Le nouveau monde de Cécile Roux.

[Lawlore]

Prologue

25th July, 2012. I remember it like it was yesterday.

I'd never been to Scotland before, but already, in just a week there with the other girls, I was starting to feel at home. Everyone had been so welcoming. There was an excitement in the air- despite London being hundreds of miles away, the whole country was wide alive, awakened with the Olympic spirit.

I was 28, and I'd kind of ended up as the team's leader. Mama Roux, they called me, even though some of them had a good couple of years on me- it was an affectionate nickname. My mother gave me the name Cécile- my father always hated it, said it was no name for a girl living in Aldershot. Maybe it's no surprise that when my parents split at the age of twelve, she and I returned to France, back down to Avignon.

But although my English was far and away the best in the French Women's Olympic team, I struggled with the Glaswegian accents- I remember thinking what a cruel trick of fate it was to give us two group games at Hampden Park, and a third in Newcastle, where comprehension wasn't much better. Why-aye.

It seemed we'd barely arrived in Glasgow than it was time for the first group match, and as we lined up, the nerves were clear, no matter how we tried to hide them. There were 18,000 people in attendance- far and away the biggest crowd I'd played in front of. It was intimidating- a far cry from playing in front of a hundred or so for Montpellier. Oh, what a different stage from the blue and orange I knew so well.

Furthermore, we were facing the United States, the reigning Olympic Champions, under the guidance of Pia Sundhage. Winners in 2004, winners in 2008, and predicted by many to be winners again in 2012. It was as tough an opener as they came, and as the anthems played, it was all I could do to try and keep my feet on the ground, soaking it all in. This tournament was going to be the highlight of my career. I was going to savour every second.

Fifteen minutes in, we were 2-0 up. We couldn't quite believe it- it seemed the Americans just hadn't turned up, and we were cruising. I can, with my hand on my heart, say that I have never felt happier in my life than I did at that moment then. It was my highest point- I felt like I was flying.

And then... I was flying. Literally.

"France corner now- taken short and crossed in, towards the far post..."

Really, I had no right going for it, but I was caught up in the moment. I couldn't reach it- I was never going to reach it. I leapt into the air, left leg at full stretch, straining every muscle to connect. trying to get a toe onto it. But it wasn't the ball I hit- it was a defender. She had every right to go for it- she was much closer, and she seemed shocked that I'd tried. Of course she got it. Then she got me- it was too late to pull out of the challenge. Watching it back, even the most generous person would struggle to call it a 50/50.

I don't remember landing.

The video footage shows how she tried to avoid colliding with me, how she put her hands up to block the impact. It shows how she couldn't help but catch my flailing upper leg- not especially hard, but enough to flip me in the air, to spin me around and send me down onto my head, neck and shoulders. Hard. Bones broken in three, four, five places. It was unlucky, they said. "A footballing incident". Really, it was my own fault. It certainly wasn't her fault, which is why I've omitted her name here. I bear her no ill will.

But it was the end of my Olympics.

And it was the end of my playing career.

---

That was over a year ago. And, after the treatment, after going in and out of hospital for months, I've got my smile back, and I've got my badges. I'd always planned on going into coaching when I'd retired- and I'd always planned to do so with the men's game. There is no money, no profile in the women's game- never has been. To raise the image of women in football, it was always going to take someone breaking into the Boys Club.

The football world is a different place now.

After the Olympics ended, with the world watching, Sky pulled off an audacious feat. The concept of the domestic game was ravished in the name of money- not just in Europe, but all over the world. Depending on your worldview, this was either the death knell for football or the new breath of life that it needed. Teams folded, footballing borders dropped, and leagues merged. Rupert Murdoch carved up the footballing planet like it was nothing at all- all in the name of creating matches that would draw the biggest crowds... and make the most money.

There are now eleven Superfederations, as they're now termed- merged leagues in the pursuit of viewers and of money. The French system, for example, was absorbed into the new "Western European Superliga", along with Spain and Portugal- the 20-team Superliga now boasts matches like Porto vs. Barcelona, or Marseille vs. Real Madrid on a weekly basis.

So where does that put me?

That puts me Cécile Roux, 29, unemployed but qualified, with the opportunity to move somewhere and establish myself, to show my credentials and catch the world flat-footed, before anyone has quite figured out the way to rule these Superfederations. That time will come- that time will always come. But this is a very narrow crack in the Boys Club door. Maybe- just maybe- that's all I need.

J'espère.

---

So, I finally took the plunge to FM14, which spells the end of the American stories in FM12. In their place, I've adopted Ruh Roh's fictional world league structure as the basis for my new game world. Fictional players, brand new game, all leagues loaded. Also thought I'd throw in a bit of backstory for our manager, so let's see what we can come up with.

[tenthreeleader]

Looking forward to this! Have fun!

[Jibby123]

Ditto, will be following this one!

[Lawlore]

Cheers guys, glad to have you here.

2nd October, 2013 (Part I)

For a minute there, I thought I'd got it wrong- very wrong.

I don't know what I expected- although the leagues had been moved around, although teams were now facing new opponents, although they now had to work out just what was an acceptable finish, the point remained that they already had managers. Male managers. Managers who'd been with the team for a while, and who were being trusted with the transition of the club into the new era.

If anything, it became tougher for me- as clubs were disbanded or banished to non-league and semi pro status, in a lot of cases, their managers deserted them, thinking they could do better, or being unwilling to take the sudden, necessary pay cut. So, what few vacancies were being advertised on Sky's Global Job Market were suddenly being contested like never before. Former national coaches were doing battle to take over second tier teams like Drogheda Utd, in the UK & Ireland Championship North (UKICN). A year ago, they'd have laughed at the suggestion- now, they were chomping at the bit to get into any vacant seat going.

I'd finished my badges back in May, fully expecting to find a job at some point in the summer- fully expecting someone to see this as the dawning of a new era for football, and to take the plunge accordingly. But if anything, teams were being even more conservative. League spaces were valuable- more valuable than ever.

And, as the eleven superfederation seasons began all around the world, it was as though everyone was holding their breath- scared to get things wrong. Looking over their shoulder at what their neighbour was doing. The football was bland, uninspiring- especially from the biggest teams in the land. The tension in games could be cut with a knife- and I know this wasn't going on just in France, with the Superliga. The shakeup made it a whole new game- one that nobody could afford to lose. In the Premier League of the United Kingdom and Ireland (PLUKI), Manchester United raced away after a couple of games, as other "big club" managers made slow-start excuses about the upheaval, the changing league system... despite the fact that the only difference from the English Premier League was the addition of Celtic. And, following comprehensive defeats by Sunderland, West Brom and Cardiff in their first three long-awaited fixtures against English league opposition, the impact of the Bhoys certainly seemed to be rather a moot point.

As for me, what few jobs there were available, I put myself forward for, all over the place. I'll give Sky this bit of credit- their online tool was useful for finding vacancies, and I found myself emailing off my CV to cities- towns- on the other side of the planet, places I'd never even heard of. I couldn't afford to be picky- there were far, far more managers than spare jobs. But, before the season started, I'd heard back from just one- a "thanks, but no thanks" from Montreal Impact. Oh, Canada.

Then, a day or two before the season started, I got lucky.

On a whim, I'd called up AC Arles-Avignon, my local team- they themselves had been lucky to actually make the cut in the new Western Europe league structure. Perennial strugglers in the old Ligue 2, I think they were as surprised as anyone to be offered a place in the Western European Third League North (WETLN), playing the likes of F.C. Andorra and Oviedo in addition to a host of other French sides. But by being local, by having the thinnest sliver of name recognition and- probably most importantly- by offering my services practically free, they let me onto the coaching staff. The men's coaching staff.

I was responsible for fitness training, four days a week. In the mornings, they'd profess their love for me- all of them, from the young kid Killian Nicolle to the old ex-international winding down his career, Gwendal Petit. They'd come in, charming, smiling, pleased to see me. By the time we'd finished our session, they'd leave the gym cursing my name. I made them work- be it by persuasion, promise or threat, and work they did. And, when they won their first two matches, against Amiens SC and Real Racing Club de Santander, I felt joy in the pit of my stomach, just knowing I'd played some small part in putting them top of the table. They hated me, but they loved me.

No, it wasn't a management job, but it was vital experience. Maybe this was they way to progress my career- to do a few years as part of the team, to work my way through the ranks, make some contacts, earn a reputation and finally get to a management job. It wasn't exactly what I had planned, but I suppose it makes sense. I should be grateful to be working for a club at all.

But I don't think anyone could've predicted what was to happen next... I know I certainly didn't.

[Lawlore]

2nd October, 2013 (Part II)

It became known as the Schalke Six Game Curse.

Schalke 04 weren't the first, they wouldn't be the last. They were, perhaps, the highest profile.

For a few weeks, all was calm on the management front, as teams took their first tentative new steps in this new footballing world. What few positions were available became filled, as all over the globe, the seasons kicked off with an equal mix of apprehension, excitement and determination.

The Sky Global Job Market went quiet- a little too quiet- as the world embraced the sense that this was a new beginning, a new era- a time when clubs who had previously been underperforming could establish themselves at a higher level. A fresh start.

But for every new winner from the new global football structure, there had to be a new loser. In hindsight, what happened was inevitable, but at the time, nobody had entertained the notion.

His name was Marco Albanese- a name that would crop up as the answer to trivia quizzes for years to come, but a man with an otherwise completely unremarkable career. Albanese the Unfortunate, they termed him, a man who, on 7th September 2013, with just five league games played in this new world of football, became the first manager sacked by his club, after Livorno picked up just two points from fifteen.

Before then, it had been considered taboo to even contemplate changing a manager so early in the season, to punish them in the cruellest way for a slow start. But now, the seal had been broken. The news of the Livorno sacking reverberated around the world.

Schalke were next- with Harald Rutkowski shown the door, the Konigsblauen languishing in 14th with seven points from their first six games. As a side in the biggest league in the world, the Central European Premier League, it was almost like a seal of approval for Livorno's actions, when many prominent voices in the game had been arguing that the board had acted hastily. It was a definite statement that this kind of behaviour, previously unthinkable, was now OK. And then the floodgates opened.

It didn't take long for the rest of the world to catch up. All over the planet, managers were feeling the pinch for what their board considered a bad start, and they were dropping like flies.

Incheon in South Korea. Honved in Hungary. Real Madriz in Nicaragua. Al-Hilal in Saudi Arabia. Big clubs. Small clubs. All judged to have stumbled in this first step. From Poland to Papua New Guinea, from Brazil to Bosnia, vacancies started appearing- teams getting six games into the season and getting cold feet. The betting agencies were suddenly scrambled and assembled, starting their "Sack Race" odds much earlier in the season than ever before. We weren't even out of September. We weren't anywhere near.

And, down in Avignon, I was watching on with amazement. I'd resigned myself to spending the season with Arles-Avignon, to getting on with my little fitness coaching job, making a few contacts and throwing myself into it. As a club, we had a target, a realistic target, of 10th for the season, and after a strong start, six games in, we'd dropped to 11th. Nothing too terrible. It was all going well- the pay was terrible, but the lads were fine, I got on well with Guillermo Gonzalez, the boss, and the experience was invaluable.

As the vacancies had dried up at the start of the season, and as I'd got this coaching job close to home, I'd stopped looking for management positions with quite the same vigour. But now- now the dialogue was changing. Six games in, teams were no longer talking about "established pair of hands", or "maintaining continuity". They were sacking managers left, right and centre- "taking the club into the new era". And they were looking for "new ideas from day one" and "fresh faces to help us seize this opportunity".

I realised quickly- that was me. That's what I had to offer. That was exactly what I had to offer.

And then, on 20th September, my phone started ringing.

The Boys Club door had just swung wide open.

[tenthreeleader]

Do hope you keep this going. Love the concept and you write well.

[Lawlore]

2nd October, 2013 (Part III)

The first one called the club directly. I don't know what the protocol is supposed to be, but I suppose ensuring the club were happy for me to leave before making contact is considered good form. Still, it made it not less of a shock when Guillermo Gonzalez, the bossman himself, appeared at the entrance of the gym, just as we were finishing up our fitness session.

"Cecile!"

"Yes, boss."

"A word, please."

It wasn't his style to appear at the gym- he was a hands-off manager, and trusted us coaches to get on and play our part. So when he called me over in that broken French of his, I wasn't sure what was going on. It didn't take long for me to catch on with what he was saying- explaining that an approach had been made, that another team had put out feelers to Arles-Avignon. He assured me the club would not stand in my way, should I choose to take a management position. It was a nice sign of respect.

"So what did they say? Which club is it?"

"They wants you for interview. They speak to you now on the phone."

"Now?"

"Yes, this is correct- they are waiting now."

It took a moment to sink in, perhaps not aided by the way Guillermo had explained things- another club was on the phone RIGHT NOW, wanting to interview me to be their manager.

My heart skipped more than one beat, I'm not afraid to tell you.

[Lawlore]

I was hot, I was sweaty- I wasn't ready for this. But what was I going to do, tell them I was too busy to talk? Of course not. And so, waved on by Guillermo, I hurried out of the gym to the nearest available office, and called through to reception.

"I understand you have someone waiting to speak to me?"

"That's right, a Mr. Avdic, he is the chairman of Fredrikstad- would you like me to put him through?"

I remember my thoughts clearly, the first of which was "where the hell is Fredrikstad?". It sounded Scandinavian, but it could be Dutch or German... and the name Avdic wasn't exactly giving me any clues.

"Yes please, put him through."

"HELLO!"

It was a big, booming voice, speaking in decent English. His accent wasn't German, but I still wasn't sure where he was from. Whatever the answer, he certainly didn't sound like a man who'd been sitting on hold for ten minutes, jolly and inviting.

"Hello, this is Cécile Roux speaking."

Thankfully, he explained the situation fully without me needing to ask- Fredrikstad FK were a Norwegian side sitting 16th in the Scandinavian Second Division- which was actually the third tier. They'd been tipped as one of the sides to be challenging for the title, so after a rough start, Avdic had ditched Trond Totten, and was on the hunt for "someone to shake things up and wake us up to face this new horizon".

I just about managed not to ask why he thought that someone was me- the last thing I needed to do was sabotage my chances before they'd even started. But he seemed genuine, and wanted to give me an interview then and there. Frankly, I was totally unprepared, and needed a shower, but his grandfathery voice was inviting and I couldn't bring myself to let the conversation end. What if this was my one and only chance?

If it was, I blew it. I'll spare you the blow-by-blow, but by the end of the phone call, I think it had become clear that the job wasn't for me. I was kind of on autopilot throughout- as he was asking questions, I was thinking about the idea of moving to Norway. The answers I gave were truthful, but they weren't the best ones for getting me the job.

The big sticking point was to do with recruitment. For the task he was laying out, he wanted to trim the current wage bill, rather than add to it, and offer peanuts as a transfer budget. Now that's fine- I have no issue with that. Sensible finance management is part of a manager's job. But then we hit the question of loans.

"If we are not able to bring players in permanently, I think it's important to have a strong link with another team higher up the ladder. You bring in a hungry youngster with something to prove, and they'll work hard for you, for next-to-nothing. I really think it's the way to go."

"No."

"No? Just no?"

"This is not the way Fredrikstad operates. This is not in the fabric of the club. This will not be the future of the club."

His tone had changed to a more serious one- I don't know why he was so against the idea, but I realised it was best not to push it. The interview petered out after that, and he left it on a note of "talking to the directors" and "speaking to other candidates". I knew inside that I'd blown it.

When I got home, the first thing I did was fire up Google Maps. Fredrikstad is an hour from Norway's capital, Oslo. It's only two hours from Gothenburg, a major Swedish city. Both have several professional clubs- I find it impossible to believe none of them would've accepted Fredrikstad as a feeder. I went to bed that night angry- at myself, at the refusal, at the club.

Unsurprisingly, I didn't hear from Johannes Avdic- or, as I came to call him in later tellings, Norway- again.

Fortunately, it didn't matter.

[Lawlore]

2nd October, 2013 (Part IV)

The next interview wasn't much better. It was only a couple of days later, on the 22nd, although by that point, I was already starting to curse the fact that I'd screwed up so badly when speaking with Norway. It was as much relief as anything else to discover another club had made an enquiry, and at least for the second interview I had a little more notice.

I came into the reception first thing in the morning, to find a message had been left for me, asking me to call the number as soon as possible, asking for a "Sadik Murga". I didn't recognise the dialling code, and a quick Google search surprised me by revealing it was in Bosnia.

What do you know about football in Bosnia? I'll tell you what I know about football in Bosnia. Nothing. Not a thing. NK Siroki Brijeg was the club- and I'm still not sure I'm spelling that correctly. Navigating the club's official site was difficult- you might be surprised to learn that I don't speak Bosnian, or Croatian, or whatever it was.

But, from what I could see, they'd just fired their manager, Ermin Caluk, who left them 17th out of 20 teams in the Balkan First League - West, the second tier of a Balkan league structure dominated by Greek and ex-Yugoslav teams. They'd only scored two goals in six games- you didn't need to be an expert on Bosnian football to see that wasn't a positive sign. More worrying, I could find no sign of the name "Sadik Murga". And yet, they were waiting for my call.

It was with apprehension that I typed the numbers into the phone. And, following a series of strange rings, it was answered abruptly.

"Siroki Brijeg diddly squiddly diddly doo", a female voice said.

Well, probably not, but they may as well have, for all I understood of the greeting. All I had was the name, so I gave that a go- thankfully, it seemed that was enough to get me connected to an extension. It did nothing for my nerves to be waiting around, but finaly a man's voice answered.

"Sadik Murga."

I gambled with English- what were the chances a random guy in Bosnia was going to speak French?

"Cécile Roux, I have had a phone call from you?"

"Ah, good."

A wave of relief washed over me- at least he seemed to be expecting my call.

"Please excuse English."

One of the hardest parts of talking to someone in another language is doing so on the phone, without the visual cues or non-verbal communication. Trying to do so in a language that isn't native to both of you just makes it that much harder.

But we stuttered and stumbled our way through a conversation. I learned that he was the club's physio (or "doctor", as he put it), and that he was the best at speaking English. He had a list of questions to translate for me, which he read with some difficulty. To be fair- it wasn't just him struggling, as the point of some of the questions was often very difficult and specific to footballing matters. If you don't know the right word, it's not easy to describe.

"Money is bad. Must have best childrens for club, yes?"

How do you answer that?

"Practise area is field."

Well, yes, of course it is.

"Siroki Brijeg go top, top, top by big heart."

At that point, I kind of gave up.

Eventually, he reached the end of his list, satisfied that we'd managed to deduce the meaning of at least half of the answers. It was exhausting. He seemed nice enough, but the reality of the situation must have been pretty obvious. If he, the physio, was the best English-speaker at the club, how was I going to communicate? This was a big step for me, and I thought speaking a decent amount of English would help- I didn't need the new battle of a language barrier.

They didn't call back.

[realtimshady]

Such a great premise, and you set the scenes very well. I hope this story continues, it's very entertaining.

[Lawlore]

2nd October, 2013 (Part V)

At that point, I got a little cocky. I asked Guillermo for the week off, believing that as heads rolled all over the world, I'd have more and more people getting in touch with me. It made sense to be ready and available for anything. He was respectful and professional as ever, although I felt guilty for the short notice.

"Cécile, you will not have work here forever. This we have known from the beginning."

I'm still not sure if he meant that to sound as threatening as it did, or whether his broken French had made it seem a lot harsher than it needed to be. Either way, he granted me a week off to sort my affairs out- I figured if my name had travelled as far as Norway and Bosnia, it made sense to familiarise myself with football all over Europe.

The new league structures made that a bit easier, admittedly.

There was, of course, the Western European pyramid, which I was already getting to know thanks to Arles-Avignon. We found ourselves in the company of teams from the rest of France, Portugal, Spain and Andorra.

As previously mentioned, the UKI- the United Kingdom and Ireland- leagues were predictably dominated by English sides, but also contain teams from Ireland, Northern Ireland, Wales and Scotland, especially in the lower divisions.

Perhaps the strongest of the new pyramids was the Central European combination, which saw the merger of Germany, Italy, the Netherlands, Belgium, and Switzerland, amongst others.

Russian clubs, of course, ruled over teams from other nations in the Kontinental divisions, with the controversial absorption of teams from former Russian states, including the Ukraine and Belarus. I'm sure that won't cause any problems in the future.

The Balkan countries had been united under one umbrella, despite reluctance from the Slovenian FA, feeling their own interests would have been better served as part of the Central European pyramids. The comments didn't sit well with the rest of the region, which also included heavyweight sides from Greece.

And finally, of course, Scandinavia- Sweden, Norway, Iceland, Finland and Denmark. Nothing too exciting there- indeed, the transition had been remarkably smooth. They, perhaps more than anyone, felt the new structure was to be of benefit to everyone, although I'm still not sure quite how much interest there is in the cold north of Europe.

With time on my hands, I took it upon myself to bone up on how the new systems would work, on how teams had started and where the likeliest vacancies were coming- teams who had publicly made it clear they were welcoming this fresh beginning, but who had already been underperforming. For a while, it seemed Greenock Morton was looking a possibility- after making a lot of noise about how this restructuring was a chance for the club to take "the next step", they were floundering in a third UKI tier with one win from seven- boss Gareth Campbell was looking like a man under pressure, but seemed to be hanging on by a thread.

I spent that time doing my homework, learning Europe inside out, until I woke up and realised it had been three- no, four- days since the phone call from Bosnia. Teams were sacking and switching their managers, but nobody was calling me.

Had I got it wrong?

Another day passed, with nothing. Campbell was sacked up in Morton, but the phone didn't ring- at least, mine didn't. I cried myself to sleep that night, the night of the 27th. I'm not ashamed to admit that.

Was that it? Was that the start and end of my foray into management? Had I overestimated my value, the demand for a young, hungry female manager in this new world?

Little did I know that in the next 24 hours, my life- my world- would change forever.

[Lawlore]

"Thank you for joining me here today."

It was short notice- I had a call from the staff at Arles-Avignon first thing in the morning, explaining that a man in a suit had arrived to come meet me, only to be disappointed when I wasn't there. The club had hastily arranged for a lunch meeting, but didn't have a lot of information about him.

He was already waiting as I approached, and got up to meet me- an Asian man, reasonably short, but immaculately groomed with a smart no-nonsense grey business suit. I was relieved to discover his English, although very formal and with an accent, was rather good.

"Miss Roux, please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Ao Xiaojun, and I am the chairman of Guizhou Renhe Football Club. Do you know the club, Miss Roux?"

I felt a little sheepish to confess that I had not, but I figured this wasn't a time to be lying.

"This is not a problem and it is not a surprise. We are a team from the city of Guiyang, in the south of China, where we have moved very recently. It was a big shock for the club to move from Xian to Guiyang, but it is necessary for continued development. We are funded by Renhe Commercial Holdings, one of the largest companies in the country, and money is not a concern."

Ok.

"With our relocation and with the new Asian league structure we believe this is an ideal opportunity to establish the football team as a world power."

Lofty ambitions, particularly since the Asian leagues included far more established teams from Australia and Japan, as well as Korea. I knew all too well some of the big-name signings who'd flopped in China, as I'm sure we all do, and I think he must have seen my eyes widen slightly, as he cracked a smile.

"This will not happen overnight, but this is a new dawn. I am travelling Europe and North America to meet prospective young managers for our first team, to establish an ethos of hard work and of commitment, to instil these values into our club at the beginning of this new era. Our contacts in Europe have recommended you as a potential candidate."

I felt it rude to ask who exactly those "contacts" were, and in any case, I was bowled over by the whole speech. A club in China who claim to have bottomless pockets have earmarked me as the person to turn them into a Barcelona or a PSG? It seemed at the same time ridiculous and unbelievable. And yet, there I was, sharing a bottle of wine with a man who claimed to offer me that.

"On initial observation, would this opportunity be of interest to you?"

I had to take a beat and bring myself back to reality. I had to find a way to buy myself some time to get my head around what was on the table- and I didn't mean the bread basket.

"I'm very eager to learn more- what's the current situation with the club?"

He smiled, apparently misreading my stalling for genuine interest, and answered without a flinch.

"An inquisitive head is an analytical head- this is a good thing. Guizhou Renhe are currently 18th in the Asian Second Division South- the second level in the Asian league structure. This is, of course, unacceptable, and we have recently separated from our coach. Our home games attract between 25 and 30 thousand fans from across the Guizhou region, but our new Olympic Stadium may hold twice as many as this. You would be provided with a budget of 8.4 million Euros to use this season to build a competitive team, with promotion to the Premier Division in 2015."

I left the meeting having confirmed my interest, but with my head spinning from the figures. I guess he saw my state, as he offered me the afternoon and evening to consider the proposition, leaving me his number to call the next day- by which point he would be in England, speaking to another potential candidate. I don't know how long that shortlist is, but by the evening, after looking around the Internet, verifying that everything he said was true, I did know one thing- I wanted that job. I wanted that job if it meant staying up all night to learn Mandarin to get it.

[Lawlore]

I was ready to make the call. I'd stayed up all night familiarising myself with the area, the team, the rules and the division. I was surprised to see the name of Nedzad Muric in the Guizhou Renhe squad, an established Bosnian international, a well-known player who'd made his name in Italy at the likes of Juventus and Roma- I could only assume he'd also been lured East by the promises of a new dawn.

I'd looked into the requirements to move my whole life to China. I'd read travel blogs about people who had done so, about the things they wish people had told them, about the surprises in store. I'd spoken this morning with my mother, a woman who herself was no stranger to adventures in foreign lands- she was nothing but encouraging. I'd even read up on the history of women in China, and their role in society.

As I stared at the phone in my hand, there was more to consider- this was not just a cultural change. This was also a promotion- a first management job, a chance to put into practise things that I'd only studied about. A chance to step off of the pitch and into the dugout. And I knew that in doing it, I'd be making history- the eyes on me as one of the groundbreakers, one of the first female managers in the man's game.

I took a deep breath and, checking the number Mr. Ao had given me, mentally readied myself to make the call.

Before I could, the phone in my hand rang, displaying a British number. But this wasn't a surprise- I already knew Mr. Ao was in England, readying talks with another candidate. He'd been open with me about that- I knew that if I wasn't interested, he would waste no time in pursuing other leads. Startled, I picked it up on the first ring.

"Hello, this is Cécile Roux?"

The voice was not the one I was expecting- not a hint of Chinese about the reply. It was rough, deep, and with a strong, heavy accent.

"Oh aye, hullo thar, Miss Roux- the nim's Freeser MacKenzie. Ah'm callin' o' behaff o' Grinock Morton Fitba Club."

It's difficult, when you're mentally ready and prepared for one conversation and suddenly find yourself in the middle of a completely different one. I hadn't even given the Greenock Morton job another thought since the meeting with Mr. Ao- and suddenly I found them on the other end of the telephone line.

"Ah hope ah'm no' disturbin' ye, this mornin'?"

"No, no, not at all. How can I help?"

"As ye may be aware, we've recently been talkin' to a few candidates to fill a vacancy as first team manager. We've seen ye're details on the Global Job Market, and had ye're nim on our shortlist- we're ver' keen t'tik a look at ye. Ah wondered if ye may be interested, an' might fancy coming t'Glasgae for a wee chat about the job?"

Of course- it had to be Glasgow. Glasgow, where the world I'd known had come to an abrupt end- where that Olympic injury cut short my playing career and left me in the mess I am now. Surely Glasgow couldn't also be the start of the next chapter, the ray of light to guide me out of this dark swamp of failure?

But Greenock isn't Glasgow- it just happens to be close, the nearest international airport. And in that split second, I remembered the clippings I'd looked up immediately after they'd sacked Gareth Campbell. They'd made a lot of big claims- they were a team that wanted to go places, to move onwards and upwards through a combination of sensible investment and discipline. And, in a division with the likes of Athlone Town and Rotherham United, hardly world powers, that wasn't just a pipe dream- it was achievable. It was a good first step for someone beginning their managerial career.

"I am interested, definitely. But can I call you back in half an hour? I just need to check a few things- I'm due back at work next week, so I need to make sure they'll give me the time to travel up there."

"Oh, aye, o' course. We'd like t'talk as soon as we can, ah'm sure y'understand why we'd like t'move as quick as possible t'get a new coach in place."

"Sure thing. Let me call you back in half an hour."

With the call ended, I faced the dilemma. In my hand, I still held Mr. Ao's British number- I had done all the way through the call to Scotland. His offer was a guaranteed job, but a complete change of life, thrown into a country, a culture, and a footballing world that I had no experience of. Turning Guizhou Renhe into the Barcelona of the East. I knew Mr. Ao was expecting my call. I knew if I waited too long, he'd move on to the next candidate.

Or, on the other hand, an interview with Greenock Morton- a lower league side with modest finances, but with tradition behind them and a more realistic plan for the future. I could move to Scotland tomorrow, and be working by the weekend, in a country I knew well. I even learned that Morton's star player, a holding midfielder by the name of Zakaria Alessandri, was French, born some 150 miles away from where I was sat, in Sainte Maxime. But the job was far from guaranteed.

So what would you do? Take the guaranteed job in a far off land, leaving behind everything and everyone you know to try and achieve the impossible, risking your reputation if you fail? Or turn it down for maybe getting a shot at something more sensible, more attainable, and more familiar, that could set you off on the right path from Day One?

[RicardoW]

I'd love to see the contours of a Eastern story, so I'd take the Guizhou Renhe job! Thrilling piece to read so far.

[realtimshady]

Always take a shot at the top. It might never present itself to you again.

[Lawlore]

2nd October, 2013 (Part VI)

"Please hold for Mr. Ao."

Of course, he didn't answer his own phone- I called him with nerves inside me, and had been surprised to hear a female voice. A PA perhaps? As I waited, I waas gripped by the sudden concern that she'd return and tell me he was "in a meeting"- an excuse we've all used at one time or another. But my fears were unfounded.

"Good morning, Miss Roux, thank you for your communication. It is pleasing to hear from you this morning."

That is a good sign.

"I trust you have had the opportunity to consider my proposition on behalf of Guizhou Renhe?"

"I have. I'm very flattered to be considered for this position with such an ambitious club..."

For a second, I held my breath, knowing that the next words could be the best decision I ever made, or the worst. Oh well- here goes...

"...and I would very much like to accept the opportunity to take up this post."

For a moment, silence. I'm not sure what I was expecting- there was no fanfare, no sudden shriek of enjoyment from the chairman of Guizhou Renhe. As excited as I was, sitting down in Avignon, I had no way of reading his own reaction, until the silence was finally broken. He spoke in the calm, clipped professional tone as ever, with no hint of joy, despite the encouraging words.

"This is excellent news, Miss Roux, I am pleased to hear you accept. I look forward to developing a working relationship with you for the betterment of the football club. I shall have my assistant arrange travel and visa requirements to ensure you can join us at the earliest opportunity."

It was done. The conversation didn't last much beyond that- indeed, the travel arrangements were set in place with a slightly terrifying degree of efficiency. The route was simpler than I'd imagined, but it took a long, long time. Avignon to Paris by train. Paris to Guangzhou- that was the killer, somewhere around 12 hours non-stop. At Guangzhou, I was met by a translator, a young girl named Sun Zhi-tian, and it suddenly dawned on me just how heavily I was going to be leaning on her- how important this girl, who couldn't be more than 20 years old, was going to become not just to my job, but to my life.

From Guangzhou, it was a short skip to Guiyang. I arrived yesterday, October 1st, and to be honest, it hasn't really sunk in yet. I don't know how I'm going to do this. I can't think of a deeper deep end to be thrown into- I'm in a country where the nearest person I know is literally half the world away. And yet, later today, I'm due to meet the board and the press.

[Lawlore]

That's without even thinking about job. Oh, the job. I haven't even met the team yet. I have no idea how they'll react to having a female manager. I don't know what they know of me- if anything. I was given a recording of the club's last two games from the flight over, both against opposition from Thailand. The first was an uninspiring 2-1 cup defeat against BEC, who were a division below. That was the match which saw the previous manager, Zhang Hui, relieved of his duties, and from the performance it was not difficult to see why.

The second was a goalless draw in the league against Chonburi, who'd been doing OK. I don't know who took charge of Renhe for the game- I guessed the captain, given how much more animated he was- but it was promising- the side were unfortunate not to take home three points. Juan Antonio Segundo, who appeared to be the main outlet of the team up front, hit the post in the dying embers of the game, when really he should have scored. And now, for the next game, this Saturday's visit of Muangthong United, they were my side. On the 5th October, I will lead out a professional football team that I, and I alone, am responsible for. That is terrifying.

But first, today. Today is the 2nd. Today, I'm due to meet with the board- I'm writing this, waiting for the arrival of my translator, Zhi-tian, still in disbelief at it all. And after the board presentation, we're due to meet the players. I can only hope that what small European presence there is in the squad has a decent level of English between them- or better yet, that even some of the Chinese players do. If not, this could really be a terrible, terrible mistake.

And there's the doorbell. That'll be Zhi-tian.

Wish me luck.

[RicardoW]

Good luck, I'm glad to see you taking the Chinese path!

[Lawlore]

3rd October, 2013

I have a problem- one which I'm not sure quite how to deal with. I knew that coming here, deciding to uproot myself and move to a completely different land, to start a whole new life in a new world, meant I was going to come across a problem or two. But this is a big one.

I don't like Zhi-tian, my interpreter.

I've been here a day, and I don't like the girl. She's capable, she's confident and she's charming, all of which I have no problem with. But she's as much the key as to whether I succeed or fail here as anything- and I'm not sure whether I can trust her.

It was meeting the board which threw up a red flag- being in a room of intimidating suits was bad enough, especially with the pre-warning that most of them spoke no English. It was encouraging that Mr. Ao's introduction afforded me a round of applause, but when it came my turn to speak, the remarkable amount of trust I was putting in Zhi-tian dawned on me.

"It is an honour to be here before you today as the new manager of Guizhou Renhe, and I look forward to leading the team forward to a bright future."

It was fluff- a simple, safe, predictable statement of respect. Nothing flashy, all business.

But the translation got a laugh, and a few odd looks. When I queried her on it after the meeting, she explained that she'd extended the translation to state "a future as bright as our shirts"- appropriate, since Guizhou Renhe play in orange. It was then that I should've chastised her for going off script, to put her in her place for putting words into my mouth, but I didn't- the moment passed, and I let it go. I have no reason to believe her intentions were anything but good, but it underlined just how she could say anything and I'd be completely oblivious. I needed other allies, people I could rely on to make sure she was staying on point.

Fortunantely, I think I found one or two when I met the squad...

[Lawlore]

The registration rules for the newly-formed Asian League are straightforward- you can register as many players as you like, with up to ten foreigners coming from outside of the league's jurisdiction. And it was a generous jurisdiction- anyone from East Asia, Southeast Asia, South Asia and Oceania was counted as homegrown.

Which, coupled with the Chinese education system starting to recognise English as an essential, meant that more of the team could understand me speaking English than I'd expected.

A Spanish defender by the name of Carlos Martinez is probably the best one to start with, as he made me feel the most welcome. Now 33, I learned that he'd been at Renhe for about three years, and as such was fluent in both Korean and Chinese- and before that, he'd spent most of his career in America, at FC Dallas and New England Revolution. He seems to have truly thrown himself into the Chinese culture since moving here, and appeared to get a lot of respect from the rest of the squad.

Another veteran of the squad was 36-year-old player/coach and club captain Du Jianmin. A long-time Chinese international, with over 60 caps, I suspect from his slightly guarded greeting that he may have had a few designs on the manager's job himself- why they didn't speak to him for the position- or even if they did- I don't know. He's a leader and appears to have a good head for the game, but as I watched him take a training session, it's clear his own legs have gone.

Goalkeeper Anthony Bonne is Australian, and revealed he'd only just joined the club himself, from Swiss side Sion, which gave me a nice parallel- he himself was in the process of learning Korean and Chinese and becoming more familiar with the culture.

Yeh Chih-hung is from Taiwan, and while his English isn't the greatest, I got the sense he wanted to impress me, and he seems likeable enough. Perhaps once I'm more familiar with the squad, it'll become obvious why he's so desperate to make a good impression.

And finally, there was Ibrahim Diallo, from Ivory Coast, who insisted on speaking to me in French. Very serious, very direct, but I was surprised to learn he was a right-back, given his quickness and physique- I would've pegged him as a nippy winger. He too was throwing himself around the training session, trying to show what he was capable of.

As I say, a lot of the younger Chinese academy lads had some level of English, which just left a gap in understanding for the senior non-English speakers, most of whom were Chinese- the likes of Li Feng, Cao Bin, An Jialiang and Dong Xin. They smiled and nodded along as Zhi-tian translated my introduction and words for them- and this time, I deliberately made the "future bright as our shirts" joke- but as I looked at this young girl who was supposedly conveying my thoughts, I couldn't help but wonder just how long this alliance is going to last.

[managerdude_66]

Very well written, Lawlore!

[kieros74]

this is very well written. good luck in china and i like the way you explain the superconferences in such detail.