Red Bull Gives You Wings!

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Please note: This story is probably not endorsed by Red Bull

"You want to do what?" The perplexed look on one man's face spread like butter across the faces of the 5 men before me.

"All 4. All or nothing." I replied, leaning back in the chair which audibly creaked like a set of knobbly knees. "I think you'll find you need a few people to rule the roost when I'm gone, but I'll fly around and manage all 4. 3 continents - 4 teams - 1 man. It's a headline in the making!" My wry smile wasn't catching on.

"You came here today to apply for 1 job, but have applied for 4 jobs? What exactly are your intentions today sir?"

"My intention for the future is to win, and win big. Give me a year, 18 months in fact, the MLS is weird and wonderful like that - Summer 2017 will be the greatest party your company has ever held!"

The silence was palpable. Plan B was now in action and I could see the cogs churning away. He turned to the man next to him, and then the female. Both gave him mirror looks which were of no more comfort to him.

"I'll see what I can do...you can leave," he returned, lowering his head slightly.

"I'll head to New York imminently, I'll email you the expense claim."

With that, my job was done. Yet it was just beginning...

“Ok, so £1.5 mill’ for New York, with around £75k per week in wages, salary cap outlook being bleak?”

“Yes, and then Leipzig have been allotted…”

“Dinner?”

“…£4.3 million for transfers and…”

“Just over £50k per week, I know, we’ve been talking about this for the last half an hour Jess, I’m not thick!” There was something about the staff at Red Bull and silence.

“Then why have you been on the phone to me for so long?”

“I just love the American accent, Tennessee?” I ask, launching a paper ball into the air, ready to ace Nadal.

“’cause I’m the only Ten you’ve seen? Nice one sir. If that’s all…” the paper dropped and hit me on the bridge of the nose. I’m taken aback as the phoneline goes dead. I smile and exhale loudly.

“She got me!” I tell myself, spinning a pen between my fingers with one hand, retrieving the glass of water from the table with another. I return to my laptop to reveal another 10 emails missed. I’ll leave them for later, I figure, Leipzig’s season doesn’t start for another 5 months, the same with Brasil and…the other one. I slick back my hair and check my watch. Another day spent wasting away in the apartment I was renting. It was modern, stylish and had the view that took away as much breath as climbing the stairs every morning to retrieve mail. This football manager malarkey was simple really. Just time consuming is all.