Glory Of The Football Manager System

Half time at two-nil.

Dressing room was four minutes of water and one minute of me. Same shape. Same plan. Mateo carries every time he gets it. Wilf and Eze for goal one. Wilf and Christopher for goal two. We do not chase the third. We let it come. They will tire. They will tire and they will give it to us.

We did not chase the third. The third came.

Fifty-eighth minute. Eze corner.

It was the corner he had been putting in all season. Between the six-yard line and the penalty spot, on the keeper’s side, where the keeper had to come for it or the centre-half headed it home from six yards.

The keeper came. The keeper got there. He pushed it onto Mama’s forehead. Mama did not get a clean header on it. The ball came down to the back post on the bounce.

Ibrahima Konaté was at the back post.

He hit it on the half-volley with his right foot.

Three-nil.

The whole bench was up again. Konaté ran to the away end. Mama got there first. Aaron got there. Eze got there with both hands over his face because Eze had scored one and set up another and Eze was nineteen years old. The Salzburg crowd had nothing to say.

I looked across at the home dugout. Marco Rose had his hands in his pockets. He met my eyes for half a second and then he turned away and pulled his assistant over to the bench because the match was done and he knew it.

I made the first change at sixty.

Christopher off. Pato on.

The away end stood for Christopher all the way across the pitch.

Sixty-five, Andros came off. Olise on. The away end stood for Andros for the second half of his walk because the away end had remembered, somewhere around fifty-eight, that this was the third Europa knockout tie of the season and that Andros had played in every single round, and that Andros was thirty and they wanted him to know.

Seventy-five, I took Mama off. Tomkins on. Mama walked across the pitch and the whole stadium clapped him, not just the away end, because Mamadou Sakho is Mamadou Sakho and the home crowd had been watching him play centre-half against their forwards for sixty minutes and they had appreciated it. He came past me and shook my hand and went to the bench and did not sit down. He stood at the touchline with Bray for the rest of the match.

Eighty, Eze came off. James Rodríguez on. The away end gave Eze the loudest reception of the evening because Eze had scored, made the corner for the third, and put eighty minutes in against the team that had beaten Borussia Dortmund. James got slapped on the back of the head by Mateo on the way past him into the centre of the park.

Eighty-five, I took Mili off. Rúben on. Mili rolled his eyes when he saw the board. Mili does not get subbed off. Mili plays ninety. He came off because there were five minutes left and I wanted him fresh for Sunday and he knew it. He came past me and said something rude in Serbian and went to the bench and sat down and put his tracksuit top on and drank water.

The five minutes plus four of stoppage time were the most controlled five-plus-four I have managed in a European match in my career. We did not concede a chance. We did not concede a corner. Salzburg got two long balls into our box that Rúben headed away.

Ninety plus four, the referee blew it.

Three-nil. Away.

The Palace corner sang. The lads went over and stood in front of the away end with their arms round each other’s shoulders the way they had stood at Anfield in December. Pato was in the middle with his arm round Christopher because Pato had played his fifteen minutes and Christopher had played his sixty and they had between them given the away end the second goal of the night.

I let it run for two minutes. Then I walked across to the line of them and put my hand on Mateo’s neck.

”You.”

”What.”

”You did what we bought you for.”

”That is what you bought me for, Gaffer.”

I tapped his neck twice. He looked at his feet. The lads went in.

[Hotel. 02:14 CET.]

Sarah came to my room with two beers from the mini-bar. Cracked one open. Slid it across the table to me.

”Three-nil. Away.”

”Three-nil. Away.”

”That should have been the hardest tie left.”

”It was the easiest match we have played in the knockouts.”

”Milan was the easiest result. This was the easiest match.”

”There is a difference.”

”There is a difference. Milan we battered them on aggregate. The two legs themselves were close. Atlético we played out of our minds because we had to. Tonight we played the way we knew we could play because we had bought the player who lets us play that way.”

”Mateo.”

”Mateo.”

I drank some of the beer.

”He has not made it official yet.”

”No.”

”But he wants to stay.”

”He wants to stay. Tonight will not have hurt the negotiation.”

”No.”

She finished the beer.

”Bray was on the floor of the technical area at fifty-eight. I thought he was having a stroke. He was crying.”

”I saw.”

”Daniel.”

”Yeah.”

”Good night.”

”Good night.”

She stood up at the door.

”Coppell texted.”

”I know.”

”Look at it. Then ring her.”

She closed the door.

I picked up the phone. Coppell had texted at half eleven local time. One line.

The easy ones are the hardest to do. You did the hard thing. Good lad.

I read it three times. Set the phone down. Picked it up again. Rang Emma.

She picked up on the second ring.

”Hi.”

”Hi.”

”How was the match.”

”Three-nil.”

”I know it was three-nil. I watched it. Or I watched as much of it as the stream allowed me to watch. How was the match.”

”It was easy.”

”It was easy?”

”It was easy. We did what we said we would do.”

”You don’t get to call a quarter-final easy, Walsh.”

”I’m calling it easy.”

”All right. I’ll call it easy with you.”

I lay on the bed with the phone on the pillow next to my ear. She did not ask me about Mateo or Eze or Konaté or anybody. She told me her dad had texted twice during the second half.

She told me Caitlin had been at the pub watching it with Caitlin’s brother who had managed to be sober for two hours which was the longest he had been sober inside a pub since Christmas. She told me her mum had cried at the second goal because she did not know why. She told me she was going to bed.

She told me to come home.

”Em.”

”Yeah.”

”Thanks.”

”For what.”

”For not asking me before.”

”I never ask you before. You know I never ask you before.”

”I know.”

”Sleep, Walsh.”

She hung up.

I lay on the bed in the dark for a while with the phone on my chest. The city was still a string of yellow lights along the river. The plane home was at eleven in the morning. Sunday we played Bournemouth. Tuesday Aaron and Mili and Mateo were in my office at ten. Thursday they came to Selhurst with a three-nil deficit to wipe out.

They were not wiping out three-nil at Selhurst.

I closed my eyes.

***

Thank you to Sir nameyelus for the massage chair.