A Wiener penetrating Butt's goal. I love it.
Kofler's certainly picking up the awards in his playing career, I just wonder if he'll live long enough to achieve similar later on...
What a career to date for Max, picking up that illustrious Champions League trophy will surely cement him as one of the greatest to play the game!
WOW!, Working under managers such as Mourinho and Mancini, that was something, and then to top it all off with a UCL Crown, NICE!. Look forward to seeing how Maxy boy does with Austria!
Chapter Four
The great Ruud Gullit simply said: "To play for your country is the best thing that can happen." That is a sentiment I shared every time I was granted the privilege of playing for my country; the nation of Austria. Upon my shoulders was the pressure of a nation - who wanted success, but were modest enough to realise that our abilities, as a team, were far outclassed by many others. However, those people also took into account that very few shared the heart that we did. That is all that was asked of us; to fight for our nation, to give blood, sweat and tears.
I was given the opportunity to make my senior debut at the age of twenty, in a friendly against Romania. I can recount the immense pride I felt when I slipped on the red jersey of my country and it still takes pride of place in my house to this very day. It is a moment that very few are able to share, yet so many would sacrifice life and limb in order to be in the position I was.
Sixty caps later, I was given the role as captain. I would lead my country into the 2010 World Cup qualifiers. It was the American international Landon Donovan who once said: "The second highest honour is playing for your country, and the highest honour is wearing the armband for your country. It shows that the players have confidence in me, and that feels good." Those words were fittingly spoken.
We had just come off the back of the success of the European Champions - a competition we were gladly able to joint-host alongside Switzerland and participated in for the very first time. We were placed in a group alongside Germany, Croatia and Poland with the odds stacked firmly against us. To simply be a part of the competition was a fantastic honour, but to come away with a point - thanks to a late equaliser in a 1-1 draw to Poland - was excellent. We weren't embarrassed either, losing by a single goal in our other two encounters in the group - a reasonable success, all things considered.
Our attentions were firmly on the 2010 World Cup qualifiers after our exit. We were in a tricky group, in which featured both France and Serbia - completed with the appearances of Romania, Lithuania and Faroe Islands. A group in which we were certainly not expected to make it out of, although as captain, I saw it as a perfect opportunity to defy the odds and take my nation to its first World Cup since 1998.
Our opening match was against France. Captained by the legendary striker Thierry Henry, they had a formidable, star-studded side, accompanied by the managerial excellence of Raymond Domenech - who had led the side to the final of the 2006 World Cup, two years prior, in Germany. Meanwhile, the Czech, Karel Brückner, sat in the Austrian dugout having just replaced former coach Josef Hickersberger.
With the armband proudly displayed on my sleeve, we shocked Europe and masterminded an incredible 3-1 victory in Vienna to kick-off our World Cup qualification campaign in more than ideal fashion. The media hailed the victory as "astonishing," which I still believe to be an understatement. Perhaps they didn't have the words to describe; I certainly didn't.
Celebrating our 3-1 victory over France, captained by Thierry Henry
Routine victories against Lithuania and Faroe Islands followed, before a narrow victory to Serbia - which put us in pole position in Group 7 after four games. A double from myself against Romania, fittingly the side I made my senior debut against, allowed us to top the group with maximum points come the reverse fixtures; a simply remarkable achievement.
A 1-1 draw against Serbia in Belgrade sufficed, as we continued our march to South Africa, before we captured a resounding 5-0 victory over the Faroe Islands and a 3-1 win against Lithuania in Zalgaris. With confidence flowing, we were in the perfect position to seal our qualification. In a tense game against Romania, who still had their own hopes of qualifying, although very slim at this point, Paul Scharner netted the only goal of the game to confirm our qualification - ahead of France, who would seal second-position with a 2-0 victory against us in Paris.
Many months went by before the draw for the 2010 World Cup group stages were presented to us. We were placed in pot four - the lowest of the four pots. France also featured in this pot against a controversial victory over Republic of Ireland - in which Thierry Henry seemingly handled the ball to allow William Gallas to score the winner in extra-time of a fiercely contested two-legged affair.
The draw finally concluded. Austria would face neighbours Germany, Ghana and Australia in Group D of the competition. Many argued the group to be one of the more favourable we could have been placed in, but we still considered each of our opponents to be tough opposition in which we would have to be at our best if we sought to qualify from the group - going one step further than that of the 1998 Austrian side, who finished third in a group contested of Italy, Chile and Cameroon.
Going into the competition fresh off the back of winning the biggest prize in club football, I was ready to contest for the biggest prize there was to win in international football; the FIFA World Cup, but surely this would be a step too far...
Replies
Justice: Who doesn't?
Jack: Can't believe you're even contemplating the idea he may suffer an early death. Sick, typical Leeds scum.
LFC: Indeed it will. Can he go on to secure further success?
Maguire: To work under two fantastic managers - especially Mourinho - is an honour for anybody, regardless of what anyone may say. To capture the Champions League trophy was a truly remarkable achievement for Max, too.
You just reminded my of one of my most angry, frustrating childhood memories with Henry's handball. The whole of Ireland went into outrage! Great story so far, great writing, very nice to read. And hope Austria can do well with Big Max as captain!
Strength to strength for Kofler. Captaining his nation into the World Cup is enough to make any player's career, but for it to be a successful World Cup. Well...
After everything Max has achieved in his career to date, a historic run in the World Cup as captain of his nation would really cap it off beautifully! Best of luck!
Chapter Five
6th June 2010
I recall the scenes leading up to the World Cup vividly. The streets of Vienna were packed to wave us off on our voyage to South Africa. The red and white of the Austrian flag proudly waved everywhere you turned, with blossoming colour filling the already picturesque city. We headed into the tournament with little expectation on our shoulders, but we knew that we had it within us to cause a stir.
We had prepared well. We hosted both the USA and South Korea in warm-up friendlies ahead of our trip and dispatched of both, 2-1 and 1-0, respectively. It was the ideal start for us ahead of what would be a first World Cup in twelve years, having been absent for the previous two tournaments. The squad was well balanced with a pool of young players, but with a number of experienced heads - in which included myself at the age of thirty, making me one of the more senior players in the setup - in a well-managed squad by the coach, Karel Brückner.
Karel had experience at this level - which was a huge advantage - having previously coached his native country, Czech Republic. He led the Czech's to the European Championship semi-finals in 2004, topping their group with maximum points ahead of the Netherlands, Germany and Latvia, successfully defeating Denmark in the Quarter Finals before eventually crashing out to surprise champions, Greece, in the semi-finals.
He had also managed them in the 2006 FIFA World Cup, however failed to make it past the group stages, finishing third in a group composed of Italy, Ghana and the United States. He was adamant that we had the capabilities to make that step the Czech's hadn't and get through our group, stating that he firmly believed our squad "far outclasses" that of the Czech Republic squad in 2006.
What wasn't ideal were the facilities we were greeted with when we touched down in South Africa. Originally, we had planned to stay in Benoni, 30km from Johannesburg, but the hotel was run-down, dirty and barely fit for purpose. It simply wouldn't suffice - and the local authorities agreed it was best we move. Therefore, a change of facilities was in order and instead we transferred our base to Auckland Park, Johannesburg - residing in the Sunnyside Park Hotel.
We arrived a week ahead of our first game in Pretoria against Serbia. It gave us plenty of time to sufficiently prepare for the game, as well as ensuring we had the down-time needed to prepare for the tournament. It was very much a mental battle, as well as a physical one, Karol told us.
That was very much the case. We were the perennial underdogs of the competition, along with a host of other countries, but we were determined to not just simply make up the numbers. Nor did we. Defeating Ghana 1-0 in our opening game in Pretoria - in which I scored the only goal of the game - we were off to a fantastic start. A shock 1-0 win against Germany followed, a night in which will never be forgotten back home in Austria defeating one of our bitter rivals, also meaning we had already secured our place in the knockout stages prior to our game against Australia.
A 1-1 draw meant we topped our group, followed by the Germans who defeated Ghana 3-0 to add to their earlier win against Australia. We would meet the United States - a side we met, and had beaten, just before the World Cup in a warm-up friendly - in the last sixteen.
Our monumental run continued. A 2-0 win over the States meant we progressed into the Quarter Finals of the competition, where we would meet Uruguay - one of the dark-horses to win the entire competition, with the formidable strike-force of Diego Forlan and Luis Suarez.
Yet the surprise-story of the competition only went on. A late-goal from Andreas [Ivanschitz] booked our place in the semi-finals of the World Cup. This meant only the Netherlands stood in our way of meeting either Germany or Spain in the final.
The pressure grew immensely. The expectations of the fans back home in Austria were still fairly grounded, but our efforts had now attracted the mainstream audiences across the world. We suddenly became everyone's adopted nation - everyone wanted to see us make it into the final because we were the perennial underdogs; the story that everyone loves.
The Dutch felt that same kind of pressure, though. They were the huge favourites to make it into the final and it was no shock as to why. Yet, there was a sense of optimism that filled the camp on the eve of the game in Cape Town. An optimism that we could yet make history once again and push ourselves into the World Cup final - delusional or not, we believed it.
6th July 2010
The whistle sounded for the final time, prompting wild celebrations from the Austrian camp. We had made it to the FIFA World Cup final. It was a truly magical story of self-believe and hard-work; the sort of story the media loved. Grown men and women cried in the stands, with passion brimming all over their faces and in the tears that rolled down their faces. The streets of Vienna had never seen so much carnage; with pints of beer thrown high into the air, soaking everyone present below. Mass congregations took up those streets, with genuine belief that the World Cup could be coming back to Austria, as they paraded round with choruses of song.
It was difficult to remain grounded at that point. We knew we hadn't won it yet, but it was immensely difficult to not have any other feeling than mass euphoria running through our veins. We had reached the World Cup final, for f*ck sake. We were Austria; we were never meant to be there - how we managed it, I do not know, but it was certainly fuelled on passion, I can say that much.
The celebrations went on, even after we departed the stadium. The sheer dejection of the Dutch supporters and players contrasted greatly to how we felt, but unfortunately, there has to be a loser for there to be a winner. We grounded our celebrations briefly to comfort those players, who had given us a close run in a 3-2 loss. It's important to show humility in moments like that and it was fantastic to be congratulated by those same players, despite the obvious disappointment that overcame them.
I held numerous press-interviews that night and each one, even though the first to the very last were conducted an hour apart from each other, I was still overcome with emotion. A few expletives were broadcast over Austrian TV, but I had nothing to apologise for - everyone knew how much it meant, if not, they could f*ck off.
7th July 2010
Our opponents were finally confirmed for the 2010 World Cup final - Spain. There was a slight disappointment that we were unable to meet our rivals Germany, once again, upon the greatest stage of world football, but we ultimately accepted it. The challenge that awaited us far outweighed any we had previously overcome and the sheer quality of the Spanish was to be admired. They displayed that beautifully against the Germans - defeated them by a single goal, but playing a possession-style of football that dazzled and was aesthetically pleasing to even the most casual football supporter.
The brilliance enlisted in the Spanish squad was simply incomparable, from Iker Casillas in-goal to the frontman, David Villa. The brilliance of the midfield five - Busquets, Alonso, Iniesta, Xavi and Pedro only highlighted the stark differences between the two squads and the sensible-headed back-line of Sergio Ramos, Carlos Puyol, Gerard Piqué and Joan Capdevila furthered that. It was to be a huge task to answer the questions posed by our final opposition.
Nevertheless, we enjoyed our five day rest before the final. It was a great experience to continue to explore the vast beauty of South Africa; in particular, that within Cape Town and in our base of Johannesburg. One particular highlight was being able to visit the Nelson Mandela Museum, located within Johannesburg and treasure the life of a man who brought so much to not just South Africa, but to the world. It was a humbling moment.
Regardless of the final result in Johannesburg - where the final was to be held, in Soccer City, with a sold-out attendance of over 84,000 - we knew we would give our all for our nation; blood, sweat and tears...
Replies
Maguire: It was a horrific moment for the Irish supporters, I can imagine. However, at least the French completely bottled it in South Africa. It must have been something to take away from an otherwise bitter pill to swallow.
Justice: One step away!
Jack: Let's see if he and the rest of this historic Austrian squad have it within them to lift the biggest prize there is.
LFC: He's just one step away from achieving the greatest prize. It would certainly be the greatest achievement of his life.
Chapter Six
11th July 2010
The pinnacle of international football - the World Cup final stage. It was fully set to welcome both Austria and Spain to the floor, in what would be a magical encounter between the surprise-story of the entire competition, Austria, pitting it out against the Euro 2008 winners, Spain. The nerves were jangling like never before in the tunnel, as I held the hand of one of the mascots. She was a small, five year old girl with a remarkable story. She had beaten cancer twice at her tender age - a true fighter. She was an inspiration to everybody and I was more than happy to be given the honour to walk out onto the turf with her, clutching my arm.
"Good luck," she whispered to me as we stood, waiting for the officials to lead us out.
"Thank you, I think I'll need it. Good luck to you too!" I smiled. She was such a precious figure, bless her heart. It was incredible to think such a small, young girl could possess the determination and fight she had.
Conversations were fairly minimal in the tunnel. Usually there's often a lot of joking going on from both sides as they await to enter the pitch, but there was a deafening silence on this humid night in Johannesburg, instead. All that could be heard was the tension that filled the air, with the noise from the stadium creeping in to the slightest of margins - despite the fact I tried to distance myself from it, for the time being. I didn't want to get caught up in the moment, I had to remain focused.
Moments before the officials indicated we were to begin our entrance on the grandest of stages, I glanced towards the Spanish captain, Iker Casillas. He caught my glance and met it with an almighty smile, which immediately broke the silence in the tunnel. "Good luck, Max. May the best team win," he said.
"Indeed, Iker. Good luck," I replied, trying to hide the nerves that built up in my stomach as we started pacing out onto the pitch. The noise was deafening. I realised that trying to block it out was simply impossible and instead let it fuel me, taking in the support from the Austrian camp - who had remained a constant, noisy presence all tournament - as well as the support of other supporters, who simply wanted to see our the name of 'Austria' associated with the World Cup trophy - the Jules Rimet.
The support we had garnered for ourselves was the biggest take-away of the entire tournament, for me. It was significant because it highlighted to me that we had inspired. We had inspired the world that having the heart and determination, you can achieve anything and to see so many support us meant that they realised that - they were supporting the perennial underdog, one final time, against the might of the Spanish.
After all the formalities, I walked up to the centre-circle and shook Iker's hand - again, we shared words of support for one another. I had a great respect for the Spanish captain, he had achieved so much in the game and was a true modern-day legend - and he had a great respect for myself. It was something that I very much embraced.
The sides readied themselves and in front of the eyes of many, in both the stadium and across the world - with over one billion people watching on television - the game was underway...
We set-up in a 4-3-3 formation, something we had become synonymous with over the tournament thus far. I, once again, led the line - as I often had over the last decade or so - abandoning my favoured role as a number ten to do so. Martin Harnik and Marco Arnautovic accompanied me, with Andreas Ivanschitz playing just behind. Marco was very-much considered to be the next young talent to burst on to the scene at the age of twenty-one, and having played with him in the senior setup and briefly at Inter Milan - I could see why, possessing great ability with the ball.
The back-line featured the prominent figure of Alex Manninger in-goal, with György Garics, Sebastian Prödl, Martin Stranzl and Emanuel Pogatetz completing the back-four. Paul Scharner and Christian Fuchs completed the side.
Spain, meanwhile, went with the familiar side in which I mentioned prior to the game. The formidable midfield of Andreas Iniesta, Xabi Alonso, Xavi and Sergio Busquets, boosted by the defensive stalwarts of Sergio Ramos, Carlos Puyol, Gerard Piqué and Juan Capdevila - completed by the front two of Pedro and David Villa.
Spain dominated. We had no answer for their fluid football, despite watching several analytic videos beforehand to try to come up with a plan to prevent it - there simply was no way. Once Spain were in their element, that was it, and unfortunately, they were in their element. It was simply a case of putting bodies behind the ball and looking to counter when the opportunity arose, not a tactic we were comfortable with, but if we wanted to win, this was our best opportunity.
It perhaps could have been the most one-sided halves a World Cup final could have witnessed, but we managed to go in at the break deadlocked. An ideal scenario; given the dominance Spain had over the entirety of the first forty-five minutes. Something needed to change, or else the goal would finally come, there was no doubt - our luck had to run out soon enough if we continued like this.
As such, we tried to be more adventurous in the second-half from the whistle. The game quickly grew more exciting, as we found a route into the game and Spain were struggling to cope with our sudden burst of creativity. We pressed high and sought to get in the faces of the talented Spanish midfield, not allowing them to dictate the play that they were previously able to do in the first-half. It was a tactic that seemed, in essence, to be working to great effect.
There were plenty of chances, but nothing came to fruition for either of us with twenty minutes to go. It was very much a tale of two sides who lacked everything but the final finish, as too many times we lacked the composure in front of goal - or, if we did, the goalkeeping excellence of both Alex and Iker came to the fore-front. It was immensely frustrating, but something had to give.
Time continued to tick down. The tension within the stadium was at fever-pitch, with both sets of fans - including the neutrals - watching on nervously. However, with the board set to go up with five minutes added on, it was Austria who were on the attack. The midfield trio of Fuchs, Scharner and Ivanschitz had worked efficiently all night, they were on the very brink of exhaustion, but continued to battle on and it was Scharner - the West Bromwich Albion star - who was coming forward with it.
I remember it perfectly. He slid the perfect ball into my direction and it completely calved open the Spanish defence. I took it, neatly, into my possession and sought to place the ball past the experience of Iker Casillas, I did. The ball continued to roll - until it struck the upright, rebounding off it and rolling away from the goal. The sheer devastation I felt was sickening.
The Spanish had their chance. In the moment of devastation, they raced away with the ball - after ensuring they kept the ball in play. David Villa, in very similar circumstances to myself, was allowed the opportunity to go one-on-one with Alex Manninger. Alex spread himself, tall as possible, in an attempt to cover as much of the goal as humanly possible. The recent-Barcelona arrival looked to dink the ball, precisely, over the Austrian's head, but was unable to do so as he just tipped the ball over the bar.
Very little time remained and Spain knew this was an opportunity. The tall-frames of Puyol, Piqué and Ramos all sauntered forward into the box. Alonso would take the resulting corner and drifted it directly into the path of the latter - who threw himself at it, but was unable to make a connection with the ball, as Alex collected the ball and launched it forward into my direction. Only Capdevila remained and I excellently dribbled past him, using all the remaining energy I could to do so. Once again, it was Kofler vs Casillas - one-on-one - seconds remaining at this point, this was the moment. I smashed the ball, hard and true, beating the helpless 'keeper, striking the ball into the roof of the net and wheeled away in celebration.
Utter chaos ensued. Bodies came flying towards me, as my teammates and the management staff all came flying up to the field to celebrate the biggest goal of Austria's history. The stands erupted in a colourful blanket of red and white, as the Austrian supporters were sent into raptures. This was the moment we had all secretly dreamed of, but never thought was possible. Well, it was now.
When the final whistle sounded, it prompted the celebrations to begin once again. It was a historic, magical night - the perennial underdogs had won the FIFA World Cup, here in South Africa. Austria were to be placed in the history books as the 2010 World Cup winners of this great tournament. I couldn't quite believe it.
Austria lit up like it never had before that night. I remember reading and viewing all the wonderful pictures and videos, in disbelief. The nation was in love with us, we were bringing football home to Austria and it was a beautiful, beautiful feeling.
Like I did at the end of every game, I sought for my parents - who had flown over for the final the night before - in hope they would see me lift the World Cup trophy. They remained the same proud parents they always had, still in floods of tears and brimming with pride as I embraced them. This time, I didn't want to let go - this time, I wanted to share the moment for as long as I could. "We're so... so proud," my mum struggled out, in the midst of her tears. I continued to embrace her, to show my admiration for her and her words. My dad was also happy to embrace. "Congratulations, son. You've done it." He stated, joyfully.
Lifting the World Cup was a dream come true. Tears rolled down my face, in utter joy. Sharing the moment with the rest of the players and the management was something that was truly magnificent - it was a joint-effort and everyone, no matter how small a part they played, deserved to revel in the moment of greatness. A mass-cloud of confetti filled the arena as I hoisted up the Jules Rimet - something I will never forget, for my very existence on this earth.
The World Cup was coming home... to Austria.
Wow, what a fantastic Underdog story. Everyone loves to see it, Max Kofler achieved the almost seemingly impossible, by beating arguably the best national side to ever set foot on a football pitch!
What a moment for Austria and its fans, even more so for Max! Scoring the winner in a world cup final and lifting it as captain is a moment nobody will ever forget and cements his legacy as one of the best!
Chapter Seven
A World Cup winner and a Champions League winner, all within a two-month window. I was on top of the world and now, "the hottest free-agent on the market", as the media touted. I opted to leave Inter at the end of my contract, deciding that I had achieved all there were to achieve in northern Italy and thus I wanted to explore other avenues whilst the time allowed. I was now thirty years of age and time was certainly not on my side. If I wanted to achieve my one final wish, I had to make a move now.
Despite my age, there still remained a constant presence of teams interested in collecting my signature and signing me to their ranks. Myself and my agent - Aapo Koskinen - were in close conversation, regularly. The Finn had been my agent since I secured my move to Werder Bremen in 2000 - at the age of twenty - from Rapid and we were good friends, as well as business colleagues. He understood what was best for me and never once tried to swing a deal in favour of himself, putting me at the fore-front of every deal he made, whether that be signing for a new club or from endorsements and sponsors.
"It has to be the right club, Aapo. I don't care about the money - I just want to continue to enjoy my football, whilst I can, you know." I told Koskinen, assertively, as we sat across from each other at the bar in Vienna - finally relaxing after a long, but hugely-successful season. "I don't have much time left. I might have five or six years left, if I'm lucky. I don't want to continue playing football if I'm not feeling it and by that age, I have my doubts."
"You'll still be a world-class football well into your forties," Aapo laughed. "But yes - I will look to get a deal done soon. There are many clubs interested - Chelsea would be the ideal destination, having won the Premier League last year - and they have registered some interest in the past." He muttered.
"They had a world-class manager in Carlo [Ancelotti], too. I'm open to anything though."
"You always have been!" He remarked. "There's plenty of time before the season begins..."
"Plenty?" I interrupted. There's only a few weeks! You know how quickly the time flies in this profession," I laughed, taking a sip from my glass. "We'll have to act quickly... I might be f*cked now, but I still want to make sure I don't miss a single kick of football."
"It won't come to that. You'll be on the pitch when the season begins, don't worry." Aapo said, reassuringly. "Something will be sorted before then."
The conversation went dead for a few moments, as we both continued to drink. I broke the silence, "But the idea of the Premier League is one that I like. It's the greatest league in the world, after all..." I said. "And it's a new challenge."
"Leave it to me," Aapo returned. "Like I said... we'll sort something."
We both finished our drinks and headed out, agreeing to keep in contact if anything arose regarding my future. I was keen to find a new club quickly, but it had to be the right one for my career. I had one last run in me and I didn't want to waste it with a club that I didn't fit into - something I had, thankfully, so far avoided in my career to this date.
A couple of weeks passed and Aapo and I had continued to keep in contact - sending emails and texts back and forth before meeting once again. He wanted to meet me to discuss an offer from a club that had previously not registered an interest, but had recently enquired to my services, based in England and played within the top flight. "So, out with it. Who is it?" I quizzed.
"Manchester United. Alex Ferguson wrote to me, personally, to explore the possibility of signing you on a three-year-deal, which will take you to the age of thirty-th-"
"Yes, I know how old I'll be, thanks Aapo..." I said, rolling my eyes.
"Anyway, he's listed you as a top priority - he sees you as somebody that will boost their current midfield options, significantly."
The interest of Manchester United peaked my interest. I was certainly no admirer of the side itself, but the prospect of working under Sir Alex Ferguson - one of the greatest managers of all time - was something I was certainly on-board with. His résumé spoke for itself - with eleven Premier League titles, five FA Cup's, four League Cup's, eight Community Shield's, two UEFA Champions League trophies and a single European Cup Winners Cup, European Super Cup, Intercontinental Cup and FIFA Club World Cup, respectively - all listed during his tenure in Manchester. He was a born-winner, a mentality I loved.
Moving to Manchester would certainly be an ideal career move. The Scotsman knew how to win trophies and if I wanted to pursue a Premier League winners medal, he was the man to work under. "I'm open to it. It would be an honour to work under Sir Alex." I told Aapo, who nodded and immediately walked outside to conduct a phone call with the suitable parties. Within days, the deal was complete.
The English media were rampant in delivering the news. I was somewhat familiar with the press, but they were relentless in the stories they posted about my switch to join Sir Alex's side. Christ, some of them had me resembling the next coming of Jesus Christ himself - I think that may have been The Sun, who I'm already familiar with... don't worry. I could only laugh at what the tabloids, especially, wrote.
Meeting with the man himself, Sir Alex, was a fantastic privilege. No matter your colours, you simply had to praise the man for his continued success over so many decades, very few, if anybody could hold a candle to his success. It would take some man - or woman - to achieve that feat. He had a firm handshake and welcomed me with a warming smile, something which he displayed very little on the touch-line. "Welcome to Manchester," he said. "I'm looking forward to working with you."
"I look forward to working under you, boss - it's an honour to play for you and this football club." I responded.
He smiled once again - "Aye, well I expect to see your honour on the pitch and on the training ground. I suspect I will." He warned.
"Of course," I replied, weakly.
"Training - 9am Monday morning." He said, before pacing off.
And so the Premier League welcomed me, as did the English weather... p*ssing rain...
Replies
Maguire: A superb accomplishment and one that Max will certainly treasure. That Spanish side were a formidable team under Vicente Del Bosque.
LFC: A truly fantastic moment that will live on in the memory - and in the history books - forever.
Guess this is where I stop reading.
Learning from Sir Alex will be great for Max especially if he does end up turning to management!
Learning from Sir Alex will be great for Max especially if he does end up turning to management!
You are reading "Max Kofler: Die Revolution".
