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All to Play For: A Journeyman Story


Frank White
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Hi! I’ve been lurking the FM boards for years and decided it’s about time I posted something.

This will be the story of my FM21 journeyman save. In total I have 50+ playable leagues including the top league in every nation (except the five or six lowest rated) and at least the top two divisions of the big five European nations. I started with no coaching badges and unemployed. I wanted to start with the lowest reputation but accidentally set it to semi pro.

I’m also sticking to two rules:

  • I have to manage a club at every reputation level (0.5 star, 1 star, 1.5 star, etc).
  • I can only apply for jobs at clubs with a reputation at most 0.5 star higher than my own. 
Edited by Frank White
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Prologue

When I was ten years old I told my dad I wanted to win the Champions League with United.


European nights were special. A few minutes before kick-off my dad would brew a strong cup of tea in his favourite United mug. Tea in hand, he’d slump down on the spot on the sofa that had been perfectly moulded to his body through hours of tv consumption and napping. I always sat on the floor so I could be nearer to the action. As the ninety minutes ticked by, I edged closer and closer to the television mesmerised by the electric atmosphere of another Champions League night.

“You won’t make it pro,” he said between sips of scalding hot tea. “Stick to school.”

He was right.

Despite starting every game for Stonegrove F.C, even winning Manager’s Player of the Year one season, I wasn’t good enough to impress the scouts who braved frozen Sunday mornings trawling the local youth leagues like prospectors hoping to find gold.

Thousands of kids took up football with dreams of making it. Only a few were lucky enough to play under the lights of sold-out stadiums. Even fewer earned the chance to play for one of the great teams like United. It took undeniable world-class talent to go all the way and win the biggest prize in club football.

Unlike the other kids, I didn’t dream of being a commanding centre back or a midfield maestro. I had no intention of scoring any matching-winning goals or marauding up and down any wings whatsoever. As far as I was concerned, the players the other kids idolised were just pieces in a more captivating duel taking place on the sidelines where tactical masterminds schemed and strategized to outdo one another with low-blocks and counter-presses.

That’s why, at ten years old, I decided I would one day become the greatest football manager in the world.

Edited by Frank White
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Part 1 - Armagh City F.C
2020/21

 

01. A Foot in the Door

If the icy November wind and hunger pangs weren’t enough to put me in a bad mood the dire performance I was being subjected to definitely was.

“Press the ball!” I shouted. My voice carried across the astroturf like a horn blast from a freighter. I hoped the defenders I’d seen lazily chase the ball around the circle of attackers would respond with a resurged appetite for possession. What I got were eye rolls and audible sighs. It was only our second training session, but early signs weren’t encouraging.

Even before my arrival, things hadn’t been going well for Armagh City FC. The team were expected to challenge near the top of Northern Ireland’s third tier but had only managed one win in their first five league games. They found themselves in the bottom half of the table when the drastic decision was made to part ways with manager and local hero Shea Campbell.

My appointment as the new manager wasn’t met with much fanfare. One local reporter, no doubt tired of reporting on mundane local council meetings, churned out a short online article questioning the club’s decision to opt for the “inexperienced and comically unqualified” Frankie White over the many proven managers from the Northern Irish leagues. Based on the conversations I’d overheard while exploring my new home, it was a question shared by Armagh’s pub regulars and the squad of players I‘d inherited.

“They’re better than this,” my assistant, Tony, reassured me.

Tony Graham had also been assistant to Shea Campbell. Although he knew the players better than I did, I found his assessment hard to believe. To his credit, he had managed to grind out a narrow 2-1 victory in his one game as caretaker manager. If I hadn’t already been announced as the permanent replacement at Holm Park maybe Tony would have been given the job instead. The pub regulars would have preferred it.

“Give ‘em time,” Tony said, nodding towards the players who were trudging through the rondo drill with as much enthusiasm as teenagers asked to do the dishes. “It’s more… technical than what they’re used to.”

“We don’t have time.” I snapped back. The words sounded harsher than I’d intended. It didn’t seem to bother Tony. Maybe he was too cold to care. Maybe growing up during the Troubles had made his skin thick. Maybe he agreed with me. It was our last training session before my debut match and, even against bottom of the table PSNI, this disillusioned group of players were going to struggle.

Deciding I’d seen enough, I stepped through the circle of players and took centre stage.

“What I’ve seen from you so far has been poor.” I made a point to look directly at each of them. “I don’t think any of you want to win as badly as I do. I don’t think any of you are willing to work as hard as I am.”

The squad shook their heads and smirked dismissively.

“I can’t wait around for you all to decide to show up and put in the effort, so I’ve invited a group of trialists to train with us starting next week.”
 
The smirks faded, replaced with what might have been irritation or anger.
 
“Whether or not you’re a part of our success is down to each of you and how much you’re willing to work for it.” The players looked at each other as if telepathically deciding whether now was the right time to revolt. “I’m not asking you to be Barcelona. All I’m asking for is some effort.” I nudged the ball under my foot to the nearest player. “You have to show me you want to be here.”
 
I retreated back beside Tony while the squad mulled over my challenge. The silence was broken by the booming voice of team captain Ryan Dunn calling for the ball.

“Yes, Ruairi! To feet!”

The players sprang into action with unrecognisable intensity. The ball zipped from player to player across the slick surface with marksman precision. The defenders rushed towards the man in possession like a tenacious pack of dogs, locking onto their next target the moment the ball left the attacker’s foot.

“Bold strategy,” Tony said.
“Let’s hope it works.”
“You didn’t feel like running it by me first?” Tony asked.
I shrugged. “Spur of the moment.”
“Do you even know many players around here?”
I didn’t.
“I better get on the phone then,” Tony said.

Edited by Frank White
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Hi Frank, good to have you here and seeing you make the move from lurking to story writing. I'm sure everyone is looking forward to seeing how your first save goes. 

Best of luck 

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  • Frank White changed the title to All to Play For: A Journeyman Story

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