Where's Williams? Life after Prestatyn

[Greyfriars Bobby]

Really great read so far

What he said. I enjoyed Owain's career at Prestatyn very much, and it's good to see him off to a good start in his new home. You've developed characters that are fun to follow. Count me in for the duration.

[EvilDave]

Thank you both for your kind words and for following along - I'm glad you're enjoying the ride and hope you continue to do so!

--

Since the A-League launched in 2006, only six of the 15 league premiers had gone on to become finals champions. Even the great Newcastle Jets side of the mid-2010s, which lifted three consecutive league titles, only managed it once. To make matters worse for Adelaide fans, it had been Melbourne Victory that were the first and second club to do the double.

And so when, 14 minutes into the Grand Final, we took the lead, there were few who celebrated prematurely. It was a classic Adelaide goal - patient probing to reach the final third and then an injection of pace at the crucial moment - and when Ibini spun to play in Rogic, there was little doubt that the A-League Player of the Year would finish the job.

But we were right to be cautious, and Central Coast had not made it this far just to roll over and let us take the glory. Ten minutes after the opener, a corner on our left was floated in and cracked against the post by Ratao, the Mariners’ talismanic Brazilian who had caused us plenty of problems in the league games. It was the closest they would could until the stroke of half-time when, with just seconds to play until the whistle, the same man broke free and rifled a shot past Izzo from the edge of the box. Once again, we had to reset and start all over.

Throughout the regular season, Bernie Ibini had been our goalscorer supreme, but on this particular occasion he decided to switch roles. With 52 minutes on the clock, another burst of quick passing saw the ball wind up at our striker’s feet, and a simple lay-off was all that was needed to put Costa in for an easy finish. Once again we had the lead, once again we had the Hindmarsh singing, and once again we just needed to hold on.

Stung into action, the Mariners came at us hard. We had barely settled down after the goal when midfielder Turnbull broke free of our defensive shackles and bore down on Izzo. Whether the pressure from our goalkeeper or the situation proved greatest was irrelevant - his side-foot finish brushed the side of the post on its way wide, and our lead remained intact.

As the hour mark ticked by I made my first two changes, freshening up our midfield with the introduction of Rossiter and Adams at the expense of the exhausted Malik and Thorbjornsson. Both men had run themselves into the ground for the cause, and moments after their arrival were almost celebrating a wondergoal. Left-back Will Allomes, apparently not having enough to do defensively, wandered forward and thumped a 30-yard thunderbolt off the crossbar. Had it gone in, the trophy would certainly have been ours. Instead, it cannoned 20 yards out back into the field of play.

But with Ratao on the field, Central Coast remained a threat, and with just eight minutes left to play they turned that threat into a leveller. As we had clawed our way back into the Victory game with a late headed equaliser, so we fell victim to a similar play, the Brazilian crossing for substitute Mladen Curic to head in and tie the match at 2-2. Neither side could find a way through in the final moments, and once again we headed for extra time.

[EvilDave]

“Into the second period of extra time here at the Hindmarsh Stadium and it’s still Adelaide United 2-2 Central Coast Mariners in the A-League Grand Final. These teams were one and two all season Micky, and there’s not much separating them here is there?”

“No Guy, not at all. Here comes Ibini for the Reds though, lines up the shot… Corner to Adelaide Guy, decent effort from the top scorer.”

“Yes, he’s been on good form today. Costa it looks like to whip the ball in, and there’s a Mariners head on the corner.”

“It’s not gone far enough though Guy, Rossiter puts it back in the danger zone.”

“There’s real panic here in the Mariners box, I think that’s Chettleburgh who got a touch, ROGIC! Adelaide have done it Micky!”

“No doubt about who got that one, what a ripper from Tom Rogic! Bouncing ball, great technique, maximum power. Pick that out!”

“It’s 3-2 Adelaide and just 12 minutes to go, can Central Coast get back for a third time?”

“I reckon that might just do for ‘em you know. Adelaide deserve this, they’ve been the best team all year.”

…

“That’s a nice touch Micky, Bruce Djite comes on for the last few seconds for one final appearance before he retires, and it’s Ibini who comes off. He’s taking his time, every fan in the Hindmarsh gets a clap from the big man.”

“Nice touch from Williams on the bench, letting the fans salute their top scorer and say goodbye to a legend.”

“It don’t know if Djite will touch the ball Micky, the whistle’s about to blow… It’s over! Adelaide have done the double, they’ve won the Grand Final 3-2 over Central Coast, what a year for this team!”

“What a year indeed Guy, from zeroes to heroes in 12 months. Superb achievement from Owain Williams and his boys, they’ll enjoy this one tonight.”

“I dare say they’ll enjoy it for a long time yet. Let’s go pitchside with Alyssa to see if she can get a word with the two managers…”

[EvilDave]

I didn’t remember much of the following night, and judging by the groans that came from Rachel the next morning, neither did she. Once again Mr McGregor was very generous with the alcohol, and with no competitive fixtures until October, the players were allowed to let their hair down a little. They had just done the double, after all.

Sitting at home thinking about our achievements - about the only activity I could muster without feeling a little queasy - I was surprised at how quickly I’d been able to make an impact in Adelaide. With a host of new players and an unfamiliar tactical set-up - something even I had never tried before - we had somehow blown away the competition. Yes, the Finals Series had been a little tighter than we would have liked, but to win the league with a double-digit points advantage was rare indeed in the evenly-matched world of the A-League.

What’s more, we had done so with very little history of success at the club. It was the first league title since the inaugural competition in 2006, and the first finals trophy in several attempts. It meant we would be joining the big guns in the Asian Champions League, and would no doubt be marked men in domestic competition next year. It might even generate interest in our players from overseas.

The one thing I did have left to sort out before Rachel whisked me away on our anniversary holiday was the small matter of my contract. Mr McGregor had signed me up for one year with the promise of an extension if I met expectations, and without wishing to sound too big-headed, I had far surpassed them. I had arranged to meet the owner a couple of days later to talk things through, but before then I had to figure out just how far I was intending to put down roots in Adelaide.

Given that we had been in South Australia a little under a year, it was perhaps too soon to be making that sort of judgement, but the initial outlook seemed promising. Rachel was about to fly solo on the business front, Bethan was settling in to her second year of school at West Lakes, and Rebecca had been allocated a place in the reception class for the next academic year. Our house, whilst still belonging to the club, was already feeling like a home, and in Francesco and Maria we had friendly neighbours who we felt comfortable having as both social partners and occasional babysitters.

The only non-footballing reasons I could think of to leave were all relatively minor, and would probably pass away with time. Rachel, particularly as someone about to become self-employed, did not have a great many friends in the city, and my network was rather limited to my staff and players. As a man the wrong side of 40, I was no longer able to retain the sort of close friendships I had enjoyed in the early years at Prestatyn - there was significant age gap between myself and even the likes of Bruce Djite, who was retiring.

Yet financially we were doing very well, the Reds were thriving under my management, Brett was a good man to work for, and my family were happy. It was therefore with an incredibly positive attitude that I went into my meeting with the owner in his Hindmarsh office.

I will not surprise you, then, to hear that I was not expecting Mr McGregor’s opening statement.

[EvilDave]

“I’m going to level with you Owain. Things aren’t looking good. The club is in the red, quite some way in the red. We need you to cut the bills.”

“But we’re already under the salary cap, what else is there to do?”

“To be honest, I’m not even that sure, but how do feel about playing with a lighter squad next season?”

“Lighter than 23? I don’t know Brett, you’re not making this easy.”

“I know, and I really wish there was another way. What have you got lined up for transfers?”

“Well, Djite and Leijer are retiring, Pisanu and Flaws want out, and Corey Brown is still deciding. I’ve got three coming in at the moment, but there are a couple more I’ve got my eye on if we’re to kick on.”

“How do you feel about Rossiter? Can we afford to lose him?”

“I’d rather not, but there’s probably local talent that can fill in. Does he want to go?”

“His agent has made some noises. Listen, Owain. I don’t want you running a tiny squad, but the numbers mean we can probably afford 21, 22 max. It’s not ideal, especially with the Champions League, but I’ve got no choice. I’m sorry, it’s just the way it is.”

“Brett, if you don’t mind me asking - how bad is it?”

My boss showed me a page of figures from the finance department, which showed a hole in the club’s budget of roughly two millions dollars - just over £1 million. The club was already paying back a loan of around the same amount, so there was no chance of help from the bank. Even if I could save £100,000 in salaries, it wouldn’t make a huge difference.

“If I’m staying on with all these cuts, what am I expected to do? I can’t work miracles you know.”

“You can actually Owain, but that’s by the by. Top six, that’s all I’m asking. I can’t expect you to repeat the league.”

“That’s fine, but if the pressure comes the press will have to know why. I can’t be the manager and the accountant.”

“I know, that’s fair. I’m sorry Owain, I really am. Are you happy to sign on those terms?”

“Same wage I assume?”

“That’s right. Two years, same bonuses if you win anything. Are you in?”

With something of a sigh, I signed the contract that Brett pushed across the table. Two more years at the same pay for a double-winning manager was not the reward I had expected, let alone the need to cut the playing squad. Still, I couldn’t uproot Rachel and the girls so soon - I had little choice.

I stood, shook Brett’s hand and made to leave, when my employer called out after me.

“There is one more thing Owain.”

“And what might that be?”

“I need you to renegotiate with Tom Rogic. We can’t afford a marquee player.”

[EvilDave]

If Brett had given me that particular piece of information before I signed the contract, I’d have done so with a great deal more hesitancy. Yes, I found myself with very little choice but to stay in Adelaide, and had no wish to throw my employer under the proverbial bus by turning the fans against him, but to slash the wages of the reigning Player of the Year and tell him he wasn’t so special any more? Not my favourite job in the world.

When Tom arrived in my office, his bright and breezy manner made things all the more difficult. After all, despite his injuries, he was still in his 20s, and undoubtedly one of the stars of the A-League. What could his manager possibly have to say just before the off-season? That he would be captaining the side next season? That he had been called back into the Australia set-up? That a multi-million dollar bid from Europe would thrust him back into the spotlight?

“I’m not going to mess around Tom, and I’m sorry to have to do this, but you might want to get your agent in. The board has asked me to go over your contract - there’s no room in the budget for a marquee this year.”

Rogic’s face dropped, and with good reason. The wages of a marquee player were not limited by the league salary cap, and made him comfortably Adelaide’s top earner. At the moment, he was taking home just shy of 15,000 dollars each week - around £6,500 in real money - and the new deal would limit him to less than half that, the local equivalent of £3,000. For such a key part of the team, it was a huge kick in the teeth.

“What’s the alternative boss?”

“I don’t know Tom, and that might be for you and your agent to discuss. All I know is what I’ve been told, and that’s that marquee status just isn’t an option.”

“OK boss, thanks for levelling with me. I’ll be honest with you too - this isn’t an appealing option, but I don’t think clubs are queuing up for me, and I’m not getting any younger. I’m happy in Adelaide - particularly now we’re winning - but I’ve got to do what’s best for me, you know?”

“Of course I do Tom. Please believe me when I say we don’t want to lose you. I mean that.”

“Thanks boss. Let me chat with my agent, and he’ll call you later.”

“Can’t you tell me face-to-face?”

“Sorry boss, terms of his deal - he gets to seal the deals, as it were.”

A few hours later, I got the call from Lance Deans, Rogic’s agent of choice. The good news came first - Tom was staying, and was taking the money on offer. The kicker came afterwards.

“There’s a condition though Owain - Tom needs the security. He needs three years.”

“Three years? He’ll be 31 by then, is it really wise for Adelaide to be paying a 31-year-old top dollar Lance?”

“I have to remind you Owain, that my concern is Tom Rogic, not Adelaide United. You’re already cutting my client’s wages in half, the least you can do is guarantee that money for him long-term.”

With a deep breath and little choice, I agreed to Lance’s terms, having come to dislike the man very much in a short space of time. I sent over the contract, and received it back within half an hour, complete with Tom’s scrawl of a signature. It was one problem solved, even if it created another.

[EvilDave]

Because of the A-League’s somewhat unusual system of transfers and contracts, converting Rogic from a marquee player into one of the lads actually pushed us closer to the limit than we were before. I may have saved the club £3,500 each week, but it pushed me perilously close to the salary cap. Had Brett McGregor known what he was doing when he asked me to open negotiations? Or was it simply a quirk of the system that we had all managed to overlook? Either way, it would make my own transfer dealings that bit more complicated when I returned from my holidays.

Speaking of which, Rachel did a fine job. For almost the entire month of June, the four of us crossed the Tasman Sea to New Zealand, where the winter weather felt anything but and the vastness of the countryside was enough to make you forget any other cares. Amidst the hiking and hillwalking - somewhat curtailed by our two toddling girls - was plenty of time to explore the towns and cities, and just as importantly to simply relax and be. The batteries were firmly recharged, and for once I did not owe Rachel an anniversary present.

Back in Adelaide, with Bethan back at school and Rebecca excited at the prospect of three half-days each week in preparation for her start in 2022, there was plenty to be getting on with, but with my Reds on holiday until August I couldn’t even begin to work with my own players. That effectively meant I was forced to do my work over the phone - meaning I could stay in the company of my family while deciding players’ futures.

Rachel seemed to enjoy having someone around - the house was eerily quiet without either of the girls - and in the moments of calm I was able to help her out with the finishing touches on her new business. Mid-August had been earmarked as the time for my wife to go it alone as a recruitment consultant, and she was busy finalising things with accountants and trying to drum business in the local community. As a semi-celebrity thanks to my works with United, I could at least appeal to the football-friendly section of the city.

But it was not all Rachel’s work and rest, far from it. Armed with squad lists and reams of scouting reports, I had to try and assemble a squad of players who could come at least close to replicating the success Adelaide had enjoyed last season. In order to hit Brett’s financial restrictions I was going to be playing close to the wire, and anyone with even half an inclination to leave was going to be nudged towards the exit.

Bruce Djite and Adrian Leijer were both gone thanks to their decision to hang up their boots, and in truth neither would be a big blow. Djite had occupied the bench and grabbed a couple of early-season goals, and Leijer had played just twice all season filling in for injury and suspension, so while both would leave a hole in term of their influence and professionalism, we would be unlikely to miss them on the pitch.

The same could be said for Roland Barisic, who made just a handful of appearances in the centre of defence, and Luca Pisanu, who had utterly failed to impress since arriving from Cagliari. Both men were frustrated at their lack of opportunities, but were far enough down the pecking order in their respective positions to mean that I was happy to cancel their contracts and let them go it alone. No ill will, just realism.

Harder to part with were the New Zealand pair of Jamie Jones and James Flaws, both of whom I had signed just 12 months before. Jones had suffered from the form of Ibini up front and a wealth of options in his secondary attacking midfield slot, while Flaws had not lived up to expectations and had slipped to third in the queue for a start at right-back. Auckland City were keen on both of them, and with the pair taking up two of our five valuable international slots, they left with our blessing and sense of regret.

The last pair to go were very difficult indeed. Cormac Rossiter had scored our goal of the season after arriving from Derby, and had played around two thirds of our games in central midfield, but he was better than Australia and his agent knew it. Hibernian had showed an interest, and I couldn’t stand between him and a higher standard of league. Even if I thought privately we could give his new team a game.

That left Corey Brown, the comeback story of last season. Injured for four months in one of his first friendlies, only to bounce back and alternate with Will Allomes on the left side of defence. He had served us well, but his injury had caught up with him and he was no longer the player he once was. When I started fielding calls from amateur clubs in the regional leagues I started to take note, and after having things explained to him, he chose to move of his own accord. His attitude was admirable, but we had no room to keep him.

With a very light squad and a bit of welcome room in the salary cap, it was now my turn to go and recruit. I only hoped I could afford my targets.

[EvilDave]

Brett told me I would be travelling light this season, 21 or 22 players is what he said. Well, after the best part of a month spent talking to players and agents, and racking up a phone bill that would make even the most multi-national of businesses blush, I ended up with 22. There was a 23rd, Croatian midfielder Dragan Cetina, but his wages would have tipped us over the salary cap. I could only hope to have made the right decisions.

Let’s start with the defenders, of which there were three new arrivals. Eliot McDonald was the most exciting of the trio, a 23-year-old stolen from a beleaguered Sydney FC and whose skills made him instant first choice in either of the full-back roles. He would be seeing plenty of game time this year, and his versatility made him a fine pickup for little outlay.

Also heading straight into the line-up would be American centre-back Greg Schultz, lured away from Portland and just 24 years young - although this made our oldest new signing. Backing him up, and doubling up in a more defensive midfield position should it be required, was another ex-Sydney man Pana Papazis, who at 23 was another youthful addition.

To midfield, where we made another three additions, and managed to bring back an Aussie from overseas - at least temporarily. We would have the services of 19-year-old Christian Wallace for the opening part of the campaign, arriving as he did from Derby, and he would prove capable backup for our starters. In a more attacking role we acquired another teenager, Corey Smith, fresh from some impressive performances for semi-pro Sydney Olympic in the regional leagues. He could probably step straight into the line-up in any other team in the league, but to make it to ours he’d had to go through Costa, Rogic, Clark, Adams and fellow newcomer Mohammed Alwan. The Iraqi international, with several caps to his name at just 21, arrived on a free from his boyhood club Al-Sina’a, and with pace, vision and an eye for goal, would be equally suited to life behind Ibini or stepping in for our top scorer.

That left our sole out-and-out striker, Jamal Hill. Best remembered as the man who had a penalty saved and then scored against us anyway for former club Brisbane, Hill gave us a solid option off the bench behind Ibini and an eye on the future at just 22. Also capable of playing left wing in case of a tactical reshuffle, his poacher’s instincts meant we shouldn’t be short of goals in the coming year.

The final squad looked a little midfield-heavy and possibly a body short in defence, but operating to the new restrictions we were always going to be cutting things fine. Brett’s limitations had been adhered to - although we were still just as close to the salary cap as before thanks to the fuss over Rogic's​ new deal, we were around £4,000 per week better off - and in theory we had one of the strongest sides in the A-League. The proof, I supposed, would only come on the pitch.

[EvilDave]

We wouldn’t find out, however, during the pre-season friendlies. Once again we stayed local, confining our travels to South Australia, and racked up the fixtures, playing a dozen games over the course of six weeks. There was heavy rotation, a wide spread of opponents, and even a testimonial match - Osama Malik netting a generous penalty in a ceremonial 6-0 romp over Port Adelaide - but ultimately we learned little we wouldn’t have gleaned on the training ground. This was purely an exercise in fitness and morale, and the 100 per cent winning record gave us both in abundance.

Before our opening game of the new A-League season, Brett McGregor called to thank me for doing my best to aid the club’s financial peril. On the back of last year’s double, the ticket office had sold around 700 more season tickets than in the previous campaign, a figure which made a nice little hole in the debt. There was still a long way to go, but it was a start - not to mention a sign that the footballing side of things could actually make a difference.

Also making a difference, apparently, was my status as Adelaide manager on Rachel’s new firm. She’d lit the blue touchpaper just as we began our packed friendly schedule, and had actually chosen to come along to a few of the games to see if she could drum up any business. Sponsors, partners, the clubs themselves - nobody was spared my wife’s relentless sales pitch, and my presence as boss of the city’s biggest team did her no harm. Already her address book was filling, and some of those names had translated into business.

So much so that when I left for the office in the morning, Rachel was already up and making calls, and when I came home in the evening she was often doing the same. Obviously there was some time in the middle for Bethan and Rebecca, but the intensity at which she had kicked things off was impressive. I had little doubt of her impending success.

Of my Reds, I was less certain. Yes, we had done the double last season, but we were now the team everybody else wanted to beat, and we had lost several players over the winter break. We had recruited well - McDonald, Schultz, Smith, Alwan and Hill would all add depth to the line-up - but the newcomers had only played routine friendly matches together, and were by no means a cohesive unit. In addition, whereas last year we relied a lot on a patient counter-attacking style, teams were no more likely to try the same trick against us. We would have to force the issue ourselves, something we hadn’t had to do a great deal of before now.

There was also the Champions League to contend with, although not until the second half of February when the group stage kicked off. In recent years the title had been split fairly evenly between the giants of the Korean K-League and the oil-rich teams of the Middle East, with very little in the way of Australian success. If we were to make a run deep into the competition, we would need the highest level of performance from every member of our depleted squad. It would be our biggest test yet.

[EvilDave]

There is a long time between October and February however, and we cannot allow ourselves to get distracted by the ACL several months ahead of schedule. The A-League would be our bread and butter, the first plate of which manifested itself in a repeat of last year’s Grand Final. We were off to Gosport to enjoy the hospitality of the Central Coast Mariners, for what was about as difficult an opening fixture as we could have been given.

We were thankfully at full strength to take on last year’s two-time runner-up, and with the intention of setting down a marker for the campaign we flew out of the blocks. With just 73 seconds on the clock we grabbed the first goal of the season, Costa sending Ibini through to pick up where he left off, and inside the first 10 minutes the same man made it 2-0, this time Thorbjornsson sliding the pass for our Golden Boot winner to tuck under the goalkeeper.

Central Coast were not about to roll over, but we held firm under the predictable bombardment and made it to the break with our cushion still firmly intact. Jamal Hill and Mo Alwan made their debuts from the bench in the second half, but neither could do anything about the hosts’ consolation - Chettleburgh bringing down a man in the box and watching on as Ant Kalik blasted home the spot-kick. It finished 2-1, we had our first three points, and we were up and running.

The first week of the A-League season has, in both of my years in Adelaide, thrown together three matches in quick succession - something which makes little sense given the lack of a cup competition and no possibility of fixture congestion. What it meant this time was two away games in a row, and an early visit to those old rivals of ours - Melbourne Victory.

Thus far, the Victory had yet to get the better of me - their best attempt being our penalty shoot-out win in the Finals Series - and their fans did not enjoy that one bit. I was the subject of a fair amount of abuse before the game, and at full-time it was even worse. Greg Schultz, who had started in both of our games, made the difference by deflecting a cross past Paul Izzo just after the hour mark, and in what was a dire game - only eight shots throughout, and two on target - that was enough to condemn us to defeat. We had looked slow, lethargic and not at all at the races. I was not best pleased.

Still, I resisted the opportunity for a tirade the likes of which I once gave my Prestatyn players after a galling loss to Bangor, and instead settled for telling each man, in no uncertain terms, that they were not good enough. What I was not expecting, however, was to have to make a personal apology to my employer.

Brett McGregor paid me a visit after the players had left the dressing room, and he was not a happy man. The performance had been unacceptable, he told me, and demanded to know what I was going to do about it.

“Well Mr McGregor,” I started, deciding a more formal approach was best, “we’re going to start winning again. It’s one game, it pains me to lose it, it pains the players and it pains the fans. We’ll bounce back.”

“You’d better Owain, I can’t take any more of those. I don’t mind a defeat, but not to them. Do you understand?”

“Loud and clear boss, loud and clear.”

I didn't appreciate his manner in the slightest.

[EvilDave]

After two away games, we then overcompensated with a run of three matches on the bounce at the Hindmarsh, the first time our growing number of season ticket holders had been able to catch a glimpse of the team in the flesh. Led by old warhorse Osama Malik, we needed three points if our stumble in Melbourne was not to become a fully-fledged dip against Western Sydney. From there it would only be a short drop to a crisis.

The match proved to be a tale of two injury times, with the Wanderers grabbing a goal in added time at the end of each half. Ryan Edwards was the thorn in our side throughout, netting directly from a free-kick in the first period before scrambling home a second at the death. Our defence simply couldn’t keep track of him, and on another day we might have suffered.

On this day in particular however, we came through unscathed thanks to another quick start. This time it took Ibini 20 minutes to open his account, but his headed finish was followed by a penalty from the boot of Thorbjornsson 10 minutes later to give us a comfortable advantage. Despite the best efforts of Edwards, we retained the lead, and with seven minutes remaining a first Adelaide goal for Jamal Hill made his 91st minute effort meaningless. We seemed to be back on track.

Again the turnaround was quick as just three days later we welcomed Wellington Phoenix to town for a fourth game in 15 days, and there was necessary rotation to prevent the likes of Eliot McDonald and Seamus Brown burning out. Our Kiwi visitors faced the same problem, and so the Hindmarsh crowd saw two patched-up clubs doing battle before them.

Accordingly, they saw another new signing net his first Adelaide goal early in the game, with Mo Alwan racing clear and clipping the ball over the goalkeeper with just 10 minutes gone. Wellington looked tired, offered little and seemed resigned to defeat from that moment on, and in truth we should have scored more. We didn’t until nine minutes from the end, Hill getting in on the act after replacing Ibini, and the game against the Victory looked more and more like the anomaly I had hoped it was.

That feeling was exacerbated the following Friday when the Newcastle Jets paid us a visit, and although the final score was humble at 1-0, the performance told a different story. Alwan’s early goal was just reward for our efforts, and the stats sheet said it all - over the course of 90 minutes, Newcastle did not fire off a single shot in anger, much less one that actually threatened Paul Izzo. It was the performance of champions, and with four wins from five we sat at the right end of the table early on.

[EvilDave]

​The next week on the training ground seemed to fly by. With Jade and I keen to make sure we didn’t pick up any unwanted injuries and the team seemingly fully drilled into the Christmas Tree, we spent a great deal of time simply working on fitness and set-piece drills. It was work that meant I didn’t necessarily need to be at the ground for, but with Rachel otherwise engaged and no transfer business to conduct, I had nowhere else to go.

Rachel’s business was picking up nicely, and already she had reached the point where, in an ideal world, she would need another pair of hands to help with all the administration. Before I would have approached Mr McGregor to see if he knew of any office space she could rent out at the club, but after his rebuke following the Victory game, I had second thoughts. Besides, I was fairly confident she would manage without him.

We were also greeted with the happy news one evening that Francesco and Maria were expecting their first child. At 25 they would be considerably younger parents than Rachel and I ever were, but the excitement in both of their voices told us everything we needed to know. They asked if they could spend a bit more time with Bethan and Rebecca - something we were happy to consent to, as it meant more babysitting - and we offered them any help they needed. It wasn’t an offer made lightly given our packed schedules, and I think they understood it as such.

All that meant that by the time we kicked off our first game of November in Sydney, I was already shattered - and not just from the plane journey. I had made the same journey for my first league game as Adelaide boss and upset the odds with a 2-1 victory. This time we were the overwhelming favourites, and the 2-0 scoreline followed the narrative.

What it didn’t show, however, were the large periods either side of Ibini’s brace when Sydney put us under a huge amount of pressure, forcing us to retreat deep into our own half and put in a real backs-to-the-wall effort. It wasn’t pleasant viewing, and when Jade suggested we’d played better in losing to Melbourne, I didn’t disagree. The three points counted for just as much as those gained in a 6-0 romp, but they didn’t sit particularly easy.

As if to prove my point, in our next game we welcomed Melbourne Heart and had to come from behind to claim a point in a 1-1 draw we barely deserved. Alex Tabor grabbed the opener for the visitors in first-half stoppage time, and we needed the keen eye of the referee to get our equaliser. In truth, Ibini was quite clearly brought down and Costa made no mistake with the finish, but we were lucky and needed to improve.

Still, the result kept us in touch with Brisbane Roar at the top of the table early on, and it was already becoming clear that we had enough quality to comfortably achieve the owner’s goal of a top six finish. My concern was more whether Mr McGregor would still actually be satisfied with simple qualification for the Finals Series, or whether I had made a rod for my own back

[EvilDave]

“I’m sorry boss, it’s Bernie.”

The words from Neven Antic, our usually quiet head physio, were thoroughly unwelcome. I had arrived later than usual on the training ground after a meeting with my scouting team, and now my physio was worried about my star striker.

After the previous night’s capitulation in Perth, I was already in a bad mood. We had given the native Glory a two-goal headstart, clawed it back and then given away a needless penalty to gift them the three points, and to make matters worse Tom Rogic had got himself booked for diving. Now our primary source of goals was being tended to by the physio team on the training pitch. It was not what I needed to hear.

Nor was the result of Ibini’s scan. Serious damage to the hip joint, and a minimum of two months on the sidelines, possibly as long as three. Whether he’d come back the same player was another question - Bernie was already 29 - and Neven couldn’t tell me accurately enough. What was already a bad day by default became an even worse one.

Trying to figure out what my options were, I realised that while all was not lost, we were facing a serious blow. With Ibini out, Jamal Hill would become our front-line striker, leaving Alwan - more usually deployed as the main forward’s shadow - or Jack Adams - another player more at home in attacking midfield - as the next man in line. If Jamal went down we’d be in deep trouble, and unless I could convince someone to join us for free, we were too close to the salary cap to think about replacements.

My only ray of hope lie in the fact that this year’s calendar meant a two-week break around the Christmas period. Ibini would be able to do some of his resting and recovering over the holidays rather than during the busiest part of the season, and he might miss one or two fewer games as a consequence. It would also give Hill more of an opportunity to learn our system, and hopefully not cost us too many points.

Taking the path of least pessimism seemed to be the only way to stay sane as we approached the end of the first round of the A-League season. The only team we were yet to face, Brisbane Roar, sat just clear of us at the top, and our ninth game would see us welcome the Mariners of Central Coast to the Hindmarsh. Irrespective of our recent woes, we couldn’t afford any more mishaps.

[EvilDave]

Game nine meant the end of the first round of the A-League calendar - a chance to see where everybody is after facing everybody else even if the matches haven’t fallen quite as neatly as hoped, and for us in particular an opportunity to see how we would fare without our all-time leading goalscorer. One of the fan sites online described Ibini’s injury as a ‘golden opportunity for the next generation of Reds to stake a claim for a place.’ I was not quite as optimistic.

We were perhaps fortunate in that our next match was in the comfortable surroundings of the Hindmarsh, and that our opponents were a Central Coast outfit looking bereft of confidence and struggling for form. Just as we were without Ibini, so they were missing Brazilian marquee man Ratao, and so the loss of our talisman was somewhat made up for by their doing the same.

Their goalscoring exploits were therefore in the hands of the man who took the Grand Final to extra time, Mladen Curic. Their striker held up his end of the bargain, netting for the Mariners in the 85th minute, but ultimately it meant nothing. Two minutes before the interval we had taken the lead through George Costa, and with 20 minutes left on the clock Jamal Hill showed the Adelaide fans that life without Ibini was not completely hopeless, finishing coolly from 10 yards out to earn us all three points.

It was a result that left Central Coast boss Ante Covic clinging to his job - his team sat outside the top six in seventh place after the opening third of the campaign - and put us just a point behind Brisbane at the top of the table. While it was still too early to make any judgements, it looked like the Roar would be our main contenders for the crown, with Melbourne Heart, Western Sydney, Wellington and Sydney making up the rest of the Finals Series as things stood. At the opposite end of the table, Newcastle were the side having a miserable time of things - they sat with just four measly points. Much to the joy of our fans, the Victory were only one spot better off.

That saw us into December, and a busy time of year for Rachel and I as we were determined to get ready for Christmas a little earlier than last year. Rebecca’s nativity was already on the calendar and there was no way we could miss it, but we were determined not to leave everything to the last minute for a second year. Our eldest daughter was now demanding more of a say in decorations - hopefully not the makings of an interior designer - and we were trying to figure out what we could do for Francesco and Maria as they enjoyed their last Christmas on their own. There was plenty on our plate.

For me, one of those things was a second home game in a row, against the side currently topping the A-League table, Brisbane Roar. Our visitors had made the play-offs last season only to have the seedings upset by Melbourne Victory, and had flown out of the blocks in an effort to avoid the same problem for a second season. They looked good, there was no doubt about that, and so our first meeting of the season also doubled up as a chance for both teams to scope the other out. It would a nervy occasion.

In the end it was the Roar who failed to control their nerves in the opening stages, a defensive error allowing Hill to sneak in unmarked and guide home an early header. From that point we seemed comfortable, patiently passing the ball around and waiting for our opponents to make the next move. Paul Izzo had a surprisingly quiet day in goal, and we got our just rewards when, with only a few minutes remaining, Mo Alwan slid home a second to send us top of the table.

Yet even a routine win over the side closest to us did not come without a cost. Ten minutes after opening the scoring, Jamal Hill limped out and could not return. The damage? A twisted ankle, and up to a month out of action. My job was not getting any easier, and my stress levels were slowly rising.

[EvilDave]

Without our two top strikers, we were now firmly into backup territory. Our next-best scorer, Mo Alwan, had spent all of his previous time on the pitch playing off our main striker, while fourth-in-line Jack Adams had barely featured at all for us this season. When he had, he too had been deployed in the support role rather than as the main man.

But it was Alwan who was called upon for for our next fixture, away at Western Sydney in a game that had it all. After a tense first half which we just about edged, Jason Chettleburgh managed to pick up a second yellow card after just five minutes of the second period, leaving us very much up against it. Our Iraqi striker was also having a hard time of things up against the Wanderers defence, and so on came Adams in his place to try and earn us an unlikely victory.

As expected, the home team decided it was time to attack my 10 men, and Izzo was by far the busier of the two goalkeepers. Wave after wave broke on our makeshift defence, but in the end it was not good enough - with 84 minutes played, Evan Kennedy saw his first shot saved by our goalkeeper, watched as team-mate turned the rebound on the post, and then reacted quickest to smash home the loose ball at the third time of asking. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

It was not as bitter, however, as what we forced down the Wanderers’ throats eight minutes later. Deep into injury time, with only a handful of seconds still to play, Thorbjornsson robbed his man and fed Carl Clark. Looking up, he saw the run of Adams beyond a tiring home defence, the ball was good and the finish into the bottom corner was even better. Somehow we had salvaged a point, and while Brisbane’s win knocked us back off the top of the table, it felt like a victory.

A couple of days after the match, I was accosted at training by vice-captain Alex Somerville and a beaming back-up goalkeeper, John McDonald. It was strange to see McDonald smirk, let alone smile, so it didn’t take me long to figure out something had happened.

“Haven’t you heard? We’ve got the call!” Alex told me with a total lack of clarity.

“What call. Who’s we?”

“Us two, Seamus and Corey. The Under-22 Cup. We’re going to Japan!”

Digging a little deeper, it became apparent that my two grinning assailants, joined by Seamus Brown and Corey Smith, had been called up for the Asian Under-22 Cup being held in Japan. Further enquiries informed me that Mo Alwan would be in action for Iraq when the tournament got underway. In January.

I had simply assumed that the organisers would hold the tournament in the two-week pause over Christmas - we didn’t have a game between December 17th and 31st. But no - the Asian Football Confederation had decided, in its infinite wisdom, to hold the tournament from January 8-22 - right in the middle of the A-League season. Not only that, but players were required to join up with their squads the day after Boxing Day - meaning that if Australia and Iraq made the final, I would be without five of my 22-man squad for five league fixtures.

Slowly but surely, I was beginning to fall out of love with the Australian game.

[EvilDave]

Our next match would be at home to our biggest rivals, who were enduring a fairly miserable season over in Melbourne. Given that the Victory had beaten us in our second fixture, and that the result had earned me something of a dressing down from Brett McGregor, I was determined not to go through the same thing again. We needed to win.

Before then, however, I was the recipient of a surprise call from my aforementioned employer, whose presence in the Hindmarsh offices was becoming increasingly rare. Given the recent fuss with injuries and the Asian Under-22 Cup, I was half expecting him to come in and announce that he had sold the club to North Korea, or that the club would be bankrupt effective immediate. Thankfully, the news was better.

“I just wanted to say well done on the work so far Owain - on the finances I mean. I know it’s been hard with the restrictions but it is making a difference.”

“It makes it harder when the country takes half your players away, but I am trying.”

“I know, and I do appreciate that. I wanted to give you some good news. I’ve been chatting with a group of investors and they’ve agreed to pump a million into the club - giving back to the Adelaide community is how I sold it. We’re still not in a good spot, but we’re halfway out of the hole.”

“A million dollars? How did you manage that one Brett? Who are these guys?”

“Just some investors with close ties to the area. Your Rachel could do worse than getting in touch actually - get her to call me if she wants to know. Anyway, I’ve got a question for you.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. Glenn Cochrane, what do you reckon?”

I paused. Cochrane was one of three goalkeepers in our youth team, and had probably the highest potential of all three. However, what he possessed in talent he threw away with something of an attitude problem - he had missed training twice last season - and Sasko Ivanovski was the more secure long-term bet between the posts.

“He’s good Brett, but I can’t see him making it here. Not while Paul Izzo is still about at any rate. Why?”

“Wolves want him. They’ve offered 800k in installments and a sell-on clause.”

That was news to me. I had been told about scouts at the youth games, but had no inkling that Glenn was the man under their spotlight. If Wolves paid the fee in one lump, the club would almost be out of the red. They wouldn’t - and so we’d be precarious for a while longer - but it wasn’t the sort of money we could afford to turn down. Not on a teenager with a bad attitude.

“Take it. He’s good, but he’s not that good, and we’re well covered in goal. That’s good news Brett.”

“See Owain, it isn’t all bad. I’d best be going - make sure we beat the Victory at the weekend.”

[EvilDave]

And so the fates would have it that our last home game before Christmas would be a clash with Melbourne Victory, a game which would probably decide whether our most vocal of fans would enjoy a happy holiday or not. Rachel and I were determined not to fall into the same trap - the halls were decked and presents wrapped well in advance - but if we wanted to keep pace with Brisbane at the right end of the table we needed the three points.

With our first and second-choice strikers both on the injury table, this time the job of leading the line was given to Jack Adams after his late-ditch rescue goal in our previous outing. I couldn’t expect someone to net in injury time every week, but after the way we had knocked Melbourne out of the Finals Series last season, I would certainly not be turning down a similar goal to seal a win.

We would not need some last-gasp heroics this time round though, as a thoroughly professional defensive performance kept the Victory at bay throughout the 90 minutes. Where we struggled was up front - no surprise given the absence of Ibini and Hill, and so it was never going to be a high-scoring affair. Nevertheless, my decision to start Adams in the leading role was vindicated when he set up Carl Clark for the only goal of the game in the 39th minute, and our early-season defeat in Melbourne was avenged with relative ease.

That game at the Hindmarsh would be the last time we saw our international representatives in action for as long as a month, with Somerville, Smith, Brown, McDonald and Alwan all heading off after Christmas for the Asian U22 Cup. Whilst I hated the thought of being without key players at such a critical time - only backup goalkeeper McDonald was not a regular first-team player - I could not begrudge them the chance to broaden their horizons and play for their countries. It would not have been very festive of me to wish them ill.

That gave us eight days before Christmas, and a further five afterwards before our New Year’s Eve journey to Wellington.On the back of a win over our rivals I was in a good mood, and so the players - at least those that weren’t jetting off to Japan - were given a full week off over the holidays. As long as they reported in good nick before we flew out to New Zealand, there would be no repercussions from me. I had to trust my players.

That meant that Christmas itself would be a family occasion in the Williams household, with Rachel and the girls enjoying their second summer Christmas a great deal more than our first haphazard attempt. This time we were joined at the dinner table by Francesco and Maria, whose families had both returned to Italy for the season. With Maria pregnant and worried about spending a long time flying, they had decided to stay in Adelaide on their own, and it didn’t take Rachel long to invite them round. When they finally headed next door at 2am, I was convinced it had been the right call to make.

[EvilDave]

The team welcomed in 2022 by partying the night away in Wellington, with complete consent of their manager. Another goal - this time inside 80 seconds - from Carl Clark had been enough to see off the native Phoenix, and with no match for a week I saw no harm in allowing the lads to let their hair down a little. We had an early flight the next morning - I wasn’t going to take too many risks - and nobody missed the plane, so I considered it a job well done.

That same day we waved farewell to Glenn Cochrane as he officially became a Wolverhampton Wanderers player. I was still a little confused about what a decent English team were doing prowling around Australian teenage goalkeepers, but with football a truly global sport and air travel cheaper than ever, I supposed everybody felt the need to explore the world to get the jump on their rivals. In the case of Cochrane, I suspected Wolves would be disappointed.

Our next match threw up a dilemma. Against Wellington, I had managed to put together a squad that was good enough to travel into enemy territory and win without the missing players. In theory, against the rock-bottom Newcastle Jets, that same squad of 16 should have been able to do the job. No problem.

However, along with the five players missing on international duty, we had Ibini and Hill out injured, Tom Rogic suspended after picking up another booking for diving - his second of the season - and John Orlando, who had filled in at right-back in place of Somerville, ruled out with a thigh strain. That meant I had fewer than the 16 I needed to complete a matchday squad, and so was forced to raid the youth team just to fill the bench.

Unfortunately, the youth team was not exactly packed with quality, and Jade North and I spent a long time deciding who we would take to Newcastle to sit on the bench. My hope was that we would race into an early lead and be able to introduce the teenagers in a no-pressure environment. The second option was not to use them at all.

So it was with a number of unfamiliar faces took their places on the bench against the Jets, both excited by the occasion and praying for a chance to get on and do their thing. Of our five substitutes, only Konstantinidis was older than 19, so avoidance of injury was only just behind collection of three points on our priority list for the trip.

In the end we achieved the second objective with relative ease, although had reckoned without a second evil - suspension. With nine minutes to play and the Newcastle faithful baying for blood, the referee gave in to pressure and sent off Jason Chettleburgh for a challenge which deserved a yellow at worst. I was disappointed with our Kiwi centre-back for giving him the opportunity, but it was the officials that bore the brunt of my anger.

That anger was tempered, however, by the result, and in particular the manner in which it came. After 68 difficult minutes against a Jets side unwilling to endure more punishment in a miserable season, I finally gave in and turned to my bench, sending on attacking midfielder Dusan Lalovic and striker Stephen Wheeler for their professional debuts. Neither could claim great potential, or even a high chance of breaking through to the first team in years to come, but I had no other options.

Four minutes later, Lalovic decided to make his mark. He collected a pass from Malik, turned on a sixpence, hurdled one challenge and outpaced a second defender below finishing low into the bottom corner. It was a stunning goal, one of the best I’d seen since moving to Australia, and a superb solo effort. For one afternoon, our 19-year-old nobody became a cult hero in a moment destined to be played on highlight reels forever more. Not even Chettleburgh’s late dismissal could bring Newcastle back into contention, and after 14 of the 27 league games, we lagged behind Brisbane on goal difference alone. I only hoped we would have a full-strength team to play with at some point some.

[neilhoskins77]

Really enjoying this Aussie adventure Dave. It seems Owain has a knack of getting every last ounce of talent out of his players. Fingers crossed for another successful season, which would be even more outstanding that the first with the financial issues.

[EvilDave]

Thanks Neil, Owain is having his work cut out by the restrictions, but the Christmas Tree seems to do a job down under. It'd be a hell of a job for him to retain the title, but I'm sure he'll give it a good go...

--

Next up, Sydney and a team that seemed to be going through a revival after a fairly poor performance last time round. Despite their most recent failing, the latest visitors to the Hindmarsh remain one of the wealthiest teams in the division, and for that reason alone seemed to be one of the bookmakers’ favourite every year. Hopefully we’d be able to show them the error of their ways.

Six minutes in, things looked pretty bad. Greg Schultz, whose performances over his opening half-year have fluctuated from the sublime to the ridiculous and back again - which, partnered alongside the card-prone Chettleburgh, makes for an interesting pairing - lost his man and allowed Josh MacDonald to run clear and fire the visitors into the lead. So much for keeping things tight.

We had Jack Adams to thank for a fairly swift reply, as our in-form attacker beat the Sydney keeper low at his near post, but parity lasted just five minutes. Again it was MacDonald getting the better of Izzo, and again we had to come from behind. Again we did it quickly, this time Carl Clark mixing up the scorers, and with 34 minutes played we were tied at 2-2. I was still waiting for a chance to breathe, and the fans in attendance did not know where to look.

The immediate answer was to Slaven Simic, the Bosnian who always seems to score against my Reds. In he ghosted from a corner five minutes before the break, and behind we went for a third time in the match. To say my half-time pep-talk was frustrated would be an understatement - Jade said after the match he thought he saw steam coming out of my ears, and I’m not surprised. Against a fairly mediocre side, we’d been made to look even worse.

The rocket had the desired effect, and 40 seconds in the second half Adams sent a half-volley beyond the keeper to level the game again. Surely this time, with three equalisers and the wind in our sails, we would push and romp home to a 6-3 victory? Surely the three points were staying in Adelaide?

Well, no. A full 45 minutes of pressure yielded precisely no more goals, and we were forced to split the points with a Sydney side that had shot its bolt in the opening period and had nothing left to play with. We dropped more points in our shoot-out with Brisbane at the head of the table, and that was that.

The only positive to come out of the game - aside from our three goals - was that over in Japan, my Australian Under-22 representatives had contrived to lose 2-0 to Jordan in their quarter-final. It meant four of my five absentees - Mo Alwan’s Iraq were still in with a shout - would be returning before our next game.

Of course, only three of them would be available for selection. Seamus Brown’s role in the defeat had included picking up an injury, and so he would be out of action for another month. Sometime I wonder why I bother with this game.

[EvilDave]

First, the bad news.

We had already endured one defeat in Melbourne this season when the Victory stole a 1-0 off us in the second game of the season, and our next game saw us endure another galling defeat to their cross-town rivals Melbourne Heart. This was perhaps more frustrating - not because it was against a fierce rivals, but because two of the three goals they scored were penalties given for invisible infringements that only the referee saw. The only sign of hope? Bernie Ibini making a 20 minute cameo in a 3-2 defeat.

A second away trip in as many weeks then gave us the chance to overhaul Brisbane by winning at the home of the leaders, but in fact all we managed to do was give them a taste of our injury-based pain. Their title charge had been carried on the young shoulders of American phenom Fabio Romo, with a remarkable 13 goals in nine games. He wouldn’t be scoring any more for a while, after a challenge with Thorbjornsson saw him leave the field with cracked ribs. On the pitch, we slipped 2-0 thanks to a mad minute in the first half, levelled up to 2-2 through the returning Hill and Adams, and then failed to capitalise on our momentum.

We then failed again to beat Lucas Neill’s Perth Glory - an injury time equaliser from the unlikely boot of Will Allomes the only thing preventing another defeat after another penalty call going against us - and in the space of three or four games we had gone from being neck-and-neck with Brisbane to clinging desperately to their coattails. With the gap up to five points and a considerable goal difference, even at the beginning of February we seemed unlikely to hold on to our status as premiers.

That, it seemed, did not best please my employer. Brett McGregor, despite insisting before the start of the A-League that he only needed a Finals Series spot - something we looked almost certain to achieve - gave me my second stern talking-to of the campaign after the Perth game.

This time, rather than telling me how important certain games were to the fans - something which made sense after the Melbourne defeat - he pressed home how “he had a lot riding on this team” and that “Adelaide United needs to hunt Brisbane down.” I knew there were certain financial pressures on the owner, and I knew last season’s success had heightened the bar, but this verged on threatening the sack. I knew he couldn’t afford that, but I did not like his tone. Nor did Rachel when I relayed the conversation to her.

Oh, the Champions League groups were drawn somewhere in there too. We were given a token sum of money as a qualification bonus, and got thrown together with Japanese champions Yokohama F-Marinos, Chinese upstarts Dalian Yifang, and South Korean heavyweights FC Seoul. If the bookies were to be believed we were heading for a pasting, but we had to have a chance.

Didn’t we?

[neilhoskins77]

That's a very tough Asian Champions League Group to try and come through. Hopefully Owain has a plan, as the financial rewards for coming through that might stop McGregor from losing the plot entirely! Great stuff as always Dave.

[EvilDave]

Thanks Neil - McGregor seems to have got ideas way above his station, so hopefully Owain can pull something out the bag...

--

We’d need to wait to find out, as we faced two A-League games before taking our first steps into continental football. First up, the Central Coast Mariners, and a team we seem to hold some sort of black magic over. Schultz scored his first for the club from a corner on the stroke of half-time, and just shy of the hour mark Jamal Hill powered home to give us our first win in far too long and leave the Mariners, our closest rivals last season, all the way down in 8th.

That defeat cost Ante Covic his job, and that fact sat uneasy. In Wales I’d have taken great delight in seeing someone like Neal Ardley get the boot, but Ante had never shown me anything less than complete respect, and his against-the-odds Grand Final appearance had clearly cost him this time round. With Brett McGregor’s recent change of tone, I also wondered whether my sympathy was linked to a sense of foreboding.

The game that followed that was a visit from Western Sydney Wanderers, who decided that the best way to stunt our attacking prowess was with a series of niggling fouls. Despite my overhauling the squad since taking over, something of the old Adelaide way was obviously left in my players, and we fought fire with fire, resulting in a scrappy and poor game blighted by fouls. We shared 13 bookings - seven for us and six for them - in a dismal game that somehow saw four goals, and frustratingly there too were shared despite us hitting 20 shots to the Mariners’ six. More irritating still was the news that Brisbane had stomped Melbourne Heart 4-0 on the road, and now led the table by a full seven points.

We had just a handful of days before our first foray into Champions League action, and after consulting with Jade I decided that a day off ahead of Seoul’s visit to the Hindmarsh would be positive for all concerned. We weren’t in the best of form, the players were probably sick of my frowning and rebukes, and Rachel was getting a little lonely with both the girls now at school. I could not believe how quickly they had grown.

The day off allowed certain conversations to take place, and with Brett’s recent outbursts things inevitably led to the possibly of my departure - forced or otherwise - from Adelaide. With school now sorted and Rachel’s business up and running - rather well, I might add - we were as settled as we likely to be in South Australia, and moving on, particularly overseas, would be a great deal more difficult than the transition from North Wales had been.

Yet at the same time if things with the Reds didn’t work out, the small and closed nature of the A-League meant my search for work would likely take me out of the country. It was not something we were particularly keen to do, and so my intention was to stick things out as long as possible. However, Rachel was keen to stress that I musn’t grind myself down by working under impossible conditions - a 19-man squad, for instance - and I had to agree.

In short, although we failed to come to anything concrete - countries we would prefer to move to, what to do about schools, what I would and wouldn’t endure - my wife and I reached a conclusion which satisfied at least my initial fear. Adelaide was home for as long as it could be, but I would not be a slave to the mismanagement of an erratic owner. That made things much easier as I prepared the team for Seoul.

[EvilDave]

FC Seoul were, compared to my Adelaide side, a giant of Asian football. With numerous titles to their name in their native South Korea, and winners of the Champions League itself a mere three years prior to our meeting, we were underdogs even with home advantage. When my scouting team handed me their report, it made for bleak reading - they were superior all over the field, and were expected to dominate.

Even so, whether it was my relaxation into a counter-attacking shape or over-confidence from our Korean visitors, it seemed for long periods of the game that there was only one team in the match. Seoul offered very little in the way of attacking threat, mustering a mere three shots over the course of the 90 minutes, and Paul Izzo was largely a spectator in our goal. The expected onslaught simply never came, and we were rarely at risk of defeat.

At the other end, however, our recent problems continued. Even the presence of Ibini, up and running at full speed after his recent injury, could not bring about the all-important goal that we needed, and at half-time the Hindmarsh needed to wake from its slumber. In the second period the introduction of Hill and Alwan - recently returned from Japan with a runners-up medal for his troubles - sparked a little excitement, but in the end the 0-0 draw was two points dropped for us rather than for our opponents.

Five minutes from time Tom Rogic earned his third yellow card of the season for flinging himself theatrically to the floor, and after the match I confronted him in the dressing room, laying down the law in front of his peers. As the best-paid player in my Reds squad he did not take too kindly to my criticism, and barely uttered a word in response. When I came into the office the following morning I had a voicemail waiting for me from Tom’s agent, and so once again I found myself in heated debate with Lance Deans.

“With all due respect Owain,” he began after the pleasantries, “my client does not appreciate being treated like a naughty schoolboy being made an example of. He is an international footballer - an honour which you yourself never attained - and you humiliated him in front of his team-mates.”

“Mr Deans,” I responded emphasising the formality, “your defence of Tom is admirable but misplaced. As you rightly point out, he is an experienced professional who should be setting an example for his younger team-mates to follow. Instead, he is attempting to cheat to gain an advantage, and in doing so earning himself derision from the crowds, wasting opportunities on the field, and walking a disciplinary tightrope. Not of which are acceptable.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. In hindsight, I imagine Deans and Rogic were conversing at this point.

“My client would like you to apologise on the training ground for your outburst.”

“He would like me to what now? ‘With all due respect’ Mr Deans, your client is out of line and he knows it. Adelaide United pays him good money to perform to the best of his abilities, and he is simply not pulling his weight right now. Even if I was in the wrong - which I most certainly am not - I’d be struggling to find a reason to apologise.

“Last season, Tom was the league’s top player, and I’m aware his new contract does not reflect that - sadly, it reflects the financial circumstances I am forced to work in. However, since signing a contract longer than I was comfortable with, his performance level has dropped and his attitude has worsened. I would like to suggest to you, Mr Deans, that your client needs to apologise to me.”

The next silence was longer, allowing me to realise just how angry I was becoming. No matter, I was in too deep to back down at this stage.

“My client will do nothing of the sort.”

“Well I suggest that you, Mr Deans, begin to start earning your money. I will use Tom between now and the end of the season, if only because he is paid to pay and a competent footballer. However, I give you my full assurance that he will not be registered in my 23-man squad next season - I have no place for half-hearted performances. Please tell Tom I will see him on the training pitch this afternoon, and that if he has any complaints he can speak to me himself. Goodbye.”

Well, I thought to myself. That had gone well.

[EvilDave]

Rogic would not be named in the squad for our next A-League tie, which was a return to Melbourne and a chance to take revenge on the Victory for their success earlier in the season. We were in a run of form which I could describe only as ‘mediocre,’ and in need of a win if we were to even think about closing the gap on Brisbane at the top of the table. Our only consolation was in the fact that our hosts sat in ninth place, all but mathematically out of the reach of the post-season.

With one win each to either team, the clash at AAMI Park would effectively determine who had bragging rights for the season. Most wins had come by a 1-0 scoreline, so the fans in attendance were probably not expecting a flurry of goals to keep them entertained. This one would be one settled by grit and determination rather than by moments of brilliance.

And so it proved and neither side could find the breakthrough to claim supremacy. Seven minutes before the break Carl Clark headed us into lead from close range, but the lead didn’t even last to the interval. Instead, in stoppage time at the end of the first period, Dario Vidosicnetted straight from a free-kick to square the match, and despite a raft of bookings in the second half, the score remained locked to the final whistle. It was a result that did nothing for either team - our frustration at least tempered by news of Brisbane also dropping points.

Our first match of March saw us move from the ninth-place team away to the rock bottom side at home as the Newcastle Jets came to the Hindmarsh. They had been terrible all season, picking up points at the rate of a particularly lethargic snail, and the Adelaide faithful expected a win to pick us up out of our mini-slump. Midway through the first half our attackers began to oblige, withAlwan and Clark both hitting the net in three glorious minutes, and the points were as good as ours.

We added a third through Ibini to inject some much-needed confidence into the side ahead of our Champions League adventures, and for the first time in many years the Adelaide United squad found itself travelling for a competitive game to a country not named Australia or New Zealand. Our destination was the northern Chinese city of A’erbin and local club Dalian Yifang, which had come out of nowhere to finish runner-up in their last campaign and clinch continental competition. As with Seoul, they were expected to run riot.

We took to the field in temperatures much cooler than a usual March morning in Australia, and for the opening moments my players too seemed a little frozen by a combination of the weather and occasion. Dalian came at us hard, and it took all of Paul Izzo’s goalkeeping skills to keep us level to the break, but just two minutes into the second half their striker broke free of our defensive shackles and steered home the opener. The bookmakers, it seemed, were correct.

However, the goal seemed to stir us from our slumbers, and we bit back. FirstIbini and then Clark tested the Chinese goalkeeper with stinging efforts, and then on 65 minutes we got a lucky break, a well-timed tackle poking the ball through for Alwan to slot beyond the goalkeeper. From the restart we harried, won the ball back and won a corner, and in the ensuing melee Thorbjornsson was able to get his head over the ball and crash home a half-volley. In the blink of an eye we had turned the tables, and my rank outsider Reds had the lead.

We held it too, and with Yokohama winning away in Seoul, we were in a very strong position after two games. We would travel to Japan a couple of weeks later, and if we managed to earn a win in Yokohama, we would be as good as qualified for the knockout phases. If we made it there - something we were simply not expected to do by the people who know about these things - we would go a long way to solving Brett McGregor’s financial problems.

They were something I was soon to find a lot more about.

[withnail316]

Very rare I venture onto the stories board (more of an FMCU man) but this is an epic tale. KUTGW mate.

[EvilDave]

Thanks for dropping by Withnail - I really appreciate you commenting and am very glad you're still enjoying this!

--

A couple of weeks later things were looking good. In the A-League, we had qualified for the Finals Series courtesy of three-goal comeback to draw with Wellington Phoenix, gaining a point on Brisbane Roar in the process and narrowing the gap to six. Days later, we travelled to Yokohama and escaped with a 1-0 win, the F-Marinos dominating the game but unable to find a way back after Adams’ early goal. It meant we sat on the cusp of qualification to the next stage, and potentially lucrative knockout fixture.

That was when Brett McGregor decided to make his presence known to me once more, and given his recent record I began to wonder whether I should be excited or terrified.

“Owain, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I just wanted to say thank you and well done for what you’re doing in the Champions League. I only ever said top six in the league, but to win in China and Japan, you’re doing fantastically.”

“Thank you Brett, although I can’t take all the credit. The boys have been very good - if they could do it in the league we’d be miles ahead of Brisbane by now.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that - Champions League is the better competition anyway. If we make it through I think we might just be able to stop worrying about the finances for a while.”

His grin as he uttered those words was a little worrying, and I had to ask a dangerous but logical question.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why are you thanking me before we’ve qualified?”

His smile vanished, his lips thinned, and he fixed his eyes firmly on mine. His words, previously spoken lightly and with the air of a man happy with his lot, became slow and calculated.

“Because, Owain, I am telling my manager what I expect of him. I see the Champions League as the most important competition that Adelaide United is a part of this season, and I expect him to understand and act accordingly. I am also telling him that the future of this club may depend on it, and that if there is, for example, a selection dilemma or fixture congestion, he should bear that in mind. Do you understand, Owain?”

“Am I to understand, Mr McGregor, that I am to prioritise the Champions League to the detriment of our performance in the Finals Series? If so, can I ask how the future of the club depends on it?”

I was on rocky ground now, but I was already in too far. I felt my employer’s eye burrowing into my forehead as I waited for the answer.

“Let’s just say that there are a number of people with a vested interest in the success of Adelaide United on an Asian or even global level, who do not give a single **** about the A-League. They have been extremely helpful to me Owain, and I would hate to let them down. Are we clear?”

I was unsure whether my boss was trying to tell me more than he could, or whether he felt he was in sufficient control to drip-feed information. He knew I knew something, but I didn’t know what I knew. Rachel and her business contacts would have to help me here.

“We are very clear, Mr McGregor, very clear.”

[withnail316]

Ah, one of those guys... choppy seas ahead, it would appear...

[EvilDave]

Indeed, McGregor seems to be intent on messing with Owain's plans this year...

--

I left my leads with Rachel and got back to business - I knew something was very strange about the way the club was being run, but I could not both manage the team and look into Mr McGregor’s private dealings. With my wife working for herself - and being paid by a number of key players in the Adelaide area to find their employees - she had the right contacts to do some digging. I simply had football.

We were six points back from Brisbane with an ever-decreasing number of games, and indeed with just 12 points available we needed them to implode if we had any hope of catching them. We had to ignore them for the most part and get on with things, and that began with a trip to a Sydney side hanging just outside the play-off positions in seventh, and with the intention of making our visit a miserable one.

Things got off to a good start for us when Jason Chettleburgh headed in his first of a season from an early corner, but Josh MacDonald was not about to let us run away with things and levelled midway through the half. Going in at the break it looked like we had the momentum, but less than a minute into the second period the same man struck again, and all of a sudden we had an uphill battle our hands to stay in the game.

The comeback began with the much-maligned Rogic, making his first appearance since our falling-out as a half-time substitute for Adams. It took him just three minutes to restore parity with a fine strike from 25 yards out, but his lack of celebration told me everything about his attitude to Adelaide United. He was not about to apologise, not about to up the effort levels - his attitude in training was abysmal - and not about to earn himself a reprieve. He could score a hat-trick for all I cared - he would not be a Red next season.

Another substitute, Jamal Hill, then put us ahead on the hour mark, and we began to put our foot on the accelerator. A whipped cross saw Taylor Mitchell toe-poke the ball beyond his own goalkeeper for our fourth of the day, and Hill wrapped up a convincing victory with his second minutes later to make it 5-2 and earn a good win that seemed a long time coming. In terms of raw statistics, our team’s performance was not a million miles off the previous season - but we had conceded a couple more, scored a couple less, and Brisbane were better. They won again, maintaining their six-point cushion.

It was a cushion that began eight after the following game - yet another disappointing performance against Perth Glory and Lucas Neill, who managed to claim a 1-1 draw despite only registering four shots in the entire match. Again we had to come from behind - Ibini doing the honours just after the interval - but combined with Brisbane’s comfortable 3-0 stroll past Newcastle, our reign as league premiers was over. We were second best, and I was quick to send my congratulations to Phil Moss and his team - as much as we had not helped ourselves, they had earned their moment of glory.

Five days later, we welcomed Dalian to Adelaide and overturned the odds once again, emerged 2-0 winners thanks to goals from Ibini and Alwan in the second half. The Yifang club’s form was suffering domestically, and their continental performances were perhaps indicating that last year’s successes were little more than a fluke. However, with Yokohama beating Seoul by the same scoreline in Japan, it meant we were already qualified for the knockout rounds with two games to spare.

I heard nothing from McGregor.

[EvilDave]

Between the Dalian tie and our next A-League outing against Melbourne Heart, I received an email from the club’s owner, stating that ‘due to the club’s success and subsequent prize money, the club envisages being able to field a 23-man squad for the upcoming Hyundai A-League season. Club owner Brett McGregor is grateful to the efforts of the management, apologises for the limitations on the current squad, and looks forward to a new era of success at the Hindmarsh Stadium.’

It read more like a press release than a memo to all staff, and indeed that is how it ended up in the Advertiser the following morning. On the one hand, it made perfect sense for the owner to be celebrating our qualification and lifting the squad restrictions - if we wanted to compete with the likes of Brisbane, we needed a full cohort of players. On the other hand, there was something very unusual about the timing of the message - the AFC only handed out prize money from the group stage after all six matches and not, as Mr McGregor seemed to be implying, immediately on qualification. He was talking about money we didn’t yet have.

Rachel remained on the case as once again we were forced to come from behind in a league game, relying on Ibini’s late leveller to earn a 1-1 draw with Melbourne Heart. The visitors were up as high as third and were guaranteed Finals football, and to be honest I didn’t fancy taking them on again. Alex Tabor, scorer of their goal, looked very dangerous, and I’d rather not have to face him in a knockout tie. Not with other things to be worrying about.

“Darling, I think I’ve got something for you.”

Rachel had found something on McGregor, or so she thought. Speaking to her contacts in the business world, it appeared my owner had made himself fairly well-known among certain circles in recent months, and particularly those circles with a gambling interest. She thought that the same investors that had pumped money into the club earlier in the season had just landed a windfall based on our Champions League campaign, and that was how the boss had managed to clear the debts ahead of schedule

I was conflicted by her information, speculative though it was. On the one hand, betting partners are nothing new to the world of football, and Mr McGregor was right to seek capital injections into the club. There was nothing wrong with that. On the other, using actual club funds to bet on results - not only did that seem like a terrible way to run a business, it also sounded illegal under a whole host of gambling regulations.

All I could do was lead my team out for the final game of the A-League season, fittingly enough at home against our usurpers as premiers, Brisbane Roar. It hurt to be the ones performing the guard of honour, and it hurt to see them presented with the trophy on the Hindmarsh turf after the game. What didn’t hurt was beating them 2-1 on the back of an Ibini brace, and denting their momentum ahead of the Finals Series. I could only wonder where that level of performance had been for the rest of the season.

[EvilDave]

 

Our win over Brisbane meant we only actually finished four points behind the Roar, who would have set a new points record with a victory. It meant the two of us would have the home draw in the semi-finals, facing the premiers would face the winners of the third/sixth clash between Wellington and Western Sydney, while we faced either fourth-placed Melbourne Heart or fifth-placed Perth Glory, depending on their elimination ties. Given our recent performances against both teams, I was not particularly looking forward to the semi-final.

Outside of the play-offs, it was another year of waiting for Sydney, the bookies’ favourites stumbling home in seventh, last season’s runners-up Central Coast Mariners, our fierce rivals Melbourne Victory in a laughable ninth, and rock-bottom Newcastle with just 22 points from their 30 games. I would hate to be one of the fans who watched them lift three successive league title less than a decade ago.

 

Whilst the elimination finals were taking place, we had the chance to earn a bit of momentum with our final two Champions League group games. We were of course already qualified - much to the delight of our owner and his accountant - and could top the group if we had better results than Yokohama. We would take on the F-Marinos in the final game at home, and that would decide which one of us came through with the top seed.

In the end, things did not go particularly well. Seoul, rather than the insipid performance that saw us held to a goalless draw in Korea, netted twice early and held on tight to claim a 2-1 win at the Hindmarsh and bump us down to second in the group. A week later, Osama Malik was sent off with us leading comfortably 1-0, and in 15 minutes Yokohama pounced to hand us a 3-1 reverse and clinch top spot.

That seeding would prove vital, as instead of a draw against one of the group runners-up, we had to take on a winner, more specifically in our case Guangzhou Evergrande, in the second round. The dominant force in Chinese football for more than decade, they had only failed to win the domestic title twice since I took over at Prestatyn back in 2013. They had also lifted the ACL three times - in 2013, 2015 and most recently in 2019. In other words, they were not to be messed with.

To make matters worse, the Wanderers upset Wellington to hand Brisbane a semi-final against the lowest seed in the domestic finals, and Alex Tabor struck against against the Glory to hand us a tough tie against Melbourne Heart. Just three days after our final group game.

In fact, the only good news of any note was the healthy birth of Francesco and Maria’s baby boy Daniele - named, of course, after the legendary Roma midfielder. He arrived in the world just 36 hours before we kicked off against Melbourne, and while he was the only piece of good news to grace the first half of April, his infectious half-smile and the sheer joy of his parents more than made up for the torrid few weeks that preceded him.

[EvilDave]

 

The latest addition to the Carelli family actually meant a decrease in sleep for us - our houses were close enough to hear little Daniele’s cries, and Rachel was never going to let Maria go through the initial shock of motherhood alone - and so my personal preparation for the semi-final was not ideal. Whilst it did mean bags under my eyes on the touchline however, it also meant I had plenty of time to mull over how to take on Melbourne Heart in my head.

Most of my attention went on how to tame Alex Tabor, the A-League’s top scorer with a knack of scoring against my Reds. Whether my late-night meditations made any difference or not I will never know, but our defence did manage to keep Tabor in their sights for much of the 90 minutes. Indeed, he slipped away for just a single moment in the 78th minute, peeling off Schultz to receive a cross with Izzo stranded across goal. With the whole net to aim at, the striker somehow put his shot wide, and we breathed again.

It would prove to be a costly miss. At the time, Melbourne were trailing to Jack Adams’ point-blank header in the 48th minute, and Tabor’s miss was to be their last chance of the match. We did not manage to add to our lead, but managed the game well, and booked our place in the second successive Grand Final of my tenure. This time, however, we would be away from home, taking on Brisbane at their Suncorp Stadium after they breezed past Western Sydney 3-0 in their semi.

We had a week between the semi and the final, and despite the frequent night-time interruptions from next door, I felt like we had every chance of preparing well. Rachel was actually knocking back potential clients to help Maria out, which meant I had the house to myself much of the time when I wasn’t on the training ground or in my office. Brisbane were thoroughly scouted by the time we kicked off.

Before then, however, I had another visit from Brett McGregor, my chairman this time arriving unannounced as I began drafting my teamsheet for the Grand Final. Entering my office without knocking, he glanced over my shoulder to see what I was doing, and opened with a question.

“Owain, how long between Brisbane and Guangzhou?”

“Three days, two if you count the travel.”

“Right. Two days. Do you remember the conversation we had before about priorities?”

“Very clearly.”

“Well then, consider this a friendly reminder. Good luck in Brisbane.”

“Wait, Mr McGregor. Are you suggesting I play a weakened team in the Grand Final to save the players for the Champions League?”

“I’m not suggesting anything Owain, I am merely reminding you as an employee of this football club what your responsibilities are. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to risk neglecting those responsibilities, would you?”

“No Mr McGregor.”

He walked out into the corridor, leaving my office door wide open and my head spinning. I was fuming.

[EvilDave]

 

No matter how much I tried to bring myself round to Brett McGregor’s point of view, I simply couldn’t do it.

This was the pinnacle of Australian domestic football, and what’s more it was a competition we were defending. Add in the fact that it was our only remaining hope of domestic silverware, and I simply couldn’t field a weakened team. Not for the sake of a Guangzhou game we were likely to lose anyway.

 

I confided in Rachel, and she suspected I’d be sacked if that were case. I confided in Francesco, who was quite frankly far too busy with his baby boy to worry about the politics of Adelaide United, but as a passionate football fan he found the idea of throwing a final of any kind deplorable. I explained that it wouldn’t be fixing the match, just altering the line-up, but he wasn’t having any of it. Unacceptable was the verdict from the Italian.

 

And so we lined up at the Suncorp Stadium with the strongest team available to me. Izzo in goal, McDonald, Schultz, Chettleburgh and Somerville across the back, Malik, Clark and Thorbjornsson in the middle, with Adams and Costa dropping in behind Ibini. I didn’t look at the director’s boxes throughout the 90 minutes - I dreaded to think what my employer was thinking when he saw the teamsheets.

 

For the opening 45 minutes, we were clearly the better team. We had beaten Brisbane recently in the league, and in the opening stages of the game we ran rings round them. Five minutes in Thorbjornsson fired a free-kick off the crossbar, and moments later Ibini wriggled free in the area and forced a smart save from the Roar’s goalkeeper. Jack Adams shot wide when played through, and it was a case of when, rather than if, the deadlock was broken.

 

The answer was first half stoppage time, but it was not broken by an Adelaide United player. With Brisbane’s first shot of the match, Nigerian striker Olu Agboh made himself half a yard of space on the edge of our penalty area, shifted the ball onto his favoured right foot and leathered a bullet past Izzo into the top corner. It was a marvellous goal, and it came completely against the run of play. It made me sick.

 

I rolled the dice at the break - I had no other choice. Off came Adams and the off-colour Ibini, and on went Alwan and Hill in a bid to get us back into the game. Five minutes after the restart, with my players fired up to retain their title, George Costa’s shot seemed bound for the bottom corner, only for the goalkeeper to get a fingertip on the ball and send it wide.

 

The goal was coming, but it was taking its time. On another venture forward, Hill tried to force things with a clever lob which brushed the top of the crossbar on the way over, and another free-kick saw Schultz head just wide of the far post. As time ticked on, frustration grew and the nasty side of our game emerged. Clark and Costa both earned yellow cards for late challenges in midfield, and our reign as champions continued to draw to a close.

 

Three minutes to go, and one last chance to take the game to extra time. Somerville to Malik, on to Costa, back to Thorbjornsson. Past one man, past a second, ball through to Hill…

 

Intercepted. Long ball upfield, Chettleburgh furiously backpedalling. Schultz unable to cover, Brisbane racing forward in support. Fresh-legged substitute in possession, no help needed. One-on-one, Minniecombe against Izzo. Cool finish, 2-0, game over.

 

Congratulating Phil Moss at full-time was easy, collecting a runners-up medal was not. Neither was the dressing room silence that followed, or the subdued journey back to Adelaide. While my forward players pondered what might have been had they taken their numerous chances, I wondered whether I would have a job in the morning. I had disobeyed my employer, gambled on success, and watched it backfire. I could well have signed my own termination papers.

[EvilDave]

 

I heard nothing from the owner before we had to fly out to Guangzhou, which was possibly due to the lack of time more than anything. By the time we arrived, got to the hotel and had a brief training session on the Evergrande pitches, it was time to turn in for an early night to try and minimise the damage down by the flight. Our opponents, on the other hand, would be perfectly prepared.

Instead I had to try and gear up a bunch of players who had, in the space of a matter of weeks, seen one domestic crown snatched from them, lost their last two Champions League game, and then had a second title taken from them by a Brisbane side there for the taking. We were hardly in top form, morale was at an ebb, and everyone who had an opinion believed we were about to be played out of China by that nation’s dominant force.

 

It came as little surprise then that Guangzhuo took the lead after just 11 minutes. With 50,000 cheering them on - a huge change from the 16,000 or so we got at the Hindmarsh on a good day - a couple of quick passes from midfield led to a cross from deep, and in one spectacular moment, Sun Mingfei turned, jumped and wrapped his foot around the ball to send a lightning bolt of a volley past Izzo and in. The stadium erupted, I thought the announcer was going to explode, and I expected the floodgates to open.

 

Surprisingly, they didn’t and we made it to the break still alive in the tie - even if our breathing was starting to falter. Guangzhou had run us ragged, but with the lead at one it was theoretically anyone’s game. Ten minutes into the second half, Carl Clark stepped up to take a free-kick dead centre 22 yards from goal, bent it into the corner, and all of a sudden we were very much in the game.

 

The goal stunned the Evergrande players, and for a team so used to success, it seemed they didn’t know how to respond to the risk of defeat. Clark’s goal was only our second shot of the match but for some reason the Chinese side retreated, and we smelled blood. Hill fired over, Costa dragged one wide, and Izzo became the less busy of the two goalkeepers.

 

Then, with 10 minutes remaining, McDonald broke down the left, fed Alwan on the edge of the D and made a run. Two defenders tracked him, leaving a hole which Corey Smith strode into, taking the pass without breaking stride and drilling a shot low into the bottom corner. Our hosts gave nothing in return, and we escaped to Australia with a lead and two away goals. Guangzhou had been robbed.

 

On my return, I was greeted with another email from Mr McGregor - this time addressed solely to me.

 

“Well done last night, although I suspect you got lucky. I’m very disappointed you ignored my reminder.”

[EvilDave]

 

The message my employer had sent me, although in different words, was a simple one. Get through the round, or you’re gone.

Rachel’s hunch had proved correct, but I was not about to start clearing my desk just yet. We had the advantage against Guangzhou, they looked a beaten team at home soil and would be beatable again on ours. All we had to do was not be beaten - easier said than done against a three-time Asian champion, but achievable nonetheless.

What the email also brought to the fore once more was my own future. If defeat in an unexpected Champions League knockout tie would earn me the sack, how much longer could I hope to hold on even if we won? Would McGregor get rid of me if I lost a quarter-final? Semi? What about the final?

After chatting with Rachel, I began to make plans for departure on my terms. If we went out to Guangzhou that was probably that, but if we didn’t I would have to think long and hard. If this was to be the last chance I had to win the ACL, could I really walk away midway through the competition? It would be difficult, very difficult, but life in Adelaide was not exactly proving as simple as it had once seemed.

Either way, I had a lengthy holiday over which to think if we got through. Between the second round and quarter-finals the Champions League takes a four-month break, coinciding roughly with the A-League off-season. Rachel, Bethan, Rebecca and I needed to recharge somehow, and I suspected that only by escaping South Australia would we be able to really relax.

 

Before that, there was the small matter of the Guangzhou return game. The equation was simple enough for them - win and score more than one goal, and they would probably go through. Draw, and they were out. Lose, and they were out. For my Adelaide side, it was even simpler - avoid defeat, and we’d be through.

I certainly didn’t instruct it, but my Reds retreated deeper than usual as play got underway. Their first concern, despite Jade and I urging them to play their usual game, seemed to be to keep Guangzhou away from our goal and give them no chance of scoring the all-important opener they so desperately needed. It was desperate at times, comfortable at others, and full-on terrifying at others.

But it worked. After 90 even, uneventful and goal-free minutes of football, the final whistle blew and Adelaide United remained in the Champions League. I still had a job, we had a quarter-final tie with defending champions Al-Gharrafa of Qatar to look forward to, and I had a month-long holiday with my beautiful wife and daughters ahead of me. Sometimes, when things don’t seem to be working out, it doesn’t take much to turn it around.

[EvilDave]

 

Rachel and I disappeared with the girls for the duration of their two-week school holidays to Tasmania, and then returned back to base as I awaited either news on my future or the start of the new A-League season. We would have Champions League fixtures before that to deal with, but if I was staying put then it was the bread and butter of the domestic competition that needed my attention - both in terms of squad building and scouting missions.

The first piece of bad news was that Bernie Ibini had broken himself again. For one reason or another the players had been training until the end of the week of the Guangzhou game, and in the penultimate session of the season, our record goalscorer crumpled into a heap off the ball. He’d be out of action over the entire pre-season with ligament damage, and would struggle to make it back in time for the Al-Gharrafa games at the end of September.

 

The second piece of bad news was that while officially the expectations placed upon me for the coming season did not change - make the Finals Series, do your best in the ACL - my employer made it very clear in our pre-season meeting that failure to at least match our current run - if not extend it - would be deemed a failure. I did not know whose money he was gambling with on our Champions League campaigns, but it seemed a highly reckless way to run a football club.

 

The third piece of bad news came at the end of that meeting, and it all but made up my mind to try and find a way out of Adelaide.

“Owain, earlier this year I sent an email round which stated you would allowed to register a full 23-man squad for the A-League this season. I assume you remember?”

“I do, yes. I was very grateful for the concession.”

“Thank you, although I am going to have to add a caveat. I have no qualms with you running a full squad, but the wage bill still needs to come down. We can’t afford to be that close to the salary cap, so you’ll have to play hard-ball at the negotiating table.

“However, I have decided to help you in two ways. First of all, Onder Ozkan is moving to Fenerbahce, and they’re paying us well for the privilege. Secondly, I’ve spoken to Bernie Ibini’s agent this morning. The club will help him through his rehabilitation, but after that he walks away from Adelaide United. We can’t afford a crocked striker who only plays 50 per cent of the time, so he’s leaving.”

I was stunned. Ozkan was a promising youngster but if somebody wanted to pay for him they could be my guest, but Ibini? My boss had, over my head, agreed to terminate the contract of the club’s all-time leading goalscorer, and just after he had picked up an injury. I didn’t know what to say, but Mr McGregor pre-empted my response.

“I know you won’t be happy about this Owain, but it makes business sense and that is my concern. Besides, his wages will give you some room to play with in the budget. I’m sure you can find a replacement.

“Now, I wish you the best of luck in the coming season. Adelaide is behind you Owain, don’t let these people down.”

[neilhoskins77]

There's not many managers who would put up with a Chairman selling his leading goalscorer without his consent. But then, there are not too many managers who can lead an unfancied club to the Quarter-Finals of a Continental tournament either. Looks like it's heading to the cross roads for Owain. Cracking stuff ED.

[EvilDave]

On 8/10/2016 at 14:09, neilhoskins77 said:

There's not many managers who would put up with a Chairman selling his leading goalscorer without his consent. But then, there are not too many managers who can lead an unfancied club to the Quarter-Finals of a Continental tournament either. Looks like it's heading to the cross roads for Owain. Cracking stuff ED.

You're not wrong, particularly when said goalscorer just gets kicked to the curb without so much as a transfer fee to compensate. Owain's patience is drawing a little thin, shall we say!
--

 

With the Ibini bombshell and McGregor’s continued pressure for Champions League glory, Rachel’s hunt for information continued. If I was to do anything other than end up on the wrong side of my employer, I would need something with which to fight back, and depending on the results against Al-Gharrafa, I may have been running out of time. Business contacts, casual acquaintances, people who may have something against my employer - all were scouted out in a bid for information.

With all that going on, I had to deal with a number of players leaving my first-team squad. Ibini would be one, Rogic was another - in fact, he left the club long before the registration deadline - and he would be joined by two other players keen to leave for pastures new and the chances of more first-team football. Backup goalkeeper John McDonald was the first, having failed to break past Paul Izzo as a starter, while Will Allomes was frustrated at being usurped by Eliot McDonald at left-back and wanted to seek a new club. We also lost Christian Wallace, the young midfield reserve returning to Derby.

With McGregor’s instructions to stay below the current spending levels, I played the market in a shrewd but limited way. Replacing McDonald as first reserve between the sticks would be youth team starter Sasko Ivanovski, and his team-mate Corey McGowan was brought into the first-team fold in place of Allomes. Given the versatility of Eliot McDonald and John Orlando, he was unlikely to see too much action, but would be a capable backup.

That left gaps in midfield and up front, and I was delighted with the replacements in both cases. In midfield we welcomed double-winning engine Lucas Docherty from Brisbane Roar, and his experience at the heart of the champions’ game would be absolutely crucial to our push for glory. At just 23 he had plenty of room to improve, and would slot in alongside the likes of Thorbjornsson, Smith and Malik as a contender for a starting berth straight away.

Finally, to Ibini’s replacement, if such a thing could be contemplated. Looking across our squad we had one final spot available for a foreign player, and so I put my eggs in one big Manuel Uribe shaped basket. The clinical Colombian had spent all of his career at US lower league side Greater Boston, but possessed an enviable scoring record and was available for no fee. His technical skills put him significantly ahead of Jamal Hill, and barring injury or suspension, he would be our go-to man for goals.

All the comings and goings meant that, when Ibini finished his recovery, we would be approximately £2,500 lighter per week on the wage budget, which would no doubt please McGregor and his bean counters no end. I contemplated ditching Kristian Konstantinidis as well, but the simple facts showed that there was no centre-back available who could do the backup job as well as my man in position. He was reprieved, and with a space on the squad available for the right man, we were ready.

 

Quite how long I would be around to manage the new-look Reds, I did not know.

[EvilDave]

 

As Jade and I prepared to put our teams through their pre-season paces, and with the usual stretch of friendlies about to get underway, Rachel had a brainwave in her bid to figure out what was behind Brett McGregor’s insistence on Champions League glory. As soon as she uttered the words, I failed to understand how I hadn’t thought of it.

“Why don’t you just call the guy in Scotland?”

“Dougan? You know what darling, I have no idea. You may just have cracked it.”

After a few moments trying to remember whether or not I had a phone number saved for the Stranraer chairman, the digits were located and the call made. Iain Dougan was the man who had put me forward for the Adelaide job in the first place, and it was his link with McGregor that had pushed me towards Australia. I hadn’t asked him too much about my potential new employer at the time, such was my eagerness to get back on the sidelines, and now I realised I had passed up a chance to put the brakes on before driving over the precipice.

Thankfully, Dougan was all too happy to talk. He wouldn’t hear a bad word against his friend, but he did shed more than a little light on his background, and indeed how the two came to meet. Before McGregor had moved to Adelaide and bought out the old owner, he had been at the helm of Forfar Athletic in the lower reaches of the Scottish game. So far, so normal.

What the Stranraer boss then told me was particularly interesting. McGregor’s departure from Forfar had not been particularly amiable, but there was a gagging order in place which had prevented the press running the story. Years down the line, with the order expired, nobody cared enough about little Forfar to revisit the case, and so McGregor had managed to make tracks to Adelaide without anything being pinned to him.

While remaining at great pains to tell me what a kind-hearted man McGregor was, and how he would never lift a finger against his friends, Iain also told me that the reason for his abandonment of the Scottish game was linked to gambling. Specifically, he had been caught using club funds to bet on the outcomes of matches,  which had landed him in hot water with the SFA. He had managed to buy their silence while he made his exit and that, as far as Dougan was concerned was that.

It was my turn to explain. When my one-time interviewer heard of my boss’ insistence of continental progress, suggestions that I weaken the Grand Final team, and interference with the squad, he fell silent for quite some time. When I voiced Rachel’s suspicions that he was gambling with other people’s money for the sake of the club funds, I had to check he was still on the line. When he finally spoke, the words were simple.

“Owain, don’t go to the authorities, but get out. If it’s anything like what happened in Forfar, it’ll be too much trouble than it’s worth. Does he know you know?”

“I don’t think so - at least not the extent of what I know.”

“Good - keep it that way. Arrange your departure so it all looks natural, and get out of Adelaide. If he’s got other people involved this time, it might not be safe. I’m only speculating, but it might be your best option.”

[EvilDave]

 

Our friendlies were up and running - there were only seven this year thanks to our Champions League commitments, and we won all seven comfortably - when Rachel and I sat down to discuss what happened next. On the one hand, if I were to play ignorant, win the competition and wait for the fallout, there could be a chance of salvaging the situation. On the other, Iain Dougan, a supposed friend of my boss, had told me not just to leave the club but to leave Adelaide - something which would have implications for Rachel, Bethan and Rebecca as well as just me.

The fact that Dougan had urged me away from the authorities suggested there was some serious foul play involved, and I had no desire to see my family caught up in the criminal underworld. My male bravado made me comfortable with the idea of protecting myself, but I couldn’t be in several places at once and if anything were to happen to my wife or children, it would break me. If Adelaide’s dark side came for my family, I wouldn’t know what to do.

One option, Rachel suggested, would be to hire private security. This could take a number of forms, from visible men outside the family home and minders at school to cameras, panic buttons and passwords. There were certainly levels on which this appealed - the world of James Bond brought to little old Owain - but I couldn’t subject my children to that. They were the daughters of a football manager, not the president of a banana republic or international business empire. No, we had to count that out.

After much deliberation, it seemed like the only choice I had was to leave. I already had it in mind to leave at the end of our Champions League campaign, citing a failure to take the team any further. Rachel agreed, and so the wheels were put in motion to try and find my next club on the proviso than any move could not be instant. This time the considerations were a lot more tricky than the move from Prestatyn, and the circumstances a lot more difficult. This time, I would hire an agent.

I finally signed terms with someone three days before our trip to Al-Gharrafa, and it was a huge weight off my mind to do so. Dean Thomson was a shrewd, intelligent operator with his finger on the pulse of chairmen and board across the globe, and was only too happy to agree a deal with me. He understood my apprehension at signing with an agency and preferring to work one-on-one, and his selectivity when it came to his clients impressed me. When I explained my situation to him, he did not seem remotely phased.

“Let’s get the Champions League over and done with, I’ll let you know what’s out there and you can tell me what you consider non-negotiable. I know you don’t like the sound of it Owain, but it may actually be in your best interests to ignore the A-League and go all out for the ACL. A continental title would make you a much more attractive proposition than leaving a team top of a table seven or eight games into a new season.”

Say what you like about the man’s morality and choice of profession, but he certainly had his head screwed on.

[EvilDave]

 

Qatar is a long way from Australia, and our Qantas flight seemed to take forever to make it to the Middle East, My wife and kids stayed very much at home as I pursued Champions League glory, and so I spent most of my waking hours on the flight going over tactical details with Jade North. He didn’t seem all that enthused - we very rarely changed the way we play significantly - but it passed the time before touchdown rather nicely.

Two days later, we lined up at the stadium in Doha with everyone but ourselves expecting the home team to take us to town. The Qatari side were defending champions but had only scraped through their first knockout round on penalties, and we had already proven against the likes of Seoul and Guangzhou that we had the ability to take on the bigger teams and win. With a full-strength team on the field, we fancied our chances.

In the first half, the nerves of both teams began to show. Chances were snatched at and shots drifted wide, while passes in the midfield were rushed and found touch far too often. The 23,000 spectators in the stand must have wondered what they had let themselves in for, how Adelaide had ever made it this far and how Al-Gharrafa had ever won the competition less than a year ago. Unsurprisingly, it was goalless at the break, and that suited me just fine.

The same eleven trotted out for the second half, and this time things were a little more controlled. The Qataris, led by former Spurs forward Nacer Chadli, tried to speed things up and cause our defence problems, but we stood firm and strong against their attacks. We too looked dangerous, and the end of one swift counter saw Uribe’s shot blocked and roll into the path of Seamus Brown, who made no mistake from 11 yards out.

The away goal gave us a lift, and if the home team had been finding things difficult before, they looked even less likely to score now. Chadli cut an increasingly frustrated figure on the Doha turf - so much so that his manager took it upon himself to substitute his star player - and with just two minutes to go, we struck again. Uribe was again involved by holding up the ball, and his reverse pass found Adams at full speed to drive home a rising shot. Two away goals, 2-0 to Adelaide, and surely a place in the semi-finals?

Well, yes. In the return leg a fortnight later, Al-Gharrafa looked leggy and tired after their long flight from Qatar. Just 20 minutes in, debutant Lucas Docherty stepped up and hit a skidding free-kick under the dive of their unsighted goalkeeper, and on the stroke of half-time Jamal Hill turned in a corner to give us an unassailable lead. The visitors finally pulled one back through the boot of Yannick N’Djeng midway through the second period, but they had left themselves far too much to do.

We would face Saudi Arabia’s Al-Ittihad in the final four and, on the basis of recent years - and despite back-to-back Asian titles in 2004 and 2005 - they actually had the weakest pedigree of our three knockout opponents. Those ties would not be played under after the start of the A-League season, so we would have fixture congestion to deal with, but even so the thought very much remained - we could actually win this.

[EvilDave]

 

With Dean on high alert for any clubs looking to employ a beleaguered but generally successful manager for their club, Rachel beginning to look into winding down her business in Adelaide on the quiet, and the girls continuing their busy school lives completely oblivious, we opened the A-League season at home to Central Coast. Once our closest rivals, they were now also-rans, and I did not expect them to trouble us too much.

I was also fairly nonplussed about the entire domestic scene given my imminent departure, and so it was difficult to drum up a pretence of passion on the sidelines. Thankfully my men had the ability to get things done on the field, and so I had little deflection work to do. It took Uribe all of 11 minutes to make the Hindmarsh fans forget about Bernie Ibini, and Hill added a second from the penalty spot in the second half to get us off to a winning start. Costa and Hill both limped out of the game in the second period to tackles which earned Luke Chipperfield a red card, and we would take on Al-Ittihad without two of our key men.

Our second of three games in a week thankfully saw us pick up no further injuries, and for once I seriously considered rotating a few players in for exactly that eventuality. We travelled to Melbourne Heart and, without really moving past third gear, swept them aside 4-0 with two more goals for Uribe, a third for Docherty and a last-minute cherry for Papazis. Our hosts were a shadow of last season’s contenders, but I wasn’t about to feel too sorry for them.

Just three days later we were in action again, and back at home to Perth Glory we suffered. Twice in an end-to-end first half we fell behind and pulled level, but as I withdrew key players in the second period, Frank Walter struck on the break to render Alwan and Chettleburgh’s first goals of the campaign somewhat redundant. With a continental semi-final in five days’ time, I did not feel too crushed by the defeat.

All of that meant that, despite the absences of Hill and Costa, we were in reasonable shape heading into our long trip to Jeddah to take on Al-Ittihad. The Saudi side had not made it to this stage of the Champions League for several years, but still retained vast experience at this level - enough to put us to shame. Again, the bookmakers failed to recognise our achievement in even reaching the last four, and expected us to be humiliated. Once again, they would end up with egg on their faces.

This time there would be no defensive masterclass, so classic counter-attacking goal, but instead a performance to be proud of and an even game to excite the fans at the King Abdullah Stadium. All 60,000 in attendance went home entertained, and looking forward to the return leg after a pulsating 1-1 draw. After 14 minutes things looked bleak when Tala Am-Shamrani broke free to beat Izzo, but just 10 minutes later we were granted a reprieve when, from a dead ball the referee whistled for a penalty - a penalty which Corey Smith duly buried. We flew home very much in the tie, very much in the competition, and very much believing we could still lift the trophy.

[EvilDave]

 

Before the second leg, we had the small matter of Western Sydney Wanderers to deal with away. Given the distances we were suddenly used to travelling, a trip over to Sydney seemed like a short hop, and although it took us a while to get going, we did so in some style. Thorbjornsson opened the scoring in the 63rd minute on the rebound, and we then blew the Wanderers apart in the final few moments, netting three times in the last seven minutes to record a 4-0 romp. Given that I was long past caring about the A-League, it was impressive just how good we looked.

But the main event came four days later, with the arrival of Al-Ittihad at the Hindmarsh for the second leg of our continental semi-final. Would this spell the end of my reign in Adelaide? Would I move one step closer to living out the dream of my morally bankrupt employer? With a million questions drifting through my mind, the Uzbek referee blew his whistle and we were off in what could have been my final game in Australia.

The first half, as you might expect, was tight. We had the away goal advantage and that suited us fine, but we knew a single strike for the visitors would put them in the driving seat. We couldn’t bunker down as we did against Guangzhou, we couldn’t run roughshod as we had against Al-Gharrafa. We were forced to hit the reset button, to play as if it were 0-0 and everything depending on the 90 minutes ahead of us. That was how a close first half was played out.

That is, until two minutes before the break, when patient play down our right saw Somerville tee up Docherty for a low strike which caught the heels of a Saudi defender and flew into the corner of the net. In purely mathematical terms it changed nothing - the visitors still needed to score to stand a chance - but in terms of momentum it came as huge shot in the arm as we went in at the break. Had Lucas Docherty, the man who thwarted us in his Brisbane days, put us on the way to the biggest prize in Asian football?

Our opponents flew out of the traps in the second half, and only a highly alert Izzo prevented them for drawing level almost instantly. This was make or break for them, and they knew it. They needed a goal or it was game over, and everything came at us. Wave after wave of attack came, and eventually a reward - with 20 minutes to play, Omar Abdulrahman chancing his arm from 25 yards and hitting the top corner. That really was the reset button - 1-1 on the night, 2-2 on aggregate, nothing to separate us and 20 minutes to settle it in. Al-Ittihad didn’t know what to do - they couldn’t keep bombing forward - we didn’t know what to do, and so inevitably we move to extra time.

The 90 minutes quickly became 105 and both sides struggled to assert themselves on a broken game, and almost as quickly the clock ticked towards the fateful 120 minute mark and penalties. If my reign as Adelaide boss were to be determined from the penalty spot, I’m not sure I could have coped.

It was. But not in a shoot-out. After 122 minutes of action, we had one more attack left in us. Docherty found Adams, and in his weary state our forward played his attempted through-ball straight to the Al-Ittihad defender.

Who missed it. Racing in behind was Uribe, and the panicking defender simply hauled him down inside the area. The referee had no choice but to point to the spot and send off the offender, and Corey Smith was forced to wait for a good four minutes as the guilty party trudged off, his team-mates on the field protested, and my opposite number was calmed down by the fourth official. Finally, the whistle blew and Smith stepped forward.

Top corner. Never in doubt. Adelaide United were in the Champions League final.

[EvilDave]

 

There we would take on Shandong Luneng, a Chinese side who, like Adelaide, had never played in a continental final. They had overcome our group stage opponents Yokohama in two thrilling matches, emerging 8-6 aggregate victors after two 4-3 wins. As if to further stack the odds against us, their superior record throughout the competition meant we would be playing our winner-takes-all, one-off clash on Shandong soil, in their own stadium. It seemed hopelessly unfair, but I could do nothing about it. The date was set.

Before then, and just days after our dramatic win over Al-Ittihad, we faced a trip to last season’s nemesis Brisbane Roar. They looked less of a force than they once did - top scorer Fabio Romo had left for Ajax and their first-choice goalkeeper had not renewed his contract - but they still remained a strong team and a real contender for the Finals Series.

At least in theory. What actually happened was that after Uribe opened the scoring just eight minutes in, Brisbane fell apart and we put our foot down, doubling the lead before the break and then netting twice more in the second half for another 4-0 romp and a measure of revenge for the Grand Final defeat just a few months ago. Morale was good, very good in fact, and our ACL form seemed to be boosting our chances on the home front. A front I was by now thoroughly ambivalent towards.

That ambivalence continued into November, as the countdown to Shandong kicked in. We would play the final on 12th, and before then faced domestic matches on both the 4th and 8th. My appeals to the FFA fell on deaf ears - I did not enjoy a particularly pleasant relationship with Australia’s footballing powers - and there was no hope of getting either match postponed. Some nonsense about TV schedules and ‘fan expectations’ meant we had to jeopardise our shot at glory, and I would just have to suck it up.

It made little difference to anything as we picked up another win at home to the Newcastle Jets, only an injury-time penalty from Shane Thomas ruining a perfect day for the team as we ran out 2-1 winners. That led straight into the first derby of the season away at the Victory, and this time I was going to rub my employer’s nose right in it. I selected what was effectively a shadow squad to travel to Melbourne, watched surprised and pleased as Dusan Lalovic earned us a 1-1 draw, and then headed straight to the airport where I met the players who would travel to China.

On that flight, I would be joined by Dean Thomson, and we had plenty to talk about. In less than a week my Adelaide career would be over, and I needed to know what was happening. Assuming my agent had been doing his homework, he would be able to present me with a number of options, from which I would then make enquiries and applications. In my own mind it was a relatively simple process, but I’m sure in reality the situation was much more complex. For that reason alone, I was glad to have Dean in my corner.

[EvilDave]

 

After moving out of earshot of any of our players - as far as they were concerned, Dean was an AFC official travelling with us, we began our conversation. A conversation that may well have determined my future.

“So then Owain, this is effectively it. Win or lose, you’re still planning on stepping down, am I right?”

“Right you are Dean. As much as I don’t particularly like it.”

“Well it sounds like it’s for the best. I’ve got a list of clubs here who may well be interested in you - some will hinge that on the result of the final, which sounds fickle but it’s the world we live. What I need you to do is tell me what sort of club you want to move for.”

“I think a priority for me is who I answer to. If it’s someone like Chris Tipping, the money on offer is less important - although cutting my earnings does not appeal at all. If it’s someone like McGregor, it’s a no from the start. A board - well, if there’s politics involved and they want to drag me in, I’ll want to think long and hard. The people employing me matter.”

He motioned for me to go on.

“Then there’s family. Rachel is brilliant, and she can set up shop wherever we end up, as long as there isn’t a whole host of red tape in her way - it’d stress her out. I’m not saying things need to be easy, but we’re not putting up with something out of the Soviet Union.

“The girls need school, and that’s a huge consideration. Can we go somewhere new at seven and five where they’ll fit in straight away and not miss everything in Adelaide? It was hard enough for them to leave Prestatyn, and they were younger then. It pains me to think about, and I don’t know what the answer is. Bethan has learned a bit of Italian at school, but other than that they only speak English, as do Rachel and I. Language and environment are a big part of the package.”

Again I got the nod.

“At that point, it comes down to what sort of club I want, rather than what sort of place we move. In an ideal world, it’d be a club with the potential to challenge, the money to do it, and lacking the pressure of being odds-on favourites each year. I’ve enjoyed that at Prestatyn and Adelaide.

“I also haven’t been outside of the top division in a country for some time, and it would take a big team to convince me to change that. I guess it might be possible in England, or if there was a fallen giant elsewhere in Europe. What I’m not doing is heading to the Norwegian Third Division for a bit of peace and quiet.

“Basically, I want somewhere I can be left alone to do my work, where the odds and the system aren’t hopelessly stacked against me, where the boss or bosses stick to their word, and where Rachel and the girls can live happily without having to overhaul their lives any more than they already have to. Is that too much to ask Dean?”

“What you forget Owain, is that you’re the man in power here, particularly if you beat Shandong. Your demands are, well they’re demanding. But they’re not unlike those from any other manager out there, and the fact you haven’t really mentioned money will stand you in good stead. One more thing quickly - what do you want to do about housing?”

“If it’s included, great. If not, as long as they provide something temporary, we’ve got the capital to buy and settle.”

“So you think this may be your last move?”

“If the club is right, yes. If it isn’t - who knows.”

“OK Owain, let me tell you what I’m thinking right now…”

[EvilDave]

 

What Dean told me was that returning to Wales was off the cards - my reputation and wage demands put me ‘out of their league’ as he put it. I would not find another club in Australia quickly, and of the British Isles, he could rule out both Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland.

If I wanted to go down the Scottish route, there were one or two Premier League clubs who might be interested in my services. Neither were in Glasgow, so the pressure levels would be fine. In England, I would be looking at a significant portion of the Championship, and a couple of sides at the bottom end of the top flight - assuming we beat Shandong. Without a win, I’d lose the continental champion tag and be less desirable.

Outside of returning home, Dean suggested that the best bet might be MLS and one of the American clubs interested in switching managers. The money was good, the nature of the league meant every team was fairly competitive, and English was obviously the primary language. As wildcard options, he also thought the German league system might present similar opportunities to the English set-up, and my language skills would be balanced by the natives’ proficiency in my mother tongue.

The final ‘other’ option, and something I was still very much unsure of after being burned last time round by the small-minded idiots in Gibraltar, was the idea of international management. More travel, but a great deal more down-time and, if the right nation was involved, a limited amount of pressure. Of course, November was hardly high time for sacking international bosses, and so it would have to be a country in deep trouble for them to consider taking me on.

All of this served both to boost my ego, spin my head and give me plenty to think about as my team lined up to face Shandong in the Champions League final. I stood with Jade North on the sideline as the competition’s anthem blared out of the speakers in the Jinan Olympic Centre, where 57,000 mainly Chinese fans were waving their flags in support of the home team. Our allocation, a small pocket of Australians in the corner, were vocal to a fault, but were simply drowned out by the locals.

Moments later our hosts kicked off proceedings, and for the first time since leaving Melbourne I was forced to focus fully on the match at hand. My own future could wait a few more hours, and then there was the small matter of telling Brett McGregor where to stuff his dirty job and walk out on a work in progress. I don’t know whether Jade could sense my worries or not, but he was as excited as anyone in the crowd.

“What do you reckon boss,” He asked with boyish enthusiasm, “reckon we can have ‘em?”

“I reckon so Jade,” was the only acceptable reply. “We’ve had tougher teams than this to get here.”

It was true, we had. On paper, Guangzhou, Al-Gharrafa and Al-Ittihad were all better teams than Shandong, but the game wasn’t played on paper. In addition, we were without Docherty - suspended after a booking in each of the semi-final ties - and Thorbjornsson, who carried a knock and couldn’t be risked. We were not at all at full strength in midfield, and we couldn’t hide that fact, so we could only hope that their replacements - Seamus Brown and Corey Smith - could do the job.

The 90 or 120 minutes that lie ahead could very well determine the future of my managerial career, and indeed the ongoing business of a certain Brett McGregor. As our defence braced itself for the opening Shandong attack, I retreated back into my seat. It was going to be a tough old night.

[EvilDave]

 

From that first attack, Gao Chen decided to test his shooting boots and fired in a shot that had Paul Izzo scrambling. Thankfully, our goalkeeper was alert to the danger, parried the ball round the post and then screamed at his defence for backing off too easily. If Shandong were going to come at us all evening, the last thing we needed to do was give them space to operate in. Alex Somerville, captain in place of Osama Malik on the bench, headed the set-piece away and we cleared our lines.

The opening 10 minutes saw three more Chinese corners, and the pressure mounted quickly. Each one was either plucked from the sky by Izzo or knocked clear by a defender, but we could not possibly defend for 90 minutes like this. As time ticked on, Lao Yunshung became the next man to force a save from our goalkeeper, and moments later Somerville wound up with the first yellow card of the night after a frustrated challenge out wide. Already we were living dangerously.

As the half hour mark approached, Eliot McDonald became the next man in the referee’s notebook, and all of a sudden we looked in danger on the flanks. That proved to be the case from the resultant free-kick, with a Shandong winger breaking past a challenge and whipping in a ball which Greg Schultz had to stretch to clear. When our American man-mountain stood up limping, I know he was struggling.

But we won possession from the throw, and for the first time were able to mount an attack of our own. Despite being deployed in a central role, George Costa found himself exchanging passes with Somerville down the right, and suddenly a pocket of space opened up for him. Without even looking up he bent a cross right into the danger zone, and there was Manuel Uribe to head past the keeper and give us the lead with our first attempt of the night.

The next 10 minutes saw Shandong ramp up the pressure once more, and this time it was their Peruvian striker Alex Rodriguez who saw fit to take the game by the scruff of the neck. First, he glided past a struggling Schultz to fire one wide of Izzo’s bows, and a couple of minutes later his next effort was high and handsome.

When the half-time whistle blew moments later, Uribe’s goal remained our only shot of the game, but it was the only one that counted for anything. For all Shandong’s pressure and effort, they had yet to figure out a way past the combination of Alex Somerville and Paul Izzo, and that meant we had the advantage. With the stadium falling quiet as a result of our goal, we had started to take the crowd out of the game. Now all we had to hold on to what we had, and we would be Asian champions.

That was the message the players got from me at the break, but I was then faced with the much more difficult decision of who to leave on and take off in our defence. Somerville and McDonald both had yellow cards to their name and I wasn’t about to let Shandong take us apart from the outside, while Schultz could barely run, let alone last another 45 minutes and possibly more.

In the end, the decision made itself. Somerville was our captain and was leading by example, so he got the nod to stay on with a warning to calm his tackling. John Orlando limbered up to replace McDonald on the left, while Konstantinidis stepped into the breach in place of the injured Schultz. Both men were told to expect a busy second half, to stay alert, to watch their men and to stay on their feet. The last thing we wanted to do was give anything silly away, and the message came across clearly.

Back onto the field they went, 45 minutes from glory.

[EvilDave]

 

After just five of those minutes, glory seemed like an awful long way away.

All my warnings about doing something silly had clearly not entered the ears of Pana Papazis - or at least if they had, they hadn’t been processed by his brain. With Orlando beaten on our left, our most defensive-minded midfielder rushing across to cover with all the elegance of drunken giraffe, his flailing right leg sending Gao Chen sprawling as he crossed the white line into our area. It was a clear penalty, and after being subdued for so long, the Olympic Centre sprung into life. Yu Yong was the man tasked with beating Paul Izzo, and he obliged with a cool confidence, waiting for our goalkeeper to commit before sliding the ball into the opposite corner for 1-1.

Now we had a real game on our hands, and we needed to respond - we couldn’t simply sit back and urge Shandong onto us. From the kick-off we very sensibly kept the ball for a couple of minutes, and our next spell of possession ended with Mo Alwan smacking a shot just wide of the left upright. Given we had only previous shot at goal - Uribe’s opener - it was almost as good a response as we could have given.

But the pressure returned, and the Chinese side turned the screw slowly but surely. In contrast to our economical attacking, their shot count was already in double figures and Li Yungshon was the next to try his luck. His burst of pace took him into the area beyond Somerville, and his shot was early enough to catch Izzo off-guard and rooted to the spot.

Thankfully, it was also off target, flashing wide of our goal and out of play. For the next 10 minutes we barely got out of our own half, fending off another series of Shandong corners with some dogged defending. Jack Adams replaced Alwan in our final substitution on 67 minutes, and in the brief spell that followed we finally mustered something resembling an attack. Brown fed the new man Adams 20 yards from goal, and he let fly with an effort that seemed goalbound until a defender’s head sent it out for a corner. It was a statement of intent if nothing else.

What followed was much more. Costa floated in a corner, the Chinese goalkeeper came and missed, and the ball dropped to the feet of Kristian Konstantinidis inside the six-yard box. The man who only stayed at the club over the summer for lack of a replacement, our fourth or even fifth-choice centre-back, simply couldn’t miss and steered the ball over the line to give us an incredible 2-1 lead. Once more the stadium was hushed, Konstantinidis disappeared under a heap of Adelaide bodies, and we were less than 20 minutes from a famous victory.

Our opponents once again stepped it up, but this time we had a lead to defend and one heck of a prize just within reach. Gao Chen’s latest effort flicked the post on its way wide, and moments later goalscorer Yu launched a cross from deep which Izzo could only watch bounce off the crossbar and back into play. We were living dangerously, but so were Shandong. With so many men pouring forward, Adams suddenly found himself flying through the middle and bearing down on goal, but a heavy touch put an end to any dreams of an emphatic finishing touch.

Lao Yunshung fired over, Izzo caught a tame header from Gao. The clock ticked into the three minutes of injury time signalled by the fourth official, and it kept ticking. Ticking into the first minute, ticking into the second and on into an everlasting third.

Shandong ventured forward one last time. A tired lunge from Brown got nowhere near either ball or man, and Yu was allowed to continue forward. A quick one-two did away with Papazis’ attentions, and suddenly the playmaker found himself 25 yards out and bearing down on goal. He faked a shot to create half a yard of space, and let fly.

[EvilDave]

 

The whistle sounded to jubilation from one set of players and crushing disappointment from the other. I sat stunned for a moment as the bench as I realised what had happened, then rose to my feet.

Rushing on to the field in celebration, I headed first to Konstantinidis, our match-winning hero and would-be reject. Then it was a combination of hugs with my Reds and solemn handshakes with the beaten Shandong players. Paul Izzo, man of the match with no fewer than 12 saves made over the course of the game, was given a particularly lengthy bearhug - his heroics had, after all, won us the Asian Champions League.

As fellow rock Somerville lifted the trophy, there was no doubt that, given the opportunity, I would stayed in Adelaide with this group of players. This group of spectacular overachievers, of against-all-odds champions, of footballing heroes. Every man, whether it be stand-in full-back Orlando, creator supreme Costa or majestic target man Uribe, had played their part perfectly, and it had culminated in the greatest night in Adelaide United’s history.

For many of my players, this would be the biggest shop window they would ever perform in. I did not expect Uribe to hang around in Australia for long given his obvious talent and slow start to his professional career in America. Bigger clubs would come calling - for him, for Docherty, Thorbjornsson, Costa and others. For others, this would be the pinnacle of a life’s work - something I saw no clearer than in the tears of Osama Malik during the celebrations. He may not have made it off the bench in the final, but our veteran warhorse had more than played his part in our run to the big day.

With A-League fixtures coming thick and fast there was no time for us to stay and party the night away in Shandong, so instead our flight back home between the setting for the celebrations - the alcohol flowing and the Champions League trophy an unwilling vessel for much of the journey. It was only when we touched down on the runway in Adelaide that I felt I had to let the players in on my secret. If anything, they deserved to know before the media scrum found out the following day.

“Lads, if I could have your attention for a minute,” I started out to a cheer from the players. They were still in full-on celebratory mode, and I hoped the news of my departure would not knock them too far from their revelry. After all, they were good enough to do it all without me.

“I don’t want to put a downer on tonight, or this morning, or whatever time it is, but I feel like it owe it to you, so here goes:

“Once we’ve all had some sleep, I’m going to be calling a press conference. Not because I think the papers need to pay us a bit more attention - although they do - but because I’m leaving Adelaide.”

The joyous babble turned to silence as my words sunk in, and after a few moments there were a few voices from the back asking me where I was going, why I was leaving, what was wrong. I had to go on.

“At the moment, there is no job lined up, but for the sake of my family it’s time for me to go. There are some things about this club that you’ll never come into contact with, and it’s those elements that are making it hard. Let me be clear, Adelaide United is bigger than me, it’s bigger than those issues. It’s you, it’s the fans, it’s the history we’ve just made.

“I have every confidence in you, in Jade here, in those fans, to drive this club on long after I’ve gone. I wish it wasn’t like this, but it has to be. Adelaide United, however, will go from strength to strength without me getting your way. I want you to make me that promise.”

Instead of a promise, I got a solemn silence. Then, Paul Izzo rose to his feet, began to clap and, rousing his team-mates to do the same, made a simple and yet touching instruction to the rest of the team.

“Three cheers for the boss!”

Just as he instructed, the cheers came, and for the second time in my short managerial career, I was left fighting back the tears as I walked away from a winning team. I admit there was a little more alcohol involved than in Prestatyn, but the feelings were genuine. Next stop, McGregor’s office, and the chance to pour out everything I had been bottling up for the past few months.

[neilhoskins77]

Superb achievement. Looking forward to seeing where you land next on this journey. Great work Dave.