Chapter 4:
The Start Of An Era
10th December 2011
"People are fragile things, you should know by now
Be careful what you put them through...."
Ah. Munich, by the Editors. The high-pitched guitar riffs kicked in as I drove from the hotel to Borussia-Park for the press conference that would begin it all. Only a couple of weeks since I replied to Gladbach's e-mail, I pondered over the challenge ahead. Admittedly, there were easier tasks out there. The team was cemented to the bottom of the Bundesliga with only one win to their name all season. However, it was a job. Something 'Mr Muniain' didn't have I told myself. I could imagine him now, fretting over Sky Sports, waiting for the Barca or Liverpool jobs to become available. That man must be as addicted to rejection as he is to the drink.
Gladbach had been very hush-hush over the whole affair, even the club's loyal fans didn't know the whole story of my hiring. I looked out from my large Armani sunglasses at the fans for today's match against Hamburg SV. I saw spatterings of red in the midst of the white shirts. Liverpool jerseys? Then I remembered that Borussia fans had a affinity for the Merseyside club. Not great - since my favourite English club was Manchester United. Better keep my loyalties quiet, I thought. As I parked up and locked my Audi, I saw fans looking toward the back of the car, as if expecting another person to exit from the back. They're in for a shock come three, I mused.As I walked through the main body of the stadium toward the press room, I saw members of the press looking my way, as if wondering who this woman could be. I strode into the brightly-lit room and took my seat next to the chairman, Rolf Königs. There was a collective gasp around the room, followed by low muttering. Königs addressed the assorted media:
"Gutentag.
We as a club are here today to announce the replacement for Lucien Favre, who as you know left us just over a month ago. Our new manager is the highest ever scoring participant in the UEFA Coaches exam, and a highly sought after candidate..."
I suppressed a slight giggle. Highly sought after? That was a bit of an exaggeration.
"So, not to waste any more time, may I present to you, the new Gladbach manager - Miss Daniella Contra"
"Gracias, Mr Königs, and hola to all of you today. I'm very happy to be here at Gladbach, my first club, a club that boasts such a rich history. I believe that I can guide the club from it's recent troubles and back to being a European power once again." There was a round of applause as I finished.
"Miss Contra?" A journalist spoke up. I noticed an A Coruña accent.
Great, Spanish cabrónes. I thought. I left to avoid these types.
"Si?" I answered, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.
"How do you respond to the rumours that, as the first female manager at a top European club, your players may feel insulted with your appointment?"
Typical Spaniard. Like Joseba, all of them.
"Any player with that mentality at this club will soon find themselves out the door." I replied.
"Reports suggest you are a Manchester United fan. How do you think this will affect you, at a club with strong links to Liverpool?" Another pipped up.
"I do not know where these 'reports' came from. I have one love, and that is for my Sevilla"
Close one.
"Miss Contra, as a woman..."
I quickly whispered an apology to Königs and interrupted the journo's question by standing up.
"If all you are going to question me on is my gender, then this conference is over"
"But, Miss Contra, our readers would like to know..." He began.
"Joder a sus lectores!" I screeched as the room fell silent. Many looked confused, the journo from A Coruña looked shocked. I turned and walked straight out the door, fuming.
I lit a cigarette outside with shaking hands. How dare they, I thought to myself. Feeling my anger ebb away, I flicked the **** into the gutter and checked my watch. Two o'clock. I headed toward the dressing rooms, and stepped inside. A couple of players were already there, the German U21 goalkeeper, Marc-Andre Ter Stegen, and the young winger Marco Reus. Both were discussing my press conference as I walked in. Reus came over and shook my hand, a boyish grin on his face.
"I know they say the Spanish senioritas were fiery... but you were something else, boss"
"Ja, we'd better watch our backs!" joked Ter Stegen, with a deep laugh.
Over the next twenty minutes, the rest of the team filed in. The squad had been named by the assistant before today, so all I was there to do was to address the team for the HSV match.
"Look, boys. I know my appointment's a shock to many of you. But, it doesn't matter today. Form doesn't matter today. All that matters, is going out there and giving your all. For the club, for it's fans. Beating HSV will send a message. Now, go out there and do it!"
As I stood in the tunnel alongside Heinemann, who was under pressure. It showed. It was common knowledge that, if he didn't win this match, he was out the door. As the teams came out, I spotted the big screen, and a face I'd recognise anywhere. Joseba! He'd probably come to headhunt the HSV job. Deep down, I didn't blame him.
As my name was announced over the tannoy, there was a smattering of applause. Even wolf whistles from the HSV fans. I quickly shut them out and focused on the game. Straight from the off, I could see what I'd let myself into. Within 9 minutes, Petric broke clean through the defence and slotted past Ter Stegen for 1-0.
Jesus, no wonder these lot are bottom, I thought.
From the off, however, their heads didn't go down, and after a couple of good chances, Reus bombed down the right, beating two HSV players and drifting in a ball to the back post for Juan Arango to poke home. 1-1, within half an hour of going behind.
There was a ripple of belief now running through the team. Reus saw a 25 yard rocket crash off the post, and Hanke couldn't beat Drobny in the HSV goal. Then, on the brink of half-time, Josh King recieved the ball 30 yards out, looked up, and bent it clean around Drobny to nestle in the far corner. 2-1. The stadium erupted as the half-time whistle blew.
I walked back down the tunnel to the dressing rooms. The team was there, waiting.
"Well done, that was a brilliant show of belief from all of you. But it's not over. There's still 45 minutes to go. Don't get complacent. It's in your hands now boys, make the 3 points safe!"
A round of applause mixed with the clatter of boots as the team made it back out onto the pitch, and the ref blew to start the second half.
From the off, HSV already looked beaten. Heinemann looked resigned to the fact that he'd be losing his job. Hanke nearly capitalised on a misplaced pass, but he could only steer his shot wide from 9 yards. As the clock neared 90 minutes, Petric broke through, almost carbon-copy of the chance he scored earlier. As he went to strike it however, he looked up to place his shot, which was the exact moment the ball bobbled.
The HSV striker airshotted and collapsed, right in front of the baying Nordkurve. The jeers rang out around the ground as Ter-Stegen looked to launch it. The ref checked his watch, and blew for full-time.
"Well boys, you did it. You proved you can win. You proved you can play like the best. Marco, Josh, Juan - you were fantastic out there today. Enjoy a celebration, you've earnt it." The players looked pleased as they left the dressing room for their various sports cars. I stepped outside, lit a cigarette (I told myself I'd quit when football gets less stressful), opened my phone and launched speed-dial.
"Hola, Perdedor. Inconspicuous as always. Still want that HSV job, Seb?"
The Start Of An Era
10th December 2011
"People are fragile things, you should know by now
Be careful what you put them through...."
Ah. Munich, by the Editors. The high-pitched guitar riffs kicked in as I drove from the hotel to Borussia-Park for the press conference that would begin it all. Only a couple of weeks since I replied to Gladbach's e-mail, I pondered over the challenge ahead. Admittedly, there were easier tasks out there. The team was cemented to the bottom of the Bundesliga with only one win to their name all season. However, it was a job. Something 'Mr Muniain' didn't have I told myself. I could imagine him now, fretting over Sky Sports, waiting for the Barca or Liverpool jobs to become available. That man must be as addicted to rejection as he is to the drink.
Gladbach had been very hush-hush over the whole affair, even the club's loyal fans didn't know the whole story of my hiring. I looked out from my large Armani sunglasses at the fans for today's match against Hamburg SV. I saw spatterings of red in the midst of the white shirts. Liverpool jerseys? Then I remembered that Borussia fans had a affinity for the Merseyside club. Not great - since my favourite English club was Manchester United. Better keep my loyalties quiet, I thought. As I parked up and locked my Audi, I saw fans looking toward the back of the car, as if expecting another person to exit from the back. They're in for a shock come three, I mused.As I walked through the main body of the stadium toward the press room, I saw members of the press looking my way, as if wondering who this woman could be. I strode into the brightly-lit room and took my seat next to the chairman, Rolf Königs. There was a collective gasp around the room, followed by low muttering. Königs addressed the assorted media:
"Gutentag.
We as a club are here today to announce the replacement for Lucien Favre, who as you know left us just over a month ago. Our new manager is the highest ever scoring participant in the UEFA Coaches exam, and a highly sought after candidate..."
I suppressed a slight giggle. Highly sought after? That was a bit of an exaggeration.
"So, not to waste any more time, may I present to you, the new Gladbach manager - Miss Daniella Contra"
"Gracias, Mr Königs, and hola to all of you today. I'm very happy to be here at Gladbach, my first club, a club that boasts such a rich history. I believe that I can guide the club from it's recent troubles and back to being a European power once again." There was a round of applause as I finished.
"Miss Contra?" A journalist spoke up. I noticed an A Coruña accent.
Great, Spanish cabrónes. I thought. I left to avoid these types.
"Si?" I answered, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.
"How do you respond to the rumours that, as the first female manager at a top European club, your players may feel insulted with your appointment?"
Typical Spaniard. Like Joseba, all of them.
"Any player with that mentality at this club will soon find themselves out the door." I replied.
"Reports suggest you are a Manchester United fan. How do you think this will affect you, at a club with strong links to Liverpool?" Another pipped up.
"I do not know where these 'reports' came from. I have one love, and that is for my Sevilla"
Close one.
"Miss Contra, as a woman..."
I quickly whispered an apology to Königs and interrupted the journo's question by standing up.
"If all you are going to question me on is my gender, then this conference is over"
"But, Miss Contra, our readers would like to know..." He began.
"Joder a sus lectores!" I screeched as the room fell silent. Many looked confused, the journo from A Coruña looked shocked. I turned and walked straight out the door, fuming.
I lit a cigarette outside with shaking hands. How dare they, I thought to myself. Feeling my anger ebb away, I flicked the **** into the gutter and checked my watch. Two o'clock. I headed toward the dressing rooms, and stepped inside. A couple of players were already there, the German U21 goalkeeper, Marc-Andre Ter Stegen, and the young winger Marco Reus. Both were discussing my press conference as I walked in. Reus came over and shook my hand, a boyish grin on his face.
"I know they say the Spanish senioritas were fiery... but you were something else, boss"
"Ja, we'd better watch our backs!" joked Ter Stegen, with a deep laugh.
Over the next twenty minutes, the rest of the team filed in. The squad had been named by the assistant before today, so all I was there to do was to address the team for the HSV match.
"Look, boys. I know my appointment's a shock to many of you. But, it doesn't matter today. Form doesn't matter today. All that matters, is going out there and giving your all. For the club, for it's fans. Beating HSV will send a message. Now, go out there and do it!"
As I stood in the tunnel alongside Heinemann, who was under pressure. It showed. It was common knowledge that, if he didn't win this match, he was out the door. As the teams came out, I spotted the big screen, and a face I'd recognise anywhere. Joseba! He'd probably come to headhunt the HSV job. Deep down, I didn't blame him.
As my name was announced over the tannoy, there was a smattering of applause. Even wolf whistles from the HSV fans. I quickly shut them out and focused on the game. Straight from the off, I could see what I'd let myself into. Within 9 minutes, Petric broke clean through the defence and slotted past Ter Stegen for 1-0.
Jesus, no wonder these lot are bottom, I thought.
From the off, however, their heads didn't go down, and after a couple of good chances, Reus bombed down the right, beating two HSV players and drifting in a ball to the back post for Juan Arango to poke home. 1-1, within half an hour of going behind.
There was a ripple of belief now running through the team. Reus saw a 25 yard rocket crash off the post, and Hanke couldn't beat Drobny in the HSV goal. Then, on the brink of half-time, Josh King recieved the ball 30 yards out, looked up, and bent it clean around Drobny to nestle in the far corner. 2-1. The stadium erupted as the half-time whistle blew.
I walked back down the tunnel to the dressing rooms. The team was there, waiting.
"Well done, that was a brilliant show of belief from all of you. But it's not over. There's still 45 minutes to go. Don't get complacent. It's in your hands now boys, make the 3 points safe!"
A round of applause mixed with the clatter of boots as the team made it back out onto the pitch, and the ref blew to start the second half.
From the off, HSV already looked beaten. Heinemann looked resigned to the fact that he'd be losing his job. Hanke nearly capitalised on a misplaced pass, but he could only steer his shot wide from 9 yards. As the clock neared 90 minutes, Petric broke through, almost carbon-copy of the chance he scored earlier. As he went to strike it however, he looked up to place his shot, which was the exact moment the ball bobbled.
The HSV striker airshotted and collapsed, right in front of the baying Nordkurve. The jeers rang out around the ground as Ter-Stegen looked to launch it. The ref checked his watch, and blew for full-time.
"Well boys, you did it. You proved you can win. You proved you can play like the best. Marco, Josh, Juan - you were fantastic out there today. Enjoy a celebration, you've earnt it." The players looked pleased as they left the dressing room for their various sports cars. I stepped outside, lit a cigarette (I told myself I'd quit when football gets less stressful), opened my phone and launched speed-dial.
"Hola, Perdedor. Inconspicuous as always. Still want that HSV job, Seb?"
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