dporter8999
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YOU ARE LEAVING?!?!?! WHY? WHERE TO? ARE YOU BREAKING UP YOUR KEVIN AND ZLATAN DREAM TEAM?!?!
Foal From Grace - A Borussia Mönchengladbach Sequel to 'Singing the Blues'
- Thread starter Chonky Panda Tactics
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Chonky Panda Tactics
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Part Thirty-Two
Welcome back to Foal From Grace! As the dust settles around my news, will it distract us from our run of important matches?
“We’ve got to talk about it, Nicole, this is a seismic moment for us, for you, and the club as a whole,” Elliot Vale says, sitting across my desk from me in my office.
“Where do you want me to start?” I ask.
“Give us an overview of the situation,” Mason Tomlinson instructs.
“Alright,” I say, puffing out my cheeks. I then look straight down the lens of the camera. “So, this morning, I made the board aware of my decision to step down as Borussia Mönchengladbach’s manager at the end of this season, a choice I’ve not made lightly, nor impulsively. It may well be a shock to a lot of people, but I believe now is truly the right time to hand over the reins to somebody else, someone who can build on our tremendous success and keep Die Fohlen at the top of German football for even longer.”
“How did you come to the conclusion that leaving would be the right move for you?” Mason asks.
“The main reason is the people.”
“You chose to depart, because of the people?” Elliot queries, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes, but not in the way I think you’re thinking,”
I chuckle. “Just look around the place: Zlatan’s ready to move into management, Kevin could do with a less-hectic schedule to spend more time with his family back home, and there are plenty more people around here who look set to move on to bigger and better things in the near future. I don’t want people to put their own ambitions on hold because they feel obligated to stay the course with me, otherwise they’ll grow resentful - having achieved my goals, it’s only fair to set them free to achieve theirs.”
“Personally, I think you’re a little over-paranoid of people not liking you, Nicole, but we won’t get into that,” Mason says. “How did your staff react when you told them your news, then?”
“Just when I thought I was getting over my abandonment issues.”
“I may have just been a little sick in my mouth.”
“I better find a new office, because I’m not sure I can look at you anymore.”
“They were understanding and respectful,” I say, slightly nervously.
“And your squad? What did they think?”
“You’ve only just learned German, haven’t you?”
“I'll have to ring my therapist, he’ll be thrilled to see me again.”
“Does this mean I’ll get the game time I was promised, at last?”
“Some better than others,” I admit.
“Were there any issues with squad-building or the harmony within the dressing room that influenced your decision?” Elliot asks.
“Actually, quite the opposite. It became clear in January that the squad was in such a good place that, in order to improve, we’d have to spend a lot of money, and the risk of destabilising the happy group we have was too great to make that a risk worth taking, especially with some of the young players we have that’re really pushing to get into that starting lineup,” I explain. “This team is in a terrific place for both the short- and long-term, so I felt it would be the opportune time to allow a new manager to take over and hit the ground running.”
“So you expect that whomever succeeds you will achieve a lot of success themselves?”
“If the appointment is right, I don’t see why not,” I smile. “I have faith that this is only the beginning of a long period of success for this club.”
“Thank you, Nicole,” Mason says, tapping his tablet a few times. “Okay, equipment’s off, good stuff.”
“Now we’re not recording, I do have to ask: the decision to commission another season of our documentary didn’t have anything to do with this, did it?” Elliot asks.
“Not at all,” I say, shaking my head. “Despite our rocky start, I’ve really grown to like the two of you.”
“Well, that’s nice - the feeling’s mutual,” Mason beams, starting to pack away the camera.
“Do you think you’re going to feel any different now, knowing this’ll be your final stretch of games as the boss here?” Elliot asks.
“I’ll definitely savour it more, but I can’t let it change the way I work,” I shrug. “We’ve got some big games coming up though, so I hope the boys won’t let any furore around my departure distract us.”
“Definitely, those Champions League last-16 fixtures against Monaco are going to carry even more weight now,” Mason nods.
“Really? That doesn’t seem like it should be that big of a deal.”
“They’re the only team that’ve beaten Borussia this season, remember?” Elliot reminds his colleague.
“Ah, of course, now I recall,” Mason says. “Didn’t you make a raft of changes, then immediately be made to regret it?”
“Yes, that’s why we’re going as strong as possible this time,” I sigh, tapping my whiteboard.
“Keen to avoid another loss, then?”
“Put it this way: if my two-and-a-half-year unbeaten-streak at Borussia-Park comes to an end at the hands of a Nürnberg double, I’ll be quitting on Saturday evening.”
Fortunately for us, the response is near-instant. Within two minutes, Nicolò Tresoldi has tapped in the rebound from a parried shot of Dominik Szoboszlai’s to level, before it takes a sensational stretch from Martin Turk to tip Manu Koné’s goal-bound effort from 25 yards onto the post. There’s nothing the goalkeeper can do, however, when his teammate, Kai Wagner, later wildly under-hits a pass back to him, allowing Tresoldi to nip in and gently lift over the stranded ‘keeper to complete the turnaround before reaching the midpoint of the opening period.
From there, it all seems very simple, my boys totally controlling the game ahead of adding a third with around a quarter of an hour remaining, courtesy of Tresoldi going coast-to-coast on the break from a Nürnberg corner and squaring to give Tobias Steiner a tap-in from the penalty spot. Even our visitors’ late goal brings a small glint of pride, given it was scored by on-loan-from-us Rainer Schallenberg, though that pride is dwarfed by the frustration at Gregor Kobel’s poppadom-wrists when attempting to keep out the fairly tame header. Fortunately, the job had already been done, and it’s only a consolation as Der Altmeister head home empty handed - much to my relief.
* * * * * * * *
Chonky Panda Tactics
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I know it’s wrong to take joy from the suffering of others, but, by the time we wake up in Monaco on Wednesday morning, I can’t help but feel a little gleeful at the fact that Bayern have lost twice since we edged Nürnberg on Saturday, first being bested by Dortmund in a Klassiker at the Westfalenstadion, before succumbing to a 5-2 defeat at the Camp Nou to Barcelona last night.
Keen to avoid our own embarrassment in the Champions League’s last-16 stage, I only make a few changes to our previous lineup, hoping to put ourselves in the driving seat for when the Monegasques make the return-visit to Germany next week.
After being denied a spectacular goal by Turk at the weekend, it appears that Koné took that slight personally, punctuating a measured first-half performance by collecting the ball in the centre of midfield, skipping past Conor Gallagher, and absolutely belting a strike into the top-right corner from nearly 30 yards to give us a deserved lead to take into the interval.
Our control prevents Monaco from producing any real moments of quality, even from my former loanee, Hannibal Mejbri. As it transpired, the closest our hosts would end up coming to scoring would be from his successor as my number six, Krystian Bielik, when our captain nearly sliced Talles Magno’s low cross into his own net, but we’re fortunate that Oliver Christensen was quick to react and preserve our lead instinctively, giving us an advantage to protect at the halfway point of the tie.
* * * * * * * *
I still can’t quite put my finger on whether the history and presence of Berlin’s Olympiastadion is what makes me feel uneasy, or if it’s due to it being the site of my first Bundesliga defeat, delivered by then-second-bottom Hertha; all I know for sure is that I’m not a massive fan.
Regardless of the locale, we still have a game of football to win, and I’m rather tempting fate by hoping a heavily-changed - albeit, still strong - lineup will be capable of easing past Die Alte Dame with little fuss, allowing us to preserve as much energy for Tuesday’s second-leg fixture against Monaco as possible.
“They’re coming forward again,” I groan, sinking so low in my seat that I resemble a teenager on the back row of a bus.
“Have faith in them, Bossin, they’ll see this over the line,” Zlatan Bajramović says.
“Have faith?!” I laugh, mockingly. “I had faith when we were 3-0 up at half-time, before we had conceded three goals and missed a penalty!”
“Give them credit, Gaffer, those boys managed to halt Hertha’s momentum and retake the lead,” Kevin Nolan frowns.
“We’ve totally dominated the xG too,” Zlatan notes.
“Yet, I’m still trembling with fear,” I scoff.
As I whinge, ex-Fohl Kerem Aktürkoğlu is dispossessed by Abderrazak Talbi, and the centre-back sprays an excellent pass forward to Tresoldi. The forward takes the ball under his spell on the left and turns, spotting Mark Barber making a break through the middle and sliding an inch-perfect pass through our hosts’ backline to set the Englishman free to bear down on goal. If this was any more than six months ago, I’d have no belief that Barber would finish, but the change in the young man’s fortunes since that night against Shakhtar makes it little shock when he smashes past Ersin Destanoğlu one-on-one to make it 5-3 with only a couple of minutes of injury time remaining, ensuring all the points will return to Mönchengladbach with us.
Having leapt out of the dugout with joy, I turn around to see my assistants both smirking at me.
“Okay, maybe I was being a little harsh.”
* * * * * * * *
There’s only a few days between our trip to the capital and Monaco’s visit, but that’s enough time for the DFB-Pokal semi-final draw to take place, pitching us against Dortmund in a Borussen Derby and avoiding Bayern in the process as they face a home tie against Hoffenheim.
But our attentions are very quickly shifted from our domestic cup-completion to our European one again as Tuesday rolls around.
Having rotated somewhat at the weekend, the cycle continues as I make six changes, restoring a few regulars to their starting berths and Christensen in goal, whilst giving Ian Maatsen and Gustavo Gallardo runouts in order to give Luca Netz and Koné some rest.
From the off, it’s already clear which way the match is going when Tresoldi forces Uğurcan Çakir into a good save within the opening four minutes to set the tone. Monaco’s lack of quality is startling, given their second-place position in Ligue 1, and they never get going properly, being completely knocked from their stride when Tariq Lamptey rattles in the opener on the night as we near the half-hour mark.
Instead of bouncing back, our guests fail to register a shot of any kind in the closing period and surrender with little fight, allowing us to put the nail in the coffin with 15 minutes to go when Liam Heywood nuts in Cardo Makengo’s looped cross from the right as we cruise into the quarter-finals.
* * * * * * * *
Keen to avoid our own embarrassment in the Champions League’s last-16 stage, I only make a few changes to our previous lineup, hoping to put ourselves in the driving seat for when the Monegasques make the return-visit to Germany next week.
Our control prevents Monaco from producing any real moments of quality, even from my former loanee, Hannibal Mejbri. As it transpired, the closest our hosts would end up coming to scoring would be from his successor as my number six, Krystian Bielik, when our captain nearly sliced Talles Magno’s low cross into his own net, but we’re fortunate that Oliver Christensen was quick to react and preserve our lead instinctively, giving us an advantage to protect at the halfway point of the tie.
* * * * * * * *
Regardless of the locale, we still have a game of football to win, and I’m rather tempting fate by hoping a heavily-changed - albeit, still strong - lineup will be capable of easing past Die Alte Dame with little fuss, allowing us to preserve as much energy for Tuesday’s second-leg fixture against Monaco as possible.
“Have faith in them, Bossin, they’ll see this over the line,” Zlatan Bajramović says.
“Have faith?!” I laugh, mockingly. “I had faith when we were 3-0 up at half-time, before we had conceded three goals and missed a penalty!”
“Give them credit, Gaffer, those boys managed to halt Hertha’s momentum and retake the lead,” Kevin Nolan frowns.
“We’ve totally dominated the xG too,” Zlatan notes.
“Yet, I’m still trembling with fear,” I scoff.
As I whinge, ex-Fohl Kerem Aktürkoğlu is dispossessed by Abderrazak Talbi, and the centre-back sprays an excellent pass forward to Tresoldi. The forward takes the ball under his spell on the left and turns, spotting Mark Barber making a break through the middle and sliding an inch-perfect pass through our hosts’ backline to set the Englishman free to bear down on goal. If this was any more than six months ago, I’d have no belief that Barber would finish, but the change in the young man’s fortunes since that night against Shakhtar makes it little shock when he smashes past Ersin Destanoğlu one-on-one to make it 5-3 with only a couple of minutes of injury time remaining, ensuring all the points will return to Mönchengladbach with us.
Having leapt out of the dugout with joy, I turn around to see my assistants both smirking at me.
“Okay, maybe I was being a little harsh.”
* * * * * * * *
Having rotated somewhat at the weekend, the cycle continues as I make six changes, restoring a few regulars to their starting berths and Christensen in goal, whilst giving Ian Maatsen and Gustavo Gallardo runouts in order to give Luca Netz and Koné some rest.
Instead of bouncing back, our guests fail to register a shot of any kind in the closing period and surrender with little fight, allowing us to put the nail in the coffin with 15 minutes to go when Liam Heywood nuts in Cardo Makengo’s looped cross from the right as we cruise into the quarter-finals.
* * * * * * * *
Chonky Panda Tactics
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“This is it, then,” Alexis Geiler says, quietly, sitting alone with me in our dressing room.
“It is indeed,” I sigh. “You never know, we might meet again, one day.”
“It’s fairly unlikely, Nicole,” Alexis says.
“Don’t say that.”
“Face it, it is,” she insists. “What are the chances that you’ll face Die Adler again once you’ve left Germany?”
“I could face them in a UEFA competition,” I shrug. “Alternatively, I might come back one day, you never know.”
“Both of these scenarios fall into the ‘fairly unlikely’ category, and you know it,” Alexis says, smiling weakly. “All good things must come to an end, as you said to me the other day.”
“Quite,” I nod, managing a faint smile of my own.
“There is one thing I have planned to mark the occasion, I must admit,” Alexis says. She stands and walks to the office, returning about half a minute later having changed from her regular coat to a club-branded jacket - but not one with Eintracht Frankfurt’s badge on.
“You don’t have to Lexi, really,” I chuckle.
“No, no, I want to,” Alexis says. “But this is a one-time deal, as I can’t risk being disowned too often.”
“If you’re sure,” I beam.
“Of course,” Alexis grins, sitting back down next to me. “Now, seeing as I’m doing this to make you happy, perhaps you could return the favour?”
“How so?”
“Throw the game.”
“Not happening.”
“Please? Please let us go down in history as the first team to beat you at Borussia-Park?”
“I’m not deliberately losing a match, sorry,” I say. “You can ask the lads when they come back if you want, but I won’t.”
“I’ve bent my principles for you, you could return the favour,” Alexis grumbles, shaking her head.
“I would get an enormous ban for match fixing.”
“But it’d make me happy.”
“So would a giant stack of pancakes, doesn’t mean you’ll get that either,” I say.
“I want at least one of those things,” Alexis ponders. “How about, either you lose, or you come to my flat tomorrow and make me pancakes until I feel sick?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No.”
“Then you’ve got a deal.”
Having kept up with Frankfurt’s struggles this season, I’d not been anticipating a great deal of resistance, even having made a number of changes, but I hadn’t been prepared for just how poor Alexis’ team would be, failing to have a shot in a first half that we dominate, Netz opening the scoring when he drills in Heywood’s knockdown at a free kick, before Liam gets on the scoresheet himself, lashing in Franky Hilgers’ flick to the back post at a corner.
Whilst Eintracht look slightly brighter after the restart, the damage had already been done and, but for Noah Atubolu in their goal, we could be even further out of sight by the final whistle, the final whistle for not just the match but also Florian Kohfeldt’s time as Die Adler’s manager.
Perhaps that’s where I should move next?
* * * * * * * *
After Bayern’s elimination from the Champions League at the hands of Barcelona, and after a shock defeat to their Pokal semi-final opponents, Hoffenheim, at the weekend, the wheels look to be well and truly coming off for Ruud van Nistelrooij’s side. It’s at this point, however, it feels pertinent to remind everyone that I’ve only won one of my five games at the Allianz Arena, so this rare midweek-fixture in the Bundesliga is no foregone conclusion.
Quite predictably, I name a full-strength eleven as I prepare to face off with the Bavarians for the final time in the league.
Whilst Bayern look a shadow of the team that won 14 titles in a row whenever they turn up at Borussia-Park, they’re a different beast back home, flying out of the blocks and nearly breaking the deadlock early on when Alphonso Davies cracks the inside of the post from the corner of the six-yard box, only for Edwin Zamudio to sweep off the line before anyone in white can follow in.
Slowly but surely, though, we grow in confidence, gradually steadying ourselves and matching up well with our hosts. With the match carefully balanced, I take a risk and switch to our 4-3-3, a decision that pays off almost instantly when Šarac bombs down the right and feeds a pass inside for Lamptey to sweep past Marc-Andre ter Stegen to hand us the advantage.
From there, we slowly squeeze the life out of the game, reducing Bayern to shots from range and limiting the influence of Dani Olmo until, with seconds remaining, the Spaniard comes inside and slices right through our stodgy set-up to play in Youssoufa Moukoko. The former-Dortmund man looks to have all the time in the world to steady himself, get the ball out of his feet, and… have his shot blocked by Šarac, who’d made an incredible recovery-run to make up ground on the forward and dive in front of the effort, without clattering through Moukoko in the process.
A magnificent piece of defending ensures I complete my first league-double over Bayern as we continue to stretch our lead at the top of the Bundesliga well into double-digits, and the biggest hurdle in our hunt for a third-successive title is passed.
In this form, it seems like no one will be able to stop us in our chase for a treble-treble.
* * * * * * * *
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!
“It is indeed,” I sigh. “You never know, we might meet again, one day.”
“It’s fairly unlikely, Nicole,” Alexis says.
“Don’t say that.”
“Face it, it is,” she insists. “What are the chances that you’ll face Die Adler again once you’ve left Germany?”
“I could face them in a UEFA competition,” I shrug. “Alternatively, I might come back one day, you never know.”
“Both of these scenarios fall into the ‘fairly unlikely’ category, and you know it,” Alexis says, smiling weakly. “All good things must come to an end, as you said to me the other day.”
“Quite,” I nod, managing a faint smile of my own.
“There is one thing I have planned to mark the occasion, I must admit,” Alexis says. She stands and walks to the office, returning about half a minute later having changed from her regular coat to a club-branded jacket - but not one with Eintracht Frankfurt’s badge on.
“You don’t have to Lexi, really,” I chuckle.
“No, no, I want to,” Alexis says. “But this is a one-time deal, as I can’t risk being disowned too often.”
“If you’re sure,” I beam.
“Of course,” Alexis grins, sitting back down next to me. “Now, seeing as I’m doing this to make you happy, perhaps you could return the favour?”
“How so?”
“Throw the game.”
“Not happening.”
“Please? Please let us go down in history as the first team to beat you at Borussia-Park?”
“I’m not deliberately losing a match, sorry,” I say. “You can ask the lads when they come back if you want, but I won’t.”
“I’ve bent my principles for you, you could return the favour,” Alexis grumbles, shaking her head.
“I would get an enormous ban for match fixing.”
“But it’d make me happy.”
“So would a giant stack of pancakes, doesn’t mean you’ll get that either,” I say.
“I want at least one of those things,” Alexis ponders. “How about, either you lose, or you come to my flat tomorrow and make me pancakes until I feel sick?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No.”
“Then you’ve got a deal.”
Whilst Eintracht look slightly brighter after the restart, the damage had already been done and, but for Noah Atubolu in their goal, we could be even further out of sight by the final whistle, the final whistle for not just the match but also Florian Kohfeldt’s time as Die Adler’s manager.
Perhaps that’s where I should move next?
* * * * * * * *
Quite predictably, I name a full-strength eleven as I prepare to face off with the Bavarians for the final time in the league.
Slowly but surely, though, we grow in confidence, gradually steadying ourselves and matching up well with our hosts. With the match carefully balanced, I take a risk and switch to our 4-3-3, a decision that pays off almost instantly when Šarac bombs down the right and feeds a pass inside for Lamptey to sweep past Marc-Andre ter Stegen to hand us the advantage.
From there, we slowly squeeze the life out of the game, reducing Bayern to shots from range and limiting the influence of Dani Olmo until, with seconds remaining, the Spaniard comes inside and slices right through our stodgy set-up to play in Youssoufa Moukoko. The former-Dortmund man looks to have all the time in the world to steady himself, get the ball out of his feet, and… have his shot blocked by Šarac, who’d made an incredible recovery-run to make up ground on the forward and dive in front of the effort, without clattering through Moukoko in the process.
A magnificent piece of defending ensures I complete my first league-double over Bayern as we continue to stretch our lead at the top of the Bundesliga well into double-digits, and the biggest hurdle in our hunt for a third-successive title is passed.
In this form, it seems like no one will be able to stop us in our chase for a treble-treble.
* * * * * * * *
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
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Part Thirty-Three
Welcome back to Foal From Grace! Three derbies, two Champions League matches, and a surprisingly important match against Wolfsburg - they're all big this week.
“I can’t believe it took me handing in my resignation for the board to greenlight a coaching-staff-versus-players paintball match during an international break,” I smile, tightening the straps on my gloves.
“It’s probably got something to do with not wanting any of their highly paid athletes to pick up an injury from scrambling around a forest,” Alexis Geiler suggests, sitting on a log and swinging her feet from side to side, scraping the ground each time they pass her torso.
“And me leaving affects that how?”
“Maybe it doesn’t, maybe it’s just that there’s more players away with their national teams than there used to be so the risk is a lot lower, even with a Rhein Derby and Champions League quarter-finals against Arsenal to come straight after the resumption of club football,” Alexis reasons.
“They’ve been here long enough to have provided a good return on investment,” Alexis shrugs, making me snigger. “You have to admit though, there aren’t many first-team members left behind during international breaks now.”
“That’s true, it’s the main reason we asked the reserves and under-19s to take part too, to balance out the numbers a bit,” I say. “Plus, it means Daria can join us and increase the number of women by 50 per cent.” I gesture across the clearing at Daria Baumann, one of the performance analysts for the academy, as she inspects her weapon on the other side of the clearing.
“I thought it’d just be the three of us when you said we’d be part of an ‘all-woman team’,” Alexis says.
“I think you’ll find I said an ‘all-the-women team’,” I confirm, before looking to where my own coaching team is huddled. “They don’t look very inspiring, do they?”
“Not really, but they’ll get into the spirit of things soon,” Alexis suggests.
“I’ve got an idea,” I declare, “I’ll be right back.” I could’ve sworn I heard Alexis make a sarcastic comment as I swept away, however I’m already most of the way over to my colleagues by that point.
“… and that’s why you should always wear a snood to cover the exposed flesh on your neck,” I hear Zlatan Bajramović conclude as I near the group. “Oh, hey, Bossin,” he says when he notices me, the rest responding similarly.
“Listen,” I hiss, disregarding pleasantries and startling the men a little. “The other coaching teams are looking to us, to the first team, to lead, and what will they see? Frightened bilgerats moping in a dingy forest? No, no they will see passionate men and passion! And what the enemy will see, they will see the flash of our guns, and they will hear the whistling of our paintballs, and they will know what we can do! By the sweat of our brow and the strength of our backs and the courage in our hearts! Gentlemen, hoist the colours!” I demand, raising my bright-green armband into the air.
Everyone stares at me in a confused silence.
“I’d like to say I was inspired, Boss, but I can’t take you seriously if you’re going to rip a speech straight from Pirates of the Caribbean,” Kevin Nolan says, after an uncomfortable ten seconds.
“I thought that’s what it was - Elizabeth Swan in the third one, right?” Maik Taylor, my goalkeeping coach, asks.
“That’s the one, At World’s End,” Kevin nods.
“I thought I’d get away with that,” I sigh.
“We’re both native English-speakers and have kids, you plank.”
“Do you want another go?” Maik suggests.
“It’s fine, I’ve got this,” Zlatan proclaims, turning to the huddle and puffing out his chest. “Men, I’ll put this very simply: it’s the players. I know that I’m not alone when I admit that shooting one or two with a high-velocity capsule sounds very appealing.” No one agrees, but their lack of objection is enough. “Now, I’m sure a lot of those coaches over there will share in our sentiments, but perhaps they’re not sure about whether it would be deemed ‘extreme’, or ‘unprofessional’ to act that way in front of the senior team’s staff? That’s why we need to go and mingle with them, and make sure they know that we won’t settle for letting those players roll over us, and we’ll do whatever is necessary to win - and they should feel emboldened to as well. For the coaches!” he finishes, raising his armband into the air.
“For the coaches!” his cry echoes, the sprouting green leaves turned into a complete sky of emerald by our colleagues.
“That was incredible,” I mumble. “Why did he deliver it in English, though?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t care,” Kevin whispers. “I think I’m in love.”
Other than Kean’s offside strike, our rivals are nowhere to be seen. They look flat, intimidated, and bereft of confidence, encapsulated by Aster Vranckx’s poor attempt to tackle Koné in Köln’s area that gifts us a penalty, and Nicolò Tresoldi duly dispatches for his 30th goal of the season.
From there, Köln capitulate, allowing Tresoldi to sweep in a second shortly after his first, before Tariq Lamptey tees up Jesper Lindstrøm to flick in our third just after the hour mark, putting the final flourish on a dominant performance as we round out the final few minutes to a chorus of ‘ole’s.
* * * * * * * *
Chonky Panda Tactics
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It‘s baffling to me that, despite moving to Germany, I’ll have faced Arsenal as many times in my three years at Die Fohlen as I did over the course of my first three years at Birmingham City.
Having faced The Gunners at the same stage of the Champions League last season, I’m optimistic of getting past them again in this year’s quarter-finals, especially with Jack Wilshere standing in as caretaker manager after Roberto Mancini’s sacking a couple of months ago, so I name a near-full-strength lineup in the hope we’ll put ourselves in firm control for the return leg next week in Mönchengladbach.
When Netz thumps past Aaron Ramsdale to cap a marvellous team-move in the fifth minute, it gave me the impression that we might be in store for a fruitful trip to London, however the hiding never comes. We’re not quite sharp enough to finish the chances we’re creating, and my concerns that we’re going to allow our hosts back into the contest come to fruition on the hour when William Saliba powers in Martin Ødegaard’s back-post corner.
We huff, we puff, we even switch to our 4-3-3, but we just can’t find the one bit of quality we need to reclaim the lead, ending our winning run in all competitions at 17 matches, but, crucially, we don’t crumble and concede another, leaving the tie finely balanced ahead of the second leg to come.
* * * * * * * *
Remember last season, when we had simple matches against Werder Bremen and Nürnberg between the legs of our Champions League knock-out ties? I clearly didn’t, seeing as I'd forgotten how wobbly we were when drawing both those games until Zlatan reminded me during our morning meeting. Point is, I’d still much rather either of those opponents and the chance to risk wholesale changes than the trip to the Westfalenstadion for a Borussen Derby that Saturday brings.
With Dortmund still holding on to fading hopes of clawing their way back into the title race, I can’t make as many alterations as I’d usually hope to, so only Dan-Axel Zagadou, Netz, Koné, and Tresoldi from those I intend to field on Tuesday are able to get a rest as I cross my fingers that their absence won’t be felt too strongly.
My goodness, we are dreadful.
Absentees or not, being torn to shreds as we were by Der BVB borders on embarrassing, constantly being pulled apart and exploited by our hosts’ speed out wide. I’m thankful that the inside of each of our posts and an inspired performance from Dortmund-old-boy Gregor Kobel keep Karim Adeyemi, Alexis Mac Allister, Nahuel Molina, et al. at bay, but it seems implausible that we can survive the onslaught without conceding.
So, obviously, we do somehow, and our blue-hot striker - not Tresoldi this time, but Mark Barber - snaffles an unbelievably undeserved goal with our only shot on target to seal the three points and put us just one win from the title.
Glorious.
* * * * * * * *
“I don’t understand how you can eat that,” Kevin says, grimacing at Elliot Vale.
“I don’t see the problem.”
“Sushi does not belong in a sandwich.”
“I like to think of it as ‘fusion food’,” Elliot says.
“Think whatever you like, it’s an abomination.”
“I’m sure there’s something you enjoy eating that other people would find weird, Kevin,” I suggest.
“Probably not, my body is a temple,” he states.
“Don’t you fill temples with decadent gifts to the gods, so offering them something unusual, or unique, would actually be preferable?” Mason Tomlinson asks. Kevin visibly struggles to comprehend how to respond.
“All prepared for tonight, aren’t we, Boss?” he eventually says, clearly having admitted defeat in his mind.
“We are,” I nod. “We’ve got a full-strength outfield that looks much fresher than I would expect, and Oliver looks sharp and ready to step in for Gregor, as per.”
“You had a few months at West Ham while Jack Wilshere was there, didn’t you, Kevin?” Mason queries.
“A few,” Kevin confirms.
“Any insight you had into his coaching methods?” Elliot asks.
“Not really, he was only 28 at the time,” Kevin shrugs.
“Does that mean he’s only 37 now?” Mason ponders.
“Yeah, injuries really were not kind to him,” I sigh. “Shame, really, because he was a tremendous footballer when fit.”
“Well, he could be a tremendous coach too,” Elliot smirks. “He has already got a draw against the Champions of Europe, after all.”
“Now might be a pertinent time to remind you of how fragile your camera is, Elliot.”
I often claim that Borussia-Park is magic, which might seem baseless, but nights like this are exactly the reason I’ve started to believe it might well be.
This time, I don’t get ahead of myself when we break the deadlock in the 13th minute as Tresoldi sweeps in from near the penalty spot, but it’s difficult not to when Dominik Szoboszlai bends a 25-yard free kick perfectly into the top-right corner only a couple of minutes later.
Arsenal struggle to regroup and retaliate, barely threatening before the interval, and they don’t look to have settled themselves much in their dressing room as play has barely resumed by the time Zagadou flights a beautiful ball forward from the halfway line, bamboozling The Gunners’ centre-backs but not Tresoldi as the Italian takes one touch to take the sting off of the ball, then blasts past Ramsdale for his second of the game. Not to be outdone, Szoboszlai makes it his mission to also net a brace, and he does so when he recreates his free kick from the first half in front of the Nordkurve to make it four goals on the night.
As if we needed any more proof that this was our night, Gabriel Jesus manages to typify Arsenal's struggles when he hits the post from four yards with Oliver Christensen already committed on the other side of the goal, summing up the tie perfectly as we confidently dispatch our visitors and march on to the semi-finals, where we’ll meet another London-based club that seems inseparable from my career: Chelsea.
* * * * * * * *
Having faced The Gunners at the same stage of the Champions League last season, I’m optimistic of getting past them again in this year’s quarter-finals, especially with Jack Wilshere standing in as caretaker manager after Roberto Mancini’s sacking a couple of months ago, so I name a near-full-strength lineup in the hope we’ll put ourselves in firm control for the return leg next week in Mönchengladbach.
We huff, we puff, we even switch to our 4-3-3, but we just can’t find the one bit of quality we need to reclaim the lead, ending our winning run in all competitions at 17 matches, but, crucially, we don’t crumble and concede another, leaving the tie finely balanced ahead of the second leg to come.
* * * * * * * *
With Dortmund still holding on to fading hopes of clawing their way back into the title race, I can’t make as many alterations as I’d usually hope to, so only Dan-Axel Zagadou, Netz, Koné, and Tresoldi from those I intend to field on Tuesday are able to get a rest as I cross my fingers that their absence won’t be felt too strongly.
Absentees or not, being torn to shreds as we were by Der BVB borders on embarrassing, constantly being pulled apart and exploited by our hosts’ speed out wide. I’m thankful that the inside of each of our posts and an inspired performance from Dortmund-old-boy Gregor Kobel keep Karim Adeyemi, Alexis Mac Allister, Nahuel Molina, et al. at bay, but it seems implausible that we can survive the onslaught without conceding.
So, obviously, we do somehow, and our blue-hot striker - not Tresoldi this time, but Mark Barber - snaffles an unbelievably undeserved goal with our only shot on target to seal the three points and put us just one win from the title.
Glorious.
* * * * * * * *
“I don’t see the problem.”
“Sushi does not belong in a sandwich.”
“I like to think of it as ‘fusion food’,” Elliot says.
“Think whatever you like, it’s an abomination.”
“I’m sure there’s something you enjoy eating that other people would find weird, Kevin,” I suggest.
“Probably not, my body is a temple,” he states.
“Don’t you fill temples with decadent gifts to the gods, so offering them something unusual, or unique, would actually be preferable?” Mason Tomlinson asks. Kevin visibly struggles to comprehend how to respond.
“All prepared for tonight, aren’t we, Boss?” he eventually says, clearly having admitted defeat in his mind.
“We are,” I nod. “We’ve got a full-strength outfield that looks much fresher than I would expect, and Oliver looks sharp and ready to step in for Gregor, as per.”
“You had a few months at West Ham while Jack Wilshere was there, didn’t you, Kevin?” Mason queries.
“A few,” Kevin confirms.
“Any insight you had into his coaching methods?” Elliot asks.
“Not really, he was only 28 at the time,” Kevin shrugs.
“Does that mean he’s only 37 now?” Mason ponders.
“Yeah, injuries really were not kind to him,” I sigh. “Shame, really, because he was a tremendous footballer when fit.”
“Well, he could be a tremendous coach too,” Elliot smirks. “He has already got a draw against the Champions of Europe, after all.”
“Now might be a pertinent time to remind you of how fragile your camera is, Elliot.”
This time, I don’t get ahead of myself when we break the deadlock in the 13th minute as Tresoldi sweeps in from near the penalty spot, but it’s difficult not to when Dominik Szoboszlai bends a 25-yard free kick perfectly into the top-right corner only a couple of minutes later.
Arsenal struggle to regroup and retaliate, barely threatening before the interval, and they don’t look to have settled themselves much in their dressing room as play has barely resumed by the time Zagadou flights a beautiful ball forward from the halfway line, bamboozling The Gunners’ centre-backs but not Tresoldi as the Italian takes one touch to take the sting off of the ball, then blasts past Ramsdale for his second of the game. Not to be outdone, Szoboszlai makes it his mission to also net a brace, and he does so when he recreates his free kick from the first half in front of the Nordkurve to make it four goals on the night.
As if we needed any more proof that this was our night, Gabriel Jesus manages to typify Arsenal's struggles when he hits the post from four yards with Oliver Christensen already committed on the other side of the goal, summing up the tie perfectly as we confidently dispatch our visitors and march on to the semi-finals, where we’ll meet another London-based club that seems inseparable from my career: Chelsea.
* * * * * * * *
Chonky Panda Tactics
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So, the scenario is simple when mid-table Wolfsburg come to town on Sunday: win, and we’re Champions.
With Arsenal’s visit on Tuesday and Dortmund again on Wednesday, this time in the DFB-Pokal, a few changes are in order as Kobel returns in goal and Izet Kullaj, Cardo Makengo, Liam Heywood, and Lindstrøm get starts outfield.
All being well, we’ll still have enough quality, along with some Borussia-Park sorcery, to get the job done.
I stand in my technical area as time winds down with butterflies in my stomach. The damage had been done in the opening period. It was written in the stars that, of course, Krystian Bielik would open the scoring with a thunderbolt from the edge of the area, because that’s just the sort of thing he does. My glorious captain being backed up by Tresoldi was even more inevitable though, caressing in a penalty before nabbing a second when he spun Bright Arrey-Mob and drilled in from 12 yards. Both of those men have been so instrumental to my success in Germany. It’s a shame that the vice-captain couldn’t have the same satisfaction, but there was little Kobel could do about Maurits Kjærgaard’s close-range effort that was worth over 0.5 xG.
In a way, winning the title at a canter doesn’t bring me the same thrill as a close-run chase to the end, but it still brings me as much joy, and possibly even more satisfaction.
As the final whistle sounds, the shared delight that’d been bottled up inside everyone associated with Die Fohlen comes flooding out - and even a stadium as big as Borussia-Park struggles to contain it.
Borussia Mönchengladbach are the 2028/29 winners of the Bundesliga and, at the seventh attempt, I’ve finally won a league title in my home stadium.
* * * * * * * *
One piece of silverware down, two to go in our hunt for the treble-treble, and our Pokal semi-final against Dortmund is the next hurdle we need to clear as we aim to make it three huge victories in nine days at home.
Whilst we were moving joint-third with Der BVB for Bundesliga titles on Sunday, the other Borussia were busy losing to Mainz, however that doesn’t mean I’m willing to risk assuming they’ll be easier opponents this time, so I name a near-full-strength eleven in our quest to make Die Fohlen’s fifth-consecutive final of this competition.
It’s a cagey opening period as chances are at a premium, but we finally open the scoring via Tresoldi soon after the half-hour mark. Liftoff, right? Well, no, because it’s only six minutes before Tanguy Nianzou is unfortunate to stick the ball straight past Christensen whilst sliding in to block Mike Assauer’s low cross, restoring parity.
While we have the upper hand for the most part, Dortmund aren’t rolling over easily, but, once we finally breach them again, we do so twice in quick succession when super-sub Lindstrøm rifles in Gustavo Gallardo’s cut-back, before Ian Maatsen bulldozes his way down the left and batters past Axel Vettel from close range.
Though Giacomo Bettistini does get one back for Dortmund late on, it’s already deep into injury time and it makes little difference when the referee ends the game only seconds later.
“Another trip to Berlin then,” I beam to my assistants, having returned from shaking hands with Roger Schmidt.
“Good, I still have so much to learn about this country’s history,” Kevin says. “Oh, and the cup final will be big too.”
“I don’t think you need me to tell you that that was close, but still much better than when we last played them,” Zlatan smiles.
“You’re right about that,” I chuckle. “How did the other semi-final go?”
“Hoffenheim won 8-2,” Kevin states.
“Really?!”
“Of course not, you gullible plum.”
“It finished 4-1,” Zlatan tells me, “and not to Hoffenheim.”
“Well, I guess it’s fitting, in a way,” I half-laugh. “I came to Germany with the goal of claiming trophies at the expense of Bayern, after all.
“Now, I’ll get one more chance to do exactly that.”
* * * * * * * *
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!
With Arsenal’s visit on Tuesday and Dortmund again on Wednesday, this time in the DFB-Pokal, a few changes are in order as Kobel returns in goal and Izet Kullaj, Cardo Makengo, Liam Heywood, and Lindstrøm get starts outfield.
All being well, we’ll still have enough quality, along with some Borussia-Park sorcery, to get the job done.
In a way, winning the title at a canter doesn’t bring me the same thrill as a close-run chase to the end, but it still brings me as much joy, and possibly even more satisfaction.
As the final whistle sounds, the shared delight that’d been bottled up inside everyone associated with Die Fohlen comes flooding out - and even a stadium as big as Borussia-Park struggles to contain it.
Borussia Mönchengladbach are the 2028/29 winners of the Bundesliga and, at the seventh attempt, I’ve finally won a league title in my home stadium.
* * * * * * * *
Whilst we were moving joint-third with Der BVB for Bundesliga titles on Sunday, the other Borussia were busy losing to Mainz, however that doesn’t mean I’m willing to risk assuming they’ll be easier opponents this time, so I name a near-full-strength eleven in our quest to make Die Fohlen’s fifth-consecutive final of this competition.
While we have the upper hand for the most part, Dortmund aren’t rolling over easily, but, once we finally breach them again, we do so twice in quick succession when super-sub Lindstrøm rifles in Gustavo Gallardo’s cut-back, before Ian Maatsen bulldozes his way down the left and batters past Axel Vettel from close range.
Though Giacomo Bettistini does get one back for Dortmund late on, it’s already deep into injury time and it makes little difference when the referee ends the game only seconds later.
“Another trip to Berlin then,” I beam to my assistants, having returned from shaking hands with Roger Schmidt.
“Good, I still have so much to learn about this country’s history,” Kevin says. “Oh, and the cup final will be big too.”
“I don’t think you need me to tell you that that was close, but still much better than when we last played them,” Zlatan smiles.
“You’re right about that,” I chuckle. “How did the other semi-final go?”
“Hoffenheim won 8-2,” Kevin states.
“Really?!”
“Of course not, you gullible plum.”
“It finished 4-1,” Zlatan tells me, “and not to Hoffenheim.”
“Well, I guess it’s fitting, in a way,” I half-laugh. “I came to Germany with the goal of claiming trophies at the expense of Bayern, after all.
“Now, I’ll get one more chance to do exactly that.”
* * * * * * * *
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
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Part Thirty-Four
Welcome back to Foal From Grace! There's a chance at beating last season's records, an attempt at making my assistants happy, and the small matter of the Champions League semi-finals in this final multi-game episode.
This really is it - the final stretch. A maximum of nine more games, possibly only eight, I think to myself, sitting at my desk, supposedly working on tactics.
I gaze out the window at Borussia-Park, at the beauty of its location in a quiet area just outside of town, the metalwork like enormous, robotic tentacles rising from the earth that’re trying to pull the stadium into the dirt, and the exposed concrete ridges of the underside of each block of seats that nestle between them. In many ways, it’s so different from St. Andrew’s, yet it’s come to feel every bit like home, and I have no doubts I’ll miss it just as much as I do the first ground I ever loved once I leave.
A knock at the door pulls me from my contemplative state.
“Kommen,” I answer.
“That’s not a very nice thing to call your wife,” Beth grins as she enters.
“You’re one of a kind, Honey, don’t you worry about that,” I smile back.
“I’m glad you didn’t call me ‘one in a million’, given that would imply there’s 8,000 people just like me,” she says, sitting in the chair across from mine.
“I wouldn’t dare,” I laugh. “Lexi’s in a meeting, if you came to see her; I assume she’ll be done soon.”
“I came to see you too, don’t be silly,” she reassures me. “What’s her meeting about?”
“Don’t know, she didn’t say.”
“Didn’t you ask?”
“No, it’s none of my business,” I shrug. “She presumably kept her calendar event vague on purpose.”
“Maybe she’s skiving,” Beth suggests.
“I think you underestimate how much work gets done in this office.”
“Another concerning thing to say to your wife,” Beth teases. “Are you not working now?”
“I should be, but I’m a little too contemplative at the moment,” I explain.
“You’ve been very reflective and thoughtful recently,” Beth notes. “Are you planning on getting back to being silly more often?”
“Sorry, I’ll do my best to,” I chuckle. “I’ve thrown myself off my usual kilter by announcing my departure in advance.”
“Yeah, but we both know it’s the right choice,” Beth states. “We went over this decision and all the ramifications enough times, after all.”
“I know, doesn’t stop me from having some doubts though,” I say.
“I don’t have any,” Beth says, rather bluntly. “You’re motivated by projects, continuously improving things until you’re happy with its standard. Then, once they make it to your expectations, you deem it a job done and you move on - you’ve never liked outstaying your welcome.”
“I suppose,” I mumble.
“You don’t ‘suppose’: you know,” Beth snorts. “You’ve done a terrific job, and you should be proud, but all things must end and it’s best you go out on your terms. It’s also only fair you gave some notice, given the chaos that seemed to engulf Blues after you left.”
“They did win another Champions League,” I note.
“And they’ve only just settled again under the third manager to be appointed since your departure.”
“Fair point.”
“I know you don’t like endings, but it’ll be good for you to start something fresh, seeing as there isn’t much more to aim for here, outside of beating your own records,” Beth says, softly.
“I know, I really do,” I nod. “I’ll miss this club though, that’s for sure.”
“Don’t worry about what you’ll miss once it’s gone - focus on enjoying what you have while you’ve got it.”
“Wise words,” I say. “After all, I don’t regret leaving Blues, and I wouldn’t have fallen in love with Die Fohlen if I hadn’t. I feel a little sad that they struggled once I was gone, but I left them in a far better state than I found them.”
“Exactly, and the same will be true here,” Beth smiles. “Now, get back to your normal self and stop worrying, because that’s how you end up over-complicating things and making a meal of them.”
“That’s a little harsh.”
“Am I wrong?”
“No,” I grumble. “So, in the spirit of not over complicating things, I guess that makes a few decisions for the weekend a lot simpler.”
“Make a host of changes with the Champions League coming on Wednesday?”
“Spot on,” I beam. “See, I knew you’d start getting into football at some point.”
“No, you just talk a lot and it’s difficult to keep tuning you out.”
“You really do say the sweetest things sometimes.”
With the switch to our 4-3-3 made, we surprisingly seem more stable defensively and slowly start to build momentum, progressively getting the ball into more dangerous areas until we finally find the net via Liam Heywood’s head and claim the lead we deserve.
Despite my desire for a more comfortable scoreline, pragmatism has to come first. Keen to get as much rest for my planned lineup in the Champions League, I haul off the regulars and set about ruining this game of football, gradually lowering the speed and fluency of each team’s play like a record player powered by dying batteries until I hit the stodge button to squeeze the final few moments into submission and slip away from the PreZero Arena with all three points.
* * * * * * * *
Chonky Panda Tactics
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I often wonder if Stefano Pioli regrets taking the Birmingham job after I left. Taking over the reigning European Champions, a team that’d just gone a whole season unbeaten, must not have been an easy task, seeing as there was little direction for him to go but down. Still, he set Blues up for the next Champions League title, I guess, and here he is in the semi-finals with Chelsea this year, so perhaps the Italian has moved on.
With the scale of the occasion speaking for itself, the only eleven I could possibly name for our clash at Stamford Bridge is the strongest one available, with Oliver Christensen performing his usual non-Bundesliga-duties between the sticks.
We ravage Chelsea right from the start and take firm control before the opening quarter is over, courtesy of a quick-fire double from Nicolò Tresoldi and Dominik Szoboszlai. They’re all at sea and can’t cope with our movement and passing as we keep pulling them open - we are simply glorious.
Until, suddenly, we’re not.
I get a little tense once Mason Mount finds too much space in our area to convert Marc Cucurella’s low cross shortly before half-time, and I was right to as the pendulum gradually swings in our hosts’ favour. The pressure starts to build and our resistance, often so strong, simply can’t hold forever, however the manner in which it breaks is incredibly disappointing as Josip Šutalo bags a two-minute brace to turn the game completely on its head, first crashing home a near-post corner before drilling in from the edge of the area at the next corner as we fail to cope with their building momentum.
It’s been a long time since I’ve watched my team capitulate from a commanding position, and I start questioning whether my boys are capable of bouncing back after such disappointment, given how rarely they deal with this kind of scenario, so I get them to alter their shape to a 4-2-3-1 and just go for it, but time is not on our side.
Fortunately, it only takes a second to score a goal.
With our prospects looking bleak, we work the ball forward with laser precision to Cardo Makengo and the young defender finally manages to finds some space on our right to get the ball out of his feet and skid a dangerous ball through the six-yard box that Édouard Mendy can’t get a hold of, leaving the goal gaping for Ian Maatsen to tap into at the back post, pulling us level against his former club and salvaging a draw at the death.
It’ll be all square when we meet again in Germany next week.
* * * * * * * *
As challenges go, facing fifth-placed RB Leipzig on the Saturday immediately after an energy-sapping trip abroad in the Champions League with a half-strength team is a rather daunting one. Zinedine Zidane’s side have been in impressive form since the turn of the year, so this’ll be an immense test of Borussia-Park’s powers as I cross my fingers and pledge to only keep one eye open throughout the 90.
We are so incredibly - yet unsurprisingly - disjointed in the first half, conspiring to concede soon after the half-hour mark when Luka Romero frees Benjamin Šeško to race through and smash past Kobel to silence our fans.
I struggle to believe the pummeling can get much worse, so I decide early to switch to a 4-3-3, though its lack of impact means we later change to a 4-2-3-1 again and, this time, things start to click. We’re moving the ball faster, we’re generating chances, and we’re seizing control, something that Leipzig can’t cope with forever and their backline finally succumbs to our pressure with just over a quarter of an hour to go when Barber pounds Maatsen’s square ball into the bottom-right corner on the counter, nabbing the equaliser we deserve and, although we can’t quite find a winner, a draw still keeps my undefeated home-record intact.
* * * * * * * *
Everybody calm again? No? Not surprised, it’s only a three-day break until the stakes get even higher again.
Whilst I’ve been impressed by our ability to come from behind so often in the last few weeks, I could do without so much stress, so here’s hoping that the same lineup that started last midweek will be able to shake that habit as Chelsea visit for our second-leg face-off.
After all, it’s only the Champions League final at stake.
In stark contrast to the previous contest, the first half is fairly quiet and, whilst we definitely have the better of proceedings, the only incident of note is record-signing Michel Vermeulen breaking his toe shortly before the interval, an injury that’ll keep him out of action for the rest of the season.
Post-restart, it’s more of the same, and it looks like it’s going to take something special to really spark the final quarter of regular time into life, however it turns out to be the complete opposite. With Manu Koné harmlessly drifting across the right-hand edge of Chelsea’s area, it should be fairly straightforward to shepherd him either towards the nearby touchline or goal line, or back towards our goal. So, what does Frank Kessié decide to do? Why, he feels it entirely necessary to sprint directly into Koné, like Sonic the Hedgehog with the joystick stuck all the way to the right, handing us an incredibly cheap penalty that Tresoldi places perfectly into the bottom-left corner to tilt the balance in our favour.
Our visitors struggle to respond and I am delighted, happy to slow down the match and watch Chelsea’s hopes fade as time ebbs away - until they get one final chance, just prior to the 90th minute.
“We need to be careful here,” Zlatan Bajramović says. “This free kick could be their biggest lifeline, given how poor we’ve been at defending set pieces recently.”
“The lads will be fine, Zlats, just believe,” Kevin Nolan encourages.
“We can’t rely solely on belief, Kevin.”
“I don’t - I also rely on luck.”
“I don’t care whether it’s luck or talent, I just want this to be dealt with,” I sigh.
On the referee’s whistle, John Martin steps up and bends the free kick out on the right flank around the back of my defence and perfectly onto Kessié’s left foot. The Ivorian is delicate with his touch, but that’s all it takes for him to guide the ball past Christensen and into the bottom-right corner.
“Of course he would,” I grumble, putting my face in my hand and squeezing the skin on my forehead towards the centre with my fingertips as Kessié wheels away in celebration. “Of course he’d redeem himself, right at the end. I mean, why wouldn’t he?”
“He’s offside,” Kevin says.
“No, he’s not,” Zlatan replies.
“He definitely is,” Kevin declares.
“Looking at the replay, I can’t see how you can be so sure,” I say, gesturing to Zlatan’s tablet.
“Belief,” Kevin states.
“Belief has NO effect on this,” Zlatan groans.
“Just wait.”
The seconds are agonising, staring at the big screen with the words ’VAR check in progress’ splashed across it as Chelsea’s players retreat to their half, clearly believing the goal was entirely legitimate.
Then the moment comes.
The referee blows his whistle. He makes a rectangle with his fingers. His hand goes up - offside.
“No sodding way,” I gasp as Borussia-Park erupts, almost with as much noise as when we score a goal.
“How close was it?” Zlatan asks, only to have his question answered within moments as the image used to make the decision appears on the screen, revealing there to be mere millimetres between the tips of Kessié and Edwin Zamudio’s boots - crucially though, in our favour.
“See? Never a doubt in my mind,” Kevin says, far too coolly.
“You and your blind faith,” Zlatan laughs in disbelief.
“At this stage, Zlatan, you’ve got to admit that blind faith has done us pretty well for a long time,” I chuckle.
“Whether that moment gets us to the Champions League final or not, I’ll be in the cold, hard ground before I ever admit to such a thing.”
* * * * * * * *
With the scale of the occasion speaking for itself, the only eleven I could possibly name for our clash at Stamford Bridge is the strongest one available, with Oliver Christensen performing his usual non-Bundesliga-duties between the sticks.
Until, suddenly, we’re not.
I get a little tense once Mason Mount finds too much space in our area to convert Marc Cucurella’s low cross shortly before half-time, and I was right to as the pendulum gradually swings in our hosts’ favour. The pressure starts to build and our resistance, often so strong, simply can’t hold forever, however the manner in which it breaks is incredibly disappointing as Josip Šutalo bags a two-minute brace to turn the game completely on its head, first crashing home a near-post corner before drilling in from the edge of the area at the next corner as we fail to cope with their building momentum.
It’s been a long time since I’ve watched my team capitulate from a commanding position, and I start questioning whether my boys are capable of bouncing back after such disappointment, given how rarely they deal with this kind of scenario, so I get them to alter their shape to a 4-2-3-1 and just go for it, but time is not on our side.
Fortunately, it only takes a second to score a goal.
With our prospects looking bleak, we work the ball forward with laser precision to Cardo Makengo and the young defender finally manages to finds some space on our right to get the ball out of his feet and skid a dangerous ball through the six-yard box that Édouard Mendy can’t get a hold of, leaving the goal gaping for Ian Maatsen to tap into at the back post, pulling us level against his former club and salvaging a draw at the death.
It’ll be all square when we meet again in Germany next week.
* * * * * * * *
I struggle to believe the pummeling can get much worse, so I decide early to switch to a 4-3-3, though its lack of impact means we later change to a 4-2-3-1 again and, this time, things start to click. We’re moving the ball faster, we’re generating chances, and we’re seizing control, something that Leipzig can’t cope with forever and their backline finally succumbs to our pressure with just over a quarter of an hour to go when Barber pounds Maatsen’s square ball into the bottom-right corner on the counter, nabbing the equaliser we deserve and, although we can’t quite find a winner, a draw still keeps my undefeated home-record intact.
* * * * * * * *
Whilst I’ve been impressed by our ability to come from behind so often in the last few weeks, I could do without so much stress, so here’s hoping that the same lineup that started last midweek will be able to shake that habit as Chelsea visit for our second-leg face-off.
After all, it’s only the Champions League final at stake.
Post-restart, it’s more of the same, and it looks like it’s going to take something special to really spark the final quarter of regular time into life, however it turns out to be the complete opposite. With Manu Koné harmlessly drifting across the right-hand edge of Chelsea’s area, it should be fairly straightforward to shepherd him either towards the nearby touchline or goal line, or back towards our goal. So, what does Frank Kessié decide to do? Why, he feels it entirely necessary to sprint directly into Koné, like Sonic the Hedgehog with the joystick stuck all the way to the right, handing us an incredibly cheap penalty that Tresoldi places perfectly into the bottom-left corner to tilt the balance in our favour.
Our visitors struggle to respond and I am delighted, happy to slow down the match and watch Chelsea’s hopes fade as time ebbs away - until they get one final chance, just prior to the 90th minute.
“We need to be careful here,” Zlatan Bajramović says. “This free kick could be their biggest lifeline, given how poor we’ve been at defending set pieces recently.”
“The lads will be fine, Zlats, just believe,” Kevin Nolan encourages.
“We can’t rely solely on belief, Kevin.”
“I don’t - I also rely on luck.”
“I don’t care whether it’s luck or talent, I just want this to be dealt with,” I sigh.
On the referee’s whistle, John Martin steps up and bends the free kick out on the right flank around the back of my defence and perfectly onto Kessié’s left foot. The Ivorian is delicate with his touch, but that’s all it takes for him to guide the ball past Christensen and into the bottom-right corner.
“Of course he would,” I grumble, putting my face in my hand and squeezing the skin on my forehead towards the centre with my fingertips as Kessié wheels away in celebration. “Of course he’d redeem himself, right at the end. I mean, why wouldn’t he?”
“He’s offside,” Kevin says.
“No, he’s not,” Zlatan replies.
“He definitely is,” Kevin declares.
“Looking at the replay, I can’t see how you can be so sure,” I say, gesturing to Zlatan’s tablet.
“Belief,” Kevin states.
“Belief has NO effect on this,” Zlatan groans.
“Just wait.”
The seconds are agonising, staring at the big screen with the words ’VAR check in progress’ splashed across it as Chelsea’s players retreat to their half, clearly believing the goal was entirely legitimate.
Then the moment comes.
The referee blows his whistle. He makes a rectangle with his fingers. His hand goes up - offside.
“No sodding way,” I gasp as Borussia-Park erupts, almost with as much noise as when we score a goal.
“How close was it?” Zlatan asks, only to have his question answered within moments as the image used to make the decision appears on the screen, revealing there to be mere millimetres between the tips of Kessié and Edwin Zamudio’s boots - crucially though, in our favour.
“See? Never a doubt in my mind,” Kevin says, far too coolly.
“You and your blind faith,” Zlatan laughs in disbelief.
“At this stage, Zlatan, you’ve got to admit that blind faith has done us pretty well for a long time,” I chuckle.
“Whether that moment gets us to the Champions League final or not, I’ll be in the cold, hard ground before I ever admit to such a thing.”
* * * * * * * *
Chonky Panda Tactics
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By happy coincidence, Tresoldi’s goal and our clean sheet mean that, having beaten Ajax in last year’s final, we’ll be in back-to-back Champions League finals that feature Amsterdam as we book our ticket to the Johan Cruyff ArenA. Slightly less enjoyable news, however, is that we’ll be joined there by the only team to have knocked me out of European competition before, one that I've also failed to beat across my four meetings with them - Paris Saint-Germain.
Before that daunting task, however, there’s still the final throes of the domestic season to go, and next up in my long goodbye are Mainz.
Having watched on as Die Nullfünfer dismantled both Bayern and Dortmund in recent weeks, I’m incredibly wary of Bruno Labbadia’s fifth-placed side, so it’s fewer changes than might’ve been expected as only Kobel, Izet Kullaj, Heywood, and Jesper Lindstrøm are brought into the lineup for my penultimate home game.
Another matchday, another fixture where we go behind; it’s starting to get a little ridiculous now.
All Ritsu Dôan’s early opener does, however, is spark an enormous reaction from my boys. They clearly take conceding to heart, kicking things up a notch immediately and Mainz don’t know how to cope, failing to have another shot as Lindstrøm and Tariq Lamptey ensure the turnaround is made before the break with each netting tidy finishes from close range.
I fear the reaction that might come from our visitors after the restart, but the one that does is minimal. We never have to step up our game to a higher level than what we were achieving in the opening period and, were it not for a number of smart stops by Tim Schreiber, the scoreline could’ve been significantly more embarrassing for Mainz as we cruise through the second 45 to the final whistle.
* * * * * * * *
“Wherever you been?” Kevin snaps as I arrive at our usual table in the cafeteria for our morning coffee.
“Busy,” I say, throwing my open notebook between Zlatan and him with a very satisfying ‘thwop’.
“What’s this?” Zlatan asks.
“It’s a new tactic for the Leverkusen match I need you to train the boys on over the next couple of days,” I explain.
“A new tactic? For the last away game of the season?” Kevin says, raising his eyebrows. “Are you insane or just extraordinarily masochistic?”
“Neither of those things are your business,” I shrug.
“You can’t be serious,” Zlatan mumbles, having looked at my diagrams. Kevin takes the book from him and his eyebrows continue their rollercoaster ride around his face as they drop back into a scowl.
“If you’re joking about this, I will follow you around the leagues and sabotage your career, wherever you end up going.”
“I’m not joking,” I confirm. “I want each of the players numbered from one to eleven to start and, given how passionately I know you both feel about it, I think it’s finally time to give in to your demands:
“We’re playing a 4-4-flipping-2.”
Three years. Three years I’ve had Kevin and Zlatan telling me that I should try a 4-4-2 out. That I’d have my mind blown by its potential. Yet, after three years of pushing for it, the tactic they helped put together has just produced the dullest first-half display I’ve watched in 2029.
Keen to not hurt my assistants’ feelings, I don’t abandon their preferred shape at the break, deciding to persevere, and I’m rewarded for my selflessness in the 71st minute when Luca Netz, invigorated by his higher position on the pitch, picks out Koné in the D and the French midfielder exquisitely curls the ball into top-right corner.
For a few minutes, my colleagues get to be incredibly smug about our lead, however their world soon falls apart again when we’re carved open with ease by Bayer and Marcos Leonardo equalises with a simple finish from close range, a setback it transpires we can’t recover from as the slim hope of bettering the point total we notched last season evaporates.
But despite that target now being gone, there’s still plenty at stake, even prior to our two cup finals. That’s right, relegation-threatened Schalke, I’m looking at you. You may not be the biggest opponents and it may not be for any silverware, but this meeting will still be one of major significance: my last match at Borussia-Park.
And, with it, a chance at immortality.
* * * * * * * *
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!
Having watched on as Die Nullfünfer dismantled both Bayern and Dortmund in recent weeks, I’m incredibly wary of Bruno Labbadia’s fifth-placed side, so it’s fewer changes than might’ve been expected as only Kobel, Izet Kullaj, Heywood, and Jesper Lindstrøm are brought into the lineup for my penultimate home game.
All Ritsu Dôan’s early opener does, however, is spark an enormous reaction from my boys. They clearly take conceding to heart, kicking things up a notch immediately and Mainz don’t know how to cope, failing to have another shot as Lindstrøm and Tariq Lamptey ensure the turnaround is made before the break with each netting tidy finishes from close range.
I fear the reaction that might come from our visitors after the restart, but the one that does is minimal. We never have to step up our game to a higher level than what we were achieving in the opening period and, were it not for a number of smart stops by Tim Schreiber, the scoreline could’ve been significantly more embarrassing for Mainz as we cruise through the second 45 to the final whistle.
* * * * * * * *
“Busy,” I say, throwing my open notebook between Zlatan and him with a very satisfying ‘thwop’.
“What’s this?” Zlatan asks.
“It’s a new tactic for the Leverkusen match I need you to train the boys on over the next couple of days,” I explain.
“A new tactic? For the last away game of the season?” Kevin says, raising his eyebrows. “Are you insane or just extraordinarily masochistic?”
“Neither of those things are your business,” I shrug.
“You can’t be serious,” Zlatan mumbles, having looked at my diagrams. Kevin takes the book from him and his eyebrows continue their rollercoaster ride around his face as they drop back into a scowl.
“If you’re joking about this, I will follow you around the leagues and sabotage your career, wherever you end up going.”
“I’m not joking,” I confirm. “I want each of the players numbered from one to eleven to start and, given how passionately I know you both feel about it, I think it’s finally time to give in to your demands:
“We’re playing a 4-4-flipping-2.”
Keen to not hurt my assistants’ feelings, I don’t abandon their preferred shape at the break, deciding to persevere, and I’m rewarded for my selflessness in the 71st minute when Luca Netz, invigorated by his higher position on the pitch, picks out Koné in the D and the French midfielder exquisitely curls the ball into top-right corner.
For a few minutes, my colleagues get to be incredibly smug about our lead, however their world soon falls apart again when we’re carved open with ease by Bayer and Marcos Leonardo equalises with a simple finish from close range, a setback it transpires we can’t recover from as the slim hope of bettering the point total we notched last season evaporates.
And, with it, a chance at immortality.
* * * * * * * *
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
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Part Thirty-Five
The Final Home Game
The Final Home Game
Welcome back to Foal From Grace! History is at stake as I bid farewell to Borussia-Park.
As the team coach makes its final turn through the large crowd that’s already assembled outside of Borussia-Park, I feel a large pang of sadness - I’d thought I was suitably prepared for my final matchday in Mönchengladbach, but the arrival of the occasion has hit me incredibly hard.
“There’s still time to change your mind,” Zlatan Bajramović smiles, having noticed my slightly wobbly expression from across the aisle.
“Yeah,” Kevin Nolan says, leaning forward to look at me too, “with that recent world news, maybe it’s worth staying another year or so?”
“No, this is the right time, I know it is,” I nod to myself, letting out a deep breath. “Besides, I don’t want all this emotion to be wasted if we'll have to go through it all again in 12 months time.”
“I’m proud of you, Nicole, I know how easily you can be persuaded to change your mind when you’re presented with a big decision to make like this,” Alexis Geiler says from the window seat next to mine.
“No, I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
“You’re right, I can,” I agree. “This time, though, I’m sure.”
As the coach comes to a halt, I take a moment to compose myself.
“Lead the way, Bossin,” Zlatan says, softly.
I undo my seatbelt, rise from my seat, and descend down the air-conditioned coach’s steps and into the blazing heat of a sunny mid-May afternoon, doing my utmost to hide my inner conflict as I cheerily wave to the nearby fans lining the fences.
The walk from the vehicle and into the stadium is a short one, but the assault on the senses is overwhelming, so it takes me several seconds to readjust to my surroundings once inside. Not wanting anyone to realise how out of sorts I am, I steam through the corridors to the dressing room whilst saying hello to as many people I catch in my peripheral vision as possible.
“Why did you greet all of Schalke’s support staff?” Kevin asks as we drop our bags in my office.
“I’m a polite person, what can I say?” I state, hoping that I hadn’t paused for too long.
“I think you got sensory overload and defaulted to autopilot,” Alexis says.
“What gives you that impression?”
“You had to think about that for far too long.”
“Blast,” I mutter. “Okay, you rumbled me. It’s just a lot, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Zlatan concurs. “Our last time working together at Borussia-Park, with our unbeaten record on the line: it’s about as big as it gets.”
“Apart from the DFB-Pokal final coming up.”
“And the Champions League final after that,” Kevin adds.
“I don’t know, I think I agree with Zlatan,” Alexis declares. “I mean, think about it: winning any competition is a massive achievement, but there’s still multiple honours on offer each season, and some allow you to lose matches and still make progress. As occasions go, knowing it’s the last time we’ll be together here, with one defeat meaning that the defence of a record THREE YEARS in the making would go down in flames, I think is rather monumental.”
“I get that, actually,” Kevin says. “Like, we won the Pokal and the CL last season, so doing it again would be great, but not career-defining. If we lose today, however, we can’t go unbeaten at home for our whole tenure at the club again - once it’s gone, it’s gone.”
“Makes sense,” I nod. “It’s a good job I’d considered that when picking the lineup.”
“Love a full-strength team to round out the last few games of the season, like saving the best bits of your tea for last,” Kevin says, a look of deep satisfaction spreading across his face.
“Apart from Michel, of course,” Zlatan sighs. “It’s a shame he’ll miss the last few games.”
“It is,” I grimace. “It’s not quite the way I’d hoped our record signing would finish the campaign, but it can’t be helped. At least it’s giving Liam some more game time, seeing as he’s had some concerns about that recently.”
“I can’t help but feel that’s come a little too late, Boss,” Kevin suggests.
“Nonsense,” I laugh. I step back into the main area of the dressing room where the players are getting themselves set up. “Hey, Liam, how’re you feeling about how much you’ve been playing over the last few weeks?”
“Great,” Liam Heywood says, unloading his washbag.
“That’s good.”
“Just too bad you’re only willing to give me meaningful minutes when Dutch Mike is crocked,” he snaps, turning to face me. “Would be nice to feel a bit more valued than just being the one you come to when you don’t have a choice.”
The whole room goes quiet as I stare blankly at Liam.
“Well, lovely speaking to you Liam - good to see you’re amped up for the occasion already,” I eventually squeak, spinning on my heels and reentering the office.
“That went well,” Kevin smirks.
“You can’t please everybody all the time,” I shrug.
“It’s eating you up inside that you can’t though, isn’t it?” Alexis grins.
“Don’t we all have a match to prepare for?”
Chonky Panda Tactics
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Even by Borussia-Park’s usual impressive standards, the atmosphere being produced is on a scale I’ve never seen before, and I can barely fight off the emotions that rise up inside me the moment I emerge from the tunnel.
It’s such an explosive atmosphere, in fact, that my boys start the game like they think it’s one of the cup finals to come, going straight for the jugular. Miloš Šarac forces Matteo Rizzo into a good save within moments of kicking off, then Dominik Szoboszlai is so unlucky to see his header from the centre of the area come off the underside of the crossbar and be cleared. Far from disheartening the Hungarian, however, it seems to inspire him and it takes less than a minute for him to play an incredible reverse-pass over Schalke’s backline…
… that Nicolò Tresoldi takes into his stride excellently…
… and scoops past Rizzo to break the deadlock early.
We could so easily be several goals to the good by the interval, but the combination of Rizzo and the post deny Tariq Lamptey, Krystian Bielik, and Dan-Axel Zagadou, and I start getting a creeping dread that we’ll regret not taking our chances until, just on the brink of added time, Luca Netz swings in a corner…
… that Šarac powers in to ease my growing fears.
At the break, I simply ask for more of the same from my players, and, as ever, they do not disappoint, coming out with just as much fire as they did for the first half, and not even five minutes have passed by the time Szoboszlai is aiming a free kick to the back post…
… for Grumpy Heywood to nut in, wheeling off to celebrate by gesticulating in my general direction, something I pretend I’m too busy talking to Kevin and Zlatan to notice.
With the lead extended to three, we start to sit back and ease off, allowing the game to slowly peter out as we’re serenaded by the Nordkurve, until Recep Keskin has the temerity to venture over the halfway line and drift a ball over our defence for Stanislas Ilunga…
The forward is isolated, and still has a lot to do to get the better of the retreating Edwin Zamudio and Gregor Kobel in our goal…
… so, of course he spanks the ball straight into the postage stamp from the edge of the area, because why wouldn’t you, when you’re staring relegation in the face and have no time to make any difference to the result aside from upsetting the outgoing manager of the opposition? Sod.
Clearly, my lads share my disgruntlement as, straight from kick-off, they work the ball around with purpose until Mark Barber lays the ball off to Manu Koné…
… who one-ups Ilunga by bending his strike into the top-right corner too, but from slightly further out to show the Schalke man that we’re more than capable of doing anything they do, the final flex of our muscles as the time slowly ebbs away with no other goalmouth-action, ensuring I complete my tenure as Die Fohlen’s manager without a single loss at Borussia-Park in any competition.
“What did I just hear over the PA?” I ask Alexis as we celebrate with the squad on the pitch.
“‘Bleiben Sie dran, denn die Coachin wird gleich eine Rede halten’,” she repeats.
“I’m not making a speech,” I whisper, “I’ve never spoken to a crowd that big in German before.”
“Why don’t you do it in English then?” Alexis asks. “I don’t mind translating for you.”
“Would you?”
“Sure,” Alexis smiles, “that’s what a head of international managerial affairs is for.”
I beam back and take a deep breath, then start making my way towards the Nordkurve with every step feeling like I’m wading through treacle. Eventually, after possibly the longest 15 seconds of my life, I hurdle the advertising hoardings and climb the stage at the base of the enormous and imposing stand, the whole crowd hushing as I put the microphone I’m handed towards my mouth.
“I’ll keep this fairly short as I’m not a particularly good wordsmith.” I notice Alexis pull a face at me out of the corner of my eye and do my best not to laugh. “These last few years have been incredible. I’ll admit that I didn’t know a massive amount about this club before I joined, and I was highly sceptical that it’d be possible for me to grow attached to a team I had little prior knowledge of so deeply, however I was wrong - VERY wrong.
“I feel so privileged to have been welcomed in by all of you, and I’m so grateful that I’ve been able to both lead this team and fall so deeply and intensely in love with the club as a whole. Never before have I experienced a matchday atmosphere like the ones I have here, and I find it difficult to believe I ever will again. You’ve made my time here so special and, although I’m getting the chance to say goodbye to you all properly today, there’s still two more games to go and we’ll need you to bring that same love and togetherness to carry us over the line and make sure we finish the job as we hunt our treble-treble.
“I’ll see you all in Amsterdam, via Berlin.”
The thousands of fans in attendance roar with approval and burst into song once more as I pass back the microphone. I wish I could be here all day and long into the night, clapping, bouncing, and singing along with them, but I know I can’t. I allow myself a few minutes to bask in the sheer joy of being one with the crowd before I give them a final wave and return to the pitch, making the final walk back to the tunnel.
“Well said,” Alexis mumbles.
“Thank you,” I chuckle, tears doing their best to form in each of my eyes. “Thank you for interpreting for me.”
“Not a problem,” Alexis smiles. “It was fun to do it one last time for you.”
“You never know, I might go to France or Spain, then you could come with me and we could carry on working together.” I glance across to my colleague when she hesitates. “Sorry, that was very presumptuous of me; if you want to come with me then you’re welcome to, but there’s no pressure.”
“I’d like to, Nicole, but I don’t think that’s very likely,” Alexis says, quietly.
“Why not?”
“Well…
“Die Adler have offered me a job.”
* * * * * * * *
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!
It’s such an explosive atmosphere, in fact, that my boys start the game like they think it’s one of the cup finals to come, going straight for the jugular. Miloš Šarac forces Matteo Rizzo into a good save within moments of kicking off, then Dominik Szoboszlai is so unlucky to see his header from the centre of the area come off the underside of the crossbar and be cleared. Far from disheartening the Hungarian, however, it seems to inspire him and it takes less than a minute for him to play an incredible reverse-pass over Schalke’s backline…
We could so easily be several goals to the good by the interval, but the combination of Rizzo and the post deny Tariq Lamptey, Krystian Bielik, and Dan-Axel Zagadou, and I start getting a creeping dread that we’ll regret not taking our chances until, just on the brink of added time, Luca Netz swings in a corner…
At the break, I simply ask for more of the same from my players, and, as ever, they do not disappoint, coming out with just as much fire as they did for the first half, and not even five minutes have passed by the time Szoboszlai is aiming a free kick to the back post…
With the lead extended to three, we start to sit back and ease off, allowing the game to slowly peter out as we’re serenaded by the Nordkurve, until Recep Keskin has the temerity to venture over the halfway line and drift a ball over our defence for Stanislas Ilunga…
Clearly, my lads share my disgruntlement as, straight from kick-off, they work the ball around with purpose until Mark Barber lays the ball off to Manu Koné…
“‘Bleiben Sie dran, denn die Coachin wird gleich eine Rede halten’,” she repeats.
“I’m not making a speech,” I whisper, “I’ve never spoken to a crowd that big in German before.”
“Why don’t you do it in English then?” Alexis asks. “I don’t mind translating for you.”
“Would you?”
“Sure,” Alexis smiles, “that’s what a head of international managerial affairs is for.”
I beam back and take a deep breath, then start making my way towards the Nordkurve with every step feeling like I’m wading through treacle. Eventually, after possibly the longest 15 seconds of my life, I hurdle the advertising hoardings and climb the stage at the base of the enormous and imposing stand, the whole crowd hushing as I put the microphone I’m handed towards my mouth.
“I’ll keep this fairly short as I’m not a particularly good wordsmith.” I notice Alexis pull a face at me out of the corner of my eye and do my best not to laugh. “These last few years have been incredible. I’ll admit that I didn’t know a massive amount about this club before I joined, and I was highly sceptical that it’d be possible for me to grow attached to a team I had little prior knowledge of so deeply, however I was wrong - VERY wrong.
“I feel so privileged to have been welcomed in by all of you, and I’m so grateful that I’ve been able to both lead this team and fall so deeply and intensely in love with the club as a whole. Never before have I experienced a matchday atmosphere like the ones I have here, and I find it difficult to believe I ever will again. You’ve made my time here so special and, although I’m getting the chance to say goodbye to you all properly today, there’s still two more games to go and we’ll need you to bring that same love and togetherness to carry us over the line and make sure we finish the job as we hunt our treble-treble.
“I’ll see you all in Amsterdam, via Berlin.”
The thousands of fans in attendance roar with approval and burst into song once more as I pass back the microphone. I wish I could be here all day and long into the night, clapping, bouncing, and singing along with them, but I know I can’t. I allow myself a few minutes to bask in the sheer joy of being one with the crowd before I give them a final wave and return to the pitch, making the final walk back to the tunnel.
“Well said,” Alexis mumbles.
“Thank you,” I chuckle, tears doing their best to form in each of my eyes. “Thank you for interpreting for me.”
“Not a problem,” Alexis smiles. “It was fun to do it one last time for you.”
“You never know, I might go to France or Spain, then you could come with me and we could carry on working together.” I glance across to my colleague when she hesitates. “Sorry, that was very presumptuous of me; if you want to come with me then you’re welcome to, but there’s no pressure.”
“I’d like to, Nicole, but I don’t think that’s very likely,” Alexis says, quietly.
“Why not?”
“Well…
“Die Adler have offered me a job.”
* * * * * * * *
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!