trequartista20
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- Sep 19, 2011
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It started with a horse. SKA Runner, 15.10 at Newmarket. “Yea, 15 big ones Yuri”, I said nervously to my back-street bookmaker.
Yuri was a hardened survivor of Communist Russia, a man whose reliance on chain-smoking, narcotics and alcohol had aged him considerably beyond his 42 years. “You sure friend?” Yuri queried, cocking one eyebrow. “Let me be clear – my boss has taken a lot of hits on people not paying recently. It’s tough for him…though it keeps me busy” – he smiled a toothy grin and rested his hand on an iron bar lying in front of his books. “If you can’t afford these monies, you can pull out now if you wish…”
“I can pay Yuri – put me down for £15,000 on SKA Runner, 15.10 at Newmarket”. Of course I was lying. £15,000 was a lot of money for a 25 year old failed footballer. However, this was a sure thing…right? “You’re the boss”, Yuri smiled, and noted down my wager in his books.
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After a three day vodka-fuelled drinking binge, I was awoken by my phone ringing. Bleary-eyed, I stumbled across the lounge to the vibrating handset and slid my finger across the screen to answer the private number. “Aah, friend!” chirped the Russian accented voice at the other end. “It’s Yuri here – it’s been three days since the race and you’ve not been to see me?”
Fourth. SKA Runner finished fourth, possibly weighed down by my £15k riding on top of it. I muttered some excuse to Yuri but he ignored it. “Look friend, I like you, so I have a proposal – pack yourself a suitcase and meet me in Moscow, I have flights booked for you.”
I had nothing to win and everything to lose so I packed a suitcase and headed for Belfast International Airport. After a connecting flight from London, I made it into Moscow in the early hours. Yuri, as promised, met me at arrivals. “Hurry my friend, we have another flight to get!” Tired and hungry, I couldn’t muster the energy to ask questions and followed Yuri back through to departures.
After getting through security we sat on the seats situated at our gate. I was shattered but Yuri was chattering constantly about my “career” in football and how I’d started my coaching badges. After 10 minutes or so I finally had the presence of mind to check the English section of my ticket to see where we were flying to now. “Yuri – where is **** is Kha-bar-o-vsk?” I struggled through the pronunciation. “Aah Khabarovsk!” Yuri exclaimed, “it is a city in the far east of Russia, close to China. It is where my boss is situated; he wants to ask you a favour”.
“Could he not have asked me on the phone?!” I shouted, irritation, caused by the tiredness, in my voice. Yuri laughed. “No friend, you can’t manage the local football team without being here! He is a big fan of SKA Khabarovsk, the local football team – they are struggling this season and we need someone with a bit of…professionalism to guide them.” I assume Yuri had ignored the stench of stale vodka off my breath when making that last part of his statement. I put my head in my hands “Fine – just let me sleep until we get there”. Managing a football team was certainly a better option than getting an iron bar round the back of the skull.
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The meeting with the boss was short and sweet. In order to pay off my debt I would manage the local football team, SKA Khabarovsk. I would apply for the job and ,with my (limited) experience in football so far, would be a shoe-in for the job. As predicted, SKA chairman Dennis Sergeev offered me my first job in football management.
With the Russian League being a summer one, SKA were half-way through their season when I arrived in mid-July. On top of working with players I knew nothing about, who spoke a language I didn’t speak a word of as well as using a different alphabet, the club was entrenched in a relegation battle from which the owner expected me to be able to pull the club clear of.
SKA Khabarovsk were no sleeping giant. In fact they were no giant, they were just sleeping. Under Soviet rule, they never played in the Soviet Top League nor have they yet to play in the Russian Premier League. In their 58 year existence, their best finishes were 6th in the Soviet First League and 5th in the Russian First Division along with a quarter-final place in the 1963 Soviet Cup. It seemed I had my work cut out for me, but hopefully long-term expectations were low.
After a brief tour of the decrepit stadium and my office (including a trophy cabinet propped up with four bricks and containing nothing more than dust and spider webs), I retired to the rented apartment that the club had sorted for me for the night. I dreaded the first training session scheduled for the next day, mentally preparing myself for a group of overweight, out-of-sorts players attempting to train with antiquated equipment.
As I was unable to sign players for another fortnight (the window opened on 1st August), I concentrated on working with what I had at my disposal. The first training session went surprisingly well with a number of players impressing. Daniel Balan – a 31 year old Romanian right-back – certainly looked the pick of the bunch. On-loan striker Aleksandr Yarkin was the best option going forward and there was a current international in midfield in the form of Moldavian Valeriu Andronic. The rest weren’t bad players but could surely be replaced with better options.
Staff-wise, my only advice (and translation) came in the form of assistant manager Alexey Poddubskiy and coach Ramil Valeev. I’d have to ring round a few contacts in order to boost the numbers – as well as expanding the club’s limited scouting network.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
After the initial training session I sat down with my assistant manager and worked through a tonne of letters and DVDs from agents representing players that could possibly improve the squad come 1st August. Russian First Division rules state that only 3 non-Russians are to be in the first XI with at least one Russian under-21 in the match day sixteen. This scuppered my plans of creating a squad of cheap Brazilians, looking for a way into Europe.
Instead, I concentrated on Eastern Europe and we both rang round the various agents in attempt to recruit some serious talent. A proposed change of formation from the standard 4-4-2 to a more modern 4-2-3-1 (and other variations) shepherded our search into looking for holding midfielders, wingers and target men. We were also lacking in the left back, back up goalkeeper and attacking midfield departments.
Sergeev had generously set aside a wage budget of £43k a week – an astronomical figure at this level. With the current squad only eating up £29k a week of this, this left me a very workable budget of £14k a week to attract a few key players to the club. Within days positive replies to our contract offers came flooding back.
The defence was boosted with the signings of Ronald Siklic, Goran Drmic, Jerry Christian Tchuisse and Vladimir Rzhevskiy. Siklic would fill the void at left back while Rzhevskiy would steady a wobbly centre back pairing. Drmic and Tchuisse would, however, battle it out for right back – a position filled by our current best player, Balan. This freed Balan to leave for some much needed transfer funds (and with Tchuisse having a Russian passport, a foreign slot in the team).
Two Russians filled in the central midfield slots – the aging Maxim Demenko and former Borussia Dortmund youngster Vladimir But (now a not-so-sprightly 33). As with Balan, these arrivals allowed Andronic to be offered for transfer to free up wages and a precious foreign-national spot.
These two spots would be taken graciously by two new wingers; Croat Denis Glavina and Slovenian Nejc Kolman. These were the men who would hopefully provide the ammunition for Yarkin and also chip in with goals themselves. The problematic “trequartista” role was also filled by journeyman Rafael Zangionov – who, like Glavina and Kolman, expected to chip in with goals and assists.
After a marathon 47 hours starting at TV screens, emails, YouTube clips Alexey and I exchanged a loud high-five before assembling the squad for my first match in charge.
Yuri was a hardened survivor of Communist Russia, a man whose reliance on chain-smoking, narcotics and alcohol had aged him considerably beyond his 42 years. “You sure friend?” Yuri queried, cocking one eyebrow. “Let me be clear – my boss has taken a lot of hits on people not paying recently. It’s tough for him…though it keeps me busy” – he smiled a toothy grin and rested his hand on an iron bar lying in front of his books. “If you can’t afford these monies, you can pull out now if you wish…”
“I can pay Yuri – put me down for £15,000 on SKA Runner, 15.10 at Newmarket”. Of course I was lying. £15,000 was a lot of money for a 25 year old failed footballer. However, this was a sure thing…right? “You’re the boss”, Yuri smiled, and noted down my wager in his books.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
After a three day vodka-fuelled drinking binge, I was awoken by my phone ringing. Bleary-eyed, I stumbled across the lounge to the vibrating handset and slid my finger across the screen to answer the private number. “Aah, friend!” chirped the Russian accented voice at the other end. “It’s Yuri here – it’s been three days since the race and you’ve not been to see me?”
Fourth. SKA Runner finished fourth, possibly weighed down by my £15k riding on top of it. I muttered some excuse to Yuri but he ignored it. “Look friend, I like you, so I have a proposal – pack yourself a suitcase and meet me in Moscow, I have flights booked for you.”
I had nothing to win and everything to lose so I packed a suitcase and headed for Belfast International Airport. After a connecting flight from London, I made it into Moscow in the early hours. Yuri, as promised, met me at arrivals. “Hurry my friend, we have another flight to get!” Tired and hungry, I couldn’t muster the energy to ask questions and followed Yuri back through to departures.
After getting through security we sat on the seats situated at our gate. I was shattered but Yuri was chattering constantly about my “career” in football and how I’d started my coaching badges. After 10 minutes or so I finally had the presence of mind to check the English section of my ticket to see where we were flying to now. “Yuri – where is **** is Kha-bar-o-vsk?” I struggled through the pronunciation. “Aah Khabarovsk!” Yuri exclaimed, “it is a city in the far east of Russia, close to China. It is where my boss is situated; he wants to ask you a favour”.
“Could he not have asked me on the phone?!” I shouted, irritation, caused by the tiredness, in my voice. Yuri laughed. “No friend, you can’t manage the local football team without being here! He is a big fan of SKA Khabarovsk, the local football team – they are struggling this season and we need someone with a bit of…professionalism to guide them.” I assume Yuri had ignored the stench of stale vodka off my breath when making that last part of his statement. I put my head in my hands “Fine – just let me sleep until we get there”. Managing a football team was certainly a better option than getting an iron bar round the back of the skull.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The meeting with the boss was short and sweet. In order to pay off my debt I would manage the local football team, SKA Khabarovsk. I would apply for the job and ,with my (limited) experience in football so far, would be a shoe-in for the job. As predicted, SKA chairman Dennis Sergeev offered me my first job in football management.
With the Russian League being a summer one, SKA were half-way through their season when I arrived in mid-July. On top of working with players I knew nothing about, who spoke a language I didn’t speak a word of as well as using a different alphabet, the club was entrenched in a relegation battle from which the owner expected me to be able to pull the club clear of.
SKA Khabarovsk were no sleeping giant. In fact they were no giant, they were just sleeping. Under Soviet rule, they never played in the Soviet Top League nor have they yet to play in the Russian Premier League. In their 58 year existence, their best finishes were 6th in the Soviet First League and 5th in the Russian First Division along with a quarter-final place in the 1963 Soviet Cup. It seemed I had my work cut out for me, but hopefully long-term expectations were low.
After a brief tour of the decrepit stadium and my office (including a trophy cabinet propped up with four bricks and containing nothing more than dust and spider webs), I retired to the rented apartment that the club had sorted for me for the night. I dreaded the first training session scheduled for the next day, mentally preparing myself for a group of overweight, out-of-sorts players attempting to train with antiquated equipment.
As I was unable to sign players for another fortnight (the window opened on 1st August), I concentrated on working with what I had at my disposal. The first training session went surprisingly well with a number of players impressing. Daniel Balan – a 31 year old Romanian right-back – certainly looked the pick of the bunch. On-loan striker Aleksandr Yarkin was the best option going forward and there was a current international in midfield in the form of Moldavian Valeriu Andronic. The rest weren’t bad players but could surely be replaced with better options.
Staff-wise, my only advice (and translation) came in the form of assistant manager Alexey Poddubskiy and coach Ramil Valeev. I’d have to ring round a few contacts in order to boost the numbers – as well as expanding the club’s limited scouting network.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
After the initial training session I sat down with my assistant manager and worked through a tonne of letters and DVDs from agents representing players that could possibly improve the squad come 1st August. Russian First Division rules state that only 3 non-Russians are to be in the first XI with at least one Russian under-21 in the match day sixteen. This scuppered my plans of creating a squad of cheap Brazilians, looking for a way into Europe.
Instead, I concentrated on Eastern Europe and we both rang round the various agents in attempt to recruit some serious talent. A proposed change of formation from the standard 4-4-2 to a more modern 4-2-3-1 (and other variations) shepherded our search into looking for holding midfielders, wingers and target men. We were also lacking in the left back, back up goalkeeper and attacking midfield departments.
Sergeev had generously set aside a wage budget of £43k a week – an astronomical figure at this level. With the current squad only eating up £29k a week of this, this left me a very workable budget of £14k a week to attract a few key players to the club. Within days positive replies to our contract offers came flooding back.
The defence was boosted with the signings of Ronald Siklic, Goran Drmic, Jerry Christian Tchuisse and Vladimir Rzhevskiy. Siklic would fill the void at left back while Rzhevskiy would steady a wobbly centre back pairing. Drmic and Tchuisse would, however, battle it out for right back – a position filled by our current best player, Balan. This freed Balan to leave for some much needed transfer funds (and with Tchuisse having a Russian passport, a foreign slot in the team).
Two Russians filled in the central midfield slots – the aging Maxim Demenko and former Borussia Dortmund youngster Vladimir But (now a not-so-sprightly 33). As with Balan, these arrivals allowed Andronic to be offered for transfer to free up wages and a precious foreign-national spot.
These two spots would be taken graciously by two new wingers; Croat Denis Glavina and Slovenian Nejc Kolman. These were the men who would hopefully provide the ammunition for Yarkin and also chip in with goals themselves. The problematic “trequartista” role was also filled by journeyman Rafael Zangionov – who, like Glavina and Kolman, expected to chip in with goals and assists.
After a marathon 47 hours starting at TV screens, emails, YouTube clips Alexey and I exchanged a loud high-five before assembling the squad for my first match in charge.