WARNING: IT'S GOING TO BE PRETTY LENGTHY SO PLEASE DO BEAR WITH ME-IT'S LIKE A NOVEL AND NOT LIKE THE USUAL KIND OF STORIES HERE.
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OLYMPIQUE LYONNAIS
SPEARHEADING A NEW FRENCH REVOLUTION
1. HUMBLE BEGINNINGS
It was with a quiet sense of nervousness and triumph that I approached the new season. Our rivals Marseille had won the title last year by beating us quite handsomely. Six points was definitely quite a lot. Anyways, let the past bury it's dead, I thought to myself as I entered the club's training ground-The Centre Tola Vologe.
The Centre Tola Vologe was named after Anatole Tologe (nicknamed Vola Tologe), a Lyon sportsman during his lifetime who was murdered brutally by the Gestapo during World War II. The facility is one of the best in the world, coming close to Liverpool's Melwood Park and Barcelona's Ciutat Esportiva Joan Gamper. Situated close to the club's home stadium of Stade de Gerland, the training area was today bathed in the hot sun that usually greeted this part of France during summer.
I walked into the ground with a sense of deja vu. I had been there since 2008, when I was appointed manager. Patrick Callot, my assistant manager was at the gates to greet me.
"Bonjour Claude, how are you?"
"Doing just fine. How about you?" I enquired squinting my eyes to let them adjust to the sun.
"Oh well. I'm not exactly well off at the moment. The physios just came over to talk to me. And the news isn't good."
Oh ****! Injury is the last thing I need
"Well, it looks like Lisandro will be out for quite some time. Abdel tells me it looks a solid four weeks at least."
"****!" I said out loud, "Well, in that case, we just have to look for someone else."
"I thought you might say that. So, I've basically got a few people shortlisted. You're going to be surprised. I don't know if they're willing to join us but a little bit of persuasion might make them join us."
"I understand that. Almost every player needs it when we want him to come to France."
Patrick ignored it and then took out a few papers from a file that he was carrying. "Well, you see, we've got this Czech youngster in Sparta Prague. His name's Vaclav Kadlec. He looks good according to initial reports from Gerrard Boneau," Patrick gave a slight smirk at that name-it was well known that they never got along-, "but we'll have to wait for videos. That is unless you decide to go out to Prague on your own and watch him play. Also, there's Yaya Sanogo in Auxerre. He could do a good job for us. He's young though. I've looked him up and it seems he's pretty good-Bordeaux are on him too."
I started at the name. Girondins De Bordeaux was also quite a big club. So if they were on him, he had better be good. "And there's Lucas Barrios from Dortmund-I think you know him and Alberto Gilardino from Fiorentina, but I wouldn't advise you to go for either of them. I'd say we must look for talent in Spain or Portugal. They seem to having some nice people there. We could loan Federico Macheda from United though. And I'd recommend Eugene Konoplyanka from Dnipro, he seems a pretty good bet."
I watched in silence, my eyes scanning the training ground. In one corner, there were the players. Some of them had their eyes trained upon me, while the others were messing around with each other. Two-Alexandre Lacazette and Harry Novillo- were away from the rest of the group-playing one-touch. A slight breeze blew throughout the ground, bringing in a rush of warm summer air into the ground.
"Fine. I'll look into them. Tell the airline guys to book tickets for Prague, Dortmund, Dnipro, Donetsk, and Florence, in that order. I'll have a look at them personally. Also, I need you to compile reports on possible defenders that we could get into our team. We're pretty weak there."
"Donetsk?" he asked, surprised that I had added a place to his own list
"Jadson, Hubschmann and Willian." I replied nonchalantly.
He turned around and started walking. I followed. Oddly enough, I felt like the assistant behind him. I quickened my pace. As we approached them, the team began to stand up. Novillo and Lacazette too were back. I closed my eyes for a moment as I walked towards them. It was then that a quote that I had heard during my childhood struck me.
The time to stop a revolution is at the beginning, not the end.
This time, I knew nobody could stop it. Not even Marseille. France had not seen a revolution in a long time. This time they would see one. And it would not be with guns, it would be with round things that were kicked around meaningfully until they reached their final destiny. As if to emphasise that point, Jeremy Toulalan casually kicked a ball, which took a curved path and then setlled quietly into the bottom corner of the goalpost erected in the training ground.
This Was It...
The French Revolution Had Begun...
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OLYMPIQUE LYONNAIS
SPEARHEADING A NEW FRENCH REVOLUTION
1. HUMBLE BEGINNINGS
It was with a quiet sense of nervousness and triumph that I approached the new season. Our rivals Marseille had won the title last year by beating us quite handsomely. Six points was definitely quite a lot. Anyways, let the past bury it's dead, I thought to myself as I entered the club's training ground-The Centre Tola Vologe.
The Centre Tola Vologe was named after Anatole Tologe (nicknamed Vola Tologe), a Lyon sportsman during his lifetime who was murdered brutally by the Gestapo during World War II. The facility is one of the best in the world, coming close to Liverpool's Melwood Park and Barcelona's Ciutat Esportiva Joan Gamper. Situated close to the club's home stadium of Stade de Gerland, the training area was today bathed in the hot sun that usually greeted this part of France during summer.
I walked into the ground with a sense of deja vu. I had been there since 2008, when I was appointed manager. Patrick Callot, my assistant manager was at the gates to greet me.
"Bonjour Claude, how are you?"
"Doing just fine. How about you?" I enquired squinting my eyes to let them adjust to the sun.
"Oh well. I'm not exactly well off at the moment. The physios just came over to talk to me. And the news isn't good."
Oh ****! Injury is the last thing I need
"Well, it looks like Lisandro will be out for quite some time. Abdel tells me it looks a solid four weeks at least."
"****!" I said out loud, "Well, in that case, we just have to look for someone else."
"I thought you might say that. So, I've basically got a few people shortlisted. You're going to be surprised. I don't know if they're willing to join us but a little bit of persuasion might make them join us."
"I understand that. Almost every player needs it when we want him to come to France."
Patrick ignored it and then took out a few papers from a file that he was carrying. "Well, you see, we've got this Czech youngster in Sparta Prague. His name's Vaclav Kadlec. He looks good according to initial reports from Gerrard Boneau," Patrick gave a slight smirk at that name-it was well known that they never got along-, "but we'll have to wait for videos. That is unless you decide to go out to Prague on your own and watch him play. Also, there's Yaya Sanogo in Auxerre. He could do a good job for us. He's young though. I've looked him up and it seems he's pretty good-Bordeaux are on him too."
I started at the name. Girondins De Bordeaux was also quite a big club. So if they were on him, he had better be good. "And there's Lucas Barrios from Dortmund-I think you know him and Alberto Gilardino from Fiorentina, but I wouldn't advise you to go for either of them. I'd say we must look for talent in Spain or Portugal. They seem to having some nice people there. We could loan Federico Macheda from United though. And I'd recommend Eugene Konoplyanka from Dnipro, he seems a pretty good bet."
I watched in silence, my eyes scanning the training ground. In one corner, there were the players. Some of them had their eyes trained upon me, while the others were messing around with each other. Two-Alexandre Lacazette and Harry Novillo- were away from the rest of the group-playing one-touch. A slight breeze blew throughout the ground, bringing in a rush of warm summer air into the ground.
"Fine. I'll look into them. Tell the airline guys to book tickets for Prague, Dortmund, Dnipro, Donetsk, and Florence, in that order. I'll have a look at them personally. Also, I need you to compile reports on possible defenders that we could get into our team. We're pretty weak there."
"Donetsk?" he asked, surprised that I had added a place to his own list
"Jadson, Hubschmann and Willian." I replied nonchalantly.
He turned around and started walking. I followed. Oddly enough, I felt like the assistant behind him. I quickened my pace. As we approached them, the team began to stand up. Novillo and Lacazette too were back. I closed my eyes for a moment as I walked towards them. It was then that a quote that I had heard during my childhood struck me.
The time to stop a revolution is at the beginning, not the end.
This time, I knew nobody could stop it. Not even Marseille. France had not seen a revolution in a long time. This time they would see one. And it would not be with guns, it would be with round things that were kicked around meaningfully until they reached their final destiny. As if to emphasise that point, Jeremy Toulalan casually kicked a ball, which took a curved path and then setlled quietly into the bottom corner of the goalpost erected in the training ground.
This Was It...
The French Revolution Had Begun...
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its an awesome view on the game 