Tenerife and Trophies - Lads On Tour

I woke to a cloud of that classic vomit on the breath taste. My phone was shaking itself off the drawer next to me and it was still only the second loudest thing in the room. Paling in comparison to the noise of my pounding headache. It had been quite a stag do to say the least, the boys would be talking about this for years. I was almost sad to see it go.

Despite my desire to roll over and die quietly in bed, my phone seemed determined to keep me up with its constant buzzing. Eventually I gave in and checked where all these notifications were coming from.

…

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, but more searches, more messages confirmed that what I’m looking at on my screen isn’t a joke or a prank. It’s very very real. More importantly it was me, from the previous night. A photo of my wasted and sloppy form being supported by another equally drunk figure as we stumbled through the doors to the CD Tenerife training ground.

–

Many phonecalls, web searches, and two trips to the local hypnotist allowed me to piece together as much of my memories of the previous night as I could. Immediately regretting it. It would seem the other drunk in the photos is none other than Bjorn Flindledorf, a Dutch man with a bank account as impressive as his liver who recently bought a controlling stake in CD Tenerife. We’d met the previous night and, after a responsible and adult amount of alcoholic beverages, gotten talking about football manager.

Or at least I thought we were talking about football manager. A combination of his lack of English, my lack of Dutch and something called a Screaming Irishman (Seven shots of whiskey mixed with a lit cigarette, half pint of Guiness, and served over an ice-cube of frozen energy drink) meant our wires got crossed. I thought I was bragging about my success in football manager, he thought he was hiring the most accomplished Head Coach in the world.

Now never let it be said that James Q Manager is a man who doesn’t give up. Because I do. In fact, I can confidently say that the only time I’ve ever failed to give up anything was when Sharon said she’d take the kids and leave if I didn’t give up on drinking. Who needs to see their kids the ENTIRE week anyway? That’s far too much.

However, quitter or not, apparently some of the drinks myself and Bjorn shared the previous night were not technically as legal as I’d been led to believe. Now getting Scotland yard involved is the last thing I wanted to do, but I had it on good authority that in nine or ten months the uh… stuff… in my bloodstream should have passed through and I’ll be safe to return home. Only problem is, no job, no visa, no stay in sunny Tenerife. Now, if I couldn’t get a job back in England I reasoned I would probably have similar problems in Spain. So, I needed to somehow avoid Bjorn realising that I’m not even remotely qualified to manage his professional football team. For a whole season.

Compared to The Quadruple Axel Shot with Accompanying Gasoline Chaser, this should be easy right?

Part 2: Pre Drinks

If you’re joining us for the first time, our intrepid hero and notorious party boy James Q Manager has found himself as Head Coach of CD Tenerife and must now avoid being deported by keeping his Job. To do that, he must manage players, win matches, and stay (relatively) clear headed.

Maybe. Just maybe this job wasn’t so bad after all. I had an office, I’d never had an office before, and if the desk adjacent drinks cabinet was an indication it would seem that my drunk self had been a shrewd negotiator when discussing the terms of my employment. I decided to whip myself up another Screaming Irishman (I’d developed something of a taste for them at this point) and meander down into the training grounds to meet the gang.

It was quite the setup, Spain’s second division did not mess around. 22,000 seater Stadium, big fancy training facilities, the whole shebang. My Assistant Manager: Jose Manuel Gil immediately toke this opportunity to poke his head around the door and ask me difficult questions about the team’s formation for our friendly the next day. My response of ‘what friendly?’ was not well received so I just quickly scribbled something down and sent him on his way. Backtracking through my social media gave me the answer I needed, apparently I’d set up an intra squad friendly the previous night, tweeted about it, then texted Sharon. The less said about that last text the better, but it looked like I wouldn’t need to worry about having my kids for alternate weekends for a while. That was a relief.

Another master-stroke by Drunk Me, this friendly was a great opportunity for me to do some actual football managing. Assess the squad, get to know the players, skim money off the ticket prices. All sorts.

–

I. Am. A. Genius.

Even before the Friendly kicked off I was aware there was something odd about how our team looked. A somewhat nervous comment to Manny was enough for him to produce the tactical breakdown I’d scribbled on a piece of paper earlier. It looked something like this.



Unconventional to say the least. There would soon prove to be methods to the madness however as the first team, following my masterful tactical nous, quickly battered the Tenerife B side we were up against. A side managed by our lesser, more conventional B Team manager. We finished the first half Five – One ahead, before conceding another goal in the second half as they leisurely pissed about for the final 45 (Can’t blame them for that, the B team were hardly in danger of mounting a comeback). We finished 5 – 2. Masterful.

Now while Manny, as I’d started calling Jose Manuel Gil (to his annoyance) was more inclined to level accusations that I’d been trying to draw a standard 4 – 2 – 3 – 1 only to be impeded by enough whiskey to kill a bull elephant, which is almost half as much as you need to kill an Irishman, I knew otherwise. My new formation was actually a tactical renaissance, designed to use asymmetry to drag other teams out of formation and open up space for players to move into. Or at least that was what I’d heard one of the journalists say to himself as he left the stadium, I decided I would use that. It sounded good.

After such a stand out performance I’ll admit, I might have gotten overconfident. Attending another friendly a few days later to iron out my opinions on the current squad before leaving the remainder to Manny and heading out on a little siesta. Hawaiian shirt already on I didn’t bother to stop for the man looking for me on the way out, but he yelled something at me that sounded like he wanted to buy Alex Bermejo. Remembering him as a young and very impressive attacking midfielder who’d actually stood out in our friendlies so far, I told him to piss up the wall and left.

A few weeks later as we approached the beginning of the season (or at least that was what I had heard from an enthsiastic fan at the bar I’d been drinking at) I returned to the training ground. Things looked good at first. Our results especially.


That one draw was the only blemish on a perfect record. I was enthused with the success of my new revolution in football tactics. Manny tried to assign some of the credit on himself and the team, but I told him he was the worst character in Ice Age and that quickly put him back in his place.

My mood was immediately dampened when I heard that Alex Bermerjo had been sold to Valencia, once I’d been reminded who he was. They had apparently met his 2.2 million release clause while I’d been beer bong-ing a potent absinthe/mercury mix. Thankfully this meant I couldn’t blame myself, as there was nothing I could have done to resist the release clause, and instead blamed Manny. He really let the side down. This did however open up the possibility of actually purchasing a player, which was very manager-y indeed. Unfortunately we’d had next to no money to begin with and apparently Bjorn wasn’t planning on letting us use any of the cash selling Alex Bermerjo had raised, something about legal fees, he wasn’t clear.

The bank hadn’t been completely empty when I came in but we had apparently been overspending what the club considered to be an acceptable wage budget. My suggestion that we simply take some of the money they had offered me to buy players with and use it to pay the extra wages was met with kind of stunned surprise usually reserved for when I finished my yearly rendition of “Ode to Blacking Out”. Still there was a small amount of money in the bank, but with a large squad already and a plethora of friendly wins under our belt I decided to let the clock tick down on the Transfer Window without dipping into the market. I’m tempted to try and find a replacement for Alex Bermerjo but it’s soon obvious that I wont find one for what money we have left. Deciding to instead save our budget for later in the season.


I decide to reward myself for putting in an excellent shift as a manger with an Ethnic Mixing Pot (equal parts Whiskey, Tequilla, Rum, Vodka, British Tea, Gatorade, and Crude Oil) Our next match would be our first in the Spanish Second Division. Time to see what the lads were made of.

Very nice to see you took Tenerife, interesting club!

Mauve - Haha they really are! Should be an interesting save, curious to see what I can do with them.

Previously James has largely shirked his duties, failed to sign anyone, and somehow still had a fantastic pre season. Will his unconventional methods work as well in the league?

We have the best September of my life, and that’s including the September where I turned eighteen and could finally have my mail forwarded to the pub without issue. We win and then lose for our first two matches. 2 – 1 and 0 – 2, initially I fear this is a premonition of an up and down season requiring strong leadership to weather the storm. Instead we enjoy a piss walk, and not the kind that happens when you drink a few too many and lose any feeling below the waist.

Undefeated from then onwards. We storm through teams for the remainder of September, with only a single draw to blemish our record, picking up a plethora of goals but next to no clean sheets. Manny seems concerned about this, something about defences winning titles, but I pay him no mind and instead reward the lads as much as I can. Twizzlers and Jager Bombs all round.

With a number of league matches played we’re starting to separate the men from the boys. With it becoming obvious who our first choices are in midfield and defence, while surprisingly our attacking side is a little bit more mixed.

Aitor Sanz is the first on any team sheet if we can help it. Our 36 Year Old DM has been in storming form. Picking up 3 assists and a goal in five appearances. Cracking work for a man who almost exclusively plays as a ball winning midfielder.


Bruno Wilson is our big man in defence, picking up 2 set piece goals and thoroughly contributing to our lack of clean sheets. While still being impressive in centre back. He’s also terrifying, with 16 aggression. He fouls a fair bit, but is still lacking any cards. The refs must be as scared of him as I am.


27 Year Old Alberto is another stand out player. Playing more up and down the pitch that Sanz, he hasn’t had many goals or assists but has been a dream in terms of stability. I haven’t seen a single mistake from him yet, and he does an excellent job connecting the defence to the attack. I tried asking him what his last name was, but he just gave me a funny look, must not have translated.


Finally we have the only attacking player who consistently stood out. Valentin Vada. 3 Assists in six games is fairly good, despite losing out to a 36 Year Old Ball Winning Midfielder in terms of Goal Contributions, and he’s hands down the best of attacking quartet so far. Yet another stat Manny finds worrying.


He seems to think it has something to do with my bizzare and confusing tactic, I blame his stilted performance against Floyd Mayweather in 2015. Once again we agree to disagree.

Overall our performance has been exceptional in the first month and by the 10th of October we find ourselves top of the table. Journalists, Fans, and Manny himself all told me that this was overachieving and we were predicted 10th but I wont hear of it. Clearly we’re the best team around. I immediately insisted that the players only drink high end champagne, behave like real champions, but I suspected that they had been sneaking water when I wasn’t watching. Which was most of the time.

My delight is short lived when Mallorca play their game in hand and leapfrog us back down to 2nd, I immediately cancel all the champagne I’d ordered. The lads will drink larger until we’re back on top. Even better, game nine of the season is against Mallorca and we stay a point apart right the way up to the match. Going into it with everything to play for as I continue to ignore Manny’s warnings that our form isn’t sustainable and push for the top spot in the league. Maybe it’s just craziness, maybe it’s the triple sec I drink instead of blood thinners, but I’ve got this feeling that we can take home the title this season. Anything is possible with me at the helm.

We concede a corner goal in the first twenty minutes and suddenly I’m left looking very sheepish. We look poor, unable to pass our way through the opposition the way we usually do and creating very little. Maybe Mallorca are too good to have their organisation ruined by our strange outlandish formation, maybe Manny’s negativity has brought down a curse on the club. I choose to believe it’s the curse and perform a stunning exorcism before half time, but it doesn’t have the desired effect.

Furious with our lacklustre performance in the first half I decide to go the whole hog and throw the water bottle, fire them up that way. Unfortunately I was holding a bottle of vodka at the same time and got my wires crossed, the ethanol smell and shattered glass seemed to have the desired effect. Finally I made a decisive change, substituting our entire front three at half time. Our young up and coming striker Jorge is replaced with the older and more experienced Manu Appeh. While our wingers Jacobo and Nono are replaced with Joselu and Suso. Hoping the new wingers and fresh legs will add some energy into the attack, while Joselu has an excellent goal scoring record and Manu will hopefully bring superior hold up play compared to Jorge who was more of an out and out goalscorer. He also is the only player out of all of them with a last name. Nobody else seems to find this strange.

Immediately my changes are vindicated when we score a set piece goal of our own in the 48th minute that involves none of the players I brought on. No matter how we did it, suddenly we’re back in the game. A world class one handed save prevents us from conceding the same goal twice in one match, but neither side is looking strong from open play.

Suddenly disaster strikes in the 65th minute as our first choice Wingback Alex Munoz goes off with an injury, I’m immediately baffled when the referee let’s me bring on a fourth substitute to replace him, but I’ve never argued with good luck before and Manny tries in vain to explain that we’re allowed 3 stoppages and a total of five subs. I’ve already stopped listening to him as the game continues to ramp up.

I unleash another of my, quickly becoming infamous, flying bottles into the stands as their keeper launches the ball over everyone’s heads and our defence simply fails to keep Mallorca’s frontman from bringing the ball down and hammering it into the net. Apparently that goal wakes the lads up and we start knocking on the door, denied over and over again by ridiculously good saves, but it’s not to be and the team falls to a 2 – 1. I’m tempted to throw another bottle, but discover I’ve drunk myself dry, and instead just let them know how disappointed I am.


We’ll have to get our revenge in the away leg.