“Jose!” Bertrand greeted me warmly as I entered the
boardroom. “Welcome, come on in. I trust you are satisfied with your meeting
with the backroom staff?”
“Thank you Bertrand. Yes, I found it quite difficult to....”
“Excellent! So let’s start. The board have discussed
ambitions for this season and we want you to achieve a respectable position in
the league. Let say a top half finish.”
“That sounds like a sensible ambition Bertrand, many thanks.
I will try to overhaul the squad as much as possible – following on from
promotion last season from the National, I definitely need to make some
changes. We only came up by three points – we were the worst team to get
promoted by far, and since we have sold Kone, our best player to Lyon, I’ve
been thinking about potential....”
“Yes, that sounds wonderful Jose” Bertrand smiled. I thought
there may be some convincing to do with regards to transfer budget with this
board, but so far Bertrand has seemed so supportive. I can get some young players in, make some
loan signings, and try to stay up. This was just the beginning!
“So, the board have concluded that your total transfer
budget will be €0.”
“.....Sorry, Bertrand, I must have misunderstood. Did we not
just discuss the state of the squad?”
And then I noticed. Bertrand was not this suave, slick
businessman that I had imagined. He was not paying attention to me at all. He
was glancing down at his IPad to look up what I thought were his notes. But no.
The guy was playing Duke Nukem. He hadn’t listened to a word I had said.
“Jose, I’m sure everything will be fine, you are a good
manager! We are also willing to hand you a €90k a week wage budget.”
“Right, ok. What are we currently spending on wages?”
Bertrand flicked through his actual notes on the table. “Hmmm...
our current wage budget...if you subtract the wages Kone was paid....amounts
to......€89,879.”
Swines! What on earth was I meant to do!? I couldn’t even
make any loan signings! They had literally reduced the wage budget from the
previous season.
“Bertrand, I don’t really think...”
“Magnifique!” The board rose from their positions. “You are
going to make a fantastic manager Jose!” and with that, Bertrand strode towards
me, kissed me full on the lips with an exaggerated smack, and left the room.
I sat in my office, playing with Newtons cradle. I had, in
English terms, been royally shafted. A top half finish with a bunch of no
hopers. This was going to be a long season.
“Err, boss, can I come in?”
Stephane Carnot, head scout had walked in the room.
“Hi Stephane, what can I do for you?”
“Well, having a look at our squad for the new season, I couldn’t
help notice we are a little light in midfield. And defence. So, I have to hand
you, monsieur, a scout report for one of the best young defensive midfielders
in France!”
He handed me a file. Nampalys Mendy was written on the
front. Monaco’s best midfielder in their youth team, and a player which would
require a starting bid of €800k.
“Stephane, unfortunately unless the guy can sign for free
and wants £121 a week we won’t be able to get him. I’ve just been told we have
no transfer budget and next to no wage budget. But nice thinking though, thanks
for sharing, maybe we can track this guy and potentially sign him on a free
when his contract expires”.
Stephane stood still, breathing heavily through his enormous
French nostrils. His eyes had widened, temples pulsing. Had I given him a heart attack?
“...Stephane is everything ok?”
Stephane shook off his temporary paralysis. “Its fine!” he
declared, as his energy when he first entered the room came flooding back. “Nobody really plays with a proper defensive midfielder anyway! Ill
find some more players. Thank you monsieur, you have been a great help.”
“Stephane, we really don’t have transfer budget to sign
anyone. Once i have assessed the squad and sold a couple of players maybe we
could make free signings but we cannot pay for players right now.”
Stephane was almost vibrating on the spot, like some sort of
overcharged Ann Summers pleasure stick. “Oui monsieur! More players!” and with
that he was off, straight down the hallway. My word, what sort of circus had I
got myself into here? Does nobody listen to instructions?! At least Stephane was
enthusiastic I suppose.
I gazed out of my
office window. Bertrand had just left the building, smoking a cigarette on his
way. I was going to have to get used to this outlandish character. There must
be a way to make him see sense. He had a passion for this club, and clearly a lot more money. A man at his age would take great pride in his football club - this is effectively his plaything. Of course he would give more money! I just need to promise him a young, vibrant attacking team and he would most definitely invest. Bertrand lives for this football club, it is his heart and soul. I just needed to convince him we needed the funds.
All of a sudden, a roar came from the car park entry. A red
Italian sports car had pulled into the car park, with two beautiful women
inside. To say these women were clothed would be very generous. Bertrand smiled,
and jogged towards them. The driver had hopped into the back seat. Bertrand
Jumped over the door, into the driver’s seat, and the car roared away into the
distance, leaving behind the sounds of soft, feminine laughter.
This job was going to be a lot harder than I had expected.
