Kublai conquers the world (again...sort of)

[Baby BooBoo]

As an ex-former French international, I have always wanted to manage a side and win lots of European trophies. Of course, it helps that my parents rather presciently named me Kublai Khan, which has never failed to remind me of my manifest destiny. That, or they were a bunch of parsley-chewing Provencal hippies who liked smoking...well, things that definitely weren't parsley.

Ambitious as ever, I took my first job at the small Greek club Tyrnavos, thinking it wouldn't be long before I started playing against the big boys in the Champions Cup. Well, it took me a few years, but I finally managed to get there by finishing third in the Greek Superleague. Eeerrr, I may or may not have started to gain a reputation for, shall we say, skating close to the edge financially as a result. I thought salvation was at hand when we got taken over, but that was before my accountant friend pointed out that we now had a club debt 4 times the actual value of our club. It didn't sound good, even to a devil-may-care sword-in-hand erstwhile world conqueror like me. The straw that broke the steppe pony's back was finding out that despite qualification for the Euro Champion's, next year's transfer and wage budget was going to be EXACTLY the same as this year's - a measly 70,000 Euro. And they wanted me to sell players. Oh. Ah, comrades, what other jobs have we got going around here ?.....

So in 2017 I lob up at Serie A team Torino. OK, so the world conquest starts a little west of where I originally intended. We have no debt and a team that needs radical re-shaping, but I am very used to those newspaper articles claiming I make an amazing '12 signings so far this season'. So what, I'd make it 22 if I had the money. My sort-of Mongol ancestry has given me a certain approach to a problem - you just throw enough men or money at the enemy until they surrender. Or something like that. Wait till you see what passes for my tactics on the football pitch.

[Baby BooBoo]

On my first day at the club I meet everyone warmly....and promptly sack half of them, including the ass man. I hire the available Alan White, ex-Under 19s Huddersfield coach to do my ass-ing. He speaks no Italian but has Man Management of 15 (which means he can shout very loudly at players). He will be glad to be moving on from dealing with squabbling 16 year olds to dealing with squabbling 25 year olds.

Anyhoo, the usual whirlwind of friendlies and endless trawling of available players ensues. I am fastidious in avoiding the big teams so that, for once, I have a team that has 'superb' morale going into the first game. Somehow I doubt it will last, especially cause we face Napoli first up, and they have been in the top 4 or 5 in Serie A for the last handful of years.

This is the team;

Goalkeepers

Yannick Moretti - 21 year old Belgian goalie whom I paid 4.5 mil for, from Standard. He has huge potential and is already better than the incumbent, so much so I can't even get him tutored ! Unless things go horribly wrong he will be first choice.

Iulian Tudose - 29 year old Romanian goalie who is solid at this level. Back up. Just don't tell him I told you, ok, he thinks he's still No. 1..........

Centerbacks

Donovan Scholten - 23 year old Dutchman who I inherited. Another with huge promise. Bit slow but good in the air. Needs to, and will play every game this season to push that promise along.

Dimitris Efthymiadis - 26 year old Greek picked up as a free agent. Just ok at this level, but my oldest defender (what's this experience thing they keep mentioning about ?)

Maurice Turner - 24 year old Irishman picked up for free. Dependable. Might improve.

Juraj Hipp - 20 year old Belgian whom I paid 8 mil for, from Dinamo something-Russian. My 'golden boy'. Played well over the odds for him but massive potential. Fast, reasonable in the air. Already a 'good Serie A' player at this age. The lynchpin of my defence for the next 10 years. Unless I get sacked.....

Leftbacks

Ramon de la Mata - 24 year old Argentine left back, picked up for 3 mil from Independiente. Wasn't going to reinforce this area but found he was intent on leaving and couldn't pass him up for the price. Better than the incumbent and potential to get better.

Angelo Jardim - 21 year old Portuguese current under-21 player. Looks great and would have been my 'development' player this year till de la Mata rocked up. Also bald. My Mongol ancestry feels sorry for him. And why are there no bearded players in the world anyway ???

Rightbacks

Remy David - 25 year old Frenchman. Solid, The incumbent. Just signed a 2 year contract, possibly his last. My ambitions are greater than his ability.

Jorge Arrasate - 19 year old current Spanish under-21 player, Osasuna sold him to me for 2 mil - thanks. Finding it hard to pay for young players cheaply on this FM, so I had to jump on this. Exciting talent and already could play a lot of games at this level.

Midfielders

Diamantino Paixao - 19 year old Portuguese current under-21 player. Massive potential. Will hold already be the incumbent for one of the defensive midfield spots. Would love to play him as a playmaker but not terribly creative - yet.

Olivier Leroy - 27 year old Belgian ex-under 21 international. Solid all round midfielder. Not a keeper in a year or two.

Or Azulay - 29 year old Israeli midfielder. Just ok at this level. Won't be here next year.

Leon Ott - 22 year old German midfielder for which I paid 3 mil to Koln. Already solid and a bit more to come. Quiet, says nothing in team meetings. Maybe because he doesn't speak Italian. But then again, who in this team does ?

Dimitris Koulianos - 26 year old Greek attacking midfielder signed on a free. Actually a hold-over from my Tyrnavos days. Loaned from another Greek team for my last season there and set the Superleague on fire. Then I left Tyrnavos. Then I signed him. Should be ok at this level for a while. I like him. His hair is curly enough. Shame about no beard.

Andrea Forino - 26 year old Italian attacking midfielder. Best player for Torino last year. Very solid and dependable at this level.

Wingers

Fabio Marocchi and Maurizio Magli - 22 and 24 year old right wingers, both Italian. I mention them together because their attributes are almost exactly the same. I should sell Magli but Fabio, despite his fabulous hair, is not quite up to it at this level yet. Could loan Fabio, I suppose but he's being tutored.

Bob Bos - 19 year old Dutch current under -21 right-winger. Lots of potential. Somehow signed pre-contract within days of me getting the job, lucky me. Can't play in the seniors yet but being tutored, so not loaned. Yet. Holder of the worst name in the team and will be teased ceaselessly by his teammates. I am tempted to give him a nickname. Bobinho maybe. You think ?

Francisco Gonzalez - 24 year old Argentine left winger and attacking midfielder. Picked up as a free agent. Seems reasonable at this level and may get a smidge better. He was free and I lack left wingers so who am I to complain ?

Lhoussaine Essbouiai - henceforth referred to as Essy. I'm not typing that again. What's with these 27 year old Moroccans ? Free agent. Left winger with right foot only. Sigh... did I mention I was short in the left wing department ? Can't believe how hard it is to find a left winger with a left foot these days.

Cesar Rodrigues - 26 year old Portuguese striker. Fast, good finisher, jumps high.... and can't head to save his life. Let's keep the ball on the deck to him, chaps.

Luca Cipolletta - 27 year old Italian striker, brought in from Livorno for 3 mil. Looks ok at this level. Had a bad year at Liv'ers and hence sold but scores at almost a goal a game when his average rating is in the 7s. Let's give him 7's.

So that's the cast of characters. I don't know how we all talk to each other, the budget for translators must be high. My first game against Napoli looms in the next installment.

[Baby BooBoo]

Home to Napoli it was, then. The stands bulging with almost 23,000 people. That's a bit of a change from Tyrnavos, where a thousand constituted the game of the year. My attempt to introduce some 'heart' into the lads to calm pre-game nerves went uneasily. I thought only the vegetarians would baulk at the lamb's heart kebabs I brought in as the warm up snack, but strangely enough, no one seemed to want more than the polite mouthful. I still forced some kumiss into them though, sure that this would give them courage. I shall convert these lads into connoisseurs of a good old fashioned fermented alcoholic beverage yet ! Some of the backroom staff seemed to think I was taking the whole Mongol thnig a bit far but I pointed out that 600 years ago my namesake and his unshaven buddies were laying waste to most of Eastern and Central Europe, which is what we were attempting to do in football terms. Except I don't know how to work beating Barcelona and Man Utd into the analogy.

Onto the game itself. We lined up in my preferred 4-2-3-1 with 2 def mids and 2 wingers. I'd like to say that this was based on hours of observing the opposition's tactics and considered thought about my team's strengths and weaknesses but I'd be gilding the lily. This was a season of survival and 4 backmen and 2 def midfielders sounded about right to me. So I told the lads they had nothing to lose. Some of them promptly lost their kumiss. Fine, whatever. Kick off. Basically it was a game of two halves. Half of it spent defending desperately on our side of the pitch, and the other half defending in our 6 yard box desperately. Napoli scored in the 61st minute, a grass cutting 35 yarder after a cleared corner, I swear that every single member of my team was within 1 meter of the thing before it thundered into the far corner. Too bad the Yannick Moretti the goalie wasn't a tad closer. I'd like to say we then flung everything at the opposition but er... that would be lying. We had 3 shots at goal all game and they all happened in the first half. Some lovely passes in midfield, though, and no one was disgraced. My best player was Leroy the ball winning def midfielder. I tried Cipolletta, then Rodrigues up front and neither made much impact. Oh well, at least we were competitive. After the match we retired to the yurt I had specially shipped in from Ulan Bator and chewed the fat. I told the lads they had done well, but we needed some points. Relieved that I was not making them eat or drink anything exotic, they concurred.

Now we had to wait a week until a visit to Rome, the holy city, and AS Roma, who were a little weaker than their reputation suggested. I dreamt of a point against them.......

[Baby BooBoo]

A few days after the Napoli game, Alan Ass Man came into my room. He had a serious look on his face. 'Don't call me that, please' he started. 'Oh what, that, yeah, yeah, its just like a term of affection where I come from, you know. No problems, no more Ass Man jokes !' I rose and clapped him heartily on the shoulder to make sure he was fine with it. He mumbled something about the French being real funny, but did not leave. He had something else to say....... and went on to tell me that some of the lads had heard of my reputation at Tyrnavos about being a hard task master. It appears my few words of criticism after the Napoli game did not go down that well. Oh please. You think I could get a no-hope team like Tyrnavos to the bleeping Champions Cup without cracking the whip. Incidentally, I told him I had just ordered a new whip from Ulan Bator and could he get the girls at reception to keep an eye out for it please. There were, I paused for dramatic effect, 600 ticket holders at Tyrnavos, propping up the whole team. You think its easy getting a team like that to Europe ? I asked him. We needed hard words, lots of sweats and tears and a small modicum of luck. Well, mostly the latter. I sighed and waved him off. So there were a few prima donnas in the team. Fine, we were playing in Italy, and if they didn't like the way I wanted them to 'sing' I would just get the fat lady to sing. So there.

[Baby BooBoo]

Rome, lovely Rome. On the bus down I regaled the team with its ancient history, and especially stressed the fact that everyone and their grandmother had conquered the place back in the middle ages. I wanted to, of course, draw an analogy with our proposed conquest of Rom(a). The loud snoring my story evinced after 20 minutes made me despair of turning these lads into 'cultured' football players.

Roma's Olimpico stadium marked the debut of my soon-to-be-infamous Mongolian whip. But I was only allowed to brandish it from the sidelines, for some reason unfathomable to me, the authorities thought it might incense the Ultras on the terraces. Softies.

I started out with the same eleven, no time to blood any youngsters today. Again we were penned back all match. Paixao and Leroy again were busy and in a small tweak to tactics today, I dispensed with Paixao as deep lying playmaker and made Forino the attacking mid - playmaker instead. It seemed to work - we looked far more potent, and in the 23rd minute Cipoletta nodded home a simple cross from Magli. Then we defended grimly. The newspapers wrote that Roma 'carved us open' but failed to put us away and I suppose I see their point. The young lads in the center of defense again threw themselves around everywhere. Midfielders were worn out by the 60th minute and replaced, so Ott got his debut. Roma blazed away but Rubino (Italy's national striker, 26 y/o and worth 33 mil - the entire value of Torino) and Largo (Colombia's hero front man, worth a lazy 26 mil at age 26 also) just couldn't find the net. We held on. 3 points !

I was speechless. Then I waved the whip at the Roma Ultras, who started a minor riot. Over a whip, what pussies, I thought these thugs were to be feared !

2 weeks off now greeted us, and multiple players were to disappear for national sides. I'd never faced such an exodus before, but I was especially pleased for Yannick Moretti. My young keeper was about to get his first full cap. I rewarded him with a hearty slap on the back when I heard the news, and it made him spill his celebratory beer on his shoes. My boy was growing up......

[Baby BooBoo]

Back after the 2 week break, and I greet the return of injury of Essy (remember him of the untyp-able surname) with glee, because he will fit in at my attacking midfielder slot, currently rather unsatisfactorily filled, with the injuries to Koulianos and Forino, by 3rd line left winger Falco, who is at best ok in the position. I go to give him a huge bear hug and he neatly side steps me so that I only get to partially grope his right shoulder. Lovely move. Clearly he has overcome his injury !

Genoa arrive at Olimpico, where 20,000 fans greet them. They are currently flying high in the league, with a win and a draw but are predicted to only finish mid-table. They should be beatable, surely.

The team: Moretti, de la Mata, Turner, Scholten, Arresate (making his debut), Paixao, Leroy, Gonzalez, Magli and Cipolletta.

We start poorly, but against the run of play Cipolletta is fed the ball by Falco, on the right sided edge of the 18 yard box, whereupon he chips the advancing keeper. 1-0. Terrific. I hand my whip back to Alan Ass Man because we don't need it at the moment. We now start to get into the play and I push the lads wider to take advantage of Genoa's 3-5-2 formation. Unfortunatly for us, Genoa knock in a corner; their centerback towers over Turner and nods it home. Oh yeah, its kind of useful for centerbacks to be good in the air and Turner is just ok. Blast. Never mind, at halftime I remind the lads that the game is theirs for the taking, and the mood seems bright. And in fact, I am almost right because Magli misses a sitter when one-on-one with the keeper on a counterattack. I chew my hat into something resembling a croissant and fling it into the stands in frustration. Immediately after the restart a long range effort from a partially cleared cross is cleared off the line. I go to cover my eyes with my hat with the tension, and remember that I flung it away 60 seconds ago. Can I have it back please ?

So that's how it finishes, 1-1, and I suppose I am fairly happy though Alan Ass Man thinks we should have won it. Nevertheless, we were more than competitive, so I can't complain. I look around the dressing room and there are satisfied faces so I choose not to sour the mood. I note, with unhappiness, that no one is attempting to grow a beard. My influence appears to only have so much reach......

[Baby BooBoo]

We had a 5 day break and then face Parma at the home of Italian ham. My counterpart and I trade barbs pre-match. I can't even remember what set him off. His team were 20th in the league at the time and winless, despite being a 'big name' so I think I was entitled to talk up my boys. So annoyed was I bought a stuffed pig's face and sent it up to him. Wrapped in paper. Unrefrigerated. Then I panicked and wondered what the northern extent of the Mafia was......

So some aggro to 'spice up' the feeling at kick off.

The team: Arrasete, Eftymiadis, Scholten, de la Mata at the back, Paixao and Leroy in the center, Essy and Marocchi on the flanks and Cipolletta up forward.

It was a see-saw game with, to be honest, little quality from us up front. Essy loped around passing here, passing there but generally providing little threat. I am starting to wonder if he truly will be the saviour of my left flank. Cipo was also rather disappointing but did have a few touches that look full of class. Of course, as you, dear reader, guessed, the whole affair was settled by a set piece, Efthmyidis rising up at the far corner to nod in a corner.

1-0 it finished, and I brandished my whip wildly. Yes, they were down, but this was Parma we had seen off. The opposing coach did not seem to have any hard feelings about the pig's head when we shook hands. Later I realised he had stuck his gloved hand inside something very rotten before shaking mine. Bastardo ! I smelled like an abattoir for a week.

[Baby BooBoo]

The games were, as they say, coming fast and quick now. No sooner had we returned to Torino did my attention have to switch to my next game, against Inter Milan away. Inter did not appear, on paper, to be miles better than us (but I suppose I will always be guilty of judging my youngsters on what they will be rather than what they currently are....). You can guess the set up for this one - defense, retain possession and pray for a set piece. Once again our backline was under siege, and we had luck on out side when they had a goal disallowed in the 35th minute for offside, their frontman Matias Cisneros adjudged to have sprinted away from Scholten a little early before placing it neatly in the corner of the net. I cackled hysterically when the whistle went up. Cisneros crumpled. Inter were not having a great run at that point. I had to do something to chnage the pattern so removed the under-perfoming Essy and slipped Giacomo Falco, my solid either-footed winger, behind Rodrigues. In the 78th minute, I was rewarded with the sight of Inter goalie Sporw mistiming a kick-out of his rightback. Falco nipped in, pinched the ball off the flailing fullback and smashed it into the horrified goalie's far corner. There woudl have bene those that felt we should not have won this game, but they weren't Torinonistas.

Another 4 days later, Udinese came calling. We were on a high, and I sent out much the same side, save Cipo in for Rodrigues (neither had scored for a while) and Falco replaced Essy. I ached for Forino, my first choice attacking mid to be back, but he remained close friends with my head physio. I suggested growing a beard while he convalesced, but he demurred. Sigh..... This match we dominated from the start, and some semblance of good form had returned. Efthymiadis got a close-in finish off a header in the 20th minute and Falco once again pounced on a poorly cleared cross off Magli. 2-0 and the game was up before the break. Despite the stirring win, I was worried about or lack of input from the strikers. I summoned them to The Den afterwards to 'have a little chat'. 3 minutes later Rodrigues stormed out, annoyed that I had found him wanting. Cipo I decided to treat gently, encouraging him to 'find his inner self' again. He told me he would redouble his efforts. I persuaded him to toast this on some kumiss whereupon he vomited in the blasted yurt ! Next time, we will chat in the showers. Save the washing up afterwards, eh ?

[Baby BooBoo]

At the next training session Alan Ass Man (he had by now surrendered to my insistence on his name) siddled up to me and nodded towards Hipp. 'He's getting better, really impressing in training sessions'. 'Hmmm.... I said, 'true'. 'It may be time for more of a go in the first team'. 'Right.' I watched him go through the motions. He certainly had picked up a few moves. The I saw something that really caught my eye. 'Come here, Juraj !'. He walked up, looking as eager as a dog eager to please. 'Closer'. 'Closer'. His face was 10 cm from mine. I think he thought I was staring intently into his eyes, trying to gauge his level of commitment. Actually, I had seen the distinct beginnings of a thin layer of fuzz below his lower lip. 'You're in the first team for the weekend, lad'. He broke into a huge grin, as did I. A beard, my friends, a beard - well, the beginnings of one. My dynasty was going to continue !

Newly promoted Avellino awaited for us in their cauldron. They were newly promoted but respectably mid-table. I looked at them on paper and thought we could smash them. We named the younger lads - Jardim at left back, Hipp in central defence, Ott in the ball-winning def midfield position and Bobinho on the right. And as it turns out..... we smashed them. 3 goals in seven minutes 5 minutes after half-time, and we'd pegged them for most of the first half. Hard to believe that the pundits rated us equal to them. The younger lads did ok, but nothing exceptional - never mind, their time would come.

We were on a roll, and it was a shame we now had 2 weeks off. A variety of players headed off on international duty. I started work on putting up my new yurt in the carpark outside the stadium. Some fans with construction experience took pity on me and helped. They declined my reciprocal offer of a night on the kumiss.

The team back together, we faced Fiorentina at home. I picked an experienced side, with Fiorentina pushing just outside the magic top six at this time, and looking strong on paper. I put Falco the right and Essy on the left, and prayed that Cipo would find some measure of form. No luck. They broke and snatched a 1-0 lead early and despite all the huffing and puffing we did, my eleven piglets could not blow down their defence, and it ended at that score. Disappointing, but without strikers who could score, I could hardly argue. We dropped to 8th on the table - better than I had hoped at the start of the campaign. I flung away my whip in disgust. The next day some Fiorentina Ultra with a sense of humour dropped off a baby's rattle to replace it.

[Blueflash]

I'm actually really enjoying this. I hope you continue.

[Baby BooBoo]

(Thanks for the kind comments Blueflash, I'm glad you're enjoying my bit of football-related drivel. I have been quite busy with Real Life recently, and then the stepson declared our modem dead last week, so there have been technical 'difficulties'. Normal service should resume later tonight, but I may have to whizz along the reportage as the season has gone on even in the absence of the internet in our humble abode)

[Baby BooBoo]

'Mongolia...!'

Chief scout Rosario Loreto looked completely dumbfounded.

'Yaar, Mongolia !" I replied. I must admit I did have problems with the Mongolian accent. Friends told me I had a tendency to fall into two camps when attempting it - the first, a psuedo-Indian accent complete with mannerisms derived from the most recent Bollywood DVD I had watched, was completed with head waggling of a frequency sure to guarantee a migraine. In the observer, let alone the performer of said head waggle. The second was apparently no better, because I apparently lapsed into a faux-Rasta state, leaning right back as if in a marijuana induced haze, littering the end of my statements with 'mon' at every opportunity.

He looked at me for confirmation, not believing his ears.

'I'm not going there !"

Alan Ass Man, having picked up his jaw off the floor, chimed in. 'Now hang on chief, I know you want the warrior spirit and what have you, but what the hell are we doing scouting Mongolia ?'

'You think there are no good footballers who come from Mongolia ?'

'Name one,' replied Ass Man, defiantly.

'Well, the chap who first invented football by beheading an enemy and kicking it across a field. He was obviously the best footballer of his day.'

Alan Ass Man's eyes rolled. I noted that he seemed to be doing that a lot whenever I discussed a new scheme with him. 'Fine, send some poor misbegotten soul to bleedin' Mongolia.... So long as its not me !'

I looked at Rosario. He looked at me.

Finally he sighed. 'Fine, I hear that Ulan Bator is... actually, I know nothing about it.'

'Good, its settled. Bring me back a new whip. I like the sound of the ones made from goat's scrotal sacs. Won't that just intimidate the opposition or what, mon ?' I leaned back, content. More eye rolling from my companions ensued.

[Baby BooBoo]

5 games in a month followed, and against what I considered near-rivals, we did ok. The sequence; Bari 0-0, Empoli a 3-0 win at home (Paixao 2 goals from distance and an own goal), 0-0 again to Bologna (then bottom of the table...argghhhh.....), 1-1 to Lazio at home (good) and 1-1 to Sampdoria away (bad, I think). Mid-table liked us and we liked it.

The next game was a big one - our home game against bitter rivals Juventus. I stacked the team with....our 2nd choices. Even Tudose got a game.... I thought he would be more grateful, the bugger, but he had to pick the ball out of his net twice, so perhaps I can forgive him that. Guess how many we scored ? Yeah, a big fat egg. Scoring was a bit of an issue for this team.

[Baby BooBoo]

Next game, the home tie against Modena in the 4th round of the Italian Cup. We should have breezed this but conspired to be down 2-1 with 10 mins to go with 25 minutes to go. The Hip rises for a corner and post it home off the post. My newly acquired goat's scrotum whip gets it first airing. 20 mins to go in extra time, Matthieu Elisalde gets onto a long one from Paixao and calmly slots it home. He is 16 years old and a $4 mil signing who I am banking my hopes on. Can you believe it, another youngster comes through for me. I want to offer him the whip as a prize but he seems strangely reluctnat to touch it. Those teen hormones...sigh.....

[Baby BooBoo]

A (not) pulsating 0-0 draw with Bari later, we line up against AC Milan away from home. I had no expectation of the lads, and Alan Ass Man just wanted us to ship less than 4 goals. So we parked a bus. And a semi-trailer. And a Hummer. And whatever else we could as a barricade. We were 2-1 up at the change and even 3-1 up at the 60th minute but managed to ship 2 more goals despite the barricade to draw 3-3, with Magli, Rodrigues and Forino scoring from open play. Disappointed as I was to let them out of our grasp, I felt like we had turned some kind of corner.

And did we ever, because a succession of wins now followed - 4-2 against Padova away, 2-0 against Palermo at home, 2-1 against Catania away, and then 1-0 against Napoli away. We leapt up the table into 7th place, and there were whispers about European football. Surely not - we had just been promoted !?

[Baby BooBoo]

Deep into January now, and with a smidge of cash in the bank, I scour the globe for some potential signees. Loreto and his gang of scouts have a few suggestions, but no one really stands out. I find 2 exciting additions to the team, but as end-of-contract signings for next season - I settle for those, and an introduction to them will have to wait till the summer. Neither, disappointingly, are Mongolian nor bearded, as far as I can tell. So be it.

[Baby BooBoo]

The San Siro beckoned once again. The 1st proper round of the Italian cup against, of all teams, AC Milan. These northern Italians were a thorn in my side. I decided we had little to lose, so told the team to make their own way to Milan the day before. There were beaming grins from the lads. We had nothing to lose, so I wanted them to roar down the freeway on their ludicrously expensive sports cars and feel some freedom before the match. Everyone assembled that evening in the hotel dining room in Milan exhilarated. They scanned the tables for menus, and then the waiters started bringing in their meals. Kebabs. Yoghurty cheese. Flat breads. And last but not least, kumiss. Did they seriously think they were going to get away from our winning, some would say, talismanic pre-game drink. Ott had slabs of meat plonked on his plate and then whined, 'But I'm vegetarian....!'. Blasted Germans. 'The young lad needs more kumiss, waiter !'

The morning of the game dawned cold and foggy. There were the occasional sounds of vomiting from adjoining rooms, presumably from nerves. The breakfast bar smelled of fermented cheese. Funny how the mornig after kumiss, everything smelled of kumiss. I was ecstatic to see more than a few shaggy faces on the lads. Goodness me, the stars were all aligned, surely we were in with a chance ?

[Baby BooBoo]

The bus that trotted over to the San Siro passed clusters of red and black clad supporters. No purple. The stadium itself gradually filled to capacity. I think the crowd were expecting blood. I waved to the Ultras who made menacing noises, some animal-like. People after my own heart, ah.....

The team I had chosen were the usual suspects at the back, but I picked Gonzalez on the left and Bobhinho on the right, but the latter told to attack, which would surprise them. I usually sat my wingers back. A masterstroke on my part ? To be honest I was just sick of my strikers not scoring - speaking of which.... Cipo led the line up front. Did the media expect us to attack....yeah, right. Backs to the wall, lob the damned thing forward at every opportunity. That was how we were playing today. And most days this season. Which was how we got the first goal - Cipo released on the right, played 1-2 back to him on the byline by Gonzo and then the cross sunk in deep to find....Bobhinho rattling it in from the far corner where he was....attacking. Genius.

'Genius !' said Alan Ass Man. 12 minutes into the game. We are 1-0 up. 'I know' I say. 'Nah, I mean the finish.' Pooh, I think, what about the chap that put him there.

30 mins in we get a corner. For some obscure reason only known to Jewish philosophers sat in a tent in the Negev, Azulay runs straight into the middle of the 6 yard box unmarked and powers it past the keeper. I didn't give him those instructions, but I'm glad he ignored whatever I said. I think. 2-0. I scream for all I'm worth, 'Shalom !'. Alan Ass Man hugs me, screams for all he's worth and then whispers conspiratorially,'Boss, let's not start any kind of Jewish thing here. You know, people's sensitivities'. I am aghast at this display of political correctness. 'For god's sake man, we are an equal opportunity club, I harass and put down everyone equally when they don't do well. And when they do well, I always let them know all about it. Preferably in their own language. Usually I know what I mean, too.' I stood stock upright as I said it, shaming Alan into silence.

[Baby BooBoo]

6 minutes later another break - long ball to Cipo and despite his rather forgettable pace he gets inside his marker and goes wide enough to evade the left hand of the Milan keeper. Again. The commentators love this. '....long way back for Milan...' I hear muttered from someone's radio. Not really, chappie, I think, they're the home team. Ah well, not dwelling on anyone else's mistakes tonight, I'm too happy.

Halftime, 3-0 to the good. What do you suppose I told the lads ?

15 minutes into the 2nd half and Efthymiadis bundles in a corner. Have I told you how I like these defenders that can head ? Milan get a consolation goal at the end, Teixeira, who has terrorised us all night but just can't get the ball into the net, finally snares on, with 17 minutes to go, but its a sorry sight they make, the red and black 11, moping back to their half.

Well, what an epic, an to be honest, a little surprising. I thought we could snatch a 1-0, but to dismatle a top 6 team like this - could we be of that standard, somehow ?

[Baby BooBoo]

'I'm back,' declared Loreto, flinging his coat into the chair fronting my desk. He looked disgusted. 3 months in Mongolia, China, South Korea and Japan and despite the torrent of Lees and Parks and Shins he had waded through to watch football, barely a name to rate a mention. No Mongolians. I suppose I wasn't that surprised.

'Good trip ?' I asked.

'Crap. When are these people going to learn some Italian. Or English even ?' he muttered. He was a brilliant scout but the other scouts had whispered about his lack of adapatability to foreign surrounds. And I thought I would be helping him spread his wings. 'You got the new whip ?'

'Yaar, its brilliant. Thanks, mon,' I said, clapping him on the shoulder. 'How was Mongolia ?'

'Bleak. Though beautiful, if you like that kind of scenery. Only for poets though. The food was....barely food. Hey, I'm not insulting you here, am I ?'

'Of course not, I'm a Frenchman. We're very protective of what passes between out top and bottom teeth. I just like the Mongolian...corps de espirit....shall we say."

'Spirits about right, some grappa to wash away all that rubbish I've had to eat for 3 months. Do you know that noodles taste nothing like pasta, even after the millionth bowl of the stuff ? I'm pushing off for home.'

'Ok, ciao bella. Tell me more about it all when you have more time, Rosario.'

The door closed. Almost immediately after it opened again. He had a funny look on his face. 'You'd better not be thinking of the squad pre-season trip over there....'

I waggled my head. Vigorously. 'Yaar, no, don't worry mon....'

Rosario glared at me for a full five seconds and then abruptly ran off. I heard sounds of paper tearing outside the closed door. When I opened it moments later, he had run off, and his tattered passport, clean torn in half, lay miserable and unloved on the ground. What on earth had he done that for ? How was I going to send him to the Central African Republic now ?

[Baby BooBoo]

One game between Italian cup rounds this time. Roma came to us and we hung on for another 1-0 victory, Cipo finally breaking his most recent run of outs with a good breakaway. We appeared determined to hang on to that top half finish.

The Italian Cup Quarter Final saw us visiting Rome, but this time to play Lazio, who were languishing in the bottom half of Serie A. I thought we were a chance and sent out the same team, and the same tactics that prevailed in Milan, just a week ago. The game was much tighter. After a see-saw first half, Cipo's goal after 5 minutes, a neat trough ball from Gonzo playing at attacking midfield cancelled out the Lazio equaliser. At the break I told them that they could win it, brandishing my whip in the direction of the opposition, and the lads seemed up for it. 50 minutes in they rewarded me - does this sound familiar ? - Gonza streaks away on a break down the left, crosses deep for Bobhinho to nod home at the far post - a mirror image of last weekend's goal, apart from the fact that he headed this one. And that Gonzo did the crossing. Details, pshaw...I liked the symmetry. I was even more excited 15 minutes later when the bumbling central defender brought down Gonzo at the edge of the box. He stepped up calmly and smashed it home. it was the Gonzo show today. A second Lazio goal made my guts churn, with 20 minutes to go, but we hung on for a precious win. And now to the Semi-Finals and....er...Juventus. Blast. Away. Double blast. Pass the kumiss lads.....

[Baby BooBoo]

Now two bad games for us follow. 0-1 away to Genoa, the surprise packets of the competition, apparently thought to be relegation candidates but in comfortable mid-table, thanks to some kind of impregnable home defense. Yeah, I'd pay that. Worse to follow - a 2-1 loss away to Parma, then just out of the relegation zone, in front of out own fans at Olimpico. Did I dream about Europe... ? At this stage, relegation beckons. Wed drop to 9th.

Next, a home game to Inter, 4 days before the 1st leg of the Juventus double header for the Italian Cup semi-final. We are at home, but Inter are a 'big team', reputation wise. Same tactics as the AC game, save the long drive. Olipico pumping. Cipo manages to score 2 goals, Gonza 1 and Maurica Turner, in a rare appearance for us, bangs in a corner. Hello, Europe calling.....????

[Baby BooBoo]

'Dion, come on in,' I said, opening the door to allow our shaggy haired surfer dude Aussie scout in.

'Yeah thanks, Kubes...'

'How are ya, cobber ? Aussie Aussie Aussie oi oi oi, eh, mateeeeee.....'.

'Er...yeah, ok, boss. You know you've got a right old East End accent when you do that, don't you ?'

Sheesh, the critics around here. I'll admit that my Aussie accent was derived from old reruns of Australian soap operas (watched in conjunction with a number of other soaps - come on, what do you think professional footballers do to fill in the time between games when they're 'resting'?), but this was a bit rich. Bloody Dion had obviously spent far too much time in Earl's Court in his travels.

'Reports, Dion, anyone exciting ?'

'Hmmm....this year's batch of poms aren't much shot, boss. I think I've got to spread the wings further.'

'Yaar, where to, my son ?'

'How about the Caribbean ? They haven't produced a footballer since what's-his-face. Must be due one soon.'

'Ok, mateeee......off you go. Give us something decent.'

His grin illuminated the room for 24 hours, I swear, wouldn't even have needed lights in that northern Italian gloom of January. Which is what surprised me when he sent a heart-breakingly distressed email 3 days later saying Guinea wasn't quite anything quite like the picture he'd had of Guyana. I told him they must have changed their name at independence and to get on with it. And then sent a parcel of malaria tablets, he was moaning about the mosquitoes so much. I thought the Brits were good at that sort of building-roads-and-sanitary-conditions-whilst-colonizing business. Goes to show, huh. All empires don't last forever. And no one mention the frigging Mongols either, or I'll eat their face (after barbequing it over hot coals with a nice dusting of cumin). Please.

[Baby BooBoo]

Ah, the football purists. Scintillating 0-0 draws, that's what sets them apart. Aesthetic appreciation of the flow, the movement. And you are expecting me to rubbish this. In fact, I was to be treated to 2 of them. In a row. Away to Juve. And then home, a few kilometers away, 3 days later. 0-bloody-0. And here's where I should rhapsodize about how end-to-end the game was, the thrills, the spills. Well......it was - just that it was 20% up their end and 80% up ours. Moretti was a rock. Is a rock and with any luck for the rest of the season, will be even more of a rock. God did we need him. A summary of our chances would go like this. Yaar,mon...........

Penalties. Let's talk about.....actually, let's not. 10 players we went through, trading missed chances for saves and goals for goals. Cesar and Azulay had chanced to win it and so did a couple of Juve-niles. Then the keepers turn. Funny huh. Theirs smashes it straight down the line. Moretti, at all of 21 years old, aims left, scuffs it, and we are out. I cry out on the pitch with the rest of the lads. We feels so sick that for once, the kumiss container is drained by the time we leave. You can't feel any worse in the morning, someone shouts as we leave. We were so close ! Blast and double blast. Next year.

[Baby BooBoo]

I sent the lads away for a few days to try and recover. It seemed a good time to take stock. Now, my namesake was not only a brilliant tactician, but a master strategist. Given that I, in turn, am attempting to emulate his genius, its fitting that I also should start planning The Big Picture. I wrote this on the whiteboard in the meeting room and gather the coaches and scouts the afternoon after the Juve loss.

'The Big Picture ?' joked Alan Ass Man. 'Are our finances so stretched that we need to flog magazines to stay solvent ?' Everyone except me chortled at his wit.

I was about to start a stirring speech about Mongolian history in the context of their near-conquest of the world but decided to stop. They had already had that speech twice, last week. Maybe that was a bit much.

'Chaps, we need to look at what happens at the end of the season, who to sell off, who to loan out and who to bring in.'

Alan Ass Man nodded, serious for once. 'We need to make a decision about the left wing, boss. Essy is ok there but Gonzo is in no position to take over. We really could do with some reinforcing here.'

'I agree,' there are some talks with someone who'll be a free agent at the end of the season for left wing - I'm a bit excited but its all hush-hush. Not because I don't trust you all, but because I can't speak Brazilian.'

'Oh, so its a Brazilian then, ohhh, exotic...' interjected one of the coaches. Blast, was supposed to keep this under wraps.

I hurriedly moved on to the next topic in a bid to distract them. 'Ah, yaar...how about Gonzo himself, what do we do about him?'

'Boss, Gonzo has won us a lot of games, but I'm worried. He hasn't improved one bit while he's been here, and my stamina is woeful, he has nothing left in the tank by the 75th minute. I can't see how useful he could be for us next season.' Alan looked sorry for Gonzo, but those were the facts.

Hmmm...it looked like Gonzo was the for the chop later in the year.

'Essy may also be one we should lose. I don't think he's cut out for this level, ultimately, especially if we have ambitions to be more than a mid-table team,' Loreto said.

Essy too. Still, both were free signings so I think I had gotten full value out of their presence.

'How about the good news, who has done well ?'

'Moretti has saved us at least 10 points so far this season on his own, boss. In a couple of years time when he's at his prime, you're going to have people faint when you tell them how much you paid for him.'

I beamed.

Alan continued. 'Paixao can hardly get more solid - its hard to imagine he's only 20 years old. Hipp will come along too, I think - but he's got some value to make up ! Hey, how about sending him out on loan for a few months - he's not getting much game time here and at 19, he really needs it.'

'Done - let's find him a team tomorrow.'

'Marocchi is now streaking ahead of Magli and I think, given that he's 2 years younger, he's the one we should be hedging our bets on. Bobhinho is coming along, but slowly.'

I nodded sagely, attempting to look like the paragon of wisdom. Having a beard helps a lot here. Having a tidy beard would help even more, but no one ever accused me of perfection.

'We'll need reinforcements in defence, too, won't we ?'

Alan agreed. 'Hipp and Scholten will be rocks next season but we will need back ups. Efthymiadis and Turner are at best back-ups so someone else may have to be brought in to play 3rd string.'

'OK. Sounds like a plan. Do you think its time to sign a team barber for next season ?' A number of tufts of chin hair were now making an appearance.

The room collectively sighed.

'Look, don't diss me on this, I know this chap who's good with his razor up the Via................................................'

[Baby BooBoo]

The next few games were disheartening. I suppose I should have expected some kind of come-down after the Juve game but this was sobering. We struggled against poor teams and against bigger teams...hmm.....

27/2/18 Torino (away) v Udinese 1-3 - never in this, we played poorly and Falco got an own goal, to top it all off.

4/3/18 Torino (home) v Avellino 2-0 - Falco repays his own goal last week with one of us this week. He knows which end his bread's buttered.....

7/3/18 Torino (away) v Fiorentina 3-1 - thrashed, essentially. The less said about this game, the better. Those Florentines are starting to get on my nerves.

11/3/18 Torina (home) v Bari 1-0 - scraped a victory against cellar dwellers Bari. Ott scores from distance to save us from embarassment.

18/3/18 Torino (away) v Empoli - about the only very good performance in this sequence. Marocchi and Scholten this time. The latter's habit of putting away corners is extremely useful.

31/3/18 Torino (home) v Bologna 0-0 - don't know what it is about teams from the middle of the country, but we struggle a lot with them. Bore draw.

8/4/18 Torino (away) v Lazio 1-1 - the rematch, and we get away with it again. We didn't do that badly, actually, though their own goal definitely helped.

[Baby BooBoo]

15/4/14 Torino (home) v Sampdoria 1-1 - fair's fair, could have gone either way but Marocchi snatched us a point, at least.

22/4/14 Torino (away) v Juventus 0-1 - Scholten own goal. Do I need to spell out my frustration ?

29/4/14 Torino (home) v AC Milan 0-0 - 'Am I ever going to score a-%#$@- gain ?' paraphrasing a famous song by Australia's The Angels, taught to me by our favourite Aussie scout, Dion.

[Baby BooBoo]

4 games left. 8th on the ladder. Yaar, chairman + board, comfortable mid-table position. Can I have the extension on my contract now ? No....oh well, I asked, politely.

Alan Ass Man had his feet up on his table when I went into his room. 'Hey boss'.

'Alan, let's go for it.'

'Err...let's go for what, boss ?' he looked edgy, as if I was about to suggest some kind of weird sexual tryst involving himself, myself and the scrotal whip.

'European places man !'

'Boss, what drugs have you been on ? We've been playing like a bunch of pansies. The only reason we're not in 14th place is because everyone else around us is playing like they have handbags around their necks.'

'Handbags, eh ?"

'Oh yeah, Dion taught me that one..' he said, grinning.

'But we can do it,' I exhorted. 'We faced AC and Juve and we just about held our own....'

'Juve beat us. And AC could have. incidentally, they're 2 points above us in 6th. C'mon boss. I think its time to, you know, think strategically.' He leaned back and plonked his feet back up on his desk. 'Which is what I'm doing, planning.' He leaned forward. 'Yaaaar...? ' he drawled, just for emphasis.

'Pffftttt...' was all I could say, before beating a hasty retreat. These buggers were getting at my game ! Gahhhh !

[Baby BooBoo]

Cagliari away, next game. 0-0 draw first time around. Difficult to beat because they pack that defence - hence why they continue to survive in Serie A. The south of Italy is not my favourite place. Too hot, too many people. That's what I've decided anyway - mainly because half the buggers who beat us come from there.

Actually, they are a decent team, with a smattering of players valued at more than 5 mil. I don't have a single one.

We start.....indifferently is the best description. How else can I describe Azulay's own goal on 40 minutes ? Up till then it seemed to be set up for one of our now-legendary 1-0 victories. I 'tear up my notes at halftime'. Actually, all I'm tearing at half-time is toilet paper. Iam stuck in the bloody Calgliari toilets bringing up the contents of my motorway lunch. I knew I should have asked for the carbonara to be microwaved. Too bad I was worried about affecting the nonna's sensibilities. I hear Alan Ass Man encouraging them. Pshaw... I woudl have kicked their asses. But fate intervenes. Cagliari's Cardozo gets himself sent off pretty much on the restart, for a secong yellow. Attack, attack, attack ! Schilten scores one, off a corner, as usual. We didn't need the man advantage for that. 15 minutes later, Herrera double foot tackles Gonza and cops the second red ! Ok, Gonzo is so injured he has to leave the field, but c'mon, we are 11 to 9. We have got to win this, surely.....and we equalize, Ellisalde in the 64 minutes. Nail biting stuff follows, you'd think we would pass them to death, but no. On 70 minutes, Cagliari equalize on a corner. Brilliant. We are going to lose to 9 men. Now we just let Cagliari press us, and threaten a winner with 9 men. But on a break, Jardim lobs the ball long and Ellisalde slots it home past the oncoming keeper like a veteran. He's only 17. We are winners. Surely. Well, I wait till the whistle is blown to declare this.....

[Baby BooBoo]

3 games to go and Padova visit us. I'm fairly confident of this one, and it is straightforward, though it requires us to tuck away 2 of the 4 chances on target that we make the whole game. Did I mention out problem with goal-scoring ? In any event, Leroy smashes one past the keeper from the edge of the box in the first half, then plays in Phillips late in the second half to allow him to round the keeper for the second. He gets Man of the Match, of course. We remain on 8th, and AC are in 7th, 2 points above us.

2 games to go. Palermo welcome us. We are all over the pink-shirted ones in this match, but seemingly cannot break through despite that dominance. I have just about written off the game when in the first minute of injury time its an own goal that save us, 'towering' centerback Dario Bucci who accidentally tucks a glancing blow off a corner into his own net as he attempts to clear. I can barely celebrate and certainly can't talk,, having shouted myself hoarse. We remain on 8th, AC are 2 points above us. One match to go.....

[Baby BooBoo]

Let's step back and have a look at the odds on this. One place in Europe left. For the final match, we entertain Catania at home. Catania are soaring this season, one of the top four which have not dropped below that level all season. We did beat them 2-1 earlier in the season, though, and our current form is imperious. AC Milan, one spot above us in the last European place, are playing Fiorentina away. Fiorentina are now in appalling form, languishing a couple of spots above the relegation zone. Their last decent game was a dozen matches ago, when they beat us 3-1. If you were a betting man, who woudl you bet on, for that final spot ?......

Catania's coach trades barbs with me all week. The papers love him, having seen his direct style of football guide his team to a much higher position on the ladder than many would have predicted at the start of the season. We start off admiring each other's style achievements but somehow it all deteriorates via the medium of the papers into condescending comments on each other's personalities and the next thing you know, we are assertively 'not liking each other'. Some people........

The stadium is packed to the rafters. Olimpico can barely believe its eyes, that we are battling to nick a place in Europe.

The first half belong to Catania, and they send shot after shot at my little lad in goal, Moretti. I swap players, change formation, attack and defend and counter, but nothing really works. I grip the edge of my chair begging for halftime. In the 40th minute a mistimed corner is lobbed back into the box by Catania and their tall midfielder Svensson gets in his head before Moretti's fist can reach it and dinks it in. 1-0 Catania.

At halftime I am livid. I tell the lads to get stuck in and to attack, attack, attack. My Mongol blood is seething.....

Yellow cards ensue after the break but we finally get some action on the ball. In the 64 minute the Catania defence block a speculative effort from Paixao from outside the edge of the box. Three defenders have blocked it, so when the ball bobs loose, one attempts to clear...by smashing it straight into the back of his teammate, whereupon the ball lobs back into the path of Cipo, lounging with purpose at the edge of the six yard box. He tucks it away. 1-1 !

Catania clearly don't believe in fairy tales as they now grab the ball and refuse to let it go. I can't see a goal coming from anywhere. If we draw, it doesn't matter what happens in the AC game. Catania appear content to camp out in our half. They've had a great season. The laurels are coming their way. In the secon minute of injury time, Gonzo gets the ball and peels away to the mid-line. 5 Catania players escort him there, and three more are between him and the Catania goal. He plays it forward and into the onrushing path of....Bobhinho, who's been asked to play inside forward on the left once more. He streaks to the edge of the box and calmly strokes it into the far corner, beyind the on-rushing Catania keeper. 2-1 !!!

All this time I have not dared look at the goings on in Florence. But when the whistle goes, Alan Ass Man thrusts his smart phone in my face. 4-1 to the Florentines. We're in Europe !

[Baby BooBoo]

'I'm so proud of you lads,' I tell them all later on, in the dressing room. '7th, who would have put money on that end to the season when we got together 12 months ago ?'

'And we did it having to drink this pus', joked Bobhinho, tossing the contents of the obligatory jug of kumiss into the empty shower stalls. He paused when he saw the look on my face. 'Eer, I mean this pass-able imitation of alcohol', he continued wanly.

I let him get away with that. This was not a day to be petty. I loved their efforts, though their habit of snatching a game late on was starting to grate. I'd much prefer complete domination, but who was I to complain.

This was not a day to be petty. I surveyed the friendly faces in the dressing room, the smell of sweat emanating from each body mingling joyously with the odor of victory.

'Alan', I asked quietly. 'What's the weather like in Mongolia in June ?'

[Baby BooBoo]

'Back from hols so soon, Kubes?' asks the groundsman in early June.

'Can't get away from the place, yaar. Anyway, we have to get fit for the play-offs for the Euro Cup, eh ?'

He nods, but looks oddly at the ceramic jar I am clutching so carefully. 'What's in there ?'

I reward him with a cunning smile. 'The secret to this season's success, my friend.' I lean closer to make it more hush-hush. 'Secret men's business. Steeped in mystery and lore. Its name shall be uttered only by the chosen few'.

'What the hell are you on about ?'

I lifted the lid of the jar and he recoiled at the smell.

'The ashes of a fresh placenta. Rehydrated with some goat's blood. Had to pinch some off the butcher this morning before he threw it all in the sausage mix.'

The groundsman backed off warily. 'What the hell for ?......'

'An ancient spell, my friend. We shall scare away our foes with the 'entrails' of vanquished enemies, you see. The Mongols knew something about intimidating their enemies, eh ?'

'You're not going to....'

I started tipping the contents on his perfectly manicured turf, sloshing it around to spread out as far as I could.

'If you weren't the boss, I'd be calling the police on you right about now. Or the psychiatrists....'

'What for ? Its not like this is something illegal. Ask me where I got it ? Go on, ask me ?'

His eyes rolled. Funny how I have that effect with a lot of people. 'Oh alright, tell me...'

'Where else do you get anything these days, my friend ? The internet. Mongolianmagicpotions.com.....'

[Baby BooBoo]

Yes, yes, yes, the media as usual, as the start of the season loomed, made noises about the flurry of new signings; but what else was I suppose to do with the transfer budget - build a Mongolian theme park ?

In any event, after the dust settled, let's have a look at the team, and the significant movements.

Players who were moved on were Essy (under-performed, also edging 29 years old), Gonzo (now 24 and had hardly improved despite all the playing he'd done, his stamina as appalling as ever), Magli (still no better than Marocchi and nearly 25), Cesar Rodrigues (just lacked an edge in his abilities at this level), Azulay (now almost 30 and only just alright at Serie A level, really), Tudose (wanted to have a run in the first team but Moretti was far better than him as a keeper), Efythmiadis (didn't really need to go but was offered a very good price for him, so I snapped) and Turner (just to make money and free up a slot, really).

This left a first team that looked like this;

Goalkeepers

Moretti - brilliant. Only 22. Enough said

Gilmar Tadue - 24 year old Brazilian keeper signed on a free. Had lots of potential but probably wasn't going to get many games. Well and truly a back up (but don't tell him that .....)

Leftbacks

Ramon de la Mata - now 24 and essentially the finished article. A very solid lef back at this level now.

Angelo Jardim - still only 22 and developing. More of an attacking option than de la Mata so his prospects were very exciting. They would continue alternating games.

Rightbacks

Jorge Arrasete - 20 years old and a 'leading Serie A player'. Would play the majority of games here, I think.

Njabulo Khuzwalo - 19 year old South African signed for 3.2 mil from PSV, and a bargain at the price. Had the same potential as Arrasate, I think, and also more than handy as a back-up centerback. Oh yeah, The Khan has done well with this purchase (except he goes on to do his knee in an early pre-season trial game and be out for 3 months....ouch !)

Remy David - still 26, but just a back-up to the back-up now. However, his mental stats were good and his contract had 2 years to run, so he was staying to tutor.

Centerbacks

Juraj Hipp - 21 and had a short loan spell for the second half of last year. Ready to play and play as one of my starting centerbacks now.

Donovan Scholten - now 24 and the rock of my defense. I even made him the captain for the season, and Cipo was good enough to step back down gracefully for him.

Francisco Ferrandiz - 20 year old Spanish under-21s player who could play centerback, rightback and anchor man in def mid. I paid 4.6 mil to Levante for him and he had huge potential. He would play back up to the centerbacks and also as my 4th defensive midfielder, to clock up games at this level.

Nikola Bilic - paid 2.9 mil to Fenerbahce for this 21 year old Slovenian, on the last day of the transfer period, when Khuzwalo decided to sit out half the season with his knee injury. Was a very decent centerback with potential but also could play rightback, albeit not at a particularly great level.

Defensive midfielders

Paixao - now 20 but already a rock in the midfield. None of his stats really stood out, but had no weaknesses either.

Leroy - was still going to be my number 2 man here, in the absence of any decently priced contenders. Solid, but his contract runs out in 2 years and I suspect that will be all she said for him.

Ott - 23 and solid. Had not developed as well as I had hoped but a a capable back-up.

Attacking midfielders

Olexandr Semenyuk - 28 year old ex-Ukrainian international. Really a step up from previous contenders for this spot on the team. One of my free signings from the end of last season, and I was looking at him to tutor through the next two lads behind him.

Micheal Mendonca - 20 year old Portuguese under-21s player. Massive potential but would have to play lots of games this year to start to develop some of these.

Roman Crespin - 22 year old Argentine striker-cum-attacking midfielkder signed for on a free. I didn't really intend to bring in anyone else, but he was free and had potential, though was behind Mendonca in the pecking order, so woudl ikely have to be loaned out to get playing time.

Left wingers

Feijao - 25 year old Brazilian free signing. Another wretched right footed left winger. But looked fantastic at this level. I was counting on him being more consistent than Essy and Gonzo had been last year.

Nino Hanine - 29 year old Tunisian international signed on a free. Just acceptable at this level but a reasonable back up. Am I allowed to say I like him more as a tutor than a player ?

Right wingers

Marocchi - now 23 and not a bad player but unless his potential jumped this year, would not be a first choice next year at this spot, out weak link, really.

Bos - the Bobhinho provided a conundrum. Only 20 still but really shouldn't get to play much for his current ability. Could be loaned out except that he's one of the few back-ups I have for the right wing.

Falco - evergreen but now 27 and the back-up to my back up. However, as a home grown player, was actually needed for the Euro Cup.

Strikers

Thanasis Seidan - my 20 year old Greek international striker, sold to me fro 5.75 mil from Xanthi. Lots of potential and already as good as Cipo. My first choice this year.

Cipoletta - still solid as ever but would play second fiddle to Seidan, his lack of speed really counting against him. Still a good tutor.

Ellisalde - now almost 18 and thanks to the generous 12 substitutes rule in Serie A, would play a few games off the bench. Would probably be loaned out in the second half of the season, when Cipo has finished tutoring him.

Well, all up, it seemed a stronger team than I had at the start of last season, so why shouldn't I tell the board that my season expectations would be more European action ? I was a bold, Mongolian marauder, and Europe was where I was choosing to pillage !

[Baby BooBoo]

The chairman motioned that I should sit down. 'Thanks for coming Kublai, I thought we could have an informal chat about what we can achieve this year.'

I sat down, smiled and waited. Let him make the first move, eh ?

'Do you think you can do better than last year's finish - which, incidentally, was quite remarkable for our first year back in Serie A ?'

Hmmm... straight to the point then. 'I have a lot of youngsters, and a lot of them are developing.'

'Alright, let's revise this to doing at least as well as we did last year.' He leaned forward. 'We have backed you all the way with your signings so it would be good to get some kind of reward, don't you think ?'

'Sure, sure, yaar,' I replied, relaxing. OK, no pressure then. 'You know my style, I like the lads young...er...that is, I like to sign up younger lads for the team......'

He too leaned back in his chair. 'European football is such a godsend to our finances, Kublai, you don't know what its like with increased costs of everything to do with runing a football club these days.'

'Oh yes, I understand. And I hope you've given some thought to my request for upgraded youth training facilities - we have a lot of talent in the under-19s now, after all.'

'I know you've been requesting it for a while, but we have decent facilities here and I just can't justify the millions it would tie up. At least not now. Give me European football for a few seasons, and we'll see.'

'Alright, I understand. How about a team barber, I really think it would enhance team cohesion !'

The chairman looked troubled. 'Its a funny request. I haven't heard about something like this before. mascots, massage therapists, yes, but barbers ??' Does Alan know about this ?'

I lied. 'Of course. He likes the idea too.'

'So long as it comes out of the existing wage budget, then - you chaps can make the decisions there.'

'Sure, sure, and if the media get hold of the tory I'll be sure to tell them you were a huge supporter of it, an innovative new approach to team-building I'll call it.'

'Ah....ok. Sure. Thank Kublai. Just....no, never mind, thanks......'

I walked out. Great when one of my genius-laden ideas leaves the chairman speechless with admiration.

[Baby BooBoo]

A number of Friendlies ensued but the real test was the first qualifying game for the EURO Cup, against Iceland's Valur. On paper we should have thrashed them, so I sent out a weaker team, especially at home. All we got out of a mountain of possession was a 1-0 victory, snatched off a corner by 17 year old Sauro Buono, a home grown central defender with some promise. The return leg in Iceland was going to be interesting.

'Iceland ! Who the hell goes to Iceland to play football ? Don't they kick icicles around there rather than balls ?' muttered Alan. He was not such a convert to the globalization of football, I think.

'Yaar, I could think of better things do with my time than spend 6 hours on a plane up there myself....Wait, wait,wait. Isn't that where they have the serious drinking problem. Vodka, naked sports at midnight in the middle of winter. Men with beards who think of nothing and break into a fight for the fun of it...!'

Alan Ass Man demurred. 'Sounds like Birmingham in the middle of summer'.

I cheered up instantly at the thought of an encounter with a people close to my warrior heart.

'Incidentally, don't you think you'd better be thinking about winning first before the celebrating ?' Alan asked, tongue in cheek.

I pulled myself upright. 'Alan, winning is always foremost in my mind. And besides, without winning there is no kumiss.'

'Without customs, there will indeed be no kumiss.'

I was staggered. I hadn't thought of that.

'Quarantine. Fermented milk ? Hah !' Alan smirked.

'Oh F%%$k !'

The ground at Valur measured up to some of the tiny Greek ones I had encountered in Greece. Same standard of facilities. Except there was no a definite paucity of warmth or sun or grass outside the stadium. It was, to put it bluntly, dead depressing. Enough to drive a man to drink.

I sent out my best team this time, needing to seal the win. I figured I would play some no-hopers between now and the next match and pick up some semblance of form. Well, it almost went to plan, We won, 1-0, Feijao scoring his first ever goal for us after some nice play by Marocchi on the byline, cutting back to Feijao running on from the edge of the box to tap in. Guess what, it happened in the 83rd minute so hardly a raging endorsement of out current form.

[Baby BooBoo]

Portugal's Vit Guimaraes were to be out opponents for the next round. Formidable enough opposition, but we should win on paper. If we were in form. Which we weren't.

We played at home forst, again, so once again I sent out the best team I had to face them. I chose to attack straight up. I'm not exactly sure what happened, but the team clicked as soon as the whistle went. I had set Feijao to attacking inside forward so I even kissed his boots as he left. He looked at me very oddly and mumbled something about 'strange Mongolian habits...'

Semenyuk kicked us off after 10 mins, a poorly cleared corner put away from just inside the box. 8 minutes later I wa sin heaven, Scholten bundling in a miffed corner clearnec at the near post. then 2 Feijao goals in the 22nd and 30th minute, classic plays across the path of defenders facing the other way, playing in the inside forward just like I had planned him to do ! I didn't expect more but Marocchi played in Seidan with a perfectly weighted through ball 8 minutes before halftime, and he tucked it away with elegance. 5-0 and the whoel tie effectively over after 38 minutes. Of course Vit came back at us after the half, and I was a little disappointed with the lads for allowing things to drift, so that Manuel Campos popped in one on the left wing, to cancel out one of Feijao's efforts. Never mind, I was pleased with the lads.

Portugal beckoned, and a bad match, so I will gloss over the details. I sent out some youngsters and we only just held our own on the pitch. 2-1 in their favour it finished, so we git through, but not convincingly. Seidan got us off to a good start by scoring from a tight angle on the left, but after an almost even half, Vit rumbled right back at us and pulled it back to 2-1, though obviously the aggregate score was in our favour.

So 6-3 all up, but the second game soberingly poor on our part. This was going to be an interesting start to the campaign.......

[Baby BooBoo]

The season kicks off with us travelling to Fiorentina. We lost twice to them last year, and I worry about them, even though they don't look that impressive on paper. They may well be some kind of bogey team for us. I bring every lucky charm known to man, crossing cultures, time and religions. Unfortunately the holy water stains the rabbits's foot, which renders the Buddhist paper money all furry, and that in turn leaves the four leaf clover looking like the contents of a cat's litter bag. I hope that all this does not counter-react with each other and something positive comes out of this. Alan Ass Man disappears with a clutch of the paper money into the nearest toilet stall. ******* !

Fiorentina start off like the spent all pre-season looking forward to beating us again. Carlos slaps in a poorly cleared corner and Jardim conceded a soft penalty which Peroni puts away. We crawl into halftime with our legs between our tails. I give the boys the 'what's the hell going on' speech at halftime and pray for a meaningful response. They boys rise to the task. Marocchi does what he seems to do - score in the most vital points of the season. He nips in at the far post, virtually at the restart. 1-2. Then another corner in the 62nd minute, another poorly cleared corner, a carbon copy of the first Fioro goal - almost poetic justice. Fornari, my 16 year olf 5th choice right back, slaps it in and enjoys what is probably the best moment of his very short footballing career so far. They are now on the back foot, and its just a matter of time. And more time, And time. And we are running out of time. In the 84th minute Feijao tackles deep in out own box and scrambles up the pitch with the box. He lopes in a high ball towards the opposition box. Five people go up, Semenyuk and Cipo among them, and somehow the ball bobs off someone's head and dribbles into then net. We are in front, credited to a Fioro defender. 8 minutes later the whistle goes and we have once again effected a great escape. We are getting good at this. The Fioro coach shakes his head when we meet by the tunnel. I waggle my head vigorously, hoping to have captured something like a sympathetic air. And if I didn't...who the hell cares ! We finally got these p&*^ks !

[Baby BooBoo]

So we are scrappers, but how far will it get us in this company ? The next set of results sober us up.

Cagliari visit Olimpico and we are on the back foot all game, with less possession and less hots on goal. But our defence holds up, and they leave with a point.

We go to Genoa and play a great first half, Seidan and Semenyuk snare us what I think are the points by halftime but we let it slip with 2 Genoese goals after the break. Fantastic-no.

Last in this tryptych of far from great results we travel to Norwich for the first of the EURO group matches. Behind to a glorious long range effort after 20 minutes, we rely on yet another fast break from Marocchi to snatch us a point.

We needed some kind of circuit breaker.

[Baby BooBoo]

'How's the team barber going ?' asked Alan Ass Man at the end of training.

I sighed. 'He's not happy. The lads just keep wanting these little unmanly tufts of hair under their chins. And he's just like me, he considers them far too effeminate. Marocchi even went so far as to suggest that if they had beards, the opposition would just take advantage and use them to pull on when up close !'

Alan looked smug. 'Hmmm, so I suppose that's it for the bearded look, eh ? No frightening the opposition for us....'

'Looks like it. Unless....' my eye drifted over to the stands behind Moretti, where the ultras were usually to be found.

'You're not thinking....!'

'Alan, pass on the message that I want to have a quick work to Pepe 'Ultraboy'. '

'You're joking, surely.....'

[Baby BooBoo]

Roma at home now, and we'd been preparing for them all week by practicing in defence. They weren't impregnable on paper, but they're form was certainly better than ours at the moment, and I expected we would be playing out usual game of counterattack.

There were a few enforced changes to what I considered my strongest team. Bilic got his first start at rightback with Arrasete needing a rest, and Ferrrandiz got called on to pair with Scholten at centerback, Hipp being rested. Ott had to take over for Paixao, who failed to recover from the trip to England. I didn't feel like we were ging to be thrashed, but I would be lying if I said I expected a win.

We spent much of the first half in our half, as expected. The back four, with the help of Ott and Leroy, performed miracles, throwing themselves in front of every shot. Moretti did his usual heroics. Still even and goalless at halftime, I encouraged the boys. Soon after the break Seidan had one chance to snatch a goal, sent through by Semenyuk, but he hesitated just enough for a defender to nip in from behind him. I had seen a lot of this hesitation from Seidan, and he would be much better in a few years time when his decision-making improved - but I suppose experience was what was called for here. In the meantime I could see what sort of difference having a midfield general as good as Semenyuk was - his through balls in these games were causing havoc. I thought we would get one chance to win it, and I was right. Feijao fed a nice through ball to Cipo (who had replaced Seidan) as he ran to the edge of the box a tackle threw the ball loose out right - directly into the lath of Marocchi, who neatly slid it into the keeper's near post before he could come across to cover it. I expected Roma to throw everything at us, but we held firm. My whip was lashed with a frenzy when the final whistle went. The media moaned about a 'snatch and grab' and to annoy them I just talked about the glorious sight of our Ultras sporting their new, streamlined beards.

[Baby BooBoo]

3 days later Sassuolo came to town. They were languishing at the undesirable end of the table and everyone expected an easy win. Ferrandiz stayed at the back, Paixao relieved Ott and Bos made a start for the ailing hero of Rome 3 days ago, Marocchi.

We were poor and made little of the chances that came our way. We had the bulk of the possession and doubled their shots on goal, but not many were on target. Seidan was well and truly having an off day, and Cipo did little better when I brought him on. Then Ferrandiz pulled down their striker in the 89th minute, and the resulting penalty sealed our fate. 0-1. Frustrating, to say the least, when we seemed to be making some kind of progress with the big teams.

[Baby BooBoo]

I was especially disappointed because 3 days after that, we had to play AC Milan at the San Siro. It was completely predictable what my tactics would be. So much so that the defending coach, Mark Jones, bought me a tie with a brick pattern on it. Our Ultras loved it when I wore that out on the bench, especially because I never usually wore a tie.

The same team that took on Sassuolo took to the field. 5 minutes into the game and an innocuous cross from Marocchi was lobbed into the 6 yard box. Surrounded by four colleagues and no Torino player in sight, veteran defender Gustavo Garcia spears the attempted block into his own net. 15 minutes of toothless pushing by either side later, Seidan drifts into the box, escorted by 2 defenders. One of them chooses to tackle him unnecessarily - would it be fair to say Seidan 'made the most' of this chance by collapsing theatrically as a result ? Semenyuk puts the penalty away. The Milan boss moans about the penalty later to the media but I shrug my shoulders and pretend that my Italian had regressed so badly that I couldn't understand what he said. Which serves to infuriate him even more. I have a knack when it comes to making people like me..... So we are two goals to the good and it becomes a question of whether we could hang on. Surprisingly, I discover that if there's one club in worse form that us in Italy at the moment, it is Milan. They are ineffectual and do finally snatch a goal back, in the 89th minute, but we deserved out 3 points.

I'd like to say that the mood around the team lifted after that victory but everyone seemed to realise how fortuitous it had been, so it was a sombre team that retired back to Turin that evening. Mind you, we were better off than the Milan coach who was sacked immediately after the game.

[Baby BooBoo]

The Turinese autumn is stunning, which its view of the Alps, browns merging into the last greens of the season, and snow capped mountains beyond. Unfortunately it only served to seal our sense of gloom. Everyone dutifully rocked up to training daily but something was missing, some kind of zip. Alan Ass Man even commented on the absence of silly ideas from me, possibly even letting on that he missed them. I couldn't say anything about it, because he was right about the general mood around the club. Worse affected of all were the 3 main strikers, all of whom had a collective morale as buoyant as a kite with metal struts. Actually, some of their attempts at goal in training were skied so high they threatened kits at times......

[Baby BooBoo]

Two home games follow, and they are the familiar, backs-to-the-wall efforts that we becoming to well known for. Both goalless games. Our strikers miss easy chances and don't even hit their target. But, they are worthwhile draws - against FC Twente in the EURO Cup, leaving us 3rd in the group, and against Napoli in the league, who are currently top of the table. But our lack of any sense of bite up front is becoming very, very apparent.

By the time we travel to Udinese, within the top four of the league this year, we are due a loss, despite my exhortations against this fate. Udinese toy with us the way a cat toys with a wounded mouse. They put us 2 behind before halftime and I can't see us scoring a goal. We don't, and the only saving grace by the end of the day is no further goals against. Now, not only were our strikers dragging their knuckles on the ground, but Moretti, my golden boy between the goal posts, was severely out of form. For the first time since I signed him, I would be forced to drop him.

Some respite was offered later that week with Dinamo Moscow visiting. An even game on paper, and we finally put a goal on the board, another of Marocchi's runs from the right wing slotted home after we slide the ball from the left to right wing - a beautifully executed move, really. I just wish it had been a striker who had put it away, for the morale boost. It did give us 2nd spot in out EURO group, so we were well and truly alive, but on our form, you had to wonder how far we would go in this competition.

[Baby BooBoo]

Bari, 15th in the league and frankly, not a great team by any stretch of the imagination, came to Olimpo. We allowed them to dominate us for 3/4 of the match and they racked up three times the number of shots on goal. Feijao put in a substandard performance and Nino Hanine came in for a run. At the 70th minute we were 2 down and completely out of the game, Cipo and had been replaced by Seidan and neither threatened much. I had lost count of the number of games since a striker had last put a ball in the net. In the 84th minute we broke quickly down the right. The commentators had already packed up for the night. The Bari fans had been told they could relax after the second goal. Marocchi crossed deep, and Hanine, showing predatory instincts completely absent in the strikers, nipped in late for a tap-in in the six yard box. Worse was to follow for Bari as 5 minutes later, a clumsy tackle on Marocchi caused a penalty to be called. Semenyuk made no mistake and we had stolen a point. Bari must have been gutted, after such a sterling performance. I wanted to blast the team, but Alan Ass Man thought it would only damage morale so I walked into the dressing room, slammed down a mouthful of kumiss and theatrically spat it into the urinal before stalking off, having not said anything. It must have made great theater because one of the players sent an anonymous bunch of flowers the next day and an apologetic note for an ordinary performance. Bloody hell. I would rather have had a scorer's sheet with some marks on it next to my striker's names.

Chievo hosted us 4 days later. The newly promoted team were getting very used to the cellar of Serie A, and we started brightly, for a change. All even at 25 minutes, and then Ott decides that a karate kick, studs first, was an appropriate way to get hold of the ball off a Chievan midfielder. The ref gives him red as he trots off the pitch. I glare at him as he passes to the change rooms. I then hand the whip to Ass Man and head to the stands for the rest of the game. No one dared say anything to me. I went down to the rooms at halftime, and we were still in it, at 0-0. Chievo hadn't yet gotten through our defence, but it was surely a matter of time only. I thanked the rest of the lads for their efforts and sent them out under no pressure. They lifted. We started knocking the ball around and vaguely threatening Chievo. In the 71st minute we lobbed in a corner that Scholten beat 3 defenders to nod into the 6 six yard box. Ferrandiz was nearest but made it look slo motion as he controlled it, tapped it to the other foot to evade the keeper, then dinked it slowly into the net. His first goal, and something of a breakthrough for us. 5 minutes later, off another corner, Scholten rose at the far post again an dthis time, decided to nod it to the far post, whereupon it looped in, having wrong-footed the keeper. 2-0 now and only 15 minutes to hang on for, which we did. That was the moment I deigned it appropriate for me to return to the dug out. Alan was grinning ear to ear and I punched him playfully on the shoulder. When the final whistle went the lads collapsed in a heap, exhausted. I made ott go around to each of them individually and thank them for a great performance. Then fined him a week's wages. He took it well, at least. So at least I had established one thing - we weren't doing well up forward but our defenders were earning every euro cent of their pay.

[Baby BooBoo]

The mood had lifted a little around the place. So much so I asked the club for an upgrade to the youth training facilities and it was accepted. It had only taken me nearly 18 months of nagging....

Pepe called my mobile. I don't know how he had my number. These Ultras insinuate their way into every club's lives like nowhere else in the world. 'What are we going to do about these strikers, Kubes ?'

'I have a cunning plan, Pepe,' I said consolingly.

'Why do I feel a sense of dread when I hear you say that bossman ?'

I smirked. 'Ah Pepe, ye of little faith. It involves a friendly match in 2 weeks, when we have our international break. It involves me calling up a friendly.'

'Oh. Who with ?'

'With a team we will thrash of course ! There's nothing like knocking 16 goals past a hapless defense to perk up your goal-scoring instincts.'

'So you are inviting the local schoolkids to play us ?' Pepe sounded unconvinced.

'Of course not. No wonder I'm a manager and you're an Ultra.... They have to play adults. Deaf ones, in this case.'

'Deaf ?'

'Yaar, mon, the local deaf association team. By all accounts, they're actually not bad, not bad at all.....' I waggled my head in pure glee.

'How's that going to help us that they're deaf ?'

'Then I can shout without any interference, can't I ? And the lads can answer back without telling the other team what they're planning to do. Clever eh ? Like a training ground exercise, only in the middle of a proper game.'

'That is pretty cunning, Kubes. And strange. You seriously think beating some amateur team is going to boost their morale ?'

'You have another plan ?' I hung up on him before he could answer. The negativity I am surrounded with here !

[Baby BooBoo]

We were now 8th on the ladder and had Catania at home. Catania had, after a great season last year, stagnated and were occupying 10th. It was a pretty unedifying spectacle. I was told later on that we had one shot at goal on target. I asked if that counted the penalty that Semenyuk put away in the 38th minute. The funny thing was, Catania didn't manage even one shot on target, so Moretti got to gain a little confidence back. Seidan and Elissalde played up front for 2 halves each and both made little impact. Where oh where were those deaf players ?

The return leg of the Dinamo clash loomed next, with us flying into Moscow on freezing cold November morning. They were predicting snow later in the week, but none for our match. The ground was threatening to turn into a quagmire. Which was handy because within 5 minutes we were ahead, a long ball finding Cipo who centered it for Semenyuk to smash the ball against a defender; the rebound fell right into the path of Feijao sprinting in from the left, and he coolly slotted it home. Then we let them set up camp in our half, and again manned the barricades. The defenders proved up to the task, and we ran out 'fortunate' winners, the media stated later. Maybe so, but a solid defence was what I had predicated my game play on, so the odd 1-0 win would be almost predictable.

[Baby BooBoo]

We seemed to have reasonable confidence now after these bitingly close encounters, but faced Sampdoria, hovering just above us on the table, at home. I sent out my strongest team, thinking a 0-0 draw would be a good result. It was an even first half, but we fell behind a minute into injury time, a sharp through ball on our right catching Arrasete facing goalwards, and allowing their left winger to slide it past Moretti's near post. We were still in the game. on 59 minutes, still battling to get the ball forward, Leroy tacked from behind and collects his second yellow card. Blast, there went the game, I though. Worse was to follow, with Hipp injured just 6 minutes later and stretchered off the pitch. Now down to 9 men, we were never going to get anything out of this game, and on 76 minutes their experienced midfielder Perella, having a field day against us, collects confirmation of his man of the match status by accurately finishing just inside the box. I was disappointed in the lads and told them so. Just when it was looking like we had some momentum building......

[Baby BooBoo]

Torino vs Lazio at home. Guess who had double the chances at goal as the other team. Yaar, mon, you got it - not us. Basically, Lazio, jammed up the bottom half of the ladder, dominated us. We snatched the first goal off a corner, a long, lazy lob into the opposing corner by Semenyuk at the far post. Credited to a defender, but I can't see why a defender would head anywhere vaguely in that direction. Not 3 minutes later, Semenyuk creeps into the six yard box and taps in a neat Marocchi cross, the winger having beaten 3 men in the process. I like it. Can't remember the last time we were two goals up. No time at all to get used to it anyway; we get hit the way we would normally hit - long ball dobbed forward, striker outpaces out central defenders, rounds Moretti and slides it in. I try and encourage the lads after the break. Why not - we were being outplayed anyway, what the hell did we have to lose. Of course on 62 minutes Lazio get a deserved penalty and draw level. Their Ultras are laughing at us. I make a noose of my whip and pretend to hang myself in full view of the team as they trot back to the starting line. Paixao looks disgusted with me. Right from the kick-off he storms forward, trying to make something happen. There's a corner immediately, but they clear the ball weakly. Of all people, it falls to Paixao outside the box and he smashes it into the near corner. After celebrating he makes a point of coming over and pointing at me, and indicating his chest. I bow deeply from the waist and he seems to accept my apology. The minutes eke by and once again, we have somehow hung on.