Derrick Smythe - A Bizarre Journey In Football Management

Derrick Smythe is a former international footballer. He only made 10 appearances as he played in the same era as some truly great strikers like Alan Shearer and Andy Cole. He scored five goals in his 10 caps for England.*
Life has been hard for Smythe after football, no job, no money. But a bizarre twist comes round in life, and here is his tale of events on how it came to happen.

Managerial Career

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The rain started bucketing down on Derrick Smythe’s apartment window. It was a chilly autumn morning in London. He got up out of bed to do some exercise and get some fresh air. He exited the lobby and walked around the park. The weather began to deteriorate, so Smythe rushed to finish his walk through the park, all its trees deserted of leaves.

He took a deep breath into his hands and huskily rubbed them together to make him even the slightest bit warmer. It might have been the end of autumn, but winter started to mark it’s fingerprints all over London, and even for and Englishman it was very cold!

Once he entered his apartment, Smythe turned up the apartment heater and made himself the hottest cup of coffee his mouth could possibly handle. While he did that he started up his laptop up and punched in the password to unlock it.

Life after professional football hadn’t been good for Smythe. After being forced to retire at 33 because of chronic ankle problems, he had done his coaching badges. No one had made an attempt to sign him up, and he had never applied for a job, so he ended up just doing nothing.

Once he had been one of his country’s hottest prospects and the league’s best target-men, what had happened? Smythe certaintly blamed his gammy ankle, which just kept on hurting, and that little niggle had forced him out of the game he loved and lived for.

Smythe looked out the window to see the tiniest flakes of snow drifting slowly towards the ground. He grabbed his coffee.

He opened his emails and looked for anything that appealed to him. Nothing. So he minimized his email and looked at the football scores overnight. He was slightly cheered up when seeing that Blackpool had beaten Barnsley 1-0. He had grown up a Seasider, but moved to London at 16 when Chelsea offered him a contract. He took a sip of his ultra hot coffee which nearly pierced a whole through his tongue.

He was reading the Sky Sports football news but there was nothing other than gossip. Then a noise rang across his room. An email from long time friend Walton. He clicked it open and read it.


Smythe groaned before grabbing his beanie and scarf to yet again brave the cold. He took the elevator down to the lobby and power walked out onto the street down to the café that he and Walton always went to.

He sat down inside and breathed a sigh of relief. It was so warm, and now he was waiting for Walton, but what on earth could be so urgent? Smythe wondered.

Walton walked into the café casually, like it was the middle of summer. Smythe was shivering like he was naked in the middle of Antarctica.

Smythe tried to forge a grin onto his face but he was too cold. The waitress came with his coffee and Walton ordered a hot chocolate.

“Jesus Walton, aren’t you cold?” bemoaned Smythe. Walton shook his head. He was from London so he would know what the cold was like because he had grown up in it all his life.

The two talked about the football over the last couple of weeks. Walton was an avid Crystal Palace supporter and his side were going well in the Championship, a bit better than Derrick’s Blackpool.

“So, what is so urgent that you had to send your email in CAPS Lock?” asked Smythe. Walton smirked. “You won’t believe it when I tell you,” he said.

“Try me,” I said to him.

“Ok then,” he said, smiling to himself. “I have been on a refereeing course in Denmark as you know,” Walton started, “and as part of the practice we were doing an amatuer’s match in Finland. After the match I had drinks with a few of them and then I looked on the television and saw the news.”

Smythe was sipping at his second coffee and listening intently to Walton’s story, to find out the final outcome.

“Well, there is a team in Finland called Vaasan Palloseura, and they are currently on top of the Finnish league,” he informed me. “But there manager has been forced to resign because his wife is seriously ill,” Walton added.

Smythe hadn’t touched his coffee because he had been so entranced in Walton’s recount of his time in Finland.

“They said on the news report that the rumour going around the football world was that they were attempting to lure a former international football player into management,” he told Smythe.

Smythe looked at him as if to say, You really think so? And as if reading his mind, Walton replied instantly. “Yes, I think they want you, Derrick!”

This was unbelievable, Smythe couldn’t think straight. He had had two coffees but this news woke him up so much more than those two caffeine shots.

“Derrick,” said Walton.
“Yeah,” I replied, snapping out of a day dream.

“Listen, just wait, they might go for someone else, just remember this is the rumour mill, it could, just could, be absolute rubbish. But seriously, my advice is to just wait and see what happens, if it does come, take a look over it, don’t rush into any decisions, ok?” Walton explained lengthily.

“Yeah I know, bud. I can take care of myself, and anyway, it’s probably just a rumour,” Smythe laughed it off as Walton got up out of his seat.

“Good stuff, do you wanna come over to my place?” he offered.

“Um, sure thing,” Smythe accepted, and they walked to Walton’s apartment, but Smythe could not get the rumour out of his head, every thought had something to do with that rumour.

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