Singing the Blues - A Semi-Fictional Story of Managing Birmingham City on FM23

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Part Twenty​

Welcome back to Singing the Blues! A record signing for one of the Sky Six and someone who was once the most expensive player ever in their position - these arrivals need to be seen to be believed.

This part is spread across two posts, so please keep reading after the Newcastle game!

Season One
Part Fourteen
Part Fifteen
Part Sixteen
Part Seventeen
Part Eighteen
Part Nineteen
Part Twenty-One
Part Twenty-Two
Part Twenty-Three
Season Three

“I don’t believe this, Craig,” I say, staring at the sheets of paper he slid me.

“I didn’t until the emails came in saying they’d agreed to the terms we offered. They’re arriving shortly and are registered already, so if you want them involved against Manchester UFC then they can be,” he beams.

“And you haven’t doctored these? You’re not playing some evil prank on me like the time you sent me confirmation of ‘J. Bellingham’ agreeing to contractual terms that was actually about Jobe, not Jude, as you implied?”

“Look,” he says, tapping on his tablet a few times before passing it to me. “They’re real and in my inbox, along with the conversations we’ve had with representatives from UFC and Spurs - we’ve genuinely managed to sign David de Gea and Tanguy Ndombele.”

“How much?” I ask.

“£5.5 million for David and an initial £3.9 million for Tanguy.”

“I meant wages, they must have ripped a hole in our finances,” I say, pulling my eyes away from the tablet and raising my eyebrows.

“That’s the best part,” Craig replies. “Spurs agreed to pay £60,000 a week until the end of next season, meaning we’re only paying a quarter of Tanguy’s salary and we’ll save enough to cover his transfer fee over the course of his contract, while UFC are giving David £190,000 a week for the rest of this campaign so we’re only paying him £55,000 a week. We’ll have to sort out a new contract without any help from them in the summer should you want to keep him longer, but we can cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“Wow, well done, I’m very impressed,” I say, nodding in approval. “And you say they’re free to play later today?”

“They are indeed.”

“I better get on the phone to John and Juninho then, break the bad news.”

“I’m sure they’ll understand,” Craig says. “They’re a couple of fantastic additions, if I do say so myself.”

“It’s awesome, thank you,” I respond, standing up. “Before I go though, could you do me a favour?”

“Sure, Nicole, what do you need?”

“Please forward me those emails so I can show the boys who are being dropped from the starting eleven, there’s absolutely no way they’ll take me seriously otherwise.”

​

I’m mesmerised watching Ndombele charge around the midfield in our blue shirt, incredulous that I’m seeing De Gea collecting a cross with the ‘Ball and Globe’ badge on his chest, gazing on dreamily as he fires a ball downfield. His replacement at UFC, Altay Bayindir, comes flying out of his area to sweep up but takes a heavy touch, allowing Alex Scott to steal in and nip past him. I bet David wouldn’t have done that. Beautiful, high profile, outstanding David de -

Hang on, Scott’s got an open goal to shoot at.

I break from my trance as Alex takes a touch and shoots from the edge of the box towards the abandoned net. Everyone in royal blue jumps up from their seats before thudding back down again, heads in hands and groaning in unison as the shot skids just outside of the post. Darn.

That remains the biggest chance for either team as we enter the final quarter, UFC clearly feeling fragile as they prioritise solidity over offensive power, so I beckon Ndombele over as the ball goes out for a throw.

“Please don’t talk to him in terms of Football Manager,” Keith Downing groans as Tanguy jogs towards us.

“Why not?” I ask. “It’s a common language between footballers that can help explain what I expect from them in an easily definable way.”

“Because it’s embarrassing, you’ve been in charge of a professional football club for a year and a half, yet still talk as if this is all some childish simulation on your computer,” Keith snaps.

“Fine, have it your way,” I grumble as Ndombele reaches the sideline. “Tanguy, I need you to get involved a little more with our attacking play, sit between the lines, dribble a little more.”

His face is blank.

“You know, get on the ball and dictate our play, have a little more freedom,” Keith says.

He remains expressionless.

“Maybe make some more lateral runs and take a few more risks,” I continue to explain.

“Do you mean like an Advanced Playmaker? On the Attack Duty?” He queries, something finally clicking. He cracks a smile. “That’s what I play myself as on Football Manager all the time, suits my strengths.”

“Yes,” I reply, turning to smirk at Keith. “Exactly like that.”

“He signs himself on Football Manager?” Matthew Gardiner grunts as Tanguy runs back onto the pitch. Ian Maatsen throws the ball to Demarai Gray.

“At least he’s confident in his abilities,” I shrug. Gray turns and plays the ball inside to the liberated Ndombele. “Doesn’t explain how he’s ended up at St. Andrew’s, mind.“ Tanguy suddenly drives forward with his newfound creative freedom and, as he gets into the box, thumps a strike into the opposite corner of the goal, taking the proverbial roof off the place.

“You’re feeling very smug right now, aren’t you?” Keith asks.

“Yes, yes I am,” I respond with a tremendous amount of satisfaction.

And I have every right to be satisfied. UFC don’t react and look as despondent as somebody who has just been educated on how many calories are in a caramel latte, so we push forward looking for a second and are rewarded with six minutes to go as Oscar Gloukh volleys in Gray’s cross to wrap up our third 2-0 victory over UFC in as many meetings.

* * * * * * * *
​

After a result as good as that, I don’t see the need to make any changes in personnel as we head to the North East to face Newcastle, though we’ll rein in Ndombele again to begin with. The Magpies gave us a bit of a late scare last time we played and, with them eighth, will probably prove to be more of a test than I’d hope.

​

The test would appear to be made easier four minutes in as Djené welcomes Tahith Chong to Tyneside by attempting to rearrange the bones in his legs and rightly receives his marching orders. We grow into the game as a result but only manage to convert one chance, courtesy of Gloukh, so the inevitable happens when our defence deals with a long ball about as well as Neil Warnock deals with retirement, letting Jacob Murphy breeze through and smash into the net. Better give Ndombele a bit more licence to be creative then.

Which makes the difference within minutes… again.

Andrew Omobamidele heads away a Newcastle corner and our new midfielder sprays the loose ball left for the breaking Lucas Rodríguez. The Argentinian goes from one box to the other before centring for Gloukh to tap home and retake the lead, one we’d keep until the final whistle, helped massively by De Gea making a crucial save from Murphy when one-on-one deep into injury time.

It should have been so much more comfortable, but at least we won.

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Following a week mostly spent trying to calm down after the chaos at St. James’ Park, we return to our home comforts to face struggling West Ham. We’ll once again stick with the same team, given our form, but I accept that it’s best to start with Ndombele in his more attack-focused role as the improvement in his play has been obvious when making the switch mid-match.

​

How this game only ended 1-0, I have no idea.

Gloukh goes close early on before Chong strokes in a few minutes later. We have a total xG of nearly two by half-time and the trend continues after the restart, Gray seeing a couple of efforts saved and Ndombele has his shot from five yards blocked on the line after Gloukh limps off injured, leaving us down to ten for the last few minutes, but West Ham barely threaten.

Though we fail to boost our goal difference much, in spite of finishing on an xG of 3.14, continuing our winning streak is still massive for us.

* * * * * * * *
​

We’re now back in FA Cup action and, oh look, here’s Newcastle again.

John Ruddy makes his return in goal after missing his first league games under my management and Troy Deeney will fill in for Gloukh as he’ll be out for a few weeks after twisting his ankle.

I hope this is a much less stressful 90 minutes than our last couple of encounters.

​

A quarter of an hour in, Anel Ahmedhodžić floats a seemingly innocuous ball forward that the Newcastle backline totally misjudge, allowing Chong to steal in and wallop a half-volley past Nick Pope that leaves him experiencing mild tinnitus after it whistles by.

He seems to recover though, denying Tahith a second when one-on-one and producing an incredible double save to prevent Omobamidele at a free kick, but he can’t stop everything. Gray thunders in from the edge of the area as we near the last 20 minutes of the tie and, thankfully, there’s no late carnage this time as we coast into the last-16 where we’re drawn away to Leicester in a repeat of the same stage in 2020.

* * * * * * * *
​

As we travel to Elland Road to face Leeds, I awkwardly avoid Deeney glaring at me from further back in the coach the whole journey after making him aware that his poor performance against Newcastle wasn’t enough to keep him in the starting eleven, Danny Namaso taking his spot up front.

De Gea’s also back after having last weekend off as we aim to extend our unbeaten run to 12 games in all competitions.

​

Patrick Bamford has headed just over the bar, hit the post, and forced a big save from David. It’s been eight minutes.

As a reaction, we drop Krystian Bielik back to play on the right of a back three to try and plug the gaps being left and, suddenly, we look back to our best. Namaso justifies his inclusion as he squeezes an effort under Illan Meslier having been set through by Alex Scott before doubling his tally as we edge towards the interval, but our hosts won’t let us get there unscathed. Having failed to clear Ryan Fraser’s corner three times, Joe Aribo lashes the bouncing ball through the crowd and into the bottom-left corner to pull one back.

Then, once the second period is underway, Ndombele shows us why he was once rated highly enough to be Tottenham’s record signing.

First, he provides an encore of his goal against Manchester UFC before coolly beating Meslier when set free by Bielik, then completes his 17 minute hat-trick after blasting in from the edge of the area to prove himself worth the investment already. Even a late surge that results in Bamford finally grabbing his goal can’t dampen the mood when, checking my phone in the dressing room afterward, we realise we’re up to third in the league and, astonishingly, have already avoided relegation with eleven games to go.

That’s when Harry sits down next to me and looks to be in a bit of a huff.

“You alright, Harry?” I ask. “You don’t seem as happy as I’d expect you to be after a 5-2 win.”

“No,” he says, scowling.

“I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”

* * * * * * * *
​

Thank you for reading! Please follow this thread to keep up with the updates, and feel free to follow me on Instagram and Twitter!

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Part Twenty-One​

Welcome back to Singing the Blues! We've made a fantastic start to the year, but how far can this form take us?

This part is spread across two posts, so please keep reading after the Leicester game!

Season One
Part Fourteen
Part Fifteen
Part Sixteen
Part Seventeen
Part Eighteen
Part Nineteen
Part Twenty
Part Twenty-Two
Part Twenty-Three
Season Three
Season Four

“You’re mad at me?” I ask Harry, bemused.

“Yes.”

“Even though we’re third in the league?”

“Yes.”

“Right… why?”

Harry sighs the kind of sigh a child who feels they’ve been let down by their parents sighs.

“It’s about Bob.”

“What about Bob?” I query, still confused.

“You see, I can’t help but feel you’ve not played him enough…” he mumbles.

“Do go on,” I say, my eyebrows lowering.

“I thought after I’d told you about the magical socks that you didn’t believe me, but then you played him against QPR,” Harry explains quietly, glancing around to make sure nobody’s listening in. “That made me think you’d come round, yet he’s only started another two games since then. He’s 17 during the week, I don’t want you to miss the chance to see him blossom like the greats before him.”

It’s my turn to sigh.

“You know he’s made 23 substitute appearances to add to those starts, right?”

“Well, yes, but -“

“And Tahith Chong has made 63 goal contributions from 77 games out on the right, the position where Bob is the only like-for-like replacement in the squad?”

“I get that, but -“

“And,” I continue, not giving Harry a chance to speak. “Even if we get to the FA Cup final, we’ll only play 45 games having had 57 to squeeze into the same time period last season?”

“I know,” Harry says with his shoulders slumping.

“Look, he’ll get more of a chance next season,” I pause, double checking that there are no eavesdroppers before adding in a whisper: “Especially if we manage to qualify for Europe. I mean, avoiding the Conference League, we’d be guaranteed at least 48 games with both the cups as well.”

“I get it,” Harry nods, looking defeated.

“Tell you what, we’ve got Burnley next weekend and they’ve only managed ten points so far, so why don’t I start him against them? I might even give Kieran his full debut on the other side too.”

“Sounds good, Nicole, thanks,” Harry replies, managing a small smile. “I just can’t see him looking so glum over his lack of minutes any longer,” he adds, gesturing to the opposite side of the dressing room to where Bob van Leeuwen is sat, frowning at his phone.

“I think you’re projecting, dear,” I smirk. “Would you like me to find out?”

“No, no, don’t wor-“

“You alright, Bob?” I shout over the chatter.

“Yeah…” he answers, unconvincingly.

“Come on, talk to me,” I say, strolling over to sit with him. “What’s up?”

He taps his phone on his leg a few times and grimaces before explaining.

“My mum’s missed her train back from London and my dad’s been out on a boozer with his mates during the match ‘cause he thought he wouldn’t have to drive, so I was hopin’…” he trails off.

“Go on.”

Bob looks down and shuffles his feet before he mumbles:

“D’you think you could give me a lift home once we’re back to the training ground, boss?”

“Of course,” I chuckle, standing up. I forget just how young he is, sometimes. “You can tell me about your birthday plans and I’ll tell you about what we’ve got in store for Burnley.”

“Cheers, gaffer, that’d be great,” Bob beams. I return to my previous spot across the room.

“How is he?” Harry asks.

“He said ‘If that PA of yours doesn’t stop watching me and start minding his own business, I’m gonna come over there and punch him square on the nose’.”

​

Having stuck to my word and started both Van Leeuwen and Kieran Hamer, the pair see multiple efforts hit the woodwork or blocked from close range during the first period along with Tanguy Ndombele, to the point that we’re baffled as to how we go into the break scoreless. We’re getting in all the right positions, we’re just not getting the luck we need, that’s why I’m not hard on the boys with my team talk - keep it up and we’ll be fine.

And that faith, along with Harry’s, is vindicated ten minutes after the restart.

Van Leeuwen feeds a pass to the underlapping Neco Williams, the right-back roaring to the byline before sweeping a ball into the six yard box for Hamer, now playing through the middle having swapped with Danny Namaso, to poke in from three yards for his first senior goal and open the game up.

We’re flooding forward now and Burnley are holding up as well as a paper straw in a thick milkshake, collapsing in on themselves as Van Leeuwen grabs two in quick succession, the first an impressive scissor kick and the second an easy finish after a selfless pass across goal from Namaso, whilst I attempt to avoid Harry’s smug grin after both. The Clarets give no indication that they’re bothered about scoring as we cruise through the final 15 minutes for what was, eventually, a very comfortable 3-0.

* * * * * * * *
​

We now return to FA Cup action and, having already pushed two teams to the curb, we travel across the Midlands to face Leicester. The Foxes are a little scary, currently sat seventh in the Premier League, so Demarai Gray and Tahith Chong will return to the starting lineup in spite of Van Leeuwen and Hamer making the scoresheet last time out, as does John Ruddy in goal, while Oscar Gloukh has recovered enough from his twisted ankle to make the bench.

​

It’s a first half that journalists would call ‘cagey’, or ‘an intriguing, tactical affair’. I would call it ‘dull’. There’s a few shots from range, James Maddison has an audacious shot from a tight angle, nothing really going on.

That’s until Williams fires a diagonal ball to the edge of the area for Ndombele to smash in, first time, just as the referee is about to blow their whistle, giving us something concrete to take into the interval.

Leicester won’t take this lying down, however. The 2021 winners of this competition are more aggressive now, probing for gaps, but we’re not letting them through. As such, they decide a different route is necessary, Jakub Stolarczyk hoofing a drop kick downfield for Maddison to flick towards Ismaïla Sarr, the Senegalese winger bursting into the box and slotting into the far corner like he thinks he’s called Tahith Chong. The memory of our rapid deterioration at the paws of The Foxes earlier in the season jumps right to the front of my mind and a sense of dread sets in.

But we’re not the same team now as we were then.

We fight back well and, as the final ten minutes approach, Lucas Rodríguez gets tripped by the wonderfully named Brandon Soppy when driving towards the byline. Is he fouled? We wait an uncomfortably long time for the VAR to decide before the message appears on the big screen - VAR Decision: Penalty. Substitute Gloukh steps up and makes no mistake, rifling into the bottom left having sent Stolarczyk the wrong way, and we see out the remainder of the game as we reach the FA Cup quarter-finals for the second season in a row. The reward for our efforts? League-leaders Tottenham.

Wonderful.

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Congratulations to Newcastle United for ending their trophy drought at last, beating our rivals Wolves in the final of the Carabao Cup and making it a double whammy of positivity for us as it also means it’s far less likely that an annoyingly resurgent Aston Villa will qualify for European competition next season. Glorious.

We must now turn our attentions back to the league, however, as less-scary-than-they-used-to-be Bournemouth visit St. Andrew’s. Whilst The Cherries don’t hold the same fear factor that they once did, I’m still concerned about a relapse of our ineptitude against the South Coast team and duly field the strongest eleven I can, David de Gea retaking his place between the sticks and Gloukh returning to the front line.

​

I think we can officially confirm that we’ve conquered any mental challenges with regards to Bournemouth.

Chong nodded in Ian Maatsen’s cross midway through the first period and we never looked back. Our visitors offered little going forward outside of a blocked Dominic Solanke strike, though Tahith had already doubled his tally by that point, and things got worse when Remo Freuler received his second booking minutes later. Chong could have capped his display by completing his hat-trick from the penalty spot after Lewis Cook felled Gray, but he couldn’t beat Neto and would have to settle for two in a crushing display.

But, shortly after full-time, something draws my attention.

“Did Richard just announce that Villa beat Spurs?” I ask to nobody in particular

“Think so, gaffer, jammy gits,” grumbles Matthew Gardiner.

“Doesn’t that mean…?” Keith Downing begins before seeming unsure whether he should finish.

“It does,” I say.

“We’ve gone top of the Premier League.”

* * * * * * * *
​

Although we’ve now reached the pinnacle of nosebleed territory, it should be noted that Spurs have played fewer games than us and I’m fairly certain our trip to Anfield will bring us crashing back to reality.

We do get a small boost, however, once we receive the opposition team sheet and learn that Virgil van Dijk, Trent Alexander-Arnold, and Andrew Robertson are all missing from Liverpool’s backline. Doesn’t make up for their terrifying midfield and attack, but at least there’s hope for my unchanged team.

​

It takes all of ten minutes, in which time The Reds’ full-backs have gotten in-behind three times and De Gea did De Gea things to prevent Blues icon Jude Bellingham finishing when one-on-one, to realise that, perhaps, I shouldn’t be instructing our wide defenders to be so adventurous.

Once we make the switch, we look so much less vulnerable and grow into the game, getting on the ball more, and it’s not totally against the run of play when Ndombele fires a pass over our hosts’ second-choice defence for Chong to run onto and power past Alisson. You’d think that would be the wake-up call that Liverpool needed, but the Champions League chasers are still finding themselves restricted to low-quality efforts, albeit a lot of them. Even Ndombele twisting his ankle doesn’t seem to affect us too much as the recently-anonymous Alex Scott reminds us of what he’s capable of after Anel Ahmedhodžić floats the ball forward and he chests it into his path, delicately volleying the ball past Alisson as he comes flying off his line to put us two to the good.

Finally, the sleepy behemoth stirs.

I get Krystian Bielik to drop in and play as a third centre-back after Evanilson breaks through and hits the post, but that doesn’t stop the Brazilian as injury time approaches from grabbing one back, his shot from a tight angle flying over De Gea after a massive deflection off of Andrew Omobamidele and, as such, I decide it’s time to shut things down. The wingers drop back and we stodge things up for the final few minutes, the six-time Champions of Europe running out of puff against my team of exciting upstarts.

“Hard luck, Jürgen,” I say as I cross the technical area to shake hands with Jürgen Klopp.

“Hard luck is right,” he barks. “Your goals shouldn’t have counted.”

“Why not?”

“They were both offside.”

“They weren’t, they were checked by the VAR.”

“And you shouldn’t have been allowed to spend so much money on all these players you signed.”

“You spent more on Jude than we did our whole squad.”

“And your anti-football tactics for the last five minutes were unacceptable.”

“You’re squeezing my hand quite hard now, Jürgen.”

“And we’re playing in Europe, so our squad’s more tired than yours.”

“You’re hurting me, Jürgen.”

“And the grass was too long to play our game properly.”

“LET GO OF ME.”

Klopp finally releases his grip. My hand pulses as all the blood starts circulating back to my fingers and he seems to pull himself from some kind of trance.

“Sorry, Nicole,” he says sheepishly. “I need something to rant about to the media to distract from my players’ performances.”

“That’s fine,” I reply. “Just don’t attempt to crush my bones in the process next time, please.”

* * * * * * * *
​

Having triumphed at Anfield for the first time in nearly 20 years, we return home to host league-lead- sorry, second-placed Tottenham Hotspur in our FA Cup quarter-final.

As Ruddy and Juninho Bacuna retake their starting berths, we go into the match hoping to cause an upset and, hopefully, destabilise our competition ahead of the run-in to come after the international break.

​

The opening 45 is eerily similar to our last FA Cup tie, absolutely nothing worth noting happening until Gray thumps across Hugo Lloris as we enter stoppage time, setting us up to impose ourselves.

Spurs look panicked and the cracks of a team that led the title race comfortably before letting it slip as the finish line approaches start to show. Sloppiness seeps into their play, as does ill discipline, typified by Yves Bissouma giving the ball away and attempting to win it back immediately by implanting his studs into the back of Gloukh’s legs for one of the most cut-and-dried red cards you’ll ever see.

We apply more pressure after that, looking to make the extra man count, and it makes the difference late on when Namaso squares for Van Leeuwen to finish off a quick break, before Gloukh then hits the spot-kick we’re awarded after Pierre-Emile Højbjerg handles over the stand and onto the Tilton Road behind to miss his chance to cap an excellent display.

We’re into the semi-finals, where a date with Wembley awaits.

* * * * * * * *
​

So, as I lay in bed, unable to sleep after our successful FA Cup exploits, I risk taking another look at the Premier League table on my phone.

We’re still there. We’re still top. I wasn’t hallucinating. Granted, Spurs are only a point behind us and have a game in hand, plus there’s only five points between us and Liverpool in sixth, but our achievements shouldn’t be downplayed: a newly-promoted club that completely rebuilt its squad is leading the way in the race for the title in its first season back in the top flight, having been on the outside looking in since 2011, having also reached the final four of one of the domestic cups in back-to-back campaigns. It’s bonkers. But do you know what’s even more bonkers?

I’m genuinely starting to think we might win something.

* * * * * * * *​

Thank you for reading! Please follow this thread to keep up with the updates, and feel free to follow me on Instagram and Twitter!

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Part Twenty-Two​

Welcome back to Singing the Blues! Two local derbies? An FA Cup semi-final? A trip to Stamford Bridge? Buckle up, this is gonna be a big one.

This part is spread across two posts, so please keep reading after the Wolves game!

Season One
Part Fourteen
Part Fifteen
Part Sixteen
Part Seventeen
Part Eighteen
Part Nineteen
Part Twenty
Part Twenty-One

I’ve gathered my staff after training, along with all the players who haven’t travelled to join up with their national team. Those that have are joining us by video call, projected onto the back of the meeting room, while BBC One is muted on the screen behind me.

This is not how I expected to be going into the final block of games for the season, but here we are.

“Before we watch the FA Cup semi-final draw, I wanted to say well done to all of you. Being in with a real chance of winning the title at this stage is an incredible achievement that I don’t think any of us saw coming last summer,” I say.

“I did,” Matthew Gardiner grunts.

“Really?”

“No, you muppet.”

“Oh. Anyway, thank you all for your efforts so far. I also expect us to maintain the standards that got us into this position in the first place as we close out the campaign, regardless of where we end up finishing.” There’s mutterings of agreement and nodding around the room. “Troy, I know you’re going to be out for the rest of the season with your injury, but we’re relying on your leadership as club captain to help keep us on the right path.”​

“Whatever, boss, I’ll do what I can,” Troy Deeney grumbles from the back corner.

“Cheer up, Troy,” vice-captain John Ruddy says, turning around in his seat at the front. “At least you’ve played enough games to get a medal if we do go on to win the league.”

“Not enough games for someone who scored 27 goals last season, though,” Troy snaps, clearly failing to see the funny side.

“Chongy had more goal involvements than starts last season and he doesn’t go on about it like you do your goals,” Krystian Bielik, who’s been on-pitch captain in the absence of Deeney and Ruddy, points out from his room on Poland duty.

“Please, leave me out of this,” Tahith Chong whispers from his seat in the centre.

“Besides,” Krystian continues. “That was last season - what’ve you done to earn your place back since then?”

“I scored the clincher against Man UFC at Old Trafford!” Troy shouts back.

“How many more have you scored?” I finally decide to interject. There’s a pointed silence as Troy tries to decide on a comeback before thinking better of it and making an apologetic face, indicating that we should move on.

“I love the passion guys, but save it for the pitch,” I say. “We’ve got Villa up after the break and Wolves a few days after that, so you best be up for them. Villa have been resurgent since Danny Cowley rocked up and we can’t afford to take them lightly, we need to be up for it like we were at their place and make sure they know they’re second best in this city, the horrid bast-“

“Draw’s about to start,” Keith Downing interrupts, gesturing at the television behind me.

“Oh, yes. Right then,” I say as I move to the side of the screen. “We’re ball one, aren’t we?”

“Yep, Man City are two, Norwich three, and Watford four,” he replies.

The first ball is drawn out and it’s number one.

“Please, let it be one of the Championship teams,” I mumble.

Frank Lampard reaches into the drum again and pulls out our opposition.

Number two.

Obviously.​

In the first Second City Derby at St. Andrew’s since Jack Grealish was punched by a pitch invader, things get off to a tense start. Both teams are nervy and misplacing passes, but neither team is able to capitalise and create any openings before giving the ball away themselves.

Then, as we approach the half-hour mark, Neco Williams shepherds Matheus Cunha to the byline, thinking he’s cut out any danger, only for the Brazilian to squeeze a shot through the ball-sized gap between our right-back and David de Gea to give our rivals the lead. This wasn’t part of the plan.

My boys seem overwhelmed by the occasion and can’t get themselves into the match, their sloppiness typified when Williams dumps 5’8” Phillipe Coutinho on the floor when he’s the only player in the box for Emi Buendía to aim a cross at shortly after the restart, clearly frightened of conceding the most embarrassing header in history. I slump back in my seat and cover my face with my hands, waiting for the inevitable cheer from the away end as Mohamed Elneny steps up.

But that’s not the next sound I hear. Instead, my ear drum nearly bursts as Ruddy roars in approval from a seat behind mine. I exit my cocoon of fear to see De Gea fist pumping to the crowd and I glance to the big screen to catch the replay of our goalkeeper making a full-length dive to his left to save the penalty and keep us in the game.

And it’s just the shot of Adrenalin we need to wake us from our stupor.

We come alive, Chong going close before Juninho Bacuna ghosts in at a deep Demarai Gray corner to tap home and restore parity. We’re the team in the ascendency now, and changing shape to a 3-4-1-2 formation sees us putting even more pressure on, but we’re struggling to make the final pass to really break open the Villa defence as we head into four minutes of injury time.

“I suppose a point’s not bad,” I conclude, talking to Keith. “I wanted more though, especially against this lot.”

“We’ll get another chance next season, boss, don’t worry.”

“Yeah…” I muse as Bacuna floats a diagonal ball forward. “At least we have the opening day win to enj-“ I cut myself off because I notice Danny Namaso positioning himself to shoot. “He’s not gonna hit that, is he?”

The words have barely left my mouth as he thwacks Bacuna’s pass on the half-volley, firing ferociously into the top corner in unstoppable fashion and the bench around me empties in celebration but, as I go to lurch forward and join them, I feel a pair of hands grab my shoulders and hold me in place.

“Control yourself, gaffer,” Matthew growls.

“Why can’t I celebrate a last-minute winner against our fierce rivals?” I snap back.

“Because, last time we faced the Cowleys and made a miraculous comeback you ran over to them and called them turds,” he explains. “Do that again and you’ll get punched in the face.”

“I wouldn’t do such a thing again,” I reply.

My assistant manager raises his eyebrows at me.

“I was going to say something similar though…” I mutter.

“Just enjoy the moment, Nicole - it’s been a long time since we’ve done the double over Villa.”​

* * * * * * * *

As enjoyable as it was to make it two wins from two against Villa at the weekend, we can’t savour it for too long - our second-biggest rivals, Wolves, are also coming to St. Andrew’s this week.

Having given my players a day off after our win, everybody’s fresh and ready to go, so the only change we make is fit-again Tanguy Ndombele returning to the eleven at Bacuna’s expense.

They might be 16th, but we’re not going to go easy on them.​

We seem hungover for the first quarter, every man that receives the ball looking like he’d rather be left alone to sleep, but Wolves look terrified of us and sit off enough that we have plenty of time to shake out any cobwebs, Anel Ahmedhodžić heading in from a free kick to set us on the right track.

We now look much more with it and ready to play our usual game, helped along the way by Morten Hjulmand flying through the back of Ndombele to reduce our opponents to ten men, and we extend our lead just before the break when Ian Maatsen’s cross is met with authority by Chong.

After the restart, we use the opportunity that’s presented itself to slow everything down and conserve energy knowing we’ve got another game to come in four days, and Wolves seem more than happy to not risk being embarrassed further as we trundle through the second half without much of note happening.​

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

After a couple of derbies that added even more pressure to the already-high stakes of each match towards the end of this season, I’m quite relieved to return to the relative normalcy and calm that a trip to Crystal Palace will bring.

We’ll be asking Oscar Gloukh to adjust his role to one that sees him lead the line a little more and frees him up from the responsibility of being involved in our build-up play, though there will be no change to personnel as we aim to win our thirteenth-successive fixture.

​

We seem to be closing out 2023-24 in a way eerily similar to how 2022-23 finished, grinding out results despite performances not being as consistent as they were during the winter.

It’s a game where neither team creates a big enough chance to claim they deserve to win, yet we grab the advantage when Chong slams in Maatsen’s low cross in the second half and proceed to hold on tight to it, refusing to let our hosts convert any of their attempts as they try to rally and we scamper from south London with the victory.

Crucially, we discover that Tottenham were having their backsides handed to them by Everton while we were forcing our way over the line at Selhurst Park, unexpectedly losing 4-1 on Merseyside to drop four points behind us having only played one match fewer.

The fate of the title is now in our hands.

* * * * * * * *
​

Having taken a big step towards one trophy, we now turn our focus to another: the FA Cup.

Now feels like as good a chance as any to notch our first win against Man City with them winless in four, so there will only be minimal changes from last weekend with Ruddy fulfilling his usual cup duties, whilst Gloukh will return to his more familiar role and our full-backs have been instructed to be less adventurous than we normally allow them to be.

The winner of this semi-final will play a Championship team. That’s not an opportunity that we want to pass up on.

​

I’m lying on the floor of the office off to the side of the cavernous Wembley dressing room, staring at the ceiling and contemplating opening one of the bottles of champagne that had been left in there for us before the tie.

There’s a knock at the door.

“You alright in there, Nicole?” Harry asks.

“I’ll be fine,” I muster. “Just need a moment.”

I can just about make out the sound of him sighing through the wood separating us.

“Come out and join us,” he says softly. “John’s booked for us all to go to Zizzi and have a meal together before we head back home and we can’t go without you.”

“I’ll be out in a minute,” I reply, more firmly this time. “I’m still processing everything. I can’t believe we went two goals up within 12 minutes. I can barely fathom that we got a third before the half-hour mark. We managed to put three past City, yet they replied within ten minutes each time. Erling Haaland’s just not human.”

“I know, gaffer,” Harry says. “The first half was bonkers.”

“I thought we were in it, we were holding our own, then they scored their fourth and we couldn’t craft another opening,” I continue. “You can hardly blame Anel for giving away that penalty in injury time, everyone had given their all and looked knackered.”

“They couldn’t have given it any more, boss, you should be proud of them. We’ll just all have to keep working hard to get back here next year. If anyone can do that, it’s you.” I can hear the sincerity in his voice as he tries to cheer me up. I never thought I’d become this close with Harry, yet he’s managed to fix himself firmly into trusted-friend territory.

“Okay then,” I say, forcing myself to my feet at last. “I could do with pizza to cheer me up.” I amble over to the door, unlocking and opening it.

“Have you been crying?” Harry asks, stepping back as he surveys my face.

“Is it obvious?”

“Put it this way,” he starts. “I don’t think you should’ve worn mascara today.”

* * * * * * * *​

Make-up fixed and Italian food consumed, the world seems a better place by the following weekend, especially after Spurs lost their game in hand to bitter enemies West Ham on Wednesday to give us breathing room at the top of the table.

But for how long?

Just when you’d want the quality of opposition to weaken, our next match is against fourth-placed Chelsea. Away. Splendid.

De Gea returns between the sticks as the only change from the eleven that exited the FA Cup and we hope to bounce back, fending off another side chasing the title.

​

I wanted to recover from conceding five to Man City by looking solid, but my centre-backs have other ideas as they invite Raheem Sterling to run straight through the middle of them and place his shot into the bottom corner. They proceed to be as effective defensively as a shield made from room-temperature butter, having De Gea to thank as he bails them out on multiple occasions and it’s nearly half-time by the point they start performing as you’d expect from their job titles.

We’re struggling at the other end too and, when we do break open their backline, Édouard Mendy is equal to everything we can throw at him, denying Gloukh and Alex Scott either side of the interval and leaving us frustrated as we can’t find the net, deflating as we fall to a 1-0 defeat at the hands of our hosts.

Again.

​

However, Tottenham can’t take advantage of our slip-up.

Our nearest challengers are slain by Patrick Bamford, losing 3-0 to Leeds United to keep them four points behind us with only four games to go and our next match will be against third-bottom Brentford. We only need three wins to guarantee the trophy being ours, so we’re nearly there - right?

Well, our final games after Brentford are Manchester City, Leicester, and Arsenal.

This is going to go down to the wire.

* * * * * * * *
​

Thank you for reading! Please follow this thread to keep up with the updates, and feel free to follow me on Instagram and Twitter!

 

[dporter8999]

What a season! Can't wait to see how the run in goes!

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Part Twenty-Three​

It's the Season Two Finale of Singing the Blues! Will the title be coming back to B9?

This part is spread across THREE posts, so please keep reading after the Man City game and again after the Arsenal game!

Season One
Part Fourteen
Part Fifteen
Part Sixteen
Part Seventeen
Part Eighteen
Part Nineteen
Part Twenty
Part Twenty-One
Part Twenty-Two
Season Three

​

Four games. Four games stand between us and history. Will we do it? Will we win the Premier League? Will everything fall apart at the crucial moment?

Well, it’s all in our hands. It’s up to us to decide the fate of our campaign.

There’s a buzz around Wast Hills, as you might expect in our position, though there’s no sense of pressure. Out on the training pitches, all the players are enjoying the upturn in weather as May approaches and have stayed behind to play a game of crossbar challenge that I can see from my office window. The catering department are planning a celebratory feast for the day after our last fixture, whatever happens, that they’ve told the nutritionists will not be to their liking. The recruitment team are looking forward to discovering the budget they’ll be given to spend on wherever my end of season report, which currently sits half-completed on my laptop, deems necessary.

As I watch Andrew Omobamidele’s effort sail over the fencing behind the net spectacularly, I take a deep gulp from my coffee. Our match against Brentford tomorrow is the last against a team outside the top eight, so we better take this opportunity before the onslaught begins: always-terrifying Manchester City, then the team that inflicted our first league defeat for 13 months, Leicester, then fourth-placed Arsenal.

I turn away as Krystian Bielik’s effort pings upward in very satisfying fashion because I hear somebody enter the room, spinning around just as Harry’s hurriedly shutting the door behind him, holding a large box.

“You alright, Harry?”

“I’ve brought food,” he replies, his grey eyes darting around the room. “Had to make sure no one saw me, I didn’t want to have to share with everyone in Media.”

“What’s wrong with Media?” I ask.

“There’s loads of them and they always seem to be hungry when I have anything,” he scowls, placing the box on top of the cabinets lining the wall to his right. “What are we playing then? I believe it’s your turn to pick.”

“Caverna,” I say. “I can’t believe we’ve gone this long without playing it on Pre-Match Board Game Night.” I wander towards him and open the lid. “You seem to be missing about a third of these brownies.”

“I had to bribe security,” he grimaces. “They send out a site-wide email if you bring food in, didn’t want that happening. I thought it was a reasonable price to pay.”

“I’m slightly concerned at how easily they’re influenced,” I reply, taking a massive bite. “People are furprivingy foo’-mo’iva’ed aroun’ here.”

“That’s a sight I won’t ever be able to remove from my mind,” Harry says, looking slightly disgusted. He swipes the box out of my reach and takes it over to the desk, perching on the chair opposite mine. “Come on then, Hamster-Cheeks, let’s get cracking.”

I chuckle softly after I swallow my mouthful and make my way to the other side of the room, but pause before I sink into my seat.

“Harry?”

“Yes, Nicole?”

“Do you think we’re going to win it?”

“Aren’t you the one preaching ‘one game at a time’ to everyone?”

“I’m still human, Harry,” I sigh. “I can pretend I’m not excited at the possibility and simultaneously very stressed, but I am. I don’t want to let anybody down.”

Harry’s expression softens into a warm smile.

“Nobody will feel let down if we don’t win the league from here, trust me,” he says. “To be where we are with the squad and finances that we have is nothing short of astonishing, you’ve made everybody proud to be fans of the club again, Nicole.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” he responds, firmly. “Now, let’s get to playing before I say anything else soppy.”

“I appreciate it when you do.”

“Of course you do, you love having your ego stroked.”

​

It takes 47 seconds for Danny Namaso to justify his inclusion at Demarai Gray’s expense, stabbing home Neco William’s low cross for exactly the kind of start we wanted.

But the relegation-threatened Bees won’t roll over that easily.

Keane Lewis-Potter rips Williams to shreds but can’t convert from a tight angle, Vitaly Janelt thunders an effort goalward that David de Gea does well to tip wide, Mikkel Damsgaard hits a free kick just over, and Lewis-Potter can’t beat our ‘keeper from eight yards shortly after the break, forcing us to drop our wingers back to try and stop the barrage down the flanks. So, it comes as a total sucker punch when Tahith Chong breaks down the right and rolls the ball across the edge of the six yard box for Alex Scott to slot in, doubling our lead.

Then, straight from kick-off, De Gea shows why he was once widely considered the best goalkeeper in the world.

Lewis-Potter has a shot blocked, the loose ball drops to Damsgaard and the Dane pokes towards the bottom corner. It trickles with a terrifying sense of inevitability, but our January addition knows otherwise and manages to scramble backwards, clawing off the line and ending any hope for our hosts as the confidence of those in red and white crumbles like they’re made of blue cheese.

First test passed. Thank goodness for our Spaniard between the sticks.

* * * * * * * *
​

Having bested Brentford, we must now face our FA Cup vanquishers, Manchester City. The current Premier League champions have clambered to fourth since we met last and still, unfortunately, have Erling Haaland available for selection despite my regular complaints to the FA that someone who’s likely 80% metal and electronics shouldn’t be allowed to play football.

Oscar Gloukh returns to the starting lineup after Bob van Leeuwen deputised on Wednesday and we’ll reign in our full-backs to try and cope with City’s attacking threat. In theory, we could win the league today, but that would require the double miracle of us winning here and Tottenham losing to Southampton, so we’ll be primarily aiming to avoid defeat and take some sort of confidence into our penultimate match of the season at the King Power.

​

With neither team wanting to lose, chances are at a premium. We both hit the bar with speculative efforts before we breach our visitors’ defence straight after the restart, only to see Chong place his effort gently into the chest of Ederson. Will our show of temerity rock their confidence? Should we start thinking about getting forward a little more?

No and no. Three minutes after that chance, İlkay Gündoğan thumps through a crowded area to put us behind and we look rattled, Gloukh underhitting a back-pass to let Robo-Haaland steal in and blast against the post when one-on-one for a major let off.

But that close call sparks us back into life.

Scott finds himself on the ball in the middle and sprays it right for Van Leeuwen. The teenager beats his man and tosses a cross into the middle for Gloukh to power past Ederson and claim his first goal for nearly 12 hours of football. This puts City on the back foot and we go close to going ahead when Van Leeuwen smashes against the woodwork but can’t quite beat the ‘keeper to the rebound and we can’t make the pressure pay.

Not that I’ll complain too much. Our hard-earned point has put us on the brink of the title.

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

As I prepare for my 100th game as manager, here’s how things stand:

With two fixtures to go, we currently sit five points ahead of Arsenal, who’ve surged up to second, as well as Spurs in third, though they’ve still got three to play, therefore, we’ll win the title if we beat Leicester and Spurs fail to win at Anfield. Any other set of results will mean waiting to discover our fate, potentially even going down to the final day - against Arsenal.

We do have a couple pieces of good news during the week, the first being confirmation of our new status as a UEFA Champions League team after our result against Man City, the second being that De Gea has agreed terms on a new contract, taking a pay cut as he extends his stay to at least the end of the 2025/26 season.

​

But, back to the matter in hand.

Gray is restored to his starting berth against the team he moved to when he ended his first spell at Blues and our full-backs are encouraged to return to their usual, rampaging selves as we aim for glory.

The Foxes won the title in their second season after promotion - can we go one better?

​

We’re in the perfect position as we sail into a 2-0 lead, courtesy of Scott and Gray, and we soon receive news that Liverpool have scored a quick double to put them on the same scoreline as us, so you can understand a hint of nerves setting into the boys with what it all means for them, but our dip in concentration results in Leicester pulling one back on the brink of half-time and I have to try to calm everybody once back in the dressing room. Do I succeed?

Of course I blooming don’t.

My talk is about as effective at settling them as diversity training on an EDL member and our advantage feels fragile, which is proven to be so when De Gea pinballs a clearance into our goal via Darwin Núñez’s face to start a chaotic three minutes.

Straight from kick-off, David gets the chance to redeem himself somewhat when a misplaced pass puts Núñez through again, but we then fall asleep at a corner soon after and let Igor nut in to complete their turn around.

Now we’ve got nothing to lose. I get the boys to switch to a 3-4-3 and give everyone the freedom to attack, including our outside centre-backs. We start squeezing the energy out of our hosts and they begin to fade with gaps appearing all over the place, so it’s almost predictable that the talismanic Chong finds space on the right of the area to centre for the easiest finish Namaso will have of his career with nine minutes left on the clock.

We’re still flooding forward, but now we’re starting to look leggy too. Do we settle for the point, knowing it leaves us in a strong position going into the final day? Well, just as the thought crosses my mind, we work the ball out from a goal kick exquisitely and Lucas Rodríguez surges down the left. His attempted cross catches the outstretched leg of Çağlar Söyüncü and loops into the air, dropping perfectly for Jobe Bellingham to clatter in on the volley before anybody else could react and cause absolute pandemonium.

Everything now feels like I’m watching with my head in a fish tank. I can see everything moving around me and I’m sure I can hear myself shouting for everybody to drop in and defend like their lives depend on it as Marcelo Bielsa urges his players upfield, but I can’t make out any exact sounds or actions.

Until, finally, one noise cuts through:

The referee’s whistle.

I sink to my knees and need to put my hands on the turf in front of me to steady myself as the tears start to flow, unashamedly, as it’s bedlam in the away end.

The full-time scores are confirmed around the Premier League on the big screen for everyone to see.

Leicester 3-4 Birmingham, and, right underneath, Liverpool 2-0 Tottenham.

We’ve done it.

Birmingham City have won the Premier League.

* * * * * * * *
​

The following week passes in a daze. There’s no end of interviews, there’s a party to celebrate our accomplishment, there’s Tottenham losing their game in hand to be as Spursy as possible and lose their grip on second after leading the league all season, and, at the end of it all, there’s Arsenal.

With the title secured, we know we can sit back and enjoy the party atmosphere that our fans will bring. The lack of pressure also allows us to give Mycael his first appearance in goal after his winter arrival and give a spot on the bench to our impressive, young centre-back Upston Stern.

At last, we can relax and just have fun.

​

It’s a traditional end-of-season affair, the sun high in the sky and everyone in carefree mood with nothing but professional pride on the line.

There’s a lack of intensity in both teams’ play outside of a mad, seven-minute spell where Arsenal go ahead, Ian Maatsen equalises from the penalty spot, then Fabio Vieira puts The Gunners back in front, but we’re not too fussed. Having the opportunity to give Stern his first appearance in royal blue is only possible because we’ve done the hard work already, and nothing can ruin the atmosphere as we round out the most remarkable campaign in the club’s history.

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

So, as the curtains close on 2023/24, it’s time to wave goodbye to Hull, Burnley, and Brentford, hello to Brighton, Nottingham Forest, and Fulham, and laugh at Manchester City as they lose to Norwich in the FA Cup final.

It’s also time for my annual squad report as we assess each individual player - nay, Champion - on how they performed over the last ten months.

​

Let it be said, I never thought there was anything wrong with John Ruddy as our goalkeeper. He was effectively our captain for half the season and performed fairly well for a 37-year-old who hadn’t played Premier League football for several years.

But there’s a reason David de Gea was voted out Signing of the Season and Ruddy’s decided to join our Under-18s as a coach, rather than carry on playing for another year.

The Spaniard’s shot stopping ability is obscene and well documented, so was never a reason to debate signing him. The concern was how infamously poor his distribution has historically been, but he’s actually finished with a higher pass-completion percentage than Ruddy despite this - though we’ll do our best to put that moment with Núñez to the back of our minds.

Josh Griffiths was the unfortunate casualty of De Gea’s arrival, his demotion to third-choice coming after only featuring in January’s FA Cup third-round and our calamitous Carabao Cup defeat to Bournemouth. For the sake of his development, we should look for somewhere he can play regularly next season on loan.

​

Anel Ahmedhodžić has proven to be an absolute bargain at an initial outlay of only £7 million, somehow contributing to ten goals as he also regained possession nearly 20 times per match. He’s been the rock at the centre of our defence. His partner, Andrew Omobamidele, has performed worse than him in every measurable defensive statistic and, despite playing reasonably well, has not progressed as much as we would have hoped ahead of making his move permanent and we could probably secure an upgrade at centre-back this summer.

As for backups, I couldn’t ask for much more from Wesley Hoedt and Marc Roberts. The pair of them have done admirably when called upon and have never grumbled about a lack of playing time but, whilst Hoedt will be here next season, I’m afraid Roberts will be allowed to find pastures new. The long-throw ‘specialist’ was a colossus in defence during our promotion season, but he’s now 33 and is never going to be anything better than fourth-choice at St. Andrew’s by this point - he deserves better, and I don’t want to stand in his way.

​

You may remember that I called for more from my full-backs in last year’s report, noting that only one had managed to outperform their xA statistics with only 14 assists between them.

Well, this time, all four have exceeded their xA, and Ian Maatsen managed 13 of their 27 assists on his own for the highest total in the team.

I’m happy with both Neco Williams and Maatsen as our starting full-backs and Gonçalo Esteves will make his loan move permanent in the coming weeks, but Lucas Rodríguez should be allowed to leave if we get a decent offer for him. He’s done well, but there’s definitely better (and younger) options out there that we should look at.

​

Krystian Bielik’s crusade against aerial balls continued this season, his monstrous presence at the base of our midfield made even more glaringly obvious when comparing his heading stats against those of his peers. Whilst the promotion to a league with less direct passing has seen his numbers dip from last season, they’re still bonkers.

If we can hold on to Alex Scott and Tanguy Ndombele, they look set to my midfield pairing for years to come. Their ability on the ball to both find their teammates and create chances for themselves is clear to see and I doubt you’ll find any other players with as many Goal of the Season contenders as Scott - the Premier League’s Young Player of the Season.

Having Juninho Bacuna available as a squad player now is invaluable, him and title-winning Jobe Bellingham both providing such good quality in depth behind our current options, but Jordan James has seen his career stutter a little after making so many appearances last campaign and may need more competition to spark him back into life.

​

He’s not been quite so ridiculous as last campaign, but Tahith Chong managed the step up and then some.

The Fan’s Player of the Season, Young Player of the Season, and top scorer managed 14 goals and 12 assists over the course of his debut season in the top flight, though Demarai Gray wasn’t far behind on the other side with 12 goals and nine assists - coincidentally the same numbers that Hannibal put up from that position when we were in the Championship.

Danny Namaso has been our super-sub, grabbing a number of vital goals throughout the campaign from the bench and has also done enough to convince us to sign him on a permanent deal, whilst Bob van Leeuwen has continued to show glimpses of his huge potential and Kieran Hamer has managed to break into the first team as a result of injuries throughout the season.

The graduates from our academy are making us proud.

​

Oscar Gloukh’s had a bit of a confusing campaign. His 16 goal contributions mask the inconsistencies in his displays somewhat while he adapted to playing as a striker, however he’s coped fairly well with the physicality overall. Perhaps a change to a system that allows him to play off a focal point is in order to protect him a little more? We’ll see.

Oh, Troy. I feel a little guilty for replacing last season’s top marksman as soon as we went up, but our club captain couldn’t replicate the performances that made him so dominant and saw his aura replaced with one of grumpiness, having only that goal scored at Old Trafford to show for a season curtailed by injury. He’ll need replacing as I won’t be doing anything to change his decision to hang up his boots with Ruddy’s and can only thank him for everything he did to power us into the Premier League in the first place.

He won’t be sticking around, mind. I’m not in the market for a new head of youth development.

* * * * * * * *
​

The faint noise of clanging scaffolding wafts through my office window from the works being done to improve the facilities at Wast Hills, accompanied by a warm, late-May breeze that evokes thoughts of both barbecues and queuing outside shops during the spring of 2020.

With the ink barely dry on my new contract, I cast one last look around the room to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything before I head home for my summer holiday, not wanting to have to return from my break until the start of 2024/25’s preseason, and I pause one last time to savour the new picture sat in front of the birthday cards on my desk. Every first-team player and every member of staff who worked with them, all assembled and looking over the moon to be posing for a photo with OUR Premier League trophy. The banner overhead doesn’t read ‘Champions’, but instead is the same message that’ll be painted on the wall of the refurbished training centre, a reminder of exactly what the wider footballing world thought of my brave boys all the way back at the start of August when we hadn’t been given even the slightest chance of surviving the drop:

‘Nine-Hundred to One’.

* * * * * * * *
​

Thank you for reading! Please follow this thread to keep up with the updates, and feel free to follow me on Instagram and Twitter!

 

[Nightman]

Congratulations! Good luck next season in Champions League.

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Season Three

Part Twenty-Four​

Welcome back to Singing the Blues! With last season's title in the trophy cabinet, have we strengthened enough to challenge for more silverware?

Season One
Season Two

​

“Well, gaffer,” Harry says as he empties what remains in the teapot into our cups. “I think we’ve had a pretty successful preseason.”

“I agree,” I reply, taking a sip and replacing my drink on my desk. “And not as chaotic as last year; we got our major business sorted early and only have a couple of deals for youngsters left in the pipeline.”

“It was good to see less overhaul than when we came up,” he nods. “Not too many out, if I remember correctly?”

“No, only squad players really: John and Troy retired with Robbo leaving when his contract was up, all of which we knew about from April, then it was only Lucas who left permanently from the First Team and a few young players have gone out on loan to help with their development, so we’ve kept the core players from our title win here,” I confirm.

​

“Still doesn’t feel real when anyone talks about ‘our title win’,” Harry grins.

“I don’t think it ever will,” I chuckle. “Maybe once we’ve won six more.”

Harry does very well to not spray tea around the office as he stifles a laugh.

“Yeah, because arrivals like Jack Butland will put the fear of God into our opponents,” he states once he’s swallowed.

​

“Now, now, Harry, you know as well as I do that Jack was brought in to help with UEFA’s home-grown player rules and to cover since John’s retired and Josh has gone out on loan,” I respond, shaking my head.

“That’s a lot of ‘J’ names…” Harry mutters.

“Plus,” I continue. “He only cost £350,000, so he’s not exactly a risk, is he?”

“I thought the club statement said it could rise to £700,000?”

“That’s based on him playing 50 league games.”

“Whoever’s in charge of transfer negotiations at Palace is an idiot,” Harry laughs.

“Can’t be that thick, they’ve kept their talons hooked into Michael Olise despite our best efforts, so we had to go for Jonathan Ikoné as our alternative player in the Tahith Chong mould. He’s got excellent dribbling ability and can find space well, plus his speed and agility will make him an excellent option to stretch defences.”

​

“On the topic of speed, Daouda Guindo is quite fast too.”

​

“He is,” I agree. “Can’t cross a ball which is a bit of an issue, but he’s only 21 and already a good defender, so if he can improve his delivery he’ll be a force to be reckoned with.”

“Good defenders seemed to be something of a theme this window,” Harry muses.

“Indeed, why Liverpool let Ibrahima Konaté go for as little as they did is beyond me when he’s such a clear upgrade on anyone at the club already and still only 25. His reading of the game and coolness under pressure are excellent, plus his athleticism makes him the total package as far as I’m concerned.”

​

“And then there’s also Jerry St. Juste to add to the mix,” I add. “He’s a very capable player who’s not going to kick up much of a fuss if he doesn’t play, and his versatility makes him perfect backup for Krystian Bielik this season. He can step into Krystian’s role in either of our systems easily.”

​

“So, you’re planning on using that 3-4-2-1 that we saw in the friendlies this campaign?” Harry quizzes.

​

“Yes,” I reply.

“Even though you used the same system for two years to crush the Championship then win the Premier League the next season?”

“Yes.”

“Have you gone insane?”

“Quite possibly,” I beam. “But I genuinely think this will play to our strengths even more, allowing us to be just as creative while becoming more solid at the back.”

“I know it’s not my place to question your tactical acumen, but it seems like a massive risk to change a winning formula,” Harry grumbles.

“You stay on top by evolving whilst you’re ahead,” I snap. “Besides, it’s not actually that different if you look closely. Our wide players have tucked in but will still look to breach opponents’ backlines, our wing-backs will still look to bomb on, and Krystian will merely sit a little deeper than before but will still step out when necessary.”

“Makes sense when you put it like that actually, thanks Nicole.”

“Glad to help.”

“Did you also help when it comes to the new kits?”

​

“No, why do you ask?” I query.

“Because I know your obsession with plastering rainbows over everything,” he answers with a smile.

“No idea what you mean…” I mumble, looking down at the floor to avoid Harry pointing out the various Pride-themed objects around the room.

“Regardless, I’m a big fan,” he says. “What d’you think then, boss, can we do it again?”

“I’d like to hope so. I’m concerned about European commitments sapping our energy faster this time out, but I think we’ve got a lot more strength in depth now and our younger players are getting better every day.”

​

“Well, the media agree we’re stronger at least - three times stronger for that matter. Still think we're as likely to win the title as Brighton, mind,” Harry smirks.

“Don’t you worry about them,” I start.

“I can’t wait to prove them wrong again.”

* * * * * * * *​

Thank you for reading! Please follow this thread to keep up with the updates, and feel free to follow me on Instagram and Twitter!

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Part Twenty-Five​

Welcome back to Singing the Blues! Season Three is here at last - so how will we start?

This part is spread across three posts, so please keep reading after the Norwich game and again after the Newcastle game!

Season One
Season Two
Part Twenty-Four

​

I’m starting to get used to the routine that comes with our trips to Wembley: we all travel down to London together on the coach, stay at the same hotel each time, and share an evening meal together before we go our separate ways. Some will head to the gym for one final session to work out any nerves, some will gather for a movie night to try and relax, whilst others will lie on their bed and stare at the ceiling, hoping to drift off before they can be consumed by fear of the day ahead of them - this one’s usually my move.

But there’s much more of a sensation of calm around the dinner table tonight. Whilst we’ve failed to win any of our three previous visits, this time we’re facing a Norwich team that weren’t good enough to get promoted from the Championship last season, despite their victory in the FA Cup. For a change, we’re considered favourites.

“Pass the spuds, Keith,” I ask my assistant manager.

“Are you carb loading, Nicole? This’ll be your third helping,” he says as he passes me the serving dish with a dwindling number of potatoes.

“Maybe,” I reply as I dump the majority of what remains onto my plate. “Or maybe I’m simply a greedy cow and have had enough wine that this seems like a good idea even though I need restful sleep tonight.”

“You’ve only had one glass.”

“That’s all it takes, I’m more lightweight than a cotton summer dress.”

“What an example to set your players,” Matthew Gardiner grumbles.

“This group of young, male athletes?” I snap, gesturing to the players around the table with the floret of broccoli on the end of my fork. “Their bodies are much better at processing this than mine, don’t worry.”

“Maybe you should be more concerned about your own then,” Matthew bites back.

“I’m a woman, Matthew, being concerned about the way our bodies look has been culturally ingrained in us for centuries by male-led societies that taught women that being attractive to men was the end and only goal of their lives.”

“That’s a bit heavy for the dinner table,” he mumbles.

“Heavy like me, very funny,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Why are you so on edge, gaffer?” Keith asks. “It’s only the Community Shield, it’s not like it matters that much.”

I point my knife directly at him, my eyes meeting his.

“Doesn’t matter? DOESN’T MATTER? You have to win the Premier League or the FA Cup to get here!” I shout, rising from my chair as I do and slamming down my cutlery, drawing the attention of the whole squad. “We’re here because we deserve to be, not because we were drawn from a hat at random! This is a chance at silverware, a chance to set a marker for the season to come, a chance to win at Wembley!” The room seems to be shaking as my fury builds. “This matters! And anybody who thinks otherwise should start finding their way back to Birmingham now!”

The room falls silent.

“Is she always like this?” Ibrahima Konaté whispers, daring to break the tension.

“Only at the start of the season,” Tahith Chong whispers back. “She calms down once she can see the tactics working and we start winning.”

“Glad to see you’re all ready to treat this match with the respect it deserves,” I say, much more quietly than before. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

I make my way towards the bathrooms but Anel Ahmedhodžić grabs my attention before I can get there.

“Can I talk to you about something, boss?” he asks.

“Sure, what’s bothering you? Wasn’t the speech, was it? I realise I get a bit intense before the first game…” I trail off.

“No, it’s not that,” he replies. “I heard that Chelsea have made a bid for me.”

“They have.”

“And I’d quite like it to be accepted.”

“No.”

“Why not?” he frowns.

“They bid less for you than we’ll end up paying for Ibrahima after you won the league and he finished sixth,” I explain, bluntly. “They’ve also signed four centre-backs already, all of whom we had our eyes on if the expected bid for you came in from them sooner, so we’d have to settle for a fifth-choice signing at best - we’re not letting you go on the cheap.”

“Oh. Well, how much would you let me go for then?”

“£51 million.”

“Seems a bit high, what about £40 million?” he haggles.

“£50 million.”

“£45 million?”

“£49 million, up front, or you’re going nowhere, end of story.”

Anel lets out a soft sigh.

“I guess that’s a fair price, gaffer. Thanks for hearing me out.”

“No problem,” I respond, my frown softening. “Now, head back to the lads and finish your meal.”

He smiles and nods before turning and wanders back across the dining room.

What a time to bring that up.

​

The opening game of any campaign is often nervy, more so when you’ve worked on a new tactic, and even more so when it’s for silverware, regardless of how some may view its importance. Will all the work from preseason pay off? Will everyone look suitable to the new roles that’ve been asked of them against more capable teams? Will we start with the kind of drive that we ended last season with?

We don’t have to wait very long to find out the answers.

Before the first 15 minutes are out, Konaté thunders a header past David Aziaya from our new back-post corner routine, continuing the sort of form he showed during our friendlies when he got four goals in four games, to set us on our way.

We’re controlling the game in a way you’d expect of the Champions and the only surprise is that it takes as long as it does for the floodgates to burst open, Danny Namaso stroking home when one-on-one and Konaté glancing in his second from the front post this time after having one disallowed moments earlier just as the referee is about to blow his whistle to end the first half.

We continue to assert our advantage after the restart and Chong drills a free kick from the edge of the box into the bottom-right corner to confirm our lead as unassailable soon after the hour mark, before the match is totally ended as a contest when Josh Bowler gives up trying and flies through the back of Daouda Guindo for a clear red card, relieving him of any more first-hand misery for the afternoon as we sail to victory.

One game down, one trophy won, and what an easy second debut for Jack Butland.

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Off the back of our maiden win at Wembley, we can celebrate by confirming the arrival of 19-year-old Arda Güler from Fenerbahçe for an initial £8 million. The attacking midfielder is incredibly gifted technically but needs to develop physically, so he’ll stay in Turkey for the season in order to get regular football.

​

But enough with the future, it’s back to the here and now as we turn our focus to our opening league game - a trip to the losers of spring’s Europa League final and winners of the prestigious ‘Bottlejobs of the Year’ award only five months into 2024 for coming third in the two-horse race for the title, Tottenham Hotspur.

Spurs have been less than impressive since the end of winter and looked lacking in belief when we bested them in our last meeting, so we’ll be hoping they’re still in that funk as David de Gea returns to the starting eleven in our only change from last weekend.

​

It’s a tense affair to begin with, both teams feeling each other out and not wanting to allow anyone to work their way into a dangerous position, keeping play outside of the penalty areas.

Midway through the opening period, we at last breach their territory as we work our way down the right and Neco Williams beats Diogo Costa to the ball, but our right wing-back doesn’t have the composure to attempt lobbing the Portuguese goalkeeper. He does, however, look up and spot Tanguy Ndombele steaming forward like a parent that’s caught shelves of Prime being restocked, picking him out perfectly and our new number eight rattles into the vacated net for our first league goal of 2024/25 against his former club.

Our hosts don’t know how to react, so we are more than happy to let things settle back to the tepid affair it had been up until we scored, right up to the point that Namaso fancies trying his luck from range with an audacious volley that flies just wide of the post, a dangerous sense of complacency clearly sneaking in.

And Spurs don’t like that at all.

They suddenly seem to have been jolted awake and, with their new-found vigour, look much more dangerous. They press forwards more aggressively, probing for an opening and finding one when Harry Kane splits our centre-backs with a through ball for Tetê, but the Brazilian can only clip the upright when one-on-one, then Son Heung-min speeds into the box shortly after and gets hauled down by the desperate Gonçalo Esteves for an absolutely nailed on penalty. Kane takes responsibility for the spot-kick, stepping up and placing his effort towards the bottom-right corner, but De Gea is equal to it, keeping out the England captain by diving at full length and pouncing on the ball before he can reach the rebound to a roar from our travelling support.

With this, I’ve seen enough. Our wing-backs drop back, our attacking midfielders drop to play in front of them, and Bielik steps forward to clog the gap between our defence and midfield as we revert to the shape that’s seen us eek out victories for the last two years, a habit that it doesn’t seem we’re going to break any time soon as we snuff out any chance of excitement in the last quarter of an hour and squeeze our way to three points on the opening day.

I didn’t dub myself ‘The Queen of Stodge’ because of triple-servings of potatoes, after all.

* * * * * * * *
​

With our second win comes the arrival of a second player that’ll remain on loan at their previous club for a while before joining up with his new teammates - Palmeiras’ teenage sensation, Endrick. The forward arrives for potentially more than £23 million, but our recruitment team’s ‘creative accounting’ means we’ll only be paying £2 million this summer.

​

But he won’t be in Britain until January, so it’s back to focussing on our current squad for Fulham’s visit on Wednesday night.

The play-off winners beat Southampton on their return to the Premier League, so as Chong makes his 100th league appearance for the club, the only change we make is an enforced one with Juninho Bacuna filling in for Alex Scott after he picked up a knock against Spurs, not wanting to underestimate our opponents.

​

Safe to say, we definitely OVERestimated The Cottagers.

Barely ten minutes have passed before Konaté nuts in another corner and the match settles into a familiar pattern of Blues control, remaining watertight without being overly threatening, but that changes as we run rampant in the eight minutes before half-time.

Williams forces an own goal from Jorge Cuenca before Namaso taps in Chong’s parried strike and Oscar Gloukh heads in the latter’s cross at the back post to put us 4-0 to the good. We don’t stop there after the restart as Tahith gets on the scoresheet himself at last, lashing in from the edge of the area, and we would’ve reached the six-goal mark at last if it weren’t for an excellent save from Fernando Pacheco at the death.

Our customary 5-0 win for the season comes earlier than ever.

* * * * * * * *
​

No new signing to follow this victory as we move swiftly on with Carabao Cup holders Newcastle coming to B9 on the following Sunday. Strange how they abolished the 3pm blackout last season only to bring it back for this one. Almost like someone fiddled with settings in an alternative universe last year and forgot to switch them back before the fixtures were released when they returned to this one…

Anyway, there’ll be no changes to the side that dished out the pummelling in midweek as we look to exploit tired legs in The Magpies’ camp after travelling to Eastern Europe for a Europa Conference League qualifier on Thursday.

​

“Seems Zinedine Zidane can win three Champions Leagues in a row but can’t get a result in the West Midlands after spending an obscene amount of money,” I chuckle to my assistants.

“Perhaps you should say that to him when the whistle goes?” Matthew mutters.

“No thanks, I don’t want to be treated to a 2006 World Cup Final special,” I reply.

“At least he would be treating you the same as a man,” he shrugs.

“I’m sure he’s mellowed by now,” Keith adds.

“I’ll let you test that,” I laugh. “I’ll just take our 2-0 and run.”

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

“Harry?”

“Yes, boss?” he replies, appearing in my office doorway.

“Why have I got an email from UEFA to confirm our Champions League fixtures? Shouldn’t there be a draw or something?”

​

“They’ve binned it now it’s changed to the league format,” Harry grimaces. “They didn’t think anyone would want to sit through all the fixtures being drawn one-by-one.”

“Doesn’t seem very transparent,” I frown. “At least we got to see ourselves get picked against Stoke in the EFL Cup, that was much less covert.”

​

“We’ve already gotten further than last year too,” he sniggers.

“I’ve told you to stop bringing that up,” I snap.

“Sorry. All ready for Saturday?”

“Think so,” I sigh. “Alex is fit enough to come back, so will do. Palace have started surprisingly well, which is a little concerning.”

“Fourth with seven points from three games is pretty impressive,” Harry nods.

“Should be exciting, at least.”

​

I won’t be buying a lottery ticket any time soon.

There’s been two shots by the interval, both off target, for a total xG of 0.10 in a remarkable display of lethargy, with more excitement being found at the average wake, and the second half isn’t much better, though we at least grab the goal we need to leave London with the victory after Gloukh converts the penalty he won for having been tripped by Joachim Andersen.

* * * * * * * *
​

Having made the best start of anybody in the league, we play our last fixture before the first international break of the season when Everton travel to St. Andrew’s.

In spite of the sluggishness shown last weekend, there will be no changes as we send out the strongest eleven possible with a point to prove, wanting to maintain our good form for as long as possible.

​

It’s a pulsating first half as we bombard Jordan Pickford’s goal, Scott putting us ahead when he drives through the centre of the pitch and wallops a dipping shot into the bottom corner, and Everton should be grateful that their goalie keeps them in the game as long as he does, denying Gloukh and Chong when one-on-one with Oscar hitting the woodwork along with Konaté.

But The Toffees’ resistance can’t last forever as Tahith makes his trademark move for the first time this campaign, beating Ben Godfrey before cutting inside from the right and curling into the far corner to secure the victory for us, making it six games, six wins, six clean sheets.

I don’t want to jinx it, but we look like we’ll be a force to be reckoned with this year.

* * * * * * * *
​

Thank you for reading! Please follow this thread to keep up with the updates, and feel free to follow me on Instagram and Twitter!

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Part Twenty-Six
​

Welcome back to Singing the Blues! The Champions League has arrived. I'm terrified.

This part is spread across three posts, so please keep reading after the Leicester game and again after the Stoke game!

Season One
Season Two
Part Twenty-Four
Part Twenty-Five
Part Twenty-Seven
Part Twenty-Eight
Part Twenty-Nine
Part Thirty
Part Thirty-One
Part Thirty-Two
Part Thirty-Three
Part Thirty-Four
Part Thirty-Five
Season Four

​

“Well, Nicole, what a start it’s been!” the Birmingham Live reporter states. “Even after last season’s success, did you really see this coming?”

“You always hope to win the first few games,” I reply, sitting at the interview table in the St. Andrew’s press room. “But to do so in the way we have is beyond what I could have ever expected, so I’m very proud of the team.”

“Are you looking forward to returning to the King Power tomorrow, the site of your title triumph?” asks a reporter for the Independent.

“Of course! It hopefully won’t be as chaotic as last time, I’m not sure I can take that again,” I joke.

A number of chuckles can be heard around the room.

“Any team news for us? Any injuries to update us with?” adds the Guardian’s correspondent.

“Nothing new to report, we’ve got a clean bill of health,” I answer. I then let out a weary sigh. “Come on, gang, it’s been more than two years for most of you and it’s still the same questions. You must have something more interesting rattling around in those creative brains of yours, right? Why don’t we do a quick-fire round of whatever you’ve wanted to ask a manager your whole career, but never had the courage to until now?”

The gathered press are surprised but, very quickly, that surprise gives way for excitement and there’s soon a sea of hands wanting to be chosen.

“Favourite team to visit as an away fan?” queries a writer from the Athletic.

“Fulham, taking the whole experience into account,” I respond.

“Least favourite?”

“West Ham, specifically at the London Stadium.”

Nods of agreement around the room.

“Most controversial, footballing opinion?” FourFourTwo’s reporter asks.

“The Champions League should go back to the European Cup format of just having league winners with no seeding, the Europa League should be for the teams from second to fourth, while the Conference League should be replaced with the Cup Winners’ Cup.”

Still a few looks of approval, but also a number of shrugs and scowls this time.

“Most controversial, NON-footballing opinion,” the Daily Mail’s correspondent puts forward.

“Sweetcorn isn’t food.”

The room bursts into a chorus of laughter.

“What?!” I shout, grinning. “It looks the same at both ends of the digestive system, that’s not right!”

Eventually, the mirth subsides and the mood becomes a little less light-hearted.

“On a more serious note, Nicole,” the writer for the Telegraph starts. “Do you think you can repeat the miracle? Possibly go one better and win a cup too, maybe even the Champions League?”

I take a deep breath and compose myself a little before I reply.

“Yes.”

A sense of shock engulfs the room at my confidence.

“Surely that’s a lot of pressure you’re putting on yourself and the players?” he continues. “Given it was so unlikely last season, what makes you so steadfast that you’ll do it again?”

“Because we’re only getting better as time goes on,” I reply. “We’ve got a young team that’s making positive development with every game they play. They’d made enough progress to win the Premier League last time out, so I don’t see why we couldn’t improve on what we’ve already achieved - especially as we’re already the team setting the pace this campaign. I believe in my team, they believe in each other, and you should all believe in them too if you want to keep any credibility as football journalists by next summer.”

A tense silence fills the air that’s so thick you’d think somebody pressed the mute button if you were watching the live stream until, finally, a young woman towards the back from Football Daily raises her arm very slowly and cautiously. I point to her, inviting her to speak. She stands and clears her throat.

“Favourite animals?”

“Pandas and puffins,” I chuckle. “Difficult to pick between the two.”

​

We get off to the best possible start, Oscar Gloukh converting from the penalty spot within the first ten minutes after Alex Scott is flattened like dough under a rolling pin by Igor and, as much as I get trauma-induced flashbacks every time Darwin Núñez presses David de Gea, there’s no denying that this Leicester side is much less terrifying under Artur Jorge than it ever was when Marcelo Bielsa was orchestrating his unique style of carnage; The Foxes are toothless and have to be repeatedly bailed out by Rui Patrício to keep the score down.

There’s little he can do, however, when Wilfried Ndidi passes straight to Gloukh and the Israeli takes one touch before curling his effort into the top corner from 25 yards to seal the points in a much more composed manner than four months ago.

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Ah, the Champions League. The pinnacle of quality and greed in football, its format being tweaked every few years to get the talons of Europe’s established elite further hooked into the mega-money and status that has skewed the balance of competition all across the continent for decades, not caring about clubs being left by the wayside as long as there’s little risk of those who’ve already dined at the top table missing out on another helping to some less fortunate nations that have been scrounging off of leftovers for years.

And we’re thrilled to be taking part in it.

Our maiden voyage into UEFA’s premier competition sees us face Wolfsburg with the added bonus of three more spots on the bench, so Jack Butland, Andrew Omobamidele, and Jordan James will squeeze themselves onto the flight to Germany as we make no changes to the team that beat Leicester at the weekend.

​

We start with the intensity of a pack of rabid chihuahuas, snapping into tackles and pressing high, and we grab our first goal early on when Danny Namaso breaks through, rounding Koen Casteels and rolling home for our first ever Champions League goal.

Then, within 15 minutes, we have three of them.

Ian Maatsen doubles our lead by slotting home the loose ball following a scramble at a free kick before Tahith Chong adds a third when he coolly finishes off a beautiful move from the left between Maatsen, Gloukh, and Namaso as we grab the match by the scruff of the neck and never let go, carving our hosts open repeatedly without adding to our advantage further.

There’s a brief moment of panic as the clock runs down when Gonçalo Esteves undercooks his back-pass and Lucas Nmecha steals in, only to show the poise of a cat faced with 46 laser pointers and blaze wide when he gets one-on-one in Wolfsburg’s only significant chance of the game.

Welcome to the Champions League, Birmingham City.

* * * * * * * *
​

Following our glorious European adventure on Wednesday night, we curse the TV scheduling gods and their incessant demands for content as we return home for Aston Villa’s visit on Saturday lunchtime, trying to encourage another big-match performance from some tired legs for this Second City Derby as all but Chong from the eleven that started in Germany keep their place in the lineup, Jonathan Ikoné being thrown in the deep end for his full debut as the Dutchman recovers from a twisted knee.

Can we keep up the momentum that’s been built against our fiercest rivals?

​

If anyone thought Ikoné would crumble under the pressure of filling in for our talisman, they thought wrong.

Before the opening ten minutes have passed, the Frenchman succeeds in losing his marker and bursting into the box, squaring for Namaso to tap in for exactly the sort of start we were after.

Yet, we don’t capitalise. Letting the occasion get to us a little, we allow Villa to steady themselves and gain confidence before we gift them an opportunity to get back into the game, albeit with a heavy dollop of controversy, when Matty Cash appears to go down very easily under pressure from Gloukh to win a free kick on the edge of the box, only for the VAR to overturn the decision. Not to book the Poland international for simulation, of course, but to hand our enemies an outrageous penalty that Leon Bailey steps up to take.

But he can’t beat De Gea.

Our vice-captain claws the Jamaican’s spot kick away from his goal spectacularly, just like he did to Mohamed Elneny on Villa’s last visit, and I receive a booking for celebrating the save rather too obnoxiously for the fourth official’s liking. I don’t care, however, as it’s exactly the kind of shock to the system we needed to refocus my boys, Ikoné adding himself to the scoresheet before the half is out as he stamps his mark on this derby.

Villa look like a sped up time-lapse of a balloon over the course of the second period, deflating and sagging more and more as the 45 drags on, popping at last with the merciful pinprick that is Demarai Gray adding a third to our tally to claim the bragging rights and extend our run of victories over our city rivals further.

* * * * * * * *
​

There’s barely a chance to catch our breath as the fixtures keep coming thick and fast, so we relish the opportunity to make wholesale changes as Championship Stoke are the latest to visit B9 in the hope of causing an upset in the Carabao Cup. Only Ikoné remains from our derby-day stars as we hope our second eleven is strong enough by now to see off lower-tier opposition.

​

Our rotation options look rusty and nervy, unsurprisingly, struggling to deal with the explosivity of Emre Tezgel in the early goings as The Potters threaten to break the deadlock until, eventually, we find our footing and start to shut them out of the game.

The difficulty, however, comes from remaining shot shy at the other end of the pitch. Every final pass is just off, every shot not quite on target, so we have to throw on a few regulars to tip the scales in our favour at last, though it’s actually Ikoné who notches his third goal involvement in two starts when he dispossesses Harry Souttar in his own area and slams in for a not-wholly-convincing display; we’ll have to be much better if we want to get past West Ham in the next round.

At least we’ve now gone the first ten games of the season without conceding a goal, which is no mean feat.

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

“Bob was poor again, Harry.”

“He’s never going to show his full potential when he’s constantly in and out of the team,” my exasperated personal assistant replies. “Keep starting him and you’ll see.”

“Fine, he’ll stay in the lineup for as long as we keep winning,” I sigh, shaking my head. “You’re lucky Danny’s not been in amazing form so far this campaign or Bob would have no chance. I still don’t get your obsession with him though, why are you so invested in his development?”

“I want to prove that what I said about the socks is true.”

“Of course you do,” I mutter, taking a long swig from my coffee. “Well, this is as good a chance as any - Brighton have only just come back up, after all.”

“They did manage 107 points last season, though,” Harry says. “And they’ve started well enough to be sitting mid-table.”

“Don’t remind me, or Bob’s staying on the bench.”

“Sorry…”

​

I hate it. I hate his smug, little face every time Bob van Leeuwen scores, as if he’s proven I’m some sort of moron by not playing a teenager more often than I have when margins are so fine at this level of football that every decision is scrutinised so intensely and making the wrong call could cost me my job at any instant, the irritating git.

Harry hatred aside, Van Leeuwen nabbing our first goal of the afternoon is the perfect catalyst for a flurry of activity in Brighton’s box, with Chong making it 2-0 before Gloukh chips a penalty right down the middle after being tripped by Manuel Ugarte to roar into a seemingly unassailable lead within the first half an hour. We look smooth, we look slick, we look every bit the side that caused the greatest upset in Premier League history by winning the title as a newly-promoted team.

Then the second half starts.

Despite specific instruction to stay focused at the interval, every player looks more complacent than David Cameron in the build up to the Brexit referendum. The sharpness is gone, the energy has dropped, and it barely registers as a surprise when Steven Alzate loops in a header from the 18-yard line for the first goal we’ve conceded in our 16 hours of football so far, then again when Dominik Yankov thunders in from long range.

We’re now flustered, suddenly clinging to an advantage that was looking so comfortable at the break and I stand paralysed as I watch the horror that’s unfolding in front of me.

I finally rouse myself to make substitutions in an aim to stem the flow, only for Esteves to be carried off after less than two minutes on the pitch to leave us down to ten, so I make the necessary adjustments and slump into my seat, pulling my jumper over my head and wishing for the final whistle so I can scuttle away to Burnt Orange and not have to worry about the mess that the latter portion of this game has been until, after what feels like weeks in my pull-over, that merciful whistle comes.

Phew.

* * * * * * * *
​

There’s no time to relax after that ordeal, however, as it’s off to the Philips Stadium in the Netherlands for our second Champions League match on Wednesday to face PSV Eindhoven.

With the rest during last week and an extra couple of days off from training after the weekend, I feel there should be enough left in the tank of those that were in the starting eleven to pull another result out of the bag, or at the very least put on a strong showing.

​

“Well, boss, it was pretty tight, tense, and tactical, but at least we got the win we were after,” Keith Downing says as I return from shaking hands with Ruud van Nistelrooy.

“It was disappointing, dull, and disconnected,” Matthew Gardiner snaps at his fellow assistant manager. “We’re lucky PSV weren’t at the races either.”

“I agree with Matthew,” I say to the pair. “I’m pleased the new corner instructions are still pretty effective, but I genuinely can’t think of anything worthy of making the highlight reel.”

​

“Still, two from two in the Champions League is pretty good going, especially when they were both away trips,” Keith says as we start walking down the tunnel.

“I know,” I reply. “We’ll still have to step things up from tonight if we want to get anything from our next three, though - Liverpool, Man City, and Bayern is going to be a true test of our quality.

“Hopefully,” I continue. “Nothing significant and distracting is going to happen to disrupt our preparations.”

* * * * * * * *​

Thank you for reading! Please follow this thread to keep up with the updates, and feel free to follow me on Instagram and Twitter!

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Part Twenty-Seven​

Welcome back to Singing the Blues! Will our excellent run continue against some of the biggest clubs across the continent (and Leeds)?

This part is spread across three posts, so please keep reading after the Liverpool game and again after the Leeds game!

Season One
Season Two
Part Twenty-Four
Part Twenty-Five
Part Twenty-Six

​

“Thank you for meeting with me, Nicole,” states the new owner of Birmingham City, Bruno Lucas.

“Did I have a choice?” I ask.

“No,” he snaps. “I was being polite.”

“Sorry…” I mumble, shuffling in my seat. Good start.

“Anyway,” he continues. “I thought it’d be a good idea to introduce myself now the takeover is complete and you can meet the rest of the board during the upcoming international break, rather than take away too much of your preparation time for Liverpool’s visit.”

“I appreciate it, thank you,” I reply. “I know the lineup isn't changing from the one that beat PSV, but we still need to go over some finer details over set pieces and opposition instructions and our pressing triggers and I should stop talking, shouldn’t I?”

“Yes, please,” he smiles, though it’s the kind of smile that doesn’t reach any of his face but his mouth. I nod sheepishly and indicate that he should proceed.

“I’m sure you’ve heard plenty of rumours over the last few weeks about what our plans are for the club going forward, so I want to reassure you that your position as manager is safe, given the extraordinary job you’ve done so far.”

As it blooming well should be, I think, not daring to speak again.

“In addition,” he adds. “We are planning, in the short-term at least, to run the club in a way that’s mostly consistent with the way the previous regime ran it and, as such, will not be making significant investment at this time.”

“So, the transfer budget?” I blurt out.

“Staying the same.”

“And the wage budget?”

“The same.”

“And next season’s transfer budget?”

“How does this sound?” Bruno says, scribbling a number on a piece of paper and sliding it across the desk to me.

“Very generous…” I grumble.

“Look, it’s not your money at the end of the day, is it?” his cordial demeanour slipping as his frustration grows.

“It’s not yours either!” I bite back. “It’s the club’s! And, given the ‘extraordinary job’ I’ve done has seen our revenue grow massively, I think it’s only appropriate that I have a significant portion of it to invest in the squad!”

“Are you aware of how much money has been put into future payments by our recruitment team?”

This stops me dead in my tracks.

“Not exactly…”

“It’s about £142 million.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Bruno sighs. “I get that our revenue’s growing but, if the bubble bursts and we drop back to where we were before you arrived, then we’re going to have some serious issues.”

“Even with parachute payments?” I query. “Surely that’d cover all the debt, even without any more seasons of TV revenue from the Premier League?”

“Regardless,” he replies, waving away my questions. “It’s not a risk we’re willing to take until we’ve seen how this season pans out.”

“Fine,” I say bluntly, rising from my chair. “You go ahead and hold back from investing in the club you spent a small fortune on because there’s a slim chance it’ll backfire. I feel we’ve achieved all we can from this meeting so, if you’ll excuse me, I have training to attend.”

“You can always quit if you have such strong opinions on the matter, Nicole,” he says as I reach the door. I turn back to face him.

“I don’t need your threats to motivate me,” I spit out, shaking slightly with rage. “So don’t insult me by acting like I haven’t proven already that we’re worth the money. Just watch the Liverpool game and you’ll see.” I slam the door and storm down the hall.

I hope I don’t come to regret that outburst.

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Liverpool may only be second to us in the league, but they start like they’re second in the Championship and we’re all over them, making the breakthrough in the 25th minute when Oscar Gloukh volleys in former Red Neco Williams’ cross, and our wing-back is at the heart of things again when he roars up the right flank and hits the byline, pulling the ball back to the centre of the box for Tahith Chong to thrash over the head of Caoimhín Kelleher and into the roof of the net to double our tally shortly before the break, showing none of the lethargy that had been present during the PSV match.

However, there’s a reason our visitors are the only other team still unbeaten.

Jürgen Klopp must have said something to damage his players’ egos in the dressing room because they come out like a pack of rabid squirrels and we can barely cope, The Reds going close a couple of times before Mohamed Salah slides under David de Gea to reduce the deficit soon after the hour mark.

But they can’t maintain their uplift in quality for long. A Champions League trip to Naples on Wednesday has drained Liverpool’s players and they slowly fade from the game as their belief wanes. The hammer blow comes as we do what we do best when leading by a goal with ten minutes to go - stodging things up - and I run off down the touchline at the final whistle in an attempt to avoid having Klopp crush my fingers in frustration again.

Take that, Bruno.

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[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Fresh off the second, dull break for international matches, we’re thrown straight back in at the deep end as we journey north to the Etihad to play a Manchester City team that won three titles in a row prior to our triumph last season and, more pertinently, have a group of enormously terrifying players.

We’ll make no changes from our successful outing against Liverpool as we hope changing manager to Luciano Spalletti over the summer will be enough of a disruption to City for us to pick up our first win over them.

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It takes 27 seconds for our hosts to have a shot worth an xG of 0.59 which, fortunately, De Gea saves spectacularly, but this is symptomatic of the open game that is to come.

We edge ahead against the run of play after Chong takes out three men with a back-heel in the build up to Gloukh blasting past Ederson, but this infuriates the sky-blue monsters and it isn’t long before Erling Haaland has levelled affairs. Not bad, I think, going into half-time at 1-1. Which would be true, were it not for the cyborg adding another in injury time.

We try to gain a foothold after the restart and seem to be growing into the game, only for Ian Maatsen to trip Kyle Walker when he was about as much of a threat and as animated as most houseplants, receiving his second booking and leaving us down to ten for the last twenty minutes. Then, just to kick us while we’re down, freshly-introduced-during-the-ensuing-reshuffle Wesley Hoedt clatters through the back of Malcolm to gift City a penalty that Bernardo Silva converts to give them a little breathing room.

But not for long.

We bounce back off the ropes and Danny Namaso is unfortunate to see his excellent effort tipped behind by Ederson, only for Anel Ahmedhodžić to thunder in a back-post header from the subsequent corner to give us hope, hope that’s boosted straight from kick-off when we quickly win the ball back and João Cancelo lets his nerves get the better of him, upending Williams with two feet and making it a red card for each team. Within seven minutes.

With the number of players equal again, I can smell an opportunity. I get the boys to push forward, we ramp up the tempo, we aim to get behind their defence more, I demand more from the lads, and does it work?

Of course it doesn’t.

We suffer our first defeat of the season at the hands of our FA Cup dream-crushers.

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Our schedule is so rammed that it feels like barely any time has passed by the point I’m walking down the St. Andrew’s tunnel with Harry ahead of our first ever home game in the Champions League - against seven-time winners Bayern Munich.

“So, Danny for Oscar is the only change, right?” he asks.

“Yep,” I reply. “Oscar’s not fully over the tight calf he suffered from against City and I thought we could try something a little different with Danny to see if he can find a little form as a starter, or whether he’s best served sticking to his super-sub role.”

“And you thought a match against a team that’s won its national title 12 times in a row was the right time to test this?” Harry queries, arching his eyebrows.

“Sure,” I say with a shrug. “No one is expecting anything but a Bayern win, so there’s no pressure. Why not try and catch them out with something a little unexpected?”

“I suppose,” he mumbles, unconvinced, as we approach the mouth of the tunnel. “Thanks for not dropping Bob, by the way. I thought he might be straight out of the eleven after we lost to City.”

“I’m done fighting it now, Harry,” I sigh, reciprocating the applause I receive from the Gil Merrick and Main Stand once we reach the pitch, the Champions League song giving me tingles as it blasts out from our stadium’s speakers. “I’m sick of listening to you whinge about him when he doesn’t play, so I’ve given in - he’ll either reach the top of the game, or I’ll fail with him.”

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It doesn’t take long to recognise the signs of a team low on confidence, not overly shocking when Bayern have made a stuttering start to their domestic season, and my players soon conclude that this game is there for the taking. They snap into tackles, press them like a particularly stubborn heat-transfer sheet, and crack a header off the bar early on, before my newfound faith in one Bob van Leeuwen pays off again.

We work the ball around well until it comes to Tanguy Ndombele and the metronomic Frenchman splits the German side’s defence, giving Van Leeuwen plenty of time and space to steady himself and chip the ball over Manuel Neuer once the ‘keeper commits himself to nab his first European goal and send Bluenoses delirious.

The goal rocks Bayern. The expectation of an easy 90 minutes against a seemingly-fluky qualifier is well and truly out the window. They struggle to string more than two passes together and look like they’ve gone into their regular supermarket to discover they’ve rearranged all the aisles and no longer know where anything is once they get into the final third. They then start giving away silly free kicks with panicked tackles and, eventually, we make them pay when Chong curls into the top-left corner to stretch our lead and make it more comfortable.

It’s not until the final ten minutes that the Bundesliga titans create a chance of note and, once they do, Leroy Sané is unsuccessful at finding anything other than the grateful chest of De Gea, which, like on so many other occasions, is the cue to drop into our 4-1-4-1 and stodge our way through the dying embers of the tie, keeping our illustrious guests from the ball and preventing any more chances as we, incredibly, see out the victory.

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Staying in the West Midlands, we don’t have long to savour our iconic victory as it’s soon Saturday and 17th-placed Leeds are being welcomed to B9 to try their luck against the Champions. I say welcomed, it’s Leeds. Their arrival is normally greeted with the same kind of warmth that a wasp receives at a picnic.

Having fully recovered from his knock, Gloukh regains his place from Namaso after the forward failed to make much impact last time out, and there’s a first league start for Daouda Guindo as he fills in for Maatsen at left-wing-back while the Dutchman serves his suspension by thinking about the moment of lunacy that was his second booking.

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It’s not hard to see why Leeds are so low down the table.

We rip their defence to shreds time and time again, first Chong going close before Gloukh lobs Illan Meslier off the back of some excellent work by Van Leeuwen to put us in front, and we just keep coming. The pressure is unrelenting and it finally gives, Pascal Struijk repeating his foolishness from last season when he flattens Alex Scott in the box to hand us a penalty, but Gloukh’s attempt is poor and saved easily.

Having reached the second half with an xG of more than two, there was a slight fear in the back of my mind that we’d fail to make the most of our dominance and slip up after failing to convert any of our chances, but our visitors look so demoralised and dishevelled that there’s no chance of them putting up a fight, and we finally show mercy and shatter any lingering hopes of a comeback when Demarai Gray breaks through their backline and rounds Meslier when one-on-one, quite literally walking the ball into the net to cap a very professional display.

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