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

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Our supreme overlords and their desire for a non-stop stream of football has finally caught up with my squad.

Having pushed through the fatigue for weeks, the regular eleven simply can’t take another game and likely won’t even have the energy to sidle off the bench for a cameo on Tuesday night, so Guindo is the only man who played Saturday to retain his starting place as we travel down to the soulless London Stadium for our first of two games in succession at West Ham - this one coming in the Carabao Cup, ahead of a league fixture on Saturday.

Can the Backup Brigade do the business?

​

“You know how in nature documentaries they make it look super dramatic when there’s a predator chasing its prey, but you always know they’re going to catch it, maul it and eat it for dinner because that’s just how those shows work? That’s what tonight’s felt like,” I say to my assistants.

“They’d been going close for ages, hadn’t they? Can’t say it was a shocker that they scored,” Keith Downing muses.

“I think Gianluca Scamacca scoring a free kick from 30 yards counts as a bit of a shock,” Matthew Gardiner mutters.

“You know what I meant,” Keith replies. “Jonathan David’s a few minutes later was slightly less unusual at least.”

Matthew and I nod as we all fall silent for a contemplative moment while the chant of ‘Champions of England, you’re having a laugh’ echoes around the stands.

“I hate this sodding place.”

* * * * * * * *
​

Off the back of a few days spent overthinking and forwarding highlights from the game to Bruno in the aim to get more money to invest in quality squad depth, we find ourselves heading back south with a point to prove.

Having been obliterated on Tuesday, none of those who started then will retain their place as we put out the strongest team possible, with the lesser-spotted Jordan James filling Jobe Bellingham’s place on the bench while he’s out for around a month, and we get a boost when we learn that a few of West Ham’s more important players are missing due to their efforts in the week.

Hopefully, the decision to refresh the key men will pay off.

​

I love it when a plan comes together.

All the composure, drive, and aggression that was missing a few days ago is back in abundance and it’s too much for the Londoners, their weary legs unable to cope with the reenergised Van Leeuwen as he repeatedly bursts through their defence with ease. He catches cat-kicker Kurt Zouma dawdling as he steals in and scores our first of the afternoon, he slams in our second after a comical mix-up on West Ham’s right gives Ndombele all the time in the world to pick out our teenage sensation, then he almost completes an eight minute hat-trick to commemorate his 50th league appearance, only to be denied by the offside flag.

With the tone set, all The Irons can do is try to keep our tally low as we near the interval, but Gloukh has other ideas as he wallops in a third, and their consolation goal in the second period does little to take the shine off of a much-improved performance, typified by the outstanding Van Leeuwen. Will he become one of Blues’ best ever players, as Harry’s been so unrelenting in telling me? No one can say for certain, but he’s definitely convinced me now at least - and I’m going to make sure he has as much playing time as possible to do so. If he doesn’t make it?

I guess I’ll be looking for a new personal assistant.

* * * * * * * *​

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-Eight​

Welcome back to Singing the Blues and happy Pride Month! No, I will not be apologising for any rainbows.

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

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

​

“You alright back here, gaffer?” Keith Downing asks as he passes my spot at the back of the plane on our flight to Portugal for our Champions League match against Benfica.

“Yep,” I reply, propped up in the corner to shield my laptop from prying eyes.

“What’re you up to? Working on tactics?” he asks.

“Nope.”

“Preparing for your press conferences?” Harry queries from across the aisle.

“No.”

“Chronicling everything that has happened since you took over as manager here so you can post it as some weekly story on a blog website and possibly release as a book at a later date?” Matthew Gardiner questions as he pokes his head over the seat in front of mine.

“That sounds preposterous, I doubt anyone would want to read something like that,” I respond.

“I know what she’s up to,” Harry smiles. “Football Manager 2025 came out this morning, didn’t it?”

“You’re not playing make-believe again, are you?” Keith sighs, sounding like an exhausted parent.

“I’m not, no,” I snap. “I wanted to see how much they upgraded the lads by after all our recent success, so I can send an angry email to Sports Interactive if they’re not good enough.”

“And?” Keith arches his eyebrows.

“They look pretty decent…” I mutter.

“And are you playing as a team?” Harry adds.

“No, I’m looking at how much worse all the Manchester UFC players are after they finished 12th,” I smirk.

“Alright then, we’ll let you off,” he sniggers.

“Now,” I start as I shuffle around so I can stand. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to use the facilities.”

“Well, you shouldn’t use that one,” Keith says, gesturing to the toilet behind us as he returns to his space next to Matthew. “Nobody got round to fixing the lock after Harry got stuck in there on the way back from the Netherlands.”

“Great,” I frown. I slip into the aisle and start making my way towards the front of the aircraft, noting that I can see a number of players also on the new release as I go.

“Who are you managing, Krystian?” I ask my captain, Krystian Bielik.

“Lille,” he answers. “Still find it hard to believe they went down last season, so I’m going to try and make them PSG’s biggest challengers again.”

“And you, Anel?”

“Malmö,” grins Anel Ahmedhodžić. “Got my start there and want to get them to another European final.”

“What about you, Ibrahima?”

“Birmingham, I can’t sign myself for another club since I moved in the summer, so figured I’d try playing as us,” says Ibrahima Konaté from the other side of the table.

“Nice,” I beam, stepping so I can see his screen. “You appear to have made yourself captain.”

“Yes, and I’m on free kicks and penalties.”

“You took the armband away from me?” Krystian asks, a quizzical look on his face.

“You’re still vice-captain,” Ibrahima shrugs. “Have to have belief in your own abilities.”

“I admire your confidence,” I say, patting him on the shoulder. “Just make sure you bring it to the pitch tomorrow.”

​

We fly out of the blocks and leave the two-time Champions of Europe looking like the newcomers, Ian Maatsen guiding his effort across goal into the bottom-right corner to put us ahead and Oscar Gloukh finishing into the same corner from the penalty spot shortly after in a dominant first-half display - we could, and probably should, be three or four to the good.

So, obviously, Henrique Araújo squeezes in from a tight angle minutes after the restart to disrupt our rhythm.

That goal gives Benfica the momentum as their confidence grows and they probe for another opening, but we won’t fall that easily as we keep them at bay whilst we regroup and rally, Alex Scott restoring our lead when he slams in from the edge of the six yard box, and we have David de Gea to thank as he restricts the Portuguese side to a single goal when he denies Araújo from adding to his tally before we shut things down and stodge things up for our fourth Champions League win in as many outings.

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Following our efforts on the continent, we’re back in Britain with a buzz and ready to face perpetual-underachievers Manchester UFC on Saturday afternoon.

Despite finishing 12th last season and finding themselves seventh so far this time out, Wayne Rooney still finds himself in a job, so we’ll aim to take advantage of their struggles to extend our 100% record over his team when they travel down to B9.

​

It’s an eventful opening four minutes for Gloukh, missing a sitter then being forced off with a twisted ankle to make for a rather disappointing day on a personal level.

But we don’t let that slow us down.

Keen to continue our form from during the week, the boys flatten UFC in the opening period, somehow only scoring one when Demarai Gray rifles in from an improbable angle after he replaced the injured Gloukh, though this time we don’t ease up after the interval and are rewarded when Tahith Chong pokes in just before the hour mark against his former employers.

Even Datro Fofana grabbing one back isn’t enough to spur UFC back into life and, though it means we don’t make it to another 2-0, we succeed in heading into the international break by seeing out yet another victory over The Red Devils.

* * * * * * * *
​

Ah, Bournemouth. How once we feared you. Alas, your wretched grip over our fortunes has relinquished and, finally, you are in the doldrums where you belong.

Ahem.

With The Cherries in a nosedive and having picked up a whopping two points from the first third of the season, now feels like the perfect opportunity to pile on the misery. That said, it also feels like the perfect recipe for an upset, so Gray coming in for Gloukh whilst he’s recovering from his knock will be the only change we make when we journey south for our tea-time meeting on Saturday.

​

“Remember when we used to be scared of this lot?” I say to my assistants over the noise of our fans celebrating our 3-0 win.

“That feels like a long time ago now, Nicole,” Keith smiles.

“I’m still scared of ‘em,” Matthew grunts.

“Really?” I ask, slightly puzzled.

“It’s the AC Milan-style kits and the barmy light show before kick-off, something about it is just unsettling,” he explains. “And their ground’s tiny, no team with a ground this small should be making it to the Premier League. It’d be like Luton bringing Kenilworth Road up to the top flight with them.”

“Yeah,” I snort. “Like that would ever happen.”

* * * * * * * *
​

Fresh off our Dorset demolition, we head home in preparation of hosting Freiburg on Wednesday night in the Champions League - our third German opponents in the competition so far.

Our guests have struggled in Europe so far, sitting towards the bottom of the enormous and bloated league at the half-way point, and we won’t be giving out any favours as we hope to push on following our strong start, Chong being the only player replaced while he rests a pulled hamstring, Jonathan Ikoné filling his spot in the lineup.

​

Our habit of dominating teams in the first half without scoring a bucketload of goals is starting to get worrying. I shall only worry properly, however, once we start losing.

Having blitzed Freiburg like a milkshake in the opening 45 minutes with nothing to show for our efforts, I’m relieved when Ikoné slots home soon after the break to finally put us a goal to the good, but we still struggle to break their resistance down further so, after Terem Moffi shoots straight at De Gea when clean through, we decide to provide our patented brand of stodge to try and close out the final few minutes.

Only, this time, it doesn’t go quite as expected.

“Everyone seems much further forward than they should do,” I say as David lumps the ball downfield.

“Freiburg are tiring, they probably sense that a second is there for the taking,” Matthew analyses as Jobe Bellingham nods the ball down for Juninho Bacuna.

“Regardless,” I start whilst Bacuna lifts a pass over the opposition defence and towards Gray as he bursts forward. “We should be slowing things down and limiting chances for them to break.”

As I finish, Gray strikes on the half-volley with the sort of force Anthony Joshua would be envious of, nearly taking the net off as his shot hurtles into the top corner.

“…What do I know?” I shrug.

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Steaming towards the end of November, there’s no let up from our relentless schedule as we make the short journey across the West Midlands for our Saturday-evening derby match against Wolverhampton Wanderers.

Wolves have made an excellent start to life under Emre Belözoğlu and have planted themselves sixth, so we’ll be facing a stern test of our title credentials against our rivals.

​

What was I saying about how well we start games?

My lads look shell shocked, wilting in the fierce atmosphere at Molineux, second-guessing decisions, hesitating for too long. The fact Ikoné managed to nut us ahead seems to mean little as we face wave after wave of unrelenting, old-gold pressure, the woodwork being rattled twice as we’re lucky to scuttle into the dressing room with our lead intact before I can slump so deep in my seat that I start doing a headstand.

And then, Wolves’ claws appear clipped at last.

Whatever Belözoğlu said before the second half must have had the exact opposite effect from what was intended as their attacks abate and the chances dry up. They do get the ball in the net, but Raúl Jiménez’s exquisite finish is ruled out for offside to really get heads dropping and whilst we didn’t improve our performance noticeably, we didn’t have to as our hosts ended any hope of a comeback themselves by simply giving up, handing us a remarkably undeserved 1-0 to take back to the Second City with us.

* * * * * * * *
​

Including a preseason friendly, we’ve played Chelsea four times and lost 1-0 every time, so you can forgive me for dreading this Wednesday-night affair at St. Andrew’s.

Having been given a couple of days off to recuperate, the boys are fit and raring to go, even seeing Gloukh thrusted back into the action now he’s been given the all clear by our medical team as we look to shake these blue monkeys from our backs.

​

Nothing has happened, absolutely nothing at all, until Scott watches Tanguy Ndombele’s floated cross drop perfectly for him to thunder a volley into the top corner and snap me from my professional demeanour as I run down the touchline, shrieking like I’m back to being an eight-year-old fan. We’ve scored! We’ve actually scored against Chelsea! About blooming time.

Composure regained, I watch on gleefully as the game unravels into a low energy, turgid display from both teams, playing into our hands perfectly, and not even a half-time rollicking from Diego Simeone that we could hear through the walls sparks any sort of reaction from our visitors, everything seeming to grind to a halt with less than ten minutes left to play.

“Right, I think it’s time to end this,” I declare, scribbling ‘stodge’ on a slip of paper.

“Right you are, gaffer,” Keith nods. “Don’t want to risk anything at this stage.”

“Daouda, unless they score, give this to Krystian next time the ball goes out of play in our favour,” I instruct Daouda Guindo, handing him the note moments before he jogs onto the pitch to replace Maatsen.

“Job done, no one gets through us now,” Keith beams as Chelsea throw the ball back in and send it left for Marc Cucurella.

“Don’t say something like that,” Matthew growls as Cucurella squares towards Mason Mount, 25 yards out.

“I don’t know why you’d say such a-“ I begin, cutting myself off as Mount fires a dipping and swerving first-time strike into the same corner Scott did in the opening period, a number of two- and three-word phrases that wouldn’t pass Match of the Day’s profanity filter being shouted from behind me moments later. Guindo looks to me and I shake my head slowly.

After an incredibly awkward period of silence that seems to go on for an eternity, it’s finally broken.

“Well, Nicole, let’s look on the bright side-“

“Sod off, Keith.”

* * * * * * * *​

Thank you for reading! As I'll be away on holiday, like most members of the LGBTQ+ Community will be over the course of June, there shan't be a release next weekend. Don't fear - I'll be back to the regular schedule the following week! As such, 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-Nine​

Welcome back to Singing the Blues! It's time to face our final opponents of 2024 - can we end the year on a high?

This part is spread across three posts, so please keep reading after the Southampton game and again after the Nottingham Forest game!

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

“It’s nice getting to go out with you on a Saturday evening again,” Beth says, our arms linked as we walk around Birmingham’s Frankfurt Christmas Market.

“It is,” I reply. “Thank heavens the gods of television and football saw fit to return to making it difficult for people to plan too far in advance and get the time off work they need to follow their team without spending a fortune on subscriptions that don’t even grant them access to every match.”

We smile at each other and mock-cheers our pretzels.

“I still can’t believe how many people recognise you,” Beth whispers as a group of teenage boys walk past, staring at me with wide eyes and muttering excitedly to each other.

“Maybe they’ve never seen a pair of engaged women in real life before,” I joke.

“Maybe,” she chuckles. “But I got referred to as ‘that football woman’s missus’ the other day when I was in the Lego Store, so I think anyone with even a moderate interest in football in this city knows who you are.”

“Possibly, I don’t want to make that assumption though, would feel a bit narcissistic. Wait, you went to the Lego Store without me?” I frown.

“I go to a lot of places whilst you’re at matches,” she shrugs. “I’m not going to just lounge around the house all day, I’d get incredibly bored.”

“I like going to the Lego Store though…”

“It’s nearly Christmas, Nicole,” Beth says with a patronising pat on my arm. “Use your common sense.”

“Oooooohhh, I get you,” I nod, the penny dropping at last.

“What do you think of that?” she asks, pointing at an enormous Gonk as we pass a stall.

“I think we have enough of those to start an exhibition.”

“But look at it!” she exclaims, slipping her arm from mine and picking up the green, almost featureless, fabric dwarf. “I need this, Nicole. Go ask the vendor how much it is for me, please and thank.”

“Fine,” I sigh. “Excuse me, how much for the unfathomably-huge gnome, please?”

“Fifty quid, love,” the seller answers before he looks up at me and pauses for a moment. “Hang on a second, aren’t you Nicole Andrews?”

A wry smile sneaks onto Beth’s face.

“Yes, I am indeed,” I admit, sheepishly.

“Eighty quid then.”

“Pardon?!” I snap, taken aback.

The man grins and pulls up his sleeve to reveal a tattoo of an Aston Villa badge, bursting into laughter once he does so.

“Ah, I see,” I say. “Never mind then, I’ll look elsewhere.”

“No, no, wait, I’m just messing with you,” pleads the beaming vendor, trying to compose himself. “Let me get the card reader for you, if you still want it?”

“I do,” I grumble as Beth sniggers next to me. “As long as the price hasn’t increased again.”

“Fifty it is,” he says as he places the contactless machine on the table in front of me. “Southampton tomorrow, right?” he asks whilst keying in the price on his phone.

“Yeah,” I respond, tapping my card to the sensor. “They’re 19th, so might make a couple of changes to keep things fresh.”

“Fair enough, I’ll be watching at least.”

“Really?” I smile, surprised.

“Of course,” he smirks. “They’re dreadful, it’d be hilarious if you lose!”

“You’re lucky my fiancée’s obsessed with these things,” I glare, gesturing to the Gonk Beth’s clutching to her face to try and stifle her laughter.

“Well, your patronage is greatly appreciated,” he chortles. “Have a great Christmas, we’ll see you on the 29th!”

“And you, you’ve been a delight,” I mutter, turning sharply on my heels and walking away from the stall briskly.

That final fixture of the year can’t come soon enough.

​

It’s like watching a Chris Chibnall-era episode of Doctor Who as we plod through the opening exchanges: slow, confused, and making questionable decisions that irritate our fans.

The closest we get in the first half is a Jonathan Ikoné free kick from 30 yards that clips the bar on its way over, so we decide to go for it after the break and abandon our 3-4-2-1 in favour of a 4-2-3-1, attempting to spark some life into our listless performance, which is as effective as a transparent sun hat - we could play for 90 years and not score from open play.

Which is why we’re fortunate when Jerry St. Juste nuts in at a corner for his first goal since signing to relieve some pressure with less than a quarter of an hour remaining.

Of all the teams we’ve had to shut down the final five minutes against, 19th-placed Southampton is definitely the most embarrassing.

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Lucky to have left St. Mary’s with all the points, we’re handed another slice of good fortune when we’re drawn a trip to Championship Middlesbrough in the third round of the FA Cup - a fixture we really should be winning comfortably.

​

And when it comes to fixtures we should be winning, Copenhagen at home in the Champions League on Wednesday night fits the description perfectly.

The Danish side are currently clinging on to a play-off spot in our ridiculous, 36-team league, and the returns of Neco Williams, Ian Maatsen, and Tahith Chong to the starting eleven means we’ll be fielding the strongest side possible.

If we can beat Bayern Munich at St. Andrew’s, we can beat Copenhagen.

​

“How are we only winning 1-0?” I whinge as we enter the last minute of the three added.

“Beats me,” Keith Downing says, having approached the edge of my technical area with me. “Not stodging it up?”

“Not when we’re this dominant, our analysts tell me our xG is nearly ten times theirs,” I answer as Luther Singh lumps long. “Besides, there’s only 30 seconds lef- oh no.”

Mikkel Kaufmann plays wide receiver to Luther’s quarterback, making the hit-and-hope hoof look like an exquisitely-played pass as he cushions the ball out of the air and threads it through our defenders for Mamoudou Karamoko to race onto, now one-on-one with David de Gea. I slump down to my haunches and hold my head in my hands, fearing the worst as Karamoko shapes to shoot.

A metallic clack tells me the woodwork has been struck.

The lack of cheering and sudden, quick outbursts of ‘No, no, no,’ tells me the ball’s rolling along the goal line.

Then there’s another clack as the other post must have been hit and I finally dare to look, just in time to see Anel Ahmedhodžić thump into the upper tier of the relieved Kop, and the referee blows the final whistle.

“Blimey, that was jammy,” I say, exhaling at last and standing back up.

“Jammy or not, a win’s a win,” Keith grins.

“And that’s enough to ensure we’re through to the round of 16,” Matthew Gardiner adds as he joins us.

“How’d you work that out so quickly?” I ask.

“I didn’t, the nerds in the data department told me. Goodness knows how anyone can know something like that with this crazy format, but I trust them,” he shrugs.

“Well,” I start. “At least we don’t need a result when we go to Madrid anymore.”

* * * * * * * *
​

Having been a little below our usual standards for the last couple of outings, we’ll need to be at our best for the visit of last season’s Premier League runners-up, Arsenal.

Having had extra rest after the Copenhagen game, we’ll make no changes as we aim to keep The Gunners as far from the title race as we can.

​

We’re ripped apart right from the off and would be three down by the half-hour mark if it weren’t for the brilliance of De Gea, denying Gabriel Jesus when clean through twice before getting his fingertips to a Mohamed Simakan belter from the edge of the area.

But his one-man resistance finally caves when Simakan rolls Takehiro Tomiyasu’s pull-back from our byline into the far corner as we limp towards the interval, and switching to the 4-3-3 that we used so effectively for my first two seasons does little to stabilise us before we implode, Fábio Vieira converting the penalty Oleksandr Zinchenko won after Maatsen figured running into the Ukrainian was a better course of action than trying to shepherd the ball out of play or putting it into the crowd.

At this point, there’s nothing to lose. I gather my boys on the touchline to tell them to adjust to the attacking 4-2-3-1 and just go for it, higher line, higher tempo, higher press, and get play out wide so Chong can scare the daylights out of Kieran Tierney.

And it works.

Within minutes, Tanguy Ndombele sprays a diagonal pass to the right where Tahith has enough time to control, take a touch into the box, make a cup of tea, read the news headlines, play a few levels of Candy Crush, then spank through the legs of the on-rushing Aaron Ramsdale to halve the deficit.

We’re the team with the momentum now and Arsenal are struggling to cope, Mikel Arteta’s men seeming unsure of how to react once we take off the defensive shackles, and we get the reward our now-cavalier approach deserves when Alex Scott’s effort from range deflects off the backside of Demarai Gray, flying into the opposite side of the net than the already-committed Ramsdale was diving to. Now we’ve got our equaliser, so shall we back off and protect the point? Of course not, this game is there for the taking, so we’ll continue to pile forward!

Unfortunately, Arsenal have the same thought.

Straight from kick-off, our visitors hurtle up-field and they have the ball in the net again, only to be denied by the offside flag as the final minutes descend into chaos. It’s back and forth like a high-speed cable car, our biggest chance coming when Jonathan Ikoné is unable to beat Ramsdale from six yards, before De Gea manages to claw an outrageous flick from Vieira off the line when it seemed to be slithering into the far corner in slow motion and, finally, this pulsating, dramatic, breathless game comes to a close.

Yet, somehow, we still end up second in the Match of the Day running order after Tottenham managed to blow a three goal lead to lose 5-3 to Villa at home.

Of course.

* * * * * * * *
​

We’re given a reprieve at last, our exit from the Carabao Cup gifting us our first non-international break week off since the end of August just in time for Christmas, allowing us a chance to regroup and recover before our trip to the City Ground for my first match against Nottingham Forest.

Roberto De Zerbi’s side have already beaten their points total from two seasons ago, but the fact that they’re currently 16th only signifies how dreadful they were over the course of that campaign, and they had a tough time against Manchester City on Wednesday night when they presented little challenge against the ungodly powers of Erling Haaland, so we’ll be hoping we can produce a similar performance as Daouda Guindo comes in for Maatsen who hasn’t quite recovered from a tight hamstring in our only change for this evening kick-off.

​

I’m so thrilled that we’ve had a whole week to prepare such an abysmal first-half display. Again.

We make almost no decent chances as we’re frustrated by Forest’s stubborn resistance, and their steadfast refusal to simply accept defeat and give us the points really starts to rile me, threatening to bubble over when former-Blues loanee Jesse Lingard receives the ball with his back to goal, turns Mister ‘I’m worth £49 million’ Ahmedhodžić with ease, and rifles into the top-right corner from 20 yards for a shock lead, a shock lead that results in a rather loud half-time team-talk that involved no end of arm thrashing from myself.

Yet it has little effect. We’re still as creative as modern brand logos, constantly lacking any spark of innovation, until Oscar Gloukh is finally set free by Scott and makes no mistake by nearly taking the net off its frame for our equaliser, but we keep stalling and it looks like it’ll be back-to-back dropped points for the first time since January.

“How long left?” I ask over my shoulder.

“About two and a half minutes,” Matthew grunts back.

“Still time,” Keith calls over.

“Not if we keep passing it around so carefully and probe for an opening in a team that’s set up to be solid,” I snarl as the ball comes to Gonçalo Esteves by the touchline in front of me. “Forward, Gonçalo! They’re exhausted, get at them!” I bark at him.

The Portuguese substitute seems stunned by my ferocity, but reacts accordingly. He opens up his body and hurtles down the right, beating two men in red before looping a cross to the back post from the corner of the box. I start to regret my outburst. That’s got to be missing everybody, I think. SURELY, nobody’s reaching that?

I’m wrong.

17-year-old Bob van Leeuwen launches himself upward, straining every sinew in his neck to meet the ambitious ball with the centre of his forehead, ploughing his header past the helpless Sergio Rico as the away contingent explode into a sea of noise, victory seemingly clinched in the last embers of the game.

“Is that what you were after, boss?” Gonçalo asks with a massive grin on his face.

“That was perfect,” I reply, handing him a piece of paper with our closing-out, stodgy 4-1-4-1 scribbled on, drawn up after our last substitutions. “Now, give this to Tahith and don’t leave our half again.”

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Having visited De Zerbi’s current employers on the 21st, we move on to hosting his former employers on Boxing Day: Brighton.

The Seagulls have adjusted back to life in the top flight well, perched a couple of spots above Forest, and were the first team to score against us this season after ten clean sheets in a row, so aren’t to be taken lightly. Therefore, Maatsen will return at left wing-back as we enter a ten-day spell with four games and a lot of resting between each.

​

I have no idea what presents my players got for Christmas, but they seem to have given the lads their mojo back.

Having gone more than ten hours without scoring before his finish at the weekend, Van Leeuwen only needs ten minutes to coolly slot past Robert Sánchez and nudge us ahead before he’s involved again at the midway point of the opening period, sending a pass forwards for Williams to run onto and square for the unmarked Chong to tap into the gaping net.

We look like the Champions of England again, effortlessly picking Brighton apart and limiting them to one hopeless shot in the opening 45 with the one-way traffic continuing after the restart. By the last quarter of the match, there’s a swagger to our play and a level of confidence that leads to audacious things being attempted, exemplified by Gray roaring towards the byline and lashing in our third from the most improbable of angles.

That’s more like it.

* * * * * * * *
​

“We can’t lose this, Harry,” I say to my personal assistant during our customary Pre-Match Board Game Night. “I can’t start the new year on the back of a loss to that lot.”

“Just chill out, Nicole,” he responds. “You’ve got a 100% win record against Villa; clearly, you know how to get the better of them.”

“This is different,” I note, shaking my head. “We’d not been at our best before Thursday and they’re flying up in sixth. The last time we played them at their place was an opening day, so nobody knew what to expect, and the other two meetings were at St. Andrew’s. Make no mistake, this’ll be our toughest test against them.”

“And yet, I have no doubt that we’ll pull through,” Harry encourages. “Everybody’s fit and Bob’s hitting form, so we’re in the best shape possible to give them a good beating.”

“Do you mean ‘to beat them’?”

“If that’s what you want to believe,” he shrugs. “Speaking of beatings, can you hurry up and win? I don’t know why I agree to play Superclub with a professional football manager…”

“Because I love it and you’re a good friend. That said, I’ll be having Blanco from you for 90 million, seeing as you weren’t able to escape mid-table.”

“I don’t know why I trained him up, I knew this would happen,” Harry grumbles.

“Hush now, don’t be a sore loser.”

“I’m a sore loser because you’re a bad winner,” he snaps.

“I’m a very good winner, thank you very much,” I smirk. “And I hope to prove so again tomorrow.”

​

It might be a chilly Sunday in December, but the atmosphere inside Villa Park makes it feel like a furnace for one of the most anticipated Second City Derbies in history.

As is becoming customary, the opening exchanges are feisty and scrappy, both sides more concerned with thunderous tackles than they are intricate attacking play.

But we eventually take charge and when, finally, Chong is set free, he hares forward and leaves the Villa defence in his wake, pulling the ball back to the centre of the box for Van Leeuwen to convert for his third goal in as many matches, though his game wouldn’t last much longer as he’s forced off with a twisted knee only minutes later.

Undeterred, we press for another and get our wish when Gloukh powers his penalty past Emi Martínez after Lucas Digne resorted to shoving Chong over to block Scott’s shot from the D when he realised he wouldn’t get there on his own.

We have to weather the storm somewhat as the second half wears on, a few nerves setting in when Jonathan Bamba grabs one back for the hosts, but the hectic schedule and chasing the game has paid its toll on our rival’s fitness levels as they fade soon after and, sensing that they’re losing their impetus, we shut things down and stodge everything up, gleefully watching the clock tick down while Villa attacks resemble an insect’s pathetic attempts to fly out of an open window.

Somewhere, in these stands, I know that market seller hasn’t had the best of times.

* * * * * * * *
​

So, as 2024 draws to a close, we make a final toast: to David de Gea, World Goalkeeper of the Year. His ratio of almost one clean sheet per goal conceded has been a massive part of why we’ve achieved as much as we have since his arrival in January.

​

And we’ll need him to maintain those impressive levels as we roll into 2025 with our main two title rivals, Manchester City and Liverpool, to come in its first four days and Real Madrid a couple of weeks later.

But hanging over everything is one question, one vital request for information that is so desperately needed by everyone connected to this club and beyond.

What the heck is happening at Chelsea?

* * * * * * * *​

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 Thirty​

Welcome back to Singing the Blues! Two title rivals, three former Champions of Europe, the FA Cup, Fulham, this part has it all!

This part is spread across three posts, so please keep reading after the intro and again after the Nottingham Forest game!

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

​

“You’ve done that thing you do again, Nicole.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that,” I say to Harry, rolling my eyes, as I arrive at St. Andrew’s for our New Year’s Day clash against Manchester City.

“You dyed your hair ahead of having a heavy night in the hope we would be distracted and not notice how tired you look,” he smirks.

“I didn’t have a heavy night,” I sigh. “I struggled to sleep because City scare the life out of me.”

“…and, knowing that you’d struggle to sleep, you decided to dye your hair.” Harry insists.

“Fine, but it’s mainly because I seem to be scrutinised more for my appearance than the rest of the league’s managers for some mysterious reason.” I grumble. “It’s depressing how the stress is gradually turning my hair grey, yet you don’t look any different from when I first met you, lucky git.”

“I’m sure I do, your visual memory isn’t the best,” he chuckles, though I think I pick up on an odd hint of nervousness to his laughter. Probably imagining things in my slightly sleep-deprived state. “Did you have a good New Year?”

“Dyed my hair, as you noticed, then watched 12 hours of footage to see if there was some way to stop Erling Haaland and pondered whether it was the right choice to let Stevica Gajić stay at Crvena zvezda for the rest of the season, until I realised it was 2am and needed to go to sleep.”

​

“I didn’t know how to pronounce that name until you just said it.”

“Me neither…” I ponder.

“Any success, with regard to Haaland?”

“Of course not, I’m just gonna tell our centre-backs to flatten him as soon as he gets the ball and hope they don’t get sent off,” I shrug.

“Seems like a risky strategy.”

“Any better ideas for dealing with a team that’s won 13 games in succession?”

Harry pauses for thought.

“No,” he finally answers.

“Didn’t think so. Anyway, did you have a nice New Year? You didn’t buy six air fryers again, did you?”

Before Harry has a chance to reply, our newest kit man enters the dressing room with a trolley of shirts.

“Happy New Year, Jamie” I say, Harry echoing the greeting.

“Happy New Year, gaffer, Harry. As you’re here so early, d’you wanna help me hang these up? I’ve got one I think you’ll want to do, boss,” he beams. He rummages through the pile and passes me a jersey I’ve been waiting months to see: Endrick’s.

“Why 33 again, Nicole?” Harry asks.

“Gabriel Jesus wore it when he arrived at City from Palmeiras as a teenager, hopefully their newest export can live up to the same levels and then some,” I explain.

“No pressure then,” he jokes.

“Well,” I say. “Let’s see if he can thrive under it when he makes his debut today.”

“He’s starting?” Harry queries.

“Bob’s injured and I imagine Danny’s more focussed on the African Cup of Nations than club football at the moment,” I answer, hanging Endrick’s shirt above his seat. “So why not?”

“Because he’s 18 and barely trained with us.”

“Minor details,” I say, waving away his protests. “Besides, lack of training didn’t stop Bob making an impact,” I add with a wink.

“Bob’s different.”

“Yes, yes, magic socks, I know,” I snap. “I don’t care, Harry, Endrick’s going to be a superstar too, so he needs chances to prove himself as well.”

“Did you just say magic socks?” Jamie says, quietly.

“Yes,” I nod, spinning to face the newbie. “We have a magical pair of socks that once belonged to Trevor Francis and can make an academy product of ours unfathomably good.”

Jamie looks more confused than before I answered him.

“I’ll go get the rest of the kit…” he mumbles, bumping into the door frame as he turns to leave.

“Why did you tell him that?!” Harry hisses.

“Oh, Harry. It’s cute that you think he’ll take me seriously,” I say, smugly, as I pick up another top from the pile. “Now, hurry up and help me put some more of these out while Jamie tries to work out if he’s still drunk or not.”

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

I can barely believe what I’m witnessing.

City must have been celebrating too hard last night as they’re all over the place, looking more like a team fighting for survival than the title, and our confidence quickly grows, evidenced by Endrick when he attempts to lob Ederson from 25 yards and grazes the outside of the post within minutes of his first start in English football.

And he doesn’t stop there.

Dancing through the rubble of the crumbling City, our new Brazilian is at the heart of everything. He’s winning the ball back upfield, he’s pulling John Stones and Rúben Dias out of position, he’s receiving a pass with his back to goal and floating it over the right of their defence for Ian Maatsen to race onto and rifle home for, unexpectedly, a totally deserved lead. I wait for City to react, flex their enormous, petrostate-funded muscles and obliterate us.

But it simply doesn’t happen.

For the first time in recent memory, the Cityzens are meek, flustered even, and they descend totally into farce when Dias attempts to tackle Alex Scott on the edge of their box, only for the ball to ricochet off the shins of Stones and drop perfectly for Endrick to fire in and add a goal to the assist he’d already claimed.

I watch on with a combination of glee, pride, and unease as the barrage continues. Endrick’s clearly found his groove and could have several goals if it weren’t for the offside flag, the crossbar, and an incredible block from Dias on his goal line, Scott also clattering the woodwork with a thunderous volley from the D, until, finally, the referee sees fit to end our visitors’ misery.

There is no comeback.

There is no 14th win on the bounce.

There is only total dominance from one title rival over the other, as evidenced by the match stats, and a debut from Endrick that will send a wave of fear through the rest of the league.

* * * * * * * *
​

Having had a day off as a reward for their display, there’ll be no respite for the eleven that beat City as we ask them to go again, three days later, at Anfield, looking to lengthen the gap between ourselves and Liverpool after their loss to Tottenham on New Year’s Day.

Can we repeat that level of performance?

​

We start brightly and force Alisson into an early save when Tahith Chong tamely volleys straight at the goalkeeper, but we’re the team in the ascendancy and look more likely to take the lead, breaking through repeatedly, yet being thwarted by Alisson every time. Everything’s going well, all we need to do is find the finishing touch and we’ll get the goal our play deserves.

Then, Liverpool wake up.

Before we can adjust to The Reds’ substitutions, they start wreaking havoc and soon Pepê plays the ball inside to Evanilson. The forward has the freedom of the six yard box to control the ball and turn goalward. I think he’s going to score, everyone in the stadium thinks he’s going to score, everyone watching an illegal stream at home thinks he’s going to score. In fact, there’s probably only one person in the stadium who thinks he’s not going to score - David de Gea. The World Goalkeeper of the Year puffs out his chest and makes himself as big as he can, Evanilson’s shot cannoning off his outstretched leg and behind for a corner that comes to nothing.

It’s a day for the goalkeepers to celebrate as, somehow, neither team can find their way through and we’re both forced to settle for a point.

* * * * * * * *​

A reprieve at last as the relentless schedule abates for a week and, by the following weekend, there’s a chance for our Backup Brigade to stretch their legs against Middlesbrough in the FA Cup.

With Daouda Guindo away at the African Cup of Nations with Mali, Stoyan Pergelov will make his debut from our academy against the promotion-chasing Championship side as nobody who started against Liverpool and Manchester City will be in from the off.

​

“I’m starting to think this is going to go to a replay,” Keith Downing worriedly mutters. “I know we changed shape at half-time, but nothing’s happening. Maybe we should switch things up again? What do you think about -“ he turns to face me. “What do you think about not playing FreeCell on your phone?” he frowns.

“We’ll be okay, our quality will show soon,” I say. “They haven’t exactly threatened.”

“Neither have we,” Matthew Gardiner grumbles.

“Fine,” I say with a big sigh. “Wesley!” I shout as the ball rolls out of play for a throw-in in our favour near Middlesbrough’s goal.

“Yes, boss?” Wesley Hoedt shouts back from the centre circle.

“Linger about five yards outside the box at this throw for me.”

“Alright,” he says, a slightly puzzled look on his face.

“What are you doing?” Matthew grunts.

“Just watch,” I say.

The ball gets thrown back into play and Jerry St. Juste finds Hoedt, unmarked as the unexpected extra man, who opens up his body and bends a strike into the top-left corner for his first goal in blue.

“Happy now?” I grin.

“A little annoyed by the audacity and cheek that actually paid off,” Matthew mutters.

“That’s what the cup is all about, my friends,” I say. “Crushing the dreams of a team from a lower division in the most outrageously-nonchalant way possible.”

* * * * * * * *
​

Despite being an integral part of our lineup in my first season, Jordan James has been an unfortunate casualty of our rapid growth and seen his development stall as opportunities have become harder to come by. Hopefully, spending the rest of the season at Blackpool will see him kick on again and recapture the sort of form that made him so imposing in midfield for us in the second tier.

​

And on the topic of the second tier, relegation-threatened Nottingham Forest are our latest visitors as they travel across the Midlands for our Saturday-evening kick-off.

It feels like it’s only been about a week since our nervous display against The Reds, but it’s actually been four, and they’ve managed to slip into the bottom three over that period as the result of a poor run that may or may not have been instigated by ourselves.

Regardless of their current standing, we’ll be back to full strength, with Bob van Leeuwen leading the line this time after his heroics at the City Ground, having returned to fitness at last.

Sorry, Endrick.

​

Actually, I’m not that sorry. Just over 25 minutes in, Chong lifts a pass over the Forest defence that Van Leeuwen watches all the way into his favoured left foot and hammers past the on-rushing Sergio Rico, his volley rattling in off the underside of the bar like he’s Tony Yeboah.

Our visitors give no indication that they’ll present any sort of attacking threat, so we stroll through the game like a boss teasing their employee with the possibility of a pay rise, giving Forest the false hope that they could get something before shattering their dreams with a late, quick double from Ibrahima Konaté and Van Leeuwen to wrap up a comfortable 3-0 victory.

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

It’s official: 18th January, 2025 - Birmingham City are safe from Premier League relegation. I know what you’re thinking: ‘What a momentous achievement, how will you celebrate?’ By paying Danny Namaso and Andrew Omobamidele questionable bonuses, granting Oscar Gloukh a new contract, and selling Zach Jeacock to Norwich for £150,000 after he’d spent two and a half years lurking around Wast Hills without making an appearance for me.

​

But we better not celebrate too hard, because a trip to Spain to face Real Madrid awaits us on Wednesday night.

You might think that, with last-16 qualification secured and the ramping up of intensity in our schedule to come, this would be the perfect time to shuffle the pack and keep things fresh by playing some of the fringe players again, and you’d be right, very sensible of you.

However, I won’t. The allure of £2.5 million for a league-phase win and the terror of being minced to a pulp at the Santiago Bernabéu is too great, so it’ll be just the one, enforced change as St. Juste replaces our suspended captain, Krystian Bielik, at the heart of our defence.

​

When Gloukh forces a big save from Thibaut Courtois early on and Anel Ahmedhodžić cracks a header off the post from the resulting corner, I briefly consider the possibility of us flying home with a memorable victory that’ll be talked about for years to come.

Real Madrid have other ideas.

Having sucked all our players over to their left, all it takes is a Kingsley Coman cross-field ball and a quickly-played pass from Federico Valverde to release Marco Asensio, the winger shifting onto his left foot and curling into the far corner to put the Spanish giants ahead.

The state of hubris that I had settled into after our victory over Manchester City fades over the course of the 90 minutes as, irrespective of what we do, we simply can’t find a way through the 14-time Champions of Europe, either via poor finishing or the imperiousness of Courtois in their net, and Real show enough to suggest that they could have annihilated us like the DC Extended Universe to their Marvel Cinematic Universe that we are, should they have really wanted to.

We gave a good account of ourselves, but it’s our first loss in the Champions League nonetheless.

* * * * * * * *
​

At the same time as we were suffering in Madrid, our FA Cup fourth-round opponents were decided at last, Peterborough United beating Solihull Moors after a replay that denied us a competitive derby against The Moors for the first time.

​

That tie isn’t for another two weeks though, so we better get back to the matter in hand - 17th-placed Fulham.

Some moron who decides the television scheduling decided it was acceptable for us to play Wednesday night in Spain and then Saturday lunchtime in London, so there’s been no training sessions on the grass this week, focussing our efforts on recovery instead so the whole team that played during the week are fit enough to go again, with Bielik returning from the naughty step being our only change.

​

With Man City facing Liverpool later today, we need to capitalise and widen the gap on at least one of them, staying solid and taking our chances.

So, Adam Armstrong placing into the bottom-right corner from the edge of the box within the first five minutes is rather unhelpful.

We respond quickly though, Scott drilling in from a similar range at the other end, but the performance is flat. We have as much zip as a pullover, lacking our usual energy after all the travelling this week, and it seems we’re meandering to a 1-1 draw, potentially handing control of the title race to one of our rivals.

Thank goodness, then, for Demarai Gray. Endrick slips the ball through Fulham’s defence late on for his fellow substitute to race onto, just beating Fernando Pacheco to the ball and giving his hair a quick trim as Gray blasts past the ‘keeper’s head and nearly takes the net off.

Another close call, but another win all the same.

* * * * * * * *
​

We’re still in charge of the title race and comfortably into the knockout stage of the Champions League, with a fairly easy draw in the FA Cup to come as we lurch towards the end of January, and the dream of winning at least one of those competitions is very much alive. Will we win one? Will we win two? Will we win ALL of them? Will we win none and I end up getting sacked? It’s far too soon to say.

My main concern, however, is how am I going to get Endrick and Van Leeuwen into the same team?

* * * * * * * *​

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 Thirty-One​

Welcome back to Singing the Blues! We start tweaking our tactics just as the Champions League League Phase concludes and the FA Cup ramps up. What could go wrong?

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

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

“Excellent work today, everybody,” I shout to my squad as they make their way to the side of our training pitch. “Go and get changed and grab some lunch, we’ll get you into the meeting room to go over some final details before tomorrow once you’re done.”

“Cheers, boss, see you there,” Krystian Bielik says. “Let’s go, boys, they’ve got salmon pasta on today,” our captain booms, met with a guttural roar from his teammates as they all jog towards the changing rooms.

“That was interesting,” Keith Downing observes.

“I know, I’ve never seen grown men so excited about salmon pasta,” I say as we start the walk back to my office.

“Not that,” he sighs. “The new formation.”

“Ah, yes. Thoughts?”

“Leaves us open to getting ripped apart out wide,” Matthew Gardiner grunts.

“Limits Alex’s creativity,” Keith notes.

“Drops Chongy deeper,” Matthew adds.

“Thank you both for your endless positivity,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “We’re still working out the kinks, but getting Bob and Endrick on the pitch at the same time will make us much more productive in front of goal, and our back three should be strong enough to cope with the wide players being pushed higher because they’ve now got a double pivot in front of them. You didn’t think our change over the summer would work and look where it’s gotten us; have a little faith.”

My assistants look at each other and shrug as we pass through the doors to Wast Hill’s main building.

“Are we trying it tomorrow?” Keith asks as we climb the stairs.

“No,” I answer as we reach the top and proceed down the corridor. “You can’t add January signings to your European squad until the end of the month, which was never a problem before the stupid ‘League Phase’ format was introduced this season, so we’ll have to deal with Roma without Endrick. Kinda defeats the purpose.”

“Roma?” Matthew queries as we approach my office.

“Sorry, Capitoline,” I say. “Don’t know why I keep calling them Roma.”

“Probably because you’ve played lots of Football Manager and they aren’t licensed,” Harry interjects, not looking up from his desk outside my workspace.

“Makes sense,” I nod. “Roma does sound a little made-up - who gives their club the name of a capital city and nothing else?”

“Yeah, no London FC, Madrid CF, or VfB Berlin,” Harry agrees.

“What about Paris FC?” Matthew says.

“I’m ignoring you because it doesn’t help my point,” I reply, opening the door. “Hi Craig, Luke. Transfer updates for me?”

“Yes, Nicole,” Technical Director Craig Gardner answers.

“But for the players you wanted us to sort out for the summer,” Director of Football Luke Dowling adds.

“Fine with me, don’t want to mess with the flow we’ve got going on at the moment,” I smile.

“Aren’t you changing our tactics?” Keith asks.

“Hush,” I say, closing the door. “I’ll catch up with you in a bit.”

​

With Mark van Bommel’s side seventh in Serie A and with our place in the last-16 stage already secured, I have a lingering sense of fear that complacency is due to set in, and my concerns become reality when Wesley Hoedt, in for the suspended Anel Ahmedhodžić, is slow to react to Tammy Abraham receiving the ball, stepping out too late and leaving a cavernous gap for Nicolò Zaniolo to saunter into and squeeze in at the near post to put us behind.

But Zaniolo goes from hero to villain pretty quickly. Not even ten minutes have passed since his goal before he goes flying through the back of Ian Maatsen at Mach 3 and rightly receives his marching orders. Despite this, like a broken computer mouse, we’re just not clicking. Yes, we grab an equaliser soon after the restart when Bob van Leeuwen slides Oscar Gloukh through to drill in from the corner of the six yard box, but we’re failing to impose ourselves on the ten-man Italians.

Until, with injury time almost upon us, Tahith Chong controls a long ball and fizzes it low into the box for Jonathan Ikoné to slam off the underside of the crossbar and in, a wave of relief surging round the stadium.

It’s at this point that I tell the boys to pull back and stodge up, but they’re having none of it. Boosted by the breakthrough, they continue to play positively, and are rewarded for their tenacity when Ibrahima Konaté stabs in Andrew Omobamidele’s flick-on at a corner to seal the victory, leaving us just off of top spot on goal difference at the conclusion of the Champions League League Phase.

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

With Gloukh having bruised his ankle against Capitoline, our trip to North London on Saturday presents the perfect opportunity to give Van Leeuwen and Endrick their first start together since the Brazilian’s arrival last month.

I say perfect opportunity, Arsenal are fourth and playing well, so this is possibly one of the worst times to do this.

But I can’t pass up on the excuse to try it.

​

The first half is low on quality, trundling drearily towards the break, before we bear witness to the first occurrence of cross-Atlantic symbiosis between our pair of teenage forwards.

As Neco Williams brings the ball forward on our right, he spots Chong drifting wider and plays a pass behind The Gunners’ defence for him. Tahith hits the byline and sends a daisy-cutting cross towards the penalty spot which Van Leeuwen allows to sail through his legs, taking three defenders out with his dummy and leaving Endrick free to sweep in at the back post.

What follows is 20 minutes of dominance, only broken up by half-time, capped with January’s Young Player of the Month grabbing a second in similar fashion, minus the dummy this time, which takes the wind from our hosts’ sails and puts us totally in charge. The home fans in the Emirates fall as silent as they used to be pre-Covid, the fight from their team gone as we happily slow the last half an hour down to a snail's pace, merrily watching the time ebb away en route to a very efficient win.

And the best part? Across the Capital, Manchester City lost 2-1 to a 90th minute winner from Romelu Lukaku at Chelsea.

We have breathing room at last.

* * * * * * * *
​

“We’re going to test the new tactic against Peterborough?”

“Yes, Keith,” I reply.

“When we’re making eleven changes?”

“Yes.”

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of making the switch to get Bob and Endrick together?”

“If it’s the style we stick with, everyone’s going to have to learn to fit into it,” I shrug. “If our Backup Brigade can’t handle playing this way against a League One team, then there’s no hope.”

“I still think this’ll backfire; if not today, then soon,” Matthew mutters.

“And if it does, I’ll take full responsibility,” I say. “But until then, I need you to get behind the system - starting with Peterborough.”

​

When Danny Namaso lobs Joe Lumley in the third minute, things look promising.

Then the plug gets pulled on the excitement.

It’s cold, it’s wet, it’s miserable, and adjusting to a different way of playing is leaving us well below our usual standards. Outside of a brief blip when Ikoné scores a 25-yard free kick and Sam Surridge pulls one back almost straight from kick-off, nothing worth noting occurs on this dreary afternoon at the Weston Homes Stadium. That said, we never look like losing the tie and even get the chance to give multiple players their debut from the bench, so perhaps I shouldn’t be so negative.

At least we’re through to the next round.

* * * * * * * *
​

With our first road test of the new tactic less than conclusive, a chance to try it at full power rolls around the following weekend as 17th-placed Southampton journey to the West Midlands.

Having had no midweek fixture and no match for our best players for two weeks, we have a clean bill of health and pick the strongest side we can to take on Erik ten Hag’s men, hoping to maintain the momentum we’ve been building.

​

We take a while to get going but, eventually, everything starts falling into place.

First, Endrick’s low ball from the left is flicked in by Gloukh, then the 18-year-old gets on the scoresheet himself when he heads Williams’ cross in at the back post, after David de Gea had denied Ferran Jutglà when one-on-one moments earlier.

Not content to let his new strike-partner steal the limelight, Van Leeuwen starts asserting himself post-interval, prodding in the loose ball at the third attempt after Gavin Bazunu does well to parry twice, then adds his second and our fourth when he slots in Endrick’s square pass.

Manu Vallejo’s late consolation does take some of the shine off the result somewhat, but a very promising showing from our forwards means I’ll gloss over that for now.

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

As we face the prospect of ten days without a game in what amounts to the Premier League’s pathetic, half-baked excuse of a winter break, Leicester beat Brentford in their FA Cup replay to set up a fifth-round tie with ourselves at the King Power - the third time we’ll have played such a fixture at this stage of the competition in six years. I’m starting to get a little suspicious.

​

But, before we get to that, we’ve got to face Tottenham Hotspur on the Tuesday night prior.

Spurs are in meltdown at the moment, crashing out of the Champions League to Benfica and plummeting down into the bottom half of the Premier League table, with Antonio Conte desperately clinging to his slipping authority like a British prime minister in the early 2020s, so I can’t help but feel we should be piling on the misery at St. Andrew’s.

​

“What a way to celebrate turning 18 yesterday, Bob, eh?” I grin in our dressing room after the match.

“I know,” he says with a shy smile. “Three assists in a 4-1 win, and already guaranteeing Europa League football at worst next season is pretty great.”

“Two assists,” Krystian corrects from the opposite bench. “For the second one you want to claim, you shot and the ‘keeper parried it before Neco finished it off.”

“You can’t let me have that?” Bob frowns. “That was his first goal for us, let me be a part of it.”

“First goal, hundredth goal, birthday, no birthday, rules are rules I’m afraid,” Krystian replies, shaking his head with a smirk. “It doesn’t count.”

“D’you know what does count, though?” Bob asks.

“What?”

“That goal that Son scored when you totally misjudged Bentancur’s cross.”

The room falls silent, only broken occasionally by stifled laughter. Bob now looks like he might be sick if Krystian’s face breaks from its stony expression. After what feels like a few hours, our captain stands up.

“You get more confident every week,” he chuckles, tension gone instantly as the other players release their sniggers at last. “Keep channelling it positively, bud.”

As the chatter between his teammates resumes, I perch next to Bob.

“Any more birthday plans for this week?”

“I’m gonna drive to the shops, buy loads of booze, and throw a house party,” he answers.

“Really?”

“No. I’m gonna go home, get in my PJs, and drink herbal tea whilst playing FIFA until I’m calm enough to sleep.”

* * * * * * * *
​

“Where is it you’re off to again?” Beth asks, looking up from her sketchbook.

“Naples, we’ve got Parthenope in the last-16 stage of the Champions League,” I reply from my desk.

​

“I meant tomorrow,” she clarifies.

“Oh, right. Leicester.”

“And they’re…The…Foxes…right?”

“Yes,” I answer, pulling myself away from my screens and looking at her with suspicion. “How do you remember that?”

“It’s the team you won the league against, I hear more about them than most, even when you’re asleep sometimes.” I feel my cheeks start to flush and turn back to my spreadsheet. “I presume they play in red?”

“No, blue,” I say. “Why red?”

“Red foxes, Red Leicester cheese, it just makes sense,” she shrugs. “Don’t know why they’d pick anything OTHER than red, quite frankly.”

“That’s a good point actually, I can’t believe I’ve never thought of that before.”

“Of course you didn’t, you probably didn’t question them wearing blue because that’s just what they wear,” she says, returning to her work. “Anyway, does this mean you’re taking me to Naples soon?”

“Sure,” I reply, shakily.

“You hadn’t thought about asking me until I just mentioned it, had you?”

​

Forget Parthenope, Leicester are playing like it’s the Champions League knockouts.

Our hosts are all over us like a king-sized duvet on a single bed, overwhelmed constantly down our sides as we struggle to cope with their low-block, counter-attacking style, and it’s a deserved lead they take when James Maddison’s tame shot deflects in off of Ahmedhodžić with Jack Butland already diving the other way. We look devoid of ideas and well on our way to being embarrassed by the bottom-third side.

But we’ve been in this position before, with much less time, and much more at stake.

After some ‘gentle’ encouragement at half-time, the boys come out with a fire in their bellies, and it’s not long before Tanguy Ndombele restores parity by cracking in a half-volley from the penalty spot.

The goal stuns Leicester and breathes new life into our side, so much so that we soon roar into the lead when Alex Scott splits our opposition’s defence from deep, freeing Endrick to thump in from the edge of the area as we wrestle back control of the tie, control that we refuse to relinquish as we kill the game with our patented brand of stodge as soon as The Foxes show just a glimmer of threat to send us into the last eight of the FA Cup, along with already being in the last 16 of the Champions League and sitting eight points clear at the top of the Premier League.

Can we go all the way?

* * * * * * * *​

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 Thirty-Two​

Welcome back to Singing the Blues! The Champions League knockouts are here - can we pass our first test?

This part is spread across three posts, so please keep reading after the Wolves game and again after the second Parthenope game!

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

​

As the sun hangs low in the sky, the final beams of early-spring light flooding my office, I face a horrible dilemma.

“Just make a decision, Nicole, we’ve been stuck here too long,” Harry grumbles.

“I’m weighing up all my options, give me time to think.”

“You’ve had plenty of time to think, you need to pick now.”

“But I have so many pros and cons to consider, stop rushing me.”

“You’re stalling because you don't want to make a mistake, HURRY UP.”

“Fine!” I snap, slamming my tile on the table. “Happy now?”

“It takes me half the time to play Carcassonne with other people, compared to how long it takes with you.”

“Who else do you play with? Your parents?” I ask. “Didn’t realise you had a thriving social life.”

“No, they passed away a long, long time ago,” Harry replies. “I play with Keith and Matthew the day after a match.”

“They play board games too? Why don’t they join us?”

“Because you overthink things and are incredibly competitive, so they would rather not have to deal with that.”

I scowl and fold my arms like a grumpy toddler.

“Why do you agree to play with me then?”

“Clearly, I’m an idiot who’ll do anything to please his boss,” he smiles. He looks up when I don’t laugh. “Also, I happen to enjoy your company.”

I allow my face to relax into a smile.

“Besides, getting to have a catch-up with you before every game gets me juicy gossip,” Harry winks.

“Well then, what do you want to know?” I ask.

“Do you know why the Carabao Cup final was on Wednesday night?”

“Because the powers that be want to do everything they can to devalue it as a competition, making it easier to abolish so the big clubs have fewer fixtures to worry about, despite the fact they have bigger squads and budgets that should cope with a busy schedule more easily,” I answer. “Presumably.”

“Sounds likely,” Harry nods. “I find it hilarious that Manchester UFC would be one of those clubs that petition for it to be scrapped, then celebrated like crazy once they won it.”

“Yeah, funny that.” I roll my eyes. “At least I don’t have to hear any more about it until August now, all focus can be on the FA Cup, which has only been moderately devalued in comparison.”

“I’m still not sure how I feel about being paired against Leeds.”

​

“I’m just irritated that we won’t get any games at St. Andrew’s in this year's competition,” I say. “All our draws so far have been away and, should we go any further, the last two rounds are at Wembley.”

“At least we’re at home tomorrow,” Harry notes.

“True. As ever, I both look forward to matches against Wolves and dread them like they’re my A-Level exams.”

“I’m sure we’ll be fine, everyone’s fit and they’re 13th after all.”

“I hope so,” I start. “I’ll have to move, otherwise.”

​

It looks like I’ll be planning for a new life outside the Midlands when Raúl Jiménez ghosts in at the back post to tap in Gonçalo Guedes’ low cross, but we bounce back almost instantly, Ibrahima Konaté glancing in a corner to restore parity, and we claim the lead for ourselves just before half-time when Granit Xhaka’s tackle rolls perfectly for Jonathan Ikoné, on for the injured Endrick, to stab home from close range.

We press for another after the break and are quickly successful in our mission, Oscar Gloukh slamming in from 12 yards, yet we’re soon on the back foot. First, Pedrinho pegs one back, then Guedes has his effort disallowed for offside, then Alfred Duncan rattles the crossbar from close range. It seems inevitable that we’ll concede.

But we don’t. We can afford to gloss over Danny Namaso missing an open goal as Wolves run out of steam, gaining us a hard-earned victory as both Manchester City and Liverpool draw to allow us to stretch our lead at the top to ten points, whilst also confirming our place in next season’s Champions League.

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Naples, Italy. The city in the shadow of Mount Vesuvius. Birthplace of pizza and the legend of Maradona, but not chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry ice cream being shoved into one block.

And, tonight, host to Birmingham City’s first ever Champions League knockout game.

Having explored the city during the day, all focus is on Parthenope’s Fuorigrotta come the evening, as we send out our strongest team possible, the only change from Saturday being Ikoné taking Endrick’s starting spot whilst the Brazilian sits on the bench, not yet fully recovered from his knock.

​

Parthenope don’t even touch the ball before we’ve scored, Bob van Leeuwen planting a header into the ground and bamboozling Alex Meret with the bounce as it fizzes past the goalkeeper and in. It’s the perfect start and could be the sort of moment that leads to an absolute shellacking.

Alternatively, it could irritate our hosts and Khvicha Kvaratskhelia could equalise with a scissor kick before we’ve passed the fifth minute. That example was not hypothetical, of course.

Undeterred, we push on. Gloukh, Van Leeuwen, and Neco Williams all have efforts saved well by the inspired Meret, and we look likely to retake the lead until Konaté bumbles aimlessly into Giacomo Raspadori in our box like he’s just stepped off a high-speed roller coaster. Piotr Zieliński converts with unerring precision and, no matter how hard we try, Parthenope do what Italian sides have traditionally done best, shutting down the second period and not giving us a single chance to get back into the match.

Work to do in B9.

* * * * * * * *
​

In case two Champions League Round of 16 fixtures in a week wasn’t hard enough, how does sandwiching in EFL Cup-winning Man UFC on the weekend in between sound? At Old Trafford? While they’re on a seven-game unbeaten run? Wonderful.

At least Endrick’s fit again.

​

With the form UFC are in, I should probably be happy that we stifle them from the off, but I’m not because they’ve neutralised us too.

Until we start growing into the game, that is.

The first warnings are fired when Tahith Chong smacks the underside of the bar and Anatoliy Trubin does well to stop Endrick’s thunderous volley, but the signs are not heeded. With twenty minutes remaining, Van Leeuwen slides Gloukh through to delicately chip over Trubin, his lob landing perfectly in the corner of the net as we grab an advantage we won’t let go of and extend our run of victories over the Red Devils to five.

Once back in the dressing room, I grab my phone and open the BBC Sport app, scrolling past the news article about Antonio Conte being sacked by Tottenham and checking today’s other scores, finding that Wolves had done us a favour by miraculously beating City and Everton had beaten their neighbours Liverpool to give us a 13-point gap over our rivals.

It’s all starting to look a little insurmountable.

* * * * * * * *
​

“Why is it they’re called Parthenope?”

“Because, that’s the old name for their city.”

“How long ago did it change?” Beth asks.

“About two and a half thousand years ago,” I answer.

“I take it they weren’t formed that long ago?”

“No.”

“So, why aren’t they called Naples?”

“That’s the English name for the city,” I explain.

“What’s the Italian name?”

“Napoli.”

“That would make more sense, wouldn’t it?” Beth suggests. "ESPECIALLY as they have an 'N' on their badge."

“Perhaps it would, but nothing in football is logical.”

“You can say that again,” she huffs, nearly flinging the keychain she’s making across the room as she throws her hands in the air. “Whatever, just beat them so I don’t have to hear you complain about them for a year and be reminded of how silly their name is.”

​

It’s not a promising start when Kvaratskhelia hits the inside of the post when clean through, and I’m already preparing my impending, foul-mouthed rant when he breaks free again and rounds David de Gea, only for Konaté to clear off the line and instigate a rapid counter that results in Alex Scott getting flattened by Thomas Lemar in the opposition’s penalty area. Gloukh, much like Zieliński, doesn’t make many mistakes from the spot - we’re level on aggregate.

Parthenope are spooked and, in the intense atmosphere at St. Andrew’s, look ready to collapse already, shrinking away from their responsibilities, unable to handle our energy; pressure can make diamonds or burst pipes, and their basement is flooded.

Spurred on by the mental fragility on show, we seize the aggregate lead as Williams forces his strike through a crowd of black, then finish off the second-leg turnaround in style when a beautiful move from one end of the pitch to the other is completed by Endrick after Van Leeuwen serves it up on a plate for him.

We’re into the quarter-finals, where we have one of the toughest draws possible: Paris Saint-Germain.

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

From one cup competition to another, Sunday brings our FA Cup quarter-final tie at Elland Road as we take on Leeds for a spot at Wembley.

Despite Dean Smith’s men struggling in the Premier League this season, now is not the time to mess around; our cup-goalie, Jack Butland, deputises for De Gea, but that’s the only change we’ll make.

​

As we join the M1 on our journey home from Yorkshire, a sense of relief washes over me. We were far too open today, but we eked our way over the line and carried on our recent trend of simply scoring more than our opponents, bludgeoning our way to a 3-2 victory and confirming back-to-back FA Cup semi-finals for the first time in 68 years.

As we pass Sheffield, I feel a tap on my knee and pull my headphones off my ears.

“Draw’s about to start, gaffer,” our driver says.

“Perfect, I’ll get the boys’ attention then we can play it over the speakers.” She passes me the microphone and I look in the mirror above me to see the team. “Alright, lads, we’re about to hear the draw, so I want all of you paying attention for just a couple of minutes.” In the row behind mine, Krystian Bielik elbows Anel Ahmedhodžić in the ribs and glares at him until he takes his earphones out. “And well done again, Endrick, to get your first hat-trick with us in a quarter-final is pretty special.” He gives me a shy thumbs-up from his spot near the back, still clutching the match ball.

“What’re the numbers?” Bob calls from his aisle seat in the middle.

“Arsenal are one, we’re two, UFC are three, and Wolves are four,” I answer.

“Bet one of them get Wolves, they always give their favourites the easy game,” Danny grumbles next to Bob.

“Let’s wait and find out,” I say, handing the microphone back as the radio feed is transmitted throughout the coach and the draw soon starts.

“Number one,” Roy Keane says.

“That’d be Arsenal, who’ve won this competition a record 14 times,” Mark Chapman elaborates. “And they will face…”

The rummaging through the pool of balls seems to take forever.

“Number three,” proclaims Robbie Savage’s voice.

“Manchester UFC, the second-most successful side with 12,” Mark says.

Everyone turns to look at Danny.

“Oh, leave it out. You all thought it too!”

* * * * * * * *
​

As domestic football pauses for the last international break, this year’s NXGN list is announced which, delightfully, includes three of our players: Stevica Gajić, out on loan at Crvena zvezda, came 19th, Endrick 14th, and Bob ‘Magic Socks’ van Leeuwen has officially been rated the most promising player under 19 in world football.

Harry’s going to be a treat to deal with.

​

Invigorated by Bob’s success and refreshed by the brief gap in our schedule, we’re able to name the same, strong team that clinched our semi-final spot two weeks ago as we host rock-bottom Bournemouth on Saturday evening, albeit with De Gea returning between the sticks, hoping for a big performance to keep morale high ahead of our clash against PSG on Tuesday.

​

In case our development as a team over the last year and a half hadn’t been clear before, this match should be all the evidence needed to convince any doubters.

We fly out of the traps like orcas who’ve spotted a yacht and The Cherries stand no chance, the strings being pulled by Van Leeuwen as he orchestrates a pummeling, setting up Endrick to round Neto and roll in before being felled by James Hill for a red card-penalty double whammy, Gloukh lashing in the resulting spot kick with his usual consistency.

Bob does miss out on being involved with our third as Konaté powers in a header at the back post, but he’s back in the thick of it to smack in a loose ball in the box for our fourth, saving the best for last as he controls Chong’s long pass with his chest and crashes a volley in off the post before Neto has a chance to react.

Tanguy Ndombele’s needless second booking and Sergio Gómez grabbing a consolation when he prods in the rebound after De Gea saves his penalty do darken the mood slightly, but nothing can really dim the star of Van Leeuwen’s domineering display.

Let’s hope he brings that form to the looming Champions League quarter-finals. We’re going to need it.

* * * * * * * *
​

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 Thirty-Three​

Welcome back to Singing the Blues! The Champions League quarter-finals, FA Cup semi-finals, and the chance to win the Premier League - this part is huge.

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

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

​

“I’m worried that we’re making games much harder for ourselves with this new system,” Matthew Gardiner grumbles from the seat to my left. “We’re conceding goals against teams we shouldn’t, almost all originating from the wings because we’ve got nobody defending there properly.”

“I think it should be noted that our attack has improved dramatically,” Keith Downing notes, sitting across the table from me. “We’ve scored five more in the ten games we’ve used this shape than in the ten fixtures prior.”

“And Bob’s made eight goal contributions in our last six,” I add with a wink to Harry on my right. He smiles like he’s a proud dad.

“The fact remains that we’ve conceded six more and only kept two clean sheets,” Matthew retaliates. “That doesn’t suggest it’s a viable long-term option, nor do I think it’s sensible to play it against a side with an attack as terrifying as PSG’s.”

“Maybe it’ll catch them off guard,” I shrug. “I think we’ve got to persevere, let the boys get more familiar with what’s expected of them.”

“All they’re getting familiar with is how to be sh-“

“Thank you, Matthew,” I interrupt. “Your enthusiasm is as appreciated as ever.”

Before he can respond, a call comes from behind the Starbucks counter.

“I’ve got a double espresso, two flat whites, and a coconut white mocha with hazelnut for…” the barista pauses while he checks the ticket. “Sia?”

“That’s us,” I say, jumping out of my chair and collecting the tray.

“Sia?” Keith queries as I return.

“Pandalier,” I answer. Murmurs of approval.

“You’re gonna run out of these panda puns at some point,” Harry smiles, sipping his flat white.

“I’ve got a few more to come,” I grin. “Chris Lowe is my next one.”

“Pet Shop Boys, ‘Panda’monium…” Keith whispers as he cottons on. I nod enthusiastically.

“You’re ridiculous,” Matthew mutters.

“You don’t have to look at my drink when you say that.”

“I do,” he sighs. “It’s also ridiculous.”

“I think you mean ‘a sweet, caffeinated delight’, Captain Grumpy of Doppio,” I say, enjoying a long glug from my cup. “It suits you: short and bitter.”

“I’m taller than you.”

“Stop ruining my jokes with logic.”

“Stop making jokes when we’ve got a Champions League quarter-final to prepare for. We should be at the training ground still, working on some ideas,” he snarls.

“What are we going to achieve?” I snap back. “We’ve prepared as much as we can: we’ve done all the tactical work, the players have been given their instructions and gone home, plus we’ve run through our contingency plans more times than Comedy Central has shown reruns of Friends. What do you want me to do? Call everybody back in? ‘Hi guys, I know you’re with your families but I need to go through the video showing that Kylian Mbappé and Lionel Messi are rather good again, thanks’.”

A brief hush falls around the table.

“Your drink’s still ridiculous,” Matthew mumbles.

“You can buy your own coffee next time.”

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

​

For most of the opening period, I feel vindicated. I’m delighted as Bob van Leeuwen continues his good form, drilling in Endrick’s knockdown early on before doubling his tally ten minutes later when he flicks in Tahith Chong’s low cross, but we’re bailed out twice in quick succession by Anel Ahmedhodžić after he blocks Messi’s close-range effort and flings himself in front of Neymar’s follow-up with David de Gea stranded.

However, I soon start wishing I’d listened to Matthew.

First, Messi picks up the ball from deep and feeds it into the path of Mbappé to speed through our defence and chip over De Gea, then, minutes later, Nuno Mendes receives a cross-field pass and is allowed enough time to bring the ball under his control and lash in from the corner of the box as we’re back to level terms again.

But this breathless, twisting first half doesn’t stop there.

With seconds to go until the break, Neco Williams breezes past Mendes and into the box. He seems to be running out of pitch as Gianluigi Donnarumma tightens the angle, yet the Welshman somehow manages to squeeze his strike between the ‘keeper and his post to tilt the balance back in our favour.

We head out for the restart in the knowledge that we just have to keep things tight so we have an advantage to hold onto in Paris. All we need to do is avoid any stupid mistakes and lapses in concentration. For example, Daouda Guindo being brought off the bench and, with his first touch, passing a free kick straight to Mbappé to equalise off the back of a one-two would be a very silly thing to do. Which it is. When it happens. Sigh.

“Oh well, a draw is still decent, keeps us in it,” Keith says.

“Why do you keep jinxing us?” I ask as Marquinhos lumps forward and Ahmedhodžić positions to head away.

“There’s no one around Anel,” Keith starts. “There’s nothing to worry abo-“

Turns out, there’s plenty to worry about as Ahmedhodžić weakly nods straight to Mbappé. The forward slides a pass into the gaping hole where a wing-back would be for Neymar and the Brazilian is ice cold, curling into the far corner with just over five minutes to go.

I can feel a pair of eyes boring a hole in the back of my head.

“Fine, we’ll ditch the setup from the next match.”

* * * * * * * *
​

With another questionable defensive performance in the books, we revert to the more traditional 3-4-1-2 shape that we used against Arsenal at the start of February, abandoning our attempts at forcing all of our best players into one formation.

As we head to Elland Road for the second time in three weekends, the selection headache that would be deciding who to drop so Ian Maatsen can refill the left wing-back birth is made easy by Tanguy Ndombele being suspended due to his red card in our last domestic fixture, so the Frenchman will be the one to miss out against struggling Leeds.

​

Ah, yes, this is more like it. A slightly wobbly start was expected, but our hosts only create one half-chance before Van Leeuwen and Endrick link up again to put us ahead, settling us into our previous rhythm of controlling the game in a much more considered manner.

Leeds are limp and show little threat, so we can cruise through the 90 minutes on our way to a victory that was never really in doubt, conserving as much energy as possible for the mammoth task in France come Wednesday with the sort of performance I’d started to take for granted before our tactical shakeup.

* * * * * * * *
​

With night descending on Paris, we arrive at the Parc des Princes where the permutations couldn’t be simpler: win, or we’re out.

Knowing what’s at stake, it’s an easy choice to pick ten of the eleven starters. For the final spot, however, it’s much harder. In the end, I decide that Ndombele’s ability to unlock defences would be best from the off, whilst Oscar Gloukh’s versatility makes him one of the best possible impact subs in the squad.

Is another miracle on the horizon?

​

I’m starting to think so.

We test Donnarumma early on and tie things up on aggregate around the 25th minute when Chong scores a stunning half-volley from Krystian Bielik’s looped pass, then seize the advantage when Maatsen finishes a sweeping counter from a PSG corner. Two goals to the good at half-time? Away from home? Time to get excited?

No. Don’t be ridiculous.

Whatever Thomas Tuchel said to his side in their dressing room causes them to restart the game like geese with roid rage and the assault is unrelenting. Declan Rice is the first to score, soon followed by Mbappé and then Neymar after Ibrahima Konaté totally misjudges the flight of the ball. Gloukh does grab one back to give us a glimmer of hope, but pushing Bielik forward to give us more attacking impetus leaves us vulnerable, Danilo Pereira putting the final nail in the coffin shortly before Konaté misses another header so that Jota can kick that coffin into the ground.

No goals or assists for Van Leeuwen to extend his streak to nine games. No unlikely comeback. No improbable Champions League triumph in our first season in the competition. Our journey ends at the quarter-final stage, the plucky underdogs stuffed 9-6 on aggregate by one of the most glittering squads in Europe.

Blast.

* * * * * * * *
​

As hard as it’ll be, we need to push our continental disappointment to the back of our minds as we have another big game to come on Sunday: our FA Cup semi-final against Wolverhampton Wanderers.

Whilst Jerry St. Juste dislocating his shoulder is obviously not good news, his injury doesn’t wreak havoc on our preparations given his minor role in the first-team, the only change to our lineup from our Paris disappointment seeing Jack Butland resume his usual FA Cup duties in goal as I look for an instant response.

​

“What I don’t understand is how we can look so tight one game, then so open the next, while flitting from attacking monsters to less accurate than a Stormtrooper at the same time,” I whinge.

“Fatigue,” Matthew shrugs. “We played 48 games last season and we’re already on game 52 for this one, plus we’ve had to travel around Europe, nor does it help that you’re too scared to rotate.”

“I do lack confidence in the ability of some of our squad players to step up,” I nod. “I’ll get better at it after the summer, we’ll sort out the depth issue then. At least our first eleven is strong enough that we shouldn’t need to improve much, Endrick’s shown us as much today.”

“He scored a penalty in what’s been the only chance of the game.”

“Still had to convert it, he could have done his best impression of Simone Zaza at Euro 2016. Anyway, given how poor they all were from open play, I’m relieved we got that chance from 12 yards because now…” I start as the referee blows their whistle, bringing the match to a close. The signal is met with a raucous ovation from our half of Wembley.

“We’ve got a final to prepare for.”

* * * * * * * *​

 

[Chonky Panda Tactics]

Amidst the chaos of our busy schedule, it’s almost gone unnoticed that we’re ten points ahead of Manchester City and Liverpool, both of whom only have four games left, meaning that we’re only one win from the Premier League title. Our next opponents? Chelsea. Where? Stamford Bridge. How many times have we beaten them? I don’t want to talk about it.

As De Gea returns in goal, we’ll have to conquer the last top-flight team yet to taste defeat at our hands if we want to win the league at the first possible opportunity.

​

Off the back of our FA Cup progress and having had our first full week of training together in nearly two months, the boys look raring to go. We’re playing the ball around beautifully, keeping Chelsea from even getting close to it and pulling them around with ease, totally dominating our floundering hosts until Endrick sweeps us ahead and they wake up, Ángel Correa half-volleying in Mateo Kovačić’s floated pass within moments of the restart. We don’t let the match stay level for long however, as Konaté glances in a corner at the front post to restore our lead less than ten minutes later.

We’re still in front as we approach the last quarter of an hour and I start to feel myself getting nervous, knowing that we could be moments from a victory that would be historic just for whom it would be against, let alone that it would secure our second Premier League win in succession. Clearly, my nerves transfer to my players as they aren’t alert enough to mark walking-lighthouse Josip Šutalo as Correa swings in a free kick, the centre-back thumping a header goalwards that De Gea can only palm into the roof of the net on its way past.

Obviously, we’re just destined not to win against Chelsea, their gradual decline designed to lull me into a false sense of security that we may, perhaps, get the better of them some day, however their continued ability to prevent us from getting that elusive win proves that their existence as a football club is simply to irritate us, constantly rub our noses in the fact that, although they adopted the nickname later than us, they will always be the better ‘Blues’ and our achievements will never eclipse theirs. How are you supposed to deal with the expectation that you’ll never be able to surpass another team that’s already had such enormous success with the same moniker?

Well, Bob van Leeuwen knows quite a bit about lofty expectations. Bob van Leeuwen also knows quite a bit about converting low crosses from close range. And Bob van Leeuwen knows quite a bit about playing his part in a system that’s successfully shut down whatever game we’ve wanted to for the last two years.

The blue weight has been lifted from our shoulders at last and, with five fixtures to go, Birmingham City are your 2024/25 Premier League Champions.

* * * * * * * *
​

“Congratulations, guys, hope you didn’t overdo it with the celebrations at the weekend,” I grin as the squad files into our media room on Monday morning. The responses ranging from frowns to grunts suggests they did. “How would you feel about having a party every week until the cup final? Just chill out, enjoy yourselves with the title wrapped up?” A couple of younger players nod to each other but the senior players squint at me with suspicion.

“You don’t mean that, gaffer, we know you don’t,” Krystian says.

“You don’t believe me?!” I shout, melodramatically. “I feel so hurt!”

“You don’t have feelings to hurt, boss,” he responds. “Not by us, at least.”

“I could’ve trained myself to not allow people to see my true reactions so that I’m not labelled as ‘an emotional woman’ while I try to make it in top-level, male, professional sport. Ever considered that?”

“Is this really the time for another of your lessons on feminism, misogyny, and equality?” he sighs.

“It’s always the right time,” I snap.

Krystian shuffles awkwardly in his seat whilst the rest of the team avoid making eye contact with me.

“Back to the matter at hand, you’re right - you’re not having parties because…” I click the remote in my hand and the screen behind me fills up with statistics and records. “We have some targets to aim for. If we win our remaining games, we’ll end with 105 points and 34 wins, beating the points record by five and the win record by two. Now, we’ve got no more of the Sky Six, so I think both of those are very achievable with our schedule due to ease up soon. As you know, first of the last five is Crystal Palace on Wednesday and we’re going to make a couple of changes: Tanguy will be dropping to the bench for Oscar to come in as you’ve not been in sparkling form recently, Tanguy.” Ndombele nods, begrudgingly. “And Kieran’s going to fill Jonathan’s spot in the squad while he recovers from his tight calf. Any questions?”

Alex Scott sheepishly raises his hand.

“Related to the game, not parties or equality?”

He puts his hand down again.

“Thought so.”

​

Carnage. Utter carnage.

Some fans are still finishing their last pint when Scott rifles us ahead and we soon have the ball in the net again, only for Chong to see his effort chalked off because of the assistant referee’s flag. Our recent struggles to balance offence and defence soon rear their heads again when Wilfried Zaha strokes in Calum Chambers’ cross, but a ten-minute hat-trick, only stalled by the interval, from Endrick puts us into a commanding lead with nearly half the game to go.

Seemingly unfussed about the scoreline now their clean sheet bonus is gone, our backline continue to conspire against the rest of the eleven with Bielik swinging and missing at a routine ball to allow Ebere Eze to volley in, but we’re soon back to a three-goal advantage when Endrick becomes the first player to score four in one match for me with nearly a quarter of the game to go.

Greedy to see my team hit another for six for the first time, I instruct Bielik to step forward and contribute slightly more to the attacking side, conscious that he may also cause more harm by staying deeper. The outcome? The ceasement of any exciting activity for the remainder of the game.

Oh well, five will have to do.

​

Regardless, we’ve passed the first hurdle on our quest for history. Will we set more records, our third and fourth in three seasons across England’s top-two tiers? There’s not long to go to find out. In the meantime, we can all breathe a sigh of relief knowing that we won’t have to deal with Bournemouth next season, with their inevitable relegation confirmed at last.

Rotten, nightmare-inducing, red and black gits.

* * * * * * * *​

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[FancyPantsCam]

Amazing job getting back to back titles! Always enjoy reading these, really like the writing style.