Frankie Goes to Europe

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somedevil

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Frankie Goes to Europe..

My intention with writing this story is not to talk about tactics or posts screenshots. I am just trying to write a nice story that perhaps some of you might enjoy reading. There might be some factual mistakes, some grammatical ones too as i am not a writer. Your comments are always appreciated.
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Oh and everyone in this story is a fictional character *wink*​

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It was a room without a view. A room made for negotiation and confrontation. Rich wood panels lined adjacent walls, one of which had an intricately carved out fireplace whose mantle housed many awards and accolades. The table at which I now sat was grand too and could easily seat 20 people. The exquisite leather chair, at the head of the table lay empty and to the left sat I, nervously looking at the glass wall that let the resident of this grand, intimidating room look outside at his minions.

I clasped my sweaty palm around the glass of water that was set before me and turned around to look at the group of men talking in hushed voices outside. They all wore tailored Italian suites and gestured as men of a certain authority always know how to. The man with a full head of grey hair got a call on his cellphone and turned away from the group, facing me directly through the crystal clear glass as he took his call. Rarely have I felt so uncomfortable in my own skin. This was like sitting in Don Corleone's office room.

After the longest ten minutes of my life, 2 men entered the room. I felt the grey haired one stare through me as the older one said "Ciao", putting together a quick smile that reminded me of a politician I once spoke with. Within a second he had opened a bunch of files, going through the paperwork, one last time perhaps. The other man kept staring at me uninterested or perhaps judging me from behind the smart pair of reading glasses he had put on since he sat.

"The President tells us..." The bald man began and he was interrupted almost instantly. "Scusi dottore" .. Two more tall men appeared at the door and gestured for a moment of his time. Great ! Some more hush hush talks. Never in my life had I felt more unimportant. This was maybe the 3rd​ or the 4th​ time that these two men had to be called away or be interrupted by phone calls and intruders. And I was naive enough to think that this day was going to be about me.

"The president told us that he has chosen you and we respect everything he says. We understand that you are completely new to this country and we promise to do everything to help you out." Said the bald man after the 2 strangers had shown themselves out. "This is the offer we have for you and we hope that this will be to your liking. If not, then we are here to discuss.?"

The bald man got up without excusing himself and walked out of the room to talk on his cellphone. The other guy, who was obviously his right hand, turned around in his chair, apparently not interested in judging me anymore.

Figures and legal words danced before my eyes and to be honest I could barely make sense of it at all. I didn?t have a lawyer, I didn't have the required language skills to make any sense, but here I was, in a new city, a new country, as the new manager of one of the biggest football clubs in the world.​
 
Bom Dia Portugal..

Some years ago..

As I was about to land in Lisbon, I felt like a green American-Italian boy from up state New York who had never stepped out of the big old US of A. That was almost true seeing how I had been to European soil just once- to visit my father's old relatives when I had barely learned walking. Once most of them immigrated to 'America', there was no more reason left for us to visit.

Lisbon was quite the contrast from Ithaca, where I had spent a large part of my previous years getting my degree, majoring in sport psychology. If you ignore the part where I spent the previous year on my best friend's couch, waiting to hear from half hearted attempts at getting a job, the last few years had been good to me. The only problem of late was, that sports psychologist were a dime a dozen in American sports and starting out but coaching a school boy's team in the NYSPHSAA was far from my list of goals in life.

When the opportunity to work with Professor Ander Elizondo arose, it didn't seem like the most lucrative of offers, however the fact that I'd be living in sunny Lisbon, a city that breathed my favorite sport -futebol, helped me make up my mind. Over the next few months, a quick succession of emails were exchanged with Professor Elizondo's teaching assistant and once the Universidade do Porto approved of the grant money, Luzia, Prof. Elizondo?s TA advised me to buy a ticket and hop across the pond.

That?s why here I stood at the LIS airport, looking for a petite TA holding a signboard bearing my name on it. As I walked out of the Lisbon arrival terminal I could see a huge crowd gathered outside. Some with cameras, most with a rowdy nature. None of them fit my description of a TA. I could see a huge bus pull up, and a strong police presence. Have I walked in on a wrong day ? Is there a coup in progress ? The violent crowds outside the terminal certainly suggested so. Slowing down my walk I tried to make head or tail of this situation. It certainly doesn?t look safe to go out. - Information ! Yes there?s bound to be one of those information counters here somewhere.

The smiley young lady sitting at the information counter burst into an extended giggle and called over a colleague to share what I had just asked her.

"Meu Deus", they both laughed once again.
"Yes it's safe to exit from here sir. Just stay clear of the fans. Their team lost to a rival. They are not happy.? She nodded self-knowingly.

All this for football ? Strange. The football I had watched for so long had passionate fans that sang songs at the terraces. From where I came from, this was borderline violence. Carefully sidestepping the chaotic battle between the 'policia' and the 'Ultras' I resumed my search for that petite young miss Luzia, the TA.

It wasn't until 30 minutes later, by the time the team bus and the fans had all left, that I found the sign board bearing my name. Instead of being held in feminine hands it was tucked under the arms of a sweaty man lighting a cigar. I knocked at his shoulder.

'Que ?' He annoyingly turned and took a good hard look at me. Only when he looked at my luggage did the realization dawn on him.

"Oh you're the American. Si ?.. You're very late; I smoked 2 cigars already while waiting for you. Anyways Come.. Come with me.. I'll drive you." He said in a gruff voice without waiting for me to reply. Prof. Elizondo certainly had employed a rather rude, nutty driver.

"Music?" he asked me as we stepped out of the airport complex onto the city roads. I replied with a polite nod and chose instead to spend my time taking in the city. The city bustled with activity, even the hot weather didn?t seem to stop the ants from marching. I found myself deep in anxious thoughts of meeting professor Elizondo.

I had made a bold decision to move from the safe homely surroundings of New York to unknown Lisbon. It's only now, when I actually landed in the city, did I start getting thoughts doubting this decision. The biting heat and the fact that the annoying driver was singing badly along the Portuguese pop songs on the radio was not helping me either. I felt suffocated, like a man who had taken a dive from an airplane, only to realize that he left his parachute behind.

A sudden bout of paranoia hit me; my minds raced all sorts of evil thoughts across my sightscreen. I felt out of breath. On this hot Lisbon day I felt chills run up my arms. I felt weak in the legs and could feel a sea of vomit ready to rise up my throat. I turned to the driver to ask for water and that?s when everything went black.
 
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Some years ago…
I woke up to a loud ringing in my ears. As I turned to my left I saw a women dressed as a nurse picking up a large number of things that she had dropped on the floor a moment ago. She looked at me, said something in a foreign language and disappeared out the door. In a few minutes two men dressed as doctors appeared, discussed something in a foreign language and smiled at me. What is happening? I felt like a black magic cult was about to sacrifice me to their god of choice. I anxiously looked around the room for any sign of date or time when my eyes met a familiar face.

“Food poisoning. You had food poisoning and high fever. You’ve been in and out of sleep for almost 2 days”.
I recognized the man- he was the rude driver. I must’ve passed out in his car and on Prof.Elizondo’s instructions he must’ve got me to the hospital.

“Where is the professor?” I asked him. “The professor? If you’re looking for Ander Elizondo then search no more coz that’s me.” He smiled a cheeky smile at me as if he knew my opinion of him.
“Yes I am afraid in your half asleep state you said out a lot of things about the obnoxious driver and the heat of the city. Don’t worry you’ll get used to both.” In that moment I felt like a village fool.

The professor himself had come to pick me at the airport while I had assumed that he would send his TA and was busy looking for a petite, feminine being. Maybe my brains were really down between my legs.

As the week passed and my health grew better, I presented myself at the messy office of Prof. Elizondo to get started on whatever assignment or paper he would have me work on. As I spent a day or two with him I realized that unlike other researchers of the discipline, he didn’t believe in writing papers. As a young man he had devised and presented enough novel concept to his peers only to be mocked.

It was only at my 3rd​ day in his office that we spoke about our line of work.
“I see you have done psychological study in the field of sports yes. Tell me kid, what is the ultimate goal of this activity according to you.. This practice of sports psychology ..yes ?”

Is this man just having fun at my expense or is this some sort of a test.I choose to believe the latter.

“Wellness,” I replied. “If a group of sportsmen are not in a state of mental well being, No amount of training, performance analysis or financial incentive can make them perform at their best. But that’s just my belief.”

Prof. Elizondo didn’t reply. He stared at me for 5 seconds before going back to the pile of papers in front of his nose. I stood there for 2 minutes before I left the room. I had learned this in 3 days at his office. Prof. Elizondo just expected you to know when your services were not required, at which stage he promptly wanted you to disappear out of his sight.

Luzia, the hyper uptight TA looked nauseously at me as I exited out to the hallway. What had I got myself into- I wondered at various times during the day. The city was still unknown to me. The only person who I knew, except the two I spent my days working with, was my landlord and he was deaf in one ear and spoke precisely 20 words of English.

I had asked Luzia to guide me to a nice bar and it was just my luck that a popular local bar happened to be on the way home for her. She promised to guide me there on Friday. Although I had done nothing of note yet, I was yearning for a weekend break, get smashed and start afresh Monday onwards.

By the time Friday came, I had talked Luzia into having a single drink with me at the aforementioned bar at the pretext of talking about our work experiences. In a new country, I certainly didn’t want to sit at the bar alone looking like a loser. As soon as the clock struck 5, I was up and ready to go. I had to remind Luzia of the time, as she was still busy scribbling notes in a big fat book.

“Luzia.. Shall we ?”
She meekly nodded and took off her reading glasses. I couldn’t help but think of the bland life this woman must lead. I was engrossed in such thoughts, waiting for her to wrap up her things, when Prof. Elizondo stepped out of his office.

“You,” he said, pointing at me. “Step into my office. I have a job for you.Yes.”
“Must I stay too professor ?” Luzia asked eagerly.
“No Luzia. It’s the weekend. Go get a life. Go to a bar maybe..Yes ?”

Elizondo looked at me and half winked before disappearing into his office. Just great. My first night out in this beautiful city full of magic and the old man wanted me to sit in this office full of cigar smoke and work. I dragged myself like a child whose been denied a summer vacation. Before I could even sit on the chair the old man was already on my case.

“You like football .. Yes ?” and a small smile begin to form at the end of his lips. This might not be so bad after all.
 
Every 4 years my father’s shouting would get louder. Every 4 years 11 men in a blue shirt would run around with a ball and for some reason that made my father more angry than happy. “Football is suffering”, he’d once told me. He might have lived in the states all his life but his love for calcio never dwindled. He once went to a Mets ball game and called it a glorified spitting fest. Nothing could replace the art and science that calcio was for him.


Since then I always associated calcio with lazy Sunday afternoons, watching another team in blue, the second love of my father’s life- Brescia. You can imagine his delight when ‘il divin’ codino ‘, Roberto Baggio, himself led Brescia to glories unknown before. Watching my father all through the years, in from of TV screen, made me secretly inherit his love of football. That was the bond that tied us together, even when we had our differences in later years.


As I grew up, I learned more about the game, watched it every Sunday with my father and wished for friends I could discuss it with. Sadly all my friends were busy talking baseball. Sometime in my teen, social pressure and the desire to be ‘cool’ had me watching more of NBA and NFL and I took an almost unwelcome break from Calcio but once I had enrolled at Cornell for the sports psychology major, I had all the time on my hands to indulge in calcio watching. I considered it a part of the course work.


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Many years before i was born, Halfway across the world from me a young teen walked hastily with his father, as they made their way through the maddening crowd to the vast expanse of the deafening ‘La Catedral’ in the heart of Basque country, to cheer for their favorite team- Athletic of Bilbao. That child would grow into a man, fall in love with a beautiful Portuguese girl and move countries but his love for his Athletic never dwindled.


4 years ago I found myself working for him on what I thought would be research papers in sport psychology, instead he was hired by Benfica as the sports psychologist of their first team that was going through a crisis which was about to blow wide open. I had spent barely 15 days in Lisbon and thing were already going much better than I’d hoped they would.

I remember that bright Monday like it was yesterday, I wore a new pair of cheaply bought jeans and crashed my bike into a car (no injuries thankfully) on my way to Professor Elizondo’s office. For a man who just got employed by the biggest club in Portugal, he was not a happy fella.


He was reading the Spanish papers and looked furious. That could only mean one thing- Bilbao must’ve lost over the weekend. Elizondo didn’t watch matches. He had a family to run, a university to answer to for grants and sleep to catch up on over the weekends. Instead, he got his scores from the Monday morning papers, as he drank and often spilled his coffee. The Monday mood in that office were largely dependent on Athletic Bilbao’s form the previous weekend.


If we didn’t have to go to the Caixa Futebol Campus to meet with Benfica, Prof. Elizondo would’ve preferred to stay in and mope all day. After a quite drive in the car where he chewed and smoked his cigar at the same time, we finally arrived at the Futebol campus.

I had seen nothing like it. In the years to come I would see grander facilities that impressed me more but the first venture into a professional football training facility left a huge impression on me. It was normal for Prof. Elizondo, he had worked with many established sports teams before. He carelessly ventured towards the Director’s office.


Two knocks and the door was opened. Prof. Elizondo ventured in with a smile and an affable ‘Bom dia !’, addressed at the man inside. The first thing I noticed about the room inside was the careless litter of awards and football memorabilia. The second thing I noticed was a tall handsome man I had seen on TV before. Rui Costa shook my hand firmly.


“Welcome to Benfica.I hope you didn’t get much traffic.”
 
For the next 1 month I shadowed Prof. Elizondo as he profiled the players of Benfica directly and indirectly. Always the tireless worker, he spoke to the staff, the coaches, and the physio. He got as much information from all sources about the players as he could. When he spoke to the players he had me standing by the side with a form in hand. All I had to do was observe their reaction and fill in the form. Did they listen keenly? Do they have a shot attention span? Are they easily motivated? Are they nervous when faced with a challenge?

This psychological profiling didn’t stop here. Prof Elizondo had complete access to the locker room. He would sit in during half-time team talks and observe player reactions. Then he would, using massive amounts of performance data, co-relate their 2nd performances with a conclusion if any. All ideologies were passed on to the coach who now had a great resource in how to tweak his players mentally. With every passing match day our database of player’s behavioral attributes grew larger.

The coach had detailed information like which player to sub out when 2-0 down at half time or which player would make the most impact as a 80th minute sub. That completely turned around the season for Benfica and they ended up winning not just the Primeira Liga but also the League Cup. While celebrations were in progress it was only Rui Costa who acknowledged our work. Rui had been massively impressed by what Prof.Elizondo had achieved and wanted to explore it more deeply next season.

I got off the University grant and became a full time employee of Benfica with Professor Elizondo who was kind enough to give me the summer off. 5 days after the season ended we along with the coaching staff of Benfica attended a party thrown by Rui Costa in the honor of all of us who worked so hard behind the season. While sharing cigars over a drink I mentioned to Rui that I intend to head back to NY for a month long vacation. Rui told me that he’d be in NYC for a few days and we promptly exchanged numbers.


***​
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3 weeks before the next season started I was sitting opposite Rui Costa in a New York City restaurant. He was in Miami for a vacation and had come to NYC for a few days in a business trip. I was to be his official guide.

Rui loved to talk football and in no time we became good buddies. He would tell me of his great time at Milan, how it feels to play a champions league final and would at length discuss tactical systems and their benefits. Somewhere during our talks Rui encouraged me to study for my UEFA B license. He was certain that I had a knack of grasping tactical ideas fast and even offered to get the club to endorse my tuition fee.

With permission from Prof.Elizondo I started my UEFA coaching license adventure. 8 hours a day we would work at the Caixa Futebol Campus, where we had our own 2 room office now, and the rest of the evening and night, I would study for the coaching badges. I didn’t expect to do so well and I didn’t expect to go so further. Benfica was getting consistent results on the pitch. The system we had put in place for them had worked. We had more clout and a complete endorsement of Rui Costa, who was virtually untouchable at Benfica.

He had an idea to start implementing psychological coaching from the ground root level and before I knew it I was the coach of Benfica U 15 A and boy did we go on to win everything there was. In a year Rui had me coaching the U17-A’s. Rinse, repeat, Bam. Next step- The under 19’s- the big league of youth academies, where not only does winning count, there’s immense pressure to send players up to the First team. If we had managed to get 3 good players graduated to the full time first team action we would’ve been considered a success. We send over 5 players in the first year itself.

Another year with the under 19’s and a few more accolades. UEFA tournaments, National tournaments- we won it all. With it came lots of interest- from the media and more importantly from other clubs.
Word had gone out that something revolutionary was happening at Benfica and vultures were flying In an attempt to pick out some crucial cogs in the machinery. There was no way I would leave Benfica. I loved it too much there and Rui had become an important mentor to me, second only after Prof.Elizondo.

Little did I know that my life was about to completely change because of a rich woman and an influential man.

A man even Rui costa couldn’t say not to.
 
As I was packing my bags to go home from another day of pre-season training, Rui’s assistant walked over to my office with specific instructions for me to head over to his office immediately. A rather strange request as Rui rarely stayed back in office beyond 5, the highly organized and meticulous man that he is. I wrapped up my bag and made the 10 minute walk to Rui’s office.

Little did I know that at the same time, a meeting was being held at Villa San Marino in Arcore, 20 kilometers north of Milan, that was bound to have a direct impact on my future. Nothing would ever be the same again. Rui offered me a chair and a glass of wine. Did we sign a great youth prospect? Did we get a new sponsor? What are we celebrating? I wondered.
Instead Rui spoke with me about my coaching goals, what I had in my mind for my future and how I’d like to see myself in ten years. As strange as this request seemed to me, especially since Benfica was never mentioned in the conversation, I gave earnest replies. This was perhaps the most serious conversation that we’ve ever had. The air in the room felt chillingly uncomfortable and then it occurred to me; I was being fired. Instantly, my mind searched through a huge file of memories. What could I have done wrong? Does anyone higher up have a problem with my success? Am I unknowingly tangled in office politics? A zillion thoughts were racing through my head.

My attention was brought back to the present moment by the ringing of Rui’s phone. He went out to the balcony to take the call that lasted barely 2 minutes. He sat back and took a deep breath.
“AC Milan want to sign you. They like what you have done so far. Their club is in tatters and they are looking for someone who can come and do a full revamp from the ground up. Especially with the youth sector” I couldn’t believe my ears. In my wildest dreams I wouldn’t have imagined a great club like Milan even being aware that I existed let alone calling me to run their youth sector.

“This could be a start of a great new era for them or it could be just that they want to use you as a scapegoat. Never in the history of the world has a turn over in power been accomplished without bloodshed. Someone always pays,” Rui continued; ”However the decision is completely yours. We have great ties with Milan. I more so, on a personal level too. If you were to decided to leave we would not hinder you. Besides we would pocket a handsome amount in helping to facilitate this move.”
I loved Benfica. I loved Rui but when a club like Milan come calling you don’t say no. I explained it to Rui and being the gentleman he is, he understood and wished me luck.

“Thank you Rui. I’m really looking forward to completely re-hauling Milan’s youth sector. Besides it will very exciting to work with a legend like Inzaghi and a ‘golden bench’ winning coach like Allegri.I really think that as a youth manager I can accomplish great things with their setup.”

“Youth manager?”, Rui interrupted, “I think I didn’t make myself clear. Not youth manager. They want you to be the First team manager. Allegri has just been fired. You are supposed to take his place”.
 
Wonderful start; a very clever way to introduce the story and give a background of the manager! Subscribed :)
 
It had been a woman. A blonde woman in designer shades and a slick fitting dress who, in a year from now, would start the football equivalent of a political coup, was sitting in the stands, to my complete oblivion, along with 2 experienced men of football. They had embarked on a European tour to visit the best youth academies in a massive best practice sharing expedition. They spent time at Ajax, Bayern Munich, the famous La Masia and their last stop was the Caixa Futebol Campus where they had come to observe my team; and my coaching style.

After few weeks, they sent in some scouts and a director of sports to observe me further. They saw many matches, they heard me shouting at the sidelines, and using the relationship they had with Benfica, got hold of some of my tactical dossier on match preparation.

As Allegri's Milan slipped down the table, the scouts came more frequently but I was not the only one they watched. Another bunch were keeping an eye on Italy youth team coach Devis Mangia. Some other went to see Marco Van Basten who was at Heerenveen now. In any case, the decision was almost made. Max allegri would not be at Milan next season.

***​

Football deals start much before their news is actually reported in the newspapers and are almost always done in secret places out of the reach of the media. It's only the smart one's who can keep it public yet discreet. For the Italian media, calciatore Rui Costa was just visiting the Venice Biennale but perhaps only 3 people in the world were aware that he was there to have a secret rendezvous with a young blonde woman. A young blonde woman who had, a few months ago been named a director at AC Milan by her father, Silvio Berlusconi.

I never got to know what they actually talked about but it was clear that Barbara Berlusconi liked my coaching ideas and the way I man-managed my team. She had her best men analyzing me for many months and had lobbied my case to her father as a possible Allegri replacement. She had met with Rui at the Biennale where they had a pre-agreement of sorts in place for my transfer to Milan. Strangely enough, all this was done without the knowledge of Adriano Galliani, The CEO and the de facto no.1 at Milan.

Galliani wanted to keep Allegri. He had swindled up a massive media and TV campaign to garner public support for Allegri. Although Milan were barely hanging on to the 3rd​ place in the table, Galliani had them fearing the loss of Allegri, who was perhaps a fine tactician but had completely lost the locker room. Players did whatever they felt like and there was absolutely no order of any sorts. Criticism from ex-players and footballing pundits was a daily occurrence and yet Galliani had managed to keep Allegri ill the end of the season.

Barbara, although young of age, wasn't one to be fooled. While her main motive was to gain an undefeatable foothold in the upper hierarchy of Milan, a tertiary step involved the removal of Adriano Galliani. Appointing her own coach was just the first step in stamping her authority.​
 
Rui had suggested that I not go back to my house and instead check into a hotel. Once the news of my signing was announced, he said, the media will be all over me and that was the last thing I wanted. I took his instruction and checked in at the local four seasons. I could barely sleep the whole night. I still couldn’t believe that I would be at Milan. Frankie goes to Milan; maybe they’d make that headline.

Early in the morning, I quietly hailed a taxi and went to Rui’s office to sign a pre-contract. They gave me a week to wrap up my things and present myself in Milan. There had been a lot of protest about my appointment from the old guard at Milan but Barbara had pulled out all stops and convinced Papa Berlusconi to stick to his decision to appoint me. She wanted a young modern coach and for some reason, one who spoke English.

“I came to Lisbon a nervous boy and I leave like one as well”, I said to Prof.Elizondo, who by now had a major role in all player recruitment decision that were taken at Benfica.

“Frankie, around the corner waits a brand new road but always remember that courage is found in the most unlikeliest of places and situations.” I don’t know if it was the wine but today Prof.Elizondo seemed really sad that I was leaving. He had been a strict mentor but today he felt more like a father to me. “You will face many obstacles, but I have belief that you will excel. My doors are always open to you. Don’t hesitate in times of trouble.”
 
“I was really going to miss good old Ander”, I thought to myself as I boarded the flight to Malpensa from the Lisbon International airport. My new club had sent over a large email with housing options for me and I had decided to wait till my flight to make a choice. It was difficult to think with a straight mind. Excitement, nervousness, air turbulence. A part of me couldn’t wait for these couple of in-flight hours to be over so I could just land in Milano.

“Scotch..double”, I told the air hostess. “..anything else sir..”, She had barely finished her sentence when the passenger across the aisle from me let out a loud respite..” Ma che cazzo..”. A clean shaven middle aged man was not happy at the warm sour orange juice that he had been served and before letting out the loud curse had spilled it all over the back of the seat in front of him. It was too bitter, he complained. He couldn’t tolerate it, he apologetically said.

It’s only when I noticed the trademark sunglasses he was wearing that I realized who he was. Was it an omen? I thought to myself. I am going to Milan to takeover as their new manager and the person sitting across the isle from me is none but Arrigo Sacchi. Sacchi was massively tanned from what I assumed was a summer vacation in Portugal and my mind was racing hard to think of ways I could start a conversation with him. When he saw me looking at him he politely nodded and looked away.

A bout of nervousness took over me. I just had to speak to the man but I couldn’t figure out how. I didn’t want to appear to be a fan, or someone who only wanted to talk about football. At the same time, I was bursting at the seams trying to think of ways to start a conversation with him.

“This juice stain is never going to come off ..”, Arrigo murmured as he tried to use a dry hand towel in an attempt to get a few big stains out of his designer, light beige trousers. I saw an opening.

“Shaving cream..”,I said to him

“Che ?”, He looked up confused.

“Spray shaving cream on the stain and rub it with a wet cloth. No one will be able to tell the stain. it will come out in one single wash too.”, The internet had taught me a lot.

“Excuse Me Miss, Can you give him some lukewarm water please,” I called out to the airhostess as I got up to take the shaving cream out of my carry bag. “Here”.. I handed Sacchi a tube of my favorite ‘o melhor’. He looked at me dubiously yet accepted.

A couple of minutes passed..

“Looks like it works..”, Sacchi exclaimed as he lifted his sunglasses up for the first time to get a closer look. I just smiled at him.

“How do you know these housewives’ secrets ? You don’t seem like the homely kinds..”, He jokingly looked me up and down.

“Well you don’t have to be born a horse to know the tricks of the jockey..”, I winked as I threw his famous quote back at him.

That sent Sacchi into one of the huge laughs that he’s famous for, making businessmen ahead of us turn around and stare. After that Sacchi and I chatted casually like 2 blokes in a bar would. He told me about his Portuguese vacation, I nodded politely. He spoke about the political situation in Italy, I responded politely. Sacchi likes to talk and he really has strong opinions about everything. Not that I was complaining.

Last I saw of him was at the baggage claim. I had told him I was moving to Milan and was slightly nervous at what the city had in offer for me.

“Thank you for your advice, Frankie. I really like these pair of pants, I hope the cleaners can salvage them,” Sacchi remarked. I replied in a smile.

“Arrigo, you are a busy man and this might seem out of place but I really enjoyed talking to you today. I would love it if we could get together over a drink and chat some more.” Sheepishly I tried my luck.

Sacchi hesitated for a second ..
“Yes , Here Here is my card. If I don’t answer, leave a message. I am not very fond of phones. Good luck in Milano. In bocca al lupo.”, And with this good luck wish Arrigo Sacchi walked out of my sight.

Not once did we speak of football. Not once did I mention my purpose in Milan. I still think it was an omen. Many years ago Silvio Berlusconi had picked out a young Arrigo Sacchi to be the manager of Milan and Sacchi had responded by creating quite possibly the best club side football has ever seen. It was 2013 now and Berlusconi’s daughter had picked a no name youth coach to be the next manager of AC Milan.

I walked out of the airport and a driver sent by Milan waited in the exit area for me. No sign board necessary this time. He knew my face. I sat in the Audi SUV and drew a deep breath. The driver nodded and drove me to the 2 elderly men who waited for me in that wood paneled negotiation room at 3, Via Turati, the headquarters of AC Milan.
 
Hahaha the man himself! Tell me, was seanhrfc on the plane too!?
 
“And this is the most important part of the facility”, Daniele grinned at me. He was pointing at the kitchen. “Michele prepares a mean rissotto alla milanese on fridays,” the man who I assumed was Michele grinned at me as he warmly greeted Daniele Bonera, a long standing servant here at AC Milan. As one of the older and more friendly ones, he had been instructed by the club to show the new manager around the sprawling facility that is the Milanello complex, home to Milan’s training needs.

They really took care of you here. You could ask for virtually anything you wanted. They will fix your car and deliver bottles of your favorite wine to your home but you will have to give your 150% for the club at all times. I loved it here already and yet I was nervous.

As I entered my new office at room no.5, the first thing I noticed was the bed on the left. I ran through a list of names that must’ve slept here- Arrigo Sacchi, Fabio Capello, Carlo Ancelotti, Nereo Rocco. At the same time I couldn’t help thinking that they really never want you to leave Milanello. The room was generously decorated with the history of AC Milan wherever you looked. As if I was not already so intimidated, I could now really feel the pressure of being here at Milan. If I could do 10 % of what Ancelotti or Sacchi accomplished, I’d personally consider myself a success.

From the huge terrace balcony of my new office, I could look out at the training pitches that were being prepared by the ground staff. I will spend at least the next few months drilling tactical moves into my players on these pitches, I thought. They already have me pinned as a has been and at the first drop of a few points, they will be gunning for my head. At the least this is going to be a sweet short adventure, and I whole-heartedly expected to lose some hair on the way.

My table was already set with all the things that a manager could need. Personalized stationary, expensive bottles of ‘designer’ water, a well stocked fridge to my side, a goodie bag from Fondazione Milan, to whom I was expected to donate favorably and even a customized iPad loaded with official Milan apps. As I swiped it on and logged into my new email inbox, one email caught my eye. It said ‘Benvenuto Francesco’. It was from Fillipo ‘superpippo’ Inzaghi, now a youth coach at AC Milan.
***​

“Ciao Francesco”, the voice on the other side of the phone said. Silvio Berlusconi was the only guy apart from my mother who addressed me so confidently by that name.
“They told me you’re just settling in. I hope you have liked Milanello so far.” He said, expecting a favorable reply.
“Yes Mr.President.”
“Mauro is there to assist you. He’s a smart man that’s why he’s lasted so many years with us.So has most of the staff at Milanello. If you need anything then you can ask Dr.Galliani but i warn you to only bother him for the important matters.”, Berlusconi added with a laugh, perhaps an anecdote with a previous coach ran across his mind.
“My daughter Barbara handles the club’s affairs too and her ideas will bring in a whole new generation of success for the Rossoneri. Let her guide you if you’re in a dilemma”. The power struggle between old guard Adriano Galliani and Berlusconi’s daughter Barbara was well documented by the Italian media.

Galliani ran Milan as a one man show, much to the anger of Barbara, who argued that the affairs of the club were not run in an efficient manner, an opinion many football experts shared. Off late Barbara had made it her goal to see Galliani’s one man influence out of the door and papa Berlusconi had all but relented.

“I will not be around so much Francesco, as I am a man of many troubles but if trouble comes don’t forget to get in touch. I wish you a lot of luck and success. In bocca al lupo.”, And with that the most powerful man in Italy hung up the phone.

If all this sounds overwhelming, then it’s because it was and I was slowly beginning to realize the extent of it all. Not only did I have the seemingly impossible job of managing a club that was in financial tatters, had barely a handful of talented players and was expected to finish sadly mid table, I had also landed myself in the middle of a power struggle that was in full swing at the club and within the most powerful, rich and highly politically influential family of Italy- The Berlusconi’s.

​
 
Mauro Tassoti, the long-standing assistant manager at Milan entered my office with a laptop in hand. The man with the grey head of hair, the man who stared at me incessantly on the day I had signed the moderately lavish contract, followed him. His name was Ariedo Braida and he was the Sporting Director at Milan. He could’ve easily passed off for a mob boss in one of the godfather movies but in reality he was famous for signing gems like Rijkaard and Kaka for Milan. One could learn a lot from such a man.

“Ciao Francesco, come stai ? Bene ?”, Mauro enquired of my well being as he sat. Braida gave me a half nod and put on his spectacles before sitting down.
“First of all, Ariedo suggests that we arrange a Intra-squad friendly so that you have a better idea of the players you have at your disposal”, Mauro started.

“That won’t be necessary Mauro. I have a fair idea already and I would rather judge them when i see them play against other teams during pre-season friendlies but if you have a technical report ready on the squad I’d love to see it.”, I replied as I glanced at Braida looking up from the paper he was reading. This man just won’t stop judging me, I thought to myself.

“Sure I’ll do that, our coaches anyways are in the habit of writing out fortnightly coaching reports, I’ll make sure you get them on time. Speaking of whom, I have also arranged a meeting with the rest of the coaching staff later today, Let’s meet in the conference room 1 say around 4 ?”, Mauro asked.

“That sounds good Mauro. There are a few more things i require of you. Firstly, I want you to arrange a few pre-season friendlies as soon as possible. The sooner our players reach peak physical fitness the better it is. Secondly, I want a detailed report on the youth squads. If any players are capable of playing in the first team, we better get them prepared as soon as we can.” Both men looked at each other as if I had asked for a pink unicorn.

“Mauro I’d also like a shortlist of young talents that the scouting team might’ve compiled in the past couple of years. One of the things i promised President Berlusconi was a team build on the talents of the future and I am determined to keep my end of the bargain”.

“The transfer market is not as easy as it seems Mr.Bonaducci,” Ariedo Braida spoke to me for the first time. “As you know we don’t enjoy the financial resources we used to ten years ago. We can barely afford to spend €10m and in that money you can’t expect us to find top class talents. Even young players don’t come cheap anymore. However.. “,He continued without waiting for a reply, “we do enjoy good relations with certain clubs like Genoa and they will be willing to help us out in case we urgently need to fill out a position. Otherwise there won’t be much transfer activity”.

Milan Vice President Galliani and Genoa owner Enrico Preziosi were close associates. They wined together, dined together and somewhere during all the other sins that they enjoyed collectively, they wrapped up football deals. In Galliani’s hour of need Preziosi had transferred over many of his players to Milan in the hope of securing future favors. It was all shady under the table business whose details were never revealed, much to the anguish of Barbara Berlusconi. She had a staunch belief that Galliani was skimming off personal profits out of this and she didn’t like it. After all who could expect no names like Kevin Constant and Valter Birsa starting out for AC Milan. Even I couldn’t wait to see them for myself.

“Doctor Galliani and i will make a shortlist of the players we think we can realistically sign and share it with you. Hopefully you can make good use of them.”, Braida continued.
“You will also be happy to know that we are also in talks with Real Madrid to bring Kaka back. If that deal goes through, that’ll be the cherry on top for us.”, On top of what Mr.Braida ?, I thought. On top of the rubbish pile of players you’ll buy from Genoa and Lecce ?
“In any case’, I turned to speak to Mauro, “I’d like to go through the scouting reports. Please have them ready by the end of the staff meeting. Thank you.” Mauro Tassotti nodded in agreement.
“Anything Else Gentlemen?”, I switched to a dismissive tone.”
Without answering me, Braida gave me a condescending look and just left the room.
 
Give Braida an uppercut for me! Haha! That, or I'll arrange a horse head to arrive through his window...!
 
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