Back in Britain - Part III of the Owain Williams saga

[EvilDave]

Thank you both for your kind words and continued support. Chris - I'm not sure you've read my mind on this occasion, but regardless I think taking D&R to the top is a bit more of an achievement than Southampton!

What I will say is that I'll be taking a bit of a break from Owain's story until the New Year at least. There's more to come, but I've got a couple of other ideas I'd like to play with and I've been writing this one for eons. Thanks again to everyone following along, and see you all in 2019!
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I had never known such a jubilant flight home. UEFA keep hold of the actual Champions League trophy, but the replica that would make its home in the St Mary’s trophy cabinet was a good as the real thing, and having been granted special dispensation to take it on the flight, it was the source of plenty of mirth. By the time we touched down back in Southampton, I had lost track of how many photographs it appeared in and how many players had strapped it in next to them. If there were ever a time to celebrate, this was it – they had earned every second of their triumph.

We were greeted like heroes at the airport, hundreds of Saints flocking to the arrivals lounge to cheer home their heroes and hope to catch a glimpse of the men who had brought club football’s biggest prize back to Hampshire. That was only the beginning – within an hour of touching down, we were back on the open-top bus, weaving our way through the streets of Southampton and a thronging crowd of red and white, the songs reserved for the stands at St Mary’s engulfing the roads of the city. The replica trophy was passed around the team like a child, and we were effectively worshipped.

By the middle of the afternoon – the bus parade ending at the stadium where yet more fans had descended to celebrate our success – I was shattered, and in need of a break. However, I had been summoned to the office of Mr Krueger for a post-season meeting – why it couldn’t wait for the following day I was unsure, but when I did make it to the chairman’s room, I was met with a beaming employer, a glass of wine, and what can only be described as a bearhug.

“Owain, I’m sorry to add to your day but I couldn’t wait to speak to you. You don’t need me to tell you this, but everybody connected with Southampton Football Club is grateful beyond words for what you’ve done – this season has been more than we could ever have dreamed of.

“To see this club as national and continental champions, and to do it with energy and flair and attacking football, is not something I was ever sure I’d get to see. I’m not getting any younger, and you’ve made this old man very happy.”

“I’m glad to hear it Mr Krueger – it’s been brilliant, and everybody at the club should be proud of themselves, including yourself.”

“That’s kind of you to say so Owain, but you’re taking the credit here. I’ve sat in the background and let you get on with things, and the rewards have been wonderful. But I think the club needs more than that.

“I called you in here today to tell you two things, and here’s the first – I’m thinking about stepping down. I don’t know who will be taking my place – it may an outsider or another board member, that’s up to the Liebherr family, but I’ll be 70 years old in August and I don’t have the energy I once had. This season, Southampton has achieved everything I could possibly have hoped the club to achieve under my chairmanship, and I think it’s about time I started winding down.

“I want to reassure you that until anything goes through, it won’t affect the football side of things at all – I’ll set the budgets, give you your expectations, meet with you to plan and review – but you need to be aware that there’s likely to be change coming.”

“Mr Krueger…”

“Please Owain, I haven’t finished yet. The second I need to do, and it is linked to the first, is to secure the future of this football club after I step down. One of the ways I can do that is by making sure it holds on to its most valuable asset, and so I’m going to ask you to sign this.”

At that, my boss slid a document to me across the table, taking the pen out of his shirt pocket and placing it down next to the papers.

“I took the liberty of running things by Mr Thomson, and he’s very happy with the arrangement – although I understand if you’d like to speak to him first. You can look at the details for yourself, but what this does is increase your salary immediately, and add a three-year extension to the end of your current deal running out this year. I don’t want any boardroom politics in my absence, so there’s a clause in there stipulating that unless the club is in the relegation zone at the time, the decision to extend is yours entirely.”

I scanned the contract in something of a daze, stunned by both the news of Krueger’s decision to step down, and the figures in front of me – tax-home pay of almost £100,000 per week plus huge bonuses for winning any of the major trophies. The three-year extension offered me both job security, protection from internal wrangling, and the freedom to walk away if I found myself unable to work with the new boss. My employer had thought things through very clearly – it had clearly been on his mind for some time – and if Dean saw no problems with the deal, nor did I. After a brief moment, I returned the document complete with my signature in the appropriate places.

“Thank you Owain. Now, I understand you have a flight booked tomorrow. Enjoy your anniversary.”

[EvilDave]

It took more effort than I had thought of to let go completely. Terry McPhillips was to hold the fort in my absence – all two glorious weeks of it – and I was to return before the transfer window opened, so in theory there wasn’t a huge amount to deal with, but my phone would be off completely, my laptop would stay in the offices, and I would be halfway around the world. I was to be completely uncontactable – nobody else knew where we would staying – and so the hand-over phone call took a little longer than we had planned.

There were the instructions to pass on to players heading away to the Confederations Cup, which would include Luke Shaw back in an England shirt after his late-season recovery. There were final details of the players who we hoped would be joining us after my return, there were instructions to deal with any incoming transfer enquiries – with a handful of exceptions, or bids above certain values, we would be rejecting any offers until my return and likely afterwards – there was a pre-season friendly schedule and training plan to finalise, but eventually we got there.

Disconnecting from my technology was much easier, and so it was with great joy that Rachel, Bethan, Rebecca and I hopped in the taxi to Heathrow with only myself knowing the destination. The girls had been told to pack for the beach, but given that our previous trips had be for a single week and around Europe, they had been expecting something similar. This time, we would be going for a full fortnight – the girls had been given permission by their headmaster to take the week out of school, something I expect he was more willing to do given that it was not long until his annual request for donations – and would be heading all the way to the ‘paradise island’ of St Lucia.

The smile on Rachel’s face told me I’d got this one right – even the two-stop, 16-hour journey didn’t seem to put her off – and I was doubly confirmed in my decision when I told her that I’d already arranged with the hotel staff for a babysitter for the girls on the evening of our 20^th wedding anniversary. My wife had been expecting something I’m sure, but certainly not a two-week holiday in the Caribbean, and my first efforts to give my family that little more attention had got off to a good start.

Of course, the girls had been told that there was going to be a long flight ahead them – and to their credit, had managed not to let anything slip to their mother – and so were well-stocked with films and games on their tablets, snacks in their carry-on bags and board games to inevitably fail to contain within their seating area, and in the end they managed to work themselves into such an excitement that they wound up sleeping though most of the second part of the journey. A couple of brief stopovers in the US were occupied with a bit of retail therapy, and before we knew it we touched down in St Lucia, dressed in far too many clothes for the baking heat and yet delighted simply to be there.

On the evening of our anniversary itself, we left Bethan and Rebecca with the hotel’s specially-acquired babysitter and instructions not to play them up too much – not that they were particularly likely to do so, but it was always worth telling them nonetheless – and headed out to what was almost universally-decreed best restaurant in St Lucia. Even had the food not been spectacular, the view alone would have made it worth it – our table on a raised hillside balcony, looking out over a sea of shimmering crystal and towards the lush, untouched mountains across the bay. That every mouthful was divine simply confirmed the opinions we had heard, and when it was finally time to venture back to our hotel it was with every one of our senses fully satisfied.

It was a strange sensation to enjoy what would almost certainly be the highlight of the holiday and yet still have the majority of our time on the island remaining. And yet to simply dismiss the rest of that fortnight would be to do St Lucia a huge disservice. Bethan and Rebecca were in their element on the white sand of the seemingly endless beaches and splashing in the warm waves of the Caribbean, and the combination of endless hours of sunshine and no worldly concerns allowing Rachel and I time together in a complete state of relaxation.

It would all come to an end quicker than we would have liked, but it seemed that my wife was genuinely grateful for me making the arrangements – taking the girls out of school and arranging things with the headteacher, getting a second week off from Mr Krueger, and booking flights and hotels without her knowledge. Of course, Rachel’s approval was not the only reason I had gone ahead and planned the holiday, but we both knew I needed to get the balance right over the summer. There would still be a month before the players returned, but I had work to do in the meantime – I knew this year I couldn’t allow myself to become consumed by it.

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So this is a thing. I never did bring this to a satisfactory conclusion, and I figure if I posted the next installment I'd have a bit of pressure to do just that. It's been more than two years since Owain last made an appearance on FMS so he might be a little bit rusty, but hopefully just as good company as he was before...

[EvilDave]

“Are you sure Mr Krueger? I’m not sure I’m going to be spending all that.”

“I’m perfectly sure Owain, and if you’d rather it went into the wage budget, we can be flexible. One day there will be a new man in charge and he will do things his own way, but until then I intend to give you ample resources with which to do your job.”

“Thank you sir, your confidence is most appreciated.”

“It’s been well earned. You have my full support.”

The chairman had made a call rather than held a meeting to discuss the transfer budget for the coming season, and it was substantial one - £38m. It would of course be smaller than the two Manchester clubs, but it was nevertheless likely to be one of the biggest budgets in the league. Over the past three seasons we had achieved a great deal with a relatively low net spend – always selling before splashing out and keeping our wage bill small compared to the historic big spenders – and now it seemed the board wanted to shore up our position on top of the table and were prepared to spend to do so.

They were also keen to make improvements off the field, revealing plans to increase the capacity of St Mary’s by almost 50%, adding 13,000 seats to the existing 32,000 with expansion work that would be completed by the end of the upcoming season. Initial work would be carried out over the summer, and the fans were assured that it would in no way affect their matchday experience through 2029-30 – something I too was glad to hear. Southampton was now a club that could count itself among Europe’s elite, and stadium growth would be a huge part of that.

Another conversation which took place on the day after my arrival – football clubs are not renowned for giving their managers any more rest than the bare minimum – took place with Terry McPhillips, my trusted assistant who had taken care of business in my absence. He had not taken too many transfer enquiries with the window not due to open until the end of the week, and had been told to reject the overwhelming majority, but there was one that he felt obliged to let me know about.

“Owain, what are your thoughts about John Ruane?”

“I’ve got a lot of time for John. He isn’t the most gifted of our strikers – he’s never going to start every week ahead of a Sidibe or Escalada, but I know that when he does go out there he’ll work his socks off for us. That said, how often he gets that opportunity I don’t know – if we had a formal depth chart I’d probably put him behind Callum and Boyd as well, so he’s not likely to see too much time on the field.”

“Would you consider letting go?”

“Only if I knew he’d be getting first-team football – he deserves that. I wouldn’t sell him on to another side where he sits on the bench most weeks.”

“And if he asked to leave?”

“Has he asked?”

“Not exactly, but he knows there’s interest and he’s curious.”

John Ruane had done well for us last season after a promising loan to Stoke the year before, and his high work rate had earned him plenty of fans among the Saints faithful – not to mention a decent goal return. However, there were question marks over his abilities as a Champions League level footballer, and his agent had realised as much, sounding out sides lower down the rest of the Premier League for interest. One side in particular were very keen, were offering a fair price and a starting berth, and the only hurdle in the way was a personal one.

“I don’t particularly like the idea of selling to John Terry, but if Wolves are buying I can hardly turn them down on that basis. What was the offer again?”

“They’ve offered 7.5m up front, and a third as much again in add-ons – most of which we should see.”

“OK. I’ll talk to John and let him know the decision is his.”

It was the least I could do to be honest with my player, and Ruane was equally open with me. He had the decency to meet me in person, and we parted with a firm handshake and on good terms – Wolves had gained a man far too good for them, but we could not hold him back indefinitely. We made a reasonable profit on our investment, and John would get both a salary increase and his wish of first-team football. Everybody won in the end, but that didn’t make it any easier.

[EvilDave]

This year, I intended to do my transfer business early – as early in possible in fact – for two reasons. The first was make sure we were in the strongest possible position in terms of the squad gelling together and learning our style of play, and the second was more personal – allowing myself more time with Rachel and the girls later in the summer, rather than spending long nights at the club trying to get deals over the line. It had been suggested that a director of football might be a useful addition to the staff to deal with such negotiations, but I wasn’t keen on the idea. Chris Henderson and later Clint Dempsey as technical directors were real assets in Seattle, but with English football operating very differently to the American game, I was keen to keep as much control as possible.

The first port of call was to move on players who had either failed to develop, would never be good enough, or who were simply attracting interest which would be foolish to turn down. The first three sales of the summer fell very much into the latter category, with Christian Hansen – a teenage Dane we had poached form his hometown club for free – 21-year-old Czech winger Lukas Papuga, and relatively recent signing Reiner Kramer, a promising striker snapped up from Dortmund, all moving on. In the case of Papuga, his playing position meant he was unlikely to ever get on the field in a Saints shirt, and so when Chelsea came calling with a £6m bid for a player we would never use, it seemed foolish to turn them down. Hansen and Kramer were both young enough to grow, but were a long way from our first team and could be comfortably replaced with the funds on offer. They would continue their careers together – Fulham apparently keen to inject some youth into their squad – and the Cottagers were prepared to pay handsomely, handing over a combined £13m for the pair. With our usual 50% sell-on clauses included, all three represented excellent deals.

One man failing into the ‘failed development’ category was Romanian forward Dan Cosma, who had tried his best to convert himself from a winger into a striker, but was insufficiently gifted at either to ever challenge for a starting berth. At 23, his time was running out, and with a single year on his contract we chose to cash in, picking up £2.5m from Stoke in the process. An identical fee was procured from Wolves – another sale to my least favourite manager in the league – for young Wolfgang Schottes, who had struggled to make an impact at reserve level and hoped to try and make his way in the Black Country. He was still young enough to succeed, and our sell-on ensured Terry and his side would not enjoy the full fruits of their labour with him.

The saddest departure of the summer was not entirely unexpected, but a little painful nonetheless, and was a transfer which brought home to very human side of the sport. Ever since the arrival of Paolo Beraldi, former number one Hamish Jack had seen his playing time limited to the League Cup and early rounds of the FA Cup, the Italian preferred for Premier and Champions League matches. After years of service, our Scottish stalwart now found himself needing a move to get regular football, but without the opportunity to prove his abilities or a real desire to leave an area he and his family had called home for so long.

In a heartfelt conversation, our second-choice goalkeeper practically begged me to find a solution to his dilemma, knowing that at 30 years old he was neither ready for the life of a reserve keeper nor in a position to make demands for either game time or a sizeable fee – the club had no need to sell him on. However, after hearing him grapple with his situation and express how much he loved being at Southampton, I decided it was the least the club could do to help him out. I took the decision to personally ring round clubs in the surrounding area to make his availability for either a transfer or loan move known, and was delighted when Brighton, an up-and-coming team within commuting distance from Hampshire, expressed an interest. Hamish cried when I told him I would be willing to let him move without a fee, and I will never forget his sheer force of gratitude. He made out as if I had preserved his livelihood – all I had actually achieved was to help remove him from a club he loved.

There were other, lower-profile deals going on, with young talents being loaned out to a range of clubs. Mexican youngster Jorge Romo was sent to Serie A side Atalanta to continue his recovery from injury, while Scottish striker Callum Bagshaw returned north of the border for a spell with Aberdeen. Jeff Rowbotham would link up with Swansea for the season, while in the highest-profile loan, his fellow Welshman Lloyd Collins would join Scottish champions Celtic for the season. It was difficult call to send him away as a player not far from the Southampton first team, but I concluded that a year starting week in, week out for a team with high expectation would do him the world of good. I only hoped he would stay injury-free against the tough-tackling Scottish defenders.

I had assumed that would be the extent of our outgoings until an international call was transferred into my office – the agent of Paraguayan full-back Rodrigo Acuna. Acuna was not unhappy at the club and had regularly been rotated in to give club captain Kenan Kus a break, but had realised that getting past the Dutchman as first choice would be a tall order indeed. Moreover, the agent had been told that no less a club than Real Madrid were interested in his man, and it had been a lifelong dream of Acuna’s – as apparently of every South American – to play for the Spanish giants. It would mean a change to my transfer priorities, but for £14m I suspected I could find an equally-talented and younger replacement without having to pay them £80,000 per week, and so off he went with our blessings.

Within a single week, our outgoing transfers were completed, meaning I had the rest of the summer to divide between inbound deals and my family – and the school holidays had not even begun. I was pleased with the speed of our business, and only hoped that my split loyalties had not resulted in ill-advised deals. I suspected not – our sell-on clauses and loan recall agreements meant our backs were covered in most eventualities – and so did not waste too much time worrying about it, but the doubt remained. And my doubts rarely went away.

[EvilDave]

“We understand that this new contract is the more lucrative ever signed by a Southampton player – how important was it to you to get your captain to commit his long-term future to the club?”

“Every club wants to keep hold of its best players, and Kenan is not just one of our best players but one of our most influential. For my money he’s the best in his position in the world, and he’s a brilliant leader in the dressing room. Having him on the field is the closest I can be to being on the pitch myself in terms of communicating with the players, and we’ve all see how important he is to this football club. To have him signed up for what should be his peak years is a huge coup for the club, and a real statement of intent that we plan on staying where we are.”

“Are you able to give us any indication of the salary he will be earning?”

I wasn’t about to tell the nation’s media how much Kenan Kus would now be earning – it wouldn’t take long for them to write their columns telling me how much he was being under- or overpaid – but our captain was not going to claiming benefits any time soon. At £150,000 each week, he had earned a 50% rise on his previous deal going into its final year, and that would represent our absolute wage ceiling. Nobody else would edge beyond £100,000 this season, and we would keep such deals at a minimum.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss the finer details of the contract, but you’re right in that it is the biggest in the club’s history.”

“With Rodrigo Acuna leaving the club, Kenan is now your only senior specialist at right-back. Is that a position you are planning on strengthening before the season begins?”

“Our scouting team is constantly on the lookout for players who might be a good fit for the club here at Southampton, so there has been a shortlist in place long before Rodrigo left for Madrid. His departure wasn’t planned, so it does mean we’ve had to re-evaluate our priorities for the summer, but we’re not worried and are already working to secure our targets.”

“Kenan, three years ago there were rumours of Bayern Munich, Manchester United and Real Madrid all considering moves for you – did it ever cross your mind to leave the club?”

“Every footballer has to think about his career. It is short, and sometimes an offer is the right one. Three years ago, maybe I did think about one of these clubs, but nothing happened. Now, Southampton is the best team in Europe, I am the captain of the Premier League champions – it would be crazy to move.”

Every time those facts were mentioned I couldn’t help but smile – and it was clear that our captain was proud of them too.

“You’ll be 31 by the time this contract expires – do you still expect to be first choice by then?”

“Of course I hope so, but that is the decision of the manager. I'll train my hardest and play my best, and hopefully that is enough to stay in the first team.”

Kenan was a consummate professional, and there was no other answer he was going to give. Unless we turned up a genuine, once-in-a-lifetime talent, he was very likely to be running our right flank even into his 30s, but he would never take it for granted.

“Finally for you Owain, is it more important to keep your existing team together by securing contracts like this, or adding to the team with new signings?”

“It has to be both, but in many ways keeping the existing squad is more important. Kenan and the rest of the squad know each other well and know how we play, and they’re the reason we’re English and European champions. Of course we need to strengthen, because our competitors will certainly not be standing still, but we’ve got the best possible foundation to work from and we aren’t looking for sweeping changes.”

[EvilDave]

“I’m not sure what that was Dad, did you see it?”

“Only as it flew off, I think you got a better view. The book’s in my bag, why don’t you get it out and have a look?”

The four of us had taken a Saturday trip to the RSPB reserve at Garston Wood, just a short drive north out of Chilworth, and with the June sun flickering through a forest of greens and yellows onto the open glade ahead of us, Rebecca in particular was thoroughly enjoying herself. Both of our daughters loved the natural world, but it was our youngest who was particularly thrilled to be outdoors and exploring her surroundings.

The bird in question turned out to be a Blackcap, which delighted Rebecca even further – she had never seen one before, and our identification handbook suggested that they weren’t native to the UK, visiting from Germany and the surrounding countries. Very quickly she had moved from finding it in the book to making a note on her own pocket pad, and then attempting to replicate the call as described in the field guide.

As we stepped out of the hide, Bethan took a moment to gaze up into trees surrounding us, her eyes battling the sun as she soaked in both its mottled rays and the scene on offer. I can’t be sure of what she was looking at in particular – it could well have been that she had heard a bird the rest of us had missed – but with my paternal eye on her I sensed she was storing it away, both as a visual memento of a happy day and as a source of inspiration for future artistic endeavours.

With our transfer business well underway – personal details with the majority of our targets had been arranged and it was now simply a matter of agreeing the finer points of the deals with their respective clubs – I had been able to spend the extra time with my family I had intended to, and it was wonderful. As Bethan and Rebecca meandered along the path, I held Rachel’s hand in mine, savouring a special moment with my wife and simply watching our children enjoying themselves. That there was no gadget in sight was a bonus, but we were by no means on some sort of anti-technological crusade – getting out in the fresh air was something we all enjoyed and looked forward to.

I had finalised the details of our pre-season friendly schedule the previous afternoon, and after racking up what was probably a significant international calls bill for the club office, we had finally figured it all out. Whereas last year we had endured the best part of three hectic weeks in China and Japan, taking in six matches in the process, this year we would tune up with 10 days in the United States, travelling up the East Coast and taking on LA Galaxy, Portland Timbers and, of course, my old Seattle Sounders. With my family all set to join me on the trip, we were looking forward to spending a few days – almost half the trip in fact – back in our old haunts, and I had already arranged to catch up with Chris Henderson during our stay.

 But that was still several weeks away, and for now my focus was fixed on the flora, fauna and feathered friends of Garston Wood, and the slice of cake in the newly-built café that Rachel had promised we would treat the girls to. It was precisely the sort of family occasion which my job so often precluded me taking part in – particularly now that we were travelling around Europe on such a regular basis, and would head off to India for the Club World Cup in the run-up to Christmas – and so it was not hard to cherish it for what it was. The summer would be a precious time, and I was determined to make the most of it.

[EvilDave]

Our initial flurry of transfer business did little to attract media attention, which was just the way I liked it. The social media universe no doubt poured out thousands of words on our capture of five youngsters from around the world, but they were not household names to the average football fan – not yet anyway. Diogenes, an 18-year-old Brazilian stolen away from Gremio for just £400,000, 17-year-old Dutch playmaking prodigy Hajrudin Kunic from the Ajax academy for £3m, Racing Club of Argentina’s teenage centre-back Claudio Funes for two-thirds of the price, fellow centre-back Soren Retov – who left Nordsjaelland in his homeland aged just 15 to join us – and Vladimir Galitsky, a deep-lying midfielder who at 21 was the most senior of the quintet, and chose to turn down a new deal with boyhood club Kuban Krasnodar in favour of becoming a Saint. He was the only one even vaguely likely to play at all in the coming year, but I hoped all five would have long and successful futures at the club.

There were a disgruntled few who accused us of stockpiling players, but in truth we were doing no more or less than the rest of Europe’s top sides – paying small fees for potential stars in the hope of watching them bloom under our tutelage. If things didn’t work out, our investment would be a small one, and if all came to fruition, Southampton would have a wealth of bright young talent at their disposal for a fraction of the cost involved in bringing in a more experienced player from elsewhere.

Perhaps the most important signing came, unsurprisingly given the departure of Rodrigo Acuna, at right-back. While we had arguably the world’s best in Kenan Kus, the departure of the Paraguayan to Madrid meant that we were left with only utility man Mel McGoona able to play the position in the senior side, and I was far more comfortable playing the versatile Welshman in the centre of the back four rather than on the flanks, his lack of pace making him something of a gamble out wide.

So instead we spent hours sifting through mountains of information and watching videos of right-backs from around the world, from promising teenagers elsewhere in the Premier League to internationals from Europe’s top clubs, all the while looking to strike the difficult balance between finding a player able to slot into a team competing in the Champions League and yet comfortable enough to occupy a back-up role most of the time.

Eventually we found our man, and unfortunately it seemed as if half of the continent had also identified him as the one to bolster their squad. When we first approached Ajax, we were quoted a price of around £8m. By the time Manchester United, Juventus and Barcelona had got involved, the figure shifted from seven figures to eight, the final accepted bid landing almost twice as high as our opening offer at £13.5m.

However, whereas in previous years – the case of John O’Brien immediately springs to mind – the opportunity to join one of the three aforementioned clubs would have ruled us out of the running for such a player, our status as kings of Europe and England now played firmly into our hand. I have no doubt that United offered a more substantial financial package to Antonio Miranda, but the appeal of joining a winning team and a team on the up was a big one for the young Portuguese, and when it made his decision it was in our favour – rather than head for the Nou Camp or Old Trafford, one of Europe’s brightest young defenders was set for St Mary’s.

At £13.5m he did not come cheap, but given that the fee was identical to that which Acuna had fetched from Real, we could have few complaints. Not only that, his £40,000 weekly wage has fully half of his predecessors, making us a substantial saving and almost covering the £50,000 raise awarded to Kenan Kus. Financially, the deal was an excellent one, and with no add-ons attached the deal, Miranda was ours and ours alone.

On the pitch, he was almost certainly an upgrade. While I did not expect him to wind up on the scoresheet as much as the Paraguayan, his lightning pace made him a real asset on the right side of our defence, and his combination of tough tackling and positional awareness meant he was equally comfortable filling in at centre-back if required. At just 21 years of age he had time to grow even further and I had little doubt that unless he grew frustrated of playing second fiddle to Kus, we had found the Dutchman’s successor.

On the same day as he signed, we shipped out three more players on loan – newcomers Kunic and Diogenes along with young striker Damian Alarcon – the latter pair heading together to Turkish side Trabzonspor and the former to rather less glamorous surroundings of Hull for the season – and we were almost done. John Ruane’s departure had left a gap up front, and I had a decision to make – a decision for which I needed help.

[EvilDave]

“Terry, you’ve seen all the footage, you know how we play, you watch the lads train every day. You’re the best person to help me make the call, don’t do yourself down.”

I’d enlisted the aid of my assistant to make the decision, and yet Terry McPhillips was not convinced of his credentials. He was no scout, he told me, and yet he was by far the best person other than myself to judge whether a player would fit in with the current crop of players and style of play.

The dilemma I had was that I had three strikers lined up to sign – all with personal details ready to go – and yet with Sidibe, Escalada, Jacobson and Clarke already in the senior side, there was not room for seven goalscorers in the Southampton squad, it would simply be too much. I was unsure whether we needed five or six, and the three men I had identified as targets were all very different options.

“OK Owain, let’s start with the playing styles. From what the scouts have written here, from the stats I’ve got and the videos you’ve shown me, it looks like we’ve got three very different types of striker here. Martin is going to be playing off the shoulder of the last man, using his pace to get in behind, but with the added bonus of being good in the air. He’s England’s first choice, he’s an out-and-out goalscorer – he isn’t going to be involved too much in the build-up, but you’re guaranteed goals with him.

“Gelling is another one who you’re not going to see dropping deep for the ball, but he’s also not going to be looking for balls over the top. He’s more of an old-school poacher, the man to finish the passing moves and get in the right place for rebounds. He’s maybe a bit more limited, but he’s also the youngest and so he’s got that in his favour.

“Lastly, we’ve got Boakye, and I think he looks the most complete of the three. He plays similarly to Escalada, and either of those two could fill in as one of the two behind the strikers if they needed to. He’s certainly most likely to get an assist as well as a goal, but he’s a dangerous finisher as well. I think he’s the favourite of the three. Now, what are details.”

By the details, Terry meant the transfer figures – the proposed fees and their wages. The trio came at very different costs – Joey Gelling was available for free having failed to agree terms on an extension at Old Trafford, and was asking for £70,000 per week. Richard Boakye would cost us £8m from Bayern and a wage of £75,000, while Arsenal’s Andrew Martin would be significantly more expensive, a club record fee of £29m needed to prise him away from the Gunners as well as a wage of £125,000 placing second only to Kenan Kus in our pay structure.

“Ok, for £8m I think Boakye is a no-brainer…”

“Me too Terry – he’s made it to the Bayern first team already, he’s only 24, he’s a team player and he’s willing to come to us instead of Barcelona. He was my top choice.”

“Then why are you asking me? Anyway. Gelling and Martin are interesting. Martin is undoubtedly the better player, but I think if you’re going to break our transfer record you need a man who is going to play every week and who you structure the attack around. He’s obviously that man at Arsenal, but is he going to get you significantly more goals than Sidibe? Is he going to find a way through when teams defend deep against us? Because we’re going to see a lot more of that this season – we’ll have to work harder for our breakthroughs.

“As for Gelling, I wouldn’t be overly keen if he had Boakye’s price, but we can easily manage his wages and he’s not costing us a penny. He won’t expect to play every game, and if nothing else he’s English, so we can sell him on for £10m at the end of the season if it doesn’t work out. Basically I think Boakye is the one we can’t afford to miss, Gelling is worth a punt, but Martin would require us to change the way we play and pay an awful lot of money – that’s my opinion on the matter.”

“Do you think six strikers is too many?”

“If it is it’s only one too many, and we can always loan someone, probably Gelling, out in January if we need to. Remember last season we were pushing 60 games and sometimes playing twice in 48 hours – it can’t hurt to have options if we can afford them.”

“Excellent. Thank you for letting me play devil’s advocate with you, and for letting me know what you think. I’ll tell Arsenal the deal’s off, and make the arrangement with the other two.”

I did precisely that, and with the paperwork duly completed, the following day we were the proud owners of a 23-year-old English striker and a 24-year-old Ghanaian in the same position. That would complete our transfer dealings for the summer, and we had barely scratched the surface of June. I felt good about both the summer and the season to come – we had consolidated, cut some unwanted ballast and added real quality to the side – and it was up to rest of Europe to catch up with us.

[EvilDave]

It wasn’t often that Rachel and the girls were particularly interested in a football match outside of Southampton or whichever team I happened to be managing at the time, but on this occasion all four of us were glued to the television for the big game. With England having won the right to host the 2030 World Cup, some 74 years after their 1966 triumph, the Confederations Cup had been taking place over the summer break, culminating in the final between the host nation and European champions Italy. Although both Rachel and I had drummed their Welsh identity into Bethan and Rebecca from an early age, none of us shared the anti-English sentiment of many of my countrymen, and were happy to cheer on our adopted homeland.

On this occasion however, we would be disappointed. In a rare thriller of a goalless draw, 90 minutes and then extra time followed without the scoreboard being troubled, leading the worst two words an Englishman can here – penalty shootout. Six shots were taken and converted before Andrew Martin – the man I had decided against breaking our transfer record on just days before – saw his penalty stopped by Southampton keeper Paolo Beraldi, and two more successful spot-kicks from the Italians allowed them to lift the trophy despite England’s best efforts.

Immediately after the game, a downcast Luke Shaw announced to the media that he would be retiring from international duty with immediate effect, our full-back having done brilliantly to both revitalise his England career and recover from injury to make the squad, and finishing his national service with no less than 106 caps and 16 goals to his name. There was no doubt the tournament had taken its toll on him – he would need plenty of rest before the start of the season if he had a chance of being fully match-fit – but nobody could doubt his commitment to his country.

The final meant that our international stars would soon return, and with their arrival came the start of pre-season training in just a handful of days’ time – meaning I was spending as much time with my family beforehand. They would join us on our short tour of the US, the earlier-than-usual summer break allowing Bethan and Rebecca to join us on the trip and revisit childhood memories in Seattle, and then there would be a full three weeks before the Community Shield and the start of another long season. They would be precious weeks, and I would treat them accordingly.

However, I could not switch off from work entirely, and whilst I had not gone as far as to use the final as a scouting exercise, I had watched on with a notepad in my hand, taking the opportunity to map out a squad plan for the coming year. My intention was to carry two full teams with a few extras tacked on for depth, and while we would never swap all 11 players at once – save perhaps for the early rounds of the League Cup – to have those two teams written down would help when it came to the necessary rotation.

Goalkeeper was our simplest position to establish, with Paolo Beraldi our clear number one and Russian youngster Arseni Bogatyrev backing him up after spending last year in his homeland with Dinamo Moscow. At right-back, captain Kenan Kus was one of the first names on the team-sheet with new singing Antonio Miranda behind him, whereas on the left Vandinho had established himself as first choice for club and country since his under-the-radar arrival from Romania. Behind him, veteran Luke Shaw and Spanish starlet Raul Iglesias would do battle for game time.

In the centre of defence, our default pairing would be Leighton Hodge and Harry Eggen, with Carl Bateson unfortunate to miss out and the obvious first replacement. Mel McGoona would complete the second pairing, while both Miranda and defensive midfield man Emad Hossam could also slot in. In those screening roles, we would usually play with one more destructive player – Carlos Henrique or Steve Woodward – and one more creative type to launch attacks from deep, Benjamin Blanc or the aforementioned Hossam.

In attacking midfield we travelled a little lighter, but with no major concerns. Adam Bright would start more often than not when fit, with one of Gidon Cohen and Ross Ifan splitting time alongside him. This trio would start most games in one form or another, but we had support elsewhere – youngsters Rene Muller and Dimitri Nikulin could do a job on occasion, with strikers Lucio Escalada and Richard Boakye also able to play the supporting roles capably.

Similarly, we had plenty of options up front. Escalada and Ange Sidibe would be our starting pair, the former the creator to the latter’s finisher, but with both doing their fair share of both. Callum Jacobson and new signing Boakye were next in line in a similar vein, while numbers five and six – Boyd Clarke and Joey Gelling – were a little more limited, the two operating a more classical target man/poacher system. Of course, these pairings were entirely theoretical and would be chopped and changed over the course of the season, but gave a rough idea of who was likely to be playing where and how much.

Those were the 26 men that boarded our flight to Los Angeles for our first game of the tour against the native Galaxy – a game we would win 2-0 with a comfortable but somewhat rusty performance – and the 26 men that would take on England and Europe in the year ahead. If we could do it once, we had the ability to do it again – the only difference being, this time nobody would be surprised.

[EvilDave]

“Boss? Can I have a word?”

I had told my players that even though we were away across the Atlantic my door was open during the day – the evenings were strictly family time, and I expected my men to need that as much as I did – but I had not really expected anything serious on a pre-season tour. However, Luke Shaw looked troubled, and so I ushered him in.

“I’ll get straight to the point, because I can’t figure out how else to say it. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, and I think this is going to be my last season.”

I sat quietly, motioning for him to unleash the torrent of thoughts that was clearly ready to rush out.

“Like I say, I’ve been thinking. I was never going to make the England squad for the World Cup – I’ll be 35 by the time it’s over, and I’ve seen the competition, and I didn’t want the disappointment of being overlooked. Now I look at the squad we’ve got here, with Vandinho and Raul and some of the kids coming through, and I don’t know what I can add to that. I mean, I still feel like I can put in a shift, but my body lets me know about it for days afterwards and I don’t want to do myself damage now that I can’t undo. I think what I’m saying is that it’s time for me to stop. I’m not thrilled about the idea, but I’ve come to accept it.”

“Well Luke, are you sure? I’m not going to pressure you one way or the other, but you need to be sure on something this big. You don’t want to live with regrets.”

“That’s the other thing boss – I can’t have any now. I’ve played for my country more than 100 times, I’ve played in front of 80,000 at the Bernabeu every week, and thanks to you and the lads here I’ve won the Premier League and Champions League with the club I grew up with. It’s what you dream of as a lad, and I couldn’t have asked for any more.”

“Weren’t you a Chelsea boy growing up?”

I smiled as I teased him to lighten the mood, and thankfully Shaw read my intentions well.

“Sure boss, but I came here when I was eight – I’ve got roots, I‘ve got something with the fans, you know?”

“I do know Luke, I do – I see it whenever you’re out there on the pitch. If your mind’s made up, can I ask you another question? Do you know what you’re going to do next?”

“Well money isn’t going to be a problem, so I can do what I like really. I don’t think I’m going to end up on the TV, but I hadn’t got much further than that.”

“That connection with the fans – do you want to keep it growing?”

“How do you do that if you’ve packed it in?”

“Stay on. We can arrange for you to start your coaching badges this year if you like, and you can head back to the academy and share your experience and skills with the next generation. I can’t think of many young kids wanting to play for Southampton who aren’t going to be excited by the prospect of Luke Shaw coaching them, and if you find you like the job we can think about putting you on a path to the first-team – if you want it that, there are plenty happy teaching the youngsters. What do you think?”

“It sounds interesting boss, coaching had crossed my mind but I don’t know whether it’s for me.”

“Well, have a think about it and let me know. You don’t need to be a lecturer, just to be able to explain why you do what you do and how you do it – I reckon you can do that to the boys in the academy.”

“Alright boss, I’ll give it some thought, chat to the missus and let you know what I think. You’re sure there’s a role for me at the academy?”

“If there isn’t Luke, I’ll create one for you.”

“Thanks boss, I really appreciate that. Cheers.”

[EvilDave]

We had quickly moved one from Los Angeles up the West Coast to Portland, where a bumper crowd came out to watch us take on the native Timbers. My old Sounders rivals put in a decent showing against a slightly stronger team than the one which had brushed off the Galaxy, but were no match for my side and ended up conceding twice in the dying minutes, allowing us to put some gloss on the scoreline with a 3-0 win. Richard Boakye made his debut and played all 90 minutes, grabbing the first goal in the process, and the Ghanaian international looked like he would fit in nicely with the rest of our forward line.

From Portland it was time to head back south to Seattle, where we would spend five full days of the tour – taking in the headline match against the Sounders, a chance for my players to unwind and bond again after the summer break, and the opportunity for me and my family to visit old haunts and catch up with old friends around Washington state.

As I’d mentioned previously, the key appointment in my diary was a catch-up with Chris Henderson, the man who served me so well as technical director at the club for the majority of our tenure, and whose wife Jackie’s battle with cancer had such a deep impact on everybody at the Sounders at the time. It was a battle which forced Chris to withdraw from his duties – allowing now-manager Clint Dempsey to begin his staff career at the club – and which she ultimately lost, passing away as we attempted to lift the MLS Cup and inspiring us to do so in her memory.

Some of those memories were just that – distant thoughts which seemed to belong to a different era and in some ways a different Owain Williams – and yet others felt as vivid as the clear blue Seattle sky, the intensity of such emotional times embedded deep in the souls of those who had been there. Rachel had grown increasingly close to Jackie in her last months, spending a number of days and hours with her as the cancer gained the upper hand, and even though she wouldn’t be joining me and Chris for our get-together, she had to fight back the tears merely when asking me to pass on her love.

When I did meet him, Chris remained a man of few words – it was clear his wife’s death was still affecting him years down the line, and the liveliness of character that had made him such a bright and effective colleague broke through only when revisiting certain memories or people. He was undoubtedly pleased to see me – his warm greeting could not hide the fact – but there were several moments over lunch when it was clear that my old technical director was in part a shadow of the man he had once been.

Although it was not my place to do so, I gambled with a more direct line of questioning, a line which I would have immediately shut down had anybody tried to pry into my own personal circumstances and emotions. However, Chris was both a man I knew well and a man I remained at sufficient distance from to give me very little to lose.

“Chris, this is going to seem like a strange question, but do you ever think about leaving Seattle?”

The silence lingered longer than was comfortable for either of us.

“I don’t suppose I do really. I’ve been here more than 20 years now, this city is home. It’s what I know, it’s who I know, I don’t think I could just go and settle somewhere new at this point. Not at my age.”

“Don’t give me the age dodge Chris, you’ve got plenty of life left in you yet. I just wonder whether it’s good for you to be around all the memories all the time, whether a fresh start wouldn’t do you some good.”

“I don’t know Owain – I’m not in your position, when I could walk into any job I wanted around the world. Not that money is an issue, but I’d need something to do, and trying to settle in a new place while learning a new job, I’m not sure it’d be good for me.”

“Chris, you’re selling yourself short – there are clubs all over America who would kill to have a man of your talents running their front office. And if they aren’t, I’ll write a reference and tell them how stupid they are to think otherwise. Even in Europe, there are plenty of teams running with a director of football model, and you’d be the perfect man for the job – buying, selling, getting the best contract details. I mean, if we had the position at Southampton then you’re the man I’d come for.”

“You would?”

“Chris, you performed miracles when I was here, there’s no way the club achieves what it did back then without you. You’ve got a lot to offer, and I think a change of scenery might be good for you.”

“I’m still not sure Owain, I just don’t know.”

It was clear Chris wasn’t entirely on board with my plan, and by this stage was beginning to avoid eye contact with me, gazing through the restaurant’s glass frontage onto the street outside. For fear of pushing the point too far, I decided to shut down that particular line of conversation.

“It’s OK, it was just a thought. Maybe have a think about it? I know it’s been a rough few years for you, it can’t be easy and I can’t imagine what it’s been like – but if you ever need a friendly voice or someone just to listen, you know you can call me anytime.”

With that, we melted back into more light-hearted conversation, me reminiscing once more about the glory days of the Sounders and Chris asking a few more questions about life at Southampton. It may not have gone quite the way I had hoped, but the seed had been planted and neither of us had burst into tears. Given the circumstances, I counted that as time well spent.

[EvilDave]

Stepping out onto the Amazon Arena turf as manager of an opposition team was a very strange experience – not least because despite being in charge of the visiting side, the Sounders greeted me with a king’s reception, rolling out the red carpet for their former manager and chanting my name throughout the 90 minutes. Clint Dempsey, after greeting with a hearty handshake and embrace before kick-off, must have felt a little out-of-place for the love-in, but I was deeply touched by the Seattle fans’ regard for me.

Once the game itself got underway, there was a genuine exhibition feel to the game. Both Sounders and Saints were going out of their way to pull off every trick and flick in their repertoire, and the result was an end-to-end game of football which would have had defensive coaches tearing their hair out in frustration and neutrals marvelling at the spectacle.

I had promised my old employers nothing less than a first-choice Southampton team, and so we lined up with the same side that had started the Champions League final. Seattle, despite being in the middle of their own season, played a full-strength side as well – their seven-point conference lead allowing Dempsey to risk his key players – and so the pendulum swung from one end to the other and back with remarkable rapidity.

Of course my Saints won through in the end, a brace from Escalada book-ending a strike from Sidibe and long-ranger from substitute Hossam, while the hosts got two of their own through one of my old players, Bheka Sibandze showing the sort of form that had fired him to the top of the MLS scoring charts and made him a firm favourite of the crowds that flocked to the Amazon Arena. The 4-2 win was as entertaining as they come, with both sides drawing plaudits from the crowd for the skills on display, and while there was no doubting the over-the-top nature of the game – the two teams sharing a lap of honour afterwards for no discernible reason – it was by far the most fun we had enjoyed on the tour, and provided an appropriate moment to begin preparing for home.

The flight out of Seattle-Tacoma was a long one, and there was plenty of thinking time on the trip back to Hampshire. Had I done the right thing in giving Chris more to think about? Would he actually serious consider moving on from the city he had made his home? Should I have offered him a job at Southampton, even aside from the traditional director of football position? Perhaps most importantly, would he ever be the man I had known in those first couple of years again?

Perhaps I was being unfair on the man – to expect him to bounce back and carry on as if nothing had ever happened would be tactless to say the least – and yet at the same time I felt as if Chris was a man with so much to offer that it seemed equally unfair to leave him stewing in his own despondency. He was a man I loved dearly and wanted the best for, but perhaps I also needed to allow him to figure things out on his schedule rather than mine. After all, I could no longer manage him in the same way I once had, and that was perhaps for the best.

What I could manage were the next couple of weeks – the first weeks of the summer holiday which Bethan and Rebecca would spend at home, the last couple of weeks of tuning up my Saints team in preparation for the season ahead, no doubt a whole host of media duties ready to be carried out in advance of both the Community Shield and first round of Premier League fixtures. We would take on United in the curtain-raiser, open the defence of our title at West Ham, and then return to New Anfield for a huge game against Liverpool in just our second fixture of the year. It would only get more intense from there, and already I could feel the stress levels rising. We were about to begin all over again.

[EvilDave]

“Owain, I know I told you a couple of months ago that I was thinking about stepping down and that such a statement probably causes a lot of uncertainty, but I wanted to reassure you that until that happens, there will be no change in the situation here.”

Ralph Krueger had called me in to a meeting the week before the Community Shield for a chance to set our season’s aims and objectives – and, it appeared, to update me on the club’s search for a replacement chairman.

“I appreciate that Mr Krueger, and I appreciate your continued support. I feel very confident that I’m not lacking in the resources I need to do the job.”

“I can see that from your transfer business – I can’t help but notice that our income has exceeded expenditure so far, is there a reason for that?”

“The main reason is simply that I am happy with the squad at my disposal, but the other factor involved here is simply the amount of money we have been able to raise by selling on players we have developed over the last couple of years. If you look at the deals for Hansen, Papuga, Kramer, even Ruane to an extent, we’ve been able to recoup a lot of money for players on the fringes of the squad. Even Acuna, who we have had to spend to replace, brought in enough to cover his replacement, and we only signed him on a free transfer a year ago.”

“And you’re absolutely sure there are no holes in the squad?”

“Yes. I’ve given this some thought, and we have enough to field two unique starting line-ups and have three or four players in reserve, which should be enough – that also discounts any young players I choose to bring up. If the right man is made available at a good price then I’ll move for him, but the current team is in a good place.”

“You have no regrets about the Andrew Martin deal?”

“Even if Martin scores 30 goals for Arsenal and wins the World Cup for England, I think it was the right decision. It would have been a lot of money, and would have required us to completely change the way we play. That seems like a huge gamble for a club in our position.”

“OK Owain, I just wanted to make sure. You sound convinced though, and that’s enough for me. Speaking of the club’s position, what are your thoughts regarding the season ahead – we’ve spoken before of progress, but it’s a little difficult to see what progress looks like from here.”

“I’d agree it certainly makes things more difficult, although there’s no problem I’d rather have! Personally, I think retention of the Premier League is within our grasp, and if we fail to do so it would be considered a backward step – that has to be the goal. I’d like to see us do better in the FA Cup, as I feel we haven’t done as well as we could have done in that competition, and as for the Champions League it’s almost impossible to say. Only Real and City have retained it in its current format, and the level is so high it’s hard to pitch a realistic ambition. Of course we’ll be aiming to win it, but I think to expect the trophy would be to add unnecessary pressure on the players.”

“Those are helpful thoughts Owain, and I’m inclined to agree. In many ways this season will be similar to that of a team newly-promoted to the league – survival is paramount, and a cup run a welcome bonus. I feel for Southampton, replace survival with the title, and the rest is true – our consolidation just happens to be on the top of the league. Does the pressure of winning the league sound excessive to you?”

“No – we’ve done it before and so should be able to do it again. There is nobody we fear now, and I honestly believe that over 38 games we can be the best in England.”

“Let’s settle there then – retain the title, and anything else comes a distant second. Of course, unless you take this team down then the chances of your job coming under threat – certainly from me at any rate – range from slim to zero, but it’s useful to have the targets in place. Besides which, your contract gives you the right to extend.”

“Yes Mr Krueger, and thank you once again for the faith you’ve shown in me.”

Had I really just agreed to keep the Premier League trophy at St Mary’s? Krueger’s expectations seemed realistic enough – I mean, I had basically set them for him – but at the same time, having the favourites tag around our necks would be a wholly new experience for my Saints, and one we had not yet had time to get used to. If we crumbled under the pressure, it could make for unpleasant viewing. Conversely, if we thrived under the stress, we had the potential to play out another glorious season.

[EvilDave]

From the BBC Sport website:

Red Card Paves Wembley Way For Saints Success

A first-half red card for Manchester United turned this afternoon’s Community Shield on its head, allowing Premier League champions Southampton to lift the trophy for the first time in the club’s history at the expense of last season’s FA Cup winners.

In front of a full house at Wembley, Roberto Martinez’ side got off to the perfect start, taking the lead after some uncharacteristically uncertain goalkeeping from Paolo Beraldi allowed Martin Urquiza an open goal to head into from the first corner of the match. Moments later, some slick United build-up play created space inside the area for Marcos Gonzalez, and the winger found the net with a low drive to make it 2-0 after just 11 minutes.

However, the game turned on a decision made after 33 minutes, when a quick break from the European champions saw Ange Sidibe brought down in a tangle of legs by last man Raffaele La Mura, and referee Chris Blackett not only awarded a penalty to Owain Williams’ side, but also brandished a straight red card to the Italian, leaving his team down to 10 men with an hour still to play.

Southampton were quick to take advantage, the lively Sidibe converting from the spot and then turning provider just two minutes later, Lucio Escalada the beneficiary of some excellent hold-up play by the Ivorian and slotting in at the near post to level the scores. After being made to look second-best before the red card, the resurgent Saints then found themselves ahead at the interval, Adam Bright combing with Kenan Kus to release Sidibe once again, and with only the goalkeeper to beat he made it 3-2 with the final kick of the half.

After five goals in the first half, the Wembley crowd would have been disappointed not to see the two sides adopt an equally attacking mentality in the second period, however with United a man down the balance of the game was tipped firmly in Southampton’s favour. With Carlos Henrique and Emad Hossam controlling the tempo in midfield, the 10 men from Manchester created very little, being forced to retreat into their own half for long periods at a time.

Williams' men seemed content to hold onto their lead without overexerting themselves in pursuit of a goal to kill off the game, and yet in the 82^nd minute they were given another helping hand by their opponents. Armando Campos did well to beat substitute Richard Boakye to a low cross from the right, but with the Ghanaian summer signing ready to pounce in his peripheral vision, succeeded only in slicing the ball past his goalkeeper to make it 4-2.

 For the victorious Saints, manager Owain Williams will no doubt be pleased at the manner of their comeback and the speed with which his side asserted their dominance following the red card, their three goals in 10 minutes the key to the turnaround. However, the Welshman will also hope his side’s slow start and careless early defending is simply the result of early-season rustiness – if not, they could struggle against their rivals for the Premier League title on the big occasion.

Meanwhile, United showed enough in spells – particularly in the opening stages – to suggest that they are well-positioned to mount a title challenge after a disappointing league campaign last season. Like their opponents, there is however much room for improvement in defence, where two individual errors led directly to Southampton goals and cost their side the game. Those are mistakes that Roberto Martinez will arguably be pleased to see in the Community Shield rather than in key matches elsewhere, but they will need to be eradicated quickly lest the Old Trafford side find themselves struggling once again.

[edtheguy]

Aaaah.. I have to say, reading about Owain is always a pleasure.  Thank you for reviving and continuing this story!

[EvilDave]

“Darling, what is it?”

Rachel had read my face like a book – a particularly moody book with an angry-looking font on the cover – and was right to ask the question. I was pretty certain she knew the answer too – getting me to voice the response was all part of the process.

“We were poor today, and I’m worried about Liverpool now. West Ham are not a particularly good team, and we needed them to give us the game.”

“Remind me of the score?”

“I know. We won, 1-0.”

“Did West Ham get a shot on target at all?”

“I don’t think so, no.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“We might not have been particularly threatened, but we weren’t doing a whole lot of threatening ourselves either. It was a rash challenge for the penalty, and we should have scored more after the red card – there was still half an hour to play.”

“Does it matter that you didn’t though? Look Owain, it was the first game of the season, everyone is getting up to speed again, and you managed to win and keep a comfortable clean sheet away from home at maybe 70, 80%. I can see why you’re frustrated, but there’s no need to act like you took a beating. What is it they say about winning while not playing well?”

“I know, I know. Something about champions, if I remember correctly. You’re right. It’s just I’m coming to expect us to blow teams away now, but they’re sitting deeper and looking for a point. It’s going to happen a lot this year, and it’s going to take a lot of getting used to.”

“Well, if you know it’s going to happen, try a few things and see what happens. You’ve no right to get frustrated if you’re just going to sit back and let it happen.”

Rachel’s playfulness when trying to provoke a reaction was disarming, and acted not only as a reminder of why I ought to pay more attention to what she was saying, but why I loved her as I did – she always had the right words to say and, perhaps more importantly, the right tone in which to say them.

 “You know it’s not that easy darling, but you’re right. I’ll try not to be too hard on myself too often, but you know it’s going to happen from time to time.”

 I got a look telling me not to let it, but I felt on this occasion I had a small right to be aggrieved. West Ham, even on their turf in the Olympic Stadium, had made very little effort to actually attack Beraldi’s goal, digging in for a point we eventually managed to rob them of. A penalty five minutes after the interval was calmly converted by Ben Blanc, and when James Stokes picked up a second yellow card on the hour mark, our hosts’ chances went from slim to none. We collected our first three points of the season, but would need a much better performance against Montella’s Liverpool in midweek if we were to make this the start of a winning run.

 With so many fronts on which to compete – the three domestic trophies, Champions League and Club World Cup in December – it was crucial that we quickly built up a sense of momentum if we were to put up a good fight on them all. We would need to rotate regularly, and so having a mere handful of in-form players was not enough – we needed a winning mentality and growing confidence around the entire club if we were to repeat last season’s success, and that would be no easy thing to come by. We would make a good start if we picked up three points at New Anfield, and so it was there that our attentions turned next.

[EvilDave]

The clash with last year’s closest rivals was by no means a thriller. Last, we had met Liverpool in the final round of both the first and second half of the season as well as in the final of the Champions League, with the scene well set on all three occasions and the two sides needing a win at all costs. This time, that was not the case – while three points were as valuable as ever, there was at least plenty of time remaining in the season for them to be recovered by the losing side.

That said, there was a certain level of expectation on the two teams after our titanic battle for the title last season – on our part for a repeat of our multiple victories over the Merseyside outfit, and on their part a longing for revenge after condemning them to runners-up spots three and four of a season that promised so much and ultimately delivered so little. We were given a hostile reception as we emerged from the New Anfield tunnel, and very quickly knew we had a job on our hands to emerge victorious.

Nevertheless, my men rose to the occasion, and after a tense game which remained finely balanced all the way through to the final whistle, we emerged as victors yet again over Vincenzo Montella and his side. The game’s solitary goal came after just 17 minutes, an authoritative claim and quick throw from Beraldi launching a counter-attack which swept from our left flank to the right, culminating in a clever backheel from Escalada which allowed Kenan Kus to rifle home from 15 yards. It was a superb counter-attack and worthy of winning any match, and it did little to endear us to the local supporters.

Three days later St Mary’s was finally treated to our first home game of the season, our home fans going to extra mile to welcome us as conquering heroes on their first chance to greet us since completing the famous double last season. Nottingham Forest were the opposition – a side who had given us plenty of trouble on previous occasions despite their lowly status – and we were given a pre-match boost by the withdrawal through injury of Gordon Hunter, the Scottish winger who had tormented us many a time previously.

The match also marked the first Premier League start for Richard Boakye, our £8m summer signing having come on as a substitute in both previous games. He looked lively in a goalless first half, linking up well with Sidibe in our all-African front line, and was unfortunate not to open the scoring when his header across goal was cleared off the line by a well-positioned Forest defender.

However, the visitors could not keep the Ghanaian quiet for long, and it did not take too much time in the second half for St Mary’s to be hailing a new hero. Just six minutes had passed since the break when Boakye received a past 25 yards from goal and thumped a shot high into the top corner, and when urged to repeat the trick 10 minutes later he gladly obliged, this time bending the ball expertly around a defender and in off the far post for a sumptuous brace.

With just half an hour remaining, no Hunter to continue his scoring habit against my Saints and an in-form striker to contend with, Forest faced an uphill battle which they never truly looked like winning. Three minutes from time we failed to clear our lines at a free-kick, the ensuing melee allowing Jay New to deny Beraldi a clean sheet form close range, but it was a case of too little too late for the visitors, who registered their third defeat of the season to remain in the bottom three early on.

Despite having failed to hit top form, we had emerged with three wins from three, and while we already faced injury problems – Joey Gelling had been the second striker to debut against Forest, replacing Sidibe after the latter took an elbow to the ribs which caused a hairline fracture – we had come through each of our tests so far. We faced a brief European excursion as we travelled to Monaco for the UEFA Super Cup before the first international break of the season, and so far we had done what was asked of us. We had not set the world ablaze with our football, but the results continued to come, and for now that was enough.

[EvilDave]

“Owain, another trophy in the cabinet after a good performance out there today, you must be pleased?”

“Of course, it’s always good to win silverware, even in these one-off games, and the team put in a strong performance out there today. We got the early goal we were looking for, and Lucio finished things off nicely for us at the death.”

“Cagliari looked like they might be getting back into things just before half-time, at which point your side seemed to drop back a little – was that a tactical decision or simply a result of the pressure you were under?”

“No, all credit to Cagliari there. They raised a few eyebrows winning the Europa League last season, but they showed today how good they are. We really struggled for 10, 15 minutes against their front three, and were fortunate to come through unscathed.”

“A first Southampton goal for Joey Gelling today in the opening stages, how has he settled in at the club and what sort of role do you see him playing as the season progresses?”

“Joey took his goal well and it’s always good to see a new striker get off the mark nice and early – if it takes any length of time it starts to become a burden. Joey’s a good lad and he’s slotted in nicely with the rest of the squad, so I’ve no concerns there. As to his role, everyone here will have to step up on occasion over the course of the season, and he’ll be no different – he won’t start every week, but there are very few who do, and I’ve got confidence that he’ll be able to deliver when called upon.”

“The Super Cup did of course follow the draw for the group stages of the Champions League, do you have any thoughts about how things have gone for your side?”

“I think every group is going to be tricky once you reach this level of competition, and ours is no different. As holders and top seeds you would look for perhaps a slightly easier draw, but it says a lot about the quality of teams in the competition that a side like Real Madrid are in the second pot.”

“Last season there were very few expecting Southampton to be contenders for the Champions League, but you surely must be expecting to qualify as top seeds and title holders?”

“I think our expectations have changed and of course we are looking to progress, but we certainly can’t take anything for granted. Of course we know all about Real and their fantastic history in the competition, but we mustn’t forget that PSV have been in the quarter-finals for two years running as well and are more than capable of going through. Dynamo are more of an unknown quantity, but they’ll fancy their chances of an upset or two, particularly in Kyiv, and so we mustn’t underestimate them either. We’ll be favourites to go through with Madrid, but we can’t afford to get complacent.”

“Finally, do you think you can win the competition again this year, and are you expecting it to be harder second time around?”

“I’m running out of ways to answer this question! Do I think we have the squad capable of winning the Champions League? Yes, I do – we did it last year, and I believe we’ve strengthened over the summer. Do I think it will be easy to do? Of course not, if anything it will be harder – with scouting these days it’s easy to find out everything about an opponent, but there’s no substitute for actually playing against them, and last year we had the element of surprise in our advantage. This time round teams will know what we’re about and how we play, and we get a target on our backs as champions. So we can do it, but I’m not going to sit here and tell you we’re definitely going to. I’d be surprised if you find a manager who will.”

[EvilDave]

In contrast to our Champions League draw, which was ultimately a little frustrating given the strength of our group and our first pot seeding, the League Cup third round draw was both much less glamorous and a little easier. I had already earmarked the occasion as a chance to make sweeping changes to the side, and when our name was pulled out alongside that of League One side Barnsley I was confirmed in my suspicions. A trip to Oakwell would at least add an element of challenge, but we should be overcoming the third-tier side with ease.

We would not have to worry about the Tykes for a full three weeks however, with an international fortnight, our Champions League opener in Eindhoven and two Premier League clashes before our domestic cup campaign got underway. A record number of Saints had been selected for their nations across the age groups, leaving me and my coaching staff with only a select few to put through their paces at Staplewood.

That meant I felt even more confident in leaving my team in charge for the first week, choosing to transfer my extra hours from the office to my home, enjoying the evenings with Rachel, Bethan and Rebecca as the new school year took the girls away from us during the day. For our eldest daughter, this meant the start of her two-year GCSE cycle and the associated pressures, and so as parents we were left to strike a balance between rest, relaxation and revision – making sure her academic progress stayed on track while remembering she was only 14.

With the school year only a few days old, this was as easy as it would be for the next two years, and so we were happy to give her the freedom she so craved – not only in being outside in nature, but also in spending time with friends as she developed into more of a social butterfly. Early indications suggested that she was not necessarily one of the ‘in crowd’ at Romsey, but was quite content with her own circle of friends – in which she seemed to be the dominant figure. That had the potential to cause its own problems in time, but for now she seemed more than happy.

There was also no doubt that Rachel was more satisfied with life since our trip to St Lucia, and while I was unsure how much of a part it played, I suspected my efforts to spend more of my available time – particularly over the summer – with her and the girls was a contributing factor. She was not always the easiest woman to read, but she seemed on the whole more relaxed, less stressed by the pressures of planning and delivering lessons for the asylum seekers she volunteered with, and the lilt of her voice seemed a little lighter than it had been back in the spring. There was every chance the pressure would mount again as my season progressed, but it was nevertheless heart-warming to see my family in such a good place.

During the international break, I did manage to catch up with some of my Southampton players – and by catch up with, I meant watch on television. With England automatically qualifying for the 2030 World Cup as hosts, my home nation of Wales were suddenly on the receiving end of prime billing far more regularly, and a 2-0 win in Latvia was followed up by an encouraging goalless at home to group leaders Belgium, with Hodge, McGoona, Ifan, Jacobson and Celtic loanee Lloyd Collins all getting on the field at various points. That was enough to qualify for the play-offs, and while it would need two very impressive performances from the team to make it to the finals – Ukraine stood in the way of a place in the finals – there was still a chance, and that was enough to make us humble supporters get excited.

[EvilDave]

“What’s the news on Adam?”

I was not in the best of moods – not only had it taken us until the 76^th minute to get on the scoreboard against a thoroughly average Aston Villa side at home, sharing the points as a result, but our star attacking midfielder had managed to injure himself in the process of scoring. As he slid in to meet the cross, his trailing foot got caught beneath the body of the goalkeeper, and he was unable to continue.

“It’s hard to say at this point…”

“Look, don’t give me the caveats – I need information.”

I wasn’t particularly proud of the way I dealt with my physio at the time, but my frustration needed to get out somewhere, and he happened to be in the way. Besides, I knew that his diagnosis would not be an exact one, that was part and parcel of the job.

“OK, sorry. Good news – nothing’s broken or fractured, it’s just a twist. Bad news – probably three weeks to fully heal and avoid future damage, maybe the Real game at a push but I’m not sure I’d recommend it.”

“OK, thank you. And sorry, it’s…”

“I know boss, don’t worry about it.”

Bright’s injury was just one of many concerns to emerge out of the Villa game. First of all, it was clear that teams lower down the league were coming to St Mary’s in the hope of getting a point and nothing more, content to sit 10 men behind the ball and look to snatch a goal on a break or set-piece. Villa had managed just that, going in front after half an hour from a free-kick, and we had failed to break them down until 15 minutes from time.

The second frustration was that my ploy of pushing the defensive screen further forward to apply extra pressure to the visiting defence had utterly failed, with neither Blanc nor Woodward able to add anything of meaning to our attack. In fact, the decision to push on actually served to make the visitors seem more threatening by virtue of leaving more space for them to break into – something to dwell upon for future matches.

And yet on the Wednesday after a thoroughly disappointing Saturday, we travelled to Eindhoven for our first Champions League tie of the season and put PSV to the sword in a truly emphatic performance. Our hosts, full of confidence after winning the Eredivisie and reaching the last eight last season, tried to beat us at our own game and ended up hopelessly inferior, our pace and precision simply too much for the Dutch champions. PSV would wind up with a single goal for their troubles, Jean Joordens giving the home fans something to cheer about, but the damage had long been done.

More specifically, the damage had been done in a blistering eight-minute first-half spell which saw us rattle in three goals before the hosts had time to react. Callum Jacobson got the ball rolling with a curling free-kick from the edge of the area after 25 minutes, and just 90 seconds later we had doubled our lead, the Welshman winning a corner on the right which was powered home at the near post by the head of Carl Bateson. With celebrations in the away end still going strong we made it 3-0, a classic counter attack leaving Kenan Kus wide open to tap into the empty net after Jacobson had drawn the goalkeeper out.

With our striker running the show, it was fitting that he took home the match ball despite Joorden’s intervention midway through the second half. With the home team desperately seeking a way back into the match we found ourselves with acres of space in the dying moments, and after Ifan played his countryman in for his second of the night with 10 minutes to spare, Blanc was able to do the same five minutes later, playing a slide-rule ball through a huge gap in the Dutch defence for the hat-trick goal and a 5-1 win. With Real Madrid edging a five-goal thriller against Dynamo at the Bernabeu, the top two were as expected after the opening game of the group – and with Real the visitors to St Mary’s in a fortnight’s time, we had a chance to take charge of the quartet early on.

Of course, three days later we proceeded to take an early lead away at Leicester – courtesy of an Henrique penalty after Boyd Clarke was dragged down in the box – only to concede the equaliser five minutes later to a routine long ball over the defence, and find ourselves unable to break the Foxes down any further. Two more points disappeared before we had even seen out September, and I could feel my stress levels rising. We needed to be better, much better, and yet there was no obvious answer against teams resolved not to venture over the halfway line. We had obvious problems, and until I found solutions I was unlikely to be particularly pleasant company for anyone.

[EvilDave]

“Owain, a shocking defeat for your side out there – is it fair to say you underestimated the opposition today?”

“No, it isn’t – the 11 players in Southampton shirts were more than capable of winning the match. That we failed to score against a League One team says more about the attitude of those players than our preparation for the game.”

“You made 11 changes to the side including bringing in Bogatyrev in goal, and his mistake ultimately cost you the match. What would you say to those who accuse you of not taking the competition seriously enough?”

“I’d tell them to look at the fact that I won the trophy in my first season as Southampton manager and reached the quarter-finals last year. I’d also tell them to look at the team that played tonight and honestly tell me they shouldn’t have had enough to win – I’m not sure they would.”

“Do you think picking a weakened side showed a lack of respect to Barnsley?”

“A lack of respect would have been not turning, or refusing to shake hands with Shaun Bryant, or sending out a bunch of teenagers. Again, the team we fielded this evening was good enough to win, and I think you’re the ones showing the lack of respect by refusing to give Barnsley credit for their performance.”

“Owain, there are some who would say you’ve made so many changes in order to focus on other competitions, and that defeat today would allow you to concentrate elsewhere. Do you agree with that view?”

“I’m not going to sit here and deal with this – that’s the fourth time you’ve asked me the same question, and this is the fourth time I’m giving you the same answer. The team we put out today was good enough to beat Barnsley, and it didn’t. That’s all there is to it – nobody gave up the competition, there was no lack of respect, no secret plan to get knocked out. We weren’t good enough today, and that’s it. This press conference is over, thank you.”

I’m not sure what I was more upset with at the time – our 1-0 defeat to League One side Barnsley, the fact that the goal had come when Bogatyrev raced out of his area to head a long ball straight into the path of Mason Bennett, or the fact that I was on the verge of being accused of deliberately losing simply by utilising the squad of players available to me.

Whichever one it was, I stormed out of Oakwell’s small media centre and disappeared into the away dressing room, my players waiting for me on the bus for what would be a long and solemn journey back to the South Coast. I kicked the door in frustration as it closed behind me, cursing my stupidity as pain jabbed suddenly at both my toe and chest. I turned my back on the door, angry at my own idiocy, and allowed the silence to envelop me for as long as I needed. The bus could wait – I needed a release, and there was nothing here. What I wanted to do was kick the door until a hole appeared, but when I drew back my foot for another swing, the two-pronged pain returned and I thought better of it. I would have to wait it out.

Half an hour later, the majority of which was spent simply staring at the ground in front of me. Had it opened up, I would gladly have jumped down. As it was, I contented myself with allowing the players to stew in their inadequacy on the bus before eventually joining them –without so much as making eye contact, let alone speaking. The briskest of nods to the driver gave the signal for us to drive home to Southampton, and in the early hours I slumped into bed next to a sleeping Rachel and failed emphatically to drift off. It was a long night.

[EvilDave]

Even Rachel wasn’t able to pull me out of my slump, and by the time Saturday’s game rolled around I was still in a foul mood. The majority of the first-choice side walked straight back into the team for the visit of newly-promoted QPR, and I expected, even demanded a performance. Not just a win, but a big win – the London side were exactly the sort of opponents we had thus far failed to put in their place – and I let my men know in no uncertain terms.

“Gentlemen, you may have noticed that I have not been in the best of moods since Wednesday night. You may also think that this has nothing to do with you, that you had no part in the farce at Barnsley. Well, allow me to tell you that you are wrong.

“That one result has been the culmination of several weeks of underperformance. Thus far, in only two matches this season – at Liverpool and in Eindhoven – have I seen anything close to what you are all capable of. I do not expect you to put half a dozen goals past every opponent, I appreciate the value of a hard-fought win, but what I have been seeing is not even that.

“I have witnessed nervous, complacent performances that barely deserved the points awarded. I have seen points dropped at bottom half clubs that have no right to be competing on equal terms with the European champions. And now, after Wednesday night’s debacle, I have seen a group of international-quality footballers lose to a team of third-tier makeweights. Gentlemen, this is not good enough.

“Last season we won the title, and we won the Champions League. We have earned the right to find things difficult – other teams will sit back and wait for us to make mistakes. But we have to stop making them! It has been a long time since we stayed calm at the back and picked apart a team offering nothing. Too long.

“So this afternoon, I want to see a response. I want to see a response because if there isn’t one, some of you might find yourselves elsewhere in January, and I’ll start again. And believe me, that’s no empty threat. If you don’t want to battle, if you don’t want to put the effort in, then there are other clubs who will take you. So gentlemen, give me a response. Some of you will want to conserve energy with Real Madrid on Tuesday but trust me, if I see anything less than 100% from any of you, you will not be playing midweek. Now get out there and show me I can trust you again.”

It was perhaps a little harsh on the players, but in my mind their performances had justified it. It was a little harsh on QPR too, who had done nothing to draw my wrath, and yet would return from St Mary’s with their heads bowed low after my fired-up side finally put in a performance they were capable of.

Three minutes in, a corner on the left from Escalada was headed in powerfully by Leighton Hodge, and the subdued celebration told me my message had got through. The big Welsh centre-back simply pointed to me on the sideline before jogging back to his position, and I snarled my approval. Quarter of an hour later, a defensive slip gave Boakye more space than he could have asked for inside the penalty area, and we were 2-0 up and cruising. QPR could no longer sit deep, and we could play again.

We struck the post twice in the first half, and I said nothing at the half-time break – there was nothing to say. 10 minutes into the second period Boyd Clarke got on the scoresheet, shielding the ball from his man before turning and squeezing a low shot under the goalkeeper, and that triggered a trademark Southampton blitz. Just after the hour he was played in for a second by Boakye, and after four minutes his flicked header allowed substitute Sidibe to run beyond the last defender and fire home for 5-0. I punched the air with enough vigour to momentarily bring back the chest pain from the door kicking incident, but my team were back. Even a late consolation could not take the shine off the win – our next challenge was to keep up that level of performance. 

[EvilDave]

“Owain, congratulations on a fine win out there. Your side made it look easy.”

I smiled at the thought. A 2-0 win over Real Madrid had been thoroughly professional, a goal in each half taking the sting out of the Spanish giants, but given our form over the last few weeks I knew it had been far from easy. It had been what I had asked for though, and I gave my team credit accordingly.

“I wouldn’t say easy – I don’t think any match against Real is going to be easy – but we were excellent out there today, and managed the game really well. Obviously the early goal was key, but there’s still a lot of work to do with 80 minutes left and I thought we did that excellently tonight.”

“Obviously a win over the other favourites to go through puts you in a strong position to qualify for the knockout rounds, and with back-to-back games against Dynamo Kyiv coming up you must be feeling confident?”

“I think that’s fair, yes. We can’t underestimate Dynamo – it looks like they’ve had a bad day today but they pushed Real very close in the first game and are a very capable side – but two wins from two is as strong a position as we could find ourselves in at this point. We’d be disappointed if we didn’t qualify from here, but complacency is the last thing we can afford.”

“It may not have made much of a difference to the result, but do you have an opinion on Fran Holenda’s red card?”

“Not particularly – the incident was a long way from where I was standing. It looked like a foul to me, but it’s up to the referee to make the call and if he has gone in with his studs showing then it’s the right call, but I haven’t seen the replay. As you say though, it makes no difference in the end – five minutes to go with the score at 2-0, the game was done at that point.”

It was too – Sidibe’s near-post header had put us 1-0 up just 11 minutes in, and a patient passing game kept us in control under Cohen volleyed in to double the advantage midway through the second half. My only concern with the Holenda dismissal was that it had left Luke Shaw unhurt, and my medical team assured me that the veteran might have a bruised shin for my troubles, but nothing to keep him out of any upcoming games.

After the strong response from the players – first in the 5-1 hammering of QPR and then in the win over Real – I was beginning to feel confident in my side once again. The weekend visit to newly-promoted Huddersfield should have given us another opportunity to show what we were capable of, and when a clever reverse pass from Jacobson played in Cohen for the opener after just minutes, we were well on our way.

However, it did not take long for the old frustrations to return. Despite being a goal down, the Terriers showed very little in the way of adventure, and we huffed and puffed in a fruitless bid to add to our lead. Cohen almost did it himself, twice striking the woodwork in the second half, but on the whole we were lacking in creativity and ideas. This time Huddersfield lacked the ability to punish us, the game finishing in a 1-0 Saints win, but by the full-time whistle I could feel the stress levels rising. The second international break could not have come at a better time – I needed to calm down, and I couldn’t do it with the club so consistently frustrating.

[EvilDave]

“The thing is darling, I’m genuinely worried about how these next couple of weeks are going to end up. We’re not playing well, and our next three matches in the league are Chelsea, Spurs and City, with a trip to Ukraine thrown in for good measure. There’s every chance we slip right down the table here, and what am I supposed to do then?”

“Owain my love, what you’re supposed to do when things get difficult is make them better. Part of your job is to come up with the answers, to inspire your men to perform. They need to do their part too, but I’m sure you walking around with a face like thunder is going to scare them into playing well.

“Besides which, I think you’re lacking a bit of perspective here. You’re still unbeaten, the season is only six games old, and you’re flying in Europe. Are you asking too much of them?”

I didn’t answer, and I wasn’t expected to – Rachel disappearing off into the kitchen to make her cup of tea. On the one hand, she probably did have a point – we weren’t playing well but weren’t being beaten either – but on the other I had a genuine cause for concern, and I didn’t think pretending otherwise was going to get us anywhere. Either way I was being distracted by football in family time, and that wasn’t doing anyone any favours either.

Almost two months in the new school year, Bethan was increasingly occupied with making sure she had notes on absolutely everything for her GCSEs. Even with the main exams themselves the best part of two years away, there would be preliminary mock papers to sit in January, and she was feeling the pressure to perform. On the evenings when I was able to help her with homework and go through things with her, I came away with the distinct impression that she had nothing to worry about – she was a veritable sponge when it came to the information she was being given – but that was no easy thing to tell to a 14-year-old.

Rebecca on the other hand, two years behind and enjoying the pressure-free second year of senior school – no longer among the youngest at the school and with no apparently life-defining exams to face at the end of it – was difficult to pin down. She, along with a couple of her more adventurous friends, would think nothing of disappearing along nearby country lanes for a couple of hours on their bicycles after school, returning rosy-cheeked and more tired than they dared to admit. Rachel worried more than she let on, but with the roads around Chilworth usually quiet, cycle paths well-established and the girls thoroughly drilled in road safety, I was simply glad to see her enjoying the outdoors.

Even so, I could not confess to enjoying every minute of the training-free first week of the break as much as I had previously, and I had little doubt as to where my discontent originated. Despite my best attempts to switch off, despite trying to put Southampton to the back of my mind, I could not shake the thought that something at the club was going badly wrong. Rachel’s advice had been well-intended and received as such, but they also raised the unwelcome spectre that I myself might be the source of our problems. That alone was enough to add to my worries, and sleep was not something that came willingly on a particularly regular basis. Something wasn’t right, and the fact that I couldn’t fix it brought precisely no joy.

[EvilDave]

“Hi Luke, what can I do for you?”

The knock on my office door was swiftly followed by the appearance of Luke Shaw, one of our few players who was not away on international duty having removed himself from England over the summer. We had spoken at length about his plans to retire at the end of the season earlier in the year, and so it was little surprise to see the veteran left-back returning to my office.

“Well boss, I just wanted a quick chat about what you said before if that’s alright, about the academy?”

“No problem, have you thought about my suggestion?”

“I have, and I’ve talked it through with the family as well. I think boss, if the offer’s still there, I’d like to take you up on it. I don’t know how good a coach I’ll be, but if I can help inspire the next generation of Saints then I’m keen to do just that.”

“That’s brilliant Luke, I’m glad to hear it. How soon do you want to get started?”

“Well obviously I still want to play as much as I can this season, so I don’t want a split contract or anything like that – I’ll make the move at the end of the year. But you said something about getting a start on my badges?”

“Of course – did the PFA or anyone ever explain the options available to international players?”

“They probably did boss, but those meetings were so dull…”

“OK, I understand. They’ve got a whole lot of material you should probably read, but the gist of it is that there is a fast-track option open in Wales for former internationals which will have you up to UEFA A standard in a year or so, or you decide to stay and do it locally, you’ll probably be able to jump in at UEFA B level once you’ve done all the safeguarding training, that’s about a year and then 18 months for the next step up. If you want to take the Pro Licence, that’s another 18 months, and you’ll need that if you want to manage in the Premier League. There’s no hurry though, they don’t expire so you can take your time.”

“If it’s alright with you boss, I think I’d actually rather go a bit slower. I can see why some players go down the quick route if they want to get straight into management, but I haven’t got any great ambitions down that route. I’d rather help the kids and stay near the family rather than race through it and be travelling more than I already am.”

“That’s absolutely fine Luke, I can see exactly why you’d want to be around with a young family. How old are the kids now?”

“Six, four, the youngest is eight months now – they’re growing up fast.”

“You want to wait until you get to my age Luke. Anyway, I can’t see a problem with any of that – I’ll get the club’s side of the paperwork done and pass the rest on to you, and then you can make a start once they get back to you.”

“Nice one, thanks boss. I never thought I’d be looking forward to retiring, but I’m excited about this now. Cheers!”

When Luke did eventually retire, Southampton would lose an excellent full-back, a fan favourite and an all-round good man. I had no doubts he’d make an excellent coach, and his determination to put family first would stand him in good stead for the future. It was a lesson I’d had to learn over the years, and his ability to do so quickly certainly looked good for the next step in his career.

[EvilDave]

St Mary’s roared at the final whistle, and my heart rate finally began to drop – I felt as if my chest were about to explode for most of the match, and only when the referee brought it all to a close did I finally feel able to breathe normally. I urged my men to stay out for an extra couple of minutes, soaking up the applause from their adoring fans – this time, they had earned the plaudits. Even if they had done it the hard way.

Chelsea had been the visitors in the first game back after the international break, and the first of our nightmare run of fixtures. We had been surprised by the pace and power with which our visitors asserted themselves early on, and inside 10 minutes we were a goal down, Leonel Benitez getting the better of Eggen in the area to give the Blues the lead.

On the quarter hour, the same man managed to squeeze a shot between Beraldi and the far post to make it 2-0, and we were sinking without a trace. I was up in the technical area, bellowing instructions to my men to do something about the embarrassment they were now facing, and it was at that point that my pulse began to quicken. We settled a little – aided by Chelsea’s preference to hold their early lead rather than add to it, and by the midway point of the half it felt as if we had reset the game. We had just given our opponents a two-goal headstart.

As the clock ticked past the half-hour mark, we struck back. It was an opportunistic goal, nothing spectacular, but it was the shot in the arm my men needed to get a foothold in the game. Vandinho made the goal, closing down his opposing full-back and forcing the error, blocking a clearance and then charging on in the space behind the defender. With the Chelsea defence caught on the turn, he had the time and space to pick out Sidibe in the box, and his accurate finish cut the deficit in half.

Five minutes later, the deficit was gone. This time the play came down the other side, captain Kus collecting a quick throw from Beraldi and advancing down the wing before trading passes with Woodward. Another ball from the Dutchman infield to Cohen saw him bend his run along the line of the Chelsea defence, and before the visitors could pick him up, our Israeli international had picked him out as the odd man in the penalty area. A fortuitous deflection wrong-footed the goalkeeper, but we were not about to complain – from 2-0 down we had levelled the game with a blitz of our own, and the fun was only just beginning at St Mary’s.

With the wind in our sails we made the early running in the second period, Sami Hyypia’s men unable to contain our attacking unit as we put the visitors under increasing pressure. My men sensed they would buckle, and the third goal did not take long in coming. This time there was nothing fortunate about Kus’ strike, our right-back grabbing his brace with a laser-guided shot into the top corner from 18 yards out, and the stands were rocking as we completed the turnaround. Chelsea looked dead and buried, and we looked on course for an emphatic win.

But appearances can be deceiving, and two substitutions from my Finnish counterpart changed the complexion of the game. Rico Peralta joined Benitez up front as they switched to a 4-4-2 formation to match our own, and within minutes we found ourselves on the defensive again, Chelsea somehow working up the energy to bring the fight to us after going behind. However, this time our defending proved much better, and as we headed into the final 10 minutes our lead remained intact.

That is, until Leighton Hodge was forced off the field injured, and with all three replacements already made we were down to 10 men against a side pushing for an equaliser. Henrique dropped back into defence with Ifan taking his place in the screen at the expense of a threat going forward, but the makeshift system could not hold out long. With seven minutes remaining of the 90, Benitez burst past the Brazilian in the area and squared for Peralta to tap in and back it 3-3. With the man advantage, it was Chelsea who now looked the more likely to win it. We were simply looking to hold on.

Or so we thought. As it turned out, nobody had told my men about the importance of holding onto their point, and instead they pushed for all three, leading to a closing period of absolutely frantic football. Peralta was denied a second by Beraldi at full stretch, Cohen fired narrowly wide, and as we moved into injury time nobody had the chance to draw breath.

In the 92^nd minute, a 50-yard ball from Kus was headed away by a defender into the path of Ifan, the Welshman still sitting deeper than usual in our forced 4-2-1-2. With a man in his path he instead fizzed a pass into Sidibe on the edge of the penalty area, and the Ivorian’s touch was sublime. Judging both the pace of the ball and the movement of those around him in an instant, he cushioned a perfect first-time pass with his instep at knee height, dropping the ball between two defenders for substitute Jacobson. A first-time shot across goal gave the keeper no chance, and with 20 seconds left of injury time we had a lead that this time we would keep.

Our opponents were not the Chelsea of old, but they were a good side nonetheless. And we had gone behind, fought our way in front, conceded an equaliser and lost a man, and yet still found it within ourselves to grab the winner. It felt like a turning point for the season – it needed to be a turning point for the season – and in the dressing room afterwards I told them as much among the congratulations. This was what we needed to kick on from, the level of commitment we needed each week. It was hard work, but the pay-off was glorious – anything less paled in comparison.

[EvilDave]

Just three days later, and with many of those who had taken part against Chelsea at the weekend struggling to recover in time, it was a heavily-rotated side which took to the field in Kyiv for our Champions League clash with locals Dynamo. Locked in a perennial battle with Shakhtar for the Ukrainian league title, our hosts had come out on top last season, and while seeded fourth for the group stages would provide difficult opposition for us.

Our difficulties extended through a goalless first half, with my replacement players unable to hit their stride against a Dynamo side which defended doggedly and kept us honest at the back, two Brazilian wingers possessing great pace and forcing us not to over-commit going forward. Beraldi had few saves to make, but with better finishing from the lone frontman, our hosts could have done us some serious damage.

At the other end, our own profligacy was causing us problems, Escalada and Gelling struggling to find the room to get dangerous shots away. Our finest opportunity in the first half fell to Emad Hossam from a set-piece, but the Egyptian’s free header skimmed the top of the crossbar on the way over. Into the second period we went closer still, a rasping drive from Antonio Miranda bouncing out off the post with the goalkeeper beaten, and as the clock ticked on we looked to settling for a useful but somewhat disappointing away draw.

But for the second match in a row, we found a late winner. In a cruel twist for the hosts, the goal came as they pushed forward for a rare full-blooded attack, and so when Hossam was able to intercept the final ball, we had space to play into. Hossam, Iglesias, Woodward and Clarke were all involved in the build-up as we broke at pace against a tiring Dynamo defence, and in the end it was Escalada who applied the finishing touch, the goal scored in the 91^st minute to give us a perfect record after the opening round of games. One more point would see us through, one more win and we were likely to win the group, but we were still yet to look convincing against sides that challenged us to break them down.

In the Monday night game – my men very much appreciated the extra rest afforded them by the broadcasting companies – we faced a very different challenge in the form of Spurs away. The North London side had not enjoyed the strongest of starts to the season, sitting outside the European places, but even so we expected a fight, and a fight was what we got.

Once again we battled through a goalless opening period, this time characterised less by one team sitting and defending but rather by attritional midfield warfare. Three yellow cards were flashed to each side in the opening 45 minutes, and we trudged off the pitch for the interval with bumps and bruises aplenty to show for our efforts. The hosts had arguably edged the half on chances, and we needed to be careful.

So of course, just before the hour mark, we shot ourselves firmly in the foot. A fairly harmless long ball was misjudged by Bateson in defence, and in his panic to recover he succeeded only in tripping the Spurs forward who had taken advantage. The offence took place within millimetres of the white line signalling the edge, and with the home crowd baying for blood, the officials unsurprisingly elected to award a penalty. Up stepped spot-kick specialist Daan Lamers from the back, and the Dutchman sent Beraldi the wrong way with his effort.

However, he also sent his shot wide of the left-hand post, and somehow we had escaped. The penalty was to be the defining moment of the second period – more slow and stodgy football was played out by two sides weary for European exertions in midway, and as if to summarise the evening’s events in a single moment, Lamers’ centre-back partner Khaled Rashed earned himself an early bath five minutes from time, a heavy first touch allowing the fresh legs of Boakye to race past him and leave him with little option but to stop him with a cynical trip. The set-piece was comfortably saved by the home goalkeeper, and we saw two points slip away. In truth, neither side deserved to win.

With October now at a close and nine games played, we found ourselves in third place in the early running, ahead of Brighton on goal difference and a single point behind Liverpool in second. At the head of the field, with a remarkable goal difference of 27 already, were Manchester City, the once dominant side bouncing back from the disappointment of last season in emphatic fashion. They had lost one of their matches but won the other eight convincingly, and even at this stage in the season were being tipped by many as the favourites to lift the Premier League trophy in May.

Needless to say, our Saturday afternoon opponents would be none other than Diego Simeone’s men, and they would be out to get us. After taking their title last season and leaving them with nothing but the League Cup for their efforts, they had spent heavily over the summer and looked to be receiving the rewards already. With my Saints struggling to score, we had a real challenge ahead of us. A win would be a real statement of intent, while defeat would see us slip six points off the pace with less than a third of the season played. It would mean no margin for error for the remaining 28 games, and unbelievable pressure to retain our title. We simply could not afford to lose, and yet on current form that was exactly what we were expected to do.

[EvilDave]

“Owain, a great win for your side out there – they looked like a different team on the field today.”

The journalist was right – we did look like a completely different side to the one who had been struggling for performances all season. Yet another goalless first half against City had threatened more of the same before things erupted in the second period, and I was at a loss to explain the huge gulf between performance levels.

“We were excellent today, particularly in the second half, and I’m delighted with the performance. The challenge for us now is to maintain that level for the rest of the year and even to improve on it – that’s what it takes to stay at the top in the Premier League.”

“Would you agree it was the best Southampton performance of the season?”

“I think it’s definitely up there – along with the Real and PSV games in Europe and our comeback against Chelsea in the league. It’s interesting that all of those have come against very strong opponents, and perhaps that’s something we need to look into and explore a little more.”

“Do you think your players are suffering a little from complacency when it comes to performing against teams lower down the table?”

He’d probably hit the nail on the head, but despite my own frustrations with the issue, I wasn’t about to level such a charge at my players in public – not after a 3-0 win against the league leaders, and not after challenging them to keep that level going.

“I don’t think it’s as simple as that, and I think that’s a little disrespectful to some of the teams we struggled against. Today we had to raise our game to beat City, and other clubs have done to same against us. We do need to work on our consistency, that’s for certain.”

“Richard Boakye got your third late on today, he looks to be another great signing for you. How has he settled in since arriving in the summer?”

I was surprised that they’d chosen Boakye to focus on – Kenan Kus had scored again, Sidibe’s goal had been a 20-yard rocket – but in truth I was more than happy to shine the spotlight on our newest striking star.

“Richard has done brilliantly since coming in from Bayern, and he worked hard to settle in with the rest of the lads so it’s great to see him doing well. He’s a hard worker on the training field, but he plays the game with a smile and that’s always great to see. With our group of strikers there’s nobody who’s going to play every week, but we need players who can call on as and when, and Richard has definitely proved himself to be reliable in that respect.”

“Owain, conventional wisdom suggests it’s meaningless to look at the table before November – now that we’ve reached that point, how do you read the Premier League table and what are your hopes for the rest of the season?”

“I still think it’s a little early to be reading too much into the table, but obviously pulling alongside the leaders at this stage is a good place to be. In a way it’s frustrating because I think we’ve thrown away a few points we should have taken, but no doubt City and Liverpool will feel the same way. Brighton have done exceptionally well to be where they are too, and I don’t think they can be written off – they’re a club on the up and I think we’ll be hearing a lot more from them in the future.

“As for Southampton, our aim at the start of the season was to retain the title, and that hasn’t changed after 10 games of the season. Early indications are that things are going to be very tight at the top, as you would expect, but if – and it’s a big if – we can perform as we did today, then we’re in with a chance.”

“Finally, we’re receiving news that Chelsea have sacked Sami Hyypia after today’s defeat – do you have any thoughts on the news?”

“Obviously my sympathies are with Sami – nobody wants to see another man out of work, and certainly not a decent, football man like Sami. It isn’t my business to comment on the way another club is run, but it’s a shame to see him sacked after little over a year. Managers aren’t going to achieve anything without time to build a team, and I’m very thankful for the support I’ve had from the Southampton board during my time here.”

“Rumour has it that John Terry is the early favourite, any comments?”

“None whatsoever – I think it’s pretty tactless to be speculating when a man has just been sacked. So no, no comment from me.”

Of course Terry was going to go to Chelsea – he’d made no efforts to hide the fact he’d wanted the job for years. I certainly wouldn’t be wishing him luck if he did fail upwards – his Wolves side were struggling in the relegation zone as things stood – but his career was none of my business. We were far above John Terry, and it would give me great pleasure to utterly ignore him.

[EvilDave]

It was a professional job, but it was one that needed doing nonetheless. Dynamo had given us problems in Kyiv, almost holding out for a point until Escalada’s injury-time winner, and we knew they would be a tough proposition at St Mary’s. We also knew a win would be enough to see us through to the knockout rounds with a couple of games to spare – including the toughest fixture away at the Bernabeu – and so there was a big enough incentive to ensure we didn’t slip up.

We didn’t, and more than that we effectively killed off the game in the opening half hour, Kenan Kus continuing his remarkable run of goalscoring from right-back with an opener 12 minutes in, and then two goals in as many minutes midway through the first half – the first a headed own goal from Vitali Redkin and the second a half-volley from Jacobson – put the game to bed long before the interval. Our visitors pulled one back on the hour, but we were never truly threatened, and the only downside came in the form of an injury to Boyd Clarke, our England international forced off just five minutes after coming on as a substitute. His injury was nothing too serious, but he would miss our next couple of games to recover fully.

While our qualification was greeted with little fanfare – as defending champions, we were expected to go through – there were big headlines coming from Eindhoven, where PSV hammered Real 5-2 to jump above the Spaniards on head-to-head into second place, six points behind us in the battle to qualify. It meant that a single point would see us confirmed as group winners, and left the Madrid giants with a real fight to stay alive in the competition.

The day after our arrival, football’s worst-kept secret was confirmed as John Terry was announced as the next manager of Chelsea, the former club captain achieving his ‘lifelong dream’ of managing the club he was synonymous with for so many years. My own personal dislike for the man is well-documented, but I couldn’t help but wonder whether he would actually be an improvement on Sami Hyypia – the Wolves side he had left were fighting relegation, and his pettiness in the press was not a good look for the club. My suspicion was that the appointment was simply a move made by the Chelsea hierarchy to appeal to the fans, and if the initial reaction was anything to go by, they had been successful.

Perhaps the more surprising thing about the move was that Wolves wasted no time in unveiling their own new manager, who turned out to be none other than Sami Hyypia, the very man Terry was replacing at Zola Park. It was of course a step down for the Finn, but gave him a chance to rebuild his reputation after a somewhat disappointing time in the capital. He had hardly ruined Chelsea, but the Blues were now in danger of becoming a midtable side – if he could turn Wolves into something similar, he’d make their fans very happy indeed.

But we could not spend too much time worrying about managerial movements elsewhere in the division – we had a title to defend, and the games were coming thick and fast. Next up was a trip to Newcastle, another side mired in the middle of the pack early on in the season, and yet after just four minutes we found ourselves behind, Said Saadi bending a brilliant free-kick beyond Beraldi to send the Geordie faithful wild. Midway through the half we got ourselves on level terms through Harry Eggen’s powerful header, and at the break we had all the momentum. A second goal seemed inevitable.

And yet try as we might it would not come, and once again my Saints were straight back into their frustrating ways on the back of a European win. Last season we had consigned the continental hangover to the history books, and yet this year we had added it to the long list of things causing us to struggle. It was not as if we could even blame a tight turnaround – after playing on Wednesday evening, we took part in the Premier League’s Monday night fixture in front of the TV cameras – and yet had we played for 180 minutes, we did not look like scoring again.

Mercifully, neither did our hosts, but the 1-1 draw saw us slip down to 4^th place, and a couple of dressing room water bottles suffered as a result. Newcastle had defended well enough, but we had looked tired and unimaginative, and neither of those words could be used to describe champions. We were already in November, already hitting yet another international break, and yet our problems remained. If we failed to solve them soon, we risked falling out of the title race before we had even reached the halfway point. With the form City were showing, we needed to up our game – even then, it might not be enough.

[EvilDave]

It was an odd sensation, to be at a football match as neither a manager nor a scout, but as a fan. Wales had been paired with Ukraine in a two-legged play-off for a place in the closest thing to a home World Cup they were ever likely to experience with the tournament being held in England, and a 1-1 draw in Kyiv had left the tie finely poised indeed. An away goal was an excellent result, but they also knew that they would need a perfect performance at the Millennium Stadium to deny the visitors a spot on world football’s biggest stage.

With PSG hitman Andrei Sikorski on the field, there was always the threat of a Ukrainian goal, and after just 15 minutes every Welshman’s nightmares came alive as the striker glanced a header into the far corner. However, just two minutes before the half-time whistle, 75,000 men in red went wild in celebration as Celtic loanee and Southampton starlet Lloyd Collins delicately lobbed the visiting goalkeeper from the edge of the area to level the tie at 2-2 on aggregate. Any further scoring meant that extra time and penalties would be impossible, and we were in for a very nervous 45 minutes.

On the hour, Sikorski flashed a 20-yarder wide of the post, and the Millennium Stadium sighed as one in relief as the ball missed the target. 10 minutes later it looked like we were set for extra time, but we had reckoned without the remarkable talents of the still-teenage Collins, the man taking Scotland by storm making himself a Welsh hero by rolling round his man on the edge of the area, touching it beyond a second defender and then placing a shot beyond the goalkeeper’s reach and into the corner of the net. The Cardiff roar was deafening, Ukraine had nothing left to give, and with two minutes remaining Collins capped off a perfect performance by squaring the ball for a Geraint Johnson tap-in at the far post. 3-1 on the night, 4-2 on aggregate, and Wales were going to the World Cup.

Back at Staplewood, I was becoming increasingly by our upcoming participation in the Club World Cup. Not only would we be disrupting our domestic schedule by flying all the way out to India for the competition, but the consequent fixture backlog would have every opportunity of scuppering our title bid for the rest of the season. Even the prize money, which FIFA advertised as a real incentive to the participants from other continents, did not make it worthwhile for a Premier League side, the prestige of the tournament seemed to decline each year, and it had failed to capture our fans’ imaginations.

Nevertheless, a pointed memo from the FIFA – and their sponsors, perhaps more specifically – informed us that they were looking forward to our ‘full and enthusiastic’ participation in the competition, implying that anything less than a first-team squad being send to South Asia would have implications for Southampton. What those consequences were I was unsure – we played primarily in FA and UEFA competitions – but I was not about to risk getting on the wrong side of world football’s governing body, and so was left with no choice but to submit a strong squad for our December trip.

Before then, we would travel to Reading, host PSV in the Champions League then Watford in the league, before wrapping up our European campaign with a trip to the iconic Bernabeu. A single point against the Dutch side would mean that final game would be of absolutely zero consequence for my side, and if that were the case the intention was to field a second string for the match. Such a move left us with every chance of losing the match, but my assistant and I were in agreement that the combination of rest for the first team and statement it would send to the rest of Europe – that we were a side that could afford to ignore such a big game – would be worth the hit. It was hard to believe we had come so far.

We had three other, more significant matches to prepare for before then, and with my players trickling back into the training ground after their respective national teams had released them – the Welsh contingent in particular in particularly high spirits on their return – we were straight back into the swing of things at Staplewood. With the stresses and strains of the season on the rise, the extended time with Rachel and the girls had not felt as restful or as relaxing as previous breaks had. Before I had even had time to breathe, we were straight back into two games a week, and that would be the case for the next five to six months. It was all starting to get a bit much.

[EvilDave]

Reading started off a routine game for the Saints, the Berkshire side sitting just inside the top half and gaining something of a reputation for struggling with the attacking side of the game. So, when Adam Bright beat their shaky offside trap after a quarter of an hour at the Madejski to give us the lead, it looked like we were in for an easy enough afternoon.

But the lead lasted just three minutes, and the ease with which Michael Pell netted the equaliser was infuriating, bringing me to the very edge of the technical area and earning me a warning from the fourth official – not for my language, but for my refusal to back down. Iglesias and Bateson had utterly failed to communicate, and with each leaving the ball to the other they had allowed the England man to glide straight the middle and tuck a cool finish past Beraldi. I could feel my heart rate rising, I could feel the anger boil up, but there was nothing I could do about it. My team were making a fool of themselves, and I was powerless.

10 minutes later, Beraldi kicked the ball back towards halfway in disgust after yet more slack defending gifted Pell a second, this time a simple lack of awareness from Blanc in midfield allowing the Royals to rob him of possession and set up their star man for his brace. I was of half a mind to pull the Frenchman off the field there and then for his idiocy, but I was dissuaded from doing so by Terry McPhillips, my assistant coming terribly close to earning a tongue-lashing of his own had he not been so gentle about the whole thing. We were falling apart on the field, there were clear culprits, and yet there was very little I could do.

I refused to step inside the dressing room at half-time, standing in the doorway with my back on my players and simply allowing them to stew in their own sub-par performance. Part of me was afraid to open my mouth, such was the feeling of disdain brewing inside, but another part simply wanted them to feel the disappointment. Here we were, Premier League and European champions, being taken apart by a side unlikely to finish any higher than 10^th in the league. If it was the first poor performance of the season I’d have been more forgiving, but this was now becoming a real problem, and I had had enough.

To my fury, the second half was not much better. I stood, arms folded in the dugout as Reading denied us an equalising goal, looked just as threatening as we did when breaking on the counter, and made us look decidedly ordinary as a football team. To the relief of the travelling Saints in the away end, we did eventually find an equaliser when Sidibe diverted a wayward Ifan shot beyond the keeper, but it had taken 87 minutes for us to get level and there was nowhere near enough time remaining for us to win the game. In my mind, the media vultures were already circling, and with heart pounding I stepped into the press room afterwards.

“Owain, a disappointing result for you out there, how do explain two draws in a row after beating Manchester City so convincingly?”

“I can’t explain it – if I could, and I wasn’t doing anything about it, I shouldn’t be in charge of this football club. There is something wrong in the squad at the moment that means we are not raising our game in this kind of match, and I’m not at all pleased about it. We didn’t deserve anything from today’s match, and Reading can count themselves deeply unfortunate not to have won.”

“Do think there are complacency issues at Southampton?”

“I’m not sure what to think at the moment, but if there are players in that dressing room who think they can just turn up and go through the motions, they are very much mistaken. That is not what this football club is about, and I won’t tolerate it from anybody.”

“You looked frustrated, angry, exasperated at times during today’s game – have you lost control of your team?”

I could not believe the nerve of the man, and as I felt the blood rush to my head it was all I could do not to reach out and punch the lazy hack who had suggested as much. Of course, part of what hurt came from the truth in the question – I had not known what to do, and had made a poor show of disguising it. Instead, I took as deep a breath as I could given the hundred-mile-an-hour heartbeat I was sure the microphones were picking up, and answered:

“Today, the players lost sight of the plan. There is very much a plan, it is very much my plan, and the suggestion that I’ve lost the dressing room is a ridiculous one. We’re going to learn whatever it is we need to learn from this, move on, and beat PSV on Wednesday night. I suggest you put this behind you too.”

“Owain, is there…”

It was too late – I was already gone. The door closed emphatically, and I was already on the other side, struggling for breath as I composed myself before joining my players on the bus. This couldn’t go on, and if we didn’t get a win in the Champions League, there would be serious questions to answer.

[EvilDave]

PSV were no competition in the end, and the ridiculous disparity between our domestic and European form continued. Three second-half goals – one apiece for Cohen, Gelling and Boakye – and no response from the Dutch champions were enough to confirm us as group winners with a thus-far perfect record, while a goalless draw in Kyiv meant that Real were now a point clear of our vanquished opponents in second place with a single game to play. I’d already decided to give minutes to the fringe players for that particular game, and whether it was the Dutch or Spanish side that went through with us made no difference to me – we had already proven we could beat both of them comfortably.

While the Champions League was providing welcome respite from our problems at home, the relief was not particularly long-lived personally. Lying in bed the night of our win over the Eindhoven side, Rachel abruptly rolled over, propped her head up with elbow and shot me with a look that told me I could not afford to ignore what was coming my way.

“Owain, when was the last time you went to the doctor’s?”

That hadn’t been what I was expecting, and my slowness to reply indicated as much.

“I… I’m not sure darling. Why do you ask?”

“Why do I ask? I ask because I’ve seen my husband facing down the press looking like he could pass out at any moment, I’ve seen photos of you stood on the sidelines red in the face, and when you came back from the Reading game your heart was still going like the clappers when we went to bed. I didn’t want to ask you at the time, but quite frankly I’m worried about you. That’s why.”

Again, I was taken aback by my wife’s blindside questioning, and I didn’t quite know what to say. I didn’t need to – Rachel continued.

“I know it’s hard, and I know you’re frustrated with how this season is going so far. I think you’re hard on the players, but I’ve told you that already and it’s none of my business. But your health is very much my business, and if you’re going too hard on yourself, that’s a completely different matter.”

“OK darling, if you think it’ll help I’ll book an appointment. Next time we get more than a couple of days between games I’ll…”

“No you won’t, you’ll do it tomorrow and leave training to your team. This is important Owain, I can’t have you working yourself into an early grave.”

Things had escalated quickly, and Rachel’s voice was beginning to tremble. I thought better of arguing what was already a flimsy case.

“OK darling, I’ll go tomorrow – the club has a pretty comprehensive medical team so they can check me out there. Is that alright?”

“Thank you darling, that’s all I’m asking. I love you, you know, and I’m worried.”

I chose to reply with a kiss rather than continuing the conversation any further, and it was the right decision. Rachel was very quickly off the sleep, but I would only follow after a solid hour and a half of tossing and turning, my brain now pre-occupied with thoughts of medical emergency and wondering what would happen to Rachel and the girls if anything did happen to me.

The thoughts were not entirely pleasant, and before long I too was convinced of the urgency of a check-up in the morning. I hadn’t been to a doctor in years – had I simply been complacent with my health? Had I been missing clear warning signs? Was I turning my body into a ticking time-bomb? With none of these fully settled, I eventually gave in to the rising tide of tiredness. I only wish it had come earlier.

[EvilDave]

The results were not great. The club’s lead doctor had overseen the appointment – a man with most of the alphabet after his name and much of it twice – and some of the noises he made when taking various readings were rather disconcerting. There was nothing to worry about in the immediate short-term, I was told – that was something – but the catch was that I needed to be very careful if I wanted to avoid long-term risk to my health and wellbeing.

Stress, as Rachel had predicted, was the main problem. The pressures of the job, and particularly of last season’s to-the-wire title race and the last few months, were likely to have caused significant spikes in my blood pressure, and that number had crept up quite a way since my last readings had been taken. So far, in fact, that they were now officially high. At 50 years old and manager of Southampton Football Club, I was on blood pressure medication, and being told by the club doctor to try and minimise stress as much as possible.

It took a bit of coaxing, but eventually I confessed to the chest pains that had come after the Barnsley defeat at the start of the season, and while the doctor did not seem surprised, he was concerned. Apparently such pains, particularly at times of peak stress, can be the indicator of worse things to come, and I had inadvertently taken precisely the right action by sitting motionless for several minutes afterwards. Of course, to do so alone and not tell anybody what had happened had been foolish, and I was told in no uncertain terms to alert others if it happened again.

That night, thoughts of leaving Bethan and Rebecca behind in my event of me dropping dead on the sideline interrupted my silent stroll into slumber, leading to yet another sleep-deprived day at training thereafter. We had Watford to deal with at St Mary’s in our next match, and yet I was preoccupied with very little other than thoughts of my impending demise. I only hoped that the Hornets were unable to frustrate us in the same way as so many other sides had done in the last few months. More late drama, and my dreams might be reality far sooner than I would have liked.

Thankfully, I needn’t have worried. I had, of course, not informed my players of their doctor’s findings, but we began the game as if I had. Just 16 seconds had elapsed before Adam Bright found the net, my Saints scoring before a single Watford player had even touched the ball, and the lead was enough to take the edge off any pre-match anxiety I had been experiencing. We were comfortable without being spectacular, and without ever hitting top gear we were untroubled throughout, Bright sealing a much-appreciated routine victory with a copycat goal midway through the second half, and giving us all three points in the process.

That meant we would have a full 16 days before our next taste of Premier League football, with a midweek trip to Madrid followed by our inconvenient Indian break for the Club World Cup. The only small consolation was that we would not have to do any great travelling around the vast nation – every game of the tournament would be played at the Jawaharlal Nehru Stadium in Delhi, giving its team of groundsmen a real challenge – but there was still very little enthusiasm in the squad for the trip.

To aid the process along, we would fly out a full five days before our semi-final tie – giving ourselves time to get over the jetlag and acclimatise to the weather conditions, which we expected to be very different to those of Hampshire December. However, before then there was still the small matter of Real Madrid away to deal with – and on this occasion, it actually was a small matter, with us sending out a team of fringe players having already been confirmed as group winners.

For a man with stress issues, this was to perfect game to manage, and in the end a full-strength Real played our seconds off the park with complete ease. We held out until the 54^th minute before Croatian midfield maestro Nikola Marinkovic beat Bogatyrev with a 25-yard screamer, but two late goals gave the scoreline the look of comfort it probably deserved, although none of my players had any reason to be overly disappointed with their performance. They had played well and made Real work, but even as European champions, Southampton’s shadow squad was not yet in a position to win away at a place like the Bernabeu.

The win was enough to see our hosts in the knockout rounds with us, edging out PSV by a single point after the Dutch outfit edged a seven-goal thriller against Dynamo. They would claim the Europa League consolation prize, with the Ukrainians taking just a single point from their six matches. For my Saints, we had looked very good for the majority of our first five matches – the ones that counted – and could now relax knowing we would head into the last 16 with the away leg at home. For now though, the Champions League could go on the backburner – it was time to head to India.

[EvilDave]

Mercifully, December in Delhi was pleasant in terms of temperature, the Indian capital enjoying a warmer-than-average 18 to 20 Celsius over the course of our stay – not at all bad for winter. However, the warm air came with a consequence – bad air. The sheer scale of the city made pollution unavoidable, and in the dry December cloud it seemed as if the city were engulfed in a blanket of smog for the first three days of our stay. Thankfully, none of these coincided with FIFA’s precious competition, otherwise it would have been difficult to see how we would actually play football. I’m sure we would still have been made to take part, however.

When the fog lifted, we spent a couple of days training in the conditions and taking in the sights and sounds of the city, before the first of what we hoped would be two matchdays dawned on us. The draw for the final four saw Libertadores champions Fluminense take on Asian representation in the form of Qatari side Al-Rayyan, while we were pitted against a side I knew from my Seattle days, Club America of Mexico.

It would be interesting to see how a club that my Sounders had needed to pull out two incredible performances to beat would fare against the European champions, but with the final scheduled for just three days later I was not about to play a full-strength team. We had brought a strong squad of 22 with us to India after the thinly-veiled threat from FIFA, and had decided to give everybody a game if at all possible. That meant half-and-half splits between those usually considered first choice for the big games, and those hoping to use the opportunity to prove themselves and make a case for more minutes in other, more important competitions.

So, how well would America get on against my current employers? Not very well, was the answer. In fact, that would be being generous. A goal in their favour from the boot of Ramon Morales – who had netted against my Seattle side several years ago – was the only positive they could take from an absolute hammering. We went in 4-0 up at half-time thanks to a Jacobson brace and one each from Sidibe and Ifan, and we did not let up in the second half. Our Welsh striker got his hat-trick, his partner his brace, and an injury-time goal from substitute Gidon Cohen completed a 7-1 rout to put us emphatically into the final.

Later that day we discovered the identity of our opponents, and unsurprisingly it would be a Europe vs South America final. More surprising was the struggle that Fluminense had to overcome Qatari opposition, a counter-attacking goal inside the final five minutes the only difference between the two clubs as the Brazilians came through 2-1 in a very even game. After our big wins against the Mexicans, we would be huge favourites to add FIFA’s world crown to our continental and domestic crowns, and even with the rotated side, I was expecting nothing else from the final.

I got nothing else from it either, a tired Fluminense no match for our relatively fresh legs, and while their players held us goalless at the half-time break, we simply pulled away in the second period to make our advantage stick. Cohen started this one after coming off the bench in the semi-final, and two goals in a 10-minute period of intense Southampton pressure effectively gave us the trophy, while Joey Gelling marked a strong personal performance with a late headed third to add an exclamation mark to the result. After winning two matches against clearly inferior opposition, Kenan Kus was handed a trophy to crown us champions of the world, and no doubt FIFA were delighted with the tournament.

Still unsure of why we had been forced to take part – a crowd of around 25,000 for the final in a stadium able to seat more than twice that number suggested that the Indian public had hardly embraced the competition with open arms – we were now simply keen to get home. Not only had the Premier League decided we would be in a fit state to host Wolves just 72 hours after completing a match in India, but I was missing Rachel, Bethan and Rebecca a great deal.

On the whole, the trip had been the stress-free break I had hoped it would be – comfortable wins in an environment with little to no pressure. We had sustained no injuries, run into no problems with the Indian authorities or anything similar, and were returning home with another trophy for the cabinet. However, I had not seen my wife and children in the flesh for more than a week, and that was far too long in my book. I was already far too involved in what was proving a difficult season for my Saints, and so to only return home a week before Christmas – a Christmas which had us playing on 23^rd, 26^th and 29^th – was less than ideal. Those of my players with families of their own were in a similar position, and as a result I chose to them time off prior to the Wolves game. A brief tactical session on the morning of the game would be sufficient – it was far more important for my men to be happy and reunited with their loved ones. It certainly was for me at any rate.

[EvilDave]

Rachel had been pleased to see me – as you might expect after a lengthy separation from her husband – but it was Rebecca who seemed to have missed me the most. More specifically, she had been looking forward to telling me that, in my absence, she had made her chilly debut for the girl’s football team at school, and was waiting to find out whether or not Southampton had a team she could play for. Of course, Rachel had told me much of this over Skype, but to hear the enthusiasm and excitement in her voice was thrilling in itself.

Of course, Southampton did have a team she could theoretically play for – the senior women’s team were pushing for promotion to the Women’s Super League, and there were several age-group sides who were always looking for players. Rebecca would need to impress at their next trials day in January, and although she would no doubt struggle to dodge accusations of favouritism as the daughter of the men’s team’s manager, I was not about to stop her having a go. From what Rachel was able to tell about a single school match playing on an almost-frozen pitch, we had a promising young playmaker on our hands, and I had no intention of letting my career get in the way of her potential – if that was what she chose to pursue.

Hoping to get in the way of my Southampton side after my enforced mini-break – a break which allowed Rachel and I to get the overwhelming majority of our Christmas shopping done as well as reuniting as a family – were Wolves, and the build-up to our clash at St Mary’s took on a wholly more pleasant tone when compared to previous encounters with the Molineux side. The difference did not take long to figure out either – Sami Hyypia brought a much more professional and amiable touch than his predecessor John Terry, with whom I have always had a somewhat frosty relationship.

With the Finn on the other hand, I had nothing but a cordial relationship, and our handshake before the match was genuine and warm. Since his dismissal from Chelsea, my opposite number had done well to drag his new charges out of the bottom three and given them a real hope of survival, and the key looked to have been a new steeliness in defence. This was hardly surprising given Hyypia’s reputation as a player, but it began to grow frustrating when deployed against my Saints, and at the interval we found ourselves deadlocked at 0-0 despite dominating proceedings.

Four minutes into the second half we had our breakthrough, and it came with a generous portion of good luck. After one attack of ours had fizzled out, we were given an unexpected opportunity to start another when the referee inadvertently blocked a pass between two Wolves midfielders. The ball broke perfectly for Cohen, who surged forward before playing in Sidibe for the opening goal. Hyypia had a heated exchange with the fourth official, but even he knew there was nothing to be done about bad luck, and we had the lead our play had probably deserved.

It was lead which, thankfully for my stress levels, we held onto comfortably for the remainder of the match, racking up more than 30 shots at we kept Wolves pinned firmly back into their own half. In the dying seconds of the match, our Ivorian hitman headed in a second to clinch the victory, and we returned to domestic action with a comfortable victory. I had half-expected a struggle after such emphatic wins in India, and so to see out one of the more sedate 2-0 wins of my tenure came as some relief.

The following day brought draws – two of them, to be precise – as we found out the identities of our next opponents in both the FA Cup and Champions League. The couple of non-league outfits remaining in the former would be left disappointed in their dreams of a game against my Premier League champions, as our ball followed that of Sheffield Wednesday. After taking on their city rivals United at the following stage last season, it would be the Owls’ turn to test themselves against us this time around – as before, we would be favourites even with a rotated squad.

The big news of the day for the majority of Saints however was not our impending trip to Hillsborough, but the draw for the last 16 of the Champions League – and it was one that brought back fond memories. Two seasons ago we had beaten PSG in Hamburg to announce our arrival on the European stage and lift the Europa League, and last season two wins over the French champions helped us on our way to first place in our group as we mounted our assault on the competition. This year, we would meet in the round of 16. They would want revenge, we would be confident, the fans would enjoy their trip to Paris – everyone was pleased the tie, and February was suddenly looking like a very exciting prospect.

[EvilDave]

“Thank you for coming to me at such short notice Owain, I do appreciate it – especially at this time of year, I know you’re a busy man.”

“It’s no problem Mr Krueger, I know you understand these things and assumed it must be important.”

Usually, when a manager to be called into the chairman’s office for an unexpected meeting, alarm bells begin to ring, and this was no different. I had no fears for my job – we had slipped to 4^th in the Premier League, but had two games in hand on the competition thanks to our Indian distraction – but I knew Krueger was thinking of stepping down, and had promised to keep me informed of any developments on a potential successor.

“Well, I appreciate it. I’ll get to the point Owain. As you know, I’m looking to step down as soon as the Liebherr family decide how to replace me, and while things have been going on in the background, it’s been quiet – everybody is keen that the media do not catch wind of things. Things are picking up steam however, and I want you to know before you read it in the papers – they’re looking at selling the club.”

“Can I ask why? They’ve never shown any inclination to get out before now, have they?”

“The family hasn’t shown a great deal of inclination to do anything for a while – can you remember when you last dealt with them? Did you even hear from them at the end of last season, after doing the Double?”

“Come to think of it, I don’t think I did, no.”

“Exactly. Markus Liebherr loved the club and basically saved it, but when he died it passed to Katharina. She stuck at it for a while, but she stepped out of the business in 2020 and the two cousins that took over are strictly businessman – they see Southampton as an old family investment, and have no interest in football.”

“So why sell now?”

“Think about it Owain – the club has never had a higher profile, looked more attractive, enjoyed so much success – in other words, been more valuable. Southampton are on top of the footballing world, they have an expanding stadium, excellent players, a manager who brings in more money than he spends – the club is highly marketable proposition at the moment, and they want to sell before either the position of strength is lost, or the sense of a team on the rise is replaced by the perception of an establishment team.”

“So it’s about money.”

“Of course.”

“Are they close to finding a buyer?”

“There are a large number of interested parties. Because the Southampton name is not as established as clubs we have been beating – Manchester United, Liverpool, even Chelsea – it would take significantly less investment to take control of this club than it would to purchase one of those, so the appeal is obvious.”

“I see. And the timescale?”

“It’s hard to say. When you’re talking about hundreds of millions of pounds these things can take time, and then there’s the FA and their various tests for ownership. It could be as early as January, or it could drag on into the summer. What I do know is the Liebherrs will sell at some point, and unless the prospective new owners splashes it in the press – at which point the deal falls apart – only a select few people will know until it’s very near completion. They’re very private people, so you shouldn’t expect speculation in the press.”

“Is there a favourite at the moment? Any names I should look out for?”

“I can’t say I’m afraid Owain, I’m sorry. However, I have a question for you.”

“Yes?”

“Are you planning on extending your contract?”

[EvilDave]

It wasn’t a conversation I was particularly planning on having at the time, but it had been long overdue. Mr Krueger had been kind enough to inform me of his own situation and intentions, and prepare the contract which gave me so much freedom to decide my future, that I decided it was the least I could do to be open and honest with a man who had never offered me anything less than his complete support.

However, giving a straight and simple answer just wasn’t possible at this juncture. Did I enjoy working at Southampton? Most definitely – despite the struggles of the present season, the entire club was a fantastic place to work, and we were undoubtedly a team on the up. Did I want to leave for another job anywhere else? No – there was no appeal to me from one of Europe’s established giants, and I would be inclined to reject it if there was.

Nevertheless, I had not signed the three-year extension because I remained unsure of whether it was the right thing to do. My recent health issues and stress warnings had left me wondering how long I could continue in football management, and I valued my commitment to Rachel and the girls far higher than I did that to any football club. If I retired immediately we would have enough money to last several lifetimes, and I’m sure I could find something to keep me occupied between family time.

What’s more, a big part of the reason for my happiness at the Saints was Krueger himself – despite criticism from some quarters in the early days of his time in charge, he had learned the sport well and had not been the typical trigger-happy chairman of many Premier League clubs. His interests had always been those of Southampton and the fans – ensuring stability, backing his managers, ensuring the supporters were not priced out or left disenfranchised. His own departure from the scene, and the fact that nobody could say who would replace him, made me less inclined to sign the deal without question.

To his credit, he understood my reasoning fully, and said very little to persuade me either way. I could tell that he would be hurt by my failure to sign – he had made it his personal mission to secure me for the club’s immediate future – but also understood that family trumped football every time. We concluded what turned out to be a lengthy meeting with promises to keep the other informed of our thoughts, not to hide things away from the other, and with wishes of Merry Christmas to our respective families.

I could not wait for those blessed couple of days with Rachel, Bethan and Rebecca, and the visit of Fulham could not be over with soon enough. My head was in the game but my heart was already at home, and so were those of the opposing Cottagers. Sidibe struck after just five minutes to put us on easy street, a second from Bateson just after the interval secured things, and then a frantic three minutes of stoppage time – goals each from Henrique and Bright, plus a red card for our Brazilian anchor and a matching one for Fulham’s Kaveh Mousavi – closed out a 4-0 win which lifted us into the top three ahead of the season’s festivities. We would go to Arsenal on Boxing Day, and I would not see my players any more until the morning of the game. For the next two days, I was a dad and husband to the exclusion of all else. I wasn’t prepared to compromise on that.

[EvilDave]

Christmas was over before it had even started, but in truth I couldn’t remember a year when that hadn’t been the case since taking the job at Prestatyn, and it was not about to change at the home of the European champions. I was fortunate enough to have a very understanding family – and they appreciated my willingness to switch off completely from football for Christmas Eve and the day itself – but less than 24 hours after finishing the last mouthfuls of a frankly decadent festive meal, I was on the move again.

This time the ladies in my life came with us, deciding to combine our away day at Arsenal with a spot of sales shopping in London. I was grateful that none of the three were particularly inclined towards retail therapy in the more stereotypical manner, but I could not resent them to chance to spend a bit of time together in the capital while I prepared my Saints for a key game at the top end of the Premier League. The Gunners had slipped a little down to 6^th after a couple of poor performances, and we were ready to seize on their struggles.

I was not anticipating us seizing on them so quickly however, and was delighted to see the opening goal fly in after just 11 minutes of play. It was a fine goal too – Sidibe stopped in his tracks by a late challenge from a defender, and his strike partner Jacobson stepping up to whip a curling free-kick over the wall and into the far corner, the goalkeeper expecting the shot to be placed into the other side of his goal and powerless to do anything about it whatsoever.

We were glad of the lead, but Phillip Cocu’s side were not about to sit back and let us have things all our own way. As the first half ticked along, Beraldi rapidly became the busier of the two goalkeepers, and we only held our lead thanks to the referee’s assistant ruling out an Arsenal equaliser for offside. Less than three minutes later Sidibe too was denied by the linesman’s flag, and although the half-time score remained at 1-0, the end-to-end nature of the game could easily have resulted in more scoring.

My men were given instructions at the interval not to allow the Gunners back into things, and the intensity with which we began the second half surprised even me – I had expected my words to be interpreted in a more defensive manner, rather than the high-pressing, quick-passing way my players chose. Regardless, it paid off in some style, a Ross Ifan shot parried into the path of Sidibe just before hour allowing the Ivorian onto the scoresheet after his disallowed strike in the first half, and at 2-0 we were looking very good for the three points.

We could not possibly maintain the tempo for the full 90 minutes, but with only 30 remaining the onus was finally on our hosts to go on the offensive, and we had met Arsenal enough times for them to know that we were a very dangerous team on the counter-attack. As a result they felt unable to commit the men forward that they needed, and our defensive screen of Woodward and Hossam found it relatively easy against more manageable numbers. A couple of speculative efforts made Beraldi work a little, but the full-time whistle blew with the score unchanged, and as our hosts slipped to 7^th place they were greeted with boos from the Emirates crowd. How much longer Cocu had remained to be seen.

That was not our concern, as much as it was unpleasant to see another manager out of work, and yet my own future was very much on own radar between our trip to the Emirates and the visit of Manchester United. Had I been right not to commit beyond the end of the season? Should I have been more reserved with Krueger? Perhaps more pressingly, at what point did Rachel and I have a serious conversation about my future in management?

The journey home to Chilworth was not the time – not with the children along for the ride – but it would have to be soon, and it would have to be decisive. I owed it to my wife and daughters to be honest and consider the options, and I owed it to the club and the fans to let them know of my intentions one way or the other. With so many unknowns still hanging in the balance it was not an easy call, but I needed to do something about it soon. It couldn’t linger forever.

[EvilDave]

Manchester United’s visit to St Mary’s was a big game. Having seen off Arsenal on Boxing Day, we had moved level on points with Roberto Martinez’ side in third place having played two fewer matches than the Old Trafford outfit, and a win here would move us out of the group of sides who may be considered part of the chasing pack into those thought of as genuine challengers. It was undeniably the game of the round in the Premier League programme, we were live on TV for all to see, and the pressure was almost certainly on. We would be favourites, albeit barely, but with our inconsistencies over the season that was hard to fathom.

United, on the other hand, were on the back of four wins and high in confidence after a disappointing season last time round, and were keen to cement their place among England’s top clubs once again. That confidence shone through in the opening stages of the match, the visitors coming on strong in the early exchanges, but we held firm through the first 20 minutes and slowly began to get a foothold on the match.

Once we got that foothold, we established it quickly. Inside five minutes we forced visiting goalkeeper Jaime Milla into no fewer than three top-class saves – the first tipping a wayward cross from Kus over the crossbar when it looked as if it may drop beneath the bar, the second a brave stop down low at the feet of Gelling, and the third a flying one-handed stop to keep out a 20-yard curler from Adam Bright that seemed destined for the top corner of the net. By the interval we were firmly on the front foot and penning United back, and it was somewhat disappointing that we went in level at the break.

Milla was in top form into the second period as well, his heroics earning him man-of-the-match honours from the TV pundits, and in the opening moments of the half pulled off another superb stop to push away Sidibe’s powerful header, and I was beginning to doubt whether or not we were ever going to find a way past the Spanish stopper. A comfortable catch from a deep free-kick almost set United away on the break just after the hour mark, and I could once again feel my heartbeat quicken on the sideline. This time, I decided the best course of action was not to increase the volume of my instructions, but to make the necessary changes from the bench and trust in the system.

Into the final quarter of the match, that trust finally paid off. Substitute Luke Shaw left his man on the floor with a deft hip feint out by the left touchline, and put in a teasing ball at hip height across the penalty area. With Milla showing a rare hint of hesitation and neither of his two centre-backs knowing whether to go with their heads or feet, there was space for my Saints to attack, and another substitute, Richard Boakye, did so in spectacular style. The Ghanaian made contact in full-length dive, launching himself at the ball between the two defenders and meeting the cross with a firm hander that left the Spaniard in goal with no chance. United were behind with just 12 minutes to play, and lacked the ability to shift through the gears that they needed.

That goal was enough to move us into third place on our own, three points ahead of the Red Devils with our two games from the Club World Cup still firmly in hand. As 2029 came to an end, so too did the first half of the Premier League season for the vast majority of the teams involved, and the top of the table made for interesting reading. Despite our struggles, we were just three points behind Liverpool and Manchester City – the latter ahead of the former on goal difference alone – with the potential to go three points clear ourselves if we took advantage of our extra matches.

That placed my perception of our struggles in a somewhat new light, and made me once again question whether or not the three-year extension sitting in a desk drawer in my office was worth signing. There was barely any time to consider that before our next game – away at Nottingham Forest on the first day of 2030 – but it would need some serious thought at some point. What that point was, however, was something much more difficult to ascertain.

[EvilDave]

“Owain, can you explain what happened in the second half out there today? Your side looked comfortable at half-time, and yet Forest turned the game on its head after the break.”

It was true, and I didn’t have the answers. An early goal for the hosts had been cancelled out by the 25-minute mark by Hodge and Escalada, and we were unlucky not to be even further ahead at the interval. It had been one-way traffic for the remaining 20 minutes of the half, and Forest had been lucky to get away with the one-goal deficit.

But 10 minutes after the break our old nemesis Gordon Hunter fired in a leveller, and by the midway point of the half a clumsy Vandinho challenge in the penalty area allowed the hosts to go ahead from the spot, and that was that. We were a different side in the second half, and the transformation was not one I had enjoyed seeing.

“I can’t explain it, no. We were excellent for 45 minutes and terrible for the second 45, and without watching things through a second time and speaking to the players individually, I can’t explain the sudden drop-off. Obviously it’s our third game inside a week, but the same is true of Forest and all I can do right now is congratulate them on their comeback.”

I was trying hard not to let the irritation rise too high – for the sake of my health and my players, who in fairness had been put through a tough run in the last few days – but there was nothing I could say that could explain that second-half display.

“It marks Southampton’s first Premier League defeat in nearly a whole year – 34 games since Brighton last January. How do you go about picking the side up from this point as you look to push on?”

“I think the rest we’ll now get over the next few days will help, but we’ve got a good group here and they won’t need any extra picking up. We’ve lost three points today, but we’re right in the running to retain our title and have the FA Cup and Champions League coming up to contend with – there’s a lot to look forward to. We’ll review today, look at where we need to improve, and then put it behind us. It’s what we have to do.”

“Will the loss today affect how you go about approaching the transfer window?”

“No. We’re unlikely to be making drastic changes to the senior side, and we’ll be scouring the market for any players that might be available in the summer. That could mean first-team players, it could mean promising youngsters ready to make the step up. But one result doesn’t change our approach, no.”

We were already deep into negotiations with three players – German teenagers Osier Royo and Paul Zimmer, a centre-back and striker from Frankfurt and Bayern respectively, as well as 22-year-old Spanish/Moroccan right-back Karim Yildirim from Marseille. The latter was likely to replace Antonio Miranda as second-choice right-back, the Portuguese summer signing moving to the centre-back rotation with Mel McGoona wanting to leave the club. I could understand the Welshman’s frustration at his lack of opportunities, but Miranda was an improvement in the middle and Yildirim could certainly do a job on the flanks.

“Finally Owain, you go to Hillsborough for the FA Cup next week – given what happened at Barnsley earlier in the season, what sort of side will you be playing?”

“We haven’t decided that yet – that will be dependent on training this week and fitness levels. I doubt I’ll be changing the entire team this time, but at the same time there are players that need time on the field and this does give us an opportunity to do that.”

Given that we had lost the match, that hadn’t gone all that badly. We had still lost – and I couldn’t lose sight of that – but despite Forest’s turnaround, the stress and anger had not come completely to the fore. Maybe, just maybe, I could in fact handle the pressure after all.

[EvilDave]

It had been a good week. An excellent week in fact. First had been the potential banana skin in Sheffield for the third round of the FA Cup. Wednesday were looking to succeed where city rivals United had failed last year, but were put comfortably to the sword – three goals in the second half rendering a late consolation nothing more and setting up a clash with another Championship side in the form of Middlesborough.

Then came rare January transfer business – as well as tying up the three Bosman deals previously mentioned, we welcomed the £3.5m arrival of versatile full-back Leandro Molinari from Velez Sarsfield, the 20-year-old capable of playing on either side of defence and ready to take up a spot in our reserve side with a few to future development. Heading away from the club and returning to his native Russia was Dmitri Nikulin, the young midfielder never quite able to force himself into our line-up and yet good enough to convince Baltika Kaliningrad to part with no less than £8m for his services.

Finally, there had been the return to league action against West Ham, and we banished the memory of our loss in Nottingham with an emphatic victory. Joey Gelling hit a hat-trick inside the first half to add to goals from Kenan Kus, Antonio Miranda and an unfortunate Hammers defender, and although we could not preserve Beraldi’s clean sheet for him, a 6-1 win was certainly enough to keep our detractors at bay for another week. Aside from the very first day, 2030 had started well. What’s more, we now had a full week before our next match – something that would no doubt become increasingly rare as the season progressed – and so I decided it was finally time to discuss my future with Rachel. After all, my contract was up in less than six months’ time.

As you might imagine, the conversation was anything but simple, our thoughts meandering for some time without coming even close to landing on a conclusion. Eventually, after a couple of hours of talking around the various possibilities, we had to end it somewhere for fear of both of us missing a night’s sleep.

“Well Owain, I feel we’ve probably got as far as we’re going to get at the moment, but I think this has been worth doing. Where do you think we are?”

“I think it’s hard to say without knowing who the next owners are, but I’m honestly not sure. If you’d asked me at the start of the season whether I’d even think about not signing the contract, I’d have told you no. But with the sale going on and the health scare…”

“I didn’t mean to over-worry you darling, I don’t think it was a health scare. Have you had the pains since?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“I’d like to think it was a one-off deal, and it seems that way. You’ve done really way to keep things in check since, and I’m really proud of you for that.”

“Even so, it is a concern. Like I’ve said, I can’t bear the thought of something happening because of my job, and especially when the risks have been made so clear.”

“I understand, my love, I do. So, what now?”

“For now, I think all I can do is wait. It’ll all become clear with the new owners, and if it doesn’t then we’ll see how I feel at the end of the season. I feel a lot better leaving it that long after tonight – after all, it isn’t like I’d need to jump straight into another job.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am my darling, and thank you for helping me get there. I still don’t know how to feel about it all, but we’re getting there. Slowly but surely.”

We were. And it was certainly slow.

[EvilDave]

Last year, my 50^th birthday celebrations had fallen on the same day as an FA Cup victory over Sheffield United, and this year the date of my 51^st milestone would also be marked by a Southampton game. This time we were in Premier League action, away in the Midlands at midtable Aston Villa, and so there would be none of the celebrations that had been arranged for the big day the previous year. This year it was all business – Rachel and the girls had taken me out for a meal the previous evening – and the only present I asked for from my team, in classic footballing cliché, was all three points.

We were not particularly quick to deliver on the request, dragging me through 45 dreary minutes of football before springing to life in first-half stoppage time. An Escalada shot skidded wide off the boot of a defender, and the Argentine’s corner was met by the leaping Leighton Hodge, who made no mistake from 10 yards to put ahead right on the stroke of half-time and dramatically improve the mood at the interval. More of the same in the second half – although hopefully with a little more goalmouth action at the Villa end – would be more than enough to see us home unscathed.

The second period was not a huge amount more exciting than the first, but it was punctuated by another Southampton goal to secure the win that was expected of us. In the best move of the match, a highlight reel exchange of quick-fire passes between Bright and Clarke saw the latter flick a delightful ball between two defenders with the outside of his foot for the former to fire home, and with just 15 minutes left on the clock that was enough to settle the matter. It had not been the most thrilling of birthdays, but my team were now beginning to play something like the side that had conquered Europe last season, and that was a present in and of itself.

It would not be long before we were on the road again, a gap of just three days separating our clash with the Villans from our next match away in Norwich. My old adversary David Moyes had the Canaries just above the relegation waters in 16^th place, but they had stifled us in the past and would no doubt be seeking to do so again. Having never particularly got on with the veteran Scot, the idea of dropping points to his lowly side was not a particularly pleasant one.

Something that had previously crossed my mind about Norwich was their location gave them an undeniable advantage when compared to those teams based in England’s major cities. An away trip from London to Manchester was no great issue in terms of travel, regardless of whether the club chose to make the journey by air or road. Even in Southampton we were reasonably well-connected with the rest of the country, and with the ongoing expansion of Newcastle Airport, even away days in the North East were of little concern to even my South Coast side.

Norwich, on the other hand, sat so far out on a limb that it was often quicker for us to travel to European games than to Norfolk. Geographically speaking the extra distance was minimal, but the complete lack of sophisticated infrastructure that plagued the county made any efforts to actually get there seem laboured and extensive. Given the pitiful size of its airport it was almost impossible to charter a flight into Norwich itself – ‘international’ was certainly undeserved as a moniker for the airport – and the only alternative was the long and painful drive along the A11, a road which never seemed to be free of roadworks, queues or both. On this occasion, we decided to take the overland route, and it led to a group of Saints feeling like anything but on arrival – tired, fed up, and wanting nothing to do with the place. It was another obstacle we had to overcome, and had lost key preparation time to do so. Moyes and his men had an unfair upper hand – it was on us to wrestle it from them.

[EvilDave]

Instead, we fell behind after just three minutes, Tomas Novotny capitalising on some poor marking in our penalty area to flash a shot past Beraldi’s dive. On the sidelines I grew increasingly frustrated as the first half ticked by, Moyes’ side digging deep to try and deny us. However, as our pressure continued to mount, we eventually broke through – Leighton Hodge rising highest to convert a corner from Bright and bring us level.

With the momentum in our favour, we then blew Norwich away. A penalty won just 90 seconds into the second half was stroked home by Blanc, and then a quickfire double from Sidibe – including a delightful chip from the edge of the area – had the game beyond doubt by the 55 minute mark. A late second for Novotny gave our demoralised hosts a shred of respectability, but our journey back to Hampshire was much more enjoyable than our time travelling to Norfolk.

Four days later, back at home in the FA Cup, we faced a much easier proposition in the form of second tier Middlesborough. I rotated heavily, Boakye opened the scoring in the third minute, and the visitors never really got a foothold. Our 3-0 win rewarded us with an away draw against League One side Burton Albion in the fifth round, quite possibly the kindest draw we could have asked for without being at home. The Brewers would no doubt be up for the tie, but we would be huge favourites.

As were we in our next outing, three days later in London at the home of the Premier League’s bottom side, QPR. They were struggling badly, having amassed just 11 points thus far, and their lack of confidence was clear as they lined up in a deeply defensive 5-4-1 in a bid to keep us out. They had reckoned without Gidon Cohen though, as he first burst through to fire in the opener and then played in Callum Jacobson to give us a 2-0 after just a quarter of an hour. Cohen had another before the break, Boakye made it four, and a late consolation made no difference whatsoever. Tony Franklin compounded his side’s misery with an even later sending off, and our hosts looked well and truly doomed.

That victory confirmed what had been suspected for some time – that the 2029/30 Premier League title was a three-way fight for glory. Manchester City led the way with 54 points from 23 games, while my Saints were one point back with a game in hand. Liverpool remained in the race too, two points behind us in third having also played 23, while Manchester United led the rest with 47 – they were still in with a chance, but would need some major slip-ups from the leading trio.

And, as January drew to a close, there was still no news on the future of the club – and therefore my managerial career. Ralph Krueger had promised to update me whenever there was any meaningful progress, but as yet I was continuing to wait. It was probably for the best too, as with Southampton in the hunt for more silverware, the last thing I needed was a major off-field distraction.

[EvilDave]

February would bring games thick and fast – seven of them in total, including action in all three competitions we remained alive in. First on the schedule was the visit of midtable Leicester, who were on a poor run of form and heading the wrong way down the standings. The lack of confidence showed early, and we took full advantage. Cohen continued his good form with an early opener, and Ange Sidibe lashed home our second with a fine volley to make it 2-0 in just the sixth minute.

We held that score until the hour mark, and which points Leicester’s Romanian centre-back Dragos Constantin had an interesting few minutes – first slicing a clearance into his own net to make it 3-0, and then heading in from a free-kick to cut the deficit back to two. It was soon three again thanks to Kenan Kus’ low drive, and while Vandinho put through his own net to make it 4-2 in injury time, the points were long secure.

Brighton were due to visit in three days’ time as we made up our game in hand on City, but before then I had a phone conversation with a certain Mr Krueger, which suggested he had just got out of a meeting. The news I had been expecting about the club’s ownership situation had arrived, and it left me with plenty to think about:

“Owain, I promised I’d keep you in the loop, and I’m a man of my word. The Liebherrs have received an offer for the club, and it’s a good one. It’s very good, in fact. As we’ve discussed before, Southampton Football Club is a hugely valuable asset at the moment – for those who have long been invested, and for prospective buyers looking to take on the next big thing.

“Unless there are any major issues with the lawyers, Katharina and her team are inclined to accept the bid and set the wheels in motion for a transfer for ownership. Obviously I can’t tell you everything at this stage, but is there anything you’d like to know?”

I paused for a moment before replying. There were several questions that sprang to mind.

“Who are the prospective buyers? Is it a group or an individual?”

“I can’t give you the identities at this stage – although you’ll find out soon enough. It’s an American consortium, nobody you’ve encountered in Major League Soccer, with some major funding.”

“Do you know how much the deal will be worth?”

“I’m sorry Owain, I can’t give precise figures at this stage. What I can say is it’d put Southampton at a value similar to the Liverpool deal a couple of years ago. For English football, it’d be in the top handful of deals that have ever been done.”

“That’s… a lot of money, Mr Krueger. Have they made any noises about transfer and wage structures, staff changes, who your replacement might be?”

“Not in today’s meeting, although I’d be very surprised if they didn’t have a plan given the size of the investment. That’s the other thing I wanted to mention actually Owain – they want to talk to you in person.”

“To me?”

“Don’t be surprised – you’re practically the reason this club is worth as much as it today. I imagine they’d like to pick your brains, find out your plans, discuss future expectations with you.”

“When would they like to meet?”

“It’s difficult to put a date on it at this stage, but once the lawyers have had their time with all the documentation, we could be looking at a meeting towards the end of this month. It isn’t something that you’ll need to prepare for, but they are keen to meet before the deal is finalised.”

“And if it goes through, when will they officially take over from the Liebherrs?”

“It’s hard to say, but possibly mid-March.”

“OK, that’s good to know. I think that’s everything I can reasonably ask at this point. Thank you again for keeping me informed – I really do appreciate it.”

With the future of the club now a little clearer – and my own future a little murkier – we welcomed Brighton to St Mary’s and promptly blew our chance to go top of the table. Over the course of the 90 minutes we struck the woodwork no fewer than five times without finding the net, only to be hit on the break by Andy Parkin in the 88^th minute.

After the players had left at the end of the game, I sat in the dressing room silently fuming. Frustratingly, we had not played badly, but to let City stay ahead was an unforgiveable error. We were only a point behind, but at this stage in the season, everybody wanted to lead from the front. Instead, we were playing catch-up. I could feel my heart pounding as I eventually made my way home, and Rachel knew from the look on my face not to ask too many questions. It was a terrible night’s sleep.

[EvilDave]

If the Brighton game had me fuming, the Huddersfield tie a few days later had me apoplectic with rage, and this time the players did feel my fury. We took an early lead through Adam Bright, the England man doing his best to catch up with Cohen in the goal stakes, but we immediately switched off from the restart, allowing Kristi Shahini a clear shot at goal which he took full advantage of. Whereas we outplayed Brighton, a European side, and couldn’t finish, we genuinely struggled against the relegation-threatened Terriers and deserved nothing more than the point we got, even if the visitors didn’t muster a huge threat themselves.

In the press conference afterwards, I was terse at best. City had won, meaning they were now three points clear rather than one, and we were two without a win. The speculation around the ownership situation wasn’t helping, but I could hardly blame this one on Krueger and the Americans. The news wasn’t yet public knowledge, I hadn’t told the players – if it was a factor, it was entirely on me.

In a bid to get ourselves back on form, I made several changes for our trip to a struggling Chelsea side, and they quickly showed us why they were mired in 15^th place. Two penalties in the opening half hour allowed Blanc and Boakye to fire us into a two-goal lead, and even Leonel Benitez pulling one back did little to reverse the momentum. Into the second half, Carl Bateson grabbed our third on the hour with a towering header from a corner, and all the Blues could muster was a 92^nd minute deflected effort. Three much-needed points were ours, and things would only get better.

City had won their game, but fixture congestion meant that a couple of days later they were in action again, and went down at home in a shock defeat to Reading. That meant that with little input of our own, our game in hand would allow to draw level on points with the Manchester side with a win. Two days later, we cruised to a 4-1 FA Cup win over third tier Burton to book a quarter final date at Fulham, and it looked like we were back on schedule.

Next would be an entirely different proposition – there cannot be many sides that have faced Burton one week and PSG the next. We travelled to Paris for the first leg of our Champions League first knockout round, having been drawn against the French side for the third season in a row. After a dull first half, Adam Bright was played through by Sidibe for a great low finish, only for the linesman’s flag to deny us a crucial away goal. Still, we remained competitive in a tight, cagey affair.

Unfortunately, the break went the way of our opponents, and in the end a superb 25-yard scorcher from the left boot of Joaquin Borrega was the difference between the two teams. PSG would come to St Mary’s in March with a one goal lead to defend. It was by no means an insurmountable lead, but we would certainly be up against it. It did seem that teams were raising their game against us now that we were holders – or perhaps it was simply that we were not the unknown quantity we once were. Either way, we had work to do.

Back to the Premier League, and a return home for the visit of Spurs. I was a little concerned going into the game given our indifferent form as of late but Tottenham gave us a helping hand early on, their defence playing the offside trap poorly and allowing Boakye to slide in the opening goal after seven minutes. That seemed to boost our confidence, and by the break Sidibe had added a fine solo second, leaving the visitors needing to chase the game in the second half.

As they did so, we were able to break quickly and often, both Vandinho and captain Kus enjoying huge amounts of space down the flanks. It was the latter who set up our first goal, being brought down in the box to present Blanc with the chance from the penalty spot, and the 3-0 win was exactly what we needed to get some confidence back after the PSG defeat and round out the month with a victory.

As February drew to a close – and my meeting with the owners-to-be drew closer – we found ourselves three points back off City with a game in hand, the title race proving as tight as ever. Liverpool had slipped a little and were six points further back, with Arsenal and United five points further off in the fight for the final Champions League spot. The first two days of March had the potential to be hugely significant for the future of the Premier League, Southampton Football Club, and Owain Williams – on the first of the month, I had a meeting at St Mary’s with the American buyers after training. On the second, we headed to the Etihad. No pressure on either front, then.

[EvilDave]

“Welcome Owain, thanks for coming today. My name is Bryce Wilson, and this is Kyle Goldstein. We’re the sporting executives of Capital Star Sports, based in Washington, DC. As you’ve now doubt heard, we’ve had an offer accepted by the Liebherr family for a 100% share in Southampton Football Club, and we wanted to outline some of our plans for the club. We understand you have an optional extension in your contract, and your signing of that contract is partly dependent on your thoughts on the new ownership?”

“That’s correct, Mr Wilson. Pleased to meet you both. I’m…”

“In which case, let me begin. Capital Star Sports or CSS has already made significant investments in the sporting markets in the United States, and is majority owner of franchises in Major League Baseball and the National Hockey League. It also has ambitions to purchase an NFL franchise. Kyle.”

“CSS is aware of the huge potential that Southampton Football Club has to win trophies, build a fanbase, and bring significant returns on investment. There is no better place than the Premier League and Champions League for the owners of a soccer team, and outside of London we have identified the South of England as a prime location. The facilities at the club are on a par with anything we have seen in the Premier League, and the playing squad has several valuable assets, including England international players. Bryce.”

“The club’s most valuable asset at this time, Owain, is its manager. You have led this club to unprecedented success, as well as proving your abilities on other continents. You have built a recognisable style of play, and a group of players who have adapted to the Southampton ethos you have put in place. Quite simply Owain, CSS is buying this club for success, and it believes – I dare say expects – that you are capable of delivering it. Do you have any questions for us?”

It was an odd pitch, almost a PowerPoint presentation in front of a potential investor rather than an explanation of the owners’ ambitions to an employee. Still, the message was clear – Saints was a good business move, winning trophies would be a better one, and they wanted me in charge to deliver them. Expectations were high, but I still had questions.

“Thank you for your clarity, gentlemen. You mentioned that CSS has expectations of trophies and has identified value in the playing squad. Does CSS intend to provide the managerial staff with funds to invest in the playing squad?”

The two men looked at each other. Goldstein spoke.

“In the initial year of ownership, CSS would anticipate any incoming transfers by funded by outgoing player transactions. The group believes in a self-sustaining approach to sports finances, and while there may be investment in future years, the intention is to gain a sense of where this might be needed before over-committing funds.”

“Thank you Mr Goldstein. Can I ask what the expectations are regarding results on the pitch?”

This time it was Wilson who addressed me, the two seeming to communicate telepathically, as if they’d given the same presentation a thousand times before and knew what the questions would be.

“Capitals Star Sports holds its portfolio to the highest standards of sporting excellence, and results are of the highest importance. Results will be benchmarked against the previous season, with each club given dedicated management from within the CSS group. For Southampton, that would suggest further competition wins in the coming seasons.”

I paused for a moment as the answer sank in. Expectations were high, investment would be minimal. There was one answer I needed to complete the first impression.

“What is CSS’ record on staff turnover at the clubs in their portfolio? Are managers and coaches given time to overcome difficulties, or are changes regular?”

This was a question they obviously weren’t expecting, and it took a little longer for Wilson to reply.

“Failure is not something that is tolerated at CSS, and those responsible for them – whether on the playing squad, coaching staff or executive team – will be held accountable. CSS has built a history of sporting success by refusing to allow sentimentality to govern its management, and is proud of the success it achieves.”

“Mr Wilson, Mr Goldstein, those are all the questions I have. Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedules to meet with me – I don’t believe it’s common for prospective owners to meet with coaching staff during the takeover process, and I appreciate your interest.”

“The pleasure is ours, Owain. We won’t keep you any longer – I understand you have a big game at Old Trafford tomorrow. Thank you for your time, and we look forward to working with you soon.”

The professional smile I held for the post-meeting handshakes turned into a wry one as I slipped out of the St Mary’s meeting room. Old Trafford indeed – some American stereotypes still held up to scrutiny. Regardless of their ignorance of our fixture list, they were right – I had a game to prepare for, and afterwards I needed a serious conversation with Rachel.

[EvilDave]

After eight minutes at the Etihad, I mentally conceded the title. Five minutes earlier I had watched Aziana Mbemba dance through our defence to open the scoring, and now I was watching Shayron Zimmerman celebrate after his curling strike from the edge of the box left Beraldi grasping at thin air. City had flown out of the blocks, taken their chances, and we were absolutely floored.

After 40 minutes, I gave it up again. Sidibe had pulled us back into the game with a goal almost identical to Mbemba’s opener to stun the Mancunian crowd into silence after a good period of pressure from the lads, but four minutes later their striker had his brace after Bateson left his man wide open inside the area. We were 3-1 down with just minutes of the first half to play, and if I was brutally honest, City were by far the better team.

I told my Saints as much at the interval, urging them to show our hosts why we were the champions and to assert themselves on Diego Simeone’s side. We pushed hard, City held firm, and we continued to apply the pressure, careful not to push too hard and leave space at the back. With a quarter of an hour to go Kus launched a trademark diagonal drive in at the far post to make it 3-2, and we had hope. Delicious, dangerous hope.

Wave after wave of attack crashed against a sky blue wall, and the third goal would not come. We had thrown everything at City, handed them the win with a sloppy first half, and had ultimately paid the price. With just 10 games to go, we were now six points behind our conquerors. We retained a game in hand, but defeat to Simeone’s men was a hammer blow to our title chances. There was no avoiding it, and everyone from the players to the media knew it. Not only that, we had third-place Liverpool next as our game in hand.

The following day, I was at home by early afternoon. We didn’t train after away games, focusing instead on tactical analysis, and the players were given leave on this particular to watch the League Cup final – a thriller of a game which saw Chelsea cap a disappointing season with silverware, defeating Brighton 3-2 after extra time at Wembley. I had half an eye on the game, Rachel wasn’t all that interested, and the conversation inevitably turned to my meeting with the Americans.

“I’m instinctively suspicious, it just doesn’t sit right. I’ve never heard of Capital Star Sports – and that’s not all that surprising – but they came in full of demands of success, telling me why Southampton are such a good investment, that they would hold everybody accountable. At no point did they suggest they actually valued the club as a club, or any of the people involved for that matter.”

“Have you looked them up?”

“I did, and I’m not sure I buy their track record. They own the Miami Marlins baseball team, and the Winnipeg Jets in the NHL, plus a minority stake in the Cincinnati Bengals.”

“Assume I know nothing about American sports…”

“Well Winnipeg are Canadian, but none of them are very good. In fact, none of them have been very good for quite some time. I don’t know whether that’s part of the plan – buy when bad and sell when better – but that hardly tells me why they’re looking into Southampton.”

“No, it doesn’t. You said they didn’t want to invest either?”

“That’s right – self-sustaining was the word they came back to. It’s admirable, but it also sounds a lot like they might milk the club.”

“Strip the assets from it, you mean. Maybe to fund their failing clubs elsewhere?”

“Maybe, although there are presumably easier ways to make money.”

“Not if Southampton are as sure a bet as everybody thinks.”

“True. Which begs the questions – what do we do?”

“Well darling, what do you want to do?”

I paused at this point. I needed it.

“I honestly don’t know. This club gambled on me, and I feel I owe something to the fans and the players. They’ve been amazing to me, to us, and it’s a brilliant club to work for. We’re getting better, and I’d hate to pass that up.

“But on the other hand, if things are going to be taken out of my control, if I’m going to have my hands tied, if the owners themselves don’t see the club as anything other than a cash cow, I don’t think I can work in those conditions.”

“Will you tell them?”

“I’ll have to. That won’t be an easy conversation.”

“Owain?”

“Yes darling?”

“You’re doing yourself down again. You don’t owe the club anything – you’d proven yourself on two continents before they hired you, and now they’re European and Premier League champions. They have been good to you, but any club with a manager of your talents would – and the people that did that are leaving. Do this for you, for us.”

“OK. I’m going to give Krueger a call and see if he can call a meeting. I’d like him there as well. Should I get in touch with Dean and make him aware?”

“Not yet – not unless you want your phone buzzing every two minutes. See what they have to say first.”

“I love you Rachel Williams, you know that right? I’m going to make the call, and we’ll see what he says. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

I still wasn’t completely sure whether I did.

[EvilDave]

The call was arranged for after the second leg of our Champions League tie with PSG in the middle of the month – a week or so before CSS’ takeover would be completed. The bid was now out in the open, with the usual tabloid speculation flying round regarding which world class players they were pledging to bring in. I held my tongue in the press. So far only one outlet had brought my own future into question, noting that my deal ran out at the end of the season, but otherwise I was happy to play the silent part.

Besides which, we had a title to defend. Liverpool came to the South Coast clinging on to the faintest of hopes themselves, and another defeat for my Saints would all but hand the Premier League crown to City. The visitors had not quite reached the heights of last season, but were still one of the best teams in England, if not the world.

As you might expect, the opening stages were cagey, nervous, tense. They kept a close eye on our front four, while Kenan Kus was watching Brazilian dangerman Pirulito like a hawk. The midfield turned into a real battlefield, and Steve Woodward was in his element. Our destroyer was everywhere, covering every blade of grass on the field and making tackle after tackle, interception after interception. Midway through the first half, he decided to get yet more involved, sending a fiery drive goalwards from 25 yards, only to see his shot graze the outside of the post.

As the half-time whistle approached the two sides remained evenly matched, with neither goalkeeper really having too much to do. That changed in the second minute of stoppage time, which Jacobson’s near post flick was palmed behind for a corner. Adam Bright curled an in-swinging corner onto the head of the leaping Leighton Hodge, and I joined my staff in leaping for joy as his header beat the defender on the post to give us a crucial 1-0 lead.

Into the second half, Bright was replaced by Ross Ifan as a precaution after complaining after a slight twinge to his hamstring, and we went again with a new aim – control the game, kill the tempo, strike on the break. Beraldi remained a relative spectator as the final quarter approached, Paulo Henrique entered the fray in place of Blanc to add more steel to the midfield, and Paolo Misso looked increasingly frustrated up front for the visitors. In the opposite dugout, his fellow countryman Montella matched his expression.

In the closing moments, Liverpool got their one chance. Pirulito spun past Vandinho, having switched to the right wing in a bid to find space, and slipped a ball through for his Italian striker. Misso took a touch to shift the ball away from Bateson, lashed a shot across goal, and swung a boot in frustration as Beraldi pushed the ball away from goal and out for a throw-in on the far side. Kenan Kus won possession from the throw, hammered the ball upfield, and seconds later the full-time whistle blew to hand us a hugely important victory.

The value of those points could hardly be overestimated. They kept us three points behind City in the title race, and ensured that our vanquished visitors remained behind us without getting too many ideas. On paper it was the toughest game of the remaining fixtures, and we had risen to the occasion. The games would come thick and fast of course, but we were ticking them off with wins.

Next on the agenda was the FA Cup, where we travelled to Fulham and added another game to our already packed schedule. Perhaps frustrated by the lack of a goal flurry in recent weeks, we opened the scoring after just 80 seconds through Gidon Cohen, before a rapid-fire double from Escalada had us 3-0 up before the clock even read 10 minutes. Stunned by our lightning start, the Cottagers had little answer at the other end, and we cruised through the remainder of the game in second gear to book a Wembley date with Tottenham in the last four.

Normally, I would be at least irritated by a team of mine easing off the gas quite so early in a game, but with the congestion as it was, I completely understood. We had beaten Liverpool on March 5^th, Fulham on 9^th, and would be in action on 12^th and 18^th before a ‘break’ for internationals at the end of the month – after which we still had time to travel to Brighton. At this point in time my team selections were as much about preservation and fitness as they were about tactics and form, but that was all part of the game. I knew that further north in Manchester, Diego Simeone was having to deal with exactly the same problems with his squad.

[EvilDave]

Our worries could not afford to drift to Manchester however, as we had the small matter of Paris Saint-Germain to contend with before returning to domestic action. In the first leg of our last-16 clash, the French side had stifled us well before earning a lead with a long-range rocket, and would surely come to defend their slender advantage. As I prepared my men beforehand, I anticipated a tight and close-fought affair with our patience being tested.

Instead I was celebrating after just two minutes after a moment of magic from Ross Ifan. Luke Shaw’s cross had been headed out of the PSG box to our Welsh playmaker, who cushioned the ball on his thigh before driving a volley high into the top left corner of the net, wiping out the visitors’ advantage before the game had really begun. The momentum had swung, and it had swung decisively.

As PSG struggled to reconfigure their shape into one that might at least lend itself to creating opportunities, we continued to press home our advantage. Stealing possession on the halfway line, Henrique found Escalada in space on the edge of the area with a pass that took four men out of the game. One of the men made a hash of his attempted recovery challenge, bringing down our Argentine striker just millimetres inside the box. Up stepped Benjamin Blanc, in went the penalty, and we had the outright lead.

An away goal for the Frenchmen would have turned the tide back in their favour, but it never looked like coming. Escalada went close on a couple of occasion, Ifan tried his luck with another outrageous volley, and our defence remained largely untroubled. Just after the hour mark, Ifan floated in a free-kick which was only half-cleared by the visitors, Kenan Kus drilled in a low ball from the opposite flank, and there was Leighton Hodge of all people to stab in a third from six yards out. That was the game and the tie, and we had completed a resounding turnaround. It was also all the confirmation I needed that I did have cards to hold when it came to Capital Star Sports.

“And so all things considered, Mr Wilson, I’m not convinced that my own vision for Southampton and that of the incoming ownership are well aligned. I appreciate that at the conclusion of our last meeting you welcomed the opportunity to work with me, but I’m afraid I don’t see that being a particularly long relationship.”

I hadn’t voiced my concerns as bluntly as I had to Rachel, but the two men from CSS were clearly taken aback regardless. Still, I had Ralph Krueger in the room with me, and I had something I hadn’t had in the first meeting – self-confidence. Goldstein didn’t like it.

“Thank you Owain, but I think you’re forgetting one or two things here. Firstly, it is not you who be making the final decision – Capital Star Sports will own the club, not Owain Williams. Secondly, if a member of staff resigns their position, they are not entitled to any form of compensation…”

“Mr Goldstein, frankly I am offended by the suggestion that I have called this meeting to suggest financial remuneration. Nor in fact do I have any intention of resigning. If CSS is unwilling to rethink its possession on the issues raised, I will honour the remainder of my contract and leave the club at the end of the current season. You will then be free to appoint a new manager for the football club.”

“We do not take kindly to being dictated to, Owain. I am not one to issue threats, but if you continue to oppose the vision of the owners then we would have no choice but to terminate your contract.”

I was preparing an answer, but Krueger got there before me. Not only did he get there, he exploded in a rage I had never seen from the elderly Canadian. I hadn’t seen it, nor did I really think it possible.

“Listen you two,” he spat, rising from his seat and jabbing a finger in my direction. “This man is the reason your company has even heard of Southampton, so don’t come in here pretending you already own the place. You may be very close, but you don’t. This man is the reason you want a piece of this pie, why it would make you any money, and if you fire him, you will be hated – deservedly so – by every single Saints fan in existence. All of them.

“Let me tell you this – if it is suggested again that Owain Williams leaves this football club on any terms other than his own, I will be making an immediate call to Katharina Liebherr and advising her in the strongest possible terms that she abandon the deal. I may be on my way out, but I have her ear and I have her best interests at heart. Now do yourselves a favour and show some damn humility.”

We all sat, stunned into a deafening silence by the outburst – Krueger included. A particularly long minute passed by before any of us dared speak. It was Wilson who did so.

“Well gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us we have other business to attend to. Owain, when the deal is complete we’ll have a formal meeting to set out expectations, but in the meantime good luck for the remaining games of the campaign. We will revisit your contract situation at the end of the season. Good evening to you both.”

And with that, they were gone. I’m not entirely sure, but I think my chairman’s explosion may have won us the battle. Either way, it seemed fairly clear that I wasn’t going anywhere immediately. But neither were CSS. There was still a lot to figure out.

[EvilDave]

But first, football. On March 16^th, City hosted Fulham and scraped a narrow 1-0 win, putting the pressure back on my Saints two days later for our trip to Watford. Having taken PSG by surprise with an early goal in the Champions League, we were stunned ourselves at Vicarage Road – Harry Eggen, returning from a long injury lay-off, let his rustiness show in losing his man, and Mo Hajji took full advantage to send us behind after just eight minutes.

I could sense the panic begin to rise, but on the field my men showed no such lack of composure. Immediately I saw four or five players urging their team-mates to focus and stay calm, and their level-headed approach paid dividends. Soon after the restart Kenan Kus broke down the right, his ball found Sidibe, and his shot cannoned off the unfortunate Dmitri Adelaar, deflecting into the far corner of the goal when our striker had aimed at the near. It was a huge stroke of luck, and we would take full advantage.

Less than 10 minutes later we hit the front, a scoop pass from our Ivorian hitman sending Bright through for a one-on-one that he finished calmly between the legs of the goalkeeper. We kept going, and a quarter of an hour later our England international played a pivotal part in our third, winning the ball high up the field and feeding Carlos Henrique with a simple backwards pass. Our midfield enforcer took aim, fired, and claimed an assist as his shot ricocheted around the box and fell kindly for Jacobson to sweep into the net. The points looked as good as ours.

It proved to be the case, Bright adding a fourth in the second half after being put through by substitute Joey Gelling, and the win was enough to maintain the status quo atop the table. Although we could do with City slipping up, we were at the very least keeping pace with the Mancunians. A day later, Simeone’s side continued their relentless march, travelled to Norwich and hammering David Moyes’ side by three unanswered goals. Six points back and with a game in hand, the odds of us defending the title were lengthening by the day.

Three days later, with the bulk of my players away with their respective national teams, I was in Switzerland at UEFA HQ for the quarter-final draw of the Champions League. With the balance of continental power continuing to shift, my Saints were one of three English outfits in the last eight along with German powerhouses Bayern and Dortmund, Spartak Moscow and Krasnodar of Russia, and Monaco as the sole French representative. With no Spanish or Italian clubs making it this far and as defending champions, we were among the favourites. When the draw was made, the media were eager to hear my thoughts.

“Owain, a huge draw for Southampton. How do you feel about taking on the same team you’re battling for the Premier League title with?”

“While it’s going to be a huge challenge taking on City over two legs, the chances are we were going to have to face them at some point anyway. Diego Simeone has built a great side, they’re in superb form, and they’re probably favourites for both competitions at the moment. It’ll be tough, but we’ll look forward to it.”

“Is there a sense of disappointment at playing a domestic rival in European competition?”

“I can see why some fans might be disappointed. We’ve played City plenty of times, we know their game and they know ours. It isn’t the glamour tie a Bayern or a Monaco might have been. Equally, I don’t know how many of our fans would have been able to travel out to Krasnodar, so it works both ways.”

“You lost to City in the league recently – will that have an impact on how you play? Do you think these ties will affect the league battle between you?”

“Those are very different questions, but I think the answer in both cases in no. Squad management is going to play a big part as we’re both chasing three trophies this season, but we’ll treat each game individually at this stage and I’m sure Diego will tell you the same thing.”

“Finally – do you think the winner of the competition is likely to come from this tie?”

“If the Champions League were that predictable, it would hardly be worth playing! Obviously we’re the top two of a very strong league with very strong squads, but every team still going at this stage is in with a shout, and will believe they can lift the trophy. If we can make it past City our route isn’t going to get any easier, that’s for sure.”

I didn’t want to admit it to the press, but I was disappointed to have drawn Manchester City in the quarter-final. They were on an excellent run, were probably the strongest team we could have drawn, and knew us very well indeed. I hadn’t lied – we would have needed to beat them at some point – but that didn’t mean I was relishing the prospect.