with a teaser for each part that comes out on either Friday or Saturday - I promise you wouldn't regret it! Thank you

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 Twenty-One​

Welcome back to Foal From Grace and happy Pride month! The big matches simply do not stop coming at this stage of the season. Well, apart from Werder Bremen, maybe.

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

Series Links

​

“Good morning, Nicole. Are you okay down there?” Alexis Geiler asks when she walks into our office to find me lying down on the grey carpet. “Another moment of overwhelming, crippling anxiety?”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “At least it’s not about football, for once, I’m fairly optimistic on that front for now.”

“Is it due to the terrifying reality that the rise in popularity of far-right political movements is happening in a way that’s eerily reminiscent of the Nazis’ rise to power in the 1930s, threatening fascist regimes across a large amount of Europe?”

“It wasn’t, but now it is because that’s much worse,” I groan. “How was the day-trip to Madrid?”

“It was fine, I would have rathered my mother hadn’t insisted on coming though,” Alexis grimaces.

“Spoil your fun, did she?” I snigger.

“Only because she wouldn’t stop complaining that we should have gone to Mallorca,” Alexis moans. “She invites herself on my holiday, then complains about the destination, when the whole point was for me to practise Spanish - not to please her.”

“You’ll be 30 next year, surely you could’ve just asked her not to come?” I ask, labouring into a sitting position.

“You haven’t met Mutter, or you’d know that wasn’t an option,” Alexis laughs, at which point Jonas from the data team walks in.

“Morning, Alexis, Nicole. Crippling anxiety again?”

“We’re two for two today,” I chuckle.

“I’m sure it’ll pass. I’ve got the international roundup here for you,” he says, holding up a sheet of paper before putting it on my desk. “How was the trip?”

“Good, thanks,” Alexis smiles. “I definitely learned a lot.”

“That’s good,” Jonas says, returning the smile. “What about you, Nicole?”

“I didn’t go anywhere,” I answer, a little confused.

“Oh, I’d assumed you went together.”

“Why’s that?”

“You just spend a lot of time together, that’s all.”

“So?” I frown.

“It’s just, more than a few people think that the two of you are…” Jonas looks unsure of himself for a moment before making a wildly inappropriate hand gesture, making Alexis’ jaw drop and me leap up from the floor.

“Um, exCUSE ME?!” I shout. “I. Am. MARRIED!”

“And I find LITTLE to be attracted to with regard to Nicole,” Alexis scoffs.

“That was a bit harsh,” I mumble.

“You’ll get over it.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to cause havoc,” Jonas says, holding his hands up. “I wanted to know the truth, because you can understand why some people believe the rumours.”

“Really? Because, again, I’M MARRIED!” I repeat.

“I know, but these things still happen sometimes,” Jonas reasons, committing to digging his hole as deeply as possible. “Are you telling me you don’t know anybody who’s ever snuck out at night, or had sneaky text message conversations they hide, or been divorced because of an affair?”

“Do you seriously think so little of me?” I snarl, Alexis looking a little perturbed out of the corner of my eye. “What else? Let me guess: the fact we’re two women around the same age and neither of us is exclusively interested in men means we HAVE to be up to something, right?”

“Well…”

“Oh my days,” I sigh. “Get going, Jonas. These rumours are nothing but nonsense - and you can tell everyone as such too.” Jonas scuttles from the room and I roll my eyes in the direction of Alexis. “Can you believe this?”

“I can, to be honest,” Alexis admits, taking me aback slightly. “Although some of the logic is flawed, we DO spend a lot of time together, including outside of work, and we get along well. To some, that’s all they need to start jumping to conclusions, isn’t it?”

“I suppose,” I reluctantly agree, rounding my desk and sitting in my chair. I look across the room and notice that there’s clearly something else Alexis wants to say, but isn’t sure if she should. “What is it, Lexi?”

“I was thinking, there might be one other reason people might think we’re involved with each other,” she says, slowly.

“What’s that then?”

“You kept me employed here, even after you learned German,” Alexis says. “Why?”

I pause for a moment before answering.

“Because you’re a hard worker, your language skills help me to communicate with a large number of people much more easily, and, frankly, I didn’t want the number of women involved with matchdays to be halved by you departing,” I explain. “Besides, I felt like there was more to come from you, I didn’t want you to go until you’d truly blossomed as a character.”

“Character?”

“Y’know, your character, like your personality?” I ask, to which Alexis indicates she understands. “You show me regularly how confident and assertive you can be, so I won’t let you leave this job until you’re comfortable being like that with everybody.”

“I’m not sure I can,” Alexis sighs.

“Of course you can,” I smile. “Channel that fire and belief that I’ve seen so often and use it to drive yourself forward, and don’t let your fear over people’s reactions stop you from voicing your opinions, because you have a lot of good ones.”

“Thanks, Nicole,” Alexis says, blushing a little. “Well, taking your advice on board, I have a few things I want to discuss with you about your decision to go full-strength against Dortmund on Saturday, even though a Champions League quarter-final is on the cards only three days later.”

“Start next week.”

​

The Westfalenstadion pulsates with noise as our Borussen Derby ebbs and flows, Dortmund creating more chances while we create the better ones, going closest when Dominik Szoboszlai finds himself on the end of, unusually, Krystian Bielik’s pull-back from the left byline, only to be thwarted by a magnificent block from Jarrad Branthwaite.

Keen to not destabilise my boys and allow Der BVB in, I’m hesitant to switch to our 4-3-3, so it seems we’re destined to play out a very entertaining - yet goalless - draw, until, within moments of Karim Adeyemi having a goal disallowed for offside, Joe Scally is tripped in the opposite penalty area by Robert Wagner to present us with a terrific chance to win the game from the spot late on.

And Nicolò Tresoldi does not miss chances like that.

The spot kick is drilled into the bottom-left corner, we turn up the stodge, and the points are smuggled back to Mönchengladbach right at the death.

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

As 100th games for a club go, a Champions League quarter-final at Borussia-Park, is a pretty grand way to celebrate mine.

With Roberto Mancini’s Premier League-title-chasing Arsenal the fellow attendees for the big day, it’s an easy decision to only make a single change and bring our cup goalkeeper, Oliver Christensen, in for Gregor Kobel, leaving the outfield ten the same after lowering the intensity of their training this week as we hope to put ourselves in a strong position for the second leg.

​

When we played Arsenal in the league phase of last season’s Europa League, we played out a goalless draw that was about as exciting as watching a country with a plethora of talented attacking players play safety-first football at a major tournament, but we’ve come on leaps and bounds since then and that’s something which is a problem for The Gunners as they seem hugely underprepared for this fact in the first half. We cut through them repeatedly as our wing-backs have a field day, taking an early lead when Tariq Lamptey slips through Szoboszlai and the Hungarian squares for Tresoldi to tap in at the back post.

We could, and possibly should, have more by the break, which would have been very helpful as Mancini’s men seem to wake up and readjust in the dressing room, returning to the pitch with a new zip to their play, and it takes only ten minutes for the game to be levelled when Bukayo Saka catches everybody out by playing a corner to the edge of the box for Teun Koopmeiners to lash into the top corner first time, making us pay for not making the most of our previous dominance.

We react well to Arsenal’s equaliser though, wrestling back control and going close to regaining our lead twice, Tresoldi’s front-post flick being poked off the line and onto the post by a stretching Kieran Tierney before Aaron Ramsdale has to react fantastically to prevent Ben White from deflecting Luca Netz’s cross into his own net, but we just can’t quite reclaim our lead.

It’ll be all to play for when we head to London next week.

* * * * * * * *
​

It’s been nearly two years now since I arrived in Germany and, in that time, we’ve not lost a single match at Borussia-Park, making our home stadium a fortress as it seems virtually impossible for anybody to beat us in Mönchengladbach.

Well, that’s about to get put to the test.

With 13th-placed Werder Bremen’s visit on Saturday being sandwiched between our Arsenal games and our lead at the top of the Bundesliga starting to look unassailable, I name a completely changed eleven from our midweek fixture, reluctantly prioritising the fitness of my regulars over our chances of getting a decent result.

​

I’m optimistic that my Backup Brigade are going to step up to the plate when Mark Barber nearly opens the scoring before Werder even touch the ball, but that positivity was horrifically misplaced as we, understandably, fail to show any sort of cohesion or build any momentum. Unsurprisingly, the sloppiness in our play doesn’t go unpunished as, on the brink of half-time, Hannes Wolf’s shot squeezes between Kobel and his front post when our Swiss goalkeeper is wrong-footed by the nick it takes off of Tanguy Nianzou’s shin on its way in, and I can sense my bench getting restless around me.

Something has to change.

I instruct my boys to switch to our 4-3-3 for the second half and everything seems to slot into place as we look confident at last, taking charge of the ball and starting to put more pressure on our visitors’ goal. Soon, some of the regular starters start making their way onto the pitch as we seek our leveller, and it’s they who finally nab it for us when Miloš Šarac tees up Szoboszlai to stab us back onto equal footing with a quarter of an hour to go, though we just can’t make that final push to add the winner our performance after the break deserved.

Our record-setting winning streak in the league ends at 22, but the unbeaten run at Borussia-Park is alive and well.

* * * * * * * *
​

“I get a really weird feeling when I come back to English grounds now,” I say to Zlatan Bajramović in the office off of our dressing room at the Emirates Stadium while the players get ready for their warm up. “It’s like when you go back to visit your school after you’ve left.”

“You did that?” Zlatan asks. “I didn’t think anybody actually did that.”

“I went back to my secondary school for a concert in the assembly hall a few years after I left which made me feel very nostalgic,” I answer.

“Did you enjoy school, then?”

“No, hated it,” I admit. “The assembly hall just reminded me of lessons where all we had to do was watch a show.”

“That surprises me, you seem very passionate about learning,” Zlatan says.

“I’m passionate about learning, just not learning for the sake of learning,” I reply. “If I only have to learn something because it would come up on an exam, I’m not here for it, because I hate exams. Almost everything I learned about spreadsheets came from wanting to make an automated football table, for example.”

“Why does that NOT surprise me?” Zlatan laughs, making me grin, at which point Kevin Nolan returns from trading team sheets.

“What’s the news then, Kevin?” I ask my other assistant.

“It’s that the same eleven who played last week are doing so again here, seven of whom also played on Saturday,” he smirks, passing me the paper. “We should be much fitter and see the benefits of making all those changes for the Werder game as the game wears on.”

“Excellent,” I beam, handing Zlatan the sheet and standing up from the chair I’d been in. “Are the lads decent? I want to let them know about this.”

“Yep,” Kevin says, a little too quickly for my liking, but I decide to think nothing of it, walking past him and opening the door, only to be hit by a noisy wall of indignation from my players who were not at all ready for me to come in, so I scurry backwards and shut the door again as Kevin cackles away.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for ages, sorry, boss.”

​

The effects of the boys’ rest over the weekend is obvious from the start, and Arsenal clearly have no idea how to deal with it, being comfortably second-best throughout the opening period and not managing a single shot as we pepper their goal with shots, albeit lacking that final bit of quality to convert our pressure into a lead, and the second half seems destined to follow a similar pattern as, although each side forces a good save from the opposition’s goalkeeper, neither can make the breakthrough as extra time looms, where I’m hoping our superior fitness will make the difference.

That is, until one crucial moment with under five minutes remaining.

As Jesper Lindstrøm directs a corner towards the front post, Liam Heywood hits the deck. Initially, nothing is given, but after a VAR check it’s obvious that our young midfielder was shoved to the ground by Gabriel Jesus and we’re awarded a penalty and a chance to nab the advantage late in the game. Tresoldi, as ever, is the man who steps up to take the spot kick, the pressure of semi-final qualification on his shoulders, but you wouldn’t know it from how coolly he sends Ramsdale the wrong way and rolls his strike into the bottom-left corner, making a beeline for the delirious travelling fans in the corner to celebrate.

Once again, a set piece in the final moments determines our Champions League fate as we progress to the final four where, with the draw having been made at the same time as the quarter-final stage, we know that Barcelona are waiting for us.

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

The difficult games keep coming thick and fast now, and a trip to the Volkswagen Arena to face sixth-placed Wolfsburg is the next on the calendar.

With Die Wölfe clinging onto the hope of qualifying for the Champions League again next season and the fact that a win here would put us on the brink of the title after Bayern’s shock loss at Schalke last weekend, I decide to name an unchanged outfield-ten from the one that took to the field against Arsenal on Tuesday and cross my fingers that nobody picks up an unfortunate injury or a silly suspension before our Pokal match on Wednesday.

​

“I thought we were in for a pretty stress-free afternoon when Tariq scored so early on,” I sigh as we tick into injury time.

“It should have been so much more comfortable than this,” Kevin agrees. “Squeaking a 1-0 isn’t great for confidence.”

“I’d argue otherwise,” Zlatan interjects, causing Kevin and me to give him confused looks. “We’ve been completely in charge and never looked like conceding, so this has actually been a very professional performance.”

“It’s not felt like that though, Zlats,” Kevin says, shaking his head.

“The statistics would suggest it should have.”

“I don’t worry about statistics, it’s all about feelings for me.”

“Statistics don’t care about your feelings.”

“Now, boys, stop this,” I interrupt. “The important thing is the result - which would have been much more emphatic, if not for Illan Meslier putting in another fantastic display.”

“Can we just sign him at this point? Stop him from doing this to us?” Kevin asks.

“You know full well that we can’t go signing every man who plays well against us, it’s not a sound business strategy.”

“Just because the board won’t let you try and sign Moise Kean from Köln?”

“Shut up.”

* * * * * * * *
​

With Wolfsburg vanquished, the challenge only gets harder on Wednesday night as we travel to the south to take on Bayern Munich in the DFB-Pokal semi-final, with Julian Nagelsmann’s big baddies all that stands between us and Die Fohlen’s fourth-successive cup final.

Unsurprisingly, the quality of our opponents and importance of the match means I can’t justify any changes to our outfield, meaning I’m putting a lot of faith into my players turning up for the third time in nine days to do the business and avenge our calamitous loss here in the Bundesliga back in September.

​

Despite giving my lads plenty of rest from training over the last few days, the fatigue is clearly starting to affect them. The lethargy on display is disappointing but understandable, however Bayern seem to be largely in the same boat until a damaging five minutes before the break sees Gabriel Vidović score against me once again and Manu Koné be forced off with a twisted ankle. What we could do with is a little bit of luck.

And a bit of luck we get.

Shortly after the hour mark and a switch to the 4-3-3, an aimless cross from Szoboszlai is comedically sliced into his own net by Matthijs de Ligt, and we spot an opportunity to keep wreaking havoc down our left, Netz splitting Bayern’s defence wide open with a through ball for Dominik’s replacement, Lindstrøm, and the Dane is the calmest person in the Allianz Arena as he slots into the bottom-right corner from the corner of the six-yard box.

Bayern try to rally, but struggle initially, however they’re handed a golden opportunity when Dan-Axel Zagadou passes straight to Vidović from our goal kick and the Frenchman needs to be bailed out by his goalie as Christensen pulls off an incredible save to deny Bayern’s German forward, continuing to stake his claim as the best backup goalkeeper in Germany. Keen to make amends for nearly costing his team, Zagadou seems motivated by his error, and it takes him only five minutes to redeem himself when he loses his man at a corner to get a clean run at the ball and thunders in a header to stretch our lead to two with very little time left on the clock.

Though Serge Gnabry does get a consolation in the third minute of the added-on four, the instant application of stodge ends any chance of the behemoths completing their own comeback, their race run at the semi-final stage as we make it to yet another final, this time taking on 2. Bundesliga side Greuther Fürth after they shocked Wolfsburg in the other match of the round.

​

A win from the Bundesliga title, a massive hurdle cleared with a DFB-Pokal final place secured, and only one team between us and a Champions League final to boot.

We won’t get a better chance than this to etch ourselves into German-football history forever.

* * * * * * * *​

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!

 

[dporter8999]

Another brilliant end of the season awaits, great writing as always!

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Part Twenty-Two​

Welcome back to Foal From Grace! The final push is here as we look to reach Die Fohlen's first Champions League final in 51 years, while two Bundesliga records are within our reach.

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

Series Links

​

“I don’t like this, boss,” Kevin Nolan mutters as we wait for the squad to turn up for their video-analysis session after cooling down from their training drills this morning.

“Don’t like what?” I ask my assistant, absent-mindedly stirring my coffee.

“All the focus you’ve been putting on the Barcelona games,” he answers.

“It is the Champions League semi-finals, Kevin, I think it’s worth preparing for,” I reason.

“Yes, but you seem to be forgetting that we haven’t won the Bundesliga yet, and we’ve got Freiburg to play BEFORE Barcelona,” Kevin sighs, exasperated. “We need three more points before anything’s secured and that should be the priority.”

“It is the priority.”

“Then who’s Freiburg’s top goalscorer this season?”

“Um…”

“How many clean sheets do they have in the league?”

“Er…”

“See my point?” Kevin says, judging me. “It’s Terem Moffi with 10, and they only have six from their 29 games - which would know if you were properly prepared.”

“You’re right,” I admit, “I’ve definitely been underestimating them. More importantly, though, did you just recall two statistics from memory?”

“I did, don’t tell Zlats,” Kevin requests.

“Why not?”

“It’s his thing, I don’t want to step on his toes,” Kevin shrugs. “It brings him joy to share his little bits of knowledge with people, so I don’t want him realising I already know a good chunk of it.”

“You realise that he might also enjoy having someone else to indulge him in his love for numbers, don’t you?” I smile.

“Doubt it, he’s more of an egotist than you might realise. You don’t have ambitions to be a top-level football manager without being a bit full of yourself.” I raise my eyebrows at Kevin, who seems unfazed. “Come on, Nicole, you know it’s true.”

“You think I’m a narcissist?” I ask.

“I wouldn’t go that far, but you’ve got to think quite highly of yourself to believe that you alone have the right idea on how to piece together the players you have at your disposal to get the best possible results from them,” Kevin says.

“I think I’ve shown that I have a pretty good idea of what I’m doing over the last six years.”

“I don’t know if you’re trying to disprove my point, but that statement only does the opposite.”

“Point taken,” I concede. “I don’t feel I’m ambivalent to Zlatan and your opinions, though.”

“How long have I known you?”

“Nearly two years.”

“How long have Zlats and I been suggesting we try a 4-4-2?”

“Nearly two years.”

“2-0 Kev.”

“I get that, Kevin, but you must realise I won’t change our tactics when our current ones are working?” I ask.

“What if a 4-4-2 is even better?” Kevin counters.

“I’m not convinced it would be,” I say, making him smirk. “Yep, 3-0 Kev,” I add, before he can.

As Kevin chuckles to himself, my players file into the video room, with Zlatan Bajramović bringing up the rear. “Ready to go, you two?”

“Yep, all set,” I say.

“Then why is the video package that’s been loaded titled ‘Barcelona’?”

I turn to look at the big screen to confirm Zlatan’s claim, seeing Kevin frown at me out of the corner of my eye. “Ah, so it is. I’ll fix that,” I say, turning back to the laptop.

“We are playing Barça next, aren’t we?” I hear Dan-Axel Zagadou ask from behind me. I can’t see Kevin now, but I can feel his frown deepening.

“No, we’ve got Freiburg in the BuLi,” Gregor Kobel corrects. “Need a win to seal the title, like when we played them towards the end of last season.”

“I’d almost forgotten we hadn’t officially won it yet,” Liam Heywood laughs.

That sets Kevin off.

“Are the bunch of you so arrogant as to be making jokes? Letting the league drift from your minds? Was this all too easy for you? News flash: we haven’t lost at home since the gaffer and I arrived, and if you make a mess of that because you can’t be bothered to take Freiburg seriously, I won’t let any of you forget it for the rest of your lives. Yes, we’re rotating a little so we can keep everyone as fresh as possible for Wednesday, and yes, that match is a huge one, but that’s no excuse to be letting your guard down - are we clear?” I look back around to see how the boys are reacting. Some are staring at their feet, some are shuffling awkwardly in their seats, and some are biting their cheeks, but all of the squad look very uncomfortable. “ARE WE CLEAR?!” Kevin shouts, making everybody hurriedly show their acknowledgement. “Good. Right, while the chief sorts the video out, Zlats can give us a quick profile of our visitors at the weekend.”

“You can do it if you’d like, Kevin, I don’t mind,” Zlatan mumbles.

“Nah, I haven’t read the report, I knew you’d do a better job,” Kevin says, waving away the idea.

“Oh, alright then,” Zlatan says, a look of pure delight appearing on his face. “As long as that’s alright with you, Bossin?”

“Of course, Zlatan,” I say, giving Kevin a knowing smile and turning back to the laptop screen, “you go right ahead.”

​

Despite making six changes to the team that started against Bayern in midweek, we begin brightly, playing positive football and taking the lead within a quarter of an hour when Luca Netz’s low cross is limply palmed into the middle of the box by Arijanet Muric with Mark Barber on hand to tap into the open net, but that spark is very quickly extinguished when we’re carved open by a pinpoint ball through our defence from Konstantin Tyukavin that Moffi flicks over Kobel to restore parity within minutes.

We slowly regain our footing after our visitors’ equaliser and start to wrestle back control, feeling that the next goal would surely be ours, however we receive a sucker punch on the brink of half-time when Massimo Bertagnoli steers in a header at a free kick to put us behind, forcing me to switch to our 4-3-3 for the second half as we now look to level for ourselves.

It just doesn’t seem to be happening as the minutes go by and Freiburg’s victory looks more likely so, in desperation, I shunt a midfielder further forward to sit behind Barber in a 4-2-3-1 as we try to get more men in the box, but we can’t quite pass our way through their stubborn defence.

In which case, we’ll go over instead.

As our visitors lose the ball high up the pitch, the lesser-spotted Pierre-Emile Højbjerg fires a laser-guided diagonal to Jesper Lindstrøm on the left. The Dane’s control is excellent as he surges into the box and, though he could easily shoot for himself, he unselfishly squares for Barber to stroke in for his second of the game, breaking Freiburg hearts.

Blushes spared, the title will have to wait for another day.

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Freiburg held, NOW we can focus on Barcelona as La Liga’s second-placed team travel to Mönchengladbach on Wednesday evening.

With a decent rest for most of the first-choice outfield, the lineup picks itself, including Gustavo Gallardo filling in for the injured Manu Koné as I hope the young Argentine steps up when the pressure couldn’t be greater, optimistic that we can emulate Ajax after they beat the favourites, Manchester City, 2-0 in their own semi-final last night.

​

I’ve never heard Borussia-Park as loud as it is tonight, the Nordkurve bouncing long before we step onto the pitch, but the atmosphere takes a big hit in the seventh minute when Nico González loops a header at a free kick over Oliver Christensen and just squeezing in at the back post, and it’s a knock we find hard to bounce back from as we struggle to get going before the interval. We’re going to have to shift to the 4-3-3 and hope that someone can produce a bit of magic for us.

I’m still thinking about who our hero could be as I sit down in the dugout for the second half when Netz storms down the left and passes inside to Wouter Burger who, first time, wallops a left-footed strike from the edge of the area into the top-left corner, bringing us level less than a minute after play resumed and breathing life into our performance.

The goal fills the stadium with energy and Barça don’t know what to do. This ground is intimidating for opponents at the best of times, and a colosseum baying for blood at the worst, and the final home game in this season’s Champions League campaign before a potential final is most definitely in the latter category, our 12th man roaring us forward until the Catalans’ defence can hold no longer, Tariq Lamptey spinning Nuno Mendes and drilling across Marco Carnesecchi to complete the turnaround.

Try as they might, Barcelona simply cannot respond. By the time they eventually get the ball past Christensen again, Ansu Fati is offside, and it comes so late that our goalkeeper doesn’t even have time to take the resultant free kick.

Advantage: Die Fohlen.

* * * * * * * *
​

Much like the Werder Bremen match between our quarter-final legs, our fixture at Nürnberg being squidged in the middle of our semi-final ties means it’ll be sacrificed to the gods and goddesses of fitness as I name a totally different eleven to the one fielded in midweek and cross my fingers that my Backup Brigade is good enough to see off the team currently occupying the relegation play-off spot towards the bottom of the Bundesliga.

​

The coach ride on the way back west is, understandably, a very subdued one. Drawing wasn’t the most disappointing thing, it was the way we were totally outclassed by a team struggling at the foot of the table; rotated side or not, that should not be happening. I turn in my aisle seat at the front to see what everyone’s up to. Most people are on some sort of electronic device, though a few of our French contingent are playing a card game I don’t recognise. Then, in the seat diagonally behind mine, Gregor Kobel is staring off into space with a troubled expression set on his face.

“Everything okay, Gregor?” I ask, softly.

“I should have done much better with the goal,” my vice-captain says, quietly, shaking his head a little.

“Probably, it looked pretty close to you” I concur, “but you then made that incredible one-on-one save two minutes later to prevent us from losing, so it balances out.”

“I should have saved both,” he sighs. “We only had three minutes of added time left, we should have seen out the win.” His eyes break from their ambiguous focus to meet mine. “I let you down.”

“Everyone has things they regret, but you shouldn’t let them dominate your memories. You played well and had a single moment where you wobbled, that’s it,” I say. “Just because it’s more obvious when goalkeepers misjudge a save than when a forward misses a good chance doesn’t mean you should let it weigh more on your conscience, you know that.”

“I do, I just hate making mistakes - I’m better than that,” he grumbles.

“Are Krystian’s headphones noise cancelling?” I ask.

“Don’t know, hang on.” Gregor turns to Krystian Bielik. “Hey, Krissy, how does it feel to know Poland won’t ever win an international tournament while you’re still playing?” No reaction. Gregor turns back to me. “Seems that way, why do you ask?”

“Only because I wanted to remind you that, with 21 minutes to go in last season’s Pokal final, he gave away the penalty that let Bayern back into the game,” I explain.
“So?”

“So, that was a pretty huge mistake from one of our most influential players in the biggest game of the domestic campaign, and I don’t remember him sulking about it afterwards.”

“He did party pretty hard, didn’t he?” Gregor chuckles.

“I was impressed at how drunk he got, considering he’s Polish,” I laugh back. “I once had a Polish colleague that outdrank two of my British colleagues, yet was sober enough to look after them both when they started being sick.”

“They’re made of strong stuff in Poland, aren’t they?” Gregor grins. “Thanks, Bossin, you’ve helped a lot.”

“No worries, any time,” I smile as my phone buzzes. I decide to ignore it for the time being, allowing myself some time to decompress after today’s stresses.

Then it buzzes again.

And again.

And again.

Now lots of message tones are sounding throughout the coach and shouts of glee are let out, so I check what all the fuss is about, seeing a stream of messages of congratulations.

Bayern drew at Hertha in the late kick-off, leaving them eleven points behind us with three games to go.

Now the coach isn’t so quiet.

Borussia Mönchengladbach are, officially, Bundesliga Champions again.

* * * * * * * *
​

Regrettably, our title celebrations have to be short lived and a little muted as, three days later, it’s a trip to the Camp Nou and our biggest test of the season so far as we attempt to retain our lead and emulate the great Borussia side of the ’70s by making it to back-to-back European finals.

Buoyed by both the low-intensity week and having defended our Bundesliga crown, the same eleven that started the first leg are raring to go again in Spain, though our fitness advantage is less dramatic than the one we held in the previous round after Xavi had the sense to make wholesale changes of his own at the weekend.

The final is within touching distance. Now is the time to reach out and grab it.

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

It’s awful, it’s disjointed, it’s going exactly as I’d hoped.

After all the hype, both sides have produced performances that are nervy and low on quality, and I couldn’t care at all as time slowly ebbs away with no noteworthy chances as added time approaches and my heart beats faster and faster as we near the final whistle.

But there’s never a game without drama at this stage of the competition, and Kobel’s mistake on Saturday suddenly looks highly insignificant in comparison to the chaos that unfolds.

Everything seems calm as my defence pass the ball between themselves, running down time, until Christensen loses focus and underhits a pass to Bielik, allowing Fabián Ruiz to steal in and drive towards our goal. All Miloš Šarac can do is try to tackle the Spaniard, but he was never going to get to the ball first, clattering into the midfielder and handing Barcelona a penalty when we were so close to holding on to our lead. Clásico-turncoat Vinícius Júnior’s spot kick is emphatic as he slams home, sending Christensen the wrong way and forcing extra time.

Switching to our 4-3-3 to see if we can jump-start our meek attack, we still can’t string a move together and our hosts look revitalised by their aggregate-equaliser - and disaster soon strikes. Clearly taking notes from our matchup with Arsenal, Unai Hernàndez spots Alejandro Balde lurking on the edge of our area at a corner and skids the set piece out to the wide-man to be met with extreme prejudice, zipping through the crowded box and into the top corner to tilt the balance in Barça’s favour.

With 15 minutes to save ourselves, I decide that the only option is to go more attacking, replacing Bielik with Barber and asking the Englishman to play off of Nicolò Tresoldi as we move to a 4-2-3-1. The extra player in the middle sucks our hosts inside, opening space for our full-backs to hare into, something made extremely obvious when Robin Gosens finds himself with the freedom of the left-hand side in the 110th minute. He has time to compose himself, spot a teammate, and deliver a pinpoint cross to the back post for Šarac that the Serbian, after Carnesecchi’s initial save drops right back to him, smashes into the net to bring the overall score level again. In response, Barcelona decide to not remain so narrow, but our superior fitness and momentum means we can exploit this too, and we’re seconds from the final whistle when Lindstrøm feeds a reverse pass through the newly created gaps in the middle of their backline, setting Barber through one-on-one to… blaze hideously wide from 15 yards. Ah.

Penalties it is.

With both Vini Jr. and Tresoldi scoring the initial penalties, it’s Fati to step up next, but the one-time heir-apparent to Lionel Messi looks nervous, lacking the ice in his veins that made the Argentinian so special, and he limply hits his spot kick straight down the throat of Christensen in the middle of the goal. From there, it’s a masterclass. Barber; in, centre-left. Frenkie de Jong: in, bottom-right. Lindstrøm: in, into the roof of the net. Thierry Rendall Correia: in, centre-right. Højbjerg: in, centre-left. Fabián: in, centre-right for the second Barça penalty in a row.

So, it comes down to our fifth taker: Edwin Zamudio. The first man through the door after me. If this had happened when he initially arrived, I’d have little faith, but the speed at which he’s developed into one of the best defenders in the league means I have no doubts at all as he runs up and strikes towards the bottom-right corner - just out of reach of Carnesecchi.

I bend double on the sideline as the pressure pent up inside me is released.

Die Fohlen are into their second-ever Champions League final.

* * * * * * * *
​

“I can’t believe we have to give you a guard of honour AND you’re going to get to lift the silverware at Deutsche Bank Park,” Alexis Geiler seethes.

“Is that STILL all you can think about, even after the game we’ve just watched?” I ask, gesturing at my TV as the last moments of the other Champions League semi-final play out.

“The second half has been pretty boring. After those three goals in the space of six minutes at the end of the first, my brain has defaulted back to Eintracht,” Alexis says. “I just don’t understand why they changed the presentation from the final home game to the first available opportunity.”

“Beats me,” I shrug, before teasingly adding, “I’ll have a great time, at least.”

“Now, now, Nicole, don’t be so mean,” Beth says without looking up from her latest project, sitting at the table on the other side of the room. “How would you like it if you were in Lexi’s position, and this scenario played out at St. Andrew’s?”

“I guess I wouldn’t,” I sigh. Alexis smirks and sticks her tongue out at me, so I pull a face at her in response.

“I bet you’re going as strong as possible too, just to rub it in,” Alexis says.

“Well, yes, we’ve got records to chase, and we’ll only break them if we win all of our last three games,” I reply.

“So mean,” Alexis mutters, before glancing back at the TV. “Manchester City aren’t going to score, are they?”

“Probably not,” I agree. “But, they’re DEFINITELY not going to get the two they need.”

“Borussia Mönchengladbach vs Ajax in the 2028 Champions League final, then,” Alexis smiles. “What a game for fans of the underdog.”

​

For a group who played two hours of football on Tuesday, we don’t look even remotely short of energy, dictating play with a high tempo and knitting together some beautiful moves, including one that sees each of our players make a pass in the build-up to Dominik Szoboszlai delicately lifting the ball over Frankfurt’s defence for Tresoldi to sumptuously half-volley in.

Immediately, however, the momentum begins to shift. Having been indifferent to trying to attack, our hosts start playing more progressively from the moment they go behind, Ellyes Skhiri scything through my centre-backs with an incredible pass that sets Amine Harit away, and we require Kobel to make an excellent stop to prevent our lead from lasting just 54 seconds.

In order to try and prevent the fresher team from growing in confidence, I gradually make changes both tactically and, later, in personnel, doing my utmost to help my boys over the line after the psychological blow of drawing three of our last four Bundesliga games until, like an M. Night Shyamalan movie, the inevitable twist at the end comes when a corner is poorly headed away and Marcus Thuram knocks the ball down for Randal Kolo Muani to lash in with six minutes remaining.

But nobody was prepared for the second twist.

I’d accepted that we were now looking unlikely to beat either of the win or point records after the late goal, trying to convince myself that I would settle for just matching them instead after such a draining schedule over the last few weeks, but my players have other ideas. They rally, desperately searching for one last chance as they struggle to find a way to pick the lock on the Eintracht door, until Heywood decides to simply break through it instead, receiving the ball nearly 25 yards from goal and leathering it with his left foot. It’s unstoppable for a defender, it’s unreachable for any goalkeeper, and it’s, most importantly for us, on target, hurtling into the top corner at immense speed and with such devastating effect that Alexis immediately stands up from her seat on the bench and walks down the tunnel before I’ve finished confirming my stodgy instructions.

There’s no coming back from that.

* * * * * * * *
​

What’s this? A Bundesliga game on a Wednesday? I’ve already had one of those, I don’t like this.

After a slightly underwhelming start, Zinedine Zidane has really gotten RB Leipzig firing over the last couple of months, hauling Die Roten Bullen into the Champions League spots from their lowly position in very impressive fashion, so a near-full-strength side is definitely required for our last fixture at Borussia-Park this season.

​

After Burger replicates his goal, down to the Netz assist, from our first semi-final tie against Barcelona in the eighth minute, it feels like we’re in for a barnstormer of a game befitting of ending an incredible season at our home stadium, but then everything just sort of… stops. The atmosphere is still raucous, but it’s like somebody decided we’ve had enough excitement for this season and put a stop to it, like we’d been invited for a barbecue but are only allowed half of a sausage each, a bit of leafy salad, and three pepper sticks to share.

Regardless, the majority of our fans were keen to make sure the party never stopped in the crowd, irrespective of what was going on on the pitch, as we cap off our glorious season by getting the win we need to level the record for number of wins in a Bundesliga season and move to just a single point behind that record-high total too.

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

With just one match left between us and history, we’d ideally be facing a team struggling for form to make it easier for us.

Enter: second-bottom Bochum.

Our last hosts for the season need a win to avoid suffering relegation, joining St. Pauli in dropping down a division, however we won’t be doing them any favours as we chase those records, naming a full-strength eleven - including Manu Koné on his return to fitness - in the hope we avoid the same slip up as we made in last season’s final game against Darmstadt.

​

Poor Bochum.

It must be immensely demoralising to know you have to beat the Champions on the final day to be in with a chance of staying up, and even more so when you see the quality in their lineup, so I can hardly blame Die Blauen for looking defeated from the first minute - and for good reason. Our movement is too much for them to handle as we pull their defenders this way and that, having a goal disallowed in the eighth minute before scoring one that counts in the 16th, another shortly before the break, and one more just after, while our hosts’ only shot takes until the final quarter of an hour to arrive and is suitably disappointing, encapsulating the glum mood at the Vonovia-Ruhrstadion perfectly.

As Bochum bow out of the Bundesliga with a whimper, we march on with the win and point records claimed for as our own.

Now, just our finals await.

* * * * * * * *​

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 Twenty-Three

2028 DFB-Pokal Final​

Welcome back to Foal From Grace! Can we claim the second trophy in our hunt for back-to-back trebles?

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

Series Links

“There’s another one,” Kevin Nolan says, pointing out a green and white flag with a clover that’s hanging from a balcony as we hunt down the Mexican restaurant I’d been recommended.

“And another scarf,” Zlatan Bajramović adds, discreetly nodding towards a person on the other side of the street. “That’s about 40 on this walk alone.”

“About?”

“Okay, 38.”

“I didn’t know Berlin was such a hub for Greuther Fürth fans,” I say.

“It's not, really. No more so than any other team, for example,” Alexis Geiler states.

“All the clovers make me think of Ireland - I love Ireland,” my wife, Beth, smiles.

“You’ve never been to Ireland,” I say, confused.

“I’d like to though, it looks a very pretty place.”

“Is that mainly because of your fondness for their accents?”

“Since when are you the one who publicly teases in this marriage?”

“I can’t let you have all the fun, can I?” I grin, gently squeezing Beth’s hand in mine as she chuckles softly.

“It’s a shame the whole squad didn’t want to come with us tonight,” Zlatan says. “I like sharing a meal with them before we all go in our own directions.”

“They could do with relaxing in their own way, and if that means they want to skip a tradition that means an awful lot to me then so be it - I’d rather have them relax the way they want tonight than feel like they’re being forced to come out with their mums, aunty, and uncles,” I sigh.

“I think they’re complacent, frankly,” Kevin grumbles.

“Perhaps, but there’s only so much paranoia about complacency I can show before it just starts irritating them,” I say. I glance down at my phone to check our progress on my map. “Okay, it should be coming up on our right any moment now.”

“It’s not this place, is it?” Zlatan asks, pointing at a small restaurant with a Greuther Fürth poster stuck in the window of its door.

I look up at the sign above the window. “Unfortunately, yes it is,” I sigh.

“I’m not hungry, you folks enjoy,” Kevin says, starting to walk away.

“Come on, Kev, don’t be like that,” I sigh. “I’m desperate for tacos, but I don’t want to eat without you either.”

“Fine,” Kevin huffs. “But if anyone gets funny with me, I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”

“Yes you can, you’re a 46-year-old man - you should be able to control yourself by now,” Alexis snaps. I glance at Beth and we share a small look of pride.

“Come on then,” I say. “Maybe we won’t be recognised.”

I open the door and immediately realise what a stupid thought that was.

“Ah, die Cheftrainerin von Borussia Mönchengladbach!” a member of the waitstaff says within moments of me crossing the threshold. “Wie gehts?”

“Gut, danke, und dir?” I reply, a little sheepishly.

“Gut, danke,” he smiles. “Wie kann ich helfen?”

“Meine Kollegin würde gerne ihr Spanisch üben, wenn das in Ordnung ist?” I ask, gesturing towards Alexis.

“Por supuesto, señora,” he nods, switching his focus instantly. “¿Cómo estás?”

“Estoy bien, gracias, ¿y tú?” Alexis says.

“Bien, gracias,” he beams. “¿En qué puedo ayudarle?”

“Mesa para cinco, por favor.”

“Sígueme,” he says, leading us to our table, waiting for us to sit down before handing us each a menu. “Nuestros especiales están en la pizarra, voy a estar de vuelta para tomar su pedido de bebidas en un momento - cualquier pregunta, sólo tiene que preguntar.”

“Gracias,” Alexis smiles, and the waiter heads off to another group. “Specials are on the board, he’ll be back to take our drink order in a moment, and if we have any questions, we just need to ask.”

“Thanks, Lexi,” I say. “Can you ask why there’s a load of Fürth paraphernalia all over the city?”

“I don’t even know what that word means in English, let alone Spanish.”

“Stuff,” Kevin says, bluntly.

“Thank you.”

“I have a theory,” Beth says. “It’s because your opponents are the underdogs, right? Nicole, you told me they’re in the second tier and had to beat some good teams to get to the final, so they’re the feel-good story that people want to see have a happy ending.”

We all sit in silence for a moment as we scan our menus and contemplate what Beth’s just said, before I finally verbalise what we’re all thinking:

“Does this mean we’re the baddies?”

“Difficult to look at it any other way,” Zlatan says, slowly.

“I don’t know how I feel about this,” I frown. “At Blues, we were always fighting off the Sky Six in our finals, then we were up against Bayern and UFC in last season’s, so it always felt like we were the pick for the neutrals.”

“That’s the job,” Kevin shrugs.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” I scowl.

“No, but you have to get used to it. At some point, your plucky-underdog schtick stops holding up and you become a dominant team that people want to see lose,” Kevin reasons.

“‘You either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain’,” Beth says. “Are you alright, Lexi?” she adds, having noticed my colleague staring at her.

“Quoting a movie unleashes something primal in her,” I explain. “She’s doing very well to contain herself, in truth. I know she’s dying to tell you every single thought she has on The Dark Knight.”

“Mhm,” Alexis hums through her tightly sealed lips.

“I don’t mind, I like a bit of movie talk,” Beth says.

“That’s fine, but only if you’ll be able to rein yourself back in when our waiter comes over, Lexi,” I say.

“He’s already heading this way,” she sighs. “I’ll save that for later then.”

“¿Listo para hacer el pedido?” he asks Alexis when he arrives.

“Ready?” she asks the rest of us. We all nod in response, so she turns back to the waiter. “Sí, gracias.”

“Oh, en primer lugar, esto es de los hombres en el bar,” he says, handing me a note.

“From the men at the bar,” Alexis translates. A little confused, I unfold the paper to read what’s written and sigh.

“What does it say?” Zlatan asks.

“‘It’ll be hilarious to watch you lose tomorrow’,” I frown. “Yep, we’re definitely the baddies.”

​

As Germany’s national anthem rings out around the Olympiastadion, I chance a quick glance at both sets of players.

Fürth’s lineup look amped up, ready to give their all to cause the biggest upset in a DFB-Pokal final since Hannover won the competition from the 2. Bundesliga in 1992 when they beat… actually, let’s not talk about who they beat. That said, there’s an understandable hint of nerves that they’re trying to hide, immediately recognisable to me from my days as Birmingham manager. My boys, on the other hand, have a steely look of confidence that I’ve never seen from one of my sides ahead of a final before - for once, we’re the overwhelming favourites.

We just need to play as such.

It becomes apparent early on that Die Kleeblätter have come with the plan to frustrate us, hoping that we’ll start making rash and desperate decisions that’ll open things up for them, however we’ve got more than enough patience to deal with a stubborn block. We carefully move play from side to side, waiting for the moment that a space will open up, and it soon does when Tariq Lamptey slips Dominik Szoboszlai through on our right.

​

The Hungarian takes a touch to get the ball out from his feet and squares…

​

… and Nicolò Tresoldi can’t help but steer in from close range.

Once we’ve gained the advantage, our influence only grows. Our quick passing is too much for the Bavarians and we carve through them like a katana through an overcooked fish, but the combination of our wasteful shooting and some last-ditch defending means we can’t capitalise on our dominance and I start to get nervous as time ticks towards the hour mark, at which point Szoboszlai prepares to take a free kick about 25 yards from goal.

​

No matter how many times Dominik does it, I’ll always expect a free kick in that position to be floated into the box, and every time I’m delighted when he scores the most outrageous goals I’ll ever see. After all our gilt-edged chances, all it takes to double our lead is a 0.01 xG strike.

From there, it’s simple. When the gap was a single goal, Fürth felt like they had a chance, but the second knocked all the wind from their sails and we squeeze the life out of the final half an hour, continuing to probe but with much less vigour, my boys clearly deciding to take their foot off the accelerator and save themselves a little for our next match.

The final whistle soon sounds to put Fürth out of their misery and confirm my second, Borussia Mönchengladbach’s third, DFB-Pokal in succession.

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

“It’s crazy that we’ve now won ten major domestic honours together, gaffer,” Krystian Bielik says, shaking his head in disbelief and gently fiddling with the medal still around his neck as we sit down in the bar at our hotel in the evening. “Three Premier Leagues, two FA Cups, one Carabao Cup, two Bundesligas, and now two DFB-Pokals.”

“Add in the Championship, the Community Shield, and the Supercup, we’re up to 13,” I note. “Then there’s our European triumphs to take us to 15.”

“Hopefully 16, by the end of next week.”

“I hope so,” I nod. “We can’t afford to assume it’s ours to lose though, if we play like we did today then we’ll be in trouble.”

“We dominated from start to finish,” Krystian says, looking perplexed.

“We were wasteful and complacent,” I shrug. “You can just about get away with it against a 2. Bundesliga side, but not against a team as good as Ajax's.”

“I take your point,” Krystian says. “Are you worried about us not taking this seriously then?”

“Krystian, surely you must realise by now that I worry about absolutely everything?” I laugh. “I’m not overly concerned, but I’m keen to ensure we nip any issues in the bud, so I could do with your help.”

“You’ve got it, boss,” Krystian smiles. We both go quiet for a moment, allowing the ambient noise of clinking glasses, chatter, and clacking pool balls to fill the silence as we each take a sip from our drinks.

“You realise you’d be the first man to captain two different teams to Champions League titles if we win next week, right?” I eventually ask.

“I do,” Krystian says. “You’d be the first woman to win two Champions Leagues, men’s or women’s, as a manager.”

“Yep,” I reply, puffing out my cheeks. “It’s another big opportunity to make history.”

“Indeed,” Krystian hums. “Every time we hit a new milestone, it makes that goal I scored at Kenilworth Road feel like even longer ago.”

“Yet it still feels so fresh in my memory,” I chuckle. “Chongy set away on the right, beats two men, floats the ball to the edge of the box, and you volley it in at such a speed that you should’ve had your driving licence taken off of you.”

“That was a very satisfying goal, can’t lie,” Krystian laughs. “Not quite as good as the one at Darmstadt, but probably second.”

“It’s definitely my favourite,” I smile. “It’s not just the finish, but the fact it was the first goal of our story, and there was no way we could know then just how many more memorable moments we would have together.”

“And there’s still plenty more to come, I hope,” Krystian says.

“Absolutely - wherever I go, you’re welcome to come with me.”

“I’ll hold you to that when I retire and become the worst director of football you’ve ever seen,” Krystian winks, making me snort before he then raises his glass. “To those who won us the Pokal today, and all of those who’ve helped us smash expectations for the last six years.”

I grin and raise mine too. “To completing our clean sweep of Germany’s silverware, to claiming the second trophy in our hunt for another treble, and to making everlasting memories.”

We knock our glasses together and take deep gulps of our drinks, savouring the moment for as long as we can before we have to refocus again for the Champions League final.

But don’t worry - we’ll be ready.

See you in Greece, Ajax.

* * * * * * * *​

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 Twenty-Four

2028 Champions League Final​

Welcome back to Foal From Grace! The Champions League final is upon us - can we make history again?

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

Series Links

​

I stare glumly at the screen as I sit alone at my desk. No other coaching staff are here, given we’ve played our final match for the season, nor are any of the players, so I’m simply trying to kill time before my end of season review with the board.

That’s been easier said than done, however. The lack of Alexis Geiler, Kevin Nolan, Zlatan Bajramović, and Krystian Bielik has left me with few people to speak to. There is some guy called Karl sitting out in the corridor, but I don’t remember much about who he is and I think it’d be a bit awkward to try and form a friendship at this point, so I’ve instead resorted to endlessly playing Mario Kart on my Nintendo Switch. By now, I’ve lost all enjoyment for the game, however I’ve been playing for a long enough session that I’ve reached the pinnacle of my powers and am refusing to put down my controllers, taking on the hardest challenges I can before my skills go rusty again; right now, I am unstoppable.

On the final corner of the final race of my Grand Prix, I get hit from out of the blue by a green shell and get overtaken by Bowser just before the finish line, losing my perfect record for the races and my priceless three-star rating as a result, forcing me to use all my restraint to resist throwing my Joy Cons across the room in an act of pure rage.

Turns out I am stoppable.

I glance down at my watch and see it’s 12:35. Only 25 minutes to go - I’m nearly there.

< < < < < < < <​

“It’s 19:35, only 25 minutes to go boys - we’re nearly there,” I say to my assistants as we wait in one of the OAKA Spyros Louis’ dressing rooms for my players to finish warming up.

“I’m really feeling the nerves now,” Zlatan says.

“Likewise,” I smile. “It doesn't get bigger than this at club level. We’ll have to shake them off though, we need to be strong for the players; that goes for you too, Kevin.”

“Don’t need to tell me, gaffer, I’m no more nervous than usual,” Kevin shrugs.

“How can you be ‘no more nervous than usual’ for the Champions League final?” I ask, baffled.

“It’s still just a game of football, at the end of the day.”

“It’s not ‘just a game of football’, it’s the Champions League final.”

“It’ll still be eleven men on each side, kicking the ball around for at least 90 minutes, before someone goes home happier than the other - sounds like any other game to me,” Kevin reasons.

“Except the people going home happier will have the Champions League trophy with them, given it’s the Champions League final.”

“You’ve made it pretty clear that it’s the Champions League final, boss, thanks,” Kevin says.

“That’s because I can’t get over how chilled out you are,” I explain.

“You know how it is: if you take care of the input, then the output will take care of itself,” Kevin states. “As long as we do our best, like usual, the result should come.”

“I quite like that line of thinking,” Zlatan nods. “What do you think, Nicole?”

“I think Kevin’s lack of anxiety is making me more stressed,” I say, standing up.

“Where are you going?”

“To find a quiet corner, so I can calm down by staring into the void.”

* * * * * * * *
​

There’s been a lot of void staring recently, though not all through my own choice - and this is one of those occasions. It’s too early to start walking to our meeting room, however there’s not enough time to complete another round on my game, so I’m stuck in limbo, staring at the corner of a framed kit behind Alexis’ desk where the two pieces of wood don’t quite meet perfectly and thinking about how I’m not thinking about anything. Actually, now I’m thinking about how irritating that dodgy join is. Maybe I should get up and try to fix it? Nah, there’s probably not enough time.

My phone buzzes and I check to see who messaged me, frowning slightly when I read Club President Tobias Deppe’s message explaining that the board are running behind in another meeting, so will have to push ours back to 2 p.m., at the earliest.

Guess I’ll be trying to fix that frame then, otherwise I’m in for a very dull hour.

< < < < < < < <
​

“This has been a very dull hour of football,” Zlatan grumbles.

“I’d prefer to say it’s been ‘cagey’,” I say, sitting next to him in the dugout.

“That’s because you’re unrelentingly optimistic,” Kevin sighs.

“It’s the only way I can survive,” I chuckle as Dominik Szoboszlai wins the ball from Weston McKennie on the far touchline. “You have a point though, Zlatan, this match needs something to happen to turn up the intensity.”

​

“Well, that should do it.”

* * * * * * * *
​

Well, that should do it, I think as I admire the realigned frame. Sure, it made some uncomfortable cracking sounds when I was adjusting it, but I’m sure that wasn’t anything to worry about, and now it looks much better than it did - just need to put it back on the wall.

Pleased with myself, I grip either side of the frame with my hands and lift it off the table, the sense of pride lasting all of 2.6 seconds as the bottom falls off completely, quickly followed by the plastic cover, then the kit that was inside, the base knocking over the mug of coffee on my desk that’d gone cold and leaving a lovely, brown puddle for the shirt to fall into, promptly turning the brilliant white a sad beige.

Don’t worry, Nicole, it’s only Patrick Herrmann’s kit from his final game. It’s just a priceless piece of memorabilia from one of the club’s most iconic servants in recent history that you’ve damaged irreparably.

Darn it. What am I going to do to fix this?

< < < < < < < <​

“What are you going to do to fix this, boss, given we’re heading nowhere?” Kevin complains.

“I think it’s time to switch to the 4-3-3,” I muse. “I’ll let Krystian know on the way back from this corner.”

​

“Or, perhaps I won’t,” I laugh, barely hearing myself over the eruption of noise from our fans.

Having broken the deadlock at last, the Champions League final suddenly looks set to spring into life in its final quarter. So startling is the shift in energy that I’m still weighing up my options on how to proceed when we win the ball back within moments of the restart, crafting a beautiful move that sees Liam Heywood tee up Szoboszlai on the edge of the box …

​

… and the Hungarian has the composure to find the net from range for the third major final in a row.

After an hour of nothingness, everything seems to be going our way.

* * * * * * * *​

Nothing’s going my way.

Upon arriving in the kit room, I realised once again that everybody was on holiday, so any advice I thought I could get on where to look for a replacement for the soiled shirt has gone out the window.

Digging around in the drawers and cupboards, I can only find kits from the season just gone, irritatingly including one shirt that had clearly been printed for fun with ‘Herrmann, 7’ on the back that would be perfect, were it not for the different font and collar that would give away my ruse. Where on earth am I going to find old Fohlen kits?

I’ve got one more idea.

< < < < < < < <​

“I’ve got an idea.”

“If you’re about to say ‘4-4-2’, I’m going to hit you, Kevin,” I huff.

“Don’t worry then,” my assistant says, sitting back in his seat.

“I have an idea too,” Zlatan says from my other side.

“Is it also a 4-4-2?” I ask.

“It’s not,” Zlatan says. “I was going to suggest telling the boys to slow down in possession, so we don’t risk giving the ball away and inviting pressure, such as now,” he adds as the ball trickles out for a corner to ten-man Ajax.

“That’s not a terrible suggestion,” I admit. “If we can’t keep hold of the ball, we’re practically asking them to score.”

​

“That’s a rubbish header, Miloš,” Kevin mumbles.

​

“That’s a great finish, though,” Zlatan states.

“Thank you for your astute observations,” I sigh, rubbing my forehead with my fingers. “That changes things - where do we go from here?”

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Where is it I go from here again? I’ve only been to the museum at Borussia-Park twice before and not for nearly a year, so the number of wrong turns I’ve made is firmly in the realm of embarrassing, though I think I’m close. Now, is it left, or right at the end of this hallway? If in doubt, go right, that’s my policy - Krystian Bielik’s stronger foot.

I pivot clockwise at the end of the corridor and immediately recognise the door to the offices I’d started from and my shoulders slump. Time to finally admit that I’ve been conquered.

“What are you doing out here, Nicole?” comes the question from behind me in that oh-so-familiar Frankfurter accent. I spin on the spot to face Alexis, her hair in a high bun, a Borussia Mönchengladbach-branded tank top on, and the brightest yellow shorts I’ve ever seen adorning her legs.

“Your shorts nearly match your hair,” I observe.

“Is that a compliment?”

“I’m not sure. Since when did you wear club-emblazoned clothes in your free time?”

“Since I got changed in the car to avoid anyone commenting on my other top.”

“What’s on it?”

“An Adler badge, obviously.”

“I should’ve guessed that,” I say, annoyed at myself. “What’re you doing here?”

“I forgot my power bank, so came to get it before heading to my parents’,” Alexis frowns. “Can you stop asking so many questions and tell me why you’re not in your meeting?”

“Been delayed.”

“So you went for a walk?”

“I was looking for the museum,” I say, pausing before I continue, “because I may have left a giant coffee stain on Patrick Herrmann’s final shirt. The one that was hung on the wall in our office.”

“How did you manage that?”

“With my trademark clumsiness and inability to leave wonky things alone, of course.”

“Wait, you haven’t been walking around looking for another one so you could cover up your accident, have you?” Alexis asks.

“Of course I have, I’m a coward.”

“You know that the jersey in our office is just a replica, don’t you?

“Well, no, seeing as there’s literally nothing I’d want to do less than a task that’ll last an indefinite amount of time before I have an appointment, yet here I am,” I scowl. “What do you mean it’s ’just a replica’?”

“Come with me,” Alexis says, beckoning me the opposite way down the hall, “let me show you.”

< < < < < < < <​

“Let me show you this, Bossin,” Zlatan says, passing me a sheet of paper. “I’ve prepared the stodgy shape for you, if you want to double check it and use it.”

“Thank you, I don’t think I want to yet though, Zlatan,” I grimace. “We’ve got the man advantage and they’re fading fast, I think we’ve got to keep at them.”

“Be real, chief, we need to shut the door, end the match,” Kevin says. “Unless Jesper can find Tariq here on the counter, and Tariq can then deliver a cross that Nicolò can turn in, or Max Aarons can put past his own goalkeeper, I think it’s the only option.”

​

As the jubilant mood returns around us, I look to Kevin, looking incredibly stoic amongst all of the giddy chaos.

“Sod the stodge,” he shrugs.

Sod the stodge indeed - my lads want another.

With Ajax’s confidence taking another hit, what follows is eerily reminiscent of the moments that followed our first goal as we win the ball back almost immediately after kick-off and set to work picking our way through the Dutch side again. Tariq Lamptey drifts a pinpoint cross-field pass over to Luca Netz that the left wing-back nods over the unfortunate Aarons for Heywood, the English midfielder driving into the box without challenge…

​

… but unselfishly squaring for Jesper Lindstrøm, the man who deserves so much more credit than he gets, to stroke in and bag our fourth of the final, ending any glimmer of hope our opponents might have had with two minutes left of normal time.

Ajax may have had success in Europe in the past, but this is our time to bask in the spotlight.

Borussia Mönchengladbach win their first ever Champions League as we immortalise ourselves as back-to-back treble winners.

* * * * * * * *
​

“When you think about it, back-to-back trebles of any kind is crazy,” Alexis says as we enter the museum and see the new exhibit being installed to commemorate our victories. “You need so much quality to even win one, but two in a row? Ridiculous.”

“It’s pretty incredible,” I beam. “To think, my teams have won ten major trophies in the last three seasons.”

“That’s very greedy of you,” Alexis teases. “Here it is,” she adds, pointing at a shirt nearly indistinguishable from the one I’d ruined.

I let out the most relieved sigh I think I ever have. “How did you know it was here?”

“Tobias told us both that he had it moved after his due diligence suggested you were a little accident prone,” Alexis says.

“Not wrong there,” I laugh. “How do you remember things like that? I’m so awful at retaining information if it isn’t related to numbers, or written down.”

“I take my job very seriously.” I raise my eyebrows, something that Alexis clearly notices in her peripheral vision. “Not that you don’t, Nicole, I don’t have as many things to worry about as you do, I just mean that I stress a lot about making sure I’ve learned as much as possible to be the best I can possibly be in my role, so random things like specific jerseys in the museum sticks. I’ve also got a good memory when it comes to words, as you may have guessed,” she smiles.

“Makes a lot of sense. You should be very proud of the job you do,” I reply, making Alexis’ pale cheeks turn a slightly pinker tone. “I still wish I wasn’t so forgetful though. There’s probably something I’ve forgotten to do right now, in fact.”

“Your end of season report?” Alexis asks.

“No, I did that.”

“Did you proofread it?”

“Blast.”

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

​

I think we can safely say that we have the best pair of goalkeepers in the Bundesliga.

I said at the start of the season that I felt Oliver Christensen profiled very similarly to Gregor Kobel, and the closeness in their percentages for save rate and pass completion would definitely suggest that’s the case. Both proved themselves to be incredibly reliable whilst taking their turns between the sticks and, with Gregor - the Bundesliga Golden Glove winner - at 30 and Oliver - the Champions League Goalkeeper of the Season - at 29, I see no need to make any changes in this department with both of these top-class ‘keepers in their primes.

​

I was excited last summer to see how the battle to start on the right of our back three would go, and I was not disappointed. Despite Tanguy Nianzou’s decent start to the season, Miloš Šarac was clearly not content to just sit on the sidelines and make up the numbers, the Bundesliga Newcomer of the Year forcing his way into the lineup on a regular basis after performing well whenever given the chance, while his ability to shift to the right wing also opened up the possibility of a mid-game tactical shift that came in handy countless times. Both contributed well on the offensive end too, so I’m eagerly anticipating seeing how this duel continues next season.

Edwin Zamudio’s role in the centre of the three often leaves him being fairly underrated, in my opinion, as his duty is less about active defending and more about his passing and ability to organise the trio, so I’m not overly surprised that some of his numbers are less eye catching than his fellow centre-backs’, something that can also be seen in Abderrazak Talbi’s statistics, though he’s had the benefit of having the occasional match on the left, or even shifting to left-back, to give him the chance to have a little more freedom. Caveats aside, it’s been a good debut season for Abderrazak, and I’m hoping to give him more chances to impress after the break now that he’s had a year to settle in.

Dan-Axel Zagadou has continued to impress as our left-sided centre-back, and his continued good performances have made it difficult for Nico Schlotterbeck to find a way into the team, something that I know is causing some frustration for the German. As such, I would be in favour of allowing him to move on this summer and bringing Cardo Makengo into the first-team fold after a promising six months on loan at Eintracht Frankfurt, or potentially bringing in another option to leave us with an abundance of quality options.

​

I must admit, I’d hoped for a few more than eleven assists for Tariq Lamptey, however the fact he scored TEN goals from right wing-back is more than enough to make up for it - the attacking output I hoped he would bring was definitely out in full force this season, and his Signing of the Season award is fully justified. Joe Scally, meanwhile, has been… alright. To be frank, he’s a perfectly serviceable backup since coming in this January, however he’s primarily here to help us meet the necessary registration rules in the Champions League, so I’d consider looking for a new second-choice wing-back and just keep Joe around to help cover for any injuries.

On the left, Luca Netz’s drop in assists from 24 last campaign to 14 this one makes it pretty clear how much of a step up moving from the Europa League to the Champions League was, however his output is still very impressive and I see absolutely no point in looking for a replacement for him. Someone we will need a replacement for, though, is Robin Gosens. He’s provided a number of iconic moments, including several final-minute assists, however he’s 33 now and isn’t the same player he was when he joined two years ago, so it’s time to look for a new backup and wish our Goal of the Season scorer well in his next step - he’s earned the right to finish his career somewhere he’ll play regularly and we shouldn’t stand in his way.

​

Krystian Bielik continues to do exactly what I ask of him at the base of our midfield and, frankly, anyone expecting me to analyse his performances deeply at this point is delusional - he’s fantastic, I love him, leave us alone.

Manu Koné and Wouter Burger have been a solid pair in the middle of the park this campaign, while each of the young players (Franky Hilgers, Gustavo Gallardo, and Liam Heywood) have done fantastically when asked to step into the roles the seniors perform so well and have developed nicely, however I lost trust in Pierre-Emile Højbjerg after a senseless red card against Freiburg. After that, the Dane was only used sparingly and I’m not bothered that he’s already due to move to Atlético Madrid at the end of his contract as I had no interest in keeping him here permanently.

The men we really need to talk about, though, are the attacking midfielders. Oh boy, the attacking midfielders,

Dominik Szoboszlai has maintained his goal-scoring levels from last season, but also managed to more-than double the number of assists he’s made, nabbing 15 of each for a total of 30 goal involvements in 50 games, but even that’s not as impressive as Jesper Lindstøm’s eight goals and six assists from the same number of appearances. Why’s that, you might ask? Well, 40 of Jesper’s matches came as a substitute, meaning he’s chalking a goal involvement at a rate of 0.82 (0.47 goals, 0.35 assists) per 90 minutes, or nearly double last season’s rate. Bluntly, that’s pretty phenomenal for somebody that, 12 months ago, I had thought might be moved on this summer, so I’d be delighted to keep both him and our Fans’ Player of the Season as my options at the tip of our midfield diamond for at least another season.

​

Nicolò Tresoldi is another that’s seen a dip in his statistics after moving up to the Champions League, but 26 goals and four assists is still an excellent output and our Young Player of the Season’s now by far and away the player with the most goals for me as a manager, which seems ridiculous after only spending half the time in Germany as I did in England and only serves to emphasise the Italian’s quality.

I keep feeling like Mark Barber has had a difficult season, but I’m starting to wonder if it’s just because Nicolò’s numbers are so outrageous. Mark’s found it difficult to usurp our main man and achieved a decent scoring rate, but he’ll need to do more with his chances next season if he wants to get more game time, especially if we keep Emanuel Emegha at the club after his 22-goal loan at PSV.

* * * * * * * *
​

“Very thorough, Nicole, thank you,” Tobias says after I present my report to the board. “Apologies again for getting to you so much later than planned, but I’m sure everybody here would agree that it was worth the wait - and that you found it particularly useful, Roland.” The rest of the people around the table nod and murmur in agreement, while Director of Football Roland Virkus mouths ‘thank you’ to me, giving me a smile and a thumbs up too.

“Not to worry, I didn’t have a lot on anyway,” I say, pushing the thoughts of Mario Kart-related boredom and kit-based stress to the back of my mind.

“Now, we can share a few details with you about why we were held up for so long,” Tobias says, making a few motions on the trackpad of his keyboard. “We’ve just gotten back from visiting the team at CPTV+ and I’m delighted to say that we’ve finalised a deal for them to take over as our front-of-shirt sponsors for the next four seasons in a pretty lucrative deal that’ll provide you with a good budget to work with this transfer window and beyond.”

“That’s great news, Tobias, congratulations,” I nod.

“Thank you. In addition to that, we’re very excited about the multimedia project that’s been included as part of the deal, as it should bring a number of new eyes to the club and really boost our profile overse-”

“Sorry, multimedia project? With the online streaming company?” I interrupt. “You don’t mean…?”

“Yes, Nicole, I do.

“We’re making a documentary.”

* * * * * * * *​

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!

 

[dporter8999]

Great win in the Final, your dominance is amazing! Also love the end of season report, Bielik should have that role until he retires.

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Season Three

Part Twenty-Five
​

Welcome back to Foal From Grace! There are some new faces at Borussia-Park for the new season, and I don't just mean players...

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

Series Links

​

“I still don’t understand why I have to be here,” I grumble.

“As we said before, this is the perfect opportunity to capture both some video footage and some audio clips to be used in the documentary,” Mason Tomlinson from CPTV+ says.

“I’m not quite sure what you’re expecting to get from Nicole at a photoshoot,” Alexis Geiler says, leaning forward in her seat to talk across me.

“Who are you again?” Elliot Vale, also from the documentary team, asks, making Alexis scowl at him.

“Alexis is my Head of International Managerial Affairs,” I interject.

“And what does that entail?”

“None of your business,” Alexis snaps.

“That was very hostile, Alexis,” Mason states.

“Because we were told we would barely notice you filming, yet the season hasn’t even kicked off and you’re already asking us to do things out of the ordinary for the sake of content,” Alexis huffs.

“I do apologise,” Mason says. “Have we taken you both away from something important?”

“I’m the manager of a Champions League-winning football club, I’m always doing something important,” I lie, fully aware that yesterday I spent two hours ranking every flavour of Pringles with Alexis.

“What was on today’s agenda?” Elliot asks.

“We were going to recap the comings and goings of the summer so far, to make sure nowhere in the squad has been left short,” I answer, stopping Alexis before she could say something along the lines of ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’.

“You could still do that now, that’d be perfect for us to splice over footage of the players,” Mason says, eagerly, before adding “as long as you wouldn’t mind, of course.”

“I suppose not, I’d be happy to help,” I say, cutting across Alexis again. I understand her frustrations, and share a number of them, but have decided to play ball - for a month or two, at least.

“Right then” Mason says, pulling his headphones over one ear after fiddling with his tablet for a moment, “could you say something so I can check your microphone levels, please?”

“Kraftfahrzeughaftpflichtversicherung,” Alexis says.

“What on earth does that mean?”

“You can’t speak German?”

“Neither of us can, no,” Elliot says.

“Interesting…” Alexis says, doing her best to hide a mischievous smile. “Nobody at CPTV+ thought this would be a problem, no? Sending two non-German speakers to lead a documentary about a German football club?”

“We figured there’d be enough people that spoke English that we’d get by,” Mason shrugs, making Alexis pull her ‘how-very-native-English-speaker’ face.

“It means ‘motor vehicle indemnity insurance’,” I sigh, “and I’d advise looking for an interpreter, going forward.”

“Thank you, Nicole,” Elliot smiles. “How did you learn that word, by the way?”

“It’s the longest word in the German dictionary, so obviously I had to learn it,” I chuckle. “That, plus, it’s pretty standard to get lots of insurance in Germany, so it comes up more often than you’d expect.”

“I wouldn’t say that we get LOTS of insurance,” Alexis says.

“I had three types of insurance in the UK. By the time you were done giving me your recommendations after I moved here, I had seven.”

“It’s good to be safe…” Alexis mumbles.

“Okay, mics are all set,” Mason declares, looking up from his screen. “Alright then, Nicole, Alexis, why don’t you lead us through the new faces at Borussia Mönchengladbach this summer?”

“Do you want me to include Maurício Cerqueira in that group?” I ask.

​

“If you want, though we must have missed him when we did the introductory interviews,” Elliot says, clearly racking his brain for a memory of who Maurício is.

“You would have,” I laugh. “He’s a 20-year-old Brazilian centre-back we signed from Benfica for an initial €26 million, but we promptly loaned him out to Nice because, as decent a prospect as he is, he needs regular minutes at his age and he isn’t ready to get them here, so a season as a regular in France should help his development massively.”

“He was the last of a small bunch to head out, wasn’t he?” Alexis says.

“Indeed,” I nod. “There were only three other exits of note: Robin Gosens’ planned release, Nico Schlotterbeck’s anticipated departure to be Maurício’s replacement at Benfica for €17.5 million, and Wouter Burger’s totally unexpected sale to AC Milan for €83 million.”

​

“Were you unhappy that he left?” Mason asks.

“Not totally. Yes, he was a good player for us last season, but to make a profit that big on him in just a year was fantastic business, and it refilled the transfer budget after our early spending,” I explain.

“And, like with the departures, there were only three other incomings, right?”

“Yes. Although there were two more noteworthy signings, I think Izet Kullaj’s capture from Panathinaikos for his release fee of €12 million is a tremendous piece of business. He’ll only turn 19 in a few weeks, but he’s already got eight caps for the Greek national team and will hopefully progress into a top-class centre-back while he’s with us.”

​

“Why did you keep him at the club, but loan out Cerqueira?” Elliot asks.

“Now he’s 20, Maurício needs to keep getting regular minutes to continue his development, while I felt Izet would benefit more from being mentored by the squad here and getting a few chances to play, before possibly making a loan switch next season,” I explain.

“Though someone who WILL be getting a lot of chances to play must be new-record-signing Michel Vermeulen after his arrival from Groningen, surely?” Mason queries.

​

“I wouldn’t go spending €66 million, eventually €86 million, on a 20-year-old if I didn’t have plans for him to go straight into the first team,” I confirm. “Michel is already a tremendous player and would be perfect to slot in at the base of our midfield diamond -”

“If you didn’t already have an obsession with Krystian Bielik,” Alexis smirks.

“Has any other man captained two different teams to Champions League wins?” Alexis stares at me for a moment before looking down at her feet. “Exactly. Anyway, as Krystian is the first name on my team sheet, Michel will slot in on the left of our duo in the centre, effectively replacing Wouter like-for-like in a role he’s equally as adept in as he is as a pivot.”

“Sorry, can we go back to your comment about only spending a lot of money on a player you plan on starting?” Elliot says, a confused look on his face. “Did you not endorse the club committing to spending €58 million on Adberrazak Talbi last summer?”

“Your point?”

“He played 12 times.”

“Well, yes, but they were all starts.”

“And were you not Birmingham City manager,” Mason starts, “when the club broke their transfer record to sign Michael Olise, only for almost two-thirds of his appearances to come from the bench?”

“He made a significant contribution, that’s all that mattered,” I shrug. “Look, some deals may look expensive from the outside, but players of sufficient quality and/or high enough potential to warrant signing for a team that wants to win the Champions League are going to cost a lot of money.”

“Does that extend to loans?” Alexis says, raising an eyebrow while referencing the final signing that’s been made so far this window.

Now’s my turn to look a little sheepish. “I needed a backup at left wing-back, and everyone we went in for was either going to cost too much or expect too much game time. Yes, it’s only a loan, and yes, he’s costing €29.5 million for a single season, but it was going to take a lot to convince Blues to part with him. I accept that it’s a pricey deal, but if it’s a reliable squad-player you’re after, you can do a lot worse than recruiting a two-time Champions League winner that you’ve spent several years working with previously,” I reason, finishing just as the door to the studio opens and my squad walks in. Krystian is leading the way, deep in conversation with the man by his side, his former - and now current again - teammate, Ian Maatsen.

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

“Seeing as he’s been a regular at Birmingham the last two years, I’m not surprised he wanted to move back to a club in Europe now their four-year run in the Champions League is over,” Mason says.

“I’m pretty heartbroken by their finishes of ninth and eleventh since I left them, I can’t deny it,” I sigh. I know that their loss is my gain in this instance, but seeing a chunk of my dominant old side be lured away due to Blues dropping out of UEFA’s competitions entirely has hurt me deeply. “If there is a positive, the fact they’ve announced plans to build Trevor Francis Park by 2031 suggests there’s still plenty of demand for tickets back home, plus they finished a place above Villa, even while having a diabolical campaign,” I add with a cheeky grin.

“I’d also suggest that they’re still in a much better position than they would’ve been had you not taken over,” Alexis notes.

“Very true.”

“So, to bring things back to your transfer dealings again, are you happy with the business that's been done and the squad you’ve been left with?” Elliot queries.

​

“I am. We only needed a few positions refreshing this summer, so I’m glad to have gotten them all sorted before the season kicks off, along with making the squad much younger as a result. Unless there’s some late drama, I don’t see any other moves being made this window, apart from Emanuel Emegha’s potential departure, and I’d be perfectly fine with things playing out that way” I say.

“And are you excited to see your boys in their fresh kits for this campaign for the first time?” Elliot adds, gesturing towards my squad in their mix of our three strips for the promotional pictures they’re about to shoot.

​

“To a degree,” I say after a pause that was just too long to keep my feelings discreet.

“Could you elaborate, please?”

“I like all of the kits, it’s just that the away kit doesn’t feel very Fohlen, given its rejection of the traditional white, black, and green colour scheme,” I explain.

“It matches our brand colours at CPTV+ perfectly, though,” Mason smiles.

“This is my point,” I say. “Lovely kit, but not one that sparks thoughts of Borussia.”

“I’m so glad my club hasn’t sold out like this,” Alexis mutters.”

“What was that, sorry?” Mason queries.

“I’m so glad the club expects to sell out of these,” Alexis says, at an audible volume.

“What does ‘Borussia’ mean, by the way?” Elliot enquires.

“Prussia.”

“And Fohlen?”

“Foals,” I frown. “How did you not look either of those up before coming here?”

“We didn’t know they’d be that important,” Mason shrugs. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that look from Alexis again.

“They’re literally two of the four most commonly used words when describing this club,” I scowl. “Borussia Mönchengladbach, Die Fohlen.”

“And what does ‘die’ mean?”

“The,” Alexis says, so bluntly that she may as well have stood up, thrown Mason on the ground, then repeatedly stamped on his family jewels. “You really should have done some more research before taking on this project.”

“Possibly,” Elliot mumbles, “we just thought -”

“Let me guess: people would tell you the most important pieces of information once you got here?” Mason and Elliot glance at each other before both nodding a little nervously, making me sigh as I stand up, Alexis doing the same. “Well, boys, it’s been a pleasure but, if it’s not a problem with you, we both have important matters to get back to.”

“No, of course, go ahead,” Mason says. “Just leave your mics on your chairs and we’ll sort them out.”

“Thanks, hope you capture the content you’re after,” I smile, a little too broadly, doing as instructed before walking towards the exit with Alexis.

“I don’t like them,” she snaps, once out of earshot.

“You made that pretty clear,” I snort. “I’m not a massive fan either, but I’m afraid we’re going to have to get used to them, seeing as they’ll be sticking around a while.

“Things are definitely going to be different here this season.”

* * * * * * * *​

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 Twenty-Six​

Welcome back to Foal From Grace! A plethora of different opponents and competitions await as my third season at Borussia-Park gets underway.

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

Series Links

​

“I’m getting tired of opening the season against Bayern in the Supercup,” I sigh, sitting in the Borussia-Park dressing room with my assistant managers. “Like, we get it, you’re an obnoxiously good team that constantly has to get in the way and ruin things for everybody else, just go away already.”

“Sounds a lot like us,” Kevin Nolan says.

“Does it?”

“Who did we lose to last season?”

“Birmingham, Bayern, and Barcelona, though we then beat Barça in the subsequent shootout,” I add.

“All ‘B’ teams, that’s odd,” Zlatan Bajramović mumbles.

“And which teams did we fail to beat?” Kevin asks.

“Birmingham again, Chelsea, and PSG,” I answer, “all of whom we only played once.”

“Are you getting it yet?”

“I am, yes,” I sigh.

“Point is, you should probably be more appreciative of Bayern’s previous dominance and perpetual presence in the Supercup as they’re probably the only team people are happy to see lose to us in a domestic match,” Kevin explains.

“We can’t be that unpopular, can we? Surely we’re still the happy story of unexpected success?” I ask, looking to Zlatan for support.

“Our first season together? Certainly. Last season? Maybe, people were at least curious to see if we could follow up on our initial glory. This season? Definitely not,” he says, shaking his head.

“Well, I’d rather be in our position now than still trying to scrap our way to the top,” I declare.

“I don’t think either of us disagree with you, Boss - neither of us will ever tire of winning - but you need to stop lying to yourself that we’re anything other than the German equivalent of Liverpool,” Kevin says.

“That’s some comparison,” I chuckle. “Not sure I like it, but I can't argue.”

“You can argue with anyone, Nicole,” Alexis Geiler says as she walks into the dressing room.

“Not true,” I frown, before realising I fell for the bait. “Where have you been?”

“Investigating,” Alexis says, excitedly.

“Investigating what?”

“I can’t tell you, there are cameras in here,” she says, gesturing at the CPTV+ equipment on the walls. “Come with me, all of you.”

Sighing, my assistants and myself follow Alexis out of the room and into a small storage cupboard down the corridor, our colleague turning on the light as she shuts the door.

“This is cosy,” Zlatan grimaces, wedged between a mop bucket and shelves holding toilet rolls.

“What is it then, Lexi? Why are we hiding from the documentary team like we’re teenagers that’ve snuck onto the top level of a multi-storey car park?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“I can’t let them know the interesting secrets I’ve sourced,” she says, cryptically.

“What have you discovered? A plot from the board to relocate the team?”

“The complete science behind how and why tornadoes form?” Zlatan asks.

“The true identity of the individual that shot JFK?” Kevin queries.

“I’m starting to think I’ve made this sound like a bigger deal than it is,” Alexis mumbles.

“We’ll be the judge of that,” Kevin rumbles, a little ominously.

“Do go on,” I say.

“So,” Alexis starts, “while I was by the side of the pitch, I overheard Dani Olmo speaking to one of Bayern’s staff members.”

“This is definitely a big deal,” Zlatan whispers.

“I don’t think he realised I can speak Spanish, or I doubt he’d have been complaining so loudly about having to play out on the right,” Alexis continues. “That feels like a significant boost, doesn’t it?”

I glance at my assistants, both of whom have the same look on their faces as I do.

“That’s a very big boost, Lexi,” I murmur. “If Dani Olmo’s out on the right -”

“Then he’s not as influential as when he’s pulling the strings in the centre of the park,” Kevin nods. “And if he’s not in the centre of the park -”

“He’ll be up against someone much more mobile and capable of sticking with him throughout the game than Krystian is,” Zlatan finishes. I glare at him, but all he does is laugh at me. “Come on, Bossin. As much as you adore Krystian, you know as well as I do that the speeds he achieves in the sprinting drills rank right at the bottom of the squad.”

“Leave him alone, he tries hard,” I grumble, before turning back to Alexis. “This is fantastic, Lexi, thank you.”

“No problem,” she beams.

“One thing though.”

“Yes?”

“Is this really the best choice of meeting room?” I ask, conscious of the teetering stack of cleaning chemicals next to Kevin.

“It’s the only room available to us on matchdays that isn’t filled with cameras,” Alexis shrugs.

“It is, however, filled with numerous things that could fall and hurt us,” I note.

“Point taken,” Alexis says, furrowing her brow. “I’ll look for somewhere less dangerous, and you go back to your preparations - you’ve got a Supercup to win.”

​

Initially, we look a little trepidatious, perhaps a little thrown off by facing a Bayern team managed by Ruud van Nistelrooij after so many years of facing ones managed by Julian Nagelsmann. It’s a new head coach, with a new formation, and a new way of playing, but one thing that has remained consistent is Matthijs de Ligt as the Dutch centre-back follows up on a wobbly performance in last year’s Supercup with another unfortunate moment in this campaign’s, taking Nicolò Tresoldi’s strike from 15 yards out of the path of the committed Marc-Andre ter Stegen’s gloves and into the opposite corner of the net via a deflection off of the defender’s shin to give us the lead going into half-time.

We frustrate Die Roten after the restart, doing what we do best by limiting them to shots from range, and our tactics seem to be working perfectly until Jamal Musiala finds a gap behind Tariq Lamptey and hares to the byline, sending in a low cross that would likely be swept home by Fabio Miretti, if it weren’t for Lamptey’s usurper as record signing, Michel Vermeulen, blocking the Italian to give away a penalty on his Fohlen debut that Dani Olmo - of course, Dani Olmo - smacks into the top-left corner to level the tie. From there, the two sides cancel each other out, both wanting to drive forward, but neither willing to risk conceding, so the final 20 minutes pass without major incident and we head to a penalty shootout for the second time in our last three Supercup fixtures.

The first five takers for both teams put on a clinic, rattling home all ten spot kicks and taking the shootout to sudden death where Liam Heywood takes the eleventh penalty overall, being the first Fohl to shoot to Ter Stegen’s right and also being the first to see his kick saved, silencing all but one corner of Borussia-Park. The young Englishman still hasn't pulled the collar of his shirt back down from over his face by the time Alphonso Davies places the ball on the spot, but Heywood has his blushes spared by his vice-captain when Gregor Kobel makes a full-length dive to his left to prevent Bayern’s Canadian left-back from securing victory for his team. After Dan-Axel Zagadou and Xavi Simons both net, it’s over to our captain, Krystian Bielik, to confidently stonk his kick into the top-right corner ahead of De Ligt stepping up - and his game goes from bad to worse. Never looking confident, the defender’s effort is tame and straight into the gloves of Kobel, finally bringing the contest to a close.

One game gone, one piece of silverware won already.

* * * * * * * *​