16th October 2023
10:54a.m. on a rainy October Monday morning. Jeremy Kyle is blaring through the four-feet high speakers either side of the telly, the whole neighbourhood could hear a lanky junkie screaming his lungs out, which were no doubt coated in tar from all the cigarettes he had inhaled in his life. He was ranting on about something like his girlfriend nicked his car and shagged some other lad in it, probably her own brother or something judging by the amount of fingers she had on her right hand. Six, that is.
My phone, which had slid out of my left pocket and down the back of the sofa had started buzzing, somebody was calling me. I shuffled my hands behind my back, trying to find the rectangular piece of metal using only my sense of touch rather than actually standing up and taking the effort to look for it.
The tips of my fingers finally located my mobile phone and I dug it up from the back of the sofa. The caller ID said 'John D', basically it was the Bradford PA chairman John Dean who was calling, despite training starting in about an hour or two. I slid my finger from left to right on my iPhone 5000S to answer the incoming call.
"Y'alright John? What's up?"
I asked, letting Dean know that I had answered his call.
"Hi Adam, just wanted to know if you're free in the next fifteen, maybe half-hour? Just got something I'd like to discuss with you down at the training ground."
He replied, straight to the point.
"Yeah, if I get a move on I should be able to be there. Does it have to be before training?"
"Preferably. Might give the lads a bit of a boost going into Tottenham away on Saturday if everything goes to plan."
He implied the situation, and it clicked straight away. It sounded like John wanted to discuss contract talks.
"Sure, whatever John. I'll be down as quick as I can,"
I told him. "See you in a bit mate."
I said before hanging up.
Dressed in sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt, I might as well get changed into football training attire. I rushed up the stairs into the walk-in wardrobe and stuck all my training gear on. My tracksuit bottoms went on followed by a training shirt and then tracksuit jacket. All with the initials 'AC' inscribed on them, as was the case with every employee at the club apart from the directors who wore suits which never seemed to get washed.
I locked all the doors and unlocked my trusty old BMW 9 Series which I received as a gift from Gareth Roberts, the club's Managing Director after achieving promotion from League One into the Championship.
I lived a mere ten minutes away in the car from the club's training ground. It was pretty easy to get there. With training starting at 12:30p.m., the meeting had better be quick and simple otherwise I would have to get Wayne Benn to take charge of training until I exited onto the field.
I parked in the staff car park, in which there was only a few more cars present. After signing four autographs for some kids playing football around the corner, I made my way in towards Dean's training ground office - different to his The Avenue office slightly. I knocked three times on the door.
"G'morning, Adam, come in."
Dean said as he opened the door, as I was greeted with a great big John Dean smile.
"Good to see you, boss,"
I called him 'boss', although it was clear to see who was the real 'boss' at this club. His name went by Adam Chabukiani, not John Dean. "What's the meeting for?"
"Meh, contract renewal."
He said, as if it was the least meaningful job on his to-do list this week.
Dean, with his head down at a few documents laid out on the desk lifted his eyes up to look at me as his spectacles dropped further down to the tip of his nose. "Well it wouldn't be you I'd be talking to if I was offering one of your lads a renewal, would I?"
He asked rhetorically, with a smile springing up on his face again.
Dean didn't say anything in return, he just pushed three documents over towards my side of the table. The contract offer, the legal information and the signature line where I would sign my name along with a few other officials at the club.
I looked over the new deal. Four-year deal, one-year extension on my old deal which expired in June 2026. However, the detail that struck me, of course, was the wage. I would be taking home a weekly salary of £67,000 per week. In total, that contract was worth almost £14,000,000 which didn't even include the 15% yearly wage rise.
£67,000 is a huge pay rise in comparison to the last deal, which had me tied down to a £50,000 per week deal with no yearly wage increase. It was a deal that would make me the 4th highest earning manager in English football, after José Mourinho, Antonio Conte and Massimiliano Allegri.
As I studied the details of the offer, Dean's voice piped up. "We do expect you to win the Premier League with those terms, Adam."
I looked up at the chairman, the man officially in charge. My heart burning with ambition and pride. "You don't need to worry about that. I will honour my new contract with a Premier League trophy, Mr Dean."
I picked up the pen which had been dipped in ink by John Dean. I signed the papers. I am Bradford Park Avenue's manager for the next four years.