Los Che - Tha Valencia Experience 2014

[toddzy]

Chapter 1 – The Proposal

My agent and I started at each other and then to the table for what seemed to be an eternity. There, lay in front of us, was my return to the club I had experienced my greatest memories as a professional footballer.

Valencia Club de Futbol.

The project that had been laid in front of me was something that I gazed upon with great interest, eagerness yet complete rational fear. With Peter Lim fully completing his takeover of Los Che suddenly I found myself being offered the role of leading this great club back to the glory they once owned.

This craving and longing I had watched from afar had begun to eat away – watching on as David Villa, David Silva, Juan Mata and Roberto Soldado left our great club. And why? This enormous, spiraling black hole of debt that had been created.

‘It’s a bit of a risk, Alberto.’ I said calmly.

‘You can do no wrong here, Mario. You’re loved by the fans and right now they need someone like that to guide them.’ Alberto informed me before continuing ‘What’s more, it’s only a 1-year deal. They’re prepared to match your annual income from ESPN and EA’.

I squinted, grimaced and finally I frowned. Why couldn’t I find the motivation? Was the current image the Valencia fans had of me getting in the way of this opportunity?

‘Do you have a copy of the current squad list?’

Alberto nodded firmly and began to search through the sheets of paper that lay in front of us. After a minute of stressing a sigh of relief flowed as my agent remarked ‘Here it is’.

I took it from him and put my glasses on before I began to examine the squad and what formations would even suit this club – after all I would be manager. However, there was one name that stood out to me and that was the number 9 – Paco Alcacer.

I’d watched him maturing and it felt like he was now ready to begin his journey to collecting the same status at Los Che as I had received myself. Was I the man to guide him?

‘Is the Negredo deal confirmed?’ I retorted.

Alberto nodded before responding smiling ‘Maybe you need better glasses, Mario. He is the new number 7’.

And right enough, he had been there in front of me. My curiosity had went into overdrive as I began to ponder the forward line of Alcacer, Negredo and the other new loan signing Rodrigo who had arrived from Benfica. Could a forward line of 3 strikers work in La Liga? Who would be back-up if I use all three?

I lay the squad list to rest and inhaled greatly. Alberto’s eyes followed me as I stood up and began to pace the room. Thoughts now had quickly turned to the deals I would lose, ESPN and appearances on EA’s FIFA series. Was this managerial job worth the risk?

‘What of my family here in Los Angeles?’ I asked.

A violent buzzing from the table distracted both of us and we glared round to lay our eyes on Alberto’s phone.

‘It’s Peter, Mario’ Alberto said gently and reached to pick up the phone.

‘Pass me the phone, Alberto.’

 

[toddzy]

Chapter 2 – It’s only beer, Alberto

I don’t know why I agreed to meet him in Valencia. The vast amount of travelling for a job interview I still was not sure I even wanted yet had dawned on me. Our route was Los Angeles to New York, from New York to Barcelona before completing the final leg from Barcelona to Valencia.

Peter Lim had spoken confidently but briefly about the role I would play in taking this great club back to the top of the Spanish footballing pyramid. He had now invited Alberto and I to come and discuss the prospects of returning as the Manager of this club.

As I rose from my bed the room quickly began to spin, a feeling I had began to deal with on a regular basis. The violent spins happened for around 20 seconds and forced me to shut my eyes tightly for the fear of being sick.

I listened insightfully to the noises of the world outside as I outstretched an arm left to grab myself a Quilmes. Due to the fact my cerveza had not been in the fridge it had became rather hot and humid despite the A/C.

I had become accustomed to the warm taste of beer however – it didn’t bother me now. I got out of bed and headed to the en-suite bathroom I owned as glancing at my watch it would appear that I would be making the first part of my journey shortly. As I walked past the large mirror in my bathroom I was greeted by the appearance of a man I struggled to recognize. Unshaven, bed hair and large bag filled eyes gazed back. I looked a broken man.

My hygiene was not a long one, a quick shower and a relatively fast shave. I grabbed the essentials from my soap bag and placed it inside the travel suitcase which I couldn’t remember packing the previous night. Lay beside it were numerous bottles of Quilmes and one bottle of Criadores. I scratched my head and must have experienced a very vacant stare to the ground. I could not remember consuming these beverages the previous night.

I did not have long to ponder as I was scheduled to meet Alberto, my agent, at the airport in 30 minutes. Calling a taxi I arrived at our scheduled time of 05:15 as we were due to fly at 07:15 with the hope of arriving at no later than 12:00.

As the taxi approached the door I could see Alberto waiting patiently, enjoying a quiet cigarette outside. His vibrant white trousers very noticeable matched equally with his salmon pink shirt.

As I stepped out he stood up and extended a hand before saying ‘You look terrible – late night?’

‘I had a few beers to calm the nerves’ I responded.

‘A few?’ Alberto said jokingly before adding ‘You forget I am your friend sometimes’.

I did not like it when Alberto passed comments on my consumption of alcohol. It frustrated me and I often questioned his tone of disappointment. His tone was often unbearable when the situation was discussed.

Finally however after the hustle and bustle of the airport we had checked in and began the first leg of our journey to Valencia. Once seated and in flight we were offered the usual service on the plane.

‘May I offer you any refreshments, sir?’ asked the attendant politely.

‘2 beers, please’ I responded.

Once again I felt the cold glare of Alberto on my face. Why was it his problem? I wanted to relax and my way of relaxing involved a couple of beers.

As she handed over the beers Alberto raised a hand and shook his head as if to imply he did not want one.

‘These are not for you anyway, Alberto.’ I stated happily.

‘Mario, it’s 07:30 in the morning. Why are you drinking?’ he hissed.

‘And? It’s only beer, Alberto’. I responded.

A simple shake of the head from Alberto ended the conversation and suddenly I felt the previous anger of when Alberto questioned my drinking. I picked up my book and began to read, quietly ignoring the person beside me.

‘This is going to be a long day.’ Alberto muttered.

 

[toddzy]

Chapter 3 – Shall we go for Hainanese Chicken Rice?

Opportunities are there to be made and taken. When a wonderful one presents itself then surely you are a fool not to grab it tightly with both hands.

This is the mindset I had now adopted; opportunity.

I can’t imagine this coming around again. Analyzing the situation as a whole Valencia CF were truly about to begin a marvelous symphony and I was to be the conductor. Peter Lim had a lot of money to help rebuild and reshape this club and all I needed was a spine, a core set of players that an opposing player would gaze upon each Monday morning and utter the phrase – mierda.

Every time I tried to find a negative (and boy did I try) I kept going back to the fact my strikeforce would contain Alvaro Negredo and Paco Alcacer. Alvaro was already such an experienced striker who is a proven force in the Spanish league. Evidently he is someone I began to realise I could rely on. With Paco, all I could see in him was myself. I wanted this young man to reach the heights I did – feel what I felt and see what I seen.

Who better to show him the way than me; Mario Kempes.

Detaching myself a moment from these thoughts I began to notice my reflection from the taxi window as the rain began to pour in what was to be a miserable day in Valencia. It had been busy 2 days involving a lot of travel. It would appear that it had caught up with me, the large circles under my eyes greatly reducing how presentable I came across. I was unshaven and my skin slightly flakely. The image of myself in the mirror before I left for this trip showed itself again.

Again as I was thinking and not really paying attention to my surroundings the stadium where I had netted 116 goals had came into view.

Estadi de Mestalla.

I could never forget the steep terracing of the stadium that held 55,000 passionate Valencians getting right behind our team. It is where I’d won the Copa del Rey, UEFA Cup Winners Cup and UEFA Super Cup as a player and cherished those memories. As the taxi began to draw nearer I found a catalogue of memories beginning to flood through my head.

As the car finally approached the stadium we were surprised to see Peter already waiting outside for us with a man on either side – I assume they were his lawyers.

‘This is it, Alberto.’ I said, quite excitedly although I had began to feel nervous.

Alberto forced a smile in return, the journey and our relationship had remained rather frosty after the incident on the plane. This wasn’t the first time it happened and I had become accustomed to the silent treatment of Alberto. He liked to work things out first in his head before he reproached you with the situation.

We exited the car and patted our suits down slightly in an attempt to look better in the eyes of Peter. The Singaporean businessman extended a hand first in an attempt at welcoming me back to manage Los Che.

‘Mario, it’s a great pleasure to finally meet you. Please follow me.’ Peter said warmly as he gestured his left hand towards the entrance to the main reception.

Alberto, Peter, his advisors and I did not speak on the journey from the reception to the board room. Instead Alberto and I walked a few yards behind and used the time to take in the familiar sights that the Mestalla had to offer. I caught Alberto smiling as we strolled past a framed photograph of myself.

As we approached the end of the corridor Peter slowed down as did his advisors before once more gesturing with his hand the direction we would be taking.

‘Please Mario, after you.’ He said attentively.

The board room was not that I remembered when I had sat in it with the late Alfredo Di Stefano. It was now larger and of course much more modern. Several Samsung televisions were instantly noticeable as were the array of cutlery and food options already inside the room.

Furthermore, the large mahogany wooden consumed what felt like two thirds of the room – it was enormous. A dozen leather chairs embroidered with the Valencia crest circled the table.

‘Please feel free to sit, Mario.’ Peter reassured.

I moved to the nearest available seat with Alberto following closely. Now was the time I could only pray he would act professionally despite the current argument we may have been having.

‘First of all, Peter I would like to thank you for inviting Alberto and I this opportunity to meet with you and discuss this role.’ I began before continuing ‘It is a great honor to be back within these walls.’

‘Mario, my friend the honor is mine. It is our honor, the club’s honor to have someone like yourself back. Although maybe I was not clear when we spoke on the phone about what I wanted to discuss.’ Peter responded.

Alberto’s curiosity arose instantly as he moved forward in his chair. I quickly followed.

‘The role is yours – I want nobody else. This club is legendary and it needs a legend to lead it. What I wanted to discuss is if you wanted to go for Hainanese Chicken Rice?’ Peter continued.

‘I’m sorry?’ I responded, very much confused.

‘Hainanese Chicken Rice, it is one of the national dishes of my nation. I have brought a chef with me from Singapore who makes possibly the greatest Hainanese Chicken Rice known to man.’ Peter replied.

I raised my index finger and thumb to my eyes and quickly rubbed them. Was I still drunk? When finished and my eyes reopened there was Peter Lim still glaring back at me smiling like a mad man.

‘Well?’ He asked.

‘S-s-sure, I don’t see why not.’ I quaked, staring at Alberto who returned a similar look of confusion.

A case of de-ja-vu ensued as Alberto and I strode a few steps behind Peter and his entourage. We walked the same corridors of previous and admired the same photos.

As we arrived in the reception we seen the rain still poured.

*Click*

Peter had clicked his fingers and pointed his entourage in the direction of outside. They nodded as one pulled what appeared to be car keys from his pocket.

‘We shall travel in my car.’ Peter turned and said to Alberto and I.

I nodded in agreement.

It was not a car however but a limousine, a beautiful black one at that. Peter continued his gentleman acted and opened the door for us as we can to the back of the limousine. He quickly followed and slammed the door shut.

We travelled for around 10 minutes in silence before a large smile caught Peter’s face.

‘Tomorrow we shall sign the paperwork and present you to the media. Tonight my friend, we enjoy ourselves.’ He stated.

This time it was I that forced the smile.