[FM18] You’ll like this … not Olot, but you’ll like it

[Diego Imposta]

1.

The jobs available at the beginning of my management career were not the sort an unqualified Sunday league footballer applies for: a Liga Santander stalwart, a Liga NOS upstart, and two mid-table Argentinean clubs from the top and bottom divisions respectively. International management opportunities swelled the selection but, as the old cliché goes, “I’ve been waiting for the right opportunity to take my first steps into club football”. What did catch my eye was a manager’s precarious position at Rentistas (an Uruguayan team rooted to the bottom of the Segunda División) and the insecure tenure of the Las Palmas B boss (before a ball’s even been kicked in the Segunda División B Grupo 4). I am a rock. I am an island. I am a not sure about that Uruguayan one now.

Satisfied that I had fully assessed the situation, I immediately procrastinated from the job hunt and a few weeks later joined 85 000 people for a first look at my beloved Barcelona. An admittedly under-strength FC Bayern made a big mistake in scoring first and early. They were duly thrashed 5-1 with a goal and two assists from Messi, two goals and an assist from Suárez, and a goal and assist from big money debutant Dembélé. Neymar who-nior? Unfortunately for Iniesta’s testimonial the next week the power trio had blown their beans too early, with sloppy seconds reserved for an away game in the Netherlands later in midweek. Back at the Camp Nou, Barça succumbed 0-1 to Lyon in a dismal game, fittingly punctured by a 20-yarder, 20 minutes from time by a 20-year old. 10 000 fewer people joined me for that one. In hindsight I wished I’d been fortunate enough to have missed out too.

A month had gone by and still no mug had jumped in at Rentistas. Undeterred that the caretaker had been caretaking longer than his predecessor had been predecessing, I threw my hat into the ring. What could possibly go wrong? Purgatory, that’s what. I was immediately informed that the club was in the process of a board takeover and they were giving the incumbent “every opportunity to prove he deserves the job before making any decision”. ¡Dios mío! With their next two fixtures being in Montevideo (where else?) and neatly book-ending a pre-planned decision to watch the Superclásico de las Américas, ever the opportunist I booked a return trip to South America. An opportunity to see some old friends (wines) in Buenos Aires – the capital of my second nationality.

Top of the table were in town and up first for Rentista. A shoe-in for me, surely. They bored the hell out of them. 0-0. A great start from the caretaker; I was worried. A brilliant game in Brazil took my mind off it with both teams scoring in the first five minutes and Argentina sealing it in the 88th. The team selections were made up of players currently playing in each country and that made it a real contest. As was the hangover. Which was to become a theme of my time in the southern hemisphere. A televised relegation six-pointer had me wondering if my suit still fitted…

Rentista’s opponent laid siege all morning (no, really - a 10:15 kick-off) and finally breached the defence by forcing an own goal with 20 minutes to go. Game over. Until an 89th minute equaliser out of nowhere. Disaster. Distraught, I went home immediately after the ensuing three-or-four-day (or was it five-day?) hard-drinking bender. I had to ease the pain of all the money I’d spent getting to the motherland and back. I wouldn’t hear from the club again for two months – and even then it was just to say that they’d given the job to someone else. But by now, I’d moved on. Not literally, but still.

Las Palmas B were to court my attention closely for a couple of months. Their poor boss was under real pressure even after winning all three friendlies and the opening day fixture, too. A journalist asked me for my opinion and, of course, I backed the man who won promotion with them the previous year. I knew full well that this was the kiss of death - constantly winning wasn’t enough for the Las Palmas B chairman so this must have been personal. He lost the next five and was gone. Where’s that suit?

The club advertised two philosophies: possession football and attacking football. A match made in Catalan heaven. I was sold and three days later I was on the volcanic island to watch a much better level of football than I saw in Uruguay. It was 0-0 but the defence were rock solid. The interim manager had got them their first points in six weeks. However, I was buoyed by the complete lack of possession and attacking: the board would still be left wanting. I followed them to a midweek trip to Seville (another city I knew well) where they were crushed 0-2 by Real Betis B. The lack of attack or counter attack invited the opposition to take control and by now I knew the temp was out of ideas. Top of the league at home on the weekend should get me my interview.

It was dreadful. Another game with one shot on target. The 0-1 flattered the home side. At one point I thought a volcanic shaft had opened up into the Las Palmas B striker’s boots, cooled, and turned him to stone. He was that inactive. This team will benefit immensely from giving him a strike partner. I already had so many ideas for the club, like giving the maligned wingers a prominent role. Two days later I got the chance to express these opinions to the board. Time to suit up.

I said all the right things. I even offered to withdraw from the running at Rentista (which by now I’d forgotten I was still in). I came out smiling. Then it hit me – I was still in my tracksuit. In all the island-hopping I’d forgotten to change, to let them know how serious I was. Maybe I was over-thinking it. They wouldn’t care. It’s football. Right? Anyway, I had little time to stew it over when I got a call from another journalist. I was beginning to think that the press had a big part to play in the life of a manager in the Canaries. I said the usual vanilla things that any desperate out-of-work manager says and booked another two weeks at the hotel. A few days later a puff piece mentioned how the fans think I am a leading candidate. Good. Staying was the correct decision. Then the Rentistas news is fed back to me – they’d chosen a Segunda División winner with a wealth of experience. I never had a chance.

I was now getting serious with my travel: Huelva away. Recreativo destroyed us 1-4. Again, just one shot on target. It would be unfair to say it was no more than a consolation as after coming in at the break 0-3 down, the manager changed the formation and did finally get a foothold on the game. The board gave him the benefit of the doubt and made me wait another week. An unlikely master class from the number 10 followed but his two goals were not enough to keep out an injury time winner from the visitors. The first half finished 2-2 but the rot soon set in and he was out of ideas again. Hello, Goodbye. Or, in my case, so long and thanks for all the fish. The Las Palmas B chairman had decided I wasn’t “the right person to take on the job”. I missed Barcelona v Sevilla for that last game. 

Taking the theme of islands and running with it, I jumped at the chance to apply for the freshly cut Madeira job. Porto B at home would be a nice little birthday weekend treat and I did not regret it. A superb 2-0 victory meant I was immediately out of the running but what a performance. Two weeks later I was politely informed that I wasn’t being shortlisted, but I had a taste of mid-level Portuguese football now and I liked it. One for the future. The Algarve, naturally. Not too far from Seville either.  

Vacancies came and went over the next month or so. Sacking season was in full swing. I was still being very selective about where I was looking as I didn’t want to end up just anywhere. I wanted to lay down roots and work somewhere I would be noticed. We all want to get to the top after all. My preference was to stay in Catalunya and soon Llagostera, just up the road from Barcelona, was available. A Saturday night home game on TV was up next against a similar promotion rival. A technical master class from the Catalans, adorned in hooped Barcelona colours, played out in front of 2 000 people with the goal coming in first half injury time. A backheel there, a half-volley there, and the game, as a contest, was finished. I was in love. For one day. I didn’t make the shortlist - something about other candidates. I was too gutted to remember what they said. But wait! Another island job was available! Formentera in the Balearics. How did I miss that? I have no idea but it cost me dear – I didn’t even get a look-in as the interview process was already over. Ouch. On reflection, I don’t think a hedonistic locale is the sort of place to grow your Sunday afternoon attendances.

Later that evening, two Catalan teams binned their managers. I couldn’t believe my luck. Nàstic were far too big to take on a no-mark like me but my policy is to apply for each and every Catalan job while I remain unemployed. Barça are always watching. It was my fire-and-forget option as Olot, curiously another area with prominent volcanoes, were deep in trouble at the bottom of Segunda División B3. If I didn’t get this one I’d have to apply for every job going in 2018. It was nearing the winter break in most leagues and the finish of the Uruguayan season – a nice watermark for the year. There was also the small matter of money and I was running out of it. Fast.

The fixture computer had sprung three home games in a row to see out the first half of the season for Olot and I was determined to watch all of them. The first was a freebie for the assistant manager – a second leg against a non-league B team who’d already been dispatched 2-0 at their place. What followed was anything but a dead-rubber. The away team took the lead midway through the second half against the run of play, conceded a late set-piece header from versatile defender Blázquez, and then set about picking up six bookings as they looked to disrupt the home side. Olot had the lion’s share of chances but it was hardly convincing. Plenty of food for thought.

Up next was Llagostera. Of course it was. Already this game meant something to me and I was willing Olot to win, despite what that would do to my chances of taking over. My Girona province rivals opened the scoring in the second half with a really cheap goal that, on balance, they probably deserved after all of the first half chances they missed. That man Blázquez popped up again, reacting first to a second ball in the Llagostera box to make it 1-1 with 15 minutes to go.  The agricultural football continued with a wide freekick in the 90th minute, Blázquez volleying it home. I went wild!

A week-long celebration ensued. I wasn’t even worried. Then the call came. They wanted to interview me. I felt relaxed; no need for a suit. No boring responses - I could be myself in Catalunya.

My answers were confident. I didn’t care about previous managers. Talking to other clubs wasn’t a problem to me, why should it be? I even asked for a feeder club, hoping my contact with the Nàstic secretary would bear fruit one way or another. Another Catalan game was up next with Lleida representing their province. The quirks of the fixture computer meant I’d be opening 2018 with a two-legged cup tie against them so this would be good research. I was convinced the job was mine.

To their credit, Lleida operated like the biggest team in their region. We were held at arm’s length all day and had a late wonder goal that just knocked the stuffing out of us. Maybe the players were guilty of already being on holiday, maybe the assistant was out of his depth. I’d know for sure soon.

Olot approach Imposta.

The headline made my year. The club finances dictated their offer. I’d be the lowest paid professional manager in the division but I didn’t care. I had six months to prove myself (I daren’t ask for longer) and no money with which to do it. Then I had a moment to myself:

You’ll like this … not Olot, but you’ll like it.

[mark wilson27]

Welcome to FMS Diego, a very impressive staring post. Good luck with your new career mate

[Diego Imposta]

Thanks Mark! I've long admired FMS but I've not really played in a few years. I'm happy to hear any tips or suggestions about my story.

I had a 'one save to rule them all' idea well before release and I've immersed myself in it now. It was the spark I needed to start writing.

I'll start the next chapter with some background about who Diego Imposta is and what's happened in the fortnight before the first game.

 

[Diego Imposta]

2.

The first 48 hours were crazy. I was told that the that the players would be back from holiday on day two so day one was all about my staff. It wouldn’t be long before the truth about me became a side-show, so it was vital to identify accomplices and trouble-makers alike. A non-negotiable part of my contract was to retain the use of a Director of Football. I had no problem with this in principle but made sure the chairman knew that he alone would decide who held the role. Sergi Raset, a man nearly ten years my senior, had a fair semi-professional playing career based largely in Catalonia. His last non-playing role was five years doing the same gig at Girona and he was more than happy to let me know that this was in the division above. During our brief chats he seemed the sort to enjoy one-upmanship, or mind games. I had no doubt that the teacher’s pet would compete with me spending the next six months auditioning for the chairman’s favour. Our rivalry would do the club good.

My assistant, however, seemed more adversary than advisory. I was well aware before I took the job that Pablo Rotchen had shared a dressing room at Espanyol with the previous manager. Thankfully, my man was in the door six months before Martín Posse was so I’d allow him another six after he’d left. His contract was a year longer than mine, so I had to accept that he’d probably be the manager next year if I wasn’t. I liked that I had an Argentinean in my ranks – he seemed spirited – but he was evasive towards me. I’d rein in his responsibilities but make sure he gives team talks in front of me.

Local boy Jordi Freixa, Head of Youth Development, loved the club and I liked what he had to say. A level-headed bloke, he’d come up through the divisions here as a player and spent the last couple of years working with the amateur youth side. The age gap between us was only five years and unlike my assistant his coaching focus was all about attacking. We had a cultural football bond already.

The rest of my staff were specialists but it was clear that this was their first professional football job. I limited my chief scout to scouting the opposition as funds did not warrant any signings. The two-man physio team were doing a good job (or so they told me when I visited the medical centre) and the team was rounded out by two coaches of areas I knew nothing about – goalkeeping and fitness.

I asked the chairman, Joan Agustí, to provide a list of local staff that I could call upon if anyone decided to jump ship and I’m glad I did. Four clubs soon came in for my young physio and I wasn’t in a position to influence his decision – especially as I didn’t have the option to offer him more money. I placed an advert in the local press to cover all bases. I spent the rest of the day communicating my tactical vision to my staff. Agustí had mentioned his distrust of the 4-1-2-3 DM Wide used by the last guy so it was lucky that what I fancied was completely different, although I’d still ringfence some time to working on Rotchen’s 4-2-3-1 Wide that got him four points from his three games in charge. 

[tenthreeleader]

Flying start! Welcome and glad to have a new piece on the boards. Good luck!

[Diego Imposta]

Thanks tenthreeleader! I didn't play FM17 and barely played FM16 so I'm doing my homework now, reading through some choice pieces from the awards section.  

[Diego Imposta]

3.

I had a stack of reports from Rotchen about the squad on my desk and I was up half the night reading them. Whether it was his work or he was passing off Posse’s as his own, who knows? Now wasn’t the time to challenge him and besides, no stat was going to distract me from being seven points adrift of safety. I tried to memorise everyone’s past before introducing myself that morning.

The chairman had rather unhelpfully sent over the accounts right before everyone arrived. It made sickening reading – we were losing a million and a half a year. I’d have to sell everyone, bring in a load of players on a free and sell them too just to break even. There was nothing I could do but ignore the financial peril completely - no one was coming in and no-one would be replaced. We needed to be comfortable with discomfort so I called my personal assistant, Adán Vega, and told him to get everyone into the dressing room, staff and squad alike. 30 men in a small, stone cold room.

I told them that we’re definitely capable of avoiding a tough relegation battle. We were already dead certainties to go down in everyone else’s eyes so let’s show a bit of ambition and aim for mid-table. I didn’t want the power of these words to be lost so I said the press officer, María Pilar Sánchez, had me scheduled to meet the press. As the lads followed Rotchen out on to the training field I headed back to the office for a coffee. But someone I didn’t recognise was in there – a man, with his back to me. Instinctively I stood between him and the doorway but he heard me coming and wasn’t startled. He turned around with a devious, self-satisfied grin on his face and introduced himself as Alfie Smith – a journalist for an English website. María had obviously overstated my language skills. He had my papers in his hands – Adán mustn’t have expected prying eyes either – and made a show of tracing his finger over my name on a letter: Diego Armando Maradona Imposta. He raised his eyebrows. Here we go.

He made no direct mention of it at first, asking his pre-planned questions about things like ambition, preparation, where the last manager went wrong etc. He tried to catch me out with the last one, fully expecting me to hang Posse out to dry and unwittingly sour my relationship with Rotchen. It irked him that I’d done my research, so he turned to the subject of Barcelona. Bayern had beaten them home and away in their Champions League group – some response to pre-season – and the Catalans weren’t doing it in the league. Barça were two points behind but two games ahead of Real and the finger was being pointed at Dembélé. €105M had got them six goals and two assists – a massively disappointing return for a club record fee. The journalist had his angle.

There were leading questions about how such incredible talent not living up to the hype wasn’t anything new to Barcelona, the phenomenon of men my age named Diego, and of course how he couldn’t help but notice my documented paternal name. Was there anything in it? I never knew my father and swatted further questions by saying hey, every short-arse who wanted to get laid in the early 80’s was calling himself Diego Armando Maradona, right?

[neilhoskins77]

Enjoying this so far. Looking forward to seeing how you get on in your first assignment.

[Diego Imposta]

Cheers Neil - I haven't been 'good' at FM for years so I've got no idea what's in store

I had just seen mention of your Kyrgyzstan save (or was it Kazakhstan? ) on CFuller's England epic so I'll be sure to check that out too

[tenthreeleader]

Liking the character development. Easy to read. And I trust you're going to have fun with this.

[CFuller]

Add me to the growing list of new admirers.

It’s always great to see fresh blood on FMS, particularly when a new game comes out. This has the makings of a very good story - as 10-3 says, it’s easy to follow, so you’re on the right track there. 

[Diego Imposta]

4.

Segunda División B3 wasn’t ready for my 3-5-2 revolution. Neither was Spain as a whole, where only a handful of teams were playing three at the back. I’d eventually be looking to close every passing lane the opposition had and force my technically-gifted Iberian brothers to play to their weaknesses. How I planned to do this was by restraining the opponent’s front six via two approaches: lock down the opposition forward and playmaker, and in turn have five of my men hound their remaining four. B3 would be a particular problem for my tactical revolution, though. Nearly every team played a traditional 4-4-1-1, which would, in theory, pull my main formation and its counter attacking variant 3-1-4-2 too far away from my own goal. At this stage in my management career, theory and practice couldn’t be further apart so I decided not to rock the boat. The team were already in one nascent tactical upheaval since Posse’s departure so I decided to smooth out the transition from Rotchen’s to mine over the next six months, should I still be here. He had already tried to implement a passing formation in 4-2-3-1 Wide so I checked my notes to see what roles I jotted down during games. From the three games I saw, my assistant’s squad selection may have been erratic but his role choices were consistent: full backs, wingers, a ball-winning midfielder, and a playmaker. The Argentinean couldn’t decide where the latter would sit, deep-lying or advanced, nor which of three players would keep the role. On paper, it was inexplicable why team leader Roger Vidal had made one appearance all season. Was the experienced attacking midfielder and our longest serving player not the ideal candidate?

Over coffee I realised how preposterous this all sounded. Something was afoot and I needed to figure it out quick. None of the above will get off the ground unless I built a team around my best players and encouraged my most popular players to get on board. I was told that the hierarchy was marshalled by Vidal, and he was served by two highly influential lieutenants in experienced full-back and club captain José, and his vice-captain Héctor Simón - a journeyman midfielder. Those two, along with influential winger Jordi Masó, were easily my best players and crucially they were all nearly as comfortable playing in the middle as they were out wide. The core group was rounded out by experienced striker Uri and recent goal scoring machine Albert Blázquez, a classic utility defender.

The Christmas period was a welcome break from the busiest weekend of my year. It gave me the chance to settle in to my new surroundings, away from the stress of competition, and enjoy ten days of the simplest pleasure in football: coaching your team on the training pitch. A small distraction was when offers came in for my head physio too. The medical team obviously weren’t blowing their own trumpets for nothing but my hands were tied and they were free to choose their next destination.

Finally a scout report on the opposition dropped on my desk: Lleida Esportiu were aggressive and had the best away record in the league. Oh ****. This was the cup, I thought, and anything could happen. They had a terrible pass completion rate and were vulnerable to 4-4-1-1. I was beginning to think the chief scout had downloaded this and would be changing the team name each week…

[Diego Imposta]

5.

Picking my first matchday squad was actually quite simple. I had eleven players with first team or key roles written in to their contracts and I’d use that as a starting point. Journeyman Simón was lacking match fitness after returning from injury so he dropped to the bench. The two young La Liga loanees, Jordi Ortega and Alberto Toril, were also out of practice so they would warm the bench and cover defensive midfield and up top respectively. Curiously, Vidal had re-signed for Olot on backup terms after two years away at another club. He wasn’t match fit either so would join me in the dugout and I hoped his experience would be vital. After some deliberation the final spot went to local youngster and both-wings wizard Kike who, while unfit, would still have to wait for his first career start.

Xavi Ginard kept goal by default, his understudy both young and part-time. Moving experienced defender José into the middle meant I could keep Blázquez’s attacking threat on the right side of defence. They were joined by towering left centre-back Carles Mas and left back David Bigas.

The beneficiaries of poor fitness were striker Marc Mas (no relation, más es más), experienced and influential striker Uri (pushed back into the hole to accommodate the former), and defensive midfielder Roger Barnils. All had played far more games this season than any other backups and could well consider themselves de facto first teamers. Mallorca’s Toril was already moaning to the press about first-team football before I’d arrived and Córdoba’s Ortega, once of La Masia, wasn’t getting consistent games. I was paying their wages so let’s see if they’re worth having around.

Attacking midfielder Yeray would sit in the double-pivot, himself pushed back as a knock-on effect of Simon’s absence. The wingers were left-footed Nacho Pérez and influential Masó on the right. Five men missed out today but thankfully this will only be three for league games, injury permitting. The window has only just opened so any want-away will need to play to get a move. This match also doubles as my first real scouting mission. Lleida forward Marc Nierga’s name had come up in staff meetings and funnily enough he shares the same agent as my captain. His contract’s up at the end of the season but I’m currently at full capacity of 16 over-23 players. Once the window closes I can start to look at finances and plan for the summer but right now the shortlist is smaller than my squad. The only other real ‘name’ on there is Ángel, José’s famous English-leagues brother.

I decided to take the pre-match briefing seeing as Rotchen would have their ear all game. The weather was breezy and cold and I took this as the reason they were far from interested in what I had to say to them. The only tactical element that I could promise wouldn’t change was our flexible shape. It suited our creative freedom and the players were familiar with it. There was little reaction but maybe having to listen to the boss silenced any nerves. On to the game, then, and just 140 had braved the weather in our 500 capacity ground. There were obvious restrictions in place as the stadium was much bigger than that.

Rotchen manfully told them they’ve nothing to lose but I felt he was writing me off already. We actually had so much to gain, financially and mentally. Masó looked to switch off at the lack of faith shown but as one of my better players I was happy to leave him be - we were better than that. Or at least I thought we’d want to be. The formation we were playing today, 4-2-3-1 Wide, was a compromise of instructions between my other two formations, with anything conflicting removed. We would feel them out, mentality-wise, but push up and close down early doors. Once the ball was won, we’d try and work it into the box. If we kept it simple we could adapt to what we see.

…

Set pieces were traded in the opening five minutes but came to nothing. My assistant noted that our short passes were not connecting and I would be relying on his input heavily today. I asked them to keep possession and a few minutes later some dithering outside the Lleida area sprung a counter attack for them. Jorge Félix surged from one box to the other, exchanged passes with Nierga, and struck low and hard. Straight at Ginard. It was a huge let-off. I immediately decided to build from the back as we were bottle-necking up top and leaving ourselves exposed. Still our passes weren’t connecting and I would spend the entire match trying to improve this. Lleida were just bigger, quicker, and stronger than us so we had to be cute. Highlights were few and far between.

Around 35 minutes, Masó had come off the pitch with a slight injury but he wanted substituting, disenfranchised as he was during the team-talk. The players passed around from the right flank, across the back, up the left flank and back again while the stricken winger was assessed. Carles Mas decided to go rogue and dropped a ball over the top, behind the Lleida right back. Nacho Pérez gave chase, stopped the ball on the goal line, looked up and fired a hopeful daisy-cutter towards the ‘D’. I was expecting another savage counter attack but Uri nipped in front of his man about 15 metres out and powered his weaker left foot through the ball, a real measured strike. The ball travelled low towards the keeper’s near post and the keeper was late to react, tipping it inside his own post. We were ahead! There were ten minutes left of the half and I told the lads to control the game. An hour here for Kike would do him the world of good so I slung him on for Masó. A very similar move saw the ball in the back of the net again but Marc Mas was offside from the left wing cross. That man Jorge Félix was at it again and nearly lofted in an audacious strike in from 30 metres. Half time came and Rotchen had them all delighted by reminding them that they all knew what had to be done.

As the second half progressed, we were having to move further away from a controlled passing game as Lleida were standing off and nicking the ball too easily. In a pattern of play that dominated the game, Nacho Pérez pulled the ball back into the box but Kike could only cut in and slap wide with his weaker foot. With Masó off the pitch Blázquez elected to take free kicks and was unlucky with one effort before combining with Kike then Uri down the right to send Marc Mas through. He drove toward goal pulling the defence with him before unleashing a shot high and wide of the far post. A wasted opportunity. I felt we were in the ascendancy so I pushed Uri up top for his neat footwork and sent on Vidal in the hole, Marc Mas making way.

With 25 minutes of the second half played, Lleida were patiently holding the ball and waiting for the right pass. A long one over the top of my fairly high line had Félix and Nierga in a footrace, my defence nowhere to be seen. Again the former lacked composure in front of goal and waited too long for Ginard to commit, sending the ball into his grateful arms. Those two were soon at it again with the midfielder playing a golden through ball to the striker. He took a touch to settle himself, then lashed a shot off the near post from 10 metres. A terrible mistake by José gave Nierga 40 metres to run at the goal but Ginard got over well to deflect the ball out for a corner. My defence cleared but we had to batten down the hatches and quick. We pulled back, stood off, and asked them to play through us. A crunching tackle in the middle of the park from Moustapha gave way to two successive through balls and Félix finished easily from five metres. It was coming and I could have no complaints.

But wait! A late offside call has earned us a massive reprieve. Immediately Moustapha was at it again, won the ball and surged beyond the man he passed to. The ball broke free again but for all his bluster, Félix was a bottler and passed his shot wide. A very tense five minutes of added time was played out, with the opposition sailing balls into the box attempting to win corners. My defence were resolute and held out. I’d won my first game!

The statistics were really quite similar all across the board but I gave away four clear cut chances and created none. To come away with a 1-0 victory really was something special. Carles Mas, the big man at the back, was credited with the Man of the Match award. We had more shots and shots on target than fans were used to seeing which was a huge positive. Although they did not find the football exciting they were happy to see the team win. With little fanfare for winning the home leg, attention would now turn to the cut and thrust of the league in three days’ time.

Saguntino had a new-style synthetic pitch so I’d have to watch Masó, Vidal (who carried on with a late knock to his foot), and every other player recently returned from injury very carefully. It was a crunch match against the team seven points in front of me but I could do with my best players lasting the relegation dogfight distance. The scout report was revised to say that we should expect a counter attacking team with traditional wingers and a target man. However, this was secondary information compared to my assistant’s certainty that their defensive vulnerabilities could be exploited with double training sessions on attacking movement. The structured approach of Saguntino’s boss would mean I would have to seriously consider each man’s opposition on the pitch.

Suddenly the job was getting serious and I’ve have scant time to spend so much time analysing each match. Player reports were finally emailed in bulk and of the four targets left only two were under 23 and available now. One was an Argentinean midfielder just six months new to Spain and the other an ex-Olot midfield alumni, both languishing in the amateur leagues. No thanks. Back to the training ground…

[Diego Imposta]

6.

With both physios now moved on, a local doctor tells me that Masó will be out for five to seven weeks after suffering a double hernia in training. I don’t consider it a huge blow given his attitude in the last game and I had a ready replacement. Ivan Guzmán was last week’s best in training and was unlucky to lose out on a sub spot to Kike. Now fully fit, he goes straight into the line-up and keeps the youngster having to earn his full debut. Both men could play both wings which offers me options. The search for a physio continues but with recent match previews labelling us ‘penniless’ it is understandable that we are not going to reduce the injured player’s unavailability any time soon.

Vidal’s so-so performance sees him keep his substitute place where he is joined by this week’s best trainer, Gambian defensive midfielder Dembo Batchilly. Our only foreign player, he was thankfully fluent in Spanish and our naturally fittest player. Barring injury or suspension, he would remain in the league matchday squad of 18. Right winger Pedro del Campo completed the bench in a tough coin toss between him and young local striker Alfredo Gutiérrez, still looking for a full debut himself. The reserve ‘keeper Moha misses out again and it’s hard to see him getting a game for me.

Five minutes gone and nothing of note, I tried to amend the problematic short passes by playing out from the back. Immediately we were building things around the Saguntino box but it broke down because we were ponderous. I’d ask them to not work it into the box but first we had Marc Mas tear through defensive midfield and earn a corner. The header by Yeray was easily saved by the keeper. Our bright kit was a bit sore on the eyes compared to our usual blood red fare and I think Saguntino were struggling to identify their man in a sea of yellow. Another breakaway over the top saw Mas hit the ball easily at the keeper – I wish he had the confidence to come a bit closer and give himself an easy finish. A poor headed clearance from a throw-in saw Saguntino’s first real effort on goal after 15 minutes – an audacious half volley from 20 metres which sailed harmlessly wide. We were having joy hitting balls over the top and Mas was making all the right runs but his finishing was abysmal.

The opposition had got into the game now and were bossing the ball – we had to try and control it. Half time came and we were by far the better side and should have been ahead. Rotchen expressed his unhappiness with the performance and it got a reaction from the players. The rain started to come down so we would have to abandon our controlling methods in the second half. With Barnils picking up a caution for persistent fouling I decided to throw on Batchilly to keep up the pressure.

With Marc Mas losing all the headers and not having a shot for a while, this seemed the perfect opportunity for Mallorca loanee Toril to prove he could make the difference. With 20 minutes left the match was a stalemate and we had to take advantage of a lenient ref and get stuck in. I needed Simón’s class in the attacking midfield role as Uri was ineffective with the dirty side of the game and tiring. José threw a couple of free kicks over the bar and now we had two nervous teams with ten minutes left on the clock. I decided to slow it down as Saguntino were evidently much fitter than us.

Full time came and to be honest we should have won. The players were fired up when my assistant told them it wasn’t good enough, but secretly I was delighted with back to back clean sheets and as were the fans. María was quick to point out that Marc Mas has now gone eight hours without a goal. Good grief.

[Diego Imposta]

7.

The applicants for the physio job were all looking to make their way in the game, except for one. Juan Albors was double the age of the fame-hungry 20-somethings and had spent his 40’s as the head physio at Villarreal. He took a few years out and got a few years in at Valencia, the city of his birth. For whatever reason he now had 18 months out of the game as was looking north for small town life. I snapped him up despite misgivings about his ability as he seemed determined and disciplined. A complimentary understudy fresh out of university was brought in to keep Albors up to speed. Amazingly, I was able to offer both of them the wage I couldn’t to those that left. That €20 000 compensation had made that much of a difference to the club coffers. I’d consider selling Masó in the summer as his market value was ten times that – we could rebuild the club. I’d try and sell him now if only he wasn’t injured. On first impressions, his sulk and injury made him an easy scapegoat.

As expected, Valencia Mestalla turned up with their caretaker manager’s favoured 5-3-2 WB formation despite only rolling it out for the first time this season following the winter break. Paco Camarasa was a one-club man in his playing and coaching career and even had a handful of Spain caps so I had an idea what was coming. Mestalla were deep in trouble, seven points behind me in penultimate place so I guessed he would now stick to what he knows rather than persist with the last manager’s culture of 4-2-3-1 Wide.

We’d worked all week on training 3-5-2 with defensive wingers. If I can’t put it into practice at home against a side who’d only won three and drawn three all season then when could I? Left back Bigas would move to right wing as he had never played left wing for some reason. To facilitate both supporting wingers looking inside for passes to an attack-minded midfielder next to them, Guzmán would occupy the left role and audition for a sustained run in the side. Nacho Peréz was so comfortable in the final third I’d trial him coming deep off Uri, the experienced striker finally leading the line. Batchilly took the place of the suspended Barnils, who he replaced at half time last week, in the middle of the park. Simón was recalled for the right central role and Marc Mas was dropped altogether, Moha taking his spot on the bench. The remaining defenders shifted into the middle in the same order to help them learn to play together as a three. Otherwise the bench was unchanged.

Yeray scored his first ever senior goal with a lovely strike, reacting first to a defensive clearance from a storming Nacho Pérez run down the left flank. Half time came and Mestalla hadn’t even had a shot. We simply had to win this game. Around 50 minutes, Toril would be given another chance up top, Uri dropping deep and Nacho Pérez making way after fluffing two good opportunities to score.

Batchilly was too fired up and ten minutes into the second half he managed to get himself sent off for two bookable offences in three minutes. An official warning was in the post. Uri would make way for Ortega to fill the void and Toril would have to play a slightly deeper role up front on his own. Simón latterly picked up a slight groin injury and Vidal was asked to steady the ship in an unfamiliar position. The ref was dishing out cards now so we had to lay off them. With ten minutes left they broke free from a deep free kick and one on one from their own half passed it wide. With five minutes remaining, the olés were ringing out. They crunched Vidal for it but the ball broke loose and Toril reacted first, coming wide, and smashed it in for his first goal. 2-0. Job done. Lleida next.

[Diego Imposta]

8.

Two personnel changes were made for the visit to Lleida. ‘Dumbo’ Batchilly was now a booking away from another suspension so he was left out of the cup tie for his own sake. Barnils was restored to the middle as an unfit Ortega was too risky to start such a big game. Uri dropped back in to the hole with the hope that Toril would be confident after getting off the mark against Mestalla. Simón was still recovering from a pulled groin and I was beginning to think I’d never get an extended run from him. Marc Mas suffered a tight thigh midweek but I couldn’t carry unconfident players today. As there were only five subs to be named Moha was cast back into the wilderness of taking shots at the main goalkeeper in pre-match warmups. Tactically, we would bolt on a few instructions that we kept returning to such as playing out from the back, shorter passing, and lowering the tempo. I was determined to not let Lleida bully us with their physicality. It would be 0°C and I’d try and keep their guys from running around as much as possible.

The frustration worked. Halfway through a tight first half we got a penalty for a shove. With Marc Mas and Simón off the field, Uri pulled rank and stepped up. He confidently tucked it home down the middle. Lleida needed two now so I thought we’d try and counter them for the rest of the first half. They were rattled and as the rain came they were crossing balls out of play. Guzmán had picked up a groin injury himself after 35 minutes so I thought why not give del Campo an hour to prove himself to me. The players came in at half time delighted and rightly so.

We couldn’t counter all day so we’d look to react to whatever they came out with. An uncharacteristic swift break from the back saw Toril put Nacho Pérez through on the left and from an angle he slotted home under the keeper at the near post for 2-0. Two minutes later a looped ball over the top found that bulldozer Nierga, he beat the last man and got a powerful shot away. It hit the inside of the post and rebounded directly to Félix who tucked it away. I was gutted to concede a crap goal but we would now look to control the game.

By now complacency had crept in so I threw on Gutiérrez for some innocence, as Toril was tiring and now I was looking to counter again. With twenty minutes left there was still complacency in the ranks as I was wondering if we needed some Vidal, so soon, to settle it. He again steadied the ship but I wanted to trust the remaining players to see out the game. With five minutes left, Nierga was hooked and they were shooting from anywhere. They scored a filthy goal in injury time, finding a winger with a high diagonal ball to level the game on the day but not the tie. Rotchen congratulated the lads on a magnificent performance but statistically we were second best by some distance come the end. It was my first game in from of such a large crowd, 2 000, and maybe gave an indication of why some of the talent at my disposal were not playing for better clubs. The press praised our triumph but they also spotted that the Mallorca boss was here to see Toril. Frantically I called my personal assistant Adán - he could scour the contract looking for any total recall clause. No answer. I’d fret all the way back on the bus until I finally got in and found that he was mine until the end of the season.

We’d closed the gap to Saguntino to five points last week and up next was Formentera. They were another relegation rival who were currently four points behind me and on a great run of three wins in six under their new manager.

[Diego Imposta]

9.

In the morning, I realised that I’d let myself down. We could very easily have been dumped out of the cup by Lleida Esportiu as, on reflection, we didn’t deserve to go through. I was guilty of playing the occasion and not the game. They had so many chances over the two legs that readily exposed our frailties and I did nothing but watch to see if we held out. Caught up in the crowd, I was a spectator. I would promise myself to be vocal from the touchline – I had to be brave enough.

The 2-0 lead was fortuitous but the first leg was even more so. The cup competition had peppered my second fortnight to the point of exhaustion. I’d only played that team two weeks previous and I’d treated them as an unknown quantity. We were in a relegation battle and I had to act like it – every game as it comes. Lleida were a very good side but I’d need points off very good sides to stay up. My career was at stake: if I saw out my contract and took them down I’d never work again professionally, and if I was sacked I’d have to wait about a year for an opportunity at another club in the same desperate position. The cup was a distraction, the players were starting to tire from all the extra work, and I had a decision to make.

Formentera, the other Pityusic team, represented the final ‘kind’ fixture of my early league matches and a win would leave us potentially a week away from safety – a huge mental milestone. We would be found out soon enough so I continued to secretly get 3-5-2 up to speed on the training ground away from prying eyes after its only outing against Valencia Mestalla. When the cup draw came around I couldn’t believe my luck. We could have got Real Madrid Castilla but we got the worst team left in the competition: 3-5-2 Sweeper-playing Villarreal B. We would be playing our third València province team and, after such luck against Mestalla and Saguntino, I was positively relishing the thought of twisting the knife into the team 13 points below us in the league. We must focus; we must try and win every single game.

How I managed my 21-man squad’s fitness would be vital. I was still short of playing my first eleven together for the first time and the longer I could hold out the better. The likes of usurped defensive midfielder Ortega, misfiring Marc Mas and perma-crocked Simón would fatten the bench once more but I’d look to give them minutes against the team from near Ibiza. Squad management may call for reinforcements, it may not. That young Argentinean midfielder may be just the sort of character we need to freshen up the dressing room as well as attendances. A hungry Latin-American willing to move 10 000 km from Buenos to Catalunya seemed to stir a passion in me, even if it was via six months in provincial football. Foreigners were exciting. While Moha had technically declared for Morocco there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d ever get a call-up. Twice-capped Batchilly being of Gambian descent didn’t appeal to the people of Olot in the same way that a narrative could. I could attribute this to Rotchen, for next year, how he plucked his countryman from obscurity. The press would be calling him 'the new Maradona'!

[mark wilson27]

This really is an impressive piece of work. Well written and tells the story without being over complicated. As I've said before looking to reading more

[Diego Imposta]

Thanks Mark, really appreciate it. Hoping to not get too bogged down in tactics! So please, all pointers welcome.

I'm trying to make my way through some of the more recently celebrated stories in my spare time and I am really enjoying them. I'm looking forward to yours and tenthreeleader's but I didn't want to cuddle up to the mods too early haha. Currently on EvilDave's ...Life After Prestatyn, and I can see myself breaking my self-imposed rule of only reading the first season until I've done a season myself. It's brilliant

[mark wilson27]

1 hour ago, Diego Imposta said:

Thanks Mark, really appreciate it. Hoping to not get too bogged down in tactics! So please, all pointers welcome.

I'm trying to make my way through some of the more recently celebrated stories in my spare time and I am really enjoying them. I'm looking forward to yours and tenthreeleader's but I didn't want to cuddle up to the mods too early haha. Currently on EvilDave's ...Life After Prestatyn, and I can see myself breaking my self-imposed rule of only reading the first season until I've done a season myself. It's brilliant

EvilDave's work is brilliant as is everyone elses, Best way to look if through the FMS Archive as they have up to date work and some of the older works

[Diego Imposta]

10.

Rolling back the instructions for my 4-2-3-1 formation to just the differences between the possession 3-5-2 and direct 3-1-4-2, I thought I’d better start listening to what Rotchen had to say in his pre-match tactical report. Rather than dismissing it out of hand, if it suited the directions I want to go in I would concede to experience. For the crunch game in Formentera, he suggested we try and control it in their back yard. I would now also see his point in discouraging closing down in order to reduce injuries. We’d have a week break afterwards but picking the eleven would be difficult all the same.

Now would be a good time to review the four-game period bookended by the Lleida cup ties. In these two weeks I’ve gone from an idea of players based on their age and physicality to one now coloured by their game changing, or indeed game killing, abilities. My five under-23 players were strikers Toril and Gutiérrez, winger Kike, defensive midfielder Ortega, and unused goalkeeper Moha. Their minutes would be managed accordingly but the three that were slightly older than my 33 years (Simón, Vidal, José) would be played wherever possible. The majority of the squad was between 24 and 27 which, if they all stayed, was an excellent base with which to work.

Ginard, 31, was my goalkeeper until further notice as I was quite a traditionalist in this sense. Moha would not get the cup games as they were evidently now quite important, so I’d make him available for loan with a recall clause. I wasn’t sending him to any backwater interested; he was staying in the north east or at worst the Balearics.

José’s performances have been exemplary at centre back and he can now call himself a team leader in the dressing room. He would be the first person I’d like to initiate contract talks with. Carles Mas, on the other hand, started so well but is becoming a man of diminishing returns. Realistically we have no like-for-like cover so we persevere. Blázquez has been a hero at marauding right back or stopper centre back, while Bigas quietly goes about his defensive duties whether at left back or right wing - a bit of an unsung hero really. I really like the defence here!

Barnils has done well in the one game since returning from suspension – his heading and tackling could see him fill in for Mas at the back but he’s so slow. Ortega has had 40 minutes and is contractually first-choice so he will start on the island. He simply must be a decent defensive midfielder as Batchilly has had two halves of tearing around and getting booked three times.

Yeray has, in fairness, been played well out of his comfort zone but his physicality has ensured the stint in central midfield has been dutiful. I’d need to eke out some more attacking effectiveness as he’s clearly used to more time on the ball. In the 90 minutes across two games Simón has shown his utter class – I just hope that I get him fit enough to fire on all cylinders either in the middle or the hole. Vidal has had not had a great deal to do in the three cameos thus far but it’s clear his mere presence means nothing too silly happens. I may find a special role for him as the season goes on.

Uri, 31, has so unselfishly committed to the role behind the striker but I need him to return up front. He’s scored two from arriving late but he’s so quick with his mind I can see a real poacher in him. Marc Mas, the eldest of the rest, turns 28 this summer and I’m already thinking that if his finishing doesn’t improve this may be his last chance at professional football. It would be such a shame as he seems to drag the ball from midfield and take two defenders with him when he gets going. Toril is getting the chance he wanted right now with back to back starts incoming. Gutiérrez is going to struggle for minutes but for him this season is all about being in a squad for the first time. As a native of Olot along with Uri, it made sense for me to try and get them to work under the elder’s tutelage.

Nacho Pérez and Ivan Guzmán seem like real quality, versatile wingers who can change the game and/or play up front while between them providing cover on the flanks front to back. Masó is in danger of becoming the forgotten man. del Campo has been adequate cover if unspectacular. Kike, on the other hand, has been raw and exciting. He is such a similar player to Vidal and I’m amazed it took me a month to spot it. While their personalities and positions differ, both are born leaders with pace and skill. It could be a beautiful handover as one career ends and another begins so I ask the head honcho if he’d look after the young lad off the pitch, too. Staggeringly Kike was having none of it. It would be difficult to not hold this against him. In fact, I’d give him his start if he thinks he knows himself. Thankfully this isn’t the sort of thing to ruffle the feathers of Roger Vidal. He of nine years’ service. He of dressing room alpha status. He of Olot.

I offered the young number ten Federico Acuña a two week trial to see out the transfer window. In terms of contracts, most were signed up until summer 2019. Those that weren’t would take some thought over whether they were going to be offered new deals or not. José was turning 35 this summer and when I made initial checks in the first week he wouldn’t negotiate without a pay rise. Nacho Pérez was the first man I wanted to get sat down at the table. I’d open with a year on top of his existing contract, not a million miles away from what he was asking anyway. He wanted to fiddle with a few things but the loyalty bonus went up a lot so I knew he was after a payday. I made my original offer with double the bonus. I tested his patience long enough with a few more tweaks and in the end I got him for the same contract, albeit at less than 10% a week more with a relegation wage drop clause removed. Vidal was a cinch; he took a pay cut and optional extension for one year.

[Diego Imposta]

11.

Imagine bringing on your best player at 3-0 up. Imagine he decides that it would be a much better night out for the punters in the Pityuses if the scoreline ended 3-3. Well, imagine he got a formal warning in the post.

Simón was abominable. Dreck. Farcical. The journeyman midfielder plagued the team with nerves and complacency in a 40-minute cameo that would make veteran Calciopoli investigators across the water stop to shudder and not know why. When he went to get on the bus back to the airport, I put my hand on his chest to stop him. Maybe he’d like to stop here seeing as the locals would be buying drinks for him all night. He had nothing to say. Get on the ****ing bus. Yes, boss.

After a couple of broken down moves from each side to start the game in the drizzle, we began to build from the back. Passes were exchanged down the left flank but as soon as we were into the Formentera half, the options appeared to be none. Yeray was operating on a higher plane, though, and dropped a 30-metre ball over the top making the defender turn and chase. The defender didn’t commit and the ‘keeper didn’t shout – the ball was there for the taking. Toril nipped and took a bite out of the easy meat on 15 minutes. That man was at it again 15 minutes later, catching a pure left-foot volley from a Nacho Pérez knockdown. Yeray was pulling the strings now and Kike was very unlucky to choke in front of goal from one of his through balls.

Five minutes after the restart, Ortega slipped in José from a set piece and the captain smashed an inch perfect strike into the bottom right corner of the goal from the edge of the box. Uri was very tired from a classy display and was hooked. 3-0 and cruising, enter talisman…

The first of 5 (five) times he lost possession, Simón came deep to take the ball in the centre circle and under no pressure gave the ball to the opposition right-back. He immediately sent it back from whence it came. Lurking on Carles Mas’ blindside was Juan Antonio, who would go on to win man of the match, and he blasted the ball past the helpless Ginard. Two minutes later, a settled passing game from back saw Simón play an absolute hospital ball to Kike. The left back nicked it, swung a low ball on José’s blindside this time and Juan Antonio was alert again - a mirrored image of his first goal. Obviously, I would be dropping our high line immediately. However, Formentera were in the ascendancy and nearly scored the same goal again a minute later.

We rode the storm without offering any attacking threat ourselves but then five minutes from time Juan Antonio won a great first ball from a corner and a panicked Bigas tripped the recipient. Penalty. 3-3. Deep into injury time, the Formentera ‘keeper minced a kick straight into the path of Toril. He shot first time but without conviction and the ball was held. It should have been his hat-trick.

I called the players in on Monday and told them we were doing ok but we had to kick on and give the fans something to shout about. They saw sense and agreed with me. We were unbeaten in five but was I doing a good job?

[Diego Imposta]

12.

If the first half was anything to go by, I’d have to say: no, I wasn’t doing a good job. If the second half was anything to go by, I’d have to say: no, I wasn’t doing a good job. But I was doing a job and until very recently I was not. Like any manager, I was going to cling on to this thing until it finished me off.

Cornellá threw a curveball that I should have seen coming. Rotchen said they’d line up 4-3-3 after flirting with it mid-way through games since Christmas. I thought no, they’ll do what they’ve done all year and go 4-4-1-1. I hedged my bets and rolled out a tactical surprise of my own – 3-1-4-2. The boys from Barcelona would go home talking about this tactical innovator working up in the north…

In reality, they went 4-3-3 and absolutely destroyed me, peppering Ginard’s goal endlessly through the first half. It began after just 13 seconds, with an absolute last ditch tackle from José giving them a corner. But they just couldn’t craft clear cut chances. By 12 minutes they’d figured us out and launched a counter attack. Five men got into my box but they went for the spectacular and failed. 20 minutes in, that corner routine led to the ball being cleared as far as the right back who had time and space to pick his spot, launching Cornellá into the lead. Their front three would go on to terrorise me with their movement. Truly, this was the best team I’d faced and they were lower mid-table.

Yeray picked up a minor injury and was replaced by Vidal – he of ship steading fame, again asked to play out of position that deep. He could cover at striker but in centre midfield he just made do. The opposition wasted a litany of chances and I too was getting frustrated at their attempts to walk it in rather than racking up a three or four goal lead and being done with it. Half time came – we’d had four shots and they’d had 11. I was getting sacked in the morning! Calming myself, I knew I’d have to make changes. I was graduating tactics towards something more non-committal anyway as it clearly wasn’t working out there, but right at the end Uri went down clutching his hip. Batchilly on, Vidal up front.

50 minutes came and Cornellá hit the bar with a header, adding to their first half unlucky tally of hitting the post and having a goal ruled out for offside. Toril then wrecked a perfectly good opportunity to equalise after being put through by Batchilly – who was proving useful in an attacking role as part of a flat five. Food for thought. Cornellá then hit the post on 60 minutes; I just could not deal with their superiority. Nacho Pérez wasn’t having the best of games which was disappointing after signing a new deal. I tried to eke something out of him by bringing on big man Marc Mas for the tiring Vidal. In the 87th minute, a long hopeful ball by Kike – remarkably not having a nightmare here on only his second start – found a willing runner in Toril. He stood one up for Marc Mas, without a goal in eight hours, who powered a header at goal. The keeper saw it coming all day long and elected to tip it over his bar in a safety-first approach. I admired that. Nerves of steel.

I demanded more of the team as nerves were setting in. A punt from the back by Carles Mas saw Toril find the energy to break in to a 30-metre dash ahead of the trailing centre back. With one touch to steady himself, he curled it away from the keeper and toward the top left corner. Post!

It was the first time I’d disappointed the fans and it hurt. They may only number 200 but how many would come back if we were relegated? The cup games were a welcome distraction after all.

[Diego Imposta]

13.

Before I could sit down to plan the squad, the news came back about Uri. He’d be out for between three and seven months. I was gutted for him and gutted for me. Toril was just about losing his edge in front of goal, Marc Mas would need hypnotherapy to recall the last time he scored and Vidal was just not a goal scorer by any stretch. Gutiérrez did not having the same exuberance as Kike and I just wasn’t happy to rush him with too many bench appearances. While the new physios were working wonders with the forgotten man Masó, he was still a number of weeks away which deprived me of any real cover or rotation in and around my forward line. We’d have to enter the transfer market.

Previously, we’d been rebuffed with an attempt to get my Latin superstar-in-the-making Acuña on trial, and crucially we couldn’t take him on loan either as he was only on a part-time contract. With his deal up in the summer, he was interested in coming to us but the sort of pay rise he was after would make him an expendable target for the chop if we went down. I’d have to wait this one out.

The press had linked us with David Corominas before but when social media jumped on the hype train in the wake of Uri’s injury I had to have a closer look. Here was an experienced attacking midfielder who couldn’t get a game for Peralada - the comparatively village team from the north-east rooted to the bottom of the league and by some distance. He’d played for us before, of course, otherwise why would the fans know about him? When Olot first came up after winning their Tercera group in 2012/13, Corominas came on board and bagged 13 goals. This was three behind the main striker, who would also depart after two years of diminishing returns. Both would end up in Japan, his erstwhile teammate only making the move six months ago, but Corominas didn’t even last that long.

He came back home to L’Hospitalet, just outside Barcelona, where he had spent three years previously. He then took what he thought was semi-retirement 12 months later in Peralada but this seemed more like full retirement after six months without a start. His versatility meant he could play in the middle, on the right, in the hole, and up front. It’s just what I needed but I had no idea how good he was. At 168cm, maybe the new Peralada boss didn’t think he could risk starting him in a relegation battle. Or maybe he didn’t like the attitude of someone who took paydays from minnows and the unsuspecting Japanese public. Either way, if I wanted him I’d have to make room.

del Campo was easily my least-used outfield player across my first six games and to be honest I think we were the right club at the wrong time. He’d just come up from the Tercera and, given my strength in depth on the wings, that’s where he’d return. As soon as I made him available for loan two offers came in. The teams were from Madrid and Seville, and as a proud Catalan I could only give my blessings to one. Previously I’d not let Moha join clubs in areas that I wouldn’t go and visit to watch him play, so I had to be as straight with del Campo.

On deadline day-eve, Corominas signed on the dotted line. We had got him on loan, his wages little more than Acuña would have cost. He was dreadfully out of shape but in that first training session it was clear that he still had those extra seconds in his head that others would never have. He fitted in like a glove – reminiscing that afternoon about playing with Vidal, Simón and head of youth development Freixa – and his influence was obvious.  The fans were on board and I was ecstatic.

Only now was I a real manager – bring on deadline day!

[Diego Imposta]

14.

Two months into the job, I didn’t have any solid contacts in the game. I’d got acquainted with a few faces by now, though. One of which was Iván Porras, an agent operating in and around the Madrid area. I was chatting to him about Uri’s injury anyway, just letting him know that his player was still part of my plans. There was every chance Uri would have to be unregistered if del Campo’s loan move fell through so I had to lay my cards on the table. I wasn’t too sure how the rules worked but until Uri was fit this was all moot anyway. However, with a raft of Real Madrid youngsters in his client base, Porras was the kind of mover and shaker that I’d need to befriend to get ahead in the game. Like I did with every agent I knew on deadline day, I asked if he had any new, unattached players on the books since I last asked. None of the others did but Porras had – he’d taken a gamble.

Luca Giovanella was an 18-year-old attacking midfielder who was in danger of slipping through the net. A local Vigo boy, he’d made four appearances in his maiden season at Celta the year before last. He bagged two goals in Segunda B1, didn’t get his contract renewed, and then went off the radar. 18 months later he’d got himself an influential agent and the next thing I knew, he was willing to move to the other coast for minimum wage. I had one spot remaining in the squad and they while they had to be under 23, if they were under 19 they didn’t need to be registered. I did anyway. Porras demanded an 18-month deal and € 99 000 release clause but I knocked him off a few other clauses with a month of the lad’s wage in the agent's pocket just for his time. All we had to do now was find out how good he was – I didn’t have a clue. After all, in this game it isn’t what you know but who you know.

He was good. Damn good! Pace, flair, dribbling, technique, determination – this kid had it all. Except that was his problem. He wasn’t a man. Slight of frame, interminably weak, and with the concentration of a fly, I’d have my work cut out with this one. Still, the fans were happy with the gamble so that’s something. The chairman was particularly delighted to see that I’d negotiated a low wage too. All this was music to my ears and my hope for a new contract, especially after hearing the chairman croon all night about getting Corominas back in. The Boys are Back in Town by Thin Lizzy played on repeat. Everything was going well at Olot and we were celebrating like we were safe.

Serious business and serious hangover: it could only be matchday. Toril had to lose his place to Marc Mas – he needed low pressure games to try and score in. Bigas was recalled after sitting on the bench for giving away a penalty and Batchilly earned himself a start after his all-action display last time out. Simón was restored to the playmaker role and my new signings made the bench. After José deferred initiation of the new lad to Vidal, I knew what he wanted me to do. Vidal was more than happy to look after Giovenella off the field and I made sure he sat with him on the bench, too.

Villarreal B rocked up as expected and to the new manager’s credit they played some good football. Ginard kept us in it while we figured out what we were trying to do but we just got better and better. Corominas came on in the second half in place of Marc Mas and he was a cut above. Ten minutes later Giovanella was on and the two caused so much havoc Villarreal forgot about Nacho Pérez and Guzmán – the two neatly combining in injury time to seal the win. 

[Diego Imposta]

15.

No way was I getting carried away with a 1-0 home leg win after the collapse away at Lleida in the last round. We moved swiftly on to another trip to the Balearics – an area that may well define my season as we still had to play runaway leaders Mallorca late in the year. But I wasn’t looking too far ahead in terms of schedule. Up next were Ibiza’s Santa Eulalia and they were flying high in second, potentially another 4-3-3 team waiting to tear me apart.

The chief scout had done his homework, though, and spotted the recent change to 4-4-1-1. Seeing how my disastrous hedged bet went last time, I had to make a few more defensive tweaks here. First up, we would continue with 4-2-3-1 Wide but hope to stifle three up top by changing the full backs to solely defensive duties. Just in case they did line up with a man in the hole, I’d double down with central midfielders who wouldn’t want to venture too far forward. We were looking for 0-0 and no mistake.

Two men had a heavy workload on and I needed them fresh for the second leg, so Ortega and Nacho Peréz dropped to the bench. In their stead came Simón, back into the middle with a deep-playmaking role, in the hope he’d atone for his last trip out here. The other, surprisingly, was Marc Mas. I hadn’t tried him on the flanks just yet but remembered his surging runs from my first few games. He was left footed, so I thought I’d give him a go on that left wing. He’d be out of the limelight but still getting minutes. The fans were getting on his back so I needed a good show here.

Giovanella had done enough for a start in the hole and as he was young enough to manage two games in quick succession from a standing start. I’d ask him to attack the box in a playmaking role similar to Simón. Yeray was finally fit and made the bench, giving me cover for both roles. Toril would be tried in a poaching role with both wingers supporting from deep – we’d rely on pace.

It didn’t start well. Five minutes in and a goalmouth scramble gave Ginard no chance. 1-0 down already. We did well to get a hold on the game after that and 15 minutes later Marc Mas swung a ball low into the box for Toril to tuck home. Our first shot. Our second went in, too. A minute later Bigas swung a ball into the box looking for Toril and via a deflection it found him. I was on cloud nine. Ten minutes later Simón and Giovanella combined well, Toril sending Guzmán through. As he took a touch and picked his spot, he was scythed down from behind. Penalty! Resident taker Marc Mas had a lot to answer for here and he was lucky to tuck to home, the keeper going the right way.

Five minutes after the restart they caught us cold again, their striker unmarked from a corner. A set piece of our own saw Simón’s effort parried into path of Marc Mas who fired it home. Unbelievable. 4-2.

The whole squad made game management look easy for the last half an hour, with the midfield trio replaced to keep more legs fresh and us disciplined. We were now three points from safety. Bring on Villarreal B!

[Diego Imposta]

16.

With confidence sky high, only enforced changes were made for the return leg. José was suspended so Barnils came in as the most capable of my midfielders. Giovanella was given a rest and Corominas was tried in the hole – he’d slowly be working his way back to right midfield while he gets fit. Today he’d be utilised in a shadow striker role behind Toril, himself looking to hang off the last defender.

Barnils had a golden opportunity from a corner to silence the 1 500 fans after five minutes but his header was tame. After a few crunching tackles early doors he was already looking all action and was up there again. Another corner on 20 minutes showed that the entirely under 23 squad of Villarreal B had us for pace. They won the first ball, broke away cleanly and in four passes had the ball in the back of the net. Now we had a cup tie but there was certainly no need to panic.

Simón then came wide for the ball at around 25 minutes, feeding Corominas who in turn fed Toril. The young striker had his back to goal but kept his head cool and fed in Guzmán on the overlap. The winger had time but struck wide, perhaps expecting to be scythed down like he was a few days ago. He atoned for the error a few minutes later, getting up to head a Marc Mas cross back where it came from and sailing over the outstretched keeper. We had our away goal and with 30 minutes gone we had the tie won. Experience should see us through here.

With 15 minutes to go we were guilty of overplaying around their box and the ball broke loose. A smart forward move finished with a deep low cross, finding a man now stood unmarked at the far post. 1-2. We’ve all seen players pick up the ball and race back but they had the engines to justify it. The game thankfully petered out as we sought to shut down their endeavour and sit behind the ball.

We were in the semi-finals! It felt like a remarkable achievement. Despite the loss, the chairman was impressed with how we looked in the final third. I couldn’t help but think that we were shipping a lot more goals than we were when I first took over, though. Rotchen had suggested we bring in another coach earlier in the week but now our ‘loser’ money from the semi-final could justify it. I called him.

Álvaro Brachi was someone who had played for Betis B and Espanyol B (of course he did) but curiously he was a defensive specialist just like Rotchen. Maybe it was Rotchen’s way of telling me he was stretched too thin, taking all training on his own. Brachi was a Seville native, turning his back on lower league football for a shot at the unknown and this impressed me. He was recently retired after stints in Cyprus, Hungary, and Slovenia where he’d won cups and played in European competition. This would certainly help our scouting knowledge should the club be able to grow so it was an easy decision. Once he was in the door it became apparent that if I let them both coach everything together, they’d essentially have the same work load as my fitness and goalkeeping coaches. Brachi could learn from Rotchen and again, provide a solid footing if I’m not here next year.

The draw for the semi-final filled me with dread for two reasons. The first was that I didn’t want the home leg to start with seeing as we collapse away from home to bigger teams, and the second was that they were all bigger teams. The other semi-final was drawn: 1st and 3rd in Segunda B4, Murcia versus Mérida. This meant Real Madrid Castilla were drawn as my opponents, home first. Oh my. Instantly I thought of seeing a few of agent Porras’ clients in person. They were mid-table in their league but Castilla is Castilla.

[Diego Imposta]

17.

Zaragoza B also had a very youthful side, and their vitality would test us in our fifth game in 15 days. Reticent to ring too many changes, I gave José and Giovanella their places back and looked to counter. We were at home and I would expect us to feel our way into the game given our fitness.

The weather was still awful at this time of year and it was easy to see that all of today’s goals were to be borne out of frustration. Two sides were trying to play attractive football but it wasn’t to be. First to crack was Batchilly, today operating in a box-to-box role, firing a 20-metre thunderbolt for his first goal in an Olot shirt. Carles Mas should have added a second in the first ten minutes with a header from yet another smart corner delivery from Simón. Zaragoza equalised on 20 minutes with a farcical goal and thankfully it was the only one I’ve conceded in my tenure. A wild shot hit the striker’s back, rebounded off my defenders legs, and fell invitingly into the path of the original shooter. 1-1.

I felt that the goal was fortuitous but after they nearly scored from a corner themselves, I could count myself lucky as Toril was then shut out of play entirely. I asked him to abandon his post and come wide, explore gaps, anything. What followed had me angry and delighted in the space of seconds. Bigas, against all instruction, lumped the ball forward up and over the high line of Zaragoza. Immediately I saw them working their usual 4-1-4-1 and me kissing goodbye to the ball for five minutes. Instead, Toril gave chase with an arced run and found himself one-on-one. Recent misses must have stung because he waited for the keeper to commit and stroked it home with aplomb.

A similar punt upfield from Blázquez ended as I expected. They worked the ball through us and slipped in their striker for a one-on-one of their own. Ginard stood tall and beat the ball away. He was becoming the most vital player in my team. It forced Zaragoza to change to two up top for the last 25 minutes but the substitutes of Ortega and Yeray, on for Simón and Giovanella, shored things up beautifully. Until the last kick of the game. A superb ball was popped over our deep line and suddenly both strikers were clear and in the box. One crossed to the other, and the ball was smashed against the near post. Carles Mas reacted first and booted the ball clear for full time.

In other results, Formentera, Villarreal B, Valencia Mestalla, and Perelada all lost – an amazing weekend for us. This meant that while we were finally out of the relegation zone we were still in the relegation playoff zone on goal difference. We had now built up a seven point cushion on the teams below us – an incredible turnaround from the seven points adrift I inherited six league games ago.

Ten games in and it was time for reflection. We’d won half of these games, lost twice, and got through two rounds of the cup. We’d been playing well since the winter break and I told the team as much. José was now waiting on us to secure our league status before committing to a new deal, so for the captain’s sake we had 12 league games left to achieve survival.  

[Panpardus]

I don't get on here as much as I would like, but it makes it worth it when stories of this quality are on here.

Like the others have said, its well written and easy to read.

Keep it up!

[Diego Imposta]

20 minutes ago, Panpardus said:

I don't get on here as much as I would like, but it makes it worth it when stories of this quality are on here.

Like the others have said, its well written and easy to read.

Keep it up!

Thanks! Really nice of you to say so. I'm sure everyone wonders if anyone is reading their story at all but right now I'm loving just writing it down

[Diego Imposta]

18.

I had a dilemma. The first team squad was in need of a day off, yet the second string needed games. I didn’t want to step on Rotchen’s toes and meddle with the players’ schedule. Especially now that I saw my assistant manager for what he was: a company man. As with everything I was doing at Olot, I’d wait for the right opportunities to present themselves. With our first free midweek in over a month, I filled it with a friendly against the under-19s. This would guarantee a much-needed day off for the entire squad as Rotchen won’t let anyone train the day after a game.

By pretending it was a cup game I could justify bringing a small bench of five. I’d try not to dip into anyone’s fitness for the visit to Elche. This would be our furthest league away trip and one of four teams in the very south of Valencian country. I’d only be coming here once more for Alcoyano but that was straight after our trip to the capital for the return leg against Castilla. One to be weary of.

The right opportunity I mentioned was in both senses of the word. Finances would decide whether Freixa would be able to have a youth intake for next season but right now his development squad was stocked with boys in their final year at school. They’d hadn’t been given clearance to play any friendlies this year so what better way to send them off than with a game against local professionals. Ultimately director of football Raset would be the one signing any prospective deals so I hope he’s been busy making himself known to junior teams in the region, not just Girona’s ‘B’ side Perelada.

The return to full fitness of Masó gave me an enticing way to pit 3-5-2 wits against my head of youth development, even if it was men against boys. I’d get a first look at Moha in goal, and he’d be shielded by Masó on the right and Ortega on the left. Barnils would keep the two midfielders tethered and essentially audition for José’s role should our captain decide to follow the money train.

Guzmán deserved a chance up front a la Nacho Pérez’s early cameo there (they really were very similar players) given his recent showing in front of goal. He’d impressed on the right wing and formed a mutual respect with Blázquez and probably had his best game on the left as part of a five against Mestalla. There really was nothing to learn about him other than up top and at either full back position – where I’m sure I will need him as the injuries and suspensions take hold. I’d partner him with forgotten man Gutiérrez who just needed minutes that a relegation battle can’t provide.

In the middle then, and Kike and Marc Mas would be tried on their weak wings, left and right respectively, for the first time. Kike had been stuck on the bench four times in a row now and I was being very careful. It was a tightrope to ensure he was both hidden away from prying eyes and yet getting games too. If Marc Mas was useful on the right too he’d definitely have a future at the club.

The middle was the easiest concession I’d make all day – Vidal in central midfield where he doesn’t belong. He’s such a consummate professional he’ll not even mention it and play a blinder to boot. He would be flanked by attacking central midfielders Giovanella and Yeray, the former ever so slightly out of his comfort zone positionally but both had instruction to bomb forward at all times.

I was happy to let my players be uncomfortable in strange positions as tactically we shouldn’t really have to worry about 15 and 16-year-olds. Simón, Batchilly, Nacho Pérez, Corominas, and Toril would make the bench and our first-choice defence and goalkeeper would be given a rest. The climate was still wet in mid-February but with no rain or wind on the day we’d try out a slick controlling game.

Vidal, captain for the day, swung a corner onto the boot of Barnils who pulled it home on eight minutes via a deflection. The corner was won from a deep Masó through ball to Gutiérrez who, understandably, was a little ring rusty. There followed a little complacency from Ortega and Masó at the back. I’d allow this as long as we weren’t conceding. Perhaps too eager to impress, Kike pulled up on half an hour and made way for Corominas who would be tried on the left himself. With five minutes to go, Barnils brought ball out, dissected both midfields and played a ball to Guzmán who was cleverly finding space between the lines. A neat through ball to Gutiérrez gave us 2-0 – the local lad wasn’t fluffing his lines a second time. As the game wore on I just let them play their football.

Gutiérrez showed his inexperience with 20 minutes to go, losing the ball in a counter. Two defenders combined to get it off him and hoofed it up front looking for the now sole striker in Freixa’s 4-1-4-1. He was away and finished easily at Moha’s near post. I needed him awake for one real chance and he couldn’t do it. Credit to the young lad up front though! He too had one chance and he took it.

After the game it became apparent that Kike’s knee was in a bad way. He’d be out for two months which was a bitter pill to swallow – the game was my risk. He wasn’t happy about it when I tried to talk to him but then this was a kid who turned his nose up at tutoring from Vidal. He’d be a mercurial talent for me but at least he wasn’t going to play a blinder against Madrid and force a move there. I’d see him back before the season was out and realistically, as del Campo showed, if I’m well stocked anywhere it is on the wings.

The more I talked to Freixa after the game the more he convinced me to offer a deal to the goalscorer in the morning. The youngster might not have looked strong but he won so many headers against my makeshift back three and showed great anticipation for his goal. Heavily left footed, he could play in the hole and on the wing. When we told Rotchen that the lad was getting a deal he said he was too selfish – a typical defender’s response. We want selfish strikers!

[Diego Imposta]

19.

Elche had only lost twice in the last 11 eleven games and even that was just to league runaways Mallorca and in the Copa del Rey to Real Madrid. I was warned that Benja was enjoying a purple patch, their second-choice striker keeping his place with seven goals in 12 games but I didn’t expect him to score after two minutes. He was an absolute handful and at times unplayable. Yes, that good.

The stadium was enormous. This was a team that was in La Liga three years ago and they had the five year old renovation to go with it. 34 000 seats was by far the biggest in the league and it felt like it. The grand stage of Segunda B3 had us in awe and we conceded from kick off. Two minutes in and we still hadn’t managed to pass from one teammate to the other, Elche hounding our every move. Eventually they switched the ball on their enormous pitch and a winger had time to play a perfect ball through both our centrebacks into the path of Benja. He slowed to gain a decent angle and hit an audacious shot at the near post to leave Ginard flat-footed and the travelling support silenced.

A quarter of an hour gone and he drove at the defence, gliding past them and forcing a fine save from our keeper. A sitter was missed from the resulting corner - we were sinking without trace.

Thrice more Benja lost his man and showed absurd pace to race onto a speculative through ball and thrice more Ginard was equal to the task. We were retreating deeper and deeper but he kept finding space behind our back line. The second half eventually came and we were outnumbered 11 shots to four.

Now we were able to play the game for what it was, albeit with the removed pressure of the opposition already winning and used to holding on to their lead. Elche were popping the ball about like a La Liga side and we were beginning to chase shadows again. They picked their moment and popped one up for the striker to chase but again Benja fluffed his lines. On another day he should have scored five.

Ortega and Yeray were now on as Corominas and Simón were unable to compete any longer and were racking up the fouls and . Latterly Marc Mas was asked to come on and drive at the defence from deep with Guzmán and Nacho Pérez now coming inside to support him. Good work from Yeray fed Mas in the 90th minute and he hit an ambitious effort from outside the ‘D’ that barely missed the target. We finished with 10 shots to their 15 and very lucky to only lose 0-1. It looked good on paper.

Some you win and some you lose, as evidenced by this week’s other results. Formentera beat Llagostera at home to close the gap to four points, and both Perelada and Villarreal B recorded unlikely victories too. It wasn’t going to be easy but for a side with 500 capacity we did ok this week!

Ontinyent would now make the trip from the same area up to our place next week. The long journey meant we were a bit stiff getting off the bus so hopefully the same will happen to them. They were currently stinking out lower mid-table with two wins in 10 and I certainly fancied our chances.

[Diego Imposta]

20.

Later that night, chairman Agustí called. He came to each game home and away and absolutely loved the club. It was his baby. As the sole owner of the club with no board to listen to, he came and went as he pleased. Sometimes he would come to see María, sometimes he’d come to watch us training.

This was fine – he had a good relationship with the staff and not once did he act like he was a coach, a player, or a manager. He kept his oar in. If he wanted to discuss something he’d pop in to have a face-to-face chat - entrepreneurs like him seemingly thrived on it. But he would never, ever call me.

Listen, Diego. My heart sank; he seemed so stern. Was this about Elche? Was I getting a telling off?

An Englishman named Alfie Smith has been in touch with him. My heart sank even further. Typical English press wanting to drag up dirt after a defeat. My mind raced. He had nowhere to go with my lineage. If I couldn’t get proof then no way could that devious little man. What the hell is this about?

Agustí was from frank with me. They are watching me like a hawk, these English website journalists. Desperate for ‘content’, they let him know they are watching. They were hoping he would drip-feed a feel-good story. What feel-good story? Nothing had been achieved yet. I’ve barely even been here.

The chairman calmed me down. He was savvy with this kind of nonsense – I was evidently not. He explained that with Spanish football a growing interest in the United Kingdom, readers had become jaded with survival tales from their own lower leagues and now redirected their focus towards ours.

We were interesting. Was I… flattered? Agustí explained that all of the other minnows, our Girona province neighbours Perelada case in point, were whipping boys as expected. But we were different.

Now he’d managed my initial fright and press naiveté, I asked why he sounded worried. You have made a mistake, Diego. It hurt to hear it. Smith had been following our match reports closely and spotted that we’d taken a 15 year old to Elche. What had been my idea of an excellent reward for a youngster taking his chance had backfired. The kid was told he wouldn’t be playing for us any time soon – I just wanted him to experience something special. Travelling along with the lads on the bus and sitting in the dugout at an enormous stadium - it’d be a tale he’d bore his friends with for years.

It turns out Smith had asked Agustí whether we had found ‘the Spanish Wayne Rooney’. I groaned.

The boy was at least two years younger than any player used across the four groups in the Segunda División B. It was impossible that he would make history – at least on my watch. He wasn’t good enough for starters. It was madness to even suggest it. Absolutely no-one had even noticed in Olot.

But this idiot trawling the internet did. Agustí then gave me my first order as a manager: under no circumstances am I to select this kid again - at least not this season. Not even in an injury crisis. Freixa was to manage his development but he wouldn’t be allowed to train with the senior team.

The chairman wasn’t interested in the circus of football and that was final.

[Diego Imposta]

21.

When I said I wanted to be somewhere my work would be noticed, I certainly didn’t envision this. I thought back to when I was in the running for the Las Palmas B job. At least the press mania in the Canaries was all football – this was something else. Sure it was less intense but was getting sinister. The guy was snooping around my office on day one, and now he’s after something to justify his boss coughing up for another flight out here. If I am not careful I am going to be Mr Smith’s golden ticket.

It got me thinking about where I’d come from and where I was going. The immediate plan was to honour my contract at UE Olot. The chairman had the balls to act when it was going south for Posse, even though he’d only arrived in the summer after the team had been promoted from their Tercera.

He’d have the balls to sack me too but by now I knew we could survive. I wouldn’t expect to beat Castilla over two legs, so I could concentrate on the league once those games were out of the way. While there was a league full of Catalan teams below me, the permutations for the play-offs across the 18 groups was complex - I couldn’t guarantee that any of them would be joining B3 next year. We would almost certainly see the end of local rivals Perelada this year and Badalona were only one point ahead of me – they too could be dragged into the mire. As could my other local rival Llagostera – a side slowly sliding down the table since I’d been rebuffed. I’d kept an eye on that!  

Another big side were Sabadell, who like Badalona were from a big city in the province of Barcelona, and they were carving out an expected season of hunting down a play-off spot. Cornellá were yet another Barcelona province side, respectably floating in lower mid-table. L’Hospitalet were from the second largest Catalan city but they were stuck in the Tercera below – hopefully they’d make it back.

I had no hope in hell of landing a gig at comparative La Liga giants Girona, or the Catalan teams in the division above, Nàstic and Reus. They were in trouble and might be in our division next year anyway. Then again, they had both only recently changed their managers – time to turn it around.

Lleida were the only team from their province between La Liga and the Tercera V, and they too were hunting down a play-off place. However nothing should surprise us in football and our solid two-leg showing against them would stand me in good stead, should any interview offer ever come my way.

While I wouldn’t desire to move back to Seville (I’d had a year there as a schoolboy), I did still enjoy the place and for that reason I wouldn’t rule out a move to the Algarve - which was within travelling distance of my second city. The move would be a sideways one but it would mean I’d be left alone.

The only other countries I would consider working in right now were Argentina and to a lesser extent Uruguay (well, Montevideo anyway) given its proximity to my second homeland. They wouldn’t let me hold both passports but I’d be able to bypass the three month visa rule if I ever did find myself out of work and wanting to stay in Argentina that long. In future I’d be open to moving anywhere across Latin America but I didn’t want to become a nomad before making a name for myself here.

Anyway, managing anywhere over there was crazy, right? The football could be beautiful, though.

This was only the third week in three months that I’d had seven days between games. I had given myself too much time to think. Post-Castilla I’d need to keep my wanderlust in check, keep busy. It’d been a whirlwind three months and the next three would tailor where I’d be working next year.

[Diego Imposta]

22.

Back to matters at hand - we had a game to win. Ontinyent would come at us with their specialised system heavily built around their three best players. From right back, they would attack with speed. This was their first weakness – Bigas got a nosebleed every time he crossed into the other half so I was not concerned. Their second weakness was that they only had one rightback – I’d hit him. Hard.

Their striker was in good form and quick, too. I’d drop that high line that done for us down in Elche. Coincidentally, the Ontinyent manager was entrenched in Elche in various roles for a decade before moving on to this lesser team in the summer. The controlling passing game was anchored around a playmaker operating in the double-pivot. Simón would have to be at his very best in both attack and defence. José was suspended again so in came Barnils. The captain’s ill-discipline was giving the wily defensive midfielder a new lease of life at the back. The only other change was a fully fit Yeray put back into the hole with Corominas dropped to the bench – we should see him at right wing later on.

The good news was that Toril had finally backed down about cementing a first team spot. Whether he is an entitled young man like all ‘loan stars’ remains to be seen, but he wanted every minute of every game. I had to twist Vidal’s arm to get him to have a word with the Mallorca man. Whatever he said, he did good. I didn’t know they had a press liaison officer but I do now. One Pedro Martínez dutifully informed me that Toril no longer had any issues with the playing time he is getting at Olot.

The game was tense. We edged the first quarter in possession alone as no shots were fired in anger by either side. Barnils headed a corner straight onto the volleying foot of their playmaker and we were behind. Like Batchilly the other week, late blooming mids seem to open their season accounts with great goals. Rotten luck. Nacho Pérez had other ideas, coming inside from left to right wing and building great things with Blázquez and Guzmán. The ball eventually came back to the once prolific in front of goal defender who forced a corner from five metres. It petered out but we had a good go.

Later, a missed header from an Ontinyent defender and Toril couldn’t believe his luck – Blázquez had put him through! With absolutely no hint of his recent grumpiness he gently lofted the ball into the net with five minutes of the half remaining. Game on. Except that it wasn’t. It reverted to another tense tit-for-tat that again we just edged until the 80th minute. Playmaker Prince was everywhere today and laid on a beauty of a ball for the left winger to send across to the right winger who gladly smashed home. I was furious. For five seconds as we yet again had an offside call reprieve. Game on!

I shouted at the top of my lungs berating the team to concentrate and decided a final roll of the dice. This week’s best trainer Gutiérrez was thrown on and asked to pull Ontinyent’s now very high line as far back as he could. Another terrible centreback headed Ginard’s goal kick straight to Yeray in the hole. First-time he sent a ball for the young striker to get on. He held it up, and to my great surprise, backheeled a return ball for the still-running Yeray. He took a touch, picked his favoured top-left bin, and let fly. 2-1 with five minutes to go. I could now only shout my praise! What followed was five minutes of wonderful link-up play. Bigas found himself five metres inside their half and immediately malfunctioned, whacking the ball upfield. Young Gutiérrez, the Olot bloodhound, beat one defender to the ball, rounded the other, and snuck a fizzing shot under the arms of the Ontinyent goalkeeper. The Estadi Municipal erupted!

[Diego Imposta]

23.

While the bookmakers had us as slight favourites for the home leg I don’t think we should have been expecting to beat Castilla. That’s not to say we didn’t stand a chance of winning but the cup was an unknown, randomly generated outcome to me and my fledgling management career. I had been put into it so early on in my tenure maybe we were in a semi-final more by luck than judgement. We’d done so remarkably well to get to here – was I now going to manage it properly and ruin the magic?

Yes and no. Real Madrid Castilla played their part, too. A dour game was played out on a rain-soaked pitch and the 200 or so fans went home miserable. In ninety minutes they saw three shots on target – our two were saved and theirs was not – from two crap sides that utterly cancelled each other out.

Masó was recalled for his first start, albeit at right back in place of the suspended Blázquez, since injuring himself three months ago and Barnils was removed for the suspension-free José. Batchilly had also racked up the cards and Ortega took his place. He would switch to deep playmaking role and Simón would be tasked with running box-to-box. Picking five subs for the cup is always a task.

The real piece of action saw a fortuitous shot well saved by a wrong-footed Ginard about halfway through the first half. From the resultant corner by their striker, our defence had switched off and allowed the first man to be unmarked. The ball was rolled out to their captain, no less, and he drilled it through a sea of bodies diagonally across the goal and in. It was cheap but it was smart. We would then come out of our shell and desperately look to have our first shot of the game but to no avail.

It wasn’t until the 95th minute that we carved open the Castilla defence for the first time, substitute Corominas playing a lovely reverse pass into the path of Nacho Pérez. His tame shot was caught by one of Zidane’s talented sons and that was that. Truth be told, we had a lot of the ball and did not a lot with it. Masó picked up a heart-warming Man of the Match for an all-action display at wing back.

The only joy I could take is that we now had a week to seethe over it before playing doomed due Villarreal B away and Perelada at home before the return leg trip to Madrid. These teams were now 10 and 20 points below me in the league but I just could not close the one point gap to Badalona.

Fitness was becoming an issue late on in games and for that reason I’d not be renewing the coach’s contract. Ginard was such a fine player that the goalkeeping coach got a year’s extension by default. Freixa was too ingrained in the club to get rid of so I got him to sign too. With or without me this club needed stability in the background if it was to survive the financial catastrophe headed its way.

The chairman had just put in € 400 000 of his own money to balance the books and you could bet your life he’d be looking for that back in player sales at the end of the year. Keep playing well, Señor Masó. Your club needs you…

[Diego Imposta]

24.

The club’s prized asset would keep his place at right back although there were to be more tweaks under the hood for the visit to Villarreal B. Again a comparatively huge crowd of 1 500 turned up.

Inside the first minute Simón had been hacked down and the new manager’s style was starting to stick. It was aggressive and ugly. Danger man Mario latched on to a long punt upfield but could not deal with our not-so-high line this time around and, under pressure, shot wide after two minutes.

Four minutes in, baby-faced Villaneuva found himself unmarked at a corner and volleyed home. We really needed to sort out our set piece routines. This was a man who was possibly the best attacking midfielder I’d played against and, despite clear instruction to man-mark him at all times, we had lost him. Two weeks running we’ve conceded a set-piece. Rotchen would get a dressing down for it later.

We huffed and we puffed but José could not make our first chance on 20 minutes count, nodding over from a corner of our own. We were working Villarreal at last, though. As the half wore on we pushed and squeezed the space, finishing the better side. Straight out of the traps Ginard spilled a loose shot – the first time I’d seen that. He gathered safely but the nerves were beginning to spread.

Midway through the second half, they forgot about our wide men again. Nacho Pérez took a deep ball from Batchilly, now on as a box-to-box dynamo, turned and fired it into the crowed box. It had been cut too deep for most but Guzmán had come inside from the wing and took the ball on the volley. It was a bold move. The ball flew straight at the goalkeeper but he had little time to react – pushing it sideways and behind him into the goal. We’d gladly take the point and shut up shop. 1-1.

With five minutes remaining, that man Villanueva expertly steered José the wrong way and bore down on goal. Ginard stood tall and forced him wider still. The shot came from his favoured left foot and curled along the floor with great technique. Wide. A sigh of relief. We were dreadful today but we weren’t lose-the-game dreadful. Corominas, now on as a second striker, fed the ball back to Simón who in turn released Masó down into the channel in injury time. Expecting another man of the match accolade to read about, I was amazed to see him take two heavy touches and run it out!

Fitness was evidently a massive issue for both the player and to a lesser extent the club as a whole.

By now I was an avid watcher of highlights. I got to know the players, the managers, the styles, and the stadiums. I was building a picture of where we fit in and it was clear that from an infrastructure position we were lucky just to have the opportunity to compete. As I heard the results come out for the later games, I only had ears for one: Perelada versus Badalona. The minnows had won. 1-0. The farm team of Girona had done me an enormous favour – I was now only behind Badalona on a goal difference of two. Formentera were also hitting form, though, and sat just five behind me. A home game against Perelada was up next - my first Girona province derby.

[Diego Imposta]

25.

Rotchen wanted us to attack! A rush of blood to the head for my Latin American assistant. I would take his recommendations of playing fluidly and expressive against Perelada, however. They were to trial an experimental 4-1-3-1-1. We’d have joy down the wings for sure so I didn’t make any changes. Unfortunately Marc Mas and Vidal picked up late injuries so with Corominas ineligible against his parent club, a certain 15 year old completed the bench…

We came out of the blocks sharply, the youthful replacements of Giovanella and Gutiérrez in the two central attacking positions causing mayhem. We were one up after ten minutes, Giovanella rising the highest to head back across goal to José. The captain fluffed his lines but Gutiérrez smashed it home.

An enormous challenge made up for it on 15 minutes and he took out the Perelada striker with a last ditch sliding tackle. Three minutes later the striker was away again and learnt his lesson, this time a safe distance between the two central defenders before dinking a shot over the helpless Ginard. 1-1.

A rare pull back from a deep freekick saw Ortega have a go but it clipped the outside of the post. Set pieces really were the order of the day as a Simón free kick from way out wide was sent sailing into the corridor of uncertainty. The defence reacted too late and could only shove José out of the way of a free header. Penalty. With that kind of fizz in his boots, vice-captain Simón stepped up and tore the net open. We set about controlling the last ten minutes of the half in order to work the farm team. It didn’t work. Arimany again got free of both centrebacks and put his boot through it to level the tie.

We would begin the half by closing down less – both goals had been as a result of our press leaving the back line exposed. An unlikely free kick deep in our half was headed clear only to find its way back into our box. A leg was swung at it and it was in the back of the net, clipping the post as it went.

Furious, we went searching for the ball but Perelada just would not crack. They rode their luck again and again as we ended up having an unprecedented 18 shots on goal, 11 of which on target. Nothing was going in and we were losing at home to the worst club in the league. Poor José - disenchanted at this point – could only blame himself for losing his man twice today. We’d been embarrassed in our back yard. Injury time came and I threw caution to the wind – I demanded every man to go forward.

Still nothing happened. A 95th minute free kick had us set up to hear the final whistle so Simón just pounded it high and towards the box – a token effort at best. Arimany headed clear, perpendicular to the goal line and away. But here comes Simón! Crack! A half-volley towards goal! Big hands from the ‘keeper pushes it away and out for a corner. No, it’s still alive. Simon reacts first… dreadful ball.

The fitness of the these boys late in games is really starting to… what? It’s gone in. It’s gone in? It’s gone in! Off the back of the head of a defender. ¡Eso sí que es! Game over, man! We’ve levelled it!

[Diego Imposta]

26.

Agustí completely understood my predicament regarding selection of the ‘Spanish Wayne Rooney’. It wasn’t a cup game so he didn’t need to be registered, which would arouse suspicion, and to turn up to a home derby with only seventeen players would have given an extra incentive to Perelada. Besides, even if Smith would eventually notice (it had been a month since he called the chairman) that the boy was now on the bench for a derby of sorts, then we would be able to positively release the story as our own. I even floated the idea of giving him a run out if we were mathematically safe…

We were now three games without a win and I gave us no hope of winning in Madrid. Carles Mas and Bigas had worried me with their training levels and eventually I told them so. Neither of them liked it one bit but I wasn’t going to accept that. They’d be dropped entirely for the second leg. Blázquez was too important to leave out for three games so he would fill in at left back, Barnils given an opportunity to play alongside José for once. Corominas came back to the bench as did Moha.

They’ve fielded nearly an entirely different side. Such is the strength in depth at Castilla. The reason we know its depth and they’ve not thrown the tie is because five minutes in and we’ve gone behind. A ball from out wide finds a winger unmarked. He has time and space to play in the striker who is now also unmarked. Bang. Straight through Ginard. The game plan’s been undone. Can we salvage?

Not after the first 15 minutes. With 30% possession and no shots to their seven we switch it around. 3-1-4-2. You’ve all worked on it. Get on with it. Instantly we’re having corners. But it backfires. They break. One on one now… no! He went for the Hollywood finish. He had the run of the whole box too.

We go straight back up the other end. Free kick. Gutiérrez bullet header. 1-1. We’re back in this tie!

Ten minutes of the half left. We go 3-5-2. We have to. Nothing doing. Half time. Back to 4-2-3-1 lads.

Five minutes later we can see that finally, something is working. I ask the guys to keep disciplined but take the chances as they present themselves. Simón got forward from a second ball won by the fighting Ortega, popped a ball onto Gutiérrez’s weaker left foot and saw him run around it, waiting for it to bounce just right for the half-volley. The young striker let fly. As it stood we were through!

We dropped a little further back and held our nerve for ten more minutes. The players were starting to tire and I needed the effervescence of Batchilly and to drop the tempo. As much as I would have loved to gamble on Gutiérrez getting a hat-trick – I needed Toril on to stretch that Castilla defence.

The Castilla shots were stacking up as injury time was approaching. They were shooting from anywhere.

One minute passed. Two minutes passed. Three minutes passed. Four minutes passed. Now a fifth.

Toril is too quick for the defence. Excellent gamesmanship to take it wide. The ref blows full time.

We are in the final. UE Olot, I repeat UE Olot, have beaten Real Madrid Castilla to reach the two-legged final of the Copa RFEF against Mérida AD.

[Diego Imposta]

27.

We had our day in the sun on Monday – we were the talk of the press. There were a few dissenting voices on social media, happy to point out our shambles of a first half, but the majority were very happy for young Gutiérrez. It would seem that the local hero had made people completely forget about the 15-year-old striker and in this form Toril would struggle to retain his place. And rightly so.

I was beginning to work my way through the squad with one to one chats now that I knew what they were capable of. Naturally Blázquez surprised me this week, and was made to blush in front of the squad as I told him what an outstanding game he had against Castilla. A true utility player will come in and give a reliable performance wherever he is played and the Girona man lived up to that hype.

This wasn’t a truly altruistic method by any means – if I was at another club I’d certainly want to sign some of these players. That’s how football works. You build up your contacts, facetious as you like, because at the end of the day you will need them. I now considered myself a success at Olot so I was acting like it. We were five points clear with eight games to go – surely we can’t mess this up now…

Batchilly had done enough to earn a call up for a Cup of Nations qualifier in Togo and I was so happy for him. This would be his first competitive fixture for his country and I desperately hoped he’d play. He’d almost certainly miss the crunch game against Badalona as he was getting on a plane tonight.

The good news kept coming; that €400 000 injection from the chairman went in part as a parachute payment to local schools. We had our youth intake! Raset had pulled it out of the bag. The Director of Football was proud to have had a notable influence on these players, even if he did say so himself.

It was heart-warming to know that so many of our backroom staff had sway with the boys’ decision to join the club. Rotchen, Freixa, and even Brachi were clearly inspirations in their own ways. We’d also be an inclusive club - two first-generation Spaniards with families from Nigeria and Venezuela.  

Up next was the long trip to Alcoyano, just four days after our longer trip to Madrid. I decided not to ring the changes other than Corominas in for Giovanella, who struggled in front of his first big crowd.

We would expect a hard-working, physically strong, aggressive side. They had a big target man in the 31-year-old David Torres and he was having the best season of his career with 13 goals in 26 games. He would be joined by another two men up front and the realism of what to expect washed over us.

To my surprise David Torres didn’t start. I found out why after 17 seconds. A quicker, larger centre forward was through on goal and was unlucky to stroke it wide in their big, old fashioned stadium. We got our own back before the minute was out. Gutiérrez playing another no-look pass out wide to Nacho Perez who slotted home from inside the box. Llagostera had drawn up at Elche earlier in the day so a win here would see us leapfrog Badalona and sit one point behind the team I wanted to be.

Another copycat move from the two involved in the goal nearly doubled our lead of four minutes. Who were this outfit and what had they done with Alcoyano? On six minutes the wavelength that my left winger and striker were on sent a shockwave through the opposition defence. Gutiérrez volleying home from a cross that Ortega saw coming before anyone else, his mind leagues ahead.

The home team settled into a rhythm, the type that you can only get into at 0-2 down, and looked to keep hold of the ball and break us down. They were no match for the alertness of Gutiérrez, the Olot bloodhound, as he stole the ball from a defender, took his time, and played in Corominas to launch a missile into the back of the net. His first goal since coming back! We were three up after 15 minutes!

Alcoyano muscled their way into the match and managed to shut us down completely in the second part of the first half. We’d open the second half by trying to counter – no need to keep going for it. Guzmán was having a particularly quiet game so I brought on Yeray, finally working hard in training in order to get his spot back, and pushed Corominas out wide into his favoured cut-inside position.

The game was effectively dead with 20 minutes to go so I threw on Batchilly for Ortega, Marc Mas for Nacho Pérez and crossed my fingers that Gutiérrez would get a chance for that elusive hat-trick.

With ten minutes left, the olés were ringing out once more. Batchilly fed Yeray, who slipped in a devilish ball for Gutiérrez… goal! He was now two-thirds of the way there. But it wasn’t to be, the legs had gone for all involved. With an assist to his name too he was heading home with the ball.

Gutiérrez now had a quite remarkable seven goals and three assists in six games – and only four of those were starts. He’d get a new contract offer that evening as he was making a mockery of his now obviously ill-fitting €60 000 minimum fee release clause. But the lad was only concerned about not getting relegated and asked me to wait. How on earth can we survive while keeping a purple patch of this magnitude hidden away? He’d have to play. I’d have to run the risk of losing him for peanuts.

We were now one ahead of Llagostera on goal difference and a point clear of Badalona who were up next. Now I just had to sit back and watch Freixa’s under 19s take on Ratchet’s youth intake in what would be known as the inaugural volcanic derby - a baptism of fire indeed. My money’s on Freixa…

The Spanish Wayne Rooney, Alberto Colmenero, captained his side in a bitty game, the first half too tight to call. The second was end-to-end, both managers’ voices ringing loud in the ears. The under 19s captain thought he’d scored a magical, curling late winner, only for a hard-working substitute striker to equalise deep into injury time and restore honour.

[Diego Imposta]

28.

The Llagostera boss was in trouble. As was the Alcoyano one after that drubbing. Could I push the Badalona boss into this list of desperate managers? It would be a huge gain for the Tercera V to have big cities like L’Hospitalet and Badalona – I’d rather see the latter go down than little old Llagostera.

Simón, off the back of three superb performances, was now thought of as a team leader by his own teammates. The succession planning was set – Vidal could walk off into the sunset after José leaves.

It was a long week worrying about Batchilly. Not so much about whether he’d get injured as he was an athlete compared to the rest of the squad. My worry was that he might not play; he’d be gutted.

All of the youth candidates signed their first contracts and it was time to think about fattening up the coaching setup. We’d need to secure league safety first but Freixa couldn’t do it all on his own. I did not need to worry about Batchilly in the end. He had a good game himself but could not stop his side shipping five goals to Togo. He said he was in a much deeper role than he plays for me so he had no part to play in the consolation goal they did get. If I could get him scoring a few more thunderbolts…

An enthusiastic Eurosport journalist had requested a visit and María duly obliged. It was my first one since joining and I was infinitely more willing to answer his questions rather anyone from the United Kingdom. He asked how we would approach Badalona and all I could say is that we can’t go around thinking that the game is already won. He then stunned me by asking who was going down this year.

I wasn’t going to answer that. Then he asked me about how important a win was, seeing as a loss would take us back into the relegation play-off zone. Are all journalists like this? I told him it was a silly question, before assertively asking why doesn’t he have a think about what comes out of his mouth next time. Only now does he butter me up with a question about the magical 40-point mark.

We’ve done the hard work already – there’s no reason why we should be relegated now. I was very confident of that. Point trends don’t matter. The journalist clearly had done his homework as he told me that Guzmán would be up against his former club. It didn’t bother me in the slightest – this was Catalunya and players come and go. Finally, a positive comment was uttered and I hoped it would be to wrap up the interview. I laid on a passionate defence of the vibrancy and togetherness of UE Olot.

However, we may have a mole in the camp. How on earth did Eurosport know that there wasn’t the greatest deal of support for me within the squad. Bigas? Carles Mas? I couldn’t be sure. I knocked it out of the park by saying I just want what’s best for the club. Or so I thought – he wanted a proper answer. I made a mental note of asking just exactly whose side María is on bringing this filth in here.

The questions went on and on. He was pushing, repeating himself, aggravating. I gave him nothing. This is my house. Now get the **** out.

[Diego Imposta]

29.

Rotchen stuck his head round the door and wanted a word. He looked sheepish, not at all like him. I asked what the matter was and he said he’d been meaning to tell me something. In the excitement of that last game, I’d made a huge mistake. How did I? Sit down, man, you’re making me nervous. It wasn’t a huge problem as we were 4-0 up at the time. We got away with it, and he didn’t want to be seen to question me in front of the lads but he might have a clue why the journalist was so abrasive.

We’d thrown Carles Mas on instead of Marc Mas. The tall centreback had come on at left wing! In the heat of battle I’d forgotten that Marc was still recuperating – he was a bench mainstay after all – and I’d insulted the defender. It must have been Carles who went to the press. Or maybe the equally incredulous Bigas. How embarrassing - so focussed on victory that I hadn’t even noticed my mistake.

I had two options. Apologise, which wasn’t going to happen, or keep those two on their toes. Winger Guzmán was the only one to play poorly last time out so out he came and Bigas in his place. Yes, the left back who can’t play left wing but stick him on the right cutting in and he’s far more comfortable.

You’ll never guess who stopped me in the tunnel. Why, Mr Eurosport himself: Zsolt Károly. I palmed him off to my assistant and made my way to the bench, shaking hands with my opposite number as I went. Badalona were missing their right back today and I couldn’t give a damn. We wanted the win.

We weren’t as quick out of the traps this time – I had to wait 59 seconds for us to take the lead here. Simón’s corner cleared as far as Bigas who, cool as you like, laid on Nacho Pérez to leather it home.

From my own deep throw-in Badalona broke free. It was all too easy for them, first a 40-metre cross field ball, a 30-metre run, then a 20-metre ball back and it was in – Masó losing his man too easily.

An immensely tight affair followed for the rest of the half and while we were having shots and the odd corner we could not make anything count. A gritty second half under strict instructions paid dividends. We had slowed the game down and tried something a bit different. A long free kick from Ginard found a squirming Corominas. He took his time, squared the ball to Gutiérrez and, in this form, he wasn’t going to miss. Batchilly was jet-lagged but I needed his brawn not his brains. He was on for the last 20 minutes in place of Simón – an absolute hero in recent weeks. We then broke up field, Nacho Pérez holding it up wonderfully for Blázquez to come steaming in. Ooh, he’s been taken down in the box. Penalty. Clear penalty. José took the ball from Gutierrez’s hands and confidently dispatched it down the middle for 3-1. What an incredible result in a real pressure-cooker situation.

With six games to play we were now ten points clear of the relegation zone, four clear of the play-off and up to the heady heights of 13th. The form going in to the Mérida game made excellent reading. I was very, very excited about it.

[Diego Imposta]

30.

Agustí sidled up next to me during Tuesday training. He was checking in ahead of Thursday’s game. Diego, I’d like to offer you a new contract. I was stunned. I wasn’t expecting Agustí to be the one to initiate talks. We weren’t mathematically safe and I thought he’d be a man of numbers not a man of passion. The wage budget remains the same; you know this. I’ll need you to keep us in this division and in return I let you manage the club as you see fit. Was this a new contract or a just an extension?

He was a smooth operator. He wanted me to commit to talks before money was even broached. Ha!

I’ve loved my time at Olot. It has been successful for sure, and I hope it continues to be, but the fact is that the club is not cut out for a sustained role in this division. We are haemorrhaging money at an alarming rate and players will have to be sold. I don’t mind being the one to do so but where does that leave us long term? Only promotion could save this club financially. Agustí was willing to throw it all at a complete unknown like me and because of the wages on offer he might have to do it again.

I still really fancied the Llagostera job and I was willing to wait for that or better. I helped to put the groundwork in for a great backroom staff to run the club themselves - I hoped the chairman saw it. The players’ reputation had increased and a cup final would surely shop window some of the stars.

With a heavy sigh I thanked him and said it is not the right time. He nodded, and knew I was leaving.

To matchday then. Nearly double the usual Mérida crowd turned up for the final – 8 000 tickets sold. I knew this because I was told as much in the corridor – Károly from Eurosport was in the building. I had a reputation to uphold, that of the club, so I let him run a quick interview on the proviso it was football-related. He asked if we were safe now that we had 40 points and I could only be truthful – we would keep going until we were safe. Károly was surprisingly full of praise for our win over the giant that is Castilla but I had to wax lyrical, I couldn’t help it. We’ve grown as a team from the first moment I took charge of them and we’ve been stronger for every match we’ve won. It’s the reason we are here, after all. I’d heard of Mehdi Nafti but I didn’t know the man – an irrelevant question. As far as I was concerned it was business as usual and I’d talk football and nothing else. While I wasn’t willing to reveal any team news before the game I did want to go on record to say we would try and put them on the back foot from the first whistle – we’d made a habit of it in recent weeks, why not?

Much was made of the home and away draw being the opposite to what we’d been used to all the way through the competition, but I felt it worked in our favour. Károly touched on it then a few of my transfer targets too. Enough of this nonsense. Let’s get on with the game.

[Diego Imposta]

31.

Another internet journalist from the same scrappy joe.co.uk outfit tried to accost me for the first time as we were walking out of the tunnel. Not even a hello. He got two ‘no comments’ in a row.

The first five minutes were very quiet. I didn’t expect Mérida to line up 4-4-2 and it took the boys some time to figure out who they were supposed to be tracking. Maybe it was a system Nafti had learnt well during his time in England but it seemed very solid. This was going to be an attrition.

Ten minutes in and neither team had a shot to their name. I bellowed my encouragement as loud as I could. A booking for Masó soon followed and I begged them to keep the passes short. That way we wouldn’t need to lose the damn thing and get booked trying to get it back. We had an effort on goal.

Sick of trying to counter I asked the boys to play the game not the occasion. We’d come out of our shell mid-way through the half and see what happened. We riffed a few efforts on goal but none of them were anywhere near the goal. We’d have to work it in closer. Then José took a knock to his knee. I had no choice but to take him off – we needed him for the run-in and second leg. On came Carles Mas. A slight change as he swapped sides with Barnils - the familiarity the pair had previously.

With five minutes to go, Blázquez had to clear the ball off the line from a corner. Carles Mas booted the second ball away and I knew Mérida were going to push us hard. I asked the boys to be creative. And creative we were. Carles Mas building down the left flank with Blázquez. Inside for Ortega. In again for Simón, who spotted the run of Gutiérrez. He turned on his heels and fed Bigas, now on the inside of the fullback. He took a touch and bent a beauty towards the far post. Whoosh. Just over!

The packed house had done nothing to put the fear in the team. Rotchen, who was becoming an expert in saying the right thing, kept the lads thinking this was a boring and routine game. There was nothing to get excited about here. Gutiérrez had been a peripheral figure whereas Corominas had seen the lion’s share of the ball. I asked the former to come deep and the latter to drive forward.

We were too stiff. We needed a bit more flexibility. A double substitution from Mérida followed and it saw more energy in the middle and up front. I’d have to find a way of playing around that as their back line was now very nervous.  We’d try and slow the tempo now and ask Gutiérrez to sit on the shoulder of the last man – see what Corominas can make for him. Nothing was happening for us or for them, although they had now managed to waste shots by the middle of the second half. We had to push the tempo back up and get some fresh legs on there. Guzmán on for Bigas, Batchilly on for Ortega. Could we find the energy needed to get a goal in while at the same time keeping one out?

Of course we could! Corominas the hero as Nacho Pérez swung a by-line cross high and handsome over to Guzmán on the other side of the defence. He found the loan star with a superb cut-back. My voice was hoarse – concentrate! We had 15 minutes to play. Mérida were hounding us in packs. The man I once called Dumbo had enough and hoofed the ball for Gutiérrez to chase. He used his brain, held it up to give back to Batchilly and again the olés rang out as he passed it wide only to get it back again. He fed Corominas who bent a rising ball towards the near top corner… wide. Great football. It was end to end stuff now. We needed to shut this down. We couldn’t. Their fresh striker broke free and made a meal of the finish, requiring two kicks to beat Ginard but we’d been pegged back with ten minutes to go. The high line had done for us in the end. Could we now hold on? Yes, we could.

The fans were devastated. It was the late goal. We’d barely time to react after scoring our own so you’d have to say the concentration wasn’t there. José’s bruised knee meant he’d only be out for two or three days so I will take that and the away goal as great comfort. We really should have won that game. Yet another cretin from this joe.co mob, this time from the Republic of Ireland, handled the post-match interviews with the managers. What had happened to the guy from the tunnel? He came all the way to Spain to be told ‘no comment’? Anyway, he was another one of these devious reporters as he heaped the pressure on us to win the second leg, owing to our vital away goal. I was interested that this guy noticed that Bigas was playing out of position – maybe he was a football man after all – so I let the player know that he’d get his position back in defence sooner rather than later.

Naturally he asked about getting Corominas on a permanent deal and I think the answer was, to me, obvious. If he would take the same wages to move here then we would welcome him back at Olot. Interestingly, he closed by asking about my relationship with the chairman. I gave an impassioned response and told him that we have a fantastic relationship and that we both want what’s best for the club, whatever that may be. The next morning, María emailed me a link to the story he decided to go with. The headline read ‘Imposta reveals tight bond with Agustí’. A fair and balanced headline.

Then I saw the sub header. ‘Imposta gives cause for potential controversy’. Unbelievable. These men and women are cockroaches. I was livid. What controversy? There is nothing wrong with my quotes and he goes and spins it like that. Sensing my anger, my personal assistant Adán went away and got me a coffee. When he came back he had a newspaper in his hand. Good news, boss. You’ve set the club a new record. Six games unbeaten. Well done! It hardly sounded great, did it? But it was my record. Thanks, Adán.

[Diego Imposta]

32.

How do we even begin to get excited about playing Ebro? They’re seventh, three points off a play-off place. We have absolutely no links with them and they’ve barely registered on various media outlets. The only things we have in common are that we play the same formation, we both made at least the quarter final of the cup (they lost to Murcia), and we both don’t necessarily have to get points today.

Masó had now played eight games on the bounce at right back and he was fast becoming a man of diminishing returns. The winger dropped to the bench, as did Corominas who was taking longer to recover from games compared to other, junior squad members. José was dropped entirely in order to recover while Kike and Marc Mas made their long-awaited returns to the bench. Bigas and Carles Mas were given a reprieve and told to go back to their day jobs at the back, with Blázquez doing just enough to earn Masó’s spot. We would need the entire squad fit and firing over the next few weeks.

Carles Mas should have scored from a corner after five minutes. It was on target but he’s no striker, or left winger for that matter, so I’ll let him off this time. 10 minutes later, superb pressure in our half got the ball won and played down the flank. It found Blázquez who floated a beauty in for just about anyone to redirect and Nacho Pérez was there to nod it home, right in front of Ebro’s fans too.

We nearly conceded a classic counter from losing the ball from our own corner so I asked them to play the ball much shorter to each other. It worked for a while but we were guilty of trying to walk the ball in. We had to get more creative for a few minutes but by then the chance was gone. We’d control the game until the half was out. We didn’t want a repeat of last week. Toril took control to mean remind the boss why you’re here and score a goal. 2-0 with half an hour gone. What a team!

30 seconds later they’d pulled one back, but not before figuring out our pressing game and pulling us all over the field. We shut them down and waited for half time. In the second half, Yeray gave the ball away needlessly and Carles Mas missed the header he went up for – luckily no-one was around to capitalise. There were some real nerves kicking in. He booted the ball upfield and it came straight back at him, the striker beating him and Ginard to the ball. Carles Mas scrambled back to clear off the line but it was clear we were all at sea. We binned the short passing game and got Kike on for 40 minutes in place of Guzmán. He’d have licence to cut in and dazzle with both feet if he's fit enough.

We were too deep and Bigas gave away another penalty for a shove – the defender had beaten him to the ball. Ginard was unlucky not to save it. We were playing a high line anyway so we had to press again. I threw Giovanella on for his training performances alone. He barely touched the ball after ten minutes so we went with a big man little man partnership for him, attacking off Toril as target man.

With a ball fired in to two men on top of each other, the red mist set in and it drew a red card from the referee. The guy had gone in two footed on Toril and was dismissed. We sought to go for the jugular. Batchilly was on for the last ten minutes and we’d try and work it into their box. In the very last minute of injury time we finally carved them apart, Batchilly cannoning one off the crossbar. It just wasn’t to be our day. Later that evening María showed me a worldsoccer.com article. It was singing my praises!

[Diego Imposta]

33.

Perelada were relegated. They had shown a glimmer of pride in recent weeks, not losing for four games, but a 5-1 hammering at Hércules did for them. I made an offer to Corominas the next day.

Incredibly, he wanted his wage trebling and his minimum fee release clause chopped down to a third. I was happy to honour his Girona contract at farm team Perelada but this was ridiculous. If he thinks he’s getting Liga 1 2 3 money off the back of both Perelada and Girona getting relegated, then he needs to take a long, hard look at himself. It’s no wonder he ended up in Japan. This guy doesn’t need an agent – he is one. I was five per cent over my wage budget as it was with him here, so I’ll be currying favour with my boss by sending him back to Perelada. Girona can sort out his registration!

The fans were pleased with how he performed although some did expect him to perform better. So, two goals in 11 games (five of which were starts) is about as ok as it gets. I needed him, now I don’t.

I decided to get away from it all and watch Barça take on Bayern in the first leg of the Champions League quarter final, a team they destroyed in pre-season but struggled with in the group stage.

On the journey down there I realised I was being hasty with Corominas. I was only paying Perelada a pittance of his Girona contract and if anything I’d be better off sending back Ortega or Toril early. It also crossed my mind that with the prospect of playing a few dead-rubbers to finish the season, it would be wise for Ginard to train Moha off the field. He had to know what being a footballer was like so that he would be able to cope with the pressures of being a number one. Ginard may get sold.

The opening exchanges were a dense, muscular affair. Whereas I was used to seeing teams taking 15 to 20 minutes to settle, these players were on the highest level and were settled before they even kicked a ball. This was what I aspired to – managing players that wanted to be the best in the world.

Dembélé nearly broke the deadlock on 20 minutes. That extra yard of pace he had setting up a shot across the keeper from outside the box. Neuer was more than equal to it and caught it one-handed. Immediately the Germans broke away in a counter attack. Six or seven passes and the ball was in the back of the net. Müller’s fine cross meeting the head of Lewandowski at the near post. His 20th goal of the season. He’d beaten two men in the air to that. It provoked a reaction. Extensive play in and around the Bayern penalty area saw Messi’s boot tucking in a Suárez flick on from Sergi Roberto.

Again the teams settled back into their game of chess until the half time whistle. The home side just could not afford to go back to Germany with this score line. After the restart Messi tore through the tank traps that stood for Bayern’s high line and gave himself enough space to play in the late-arriving Iniesta. His shot pinged off the underside of the bar and clear. Hummels nearly headed home a free kick from Robben, whose speed was causing endless problems on the night, and Messi began to tire.

Dembélé – the one guy who knew about playing this Bayern team more than most -  was hooked on 50 minutes. More incredible substitutions from the beleaguered Barça boss followed and it looked like he’d cracked. To his credit all three injected urgency into the side but the screw was turned far too late. Or so I thought! Substitute right back Semedo sent an aerial through ball for his fellow sub Rafinha in the 92nd minute. He had time to wrong-foot the ‘keeper and score the winner. What a comeback from Barcelona!

[Diego Imposta]

34.

I did not expect to have my captain knocking on my door when I got back. He had Simón, Blázquez, Masó and Carles Mas with him. What’s going on? Pedro, the liaison officer, skulked in after them. The squad are not happy with your management of the team and they wish to talk to you about it. Do they, now? Well, take a seat, gentlemen. Assertively I asked if one of them could step up and explain the situation, so we can get whatever it is sorted and move on. I didn’t have time for this.

Apparently the players don’t back me anymore and as things haven’t been right for a while, the senior members wanted me to know that they think I’ve lost the dressing room. I thought to myself this is all Carles Mas’ doing but I didn’t bite. I felt like saying that my results spoke for themselves but why would I do that before a tough trip to league winners-elect Mallorca? I honestly don’t know how this has come about – maybe not enough team meetings. I’ve been at pains to talk to them all one-on-one lately. Maybe I needed to pull rank and take over future team talks. Give ‘em all hell.

I said that I’m giving everything I’ve got – I’m confident the level of support will increase and we’ll soon be able to move on. They would give me that chance. Cautiously I thanked them for their input.

What a strange morning. I talked it over with Rotchen and he agreed that for the last six games, which were almost certainly my last for the club after this, I would take control of his team talks.

I held one two days later as the players were brought in for their usual match training. It went well. All it took was a bit of praise. It came at the right time too as our (record breaking) run was surely coming to an end. We’d raised the bar a few times this season but Mallorca were terrifying. Their goal difference alone was 15 better than anyone else. Their bank account depended on promotion.

For the first time this season I would play my first choice eleven. Well, Toril was ineligible against his parent club and Corominas was brought in as a first team player so it was close enough. It was make or break for the squad’s faith in me so it was important not to leave anyone out. José returned to the heart of defence, Corominas went up front and Masó took the right wing role. We would, on the recommendation of Rotchen, get stuck in and be more disciplined. We could only try and offer a structured approach and hit them on the counter. A particularly poor result here could kill morale.

I asked them to go out there and play without pressure and they listened keenly. A good start is all we needed. We didn’t get it. Big winger Lago Junior headed in a corner at the post on five minutes. We had our own corner five minutes later, the ball came back out to Masó who rifled one into a sea of bodies. Corominas tucked it home but looked offside. He was. The assistant referee spotted it too.

Mallorca countered our free kick and raced down the other end, their pace and physicality no match for us. The ball found a man waiting in the middle. He sat on it too long and struck the inside post. Corominas and Nacho Pérez just weren’t in the game so I asked them to push forward and to come inside respectively. The Perelada loanee had tried to come deep and it still wasn’t working for him. It seemed to work and while we still struggled to get the ball we at least fired off some wayward shots.

Half-time came and I tried to be a calming presence, letting the guys know they’d been unlucky out there. They had, conceding a set piece and nothing else so far. The general reaction was a good one: now they were relaxed, confident, and motivated. I couldn’t have been happier. I’d ask my midfield duo of Simón and Ortega to swap around so that they were on the correct foot to be now looking for their inside forward. It was also to give the playmaker more licence to push forward against the tight 4-1-2-3 Wide that protected Mallorca’s back line. We just could not get anywhere down their flanks.

We were a little bit more flexible now and José very nearly headed in from a corner after the restart. We needed to get it into that box even at the cost of being hit on the counter. Again I would ask my striker to drop back but only for Yeray to push on ahead of him. Half chances were traded but a real creative spark was missing. We hadn’t had a shot on target yet but by now had more than the home team. I decided to go for it and get some youthful exuberance on for the last 20 minutes. On come Giovanella and Gutiérrez to dovetail the attack. We would be fluid and stop probing for a right ball.

They barely had a kick. Into the last ten minutes and I reverted them to more comfortable roles. We would try and work one decent opening now as we were in danger of being overrun. I took a big risk and tried to get some technique and pace into the game. Simón pushed into the hole, Masó back in to central midfield. Nacho Pérez the casualty, off for Kike who would take wide left, Giovanella on to wide right, cutting in. It didn’t work out. Young Kike gave away a penalty with a reckless shove in the box five minutes from time. It was coolly slotted away. The gamble hadn’t paid off - we would leave the Iberostar Estadi without having a shot on target. Set pieces are a cruel way to lose any game so I was cautious with our post-match team talk. We were the underdogs and you gave it your best shot. What could I say other than that? The younger players looked delighted, as too did my captain José.

Mallorca secured their play-off spot as Valencia Mestalla were relegated. This left us two relegation positions left to fill and realistically Villarreal B were gone next week, confirming at least a play-off spot. Formentera were now six from safety with four games left. Who would take the play-off spot? One from Badalona, Saguntino, Llagostera and Olot.

[Diego Imposta]

35.

For once I asked Rotchen to pick the side he thought should be involved in the final. It certainly was interesting. He dropped José to the bench, preferring Barnils, dropped Simón entirely and swapped the wing positions of Nacho Pérez and Guzmán. Gutiérrez was preferred to Toril, naturally, and the midfield was to be patrolled by Masó and Corominas. We wouldn’t tell the players what he thought.

The scouting report came in that evening. They would try to control us with their fluid 4-4-2. A big man little partnership up top was to be supplemented by wingers and the midfield would be run by a quality ball-winning midfielder in Julio de Dios. This is where their commitment and aggression was from – he was the heartbeat of the team. Felipe Ramos was good in goal and young Dani was a good right back. I thanked Trujillo and joked that I could have done with the 4-4-2 information last time!

Monday morning training was an eye opener. All the young dudes were in fine form – they wanted a spot and badly. Even Vidal, only recently back from injury, was making a claim for at least a place on the bench. Carles Mas was the standout abysmal performer. He really was a bad influence for Olot.

Tuesday morning and, ahead of our Thursday night game, I called the lads together for a quick chat. I didn’t really know what to say but I had to get people like José, Bigas, and Carles Mas up for the cup. I passionately told them that we were doing ok lately but I know we can do a lot better. We now had to kick on and give the fans something to shout about. The reaction was lukewarm but genial. José then stuck around to say that it’s probably best to wait a while before we have another meeting. But he called me gaffer. For the first time. He was right, though. I’d talked to them three times in a week.

Again I asked Rotchen for his opinions. He made a wry comment about me asking him three times and we laughed. I certainly didn’t expect him to betray me so I said I would indeed ask him again on the morning of the game. He felt Simón had done enough to start but so had Masó. The latter was pushed wide right, Nacho Pérez reinstated on the left. María popped in to say that Thursday would be a sell-out. More than double our usual attendance. I asked how many Mérida were bringing. 20, she said. Incredible. It was wives and girlfriends for our opponents while our fans were out in force.

I followed her to the press conference room and who should I see waiting but joe.co.uk’s Alfie Smith.

He was effusive with his praise, standing up to shake my hand, seeming almost… genuine. It must be his last chance saloon. I’d done him a massive favour by getting to the final as it built on his story. I took a seat and asked him to proceed. He couldn’t help himself. A few questions in he’d brought up the notion of Nafti questioning my methods. No comment. No, wait. I do have something to say to that. Mr Smith, no more questions. Get the **** out of my football club. Rotchen was in like a flash!

Thursday afternoon and Eurosport were on the phone. Ah, Zsolt Károly! What can I do for you? All I heard from his nervy ramble was Mehdi Nafti this, Mehdi Nafti this. I couldn’t care less and hung up.

I switched it around for the third ask of Rotchen. What roles would he change? He was taken aback. I was trusting him now. Well, Diego, as a defender, I have to say you are leaving us too exposed with the full backs getting forward. He didn’t mince his words. He wanted Yeray in a playmaker role and both wide men being traditional wingers. It made sense. I drew the line at Corominas attacking from a central midfield role as his head was elsewhere right now. I gave it to Simón and promoted Ortega from the bench into the deep playmaker role. Guzman had scored three in the cup for me so far. He would swap with Masó who would sit on the bench. I didn’t want to bring a substitute ‘keeper and Marc Mas just hadn’t done enough this season to be considered an impact sub – that went to Toril. Batchilly and Barnils would cover positions on the bench as I needed José to captain the side for me.

Interestingly, he thought Carles Mas’ bigger frame should see him drop ever so slightly deeper and even though I’d never tried it before I agreed – we’d been caught out with through balls between the two central defenders time and time again this season. After his stupid display last time out Kike was dropped altogether. Vidial was fit, training well, and we had sorely missed his calming presence.

In the pre-match tactical chat, I simply told the team to expect big changes. When we arrived at the ground, the place was packed. A cup final at home. What a feeling. The pre-match team talk was a cagey, distracted affair. I passionately told them to prove to everyone here that they are all winners.

Halfway through and just the one chance, José losing his man with a reckless dive and Ginard equal to it. We’d tightened up and were bossing possession – we had to be weary of their counter attack.

It paid off. Pressure deep in their corner saw Yeray charge down the ball. It fell into the path of the Olot bloodhound who made no mistake. We had the goal that our dominance had deserved. Despite a late flurry of corners we held Mérida at bay – they would no longer be attacking their own fans.

Don’t look at the scoreboard and think the job is done. I was not messing around. They seemed to gain focus and were itching to get out there. Masó on for Ortega, booked, after an hour. Batchilly on for Simón’s attacking role with 15 to go. Suddenly the game was alive. We eased off the pressure and generally stuck to our plan of working the ball into the box… Batchilly! He’s scored! We’ve won!

Ten minutes to go. Slow it down. Vidal on for Yeray. Keep the ball. He of Olot goes down. But he just gets up and carries on. Hero. Injury time. Niggly fouls. The final whistle. We’ve won the cup! Olot have won the cup!

[Diego Imposta]

36.

We barely had time to celebrate. After the ticker tape had settled, the podium photographs were already online. Word was getting out but I savoured the fans singing my name for the first time. The trophy was given a lap of honour and I gave an impassioned authority to the press about everything we had achieved here. They would later draw attention to the great wins along the way: the away goal win over Castilla, the 3-2 aggregate win over Lleida Esportiu, the away goal win over Villarreal B. We’d beaten them all, no matter the reputation, no matter the location. Extremadura, even Madrid.

Now we had to travel to Alicante on Sunday. Hércules were looking to secure their play-off position and weren’t about to roll over for the feel-good story of the year’s sake. The wheels were coming off at Mallorca – two losses in a row now – but they would limp over the line. Critics said they were just making the play-offs interesting by handing out points to anyone in the hunt. What did we have left?

Masó was in for the suspended Blázquez and with Vidal out with a stubbed toe, the bench swelled with the usual suspects. Formentera were relegated earlier, as were many more teams in Portugal.

We were very tight in the opening exchanges but again conceded a header from a corner, the centre forward too big and too strong. Good work in front of their back line saw Gutiérrez get on the end of a fine Nacho Pérez cross but he was offside! We were overcomplicating it. For the last ten we’d try and take whatever presented itself, no need to wait half an hour just for a clear-cut chance. Guzmán then took the ball into the Hércules half, spotted the run of Simón and played him in. He cut it back to Gutiérrez, just behind him. The bloodhound adjusted his feet and swung a big left foot at it. Goal!

We had confounded the critics with our first-half display. Two minutes after the restart they scored.

A breakaway from our own counter saw Moha shrug both central defenders off as if they were made of cotton and he duly tucked it away. Bigas was having a nightmare against his opposite number and was hooked. Guzmán would fill in. Corominas would get an extended go at his preferred winger role.

Gutiérrez was pulled in order to preserve him for the run in. We weren’t getting back in this game so Marc Mas got a rare run out up front – a shop window for him. Out of nowhere we get a penalty! I wonder who is going to take this! Marc Mas let fly and reminded us all he can only score penalties.

Batchilly was on for Ortega for the last 20 minutes and he went right into his cup final role, Simón taking a breather at the base of midfield. He had a terrible few minutes and nearly cost us the point.

We dropped deeper and hoped for the best. Masó with the freekick. José! The captain had scored!

Injury time. A win here and we were mathematically safe! Slow it down boys, take all the hits you can. Corner. Simón floats it in. No takers. Nacho Pérez with the half-volley! 4-2 to Olot! Incredible!

The players were in raptures. What a fairy-tale to end their season! It was thoroughly deserved, too.

Two home games left then Llagostera away…

[Diego Imposta]

37.

We had a league to honour so no drastic changes would be made. Atlético Baleares were just seven points off the play-offs with nine to play for so on the advice of Rotchen we dropped Yeray and gave Barnils a chance deep in midfield. Corominas would take up the position behind the striker as Simón was suspended. It was a dire first half that only saw one shot at goal between the sides. We had lost the battle for possession and when we finally did get some we overplayed, got our pockets picked and were only kept in it by Ginard’s safe hands. We needed to be a little more direct if we wanted it.

We didn’t get the chance to change thing around. A minute later the same thing happened. Furious.

As if my magic we got the breakthrough we needed. Nacho Pérez unlocking Corominas. He struck it straight at the keeper. Idiot. On the rebound he found the post. What on earth was he trying to do?

I tore into the player at half time. This was the worst performance I’d seen from us is months. It took some time for us to get going in the second half and it coincided with Corominas succumbing to his first half injury. Yeray was on and he had a point to prove. He received the ball back to goal, spun on it, and gave Guzmán a golden opportunity to pull the keeper wide and sneak it inside the near post.

Less than five minutes later we were behind again. Dani Iglesias scoring his second tap-in of the day.

Now Gutiérrez was hurt – it was all going wrong. We’d drop the high line that is so vital to our form of pressing and get Toril on. He had good game management skills but could he find us an equaliser?

Iglesias hat-trick. Bigas has pinged a long ball forward, despite being told not to, looking for Toril and the ball came straight back. The striker’s pace was phenomenal and we just had no answer for it. We did not want to contemplate what would have happened if we had put a second-string side out here today. Blázquez was on for the tired and leggy Carles Mas and we still found room to Iglesias get his fourth of the afternoon in injury time. Yeray nearly restored some pride later still but to no avail.

We were shot. The cup games had done for us. Thankfully not at the expense of our league status. Yet that was the heaviest defeat of my tenure and it was at home. They had eleven days to stew on that performance now, which is easily the longest rest period they would have in over four months.

Given the mutiny a week prior, I asked Raset to have a word with José and try and get him to sign a new contract. Maybe the Director of Football, as a figurehead, could do enough to keep the captain.

Gutiérrez was offered a few hundred more euros a month to stay on but the key was to match his minimum fee release clause to that of senior players. Not many 20-year-olds can lead the line on their own in their debut season and score more goals than they had starts. There was something special going on here. Elsewhere in the league, Formentera were the fourth team relegated and Badalona were the ones sitting in the play-off.