il Mago - Remembering Alfredo (GHC)

[Elrithral]

Lynch’s hint that wasn’t a hint weighed heavy on my mind, what had he meant by it and what did he expect me to do with the knowledge that the gruesome twosome enjoyed gambling? I mentioned it in passing to Mo, Jorge and Danny, none of them could shed any light on it and Danny in particular was concerned about my motives.

“If you go out on a limb and it goes wrong you’ll be done, no team will touch you.”

He was probably right and if he had given me the same advice in any other context I would have taken heed and walked away, but not on this occasion. Hewitt’s public vote of no confidence for the team, coupled with the board meeting and the Dolf phone call had riled me, a usually placid man had the bit between his teeth and was out for blood.

Of course being passionate, angry, call it what you will, is all well and good as long as it doesn’t take your eye off the ball and as the coach arrived at Craven Cottage on Saturday morning I suddenly realised that I had no idea who would be starting. I pulled Danny to one side as soon as we entered the dressing room;

“How was training this week?”

He took a second and stared at me, for the first time in our relationship I saw disappointment in his eyes. “It went ok.”

“Just ok?”

“Well, it would have went better had the players set eyes on their manager.” My eyes widened, I deserved that. “There was a rumour that you weren’t around because you had been shown the door.”

My eyes widened further still; “Really?”

“Yup.” Danny turned to walk away.

“It’s been a tough week; I’ll be back to my good old self by the end of today.”

He turned back towards me, “You better hope that the end of today isn’t too late.” I deserved that too.

We started atrociously and Benitez was called into action within 80 seconds of kick off, Cooke won the ball in the centre of the park and my static defence was caught napping by a neat through ball picked up by Thomas. The frontman drove the ball with power towards goal, Benitez flung himself across goal and tipped it wide, a fantastic save, but it wouldn’t have counted anyway as the linesman’s flag was raised.

We picked up a little after that and the second and final chance of the first half fell our way in the 19th minute. Bouma had been something of a revelation since my arrival, I had expected El Shaarawy to fill the right side of central midfield slot, but the Dutchman made the position his own and it was his through ball that Shepherd should have converted. With only two chances in 45 minutes and no goals we left the field to a chorus of yawns .

The second half continued in the same vein, nothing happening and fans/staff bored to tears, but on 58 it suddenly burst into life. Herbert played the ball to the egde of the area for Thomas who controlled and held it well, the defence distracted by the run of Diego, before curling it inches wide of the far upright. On 61 we fashioned another chance, courtesy of some route one play from Benitez, Shepherd headed it on into the path of Gibson who controlled it well, but struck his effort straight at the Fulham keeper.

The deadlock was finally broken on 68, the defence were split in half yet again as Cooke slid a through ball in for Smallwood, his shot was saved by Bentiez and put out for a corner by Da Silva. Cooke swung the resulting corner in toward the near post where Boons had lost his man and Thomas was free to head home. Having taken the lead Fulham shut up shop and limited us to long range and set play efforts, the only one of note a Rose fk from 25 yards out that flew narrowly over the bar on 88.

I ignored everybody after the game, press, players and friends, angry at myself for a job badly done and blaming myself for our third loss in only seven games I dreaded what awaited me back in Manchester, Danny’s look of death at the final whistle had been bad enough.

[Elrithral]

Gale Agbossoumonde - It took me a while to settle into the team and we were a really young side, especially in defence, but Fredo had confidence and peristed and after that horrendous start to the season we started to improve. Topping the group ahead of Barc elona was a big deal, the fans were delighted, but league form was still below par and we started December with a humiliating 3-1 loss to Feyenoord.

Toby Alderweireld - When Burdisso had arrived in season two I went to see Alfredo and told him that I was ready to lead the back line, that I was disappointed in his lack of faith. He assured me that it wasn't a lack of faith, told me that I needed another season before I was ready so I decided to give him a chance. Fredo is a man of his word, in season three I took Jorge's place in the starting eleven and never looked back.

www.aa.fanspot.net

....top of the group is pretty sweet and no losses in a group that includes Barca is pretty incredible, but have a look at that league form. We were doing well until the start of December, now it looks awfully patchy again. I love Fredo as much as the next man, but losing like that in rotterdam was criminal difficult to stomach....

13.12.12

[Elrithral]

The reaction to our loss away to Fulham hadn’t been as bad as I had expected, if anything the worst part was the silence on the coach trip back to Manchester. There was no doubt that the players blamed me for the loss, my apparent lack of interest had filtered through and damaged an already fragile team spirit.

Training on Monday morning was strained, the focus was on morale and confidence rather than ability and tactics, I think the players appreciated it. Tuesday and Wednesday was more of the same and by the time the players took to the Selman Stermasi pitch for their game agaisnt KF Tirana it was as if Fulham had never happened. The same could not be said at the end of the 90 minutes.

Losing to Fulham was one thing, but limping to a 2-1 victory over Albanian opposition, courtesy of an 88th minute Natahn Shepherd goal was the final straw and this time I did get the reaction I expected.

The Manchester Evening News came up with the pick of the headlines “Dick’s Men Impotent”, whilst the red tops went with “Limp Dick” and “DICK HEADing for the Exit”. Their pathetic puns I could live with, but an emergency meeting with Lynch had me worried. I fidgeted in my seat waiting outside his office, flinching every time I heard a voice and strianing to see if I could recognise it, I couldn’t, but before long my curiosity was quenched when the door to Lynch’s office opened and El Shaarawy stepped out.

The Italian smiled as Lynch patted him on the back; “Keep up the good work Stephan, pass on my best wishes to Antoinette,” they both turned at the same time and both expressions changed as their eyes connected with mine. El Shaarawy looked towards the ground, “Boss”, and scampered away as Lynch held out his arm beckoning me through his door.

I didn’t wait for him to offer me a seat, I knew he would be heading for the drinks cabinet and didn’t fancy waiting, my backside connected with leather as the predictable clink of glasses chimed through the air. Eventually he joined me, perching on the edge of his desk and sipping his drink.

“What’s the damage?” I wanted this over and done with.

“I’m under pressure.”

“Just answer the question John.” I was in no mood for pussy footing around.

“The board want rid.”

“And the players?” Judging by Stephan’s reaction to seeing me in the waiting area I already knew the answer.

“Are right behind you.” My mouth dropped open. “Their captain thinks you’re the right man for the job and according to him his temamates agree.” I smiled as I raised my left hand and rubbed my chin. “Don’t get ahead of yourself Fredo.” The smile disappeared. “I might agree with Stephan and his word might count for something, but it’s only a temporary reprieve.” I nodded, it was understandable. “Lose to Liverpool on Sunday and I’m afraid your exit will be beyond my control.”

Sunday arrived and the same team that faced KF Tirana was named, the team talk was short and sweet, everybody knew how important the game was and everyone knew that my job depended on the result. My hands shook as I walked down the tunnel and toward our dugout, the ground shook with the noise created by fans desperate to emerge victorious agaisnt their most bitter rivals.

The game got off to a frantic start, the first chance falling our way as Rose played in Shepherd whose shot was straight at the keeper, but the first goal fell their way. Carlos’ run from midfield should have been dealt with, but 30 yards later he was at the byline and pulling it back to the egde of the area for McNamee to sidefoot home via the post. Old Trafford sighed as I looked towards the heavens.

We huffed and puffed for the remainder of the half, but all we could muster was a skyed shot from El Shaarawy and a tame header from Boons that was easily gathered by the Liverpool goalkeeper. Half time came and went in the blink of an eye, time was running out and seemed to be going quicker than ever.

There was no frantic start to the second half, no urgency in the play and whereas time had passed so quickly at half time it seemed to crawl in the seocnd half, prolonging my misery. 90 arrived and we had no efforts on target to show for it, the fourth official held up his board and as the lights flashed five minutes my heart sank and my eyes watered, I just wanted it to end.

On 94 Bean slid in to poke a Liverpool attack out for a corner, Carlos sent the set play in toward the near post and McNamee headed it over for a goal kick. As Benitez collected the ball and placed it on his 6 yard line I turned and held my hand towards Danny, he looked at it and then at me.

“There’s one minute left Fredo, don’t give up.” I smiled and turned to watch the ball sail downfield. As it floated through the air I wondered what I might have done better and what difference it might have made. As Gibson headed it on I wondered what lay ahead, whether or not I still had a career and as Winton caught the volley perfectly and as the ball slid down the back of the net and the crowd erupted I froze.

[Elrithral]

I’ve won many trophies, enjoyed many big results and some even bigger celebrations, but nothing came close to the feeling of relief and joy as Winton’s equaliser went in. The crowd had celebrated wildly and the players and staff had made the most of the moment, the following day the newspapers were covered in photographs of Danny and Jorge holding my hands aloft as I we left the pitch, the headline read “United Beat Liverpool 1-1”. The headline might have been tongue in cheek, poking fun possibly, but it felt pretty accurate. I had been thirty seconds away from the job centre, if it wasn’t for Winton my reputation would have been in tatters.

Various radio stations and television shows drew the comparison between Winton and Mark Robins, the man that had saved Sir Alex Ferguson’s career almost a quarter of a century earlier, I could only hope that Winton’s effort was the precursor to anything like the success Sir Alex enjoyed. Sitting in my office I turned towards the picture of the man himself, his eyes seemed to follow mine and for a second I felt awkward as I considered what he might have thought of the newspaper headline, I turned back towards my paperwork immediately.

After what felt like an hour of flicking through paper and staring at numbers I decided to break for a much needed headache tablet. As I waited for the tablet to dissolve in the water I wondered whether or not they actually worked, I had become so used to taking them that the fizzing seemed to calm the headache before a drop of water had passed my lips. I lifted the remote from my desk and flicked on the television, the sound came before the image,

“So, do you think the draw, or should I say win, has done enough to save him from the chop?” The newsreader was turned sideways and staring up at a screen showing a reporter outside Old Trafford. “No Jim, I don’t think it has,” he began, “Sunday’s result is a temporary reprieve at best. Alfredo Dick’s side have been poor domestically and in Europe, he was tasked with avoiding defeat and only managed to do so courtesy of a last minute equaliser. The next three games will be make or break for his tenure at Manchester United, all three are winnable and all three are at home, starting off with Ipswich on Saturday. Nine points from those three games could see United jump into the top five, anything less than nine points and I predict that we will see a premature end to Mr Dick’s time in England.”

I pressed hard on the standby button and the screen went dark again. I downed my drink in one, throwing it into my mouth in anger, not because of what the reporter had said, but because I agreed with him. 24 hours was more than long enough for all of us to get over a happy ending to a terrible performance, there was work to be done and none of it could be done in my office.

The short trip to Carrington gave me a chance to think over what we needed to work on and one thing kept popping up in my mind, space and movement. The whole point of the single striker with two attacking midfielders was to produce space for each other by distracting the defenders, in much the same way Carlos had distracted Boons in the Liverpool game. I had already addressed this with El Shaarawy etc, but there was still room for improvement and I knew the perfect drill to try and force the importance of space and movement home to the entire squad.

On arrival at training I found the squad going through a relatively routine training match, taking it easy and getting back into the swing of things after the big match, my team watched on from the sidelines. I joined them and called out to Boons who had just received the ball, “David, send that this way”, the big centre back looked towards his teammates before sending a long pass straight to my feet, “Ok, now back to it.” One by one the players looked at each other, clueless expressions on their faces.

“Without a ball?” Came the response from Carminati.

“Is like these.” The players turned towards Da Silva on the far left side of the pitch, “Ross, Slavko”, he beckoned his former Valencia teammates to join him and they trotted towards him, they were used to this kind of drill, I had used it many times in Spain.

“BEAN”, came the cry from Danny and they burst into action, Bean moving from side to side, tracked by Da Silva and shifting his foot as if stroking an imaginary ball to Horvat. This continued for roughly a minute.

“If you have no ball you cannot be caught ball watching,” Mo stepped forward as he said it, “passes cannot be too short or too long, you expect the perfect pass and you will find the perfect position to receive it. If there is no ball you can not dribble, you must look for a pass, find that player in the perfect position. If there is no ball you can focus on the man you are marking and have no reason to lose him. ”

“Possession will shift on my instruction.” Danny again and by now the players really looked confused.

“It takes a little getting used to”, Mo laughed as he said it, “but it does work and you will enjoy it, same teams as before, get going.”

I watched on as the players struggled to understand what was expected of them and struggled to get to grips with the drill. Danny stepped back to join me in between shouts, “This is more like it Fredo”, he patted me on the back and moved forward again as I smiled.

[Elrithral]

Luis Suarez - Alfredo spent big in January, Wellington Silva came in for £10m, Alfredo felt that too much was expected of me and that it was affecting my game. Wellington had all the attributes to be one of the best, but it just didn't seem to click on the pitch, we were destroying teams with countless chances and he was missing every single one.

Tony Curtis - Every game followed the same pattern, chances missed, eventually score and concede in the final ten. The only reason we avoided the blame was because Wellington was being hammered by everybody, I felt sorry for the lad.

www.aa.fanspot.net

...three league draws in a row It looked like we had turned a corner, found our form and that we had a chance of pushing on to make sure of a fourth title, but it's fallen apart again. How on earth can you be good enough to beat the league leaders on home turf and book a place in the Cup final, but struggle to draws against the likes of Willem and Breda? Rumours circulating that Fredo has over £40 million to spend in the summer, here's hoping he actually spends it....

01.04.13

[stoehrst]

Your Ajax team had Gale Agbossoumonde? He's an American! I approve

[Elrithral]

*He was indeed, Stoehrst and he was fantastic. He remained at the club long after I left and had a valeu of £10m at one point, as well as a wage of £65k+, he was one of my best signings and I tried to take him with me after Ajax, but he wouldn't budge.*

I have experienced the difference that one goal can have on a team at various stages throughout my career. That goal can change mentality for better or worse and in that respect I have been lucky as the majority of my memories seem to be about goals that have changed my teams for the better. Perhaps that’s just selective memory, reminiscng about the best moments of your career is a manager’s perogative, spending too much time thinking about the times when it went wrong and what might have been can ruin a manager’s retirement.

Winton’s goal against Liverpool had the potential to be one of those goals that I would look back on and thank God for. A Mark Robins moment, I could only hope that this goal could produce a similar path to the one United took after that goal against Palace.

I know some managers, most fans, think that morale and it’s effect on a team’s performance is a fallacy, in their opinion players should be prepared for every game and have the ability to put their mood to one side and get on with their job. I don’t share that view, if anything I consider morale and player happiness even more important than ability, in other words I’d rather have a good striker with excellent morale than a very good striker with poor morale. As such, I was delighted to see the change in mood from my players after the Liveprool equaliser.

The shift in mood was drastic, as if a switch had been flicked and all of a sudden I had a happy squad that trained with smiles on their faces and were more than happy to give my unusual regimes a go. That wasn’t all down to Winton’s goal though, my attitude had changed as well, I wasn’t letting boardroom politics get to me and I was focussing on the team and taking training myself. I finally felt that I was forging a relationship with my players, returning the favour after their vote of confidence and making sure that they knew that I was behind them 100% and had the same goals that they did. A boost in morale and a goal that could change games had come at precisely the right time.

The game against Liverpool had been our final October match, which signalled the beginning of the winter schedule, but also signalled the beginning of a Novemeber that wouldn’t see us leave Manchester and wouldn’t see us up against a team in the top half of the table. This was our chance to build up a head of steam, to put some points on the table and send confidence through the roof.

Up first were relegation favourites Ipswich and regardless of our poor league form we were red hot favourites for a healthy victory, which the players duly delivered. Rose got the ball rolling in the tenth minute, finding space on the edge of the area and connecting perfectly with an El Shaarawy drag back to find the top right corner of the net. It was a blistering start and I expected them to push on and dominate, unfortunately it didn’t happen and at half time I found myself delivering an inspirational team talk rather than a congratulatory one. However, it seemed to do the trick and the second half saw two more goals to complete a decent win. Gibson headed home a Rose corner on 67 and El Shaarawy struck a penalty straight down the centre of goal after Shepherd had been dragged down in the dying minutes.

Disaster struck as we prepared for the visit of Wolves, Shepherd tripping on a divot on the training pitch and twisting his ankle, he would miss the next three games and young Irish striker Brendan Keane would have to step into his shoes. I worried that he would struggle to lead the line as effectively as Shepherd had, but within 4 minutes of kick off I was relaxed as can be. Receiving the ball 40 yards out he turned and drove forward, skipping past a challenge before unleashing a 25 yard piledriver that almost ripped the net out of the ground. I was impressed that someone so young and inexperienced had the confidence to try something quite so audacious and my pre-game concerns were nowhere to be seen when I picked my eleven fo the game against KF Tirana.

Tirana didn’t stand a chance and another early goal from our backup striker set the ball rolling as we completed a third win on the bounce and a third clean sheet in succession. Portsmouth were next in line for a rude Manchester awakening, Gibson and Winton gettng the goals, both thanks to good movement from Keane. Despite his excellent performances he failed to keep his place ahead of Shepherd and when the time came to deal with Swansea the big striker was fit, starting and bagging two goals. A Winton header and a Jaliens own goal saw us end the month with twelve league points, eleven goals scored and four clean sheets, we were entering December with some of the best form any of my teams have ever enjoyed and I finally felt as if things were falling into place.

Of course it’s at times like these that things go wrong and good form/morale is ruined. It’s at times like these that the best laid plans of mice and men are destroyed and it’s at times like these that people who know nothing about football open their big mouths. I ended November sat in my office with my first tablet of the month fizzing in a glass beside me, my head in my hands and a newspaper thrown on the floor, the headline read “We Can’t Afford to Win The League: Hewitt”.

[Elrithral]

No doubt the ups and downs of my tempestuous relationship with my employers is getting boring for readers, imagine how I felt going into yet another must win game against handy opposition on the back of yet another damning comment from one of the main men at the club. I didn’t see the point in addressing his comments, I refused to read the full article and I mentioned it only once to the players. As the coach set out for our away trip to Middlesbrough I called for their attention and held the newspaper aloft, article facing them.

“I talked to Mr Hewitt this morning, lads, it’s worse than I thought.” A few of the younger players shifted in their seats. “Not being able to afford to win the title is bad enough, but now we can’t even afford toilet paper.” One or two confused looks. “Thankfully Mr hewitt has agreed to let us use his latest article instead. If any of you need the toilet on the way to Middlesbrough give me a shout, there’s plenty to go round. Wipe away, lads.” The whole coach erupted, it was just what we needed as we prepared for the match.

The first big moment of the game fell to the referee and it was one of those moments that can turn a season, let alone a game, on it’s head. Ten minutes on the clock and Bean managed to dispossess a Boro midfielder before sliding the ball into the path of Shepherd, ten yards inside the opposition’s half. Shepherd had timed his run to perfection and was clear to move in on goal, there was only one way to stop an inevitable goal and Boro centre back Louis Laing was the man to do it. Sliding across the wet turf and with no chance of getting anything on the ball his left leg flicked Shepherd’s heal and sent him tumbling.

The travelling support rose from their seats and screamed for the ref to show red, more damning than that, the home fans held their heads in their hands, the decision seemed obvious. As the yellow card emerged from the referee’s pocket I turned towards Jorge “You’ve got to be kidding me?”, the referee waved it in the air and the cheers of the home support drowned out the abuse being spat at the man in black from the United faithful. I knew that it wasn’t going to be our day.

Despite that early kick in the teeth we seemed to gain momentum and built on that early chance. On 11 Magnani picked up a throw in on the left and curled a perfect cross in towards the penalty spot, Winton was there and smashing a header down into the ground, but straight at the keeper. Six minutes later and Winton fashioned a chance all by himself, a mazy dribble in from the left and all he had to do was get his shot in on target, but the ball skewed horribly high and wide of the far post.

Boro’s frst chance of the game came on 25 and for a second I thought we had been punished for our wayward finishing. Castro collected a corner on the edge of the area and drilled a shot towards goal, Benitez was equal to it and managed to get two strong hands behind it, parrying the shot onto the bar. However, the loose bounce fell to Jehidi who slipped the ball home past the prone keeper, his celebrations were cut short by the waving yellow flag on the side of the pitch, he was at least two yards offside when the shot was struck.

Winton completed a hat trick of misses on 29, it was perhaps his worst miss so far, though the keeper did do well. Shepherd had found a yard of space and made the most of it, getting to the byline and firing a cross along the six yard box, Winton threw himself at it and got a toe to it, but it was too close to Ryan and the Boro keeper managed to push it away. Ryan denied Winton again on 30, a through ball from Rose split the defence in half and Winton was one on one, slide it either side of the keeper and we would have the lead, I struggled to contain my anger as Winton’s shot cannoned Ryan’s head.

On 32 we were punished for our inability to turn chances into goals and this time there was no linesman flag to save us. A throw in on the left wing and Arnold sent it long and into the area, Horvat should have dealt with it easily, but Jehidi managed to get in in front of him, controlling the ball on his chest before firing a powerful shot past the helpless Benitez. It was a kick in the teeth and the drinks bottle I kicked through my technical area showed how angry I was far better than any half time team talk ever would.

Actions obviously spoke louder than words as the team came out for the second half all guns blazing and within two minutes of kick off the Boro defence were hustling a ball behind for a corner. Shepherd swung the ball in towards the keeper and Ryan set himself to claim it, Magnani’s near post run was brilliant and his flicked header found the back of the net, I afforded myself a little hope that we could get something from the game afterall. Ten minutes later and wer should have had the lead, unfortunately the referee’s lack of ability had obviously rubbed off on his assistants as a perfectly good Shepherd goal was chalked off as offside when replays clearly showed that he was well onside when the ball was played.

It was an atrocious decision, almost as bad as the red card moment in the 10th minute and this second kick in the teeth was too much for my players to take as the team in control cpitulated in the final half hour. Six minutes after Shepherd’s goal had been ruled out and the players continued to protest as Boro sent a long free kick in towards the area, their minds elsewhere and the defence allowed Jehidi to control the ball on the edge of the area before back helling a pass into the path of den Breejen. The Dutch winger ran towards the home fans, hands outstretched in celebration as Benitez dusted himself off.

We had more than enough time to make something of the game, but our confidence was shot, a culmination of boardroom shenanigans and abysmal officiating too much for my lads to handle. In the end it could have been 3-1, Castro heading against his own bar from a Smith corner in the dying minutes.

The post match interview skirted around the performance of the match officials to begin with, focussing on chances missed and whether or not we could have had the game wrapped up within twenty minutes, I didn’t disagree. When they eventually asked me about the “contentious decisions” I erupted.

“Contentious?! Contentious?! Are you trying to tell me that either of those two decisions could be viewed as anything other than a red card and a legitmate goal?” I didn’t wait for an answer. “I coached throughout calciopoli and I haven’t seen a referee performance as poor as todays.”

The reporter looked stunned; “Alfredo, you’re not seriously suggesting…”

“I’m not suggesting anything, I’m telling you that todays referee produced a performance more biased and laughable than those produced by Italian referees who were taking bungs.”

I wasn’t at all surprised to find a letter on my desk on Monday morning summoning me to Soho Square.

[Elrithral]

Mo Diarra – It was a frustrating season more than anything else, we played some good stuff, but there will always be those who are willing to jump on the bandwagon. What happened that summer was what really got up my nose, the new chairman came in and started talking about making the changes needed to push forward in Europe. It sickened me.

Felix Magath – I was never contacted about the Ajax job, that was a complete non story. Alfredo asked me about it once, it was obvious that it still played on his mind, but I assured him that I would never have gone along with it.

www.aa.fanspot.net

...Seocnd on goal difference! Sorry…let me say that again, second on goal difference! WTF! We were one point away from Uefa Cup football! I don’t blame Fredo, I blame the players. This season has been an absolute disaster from start to finish, nevermind the Dutch Cup. I feel sorry for Fredo most of all, he talks about the Champions League, but we’ve got more chance of winning the World Cup....

06.05.13

[Elrithral]

A trip to London and further training sessions missed was exactly what I didn’t need, even though the team had reacted well to my post match comments and morale seemed to be high as each and every one of them were eagre to make up for the unnecessary loss away to Boro. I needed to remain involved, terrified that further off field shenanigans might take my eye off the ball again, just when we seemed to be finding form.

It seemed farcical to call me in for a meeting to discuss comments made in the heat of the moment about a refereeing performance that was described as “the defining moment of England’s referee shame” by one over zealous newspaper collumnist. I had no option but to admit the charge and accept my fine, avoiding a ban in the process and making sure I was on the touchline for the all important Chelsea and City matches at the end of the month.

I arrived at FA headquarters and was shown to my seat by an extremely young, blonde secretary. I smiled into myself as the thought that old habits died hard flashed through my mind, though it had to be said that the secretary in question was a vast improvement on Faria Alam.

It wasn’t the first time I had set foot in Soho Square, six years earlier I had been invited in for a chat by then FA Chief Executive Lawrence Patterson, which quickly turned into a job offer as he sought a successor to the outgoing England manager, Wes Brown. I didn’t have to think twice about my answer back then, not only was it the unenviable task of following on from a World Cup winning manager, but it was Brown’s England that had dumped my Holland side out at the semi final stage and the torture that was my stint in charge of a national team was still fresh in my mind. Two weeks later I signed on the dotted line with Valencia, the rest is history.

When the time came for me to meet my jurors I was escorted by the same receptionist to a private office on the second floor.

“Signora, much as I would like to be here for another reason I’m here for a disciplinary hearing, not a private meeting.”

“Yes Mr Dick, I know, if you have a seat Lord Black will be with you shortly.”

I sat down and rested my head agaisnt the wall behind me wondering why Conrad Black, former Labout MP and current Chief Executive of the English FA, would be wasting his time with a cut and dry disciplinary case. I didn’t have to wait long to find out, the door to the office opened and Black stepped out into the hallway.

“Fredo!” He beamed, offering his hand as I pushed myself up out of my seat. I was taken aback by the way he used the nickname usually reserved for those I worked with, but offered my hand nonetheless. “Don’t look so worried, Fredo old boy, nothing to worry about”, with one hand on my back he motioned me into his office and towards a large leather chair in front of his desk.

The usual pleasantries ensued, chit chat about nothing and nobody, drinks were offered and declined, as time went on I became more and more anxious about the real reason I had been shown to his office. There was only one way to find out, mid laugh I bit the bullet.

“This is probably the most relaxed disciplinary meeting I’ve ever been part of.”

“You and me both, Fredo.” He paused waiting for my response, but I sat silent and waiting. Instead of replying he lifted his phone and dialled for reception, “Sally, send Robert in please.” The door opened almost immediately and a tall, skinny man with black rings under his eyes stepped in as Black stood. “Fredo, this is Chief Inspector Crawford, he’s with the fraud unit at Scotland Yard.” I stood and shook Crawford’s hand before sitting again as he moved behind Black’s desk and pulled up a seat beside him.

There was silence for a second or so, it was up to me to break it, “What’s all this about? Surely my comments weren’t taken seriously.”

Black snorted, “God no, Fredo, we’ve all said things in the heat of the moment and you were quite right to feel aggrieved.”

“Does that mean I’m off the hook?” I smiled as I said it.

“No, no. As far as the press are aware you’ve been fined £8,000 and warned about your conduct.”

My mouth dropped open slightly, “What the hell is going on?”

Black looked towards Crawford who hadn’t taken his eyes off me since he had entered the room. “What do you know about Mitchell & Hewitt Estates, Mr Dick?”

“Not much, it’s the company two of my directors own, that’s about it.”

“And what do you know about Mr Mitchell and Mr Hewitt?” Crawford’s stare still hadn’t flinched.

“Not much more, my feelings about those two directors in particular have been widely documented.” Still no movement. “Look, what is this?”

Crawford leaned forward across the table, “There’s no point beating about the bush, Mr Dick, I’m in the middle of investigating ‘those two directors’ for one of the biggest fraud cases this country has ever seen.”

My jaw dropped, “And you think I’m involved?” I spat the words out.

“No, Mr Dick. As yet there has been nothing to indicate that this has anything to do with Manchester United.” It looked like Crawford was trying to smile as he said it, perhaps trying to calm me down, but the half smile coupled with the dark rings made me even more nervous than I already was.

“As yet? Are you telling me that those bastards might be messing with the club.” I paused, “Oh my God, that referee! Is that what this is about?”

“Fredo,” Black interrupted, “Robert is investigating the Estates company, not you, not the club. There’s absolutely nothing to say that either Mitchell or Hewitt has done anything that could affect Manchester United.”

“Then why am I here?”

“Because when this comes out the club is going to be the focus of attention,” Crawford stood as he said it, “people are going to jump to the same conclusions you did and it’s going to be tough.”

I looked towards the ground, my heart was racing, my head was spinning, “What do I need to do?”

“Nothing, just continue as you normally would. All I want to know is that we can rely on you for full cooperation with this case.”

I stood and turned towards Crawford, holding out my hand for him to shake, “You guarantee that my staff and players are protected and I’ll do whatever you want.” My skin crawled as he shook my hand and flashed another half smile.

[Elrithral]

Jorge Andrade – That league performance changed Fredo, until then he had been everyone’s best friend, perhaps he was too scared to rock the boat and in my opinion he’d never really had to deal with failure, he didn’t like the reaction of one or two players. The change was for the better, he wouldn’t have gone on to do what he has done if it wasn’t for that season.

Miralem Sulejmani – I know myself that my performance was below par, but lots of players had an off season. My contract was running down and I asked if it would be extended, I was told that it would, but that I wouldn’t be guaranteed a first team place. Until this point I had been a mainstay in the team, I believed I was well placed to ask for guarantees, but within 24 hours of asking for them a deal was agreed with West Ham.

www.aa.fanspot.net

...I cannot wait to see these guys in action. Langkamp looks like an absolute beast, they’re calling him the next Ballack and according to the Lille forums Laborde is even faster than Curtis. I’m not sure about Villalva though, we’ve been burnt with strikers in the past, but somehow Fredo managed to recoup £10m for Silva!!!! I’m feeling confident lads, the title is coming home....

01.08.13

[Elrithral]

The press were disappointed with my perfectly written/humble apology for my remarks after the Middlesboro game, but it felt good to be out of the papers for five minutes and gave me a chance to focus on the matter in hand a tricky away tie in Norway and Europa League opposition in the form of Viking.

It was imperative that we got the win, the subsequent fuss caused by my interview had glossed over the fact that we had lost to Boro and in doing so cut short an unbeaten run that I had hoped would guide us into fixtures against Manchester City and Chelsea at the end of the month. However, with the games coming thick and fast and Old Trafford entertaining Newcastle just three days later I had to consider squad rotation.

The biggest change was the introduction of Brendan Keane up front. The Irishman had been dealt something of a bum deal with the purchase of Nathan Shepherd, he was more than capable of leading the line, but I was used to targetmen and no matter how well Brendan played Shep would start the majority of games up front by himself. Otherwise Walcott came in for Bean and Horvat started ahead of Anderson in the centre of defence.

The first half was something of a damp squib with a handful of half chances created and just the one goal, thankfully it went the right way for us. It came in the seventh minute and our supporters would have been forgiven for expecting us to push on and go in at half time with a more fruitful lead. El Shaarawy sent the ball out towards the right wing where Rose was waiting to control and push forward, unfortunately he was confronted with three Viking defenders and his only option was to return the ball back inside to his captain. El Shaarawy struck the ball first time and connected with it perfectly, it curled towards the top corner and clipped the post before riding down the back of the net and resting on the ground behind the dumbstruck goalkeeper.

After the break and some guidance from me as I encouraged them to push on and make sure of the win, the small group of travelling fans got the goals they wanted and expected. On forty-seven Carminati broke down the right, but Viking were playing deep and their full backs were camped on the wings making it difficult for our wing backs to get forward. With no other option Carminati played the ball back inside for Walcott who took one touch before chipping a delightful pass into the path of Keane whose finish was cool, calm and composed, into the far corner of the net.

On fifty-three Keane turned provider, with thanks to some dodgy defending from the Viking centre backs. His through ball was collected by Winton who tried to take his shot early, but was blocked by his marker, the ball ricocheted further into the box and with keeper expecting defenders to clear and defenders expecting keeper to gather Winton was free to smash the ball home.

At 3-0 up all three points were as good as ours and I sent the word out for us to take our foot off the gas, hold onto possession and make sure that we didn’t incur any last minute injuries that might affect my selection for the Newcastle game. The players did as I asked and set about passing the ball from side to side, frustrating their opposition and controlling the game excellently. However, as we held the ball and Viking pushed higher and higher up in an attempt to retrieve it further opportunities presented themselves.

Walcott was another player who had every right to feel hard done by regards my purchases, he was a cracking lad and a quality midfielder, but he was no Ross Bean. That said, Bean would have been proud of the perfectly weighted through ball that Walcott provided for El Shaarawy on eighty-five, the Italian doubled his tally and was right to offer swift thanks to Walcott for the assist. There was just enough time for one final goal on eighty-nine and it completed a second brace, this time for Keane. A long ball forward from Horvat he controlled it on the edge of the area and dropped deeper, holding the ball up and waiting for assistance, nobody was rushing forward to join him in attack so he decided to take on the Viking defence by himself. His turn of pace and close control was a joy to behold, his powerful low finish was unstoppable and the smile on his face broke my heart as I knew that despite his performance he wouldn’t be starting on Sunday.

[Satio]

Just been catching up on the latest posts Very enjoyable to read, and good job on the latest scoreline

[Elrithral]

*Cheers Satio, glad to know people are sticking with it even thought the updates aren't all that regular.*

Keane took his ommission like a true professional, not that I ever expected anything less. I was truly disappointed for the lad, but I learnt long ago that sentiment has no place on the football pitch and once bitten twice shy.

The media response to our emphatic win in Norway had been tame to say the least and I found myself feeling a little hard done by, especially considering our start to our European season and the subsequent turnaround. That said, it may well have proved to be a blessing in disguise as I feared the possibility of players taking things for granted and whilst I welcomed praise I encouraged level headedness.

Ideas above your station were exactly what the Newcastle side of 2023 thrived on. Just like Bolton a decade or so earlier, their long ball game and commitment to the cause took high flyers by surprise and though they were much maligned they were as formidable an opponent as any of the top sides. I had to get my team talk right.

“This is make or break time lads!” I turned slowly as I said it, looking each and every one of them in the eyes, “Chelsea and City are waiting for us at the end of this month, do you want to go into those games on the back of a loss against lesser opposition or a big win against lesser opposition?” They didn’t move, they stared straight at me. “That’s what Newcastle are you know, lesser opposition. They bum and blow about commitment and work rate, big deal. Keep it simple, keep it on the floor and keep it short, show them up for what they are. No superman acts, don’t milk it, just get the job done.”

Despite my heartfelt words and the rousing reception provided by the Old Trafford faithful our first half display was one of the worst performances I had witnessed any of teams produce. It would have been easy to label it nervous, but it was worse than that, it was sluggish and boring, Newcastle took full advantage and their high pressing game saw them take the lead after only 14 minutes.

Da Silva picked up a loose ball out wide on halfway and decided to ignore everything I had said as he took on his opposite number, Boessen. The Frenchman swatted the little Brazilian to one side as if he wasn’t there and emerged with the ball and a free run down the right wing. Da Silva scrambled to attone for his earror, but there was no hope of catching Boessen and he had all the time in the world to deliver an accurate far post cross that had the rest of the defence scrambling. As the ball floated over Carminati slipped slightly, it was enough for Kucera to steal a yard on him and the left winger was free to nod the ball past a helpless Benitez and silence the home support.

Newcastle knew they were onto a winner and continued to press higher up the pitch and the more they closed us down the more mistakes we made. Somehow we managed to make it to half time without conceding another, there was hope and I was going to have to pull out all the stops in my half time team talk.

However, for the first time in my career I decided not to give one. I decided not to give a team talk at all and I stood by the door to the home dressing room as the players passed me, eyes looking towards the floor and heads bowed. As the last one entered I reached across and pulled the door shut.

“What are you doing?” Asked Danny, a surprised look on his face.

“Let them stew.” I simply said as I leant back against the wall and closed my eyes.

To begin with there were one or two noises from behind the door, some laughing, some joking, slowly but surely the room fell silent save for the odd confused mutterings. Eventually the referee emerged from his room and nodded down the corridor at me, I nodded back and reached forward opening the door and stepping inside. I looked around, my hands in my pockets, a blank expression on my face.

“Come on then.” I nodded towards the door. One or two of them shifted to get up, but sat back down when nobody else moved.

“What’s going on, boss?” El Shaarawy folded his arms as he said it.

“What do you mean, son?”

“You got nothing to say? We’re 1-0 down at home.”

“I know you are and I’ve got plenty to say, but there’s no point in saying it.”

El Shaarawy’s eyes widened, “Wh…what do you mean?” His arms unfolded.

“There’s no point in saying it because there’s no way on God’s green earth that you lot could play as badly in the second half as you did in the first.” He looked away as I said it, embarrassed. “There’s no point in saying it because I believe in each and every one of you and I know that we’ll win. There’s no point in saying it because if you don’t know that by now then I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.” More and more faces turned away from me, all of them embarrassed. “Ok. Come on then.” I nodded towards the door once again and one by one they shuffled towards the tunnel.

It was roles reversed in the second half, the players came out firing on all cylinders, my words seemed to have done the trick and it was Newcastle’s turn to look shell shocked and sluggish. Within five minutes of kick off the ball was in the back of the net, Rose winning the ball in the centre circle and playing the ball forward to Walcott on the edge of the area. Walcott could have been forgiven for moving back towards where the ball had came from, Newcastle were back in numbers and marking tightly, but instead of playing the obvous he pulled off the ridiculous and his sublime back heel found the run of Shepherd who in turn found the bottom corner.

Five minutes more and we had the lead. A game of head tennis in the centre of the pitch was brought to an end by some cool control and technical brilliance from Mitchell. He chipped the ball forward for Winton who let it bounce once before lofting a deft volley over the top of the defence and into space for poacher extraordinaire Nathan Shepherd to run onto. There only ever seemed to be one outcome when Shep got played in and once again he found the bottom corner of the net with a stunning right footed finish.

In the space of ten minutes the game had been turned on it’s head and we were in the ascendency, however, all of a sudden those well worked passes seemed to dry up and for all our possession we couldn’t seem to add to our lead. With the score at 2-1 there was always a risk of Newcastle snatching another and a potential two points lost. It looked like a very real possibility as we entered the final five minutes of the game and they started to pile forward in search of an equaliser. The defence held firm and repelled attack after attack, however, the crowd were beginning to get anxious and it was filtering through to the players.

On 91 the referee raised his whistle to his mouth and looked at his watch, but no sound came. “Blow dammit! Blow!” screamed Jorge from the bench, but as he did Kucera struck an effort from 35 yards, it was on target and Beneitez was rooted to the spot, Old Trafford inhaled in unison. The twang of ball against bar remains one of the most beautiful sounds I have ever heard. The rebound spun out wide towards Winton and with the entire Newcastle team camped in our half he had time to control it and drive forward. Even in the 91st minute he was full of running, the counter attack was swift and effective as he left his chaser trailing in his dust and supplied a near post cross for Steven Rose, who had tracked him excellently, to slide in and make sure of the three points.

The sense of cammaraderie and togetherness emanating from the squad as we marched back towards the dressing room was a delight to witness, my vision was finally materialising and I stood in front of the camera for my post match interview with a smile beaming from cheek to cheek.

“You look delighted, Alfredo, and rightly so.”

“Yes, I thought our second half performance was one of the best so far this season. If we can keep that up we’ll be challenging soon enough.”

The interviewer looked shaken, “Challenging soon enough?”

“Yes, I think we have what it takes and judging by this afternoons performance we’re in the right frame of mind to make a real go of it.”

The interviewer seemed to smirk a little as he raised one eyebrow, “Alfredo, when was the last time you checked the table? Do you even know yesterdays results?”

His blaise attitude irked me and I took a deep breath, “What’s your point?”

“Liverpool lost to Swansea yesterday afternoon, your win against Newcastle has just taken you top of the table!” He chuckled as he said it and my smile disappeared as my mouth fell open.

[Elrithral]

Toby Alderweireld – The new blood made a massive difference and their arrival was just as important as losing some of that dead wood. The football we were playing was fantastic to be a part of and that’s why I stayed. I had plenty of offers, some from the biggest clubs in the world, but I was happy with Fredo.

Jorge Andrade – At this stage I wasn’t featuring as much as I had been, Gale and Toby were younger, fitter and in form. Fredo encouraged me to start my coaching licences and he was very eager to involve me in the backroom goings on.

www.aa.fanspot.net

……goals, goals, goals, they’re on fire atm. The defence looks a wee bit shaky at times, but I can live with the odd goal conceded if we continue to average 2.5 scored a game. All we have to do now is transfer our league form into Europe because that 1-3 home loss to Getafe was shocking and Marseille/CSKA are bound to provide a tougher test….

26.09.13

[Elrithral]

Top before Christmas was far better than I could have hoped for and given our suspect form our league position came as a complete surprise. Of course I realised that top before Christmas held the same significance as top after match day one, none whatsoever, but the boost in confidence it would give the players had the potential to change a season.

The atmosphere at training the following day was the most pleasant I had enjoyed since arriving at the club. The players were relaxed, the expectation was still there, but the fact that they had taken a step towards realising it meant a great deal to players who had spent half a season treading on eggshells.

Marcelo Lippi once told me that a player’s mood is infectious, an unhappy player can ruin a squad, but by the same token a happy player can lift a team. Standing on the sidelines and watching Wim direct training alongside Jorge I couldn’t have agreed with Lippi’s words more, I felt like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders and I chuckled as I considered how difficult it must have been for Mitchell and Hewitt to watch me enjoy even the slightest success.

As Wim called time on the latest drill I waved to him indicating that I wanted to speak to the team. One by one they jogged over with smiles on their faces and formed a semi-circle in front of me.

“Gentlemen, congratulations are in order.” The smiles grew larger, “I’ve obviously been taking the work you have done for granted, there was no hiding my surprise at our current position. You should all be very proud of what we have achieved here.” The smiles turned into bashful grins. “However, much as I want to shower you all with praise and stroke your egos it’s my job to keep your feet on the ground and it’s my job to remind you that the hard work starts now.” No more smiles and no more grins.

“I’ve been in this game long enough to know that getting to the top can be easy, no matter how difficult it seems, staying at the top is the hard part.” Their eyes were fixed on me; they were hanging on my words. “The remainder of December gives us a run of fixtures that couldn’t provide a tougher test, Sheffield United away, Partizan Belgrade at home, Chelsea away and City away. We’ve lost easier games this season, but that doesn’t mean we can’t do it. I want ten points from those games and bear in mind that Partizan doesn’t matter.” One or two sets of eyes shifted from side to side. “Now back to it.”

The rest of the day passed without incident, no chairmen or board members to contend with and plenty of work done, as I made my way back to my hotel I fantasised about the early night I was going to enjoy. Unfortunately as I approached the hotel the thought of bed was wiped out by the butterflies in my stomach and the unnerving feeling that something very bad was about to happen.

I stopped dead as I entered the elevator; a sickly sweet smell tickled my nasal hairs and I watched the colour drain from my face in the elevator mirror as I realised it was a smell I had had the misfortune of smelling many, many times before. I rested my back against the wall, closed my eyes and dragged my index finger and thumb into my eyes, nipping the top of my nose and sighing heavily.

On exiting the elevator and making my way down the corridor towards my room I considered turning back, a night in the office wouldn’t be all that bad, but I knew there was no point. There had been no turning back in almost 30 years.

One more deep breath outside my room as I slid the key card into the slot before I pushed open the door and stepped inside. The same smell from the lift hit me instantly, both my mouth and eyes filled with water. I wiped my eyes with my sleeve and moved forward, perched on the edge of the bed was a figure dressed in black.

“Hello Natale.” I forced through gritted teeth.

[Dalbeider]

Yay, it's back \o/. Now don't make me wait two full months for the next one, mkay?

[Panpardus]

Just finished reading this one El, it's a good read, will be following along.

Unless of course you take another 2 month break!

[Elrithral]

Rodney Sneijder – I have absolutely no idea what happened that year, it was as if we were one team in the league and another in Europe. We went from holding our own with Barca and Juve to struggling for points against CSKA Moscow. Yeah, some of the guys were pretty young, but they all had a decent amount of experience.

Danny Blind – I think that was probably Fredo’s lowest point with Ajax. People talk about the season we gave up the league title as being the worst season, but those who mattered knew that it was a season of transition and knew that we were best placed to win it the following year, but as far as Europe goes I think Fredo felt that we were moving backwards.

www.aa.fanspot.net

…..I think Fredo is probably the most disappointed person in Amsterdam, the Champions League is his Holy Grail. I never expected us to be out of Europe before Christmas, especially when I saw our group, but can I live with European failure if it means regaining the league title from PSV? Hell yeah! By the looks of it we’re going to walk it and that means we will have made an improvement on last year, I don’t know what people are complaining about….

12.12.13

[Elrithral]

*Cheers guys, two weeks is better than two months, right? *

The conversation I had with Natale was one I had endured many times before. My estranged wife had a habit of turning up at the most opportune times.

“I take it you’ve read the newspapers.” My eyes had stopped watering and I could see her clearly. Despite her age she looked fantastic, she didn’t have to rely on her glory days she could still turn heads and open mouths.

“What makes you say that, Fredo?”

“I haven’t heard from or seen you since Rome, the final, the last time I was in the papers. I can only assume you’ve read the papers, seen that I am newsworthy again and want to be a part of the story.” I’m sure I appeared far calmer than I actually was.

“Oh Fredo, you always did think the worst of people.”

“No Natale, I always think the worst of you and I have every reason to do so.” She didn’t flinch, not one little bit. “Drink?” Moving towards the drinks cabinet I turned my back to her and smiled as my next line entered my head, “What happened to Joaquin? What was he a half or a third your age?”

“He ran off with that little whore of a cleaner you used to employ back in Valencia.” There was just the slightest hint of anger in her voice, I sank my teeth into my bottom lip to stifle a laugh.

“I think that’s what they call poetic justice.”

“Is that right.” As the words registered and I realised that they had come from directly behind me it was too late to stop Natale’s hand slide around my waist and into my shirt. As her fingers touched my skin I closed my eyes and I drew a deep breath in through my nose.

###

Most men wake from a night of passion with a woman they love, or at least used to love, feeling on top of the world and ready to take on anything and anyone; not me. Waking up to a note from Natale that read “See you soon xoxo” I slammed my head into the pillow and wished I could turn back time.

My stupidity played on my mind and as we prepared for the trip to Sheffield United the game was the last thing on my mind. I was irritable, all too ready to vent my frustration with myself on other people and the team bore the brunt during training, a particularly vociferous rant in the direction of Bean lead to Danny pulling me to one side.

“What’s the matter with you? You’ve been like a bear with a sore head all week.”

There was no point in lying, I looked him square in the eyes and said it. “Natale.”

“For Christ’s sake, what does that cancer of a woman want now?” His face flashed red with anger.

“her picture in a newspaper, what else.” He rolled his eyes and I knew that he probably thought worse of me than her. “Do me favour and take training for the rest of the day.”

“What will I tell the lads?”

“Tell them the truth, I’m sure youngsters like that will understand woman troubles.”

###

The time came for the trip to Sheffield and as I boarded the team bus I scanned the faces of my team, one or two half smiles, but for the most part they looked the other way. I appreciated their discretion, but I couldn’t help feel embarrassed that a man of my age was washing his dirty laundry in full view of his employees and using it as justification for acting like an idiot. Lucky for me I didn’t have time to dwell on the situation and before long I was taking my seat in the away team dugout at New Bramall Lane.

The game was predictably scrappy, I had warned my players about Sheffield’s tendency to disrupt play rather than actually try and play, they were trying their best to put us off our passing game and force us into playing it long and onto the foreheads of their towering centre halves. Their strikers harried our defenders and their wingers marked our wing backs, retaining possession was proving difficult and my backroom team were urging me to change things as the half hour approached.

However, I knew that Sheffield’s pressing game could only work for so long and sooner or later gaps would appear as players were too eager to close down the ball rather than hold position. I was proved right on twenty-eight. Da Silva won the ball on the left and moved forward, with his winger dispossessed and sprawled on the ground the Sheffield right back moved forward to close Da Silva down in doing so leaving a massive gap behind him. Shepherd saw his chance and moved towards the flank, his marker failed to move with him and when Da Silva played it inside to Bean and Bean struck it out wide first time Shepherd had all the time in the world to cut back inside onto his right foot before hammering a cross shot toward the six yard box. The Sheffield defenders were too worried about the possibility of scoring an own goal and nobody tried to defend it leaving Winton free to attack it at the far post, sliding in to poke the ball home. I turned towards the rest of the bench and winked.

I had hoped that conceding a goal would force Sheffield United to take the game to us in search of a point, but they stuck with their original game plan and half time came and went without any real chances for either side to entertain the crowd. Finally on sixty minutes they made their move, an extra body up front and they actually tried to get the ball down and play, it would prove their undoing. Just four minutes after the substitution we doubled our lead and having spent two thirds of the game trying to avoid playing long ball we managed to use it to our advantage.

A Sheffield United corner and they sent the big men forward, the ball was aimed at them, but Horvat was positioned perfectly to get in in front of them and head it clear. The ball broke to Bean who looked up and saw that Gibson was one v one in the centre circle, he hammered a long ball up field relying on Gibson to outpace his marker, which he did with ease. Two touches later and the ball was still sliding around the net as Gibson slid along the side of the pitch in celebration.

A valuable three points followed up by an easy 4-0 win against Partizan meant that we could enjoy Christmas sitting atop the Premier League and looking forward to a Knockout Stage tie against VFB Stuttgart in the Europe League. However, it was always going to be difficult to enjoy my turkey when I knew that both Chelsea and Manchester City were coming up within the space of five days.

[Elrithral]

Alberto Aquilani – I had played 18 games in four seasons for Liverpool, I was desperate for regular football. I had a chat with one or two friends from torino and Juve, their praise for Fredo was enough to convince me to take the plunge. Don’t get me wrong, Ajax were a big club, but there was a massive difference between the Premier League and Eredivisie,

Esteban Cambiasso – I was 34 at the time, still capable, but Inter had plenty of youngsters coming through the ranks and I knew that if I wanted to play I would have to move. There was a lot of speculation that my arrival would affect Diarra’s position at the club and I don’t think the fans were too happy about that, but Fredo made it clear from day one that I would not be guaranteed a place in the team just because of my reputation.

Www.aa.fanspot.net

…..Look, I love Mo and Ekdal as much as the rest of you, but we’re talking about two experienced (cheap as chips) players that can share the midfield with them. One is a former Italy international and the other is a Champions League winner, it isn’t rocket science. Anyways, if you think Fredo will pick based on reputation then you’re doing the man an injustice, keep the faith people…...

30.01.14

[Elrithral]

*I'm not even going to bother with the, oh it's back, i'm going to post more often stuff, it's insulting, but it will be finished eventually....promise. Enjoy.*

In every manager’s career there are certain players that he grows attached to, for various reasons. More often than not they tend to be the players that give everything and wear their hearts on their sleeves, the players that drive a team forward and believe when everyone else has given up hope. If a manager could bottle that enthusiasm and give it to the rest of his team he would be the happiest man in the world. Ross Bean was that player for me.

I first came across Ross during the summer of 2019, just before my first full season with Valencia. We were on a pre-season tour of Holland and I was in the middle of stamping my authority on a team I had inherited mid-season and our third game of the tour pitted us against a below average Willem II side. In much the same way as I had built my team around Suarez at Ajax I was building my team around Keirrison, the trequartista causing havoc between the midfield and target man. We struggled to a 1-0 victory with Keirrison unable to have any influence on the game whatsoever, Willem’s dreadlocked defensive midfielder had marked him out of the game.

Rob Wielaert hadn’t got much of a look in when I first took over Ajax, age and more capable understudies had affected his chances of a first team place. At the time he seemed upset that I didn’t consider him a regular, but ten years on and sitting opposite me and behind his desk in the Willem II manager’s office he seemed to understand a little better how managers must make difficult decisions, even when they don’t want to. It was with this in mind that I decided to give him his difficult decision of the day.

“The big black fella with the dreadlocks, what’s his name?”

Rob sipped his glass of wine and smiled, “I was in two minds whether to play him or not, I knew that if I did we would be having this conversation. His name is Ross Bean, 23 and already playing for Ghana. Hands off.”

Four days later Ross signed on the dotted line, completing a £6m move to Valencia and making the next big step towards becoming a world class midfielder. Three years and three trophies later I walked away from Valencia, leaving them in the best position they had ever been, with one of the best squads in the world. What happened next hurt me more than anyone could ever imagine.

The appointment of Dolf Roks didn’t shock me, afterall the Ajax connection was there and to most pundits he seemed the sensible choice, however one man’s desire to make something his own and destroy a team in the process shocked everyone close to me. Of course, Valencia’s position didn’t mean all that much to me after I left, not in the same way that Ajax or Torino’s position did, but it was the way he treated the players I loved that hurt me most of all.

Come January 2023 Ross had made only two starts for Valencia before completing a free transfer to Atletico Madrid. His confidence shot, he struggled to adapt and soon found himself in the reserves. In the space of a year he had gone from being one of the most important players in the best team in the world to a playing alongside youth teamers, it sickened me.

Bringing him to United was the easiest decision either of us had ever made and even though Danny had handled the limited negotiations it was me that received the text at midnight on the day the deal was done, it simply read “Thank you.”

Six months later and in the 91st minute of a season defining game against Chelsea it would be me thanking him. An early goal from Winton had given us the edge, but Chelsea replied within minutes through Walter. A draw suited both teams, neither manager wanted to risk losing and, if I’m honest, come 91 minutes one point looked like a pretty decent deal even to me. A nothing corner swung in from the right and without any serious challenge from any of my players Sessegnon had an easy job heading it out towards the edge of the box. Walter collected it and turned to make a move forwards, Ross crashed into him, winning the ball with a the kind of tackle you usually see in the first minute of the game, not stoppage time. The tackle was clean, he steadied himself before smashing an unstoppable shot from 25 yards into the bottom left corner of the net.

Old Trafford had it’s new hero.