Day 1

By: aman | November 2nd, 2009

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Steve and Eric, BFF's July 7th, 2009. I step out of my rented BMW, straighten my tie, and study the man waiting there for me. Mr. Eric Black, who will be assisting me with my managerial duties, at least for the time being. Mr. Steve Bruce brought him along from Birmingham to Wigan, and then the Stadium of Light. Black repays this by turning his back on Bruce when the board makes the questionable call to throw his ass out and install an amateur like myself in his place. I have no respect for a man with such lacking loyalty. He greets me with a smile and a warm handshake; all I have for him is a look of mild disdain. He will serve his purpose over the next few weeks, and then be replaced, sent crawling back to Bruce.

It doesn’t take long for the shit-show to kick into high gear. Black takes me into the offices to meet the coaching and scouting staff. No pleasantries are exchanged. As soon I walk through the conference room door, these bastards are falling all over each other yelling random bits of information at me. I have to use my outdoor voice to gain some control of the room, and then allow these ruffians to ‘advise’ me one at a time. I dismiss most of the recommendations they make for transfers, but they do share some valuable insight on the squad and how it stacks up against other teams in the league. It doesn’t sound too good:

-Shortest squad in the league
-Worst at passing
-Slowest
-Amongst the bottom few in dribbling, technique and first touch
-Fairly poor fitness levels
-One of the youngest squads
-Poor determination
-Highly aggressive

They make it sound like we have a team of angry little hobbits bumbling up and down the pitch. I thank them all for their time, accompanied by my best fake smile, and, snapping my fingers for Black to follow, retire to my office to plot my next move.

I have 12 days until the preseason kicks off against Sheffield Wednesday. In these 12 days I want to make most of my transfers, because this squad will need every single one of those friendlies to be prepared for the first few league games. I glance up at the schedule; the FA hasn’t been kind to us at all. The first four games are away at Chelsea, home against Tottenham, away at Man City, home to Liverpool. Four games that could define our season. There is no time to waste. The board has given me $22 million, and every cent will be spent. I pull a shortlist out of my brief case and hand it to Black. The scouts are to be dispatched immediately. Bad information will be punishable by death, or ridicule at the very least. Go forth, little scouts, be my eyes and ears. Perhaps nose as well, if sniffing for talent. No touching or tasting the talent, though: inappropriate.

The main focus of the man hunt is to find full backs, since George McCartney and Phil Bardsley kind of suck, and there’s no cover for the positions. An attacker also seems necessary, ideally one that can play out wide as well as up top. Van Persie, my love… Anyways, the options are numerous at the moment, and I will let my scouts do some leg work before I pick out key targets.

I tell Black to arrange an intrasquad friendly for the next day so I can watch Steed run around.

With the minions out doing my dirty work, I thought it an appropriate time for a nap. Not to be. Goddamn press vultures waiting to pick my bones. Black escorts me to the press conference and sits me down in a roomful of these petulant fools. ‘Is this your dream job’ is the first question asked. I picture myself on the sidelines at the Emirates, wearing a red tie, cheering as Fabregas threads a perfect pass to Van Persie, who coolly slots the ball past the keeper into the back of the net. ‘Yes’, I lie flatly, ‘all my dreams are coming true.’