The Maple and the Eagle

The game had drifted into that dangerous place. Three goals up. Control established, but the tempo dipped just enough for complacency to start whispering.

Scott saw it before it happened. A fraction slower to second balls, a pass taken with one touch too many, shape just slightly looser than before.

Then the corner came on seventy-five minutes.

Delivered into the box, not particularly threatening at first, but not dealt with either. The clearance from Leovac was half hearted, the kind that doesn’t solve a problem, just delays it. A wild slice that went nowhere.

The ball dropped, Malania was covering his man, Leovac not interested in closing down the wide open Tosic.the striker sensing Leovac's hesitancy by reacting first, stabbing it home from close range.

1–3.

Scott closed his eyes for a brief second. Not anger, just frustration.

Peter didn’t hold back. He was already on the edge of the technical area before the ball had even settled in the net ‘switch on!’ he roared, pointing furiously toward the box ‘that’s exactly what we talked about!’

He turned, gesturing wildly, frustration spilling out ‘don’t you dare get lazy now! Not now! Do your jobs godammit!’

The players reset, a few glances exchanged, sharp, aware, knowing. Because even at 3–1, the message was clear. Standards don’t drop, not here, not now, not when we're this close’

Scott stayed quieter, but his stare said enough. Fix it, immediately!

And they did.

Seven minutes later the response came.

A quick move through midfield, sharper again, the urgency restored. The ball was worked wide, then delivered back into the area where a fresh pair of legs had arrived at exactly the right moment.

Ilić, off the bench, timing his run perfectly.

One touch, defender committed, finish.

1–4.  No hesitation. No doubt.

Peter jabbed a finger toward the pitch ‘that’s it!’ he shouted 

Scott gave a single nod.

Damage corrected, lesson reinforced.

And most importantly, control restored.

== == ==

The final whistle came with certainty this time. No tension and with no doubt.

Velež Mostar had done their job, 4–1 away at Goražde. Professional. Ruthless when it mattered. A response that carried weight. But the real shift came seconds later, off the bench on the way down the tunnel into the changing rooms.

Marcin checked his phone once, then again, then looked up and said ‘they lost’

Peter turned instantly ‘Široki did?’

Marcin nodded ‘yeah, it finished 1–0 to Metalleghe’

A moment passed then Peter just let out a short, disbelieving laugh ‘unbelievable….’

Scott didn’t react straight away. But inside, everything recalculated, they were back in control. Not level.  Not chasing. Ahead.

== == == == ==

The dressing room afterwards carried a different energy. Not loud or wild, but focused.

The players knew something had happened, but now they knew exactly what. Two games left, and it was in their hands.

Scott stood in front of them, letting the noise settle before speaking ‘four one, I like that, great reaction from you all’

A few nods, because it was a great reaction.

After the last defeat, after the pressure, after slipping, they’d responded exactly how they needed to.

Peter stepped in, calmer now, but still sharp ‘that’s the standard we need’ he said ‘that’s what we’ve been asking for’

Then Scott raised a hand slightly and the room quieted again ‘they lost their game’

No need to name who had lost, everyone knew. A flicker moved through the group, energy, belief, something building. Scott didn’t let it run too far ‘but that changes nothing at all’ he said.

That brought them back, grounded them, before Scott added ‘two games left, that’s all it is now’ he let that sit. ‘So forget the table. Forget what they’re doing, because this is ours if we take it’

Peter nodded beside him ‘or theirs if we don’t’

Silence, because that was the truth of it.

Then Scott took one more step forward ‘the next game, is everything’

A few players exchanged looks, they knew who it was. At home. Against Široki Brijeg. Almost a winner takes all game. First versus second.

Scott’s eyes moved around the room, making sure it landed.

No speeches needed beyond what had already been said, no more motivation required. The situation spoke for itself.

Peter gave a small, tight smile ‘we win that and we’re just about there’

The room held that for a moment. Then slowly a few nods. Focus and belief. Now it wasn’t about momentum, or reaction, or recovery.

It was about one game. One opponent.

One chance to take everything. And this time, they wouldn’t need to look anywhere else.

== == == == ==

The stadium filled early. Not gradually. Not quietly.

By the time the players emerged from the tunnel, it was already alive, noise rolling down from every stand, thick, constant, expectant. Scarves raised. Voices layered on top of each other. Not celebration, more like anticipation. Because everyone inside knew exactly what this was. At the centre of it stood Velež Mostar.

Three points clear at the top of the table, one game that could decide everything.

Across from them, warming up with a sharp edge, were second place Široki Brijeg.

Waiting, watching, ready to take advantage if it slipped.

== == == == ==

Inside the dressing room, it was quieter.

The noise from outside bled through the walls, but here it felt contained. Focused even. Like everything had narrowed down to this one moment.

Scott stood at the front. No notes in hand, no tactics board to refer to, just eye contact. He let the silence sit for a second longer than usual, because they didn’t need building up, didn’t need to be told what was at stake.

They needed grounding. ’You all know what this is’ he said pointing towards the pitch.

No raised voice, just clarity.

A few players nodded. Others stared straight ahead. Scott continued ‘but we don’t need to make it bigger than it is’

That landed differently. Because outside, everything was making it bigger.

‘It’s still just a game’ Peter then said ‘same pitch, same rules, same job’

Scott took a step forward ‘we’ve put ourselves here’ he said ‘not by chance, not by luck, but by doing things properly’

Properly. Structure. Discipline. Control. He pointed toward the door again and said ‘we do the same today’

No mention of the table and no mention of what a win would mean. Because they already knew.

Peter stepped in again, tone sharper ‘and don’t wait for it to happen. I don’t want to see any of you stand off and hope it falls your way’ He jabbed a finger toward a couple of the younger players at the back ‘they’ll come at you. They’ll try and turn this into something messy, they want, no, NEED the three points as much as we do’

A few knowing looks passed between the group joined with a few murmurs, because that was exactly what Široki Brijeg would do. Peter’s voice rose just enough to quiet the room before it got loud ‘so be ready for it. Win your battles, the first ball, second ball, win absolutely everything’

Scott nodded, backing it up ‘and when we have it, we use it properly. No forcing it. No rushing’ a short pause ‘control it’

The room, if they weren’t before they certainly were locked in now. No distractions. No nerves visible. Just focus.

Scott looked around one last time, nodded and said ‘this is where it matters’

Nothing dramatic, nothing overly emotional, just the truth. He stepped forward, opened the door and said ‘let’s get to work’

== == == == ==

As they walked out into the tunnel, the noise hit them fully. Louder now. Heavier. Expectant. The kind of sound that presses against your chest.

Peter leaned in slightly as they reached the end of the tunnel ‘well Scotty, this could be it, after today..…’ but the noise form the stands either side of the tunnel drowned out what Peter was saying.

Scott didn’t look at him or try and figure out what he had said, his focus was forward, toward the pitch. He said ‘it’s just another game Pete, that’s all it is’

But even he didn’t quite believe that.

== == == == ==

Velež Mostar starting line up:

GK - Abdihodžić. 

RB - Lugonja. 

LB - Danilovic. 

CB - Malania. 

CB - Leovac. 

RM - Reinert (9 assists, 3 goals this season). 

LM - Koné (11 assists, 4 goals this season).

CM - Kobilica (captain). 

CM - Josué (3 assists in last 4 games).

CF - Adnan (16 goals this season, hat trick in previous game against Goražde)

CF - Goncerz (27 goals in 28 games).

Bench - Aljukic (GK), Bosnjak, Jokic, Djordjevic, Dijakovic, Hedilazio, Ilic.

The cameras were already rolling before the players stepped out.  A low, steady hum filled the stadium, broadcast crews in position, cables running along the touchline, commentators speaking in measured tones that didn’t quite match the tension in the air.

Then the teams emerged. And the noise hit.

A wall of sound from every side as Velež Mostar, in their all red home strip,  walked out onto the pitch, the red cutting through the haze of colour and movement. 

Scarves raised. Flags rippling. Voices layered into something thick and relentless.

This wasn’t just support, this was expectation.

Across from them, Široki Brijeg came out to a different kind of reception, sharper, hostile, every touch in the warm up greeted with whistles that carried an edge.

On the touchline, Scott took it in without really looking at it. His eyes were on the pitch.

On the distances between players. The way Široki were setting up, the small details that mattered more than everything happening around it.

Beside him, Peter was already shifting, already feeling it ‘listen to that….’ he muttered, half to himself.

Scott didn’t reply, because he could feel it too.

Not nerves. Pressure. The kind that sits just beneath the surface and waits for the first mistake.

== == == == ==

On the pitch, the referee checked both sides. A glance at his watch.

Whistle. Kick off. Game on.

The opening moments were exactly what Scott expected. Fast. Sharp. Unsettled. Chaotic.

Široki Brijeg came out aggressively, pressing high, closing the space early and trying to force the game into something frantic. First tackles went in hard. Second balls were contested like they were the last of the match. No rhythm and certainly no flow. Just impact.

Peter reacted instantly ‘wake up! For Christs sake WAKE UP! he shouted ‘wheres the first contact?!’

Scott stayed still, arms folded, watching, measuring, because this part of the game wasn’t about control yet. It was about surviving the first wave.

A loose pass in midfield was closed down immediately. A long ball forward fromŠiroki  met with a crunching header. A throw in turned into a battle on the touchline, bodies colliding and the crowd roaring at every challenge like it meant more than it should.

Which it did. Every action carried weight. Every mistake threatened to tilt everything.

== == == == ==

Five minutes in, Velež started to settle. Not dominating as such, but finding shape.

Josué began showing for the ball more, offering angles. Koné stretched the pitch on the flank, forcing Široki’s line back a few steps. The press softened, just slightly, which Scott noticed.

There it was, the game starting to come to them.

Peter exhaled beside him ‘better, much better, but we need more’

A half chance came and went, a cross just too deep, a shot blocked before it could trouble the keeper. Nothing clear and nothing clean, because this wasn’t a game that was going to open itself up easily.

Not today, not with what was on the line.

Scott shifted his weight slightly, eyes never leaving the pitch. They were in it now, settled and competing, waiting for the moment. Because in games like this, it doesn’t take much.

Just one moment, one mistake or one piece of quality, and everything changes.

== == == == ==
 

The game had settled into that uneasy balance, not calm, not that it’s ever calm. But controlled enough that both sides had stopped swinging wildly and started choosing their moments.

Scott could feel it shifting. The spaces were beginning to appear, nothing obvious and not open, but there. Between lines, some half steps late. Tiny cracks forming in Široki Brijeg’s shape.

And then, it came.

Twenty two minutes on the clock. A simple move at first, the ball worked into midfield, moved quickly through Kobilica who didn’t dwell, he just shifted it wide where Koné had space to run.

Koné drove forward, forcing the full back onto the back foot. One touch, then another until he was in position for a cross.

The delivery was low, early, whipped hard across the face of goal, the kind of ball that demands a decision.

The defender hesitated, not sure whether to try clear it or stop it, but that was enough. Because Grzegorz Goncerz didn’t hesitate. He’d already moved.

A half step across his marker, just enough separation, just enough space and he met it first time. Side footed, controlled and precise into the corner.

1–0.

For a split second, there was silence and then the stadium exploded. All that tension, all that weight, breaking at once.

On the touchline, Peter lost it ‘YEEESSSSS!’ he roared, spinning away, punching the air hard enough to almost lose his balance. He turned straight toward the bench, shouting, pointing toward the pitch ‘this is it!!’

Marcin was on his feet too, once again on the bench with the others for this home game, clapping sharply, nodding, eyes fixed on the players resetting.

Scott didn’t celebrate like that, but the reaction was there.

A tight fist. A sharp nod. More than the goal, it was how it came.

Patient, measured and taken at the right moment. Exactly what they’d worked for.

On the pitch, Goncerz allowed himself a brief moment, arms slightly raised, teammates surrounding him embracing the moment before turning and jogging back.

No theatrics, no delay, the job started but hardly finished.

Scott stepped forward slightly, already shifting his focus ‘next five’ he shouted ‘stay on it!’ because he knew goals like that didn’t win games on their own.

What came after did.

Beside him, Peter was still grinning ‘big player and big moment’

Scott didn’t reply. He was already watching the restart because now the real test began.

== == == == ==

The response came quicker than Scott would have liked. Too quick and too easy.

Thirty four minutes in, Široki Brijeg won a corner down the right. Nothing unusual. Nothing dangerous on the surface, and they’d hardly threatened up until then anyway.

But Scott saw it before it was taken. Bodies not quite matched, movement not tracked ‘mark up!’ then ‘quicker!!” he shouted, stepping forward sharply.

Peter was already on it, seeing exactly what Scott had ‘find your man! Switch on! QUICKLY!’

But it wasn’t worth their effort. The ball was delivered high, hanging, drifting toward the back post, and that was the problem, because up until that moment, Spasojević was alone.

No pressure, no contact, just what looked like acres of space. He didn’t have to jump high. Didn’t have to fight for it.

He just met it, a simple uncontested header.

Far post into the goal, nothing but net.

1–1.

The stadium didn’t go silent this time, it deflated. A collective drop from the home fans, a groan that rolled through the stands as the reality settled in.

On the touchline, Peter exploded ‘how is he free?!’ he shouted, arms thrown wide in disbelief ‘how is he free there?!’ to no one in particular. He turned away, kicking the turf in frustration before pointing back toward the box ‘basic stuff! that’s basic!’

Scott didn’t shout, but his expression hardened instantly, because this wasn’t about quality, this was about concentration.

He looked out at his defenders resetting, a few glances between them, hands raised in half questions, half-blame.

He stepped forward ‘sort it out!’ he called, voice sharp.

No panic, but no acceptance either.

== == == == ==

The game never truly opened again after the equaliser, it just hovered, tense, tight and unforgiving.

Both sides had moments and half chances, dangerous positions for crosses that almost found someone but nothing clean and nothing decisive. Every attack felt like it might be the one….. and then it wasn’t.

Scott could feel it slipping into that kind of match, the kind that doesn’t explode or excite, the kind that just ends.

On the touchline, Peter grew more restless as the minutes ticked down ‘push on! PUSH!’ he shouted not for the first time towards Koné as she steadied himself to cross ‘put it in end!!’

Then a moment later, when the winger was closed down and Koné had to retreat ‘too late dammit!’ he shouted, throwing his arms out wide as the move broke down again and the team were forced to recover.

Scott stayed more controlled, but the tension was there now. It could be seen in the way he shifted his stance, the way his eyes followed every movement just that bit sharper. Because they both knew what this meant.

Not defeat, but not control either.

== == == == ==

There was one last moment in the game. A loose ball on the edge of the box. A half opening, bodies converging, trying to recover.

For a split second, it looked like it might fall for Grzegorz Goncerz again, the leagues leading scorer, but it didn’t land right for him to get the correct contact, and that extra split second was enough for a defender to close down, forcing the big man back through the middle, away from goal with the ball.

And that was it. The whistle came  1–1.

No explosion, no release. Just noise that didn’t quite know what it was supposed to be. On the pitch, players stood still for a second. Hands on hips. Heads turning. Processing.

On the touchline Peter didn’t hide it. He turned away immediately, shaking his head, running a hand through his hair ‘not enough, not close enough!’

Scott stayed where he was looking out at the pitch. Because they’d had it, they’d been ahead, they’d had control and then they’d let it drift.

Not collapse or failure, just not what it needed to be.

Peter stepped back toward him ‘we should’ve won that’ he said, frustration still sharp in his voice.

Scott nodded once ‘yeah, I know’

No argument from the boss, because it was true.

== == == == ==

In the dressing room, the feeling sat somewhere in between. Not defeat but not relief.

Scott stood in front of them, letting it settle ‘well, we didn't lose’ he said. A few heads lifted, acknowledging ‘but we didn’t win either’ That landed harder ‘games like today, you’ve got to take’

Peter stepped in, still carrying the edge despite calming down slightly ‘they gave you chances, enough chances’ he said ‘and we didn’t punish them’ he shook his head and finished with ‘at this stage of the season, that matters’

Scott nodded, then steadied the conversation ‘listen, we’re still in it, still in command of the situation’

That brought the focus back. Everything still to play for.

Scott looked around the room ‘one more, that’s all we’ve got, one more game’

Simple.

‘All of it comes down to that’

== == == == ==

The table didn’t lie, but it didn’t offer much comfort either. After the 1–1, Velež Mostar sat on 64 points, three ahead.

But not comfortable, not yet. Because right behind them, still breathing, still waiting on 61 points Široki Brijeg. And the detail that mattered now sat quietly beside it:

Goal difference +4 to Velež. Not enough to relax, but enough to think about.

Scott stood in his office again, the same place he’d stared at the table weeks ago when everything felt tight, uncertain, out of reach. Now it was different.

Closer. Clearer and heavier.

Peter leaned against the wall, arms folded, looking at the same numbers ‘three points and four goals’

Scott nodded ‘yeah’, what else was there to say?

Peter exhaled slowly ‘they have to win, and we have to lose for them to go up’

Scott didn’t look away from the table ‘and win big. We’d have to let in a couple, they’d have to score at least three unanswered’

Because that was the reality of it. If Velež win the next game, it was done. If they drew, then it depended on the Široki result.

If they lost, then everything opened up.

Peter shook his head slightly ‘funny isn’t it. All season, all those games…..’ he gestured vaguely out the window, like the months behind them were something physical ‘and it comes down to one game’

Scott finally looked away from the table and said ‘one more. Just one more’

Same words as before, but now they carried everything.

Peter straightened slightly ‘I’d rather rely on us than them’

Scott gave a small nod, because despite the frustration, despite the missed chance to finish it, they still held the advantage. Still held control.

Just not the kind that lets you relax, but the kind that demands you finish it properly. Scott turned toward the door ‘we need to make sure they understand it’ he said.

Peter smirked faintly and said ‘oh, they will’

Now there was nowhere left to hide, no margins left to manage. No second chances waiting behind it.

Just one last game, one last performance. One result that would decide everything.

== == == ==

The corridor outside the dressing room was quieter than it should have been. Muted, like the noise from the stadium hadn’t quite reached this far yet.

Scott stood still for a moment, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on nothing in particular.

Peter leaned against the wall beside him, arms folded. Marcin stood a few steps away, phone in hand but not looking at it.  No one said anything at first, because there wasn’t much left to say.

Finally, Peter broke it ‘just one game, one left’

Scott nodded. Marcin on the other hand said ‘they’ll be winning theirs’ he said, meaning Široki, whose final game was away at GOSK Gabela.

Not pessimistic or negative, just realistic.

Scott gave a small nod ‘then we have to win, to make sure of it’

Simple, no alternatives really. Yes they could match the Široki as that would still see them promoted, but that was a dangerous path to walk down. No, they had to control their own destiny and go out to win the game.

Peter let out a slow breath, a faint smile pulling at the corner of his mouth ‘from Bytom to this, funny game eh Scotty’

That landed, not harshly, but because they all remembered it.

Different place. Different pressure. Same three people.

Scott looked at him briefly ‘yeah, we just need to finish it’ he said.

Peter nodded, as did Marcin. Nothing else needing to be said. Scott looked at the desk one last time, walked out the door and said ‘let’s go’

== == == == ==

Inside, the noise hit them properly. Louder now. Closer.

The away dressing room at Podgrmec Sanski Most wasn’t big, but it didn’t need to be. Shirts hung neatly, boots lined up, the players already in position, some talking, some silent, some staring at the floor. All of them aware.

Scott stepped in and the room shifted immediately, conversations stopped, focus tightened. He didn’t rush to speak, he let them settle, let the moment sit. Then he said ‘you know the situation we’re in’

No build up. No theatrics ‘they have to win, nothing else matters for them, but that also means we have to win too’.”

A few nods, eyes locked in. Scott walked slowly across the room ‘so forget everything else. Forget that there’s another game going on somewhere else’ he pointed to the floor ‘this right here, this game, this is the only game that matters’

Peter stepped in, voice sharper, the disciplinarian ‘do not wait. Don’t ask us to check the  scores. And I cannot stress this enough, do not play safe!’

He shook his head when that comment sank and said ‘do what we’ve done well all season, pace and power, be better than them’

Scott nodded. He liked the forceful nature. Peters instructions were simple, clear, enough and to the point.

He looked around one last time. No nerves just focus ‘Finish it’ he said.

And this time, everyone believed it was there to be finished.

== == == == ==

The game never felt settled,not from the first whistle.

Away at Podgrmec Sanski Most, the pitch felt tighter, the air heavier, every touch carrying more weight than it should. Velež Mostar started well enough, moving the ball, finding spaces, but nothing came clean, nothing came easy, because this wasn’t just about them.

Somewhere else, at GOŠK Gabela, another game was unfolding. Another result waiting.

Midway through the first half, It almost slipped. A harmless ball into the box, routine. Dealt with a hundred times before, except this time, the usually calm and reliable Diego Malania hesitated.

Just for a second. Then tried to clear it late, slicing it awkwardly, the ball spinning loose instead of away.

It dropped straight into danger, the Podgrmeč forward reacted first.

Shot, close range, clean contact.

For a split second, everything froze, then the save.

The Velež goalkeeper Abdihodžić threw himself across goal, instinct more than anything else, getting enough on it to push it wide.

Out, safe for now.

Scott didn’t move and didn’t shout.

But his jaw tightened, because that was the game, a slight miscalculation could cost them everything.

Peter wasn’t so controlled ‘what are you doing Diego?!’ he roared, turning toward the pitch, hands out in disbelief ‘clear it man! Just clear it!’

Malania didn’t look toward the bench, didn’t need to, he knew.

He knew.

== == == == ==

The rest of the half passed in that same uncomfortable rhythm.

Half chances, loose moments and nothing decisive.

Every time Velež built something, it broke just before it mattered. Every time Podgrmeč pushed forward, it felt like something might go wrong, Scott stayed locked in to their game, no looking elsewhere and no asking for updates.

Just this pitch, just this game.

Half time came, 0–0. Still all to play for.

== == == == ==

The dressing room wasn’t panicked, but it wasn’t calm either.

Scott didn’t raise his voice ‘too loose and we’re not looking confident when we’ve got the ball’  he said simply. A few heads nodded, because they felt it too.

Peter added, sharper than Scott ‘you’re playing like you’ve got all the time in the world’ he shook his head, not letting anyone speak ‘you absolutely do not!’

Scott stepped forward 'when you get back out there, do it properly’ he said ‘move it quicker. Be cleaner. Trust it, trust each other’

A pause, he let the moment sit then finished with ‘win the game’

== == == == ==

The second half started, and everything changed almost immediately.

Forty eight minutes played, the whole game changed.

A move down the right, Reinert had woken up and was sharper now, more direct. The ball worked quickly into the box from his deep cross, bodies moving with purpose instead of hesitation.

It broke slightly, but it broke to the right man, the man in form all season long.

Grzegorz Goncerz didn’t think, didn’t adjust, he just hit it.

Low. Early. Through bodies.

Goal. 0–1. Advantage Velež.

On the bench it was pure release.  Peter punched the air hard while jumping and shouting ‘COMEOOONNN!!! That’s it!’

Scott allowed himself a small nod as Marcin just nodded and smiled his way. Not given anything away about other results.

But his eyes were already back on the pitch, because one wasn’t enough at the best of times, never mind today

== == == == ==

Eight minutes later they proved it. Fiftysixth minute the goal went in, this time it was cleaner. Controlled build up, patient, measured. The ball moved through midfield, out wide, then delivered early into the box. A long looping ball right onto the penalty spot from Koné found it’s target.

Goncerz again. He adjusted his body, met it with his forehead, guiding it past the keeper with the kind of confidence that only comes when everything is on the line and you know exactly what to do.

Different finish. Same result. 2-0.

Peter turned away, shouting even louder now, half relief, half disbelief ‘big player’ he shouted to no on in particular ‘big player for a big game’

Scott stayed composed. But inside he felt it shift.

Not done, not yet but they were closer. Much closer.

== == == == ==

The game slowed after that, not in pace but in feeling. Every minute stretched, every clearance mattered more, and still no one said anything about the other game.

Not yet, because they knew the job here had to come first, and now they were doing it properly.

== == == == ==

The game settled into something controlled, not slow or passive, just managed. Velež Mostar weren’t chasing a third goal. They weren’t forcing it, weren’t opening themselves up. The ball moved with purpose, players holding their positions, making the pitch feel smaller every time Podgrmec Sanski tried to push forward.

Clearances were clean, passes were simple, tackles efficient, everything done properly.

On the touchline, Scott barely moved. Arms folded, eyes fixed watching the distances, the shape and the discipline.

Beside him, Peter shifted more, energy still there, still wanting to react, but even he felt it.

This wasn’t chaos anymore. This was control, real control. The kind that doesn’t rely on anything else.

== == == == ==

The clock ticked louder now. Eighty minutes, then eighty five.  Every throw in took a second longer, every free kick placed with care. The crowd noise from the handful of away fans came in waves, anticipation, belief, something building toward release.

Scott didn’t look at the clock and didn’t ask for updates, he didn’t need to, because nothing outside this pitch could change what was in front of him.

‘Stay with it’ he called to the pitch ‘stay focused, switched on’

The players responded the same way they had all second half. Disciplined, committed and together.

A late ball into the box was dealt with easily by Malania, averting any danger. A shot from distance from the clearance was also blocked before it could threaten. The midfield tightened, closed the spaces and managed time without panic.

Peter leaned in slightly and said ‘nearly there Scotty’

Scott didn’t reply, not yet.

== == == == ==

In a blink the clock showed ninety minutes played, and the fourth official’s board went up.

Five minutes of added time.

More minutes to manage, more moments to get through.

The ball went wide. Reset.  Nothing rushed. Nothing forced. Just done properly.

Another long looping ball found it’s way into the heart of the defence, Malania again just hoofing it upfield.

Then came the biggest moment of the game, the whistle.

For a split second, nothing happened. Then it hit.

Players stopped. Looked around. Realisation creeping in before it fully landed.

2–0. Job done.

No calculations needed. No other results required.

On the touchline, Peter turned immediately, a grin already breaking through and as he jumped in the air he yelled ‘that’s it! That’s it it’s done!’

Scott took a step forward, watching it, taking it in without getting lost in it. Because this, this was what it looked like when everything had been done properly.

No shortcuts, no reliance on anyone else, just a team that had learned, over the course of a season exactly how to finish the job.

And when they finally did, there was nothing left to check, as the whistle had already gone, but nobody moved like it was over.

Not straight away. Then it hit. Slow at first. Then all at once.

The Velež Mostar players erupted.

Arms in the air, shouts tearing out of players who hadn’t realised how much they’d been holding in. Bodies colliding, red shirts swallowed into one moving, jumping, shouting mass near the centre circle.

Two nil. Done properly. Finished. Champions.

== == == == ==

The noise from the away end rolled down onto the pitch like a wave breaking. Louder than it had been all afternoon. Different now.

Not tension and not hope, but certainty.

Scarves spinning. Voices cracking. People climbing barriers just to get closer, just to feel part of something that had taken months to build and ninety minutes to confirm.

Peter was gone before Scott even turned. Charging onto the pitch, arms wide, laughing, actually laughing, as he grabbed the nearest player, Scott couldn't tell who it as, and pulled him into an embrace that nearly knocked them both over ‘I told you!’ he shouted, though no one had asked ‘I told you we’d get there!’

Marcin followed at a slower pace, clapping, smiling, taking it in like someone who had seen every step and still couldn’t quite believe the final one had been taken.

Scott stayed where he was, just for a moment, on the edge of the technical area watching it all, the players from both teams, the fans either staying or leaving the ground, the referee and his assistants.

All of it. Because this was what it looked like when something was finished the right way.

No scrambling, no luck and no reliance on anyone else.

Just a team that had learned how to win when it mattered.

He stepped forward eventually, onto the pitch, the grass feeling different under his feet now, lighter somehow, like the weight that had sat on every game for weeks had finally lifted.

Players started to notice him. A few came over, still breathing heavy, still buzzing. ‘BOSS!’ Reinert shouted, grabbing him around the shoulders.

Another followed. Then another. Scott let it happen, a hand on a shoulder here, a nod there, but he didn’t lose himself in it. Not fully. Because even in the middle of it he was still seeing everything.

Goncerz off to one side, arms raised toward the away end. Malania taking it in with a kind of relief that only comes after nearly costing something. Leovac, Danilovic and the others all embracing, taking it all in.

Peter found him eventually, still grinning, still buzzing with it all ‘we’ve done it, Scotty’ he said, like he needed to say it out loud to make it real.

Scott looked at him, a small knowing nod ‘yeah, we sure have Pete’

Peter shook his head, laughing again ‘from where we started…..’ he didn’t finish it, he didn’t need to.

Scott glanced back out at the pitch.

At the players. The supporters. The whole scene unfolding around him.

Then back at Peter ‘we finished it’ he said. That was the part that mattered.

A few of the players had made their way over to the away end now, clapping, raising their arms, feeding off the noise coming back at them.

Scott hung back slightly, hands on hips taking it all in, letting it settle, because it wasn't relief, not really, it was something else. Something quieter, heavier. Satisfaction maybe, but even that didn’t quite cover it.

Underneath it, already, just faintly, but certainly there, something else was starting.

The next thought, the next problem, the next level. Next season.

But not yet, not here, Scott thought. He allowed himself one more look at it all.

The noise from the players, the colour in the stand, the atmosphere and the chaos, everything they’d worked for.

Then finally, just a small exhale and the slightest hint of a smile.

They’d done it. Promoted.

== == == == ==

The dressing room was louder than before. Not chaotic like earlier in the season, not frantic, because this was different.

Words were bouncing off the walls, laughter cutting through it. Players talking over each other, replaying moments, shouting names, reliving goals that had already been scored and settled.

Shirts half off and boots kicked aside. Someone had a bottle of bubbly in hand, spraying it without much aim.

It smelled like sweat, grass, and something earned.  At the centre of it, Velež Mostar, champions of the second division, something this club hadn’t done in five seasons of trying.

Scott stood just inside the doorway again, same place as always. This time he didn’t rush things, he let them enjoy the moment, because they deserved that part.

Peter was in the middle of it all, louder than anyone, arm slung around one of the younger players, laughing as he tried to retell something that probably didn’t need retelling.

Marcin stood a bit further back, smiling, watching the group more than joining it.

Scott clapped his hands once, not hard but enough to grab attention. It took a few seconds then the noise dipped. Not gone away fully, just lowered whilst players turned toward him, still smiling, still catching their breath, but listening now. Scott looked around the room. Every face and every player. Then he spoke ‘you’ve done something important’ he said.

Simple, no build up, no extravagant speech, that made it land more. A few players nodded. One or two muttered agreement under their breath.

Scott stepped forward slightly ‘you’ve won the league’ he continued ‘you’ve earned promotion to the Premier Division’ Another pause ‘but more than that, you’ve done it properly’

That word again.

Properly.

It carried everything. Peter nodded beside him, quieter now but fully locked in.

Scott gestured lightly around the room ‘think about where we were’ he said ‘at the start of the season, just about a full new group here, new expectations’ a glance across a few of them ‘you all built this’

Not him. Them.

That mattered.

Peter stepped in then, voice still carrying energy, but focused now ‘and don’t forget the tough parts’ he said ‘the losses, the bad performances, the games where nothing went right, hell even the moments I lost it myself' that brought a few laughs. He pointed toward the floor ‘you responded, every time it went wrong and we challenged you to, you responded’

Scott nodded and added ‘that’s why you’re here, today as champions and going to play in the top division next season’

He let that sit for a moment, then the shift. Subtle. But it was there. ‘This doesn’t carry over’ he said. The smiles faded slightly. Not gone completely, but aware ‘because next season is a fresh start, and none of this matters’

A few players straightened, Peter stood up too, because they knew what he meant. New league, new opponents, new level and new problems.

Scott didn’t soften it ‘you start again, from scratch’

Scott looked around one last time, letting the moment sink in, then he let it go and said ‘enjoy it, you’ve earned it’

That was the release. The room lifted instantly, noise surging back, louder this time, freer, because now it had been acknowledged.

Earned. Secured. Done properly.

Scott stepped back slightly, letting it happen again.

Watching, because now in this moment, this part was theirs, and that was enough

For now.

== == == == == 

The hotel was quiet. Too quiet, almost. A different world from the pitch, from the dressing room, from the noise that had carried them through the day. Scott sat outside, just off the lobby, a glass in his hand he hadn’t really touched.

Jacket off. Shirt slightly creased. The kind of tired that doesn’t hit you until everything stops. Across from him, Peter dropped into the chair with a slow exhale ‘strange, isn’t it?’ he said.

Scott glanced up, a slight look of confusion on his face.

Peter shook his head, a faint smile showing and said ‘all that noise, emotion……and now this’ he gestured to the empty lobby, the quiet walls.

Silence settled again. Not awkward, just still. For a while, neither of them said anything, didn't need to.

Peter eventually broke the silence, leaned back, stretching his legs out and said ‘we actually did it, we took that next step’

Not loud, not joking or bragging, just stating it.

Scott nodded once ‘yeah, we did’

Another pause.

Peter let out a short breath through his nose ‘something we couldn’t do in Wrocław’

Different country, different level, same two people on the touchline.

Scott looked down at the glass in his hand, turning it slightly ‘we did what we set out to do’ he said.

Peter studied him for a second ‘you’re already thinking about next season, aren’t you?’

Scott didn’t answer straight away, he didn’t deny it either. But with a slight shrug he said ‘it doesn’t ever stop, does it’ not a question, a statement.

Peter laughed softly ‘nah, of course it doesn’t’ then said after a pause ‘they’ll expect more now, the chairman might not, at first, but the fans probably will’

Scott nodded, He leaned forward slightly, finally taking a sip of the drink ‘I know, promotion changes things, we knew that coming in. But it should buy us time, and e can’t raise expectations too high. Not yet’

Peter looked at him again ‘tonight, we’re allowed to enjoy it' he said, gesturing vaguely toward the quiet around them

Scott exhaled slowly, raising the now empty glass ‘I am’

And he meant it. Just not the way Peter did. They sat there for a while longer, in no rush to leave, no need to fill the silence. Because everything that needed saying had already been said over the months of the season, on the training pitches and on the touchlines.

Eventually, Peter stood up, stretching again ‘get some rest Scotty, even champions of the second division need their sleep’

A faint grin. Scott shook his head slightly and said ‘yeah, guess you’re right Pete’

Peter walked off leaving Scott there, alone for now. The glass in his hand hadn’t moved, empty now though.

He set it down on the table beside him, leaning back slightly, eyes drifting out into the quiet night. No noise, no pressure, no next game.

For the first time in a long while, nothing immediate to solve.

They’d reached it, done what they set out to do, they’d built something and finished it. And yet, it wasn’t and ending, not even close. It was more like a line being drawn

One chapter closed, plenty more waiting to be opened.

Scott sat there for a moment longer then stood up. One last glance into the quiet and under his breath, almost to himself to he simply said ‘alright’

Not celebration. Not relief. Just acceptance.

Because now, it all started again.

== == == == ==

The room felt smaller than it had any right to be for a moment like this. A few rows of chairs, a couple of cameras set up too close together. Microphones angled toward the table like they were waiting to catch something slipping.

On the wall behind it the club crest and sponsors logos here and there, standard stuff. Nothing about it said champions. But the questions would.

Scott sat down, adjusting the chair slightly, hands resting calmly in front of him. To his side, the club’s media officer gave a brief nod, opening the floor.

‘Congratulations, Scott’ one journalist began ‘winning promotion in your first season, how does it feel?'

Scott gave the expected answer, as if reading from a script ‘immensely proud, mostly proud of the players’ he said ‘they’re the ones that have worked for it all year. They deserve it’

Measured and controlled, not giving anything unnecessary away. Another question followed about the second half of the season, about consistency, about key moments and injuries, the usual stuff you expect to hear at any press conference.

Scott answered them the same way. Grounded, never too high and not giving too much away Then came a different voice from the second row. Calm. Clear. Cutting through the routine. The familiar tone of Emir Hadžić didn’t rush it.

‘Scott’ he said, ‘you’ve won the league, something Velež have tried and failed to do in the previous five years. That’s the headline'

A slight pause. ‘But let’s talk about the performance yesterday’ 

A few heads turned, because the tone had shifted straight away.

Scott looked straight at him.

Emir continued ‘you were 0–0 at half time against a side that had already been relegated. One of your main defenders almost gifted them the lead. In the previous game, you couldn’t hold onto a lead against Široki Brijeg, albeit they were pushing for promotion too’

Another pause, no hostility in his voice but no softness either. ‘So my question is this….’ he leaned forward slightly ‘are you concerned that at the highest level, those moments won’t just cost you control of a game, but they could cost you everything?’

A beat, the room stilled. That was the question, not about the title of second division champions, not about promotion, but about what came after it.

Scott didn’t answer immediately and didn’t deflect it.  He let it sit, because it wasn’t wrong, it was bound to get asked eventually.

He nodded once and said ‘yeah, they will’. A few of the either journalists shifted slightly, a couple glanced at Emir, a couple kept eyes on Scott. It was not the answer anyone expected. It’s simple, honest, no dressing it up. Scott continued ‘at a higher level, those moments get punished more often’ he said ‘which is the reality’

Emir held his gaze and didn’t interrupt.

Scott leaned forward slightly now ‘but that’s also why we are where we are’ he added.

That changed the tone. Scott carried on ‘because we’ve had those moments this season, and we’ve learned from them’ he waited a moment before continuing ‘you mention the first half yesterday, you’re right, we weren’t good enough. No control at all, and far too loose. But in the second half we corrected it, that’s been the difference all season, I think, not that we’re perfect, but that we respond’

Emir didn’t look fully convinced. Good. He wasn’t supposed to ‘so you’re confident this group can make that step up?’ he pressed ‘because promotion from this division is one thing. Staying up, competing in the Premier Division, that’s something very different’

Scott met it head on ‘oh yeah, I am certain of it’ no hesitation. ‘Not because of what we’ve done or what we plan to do, but because of how we’ve done it. That’s what gives us the chance, nothing else’

Emir leaned back slightly, studying him and then gave a small nod. Not agreement, but acknowledgment for now.

The media officer moved things on, another question coming in from the side but the tone had shifted, because the question from Emir had been the real one.

The one beneath the celebration, the one waiting for what came next. As the press conference wound down, Scott stood, adjusting his jacket slightly.

Emir was already gathering his things but as Scott stepped away from the table, their eyes met briefly.

No words. Just a look. Professional. Measured. Unfinished, both knowing there would be more to come.

Because this wasn’t the end of that conversation. Not even close.

== == == == ==

The corridor outside the press room had emptied quickly. Most of the journalists had already gone, typing up notes, filing stories, chasing quotes and moving on to whatever came next. The buzz of the room didn’t follow them out here. Just footsteps echoing lightly against concrete.

Scott stepped out, adjusting his tie slightly, the weight of the day finally starting to settle properly into his shoulders.

He didn’t get far.

‘Scott’

He turned. Emir Hadžić was a few steps behind him, notebook still in hand, expression the same as always, hard, serious, measured and as always, unreadable.

Not confrontational now. Just direct.

Scott waited. Emir closed the distance, stopping just short of him ‘off the record for a second’ he said.

Scott gave a small nod.

‘Okay, quickly though, I haven’t got long I’m sure you’ll appreciate.

Emir hesitated briefly, not uncertainty, more like he was choosing how to frame it. ‘I’m heading to the World Cup in China’ he said ‘the paper have asked me to cover it’

Scott raised an eyebrow slightly, he wasn’t expecting that.

Emir continued ‘you know how it is, different environment, different level different pressures for everyone’ a small pause ‘I wanted to ask if you’d be open to something’

Scott didn’t interrupt.

‘An interview, nothing too formal’ Emir said ‘but not about this’ he gestured back toward the press room ‘not about Velež or about promotion’

That caught Scott’s attention more.

Emir held his gaze ‘more about the tournament’ he said ‘the game itself. The teams that’ll be there, what you see coming.”

Another pause ‘and about the North American participants’

That hung there, because it wasn’t random or trying to get some comment sneakily.

‘As you know both Canada and the United States are there, something that hasn’t ever happened’ Emir said ‘it’s not something people here fully understand’

Scott shifted slightly. Thinking. It wasn’t the kind of question he’d expected. Not today after the season they’d just had. But it also wasn’t about celebration or criticism.

It was football, purely that.

‘Why me?’ Scott asked.

Emir didn’t take long ‘a couple of reasons. First is you’re Canadian, I’m sure you’ll be watching the games. And secondly because you don’t speak like most managers, especially here in Bosnia’ he said ‘you like to talk about control. Structure and the minute details’ A small shrug ‘that translates, gets readers invested in what you’re saying’

Scott studied him for a second, trying to work out if there was something underneath it.

If there was an angle. There probably was, there always is with journalists.

‘And you think people care what I think about it?’ Scott asked.

Emir’s expression didn’t change ‘I’m sure there’ll be plenty of Velež supporters keeping an eye on Canada's progress with you being the manager’

No exaggeration and no sales pitch. A brief silence settled between them, different from the one in the press room.

Less combative, more professional.

Scott exhaled lightly ‘alright’ he said, accepting the journalist’s request.

Emir nodded once, to which Scott added ‘after the celebrations we’ll talk, but not tonight’

‘Of course’ Emir replied and he made a small note in his book, then looked back up ‘congratulations, by the way, I don’t think I’ve said that to you yet’ he said.

Not warm or cold, just professional acknowledgement. Emir turned to leave, then paused briefly ‘oh, just one more thing’ he said, glancing back.

Scott waited.

Emir gave the faintest hint of a smile ‘Enjoy it’ he said.

Then he was gone.

Scott watched him disappear down the corridor.

Then he himself turned the other way, back toward the noise, back toward the team.

But now, something else had been set in motion. Something beyond this season and beyond this league. A different conversation was waiting, a different stage.

== == == == ==

They didn’t meet in an office, that would’ve made it formal. Structured. Easier to control.

Instead, it was a café just off a side street in Mostar, quiet, half full, the kind of place where conversations stayed at the table and didn’t travel.

Emir Hadžić was already there, notebook open and a coffee untouched, watching people more than anything else.

Scott arrived without much fuss, nodding once as he pulled the chair out opposite him ‘no cameras?’ he said with a laugh.

Emir shook his head smiling ‘no quotes unless you want them’

Scott sat back slightly ‘good’

For a moment, neither of them spoke, there was no noise, just the low hum of the place around them. Cups clanging, quiet conversations going on at the other tables. Nothing like a press room.

Emir opened his notebook, but didn’t move it away.

‘I fly out next week’ he said  ‘to China’

Scott glanced up slightly and smiled, not really sure what to say to that.

Emir continued ‘three weeks on the ground. Different cities, different groups. It’s certainly something different. I’ve never covered it before’

Scott gave a faint, knowing nod ‘it’s always different, every week is something different in this sport’

Emir leaned back slightly in his chair ‘don’t get me wrong, I’ve covered tournaments before, but this one feels bigger. It’s not just the football, it’s the scale of it. The travel. The expectation. Everything around it’ A small pause ‘it’s easy to forget the games are the simplest part’

Scott let that sit for a second then said ‘they usually are’

Emir gave a slight smile at that ‘I’ll be moving between venues every few days’ he went on ‘different climates, different atmospheres’ he shook his head lightly ‘going to be hard to get any rhythm’

Scott nodded ‘that’s tournament football for you’ he said ‘no consistency outside the pitch’

Emir looked at him ‘and inside it?’

Scott’s expression didn’t change ‘that's where you have to create you create your own’ 

Emir didn’t write it down straight away, he’d make that note later on, and just let it sit there between them. A brief pause followed, then Emir shifted it ‘North America’ he said

That was the angle. Scott’s eyes flicked up slightly.

Emir continued ‘both Canada and The States are there’. A small beat, it wasn’t a question 'people here don’t take that seriously’

Scott gave the faintest hint of a smile ‘oh I’m sure they will, eventually’

Simple. Certain. Positive.

Emir leaned back slightly ‘you’re that confident?

Scott nodded ‘you’ve always got to be confident’. He took a sip of coffee before continuing ‘Canada are organised and it’s clear in what they’re trying to do, and they’re not carrying the same pressure as some of the other nations that will be there, and I think that matters more than people realise’

Emir tapped his pen lightly against the notebook ‘how do you think they’ll do?’

‘They’ve as good a chance as anyone’ Scott said eventually.

Not overplayed, not dramatic, just enough to open the door.

Emir didn’t write anything down at that. He just watched Scott, waiting, because he knew more was coming.

Emir let the silence hang for a moment, then flipped the page in his notebook ‘for your boys there's a lot attention on one name.”

Scott gave a faint nod ‘yeah, bound to be’

Emir didn’t need to say it, but he did anyway ‘Evan James’

Scott leaned back slightly in his chair, no hesitation ‘he’s going to be the difference’ he said.

Emir watched him closely and said ‘anyone that’s got twenty four goals in the Premier League in that Manchester City side is going to be the focus’ a small pause then he said ‘everyone’s talking about him’

Scott gave a slight shrug and smiled ‘they should be’

Emir raised an eyebrow ‘you think he’s good enough to carry Canada?’

Scott didn’t overplay it ‘in that team, in the system they play, everything around him creates space, creates moments’ he tapped the table lightly with his finger ‘and he doesn’t waste them’

Emir made a mental note ‘so he’s a product of the system?’ he asked.

Scott shook his head slightly ‘no’ he said ‘he is the system’ he let it hang then said ‘there’s a big difference’

That landed. Emir nodded slowly, writing that one down.

Scott continued, more thoughtful now ‘he’s not just finishing chances, his movement’s sharp. He knows where the next action is before it happens, that’s what separates him’

Emir looked up from the notepad ‘and internationally, the same thing?’

Scott paused for a second, because that was the real question ‘depends what he gets’ he said.

Emir frowned slightly ‘in terms of delivery?’

Scott nodded ‘and space. I’m not sure for us, Canada I mean, if he’ll have the same control around him. Chances are he's going to be doing a lot more off the ball than he needs to do at Man City’ a small pause, 'so he’ll have fewer moments’

Emir leaned forward slightly ‘and that’s a problem?’

Scott shook his head ‘not if he only needs one chance’

That hung there, because that’s what players like Evan James do.

Emir looked up and said ‘the group. You’ve got China, Hungary and Ghana. Where do you see your boys finishing?

Scott didn’t answer immediately. He just leaned back slightly, thinking it through, because this wasn’t about headlines. It was about margins. And he knew exactly how small those could be.

== == == == ==

Scott didn’t rush it. He looked past Emir for a second, like he was mapping it out in his head rather than answering a question ‘the group games are different’ he said eventually ‘they’re not about being the best team, they’re about managing moments’ Emir stayed quiet letting him continue ‘China first, the hosts who will be up for it no doubt’

A slight nod from Emir. Scott continued ‘that’s never straightforward. The home energy, crowd, decisions, everything leans their way a little’. He glanced back at Emir ‘you have to survive that game before you can think about anything else’

Emir nodded and said ‘and if they do?’ 

Scott waited a moment then said ‘Ghana will be different. They’ll be a lot quicker, more direct. They’ll turn it into a different kind of game, the second balls, transitions on the counter will all be different to China’. He gave a faint shrug ‘that’s where you find out how disciplined your team is’

Emir nodded, already picturing it ‘and Hungary?’

Scott’s expression didn’t change ‘that’s the tough one I'm sure. They’re organised, compact and they won’t give anything for free’ a glance down at the table ‘that’s the kind of game where patience matters. One mistake either way decides it’

Emir leaned forward slightly ‘so where does that leave Canada? I mean where in the group do you think you’ll finish? he asked.

Scott exhaled quietly ‘as long as we compete, then there’s a chance to get out of the group, but nothing in that group is comfortable’. Emir watched him waiting for more. Scott gave it to him ‘I don't think they’ll dominate any games, and they won’t control everything, but they won’t need to’

Emir tilted his head slightly ‘because of James?’

Scott nodded once and said ‘yeah, but also because they’re not expected to dominate’

That mattered, maybe more than anything else. Scott leaned back again, the thought settling ‘if they stay in games then they’ve got a chance in all three’ he let that sit before saying ’and at the World Cup, that’s enough’

== == == == ==

Emir didn’t move on straight away. He tapped his pen once more against the notebook, then looked back up ‘and the States?’

Scott leaned back slightly, he knew where this was going. 'They’ll be different to Canada’ he said

Emir nodded ‘how?’

Scott didn’t hesitate ‘they’ll probably want more control, more of the ball, more structure in possession’ a small pause ‘they’re not going to sit in games and wait for moments the same way, they don’t have a forward like Evan’

Emir replied quickly ‘and that’s their strength? Wanting to control it more?

Scott tilted his head slightly ‘it can be. But it depends who they’re playing. And at the World Cup, if you try to control games against better teams, the likes of Argentina, Spain, well…..’

He let that trail off, he didn’t need to finish it. Emir did it for him ‘you get exposed’

Scott gave a small nod ‘exactly.’

A brief silence settled again. Then Emir shifted slightly in his seat ‘so between them both, who goes further?’

Scott let out a quiet breath but didn’t answer straight away. Because that wasn’t a simple question. ‘They’ve got different ceilings’ he said eventually.

Emir frowned slightly ‘explain’

Scott leaned forward a touch now, more engaged ‘the U.S. probably have a higher baseline, and a bit more control over games’ a small pause ‘but us, Canada, we’re more dangerous I think’

That got Emir’s full attention ‘because of James?’

Scott shook his head slightly ‘not just him, he’s a game changer at every level, but because of how we play, we’re less predictable as all Evan needs is to be able to see the goal and there’s a chance. What I mean is we don’t need to have long spells in a game to hurt teams, just one chance and we tend to take it’

Emir nodded slowly ‘so knockout football suits them?’

Scott met his gaze ‘it can, if we get there’

Emir leaned back again, folding his arms slightly ‘and how far can either of them realistically go?’

Scott didn’t dress it up ‘the quarters for either would be great, that’s where the margins get even tighter, and that’s where experience usually takes over’ he waited a moment and finished with ‘my heart says with James leading the line we could get to the semis, but my head says anything better than the groups would be a great showing’

Emir studied him for a moment ‘thing with these kind of tournaments is there’s always something else, one team that doesn’t follow the script, one run that doesn’t make sense, and one story that pulls everything slightly off course’

== == == == ==

The conversation slowed after that. Not because there was nothing left to say but because they’d reached the point where it didn’t need forcing.

‘For what it’s worth’ Emir said ‘I think Canada will surprise people’

Scott gave a faint shrug ‘they already have, just getting to the groups’ he replied.

Emir smirked slightly at that ‘people still think in hierarchies. Big nations, history, that sort of thing. They don’t adjust quickly’ he waited a moment then said ‘can I ask you something else, something else off the record?’

Scott looked at him ‘you’ve been doing that all afternoon’

A faint smirk, Emir accepted that, waited a moment then said ‘why here? Why Bosnia, and why now?’

Scott didn’t answer immediately, so Emir continued ‘you’ve just won the second division with Velež Mostar and you’ve built something quickly’ a slight nod then Emir said ‘you don’t strike me as someone who thinks small’

There was no edge to it, just curiosity. Scott leaned back slightly considering it. Not defensive just choosing what to say. Despite being off the record, he was still talking to a journalist before saying ‘because it was there, they wanted me’

Emir frowned slightly ‘that’s it?’

Scott gave a small shrug ‘it was a job that needed doing. A team needing direction. And it was real. Like I said, they wanted me, made me feel needed’

Emir picked up on the word real immediately ‘real how?’

Scott glanced out the window for a second before answering ‘no noise, no distraction. Just football. Hard to find that in a lot of places’

Emir studied him, then nodded slowly, like he understood more than he was saying. ‘And now?’ he asked.

Scott looked back at him, another slight pause ‘now it gets harder, we’ve no illusions about that’

Emir almost smiled at that ‘good, it wouldn’t be as interesting for me covering the team otherwise’

They both stood, chairs scraping lightly against the floor. No rush or awkwardness, just the natural end of something that had done what it needed to. 

They stepped out of the cafe and into the street together, then paused, two different directions. For a second, neither moved.

Then it was Emir that spoke ‘you’ll be watching the tournament?’ he asked.

Scott gave a faint nod ‘of course I am. Here in Mostar, I won’t be going back home this summer’

Emir held his gaze ‘I’ll be in touch’

Not a question and not quite a promise either. Something in between.

Scott turned slightly, ready to go then stopped ‘Emir’

He looked back

‘If Canada get out of that group…’ A small pause. Emir waited. Scott finished it quietly ‘write it properly’

Emir’s expression didn’t change much, but something in it shifted ‘I always do’

They parted ways, going in different directions but with the same understanding.

Because this wasn’t just a journalist chasing a story anymore, and it wasn’t just a manager answering questions.

It was something else now. Something quieter. Something that would keep crossing paths, whether either of them planned it or not.

== == == == ==

World Cup 2022

The 2022 FIFA World Cup in China kicked off and before anything sensible could happen, football decided to go completely off the rails.

Let’s start with the absurd. In the final game of Group A, Canada needed just a draw against Hungary to go through. Simple, professional, controlled, nothing too hard to understand.

Instead, Evan James chose violence.

The Manchester City forward, already riding a ridiculous season of 24 Premier League goals, went out and scored five, FIVE! goals in a 6–0 demolition job. Because why settle for a draw when you can personally dismantle an entire nation's hopes and leave their players questioning their career choices?

That took James to 8 goals in the group stage alone. Eight. In three games. At that point it stopped being a hot streak and started looking like a glitch in the tournament code. If anybody didn’t know who Evan James was before the Hungary game, then they surely do now!

Canada didn’t just qualify, they stormed through as group winners, with one forward turning a qualification job into a one man highlight reel. Suddenly the rest of the tournament quietly realised they might have a serious problem.

The usual heavy hitters all made it through with no real disasters, just the calm before the knockouts started chewing teams up. And the second round? Proper heavyweight stuff.

Germany got drawn against the United States, which you’d think is a win for the Germans, Brazil lined up against Ghana, which on paper looks easy enough, but Ghana have made a habit of turning ‘routine’ into chaos at World Cups. 

Then there’s a small matter of the England vs Argentina second round game, no need to dress that up, you all know the history there, the hand of God, the Falklands and so on. History, grudges, bad blood, and about 40 years of baggage all rolled into 90 minutes. The kind of tie where form goes out the window and every tackle feels like it means a bit more than it should. 

And just to round things off nicely and with no drama whatsoever Spain face Italy, a tactical chess match disguised as a football game. Lots of possession, lots of shape, and one moment of quality likely deciding everything while everyone else wonders how it was allowed to happen.

Canada’s reward for topping their group is a knockout tie against Croatia. Which feels like one of those draws where it looks manageable at first glance, right up until kickoff. Croatia are the kind of team that don’t beat themselves, don’t panic and will happily drag you into a slow, uncomfortable game where every mistake gets punished.

For Canada, it’s the perfect test. They’ve got Evan James in ridiculous form, scoring for fun and treating defences like training cones, but knockout football has a way of humbling even the hottest players.

So it’s chaos versus control. Firepower versus experience and somewhere in the middle 90 minutes that will probably decide whether Canada’s dream run keeps rolling or gets quietly shut down by a nation that’s seen it all before. 

== == == == ==

And just like that the Canadian fairytale turned into a full blown rampage.

Canada didn’t just beat Croatia, they absolutely tore them apart. It ended 4–0 and that flattered Croatia. No tension or nerves from Canada, just a ruthless dismantling of a team that was supposed to make life difficult.

Marcus Alderson set the tone early, grabbing Canada’s first after 32 minutes and basically telling Croatia this wasn’t going to be one of those slow, tactical evenings.

Then, as expected it became the Evan James show. Another hat-trick, three more goals taking his total to eleven in the tournament now. It is less a hot streak and more a one man campaign of destruction.

Croatia came in with experience, structure and a plan. They left with none of it intact. And the rest of the teams still in tournament? They’re no longer just watching Canada, they’re watching Evan James, a player who’s turned his journey into serious fuel. 

From a first round pick with the New York Red Bulls to a €18 million move to Hamburger SV and onto Manchester City, he’s now tearing through a World Cup like it’s less a rise through the ranks and more a full speed launch into the stratosphere.

== == == == ==

Unfortunately for Canada the dream run came to an end in the quarter finals, as Spain proved a step too far with a 3–0 win.

It started early with Real Madrid centre half Prieto rising with a thumping header from a corner after 17 minutes to put Spain ahead, Canada’s defence just not quite up to dealing with that kind of pressure when it mattered most.

From there Spain did what Spain do - control possession, full of patience and then the killer blows. Álvaro Morata added the second from a close range shot on the half hour mark and Saúl wrapped it up early in the second half to end Canada’s run.

A tough exit, but absolutely no shame in it. Canada arrived as outsiders and left as one of the stories of the tournament, even if in the end Spain were the ones who reminded them just how ruthless knockout football can be.

Evan James is one of the talking points of the entire 2022 FIFA World Cup, not just for Canada, but for everyone watching. He finished as top scorer with 11 goals. Eleven!

In a tournament where most players are happy to scrape two or three, James just kept going like he’d misunderstood the assignment. Group stage, knockouts it didn’t matter, if there was a goal to be scored, he was the one scoring it.

Canada may have fallen short in the end but James didn’t just arrive on the world stage, he turned up on time, kicked the door down, scored for fun while doing it and left defenders across the tournament wondering if they’ll ever have a quiet night again.

== == == == ==

Argentina edged past arch rivals England to set up a semi final clash with holders and other arch rivals Brazil. The Argies came flying out of the blocks and stunned everyone, racing into a 2-0 lead inside five minutes.

And of course it had to be Paulo Dybala, the Manchester City man once again grabbing the spotlight with two quick ruthless finishes before England had even properly settled.

England, to their credit didn’t fold. Marcus Rashford pulled one back in the 14th minute, giving them a lifeline and reminding everyone this wasn’t going to be a one sided demolition job.

But Argentina weren’t done there. Mauro Icardi made it three just before the half hour mark, restoring that two goal cushion and silencing England again.

But this game had absolutely no intention of calming down. Tammy Abraham clawed one back before the break, dragging it to 3-2 at half time and setting up a second half that felt like it could go absolutely anywhere.

But somehow that’s how it finished. 3-2 to Argentina.

For a first half that felt like absolute chaos, goals flying in and defences optional, everyone seemingly taking turns to score, the second half was, well, a bit of a let down.

All that madness from the heated rivals and then suddenly both teams remembered how to defend. No goals, fewer risks and a lot more nerves than quality.

After five goals in 45 minutes the second half felt like everyone collectively agreed ‘maybe let’s just calm down a bit, it’s been a long tournament so far’

Argentina won’t care they’re through and at England's expense. England on the other hand will probably be wondering how a game that wild somehow slipped away without them getting another chance at getting something from it

== == == == ==

The semi final was just as heated, if not more than the quarter against England, and it didn’t take long for things to kick off. Mauro Icardi, after his goal against England struck after just five minutes to give Argentina the perfect start.  And then, because this tournament clearly thrives on chaos Gabriel Jesus was shown a straight red card for Brazil on 40 minutes. A needless two footed tackle saw him given his marching orders.

So Brazil went from chasing the game to chasing it with ten men. Not exactly part of the game plan, but at this stage of the World Cup plans tend to fall apart pretty quickly anyway.

Despite going down to ten men, Brazil refused to go quietly. Thiago Maia popped up on 76 minutes with an equaliser to drag them back into it, and from there it became a case of hanging on, digging in and somehow forcing the game all the way to penalties.

But that’s where Argentina held their nerve. And fittingly, it was Mauro Icardi, who’d opened the scoring and then stepping up to convert the winning penalty and send Argentina through.

Brazil fought, scrapped and made it as awkward as possible, but in the end it still wasn’t enough. And for Argentina, it’s on to the semi finals where Portugal are waiting.

Other than Canada making everyone scratch their heads, the real ‘wait, are you sure?’ story of the tournament has been the United States. Yes, the United States.

They’ve somehow navigated their way through the chaos and found themselves in the semi finals of the World Cup, setting up a clash with Spain, the very team that just dismantled their rivals Canada.

No one quite knows how it’s happened. There’s probably a mix of organisation, a bit of luck and at least one game where everything just fell perfectly into place. But here they are one game from a World Cup final.

And now it’s gone beyond surprise and into full disbelief. The USA aren’t just making up the numbers they’re now the team everyone’s nervously side eyeing, wondering if this tournament has one more twist left in it. 

== == == == ==

It all looked very routine at first. Spain went 2–0 up with Mikel Merino and Paco Alcácer doing exactly what everyone expected, efficient, controlled, job done.

Except, it wasn’t. Because somehow The States decided they weren’t finished. Two goals back by the 73rd minute, and suddenly the game flipped from a comfortable Spanish stroll into full blown panic mode.

From cruise control to chaos in the space of a few minutes. Spain, who looked like they were already thinking about the final, now had 17 very long minutes of normal time to survive while the USA, refusing to read the script, started believing they might just pull off something ridiculous. 

And then it happened, it actually happened. The United States completed the comeback.

Tom Roach, the Tigres UANL winger, originally picked up by New England Revolution in the 2018 draft before making a big money move to Mexico, rose to meet a cross in the 82nd minute and buried a header into the net, David De Gea trying and failing to stop it from flying in.

From 2–0 down to 3–2 up, against Spain, in the World Cup semi final.

It wasn’t exactly shocking, more like pure lunacy. Spain went from cruising with one foot in another World Cup final to completely bottling it, and the USA, who weren’t even supposed to be anywhere near this stage are now heading to a World Cup final.

No logic. No script. Just one of those tournaments where football decides to lose its mind and the United States are the ones benefiting from it. 

The other semi-final was far less chaotic and far more brutal.

Portugal simply overwhelmed Argentina, running out 3–1 winners in a game that never really felt in doubt after the first half hour. Neves, Pedro and Silva with the three goals in the first half, Rodriguez pulling one back was only a consolation.

Argentina, fresh off that emotional win over Brazil as well as dispatching England, looked like a side that had emptied the tank. Portugal meanwhile, looked like they’d been saving themselves for this moment, sharp, clinical and completely unforgiving.

It wasn’t so much a contest as a reminder - get this far and one off game gets punished. Argentina had theirs, and Portugal didn’t hesitate.

So the final is set and somehow some way, it’s Portugal vs United States. Just read that again, Portugal, minus Ronaldo, versus the United States, in the World Cup final.

Exactly the final everyone predicted, obviously.

So the final that absolutely nobody predicted, and if they did they’re lying to you. The United States vs Portugal and it didn’t take long for things to get interesting.

The States came flying out of the blocks, and after just 7 minutes Cameron Carter-Vickers rose highest from a free kick to power home a header. 1–0.

Perfect start. Madness continues.

Portugal, probably expecting to control things after brushing aside Argentina, suddenly found themselves chasing the game against a team that clearly hadn’t read the script all tournament. 

And the USA? They weren’t just underdogs, they were starting to look like they genuinely believed this madness might actually end with them lifting the trophy. 

It didn’t take long for Portugal to respond. 

Matt Clarke playing in central midfield, keep him in mind as this isn’t his last involvement of the game, brought down Rúben Neves right on the edge of the box, and it looked very much like it was on the line, maybe even just outside. But the referee pointed straight to the spot.

Cue the chaos.

The United States players were furious, arms in the air, surrounding the referee, Matt Clarke leading the charge with the protests flying in from every direction. You could see the disbelief written all over their faces. In a World Cup final, that kind of decision? It was never going to go down quietly.

Bernardo Silva stepped up in the 18th minute and calmly slotted home the penalty to make it 1–1. Just a reminder that Portugal aren’t here for the chaos, they’re here to win the game.

Normal service resumed? Maybe.

But given how this tournament’s gone so far, writing off the United States at any point feels like a risky move. Every time it looks like things are settling down, they’ve found a way to flip it again

And just when it looked like the game might settle into a rhythm, the mayhem dial got cranked straight back up to eleven.

Literally two minutes after the equaliser Matt Clarke decided now was the perfect time to fly straight through Bernardo Silva, completely out of frustration and very much fueled by what had just happened. Yellow card, no arguments there.

But the real danger came after.

Clarke wasn’t done. Still fuming about the penalty and the foul he’d just committed he kept going at the referee, words spilling out, arms waving and you could feel it teetering right on the edge of a second yellow.

That’s when Cameron Carter-Vickers stepped in, quite literally grabbing his team mate and dragging him away before he talked himself into an early shower in the World Cup final.

For a moment, it looked like the United States might implode completely. Instead, they just about held it together but the game had well and truly boiled over now. 

The United States were already hanging on with Portugal starting to take control, moving the ball quicker, finding space, looking like the team far more comfortable on this stage.

And then Matt Clarke decided to take matters into his own hands.

Another reckless challenge, late, clumsy and completely unnecessary, and the referee didn’t hesitate this time. Second yellow. Red card. Anarchy.

Just like that, in a World Cup final, the USA were down to ten men.

You could see it on his teammates’ faces, disbelief, frustration, that sinking feeling. Not just because of the decision, but because it felt avoidable. Completely avoidable.

Clarke trudged off, knowing exactly what he’d done. And now, with over an hour still to play, the United States weren’t just chasing history anymore, they were trying to survive it.

But just when it looked like Portugal were tightening the screw and were eventually going to take the lead, the game flipped again, because of course it did.

Portugal were pushing forward, committing bodies, sensing the advantage and that’s when the United States struck.

Cameron Carter-Vickers, solid all game long, won it in defence and didn’t hesitate, a quick ball fired into Wil Trapp in midfield. From there, it was pure intent. Trapp, the Columbus Crew captain, took the ball, turned with intent and drove forward, Portugal scrambling, suddenly exposed and panic setting in.

One pass. Perfectly weighted.

Chris Dowell, free in the box and onside, took it and buried it in the 69th minute.

2–1 USA. In a World Cup final. With ten men.

And just to add to the madness, it was another Tigres connection. Dowell, drafted in the MLS draft of 2020 by Dallas was now doing it on the biggest stage. At this point, you’d be forgiven for thinking this entire tournament has just been a scouting advert for North America. 

That goal completely knocked the wind out of Portugal. They were still the better side in the game, still seeing more of the ball, still pushing forward and creating the chances but something had gone. The urgency turned into frustration, the sharpness into rushed decisions.

Meanwhile the United States, down to ten men, dug in. Every tackle was met with wild cheers, every clearance felt bigger than it should and everyone knew it wasn’t about playing well, it was about surviving.

Portugal probed, crossed, shot from distance, tried to force something, anything, but nothing quite clicked. No clear chances, no moment of real quality to break through. Everything they tried was met with a stubborn American resistance.

For all their dominance, they just couldn’t find a way past a side that refused to give anything else away. And as the clock ticked down, it became clear this wasn’t going to be Portugal’s night.

And somehow despite Matt Clarke doing his absolute best to personally hand the game over to Portugal, the United States actually won the World Cup final 2–1.

Let that sink in for a moment. A team down to ten men. A defender on a one man mission to sabotage his own country. Portugal dominating possession like it was a training exercise. And yet the trophy is heading to America.

How in the blue hell has that happened? This is a nation where football usually involves helmets, stoppages every ten seconds and adverts every thirty. And now they’ve only gone and conquered the actual footballing world. 

Somewhere across Europe purists are staring into the distance, questioning everything they thought they knew.

Portugal will be wondering how they didn’t win it. The USA will be wondering how they did.

Chris Dowell picked a pretty decent time to score his first ever goal for the United States, casually scoring the winner in a World Cup final. No pressure, no build up just straight into footballing folklore.

Meanwhile, Cameron Carter-Vickers walked away with Man of the Match, which feels entirely justified considering he spent most of the game defending for his life and babysitting Matt Clarke to stop him getting sent off even earlier than he did. Leadership, composure and the patience of a saint.

And then there’s Evan James who took home Player of the Tournament after an absolutely ridiculous campaign. Goals for fun, defenders left in pieces, and somehow making a World Cup look like a pre season tour.

So to recap:

• The USA win the World Cup final, after being down to 10 men for most of it
• A player scores his first international goal in the final and it’s the winner
• A centre back wins Man of the Match while managing chaos around him
• And a Canadian is the best player at the tournament

Football. It always makes perfect sense.

== == == == ==

Summer 2022 review

At the top of the Premier League it was business as usual, well mostly.

Manchester City reclaim the title in ruthless fashion, winning 30 games and racking up 94 points along the way. Efficient, relentless and about as enjoyable to chase as a taxi that’s already pulled away.

Right behind them, Newcastle United pushed them all the way to 89 points and finish second. Again. That’s now three years in a row, runners up in 2020 when Chelsea won it, again in 2021 behind Manchester United, and now 2022 behind Manchester City. At this point, Newcastle are basically collecting Premier League silver medals like they’re going out of fashion, consistent, impressive and just cursed enough to never quite get the big one.

Arsenal take third on 83 points, quietly putting together an excellent season that would be headline news anywhere else, but in this company, it’s more of a polite nod and a ‘well done, see you next year’

The title race is starting to feel like a revolving door of champions with Newcastle permanently stuck just outside, knocking politely while someone else lifts the trophy.

But Newcastle United did at least have the league’s most reliable weapon in front of goal. Robert Lewandowski finished as top scorer with 28, doing everything short of dragging the trophy up north himself.

Right behind him, his strike partner Aleksandar Mitrović shared second place on 24 goals alongside Manchester City’s Canadian sensation Evan James.

So Newcastle had the top scorer and the second top scorer and still finished second. At this point, it’s starting to feel less like bad luck and more like some kind of cruel footballing joke, score all the goals you want lads, the title’s still going somewhere else.

== == == == ==

Down in the EFL Championship, Bristol City absolutely tore through the league, racking up 100 points from 31 wins. That’s not a promotion campaign, that’s a full on demolition job. When you hit triple digits, you’re not just winning games, you’re politely informing the rest of the league there are levels to this and there’s only going to be 1 winner.

They’ll be joined in the Premier League by Reading, who secured second place and a return to the top flight. Now comes the fun part, going from bullying Championship defences every week to suddenly trying to stop the likes of Lewandowski, Mitrovic, Dybala, James and friends. Welcome to the big time lads, and good luck, cos’ you’re gonna need it.

The playoffs, though, that’s where things got interesting.

Everton, Fulham and Derby County, all familiar former Premier League names, all expecting to be the main characters in their play off runs, found themselves scrapping it out with…..wait for it…..Shrewsbury Town. No that’s not a typo, and yes, that Shrewsbury Town.

Somehow, Shrewsbury had quietly gone about their business and finished third on 88 points, crashing the party like a bloke in trainers walking into a black tie event and refusing to leave.

While the other three clubs were busy talking about ‘returning to where they belong’, Shrewsbury just kept picking up points, nodding politely, and reminding everyone that the Championship doesn’t care about your history. It’s bedlam, it’s brutal and occasionally it’s got Shrewsbury Town sitting at the table like they’ve always belonged there.

The play off final itself delivered exactly the kind of story the EFL Championship lives for.

Fulham, expected to win it comfortably, polished and a Premier League team in waiting lined up against Shrewsbury Town, still somehow feeling like gate crashers who hadn’t been asked to leave yet.

Ten minutes in, Liam Walsh fired Shrewsbury ahead with a great side footed finish. And from that moment on, it wasn’t a football match, it was a siege.

Fulham had all of the ball, put on all of the pressure but only had a couple of clear cut chances to equalise. Shrewsbury had grit, bodies on the line and a refusal to blink. Every clearance felt like survival, every tackle felt personal. Time didn’t tick forward, it crawled.

And when the final whistle finally came, Shrewsbury hadn’t just won, they’d held on. 1–0. Promotion to the Premier League.

From ‘what are they even doing in the play offs?’ to ‘how on earth did they get to the Premier League?’. Shrewsbury Town are going up. And no doubt in the Premier League, a few clubs have just checked the fixture list, seen Shrewsbury away, and quietly downgraded it from ‘easy three points’ to ‘this could get awkward’

The main reason Gary Mills and Shrewsbury Town are heading to the Premier League comes down to a handful of seriously shrewd signings, loans, freebies and bargains stitched together into something far greater than the sum of its parts.

Robbie Holdsworth, on loan from Middlesbrough, led the line all season with 22 goals in 46 league games plus the play offs, playing every single match like a man who knew he might not get this kind of spotlight again. Reliable, relentless, and exactly what they needed.

At the back Ro-Shaun Williams, borrowed from Manchester United, became the kind of defender you only really notice when he’s not there, which is usually the highest compliment you can give.

Then there’s James Maddison, picked up on a free, casually leading the league in assists with 26, like he was slumming it for a season before heading to brighter lights. Absolute theft of a transfer.

And pulling the strings was Giovanni Jansen, the attacking midfielder on loan from AZ Alkmaar, the main man, the tempo setter, the one everything seemed to go through.

Put it all together and you’ve got a team built on other clubs spare parts somehow outplaying bigger names week after week. Turns out if you shop smart enough, you don’t need a big budget, just a good eye and a bit of nerve.

== == == == ==

Big news out of the Primeira Liga in Portugal, as for the first time since the 2000/01 season, none of Benfica, Sporting Lisbon or FC Porto have won the title. Instead, it’s CD Nacional standing at the top of the pile.

A proper earthquake in Portuguese football. The kind that makes the other clubs wake up, check the table twice and wonder who forgot to follow the script.

Of course now comes the real question - is this the start of the old order cracking or just a one season glitch in the matrix? Because football has a funny way of restoring ‘normality’ the moment someone new dares to interrupt it.

For now though Nacional get their moment. And somewhere in Lisbon and Porto, there are a few very uncomfortable boardroom meetings where the phrase ‘this was not supposed to happen’ is being repeated far too often.

Other randomness around Europe sees FC Anzhi Makhachkala, yes, that Anzhi, dusting themselves off and back to relevance, finishing third in the Russian Premier League.

The main reason? Zach Clough. No relation to Brian or Nigel though, despite what the surname might try to sell you. Signed from Nottingham Forest for €5 million, he’s quietly turned into a goal machine with 28 in 34 games this season, and 58 in 93 overall across his three seasons in Makhachkala.

Now Palermo are reportedly interested, which feels about right, score goals in a slightly forgotten corner of Europe long enough and eventually someone from Italy comes calling to see if it’s real or just a very elaborate statistical illusion.

Over in Serie A it was Inter Milan who came out on top with 82 points, edging out city rivals AC Milan on 79 in a title race that probably aged both sets of fans about five years. 

Juventus, meanwhile, slipped to an unthinkable third place on 76 points, still respectable, but by their standards that’s basically a crisis. Somewhere in Turin someone’s already drafting a dramatic ‘we go again’ in Italian statement while quietly wondering how finishing third suddenly feels like finishing thirteenth.

Behind them, it’s a tightly packed queue - Napoli on 71, AS Roma on 70 and the other Turin based team Torino on 69 rounding out the top six. Close enough that one bad result could ruin your season, one good run could make it even better and just chaotic enough to remind everyone that, for once, it’s not just Juventus deciding when the title race ends.

In La Liga it doesn’t get much tighter or more painful than this. The big guns of Barcelona and Real Madrid both finished on 95 points, both with a +64 goal difference and one of them still had to lose.

Barcelona take the title on head to head record, having done the league double over Madrid in both El Clasico matches. Which is the footballing equivalent of saying ‘same record, but we beat you twice, so sit down and give us the trophy, again’ Cold. Efficient. Brutal.

For Real it’s the kind of season that would win you the league 99 times out of 100, unfortunately this was the one time it didn’t. Expect a lot of ‘fine margins’ talk, talk of new signings in the summer to get them over the line followed by someone quietly replaying those two defeats over and over again.

Elsewhere Villarreal finished third, Sevilla fourth, and Valencia fifth. And then there’s Atlético Madrid who finished…..sixth. Sixth! Not a collapse, not a disaster, just a slow, uncomfortable slide down the table while everyone else went about their business. The kind of season where nothing explodes, but everything just quietly goes wrong.

In the Bundesliga it was Jürgen Klopp’s Bayer Leverkusen who took the title with 85 points, holding off Bayern Munich and Pep Guardiola, who finished second on 78.

Bayern did try to swing things their way in January, bringing in Erling Haaland for €85 million, but an ankle injury limited him to just 14 games. He still managed to score 12 goals, which is both impressive and slightly terrifying.

You can’t help but wonder if Haaland had stayed fit, Bayern might not have just won the league they might have broken it as they usually do. As it stands they have to settle for second place and the uncomfortable thought that their €85 million goal machine spent half his first six months in Munich in the treatment room.

The bigger question now is what this means going forward. Does Bayer Leverkusen winning the Bundesliga signal the end of Bayern Munich’s stranglehold on German football, much like in Portugal with Nacional, or is this just a brief interruption before normal service resumes? Because Bayern have a habit of treating setbacks like personal insults. One bad season usually turns into a summer spending spree, a tactical reset, and a title charge that feels less like a comeback and more like a warning to everyone else.

Leverkusen might have cracked the door open this time, but Bayern are the kind of club that don’t just close it again, they slam it shut and change the locks. The rest of Germany will be watching closely and probably hoping this isn’t just the calm before the usual storm.

Ligue 1 now and Paris Saint-Germain restored what they’d probably call ‘normal service’ finishing on 92 points to stop AS Monaco making it three titles in a row, with Monaco ending on 85 points.

PSG finally remembered they’re supposed to win this league every year, splashing money, hoarding midfielders and generally deciding that would be enough. Monaco gave it a good go this season, but in the end it felt like PSG just leaned on the accelerator and reminded everyone who usually runs things around here.

For the rest of France, it’s a familiar feeling, just when it looks like the balance might shift, PSG show up with a squad worth the same amount as small country and take it back.

Monaco’s Dušan Vlahović finished with 29 league goals, followed by PSG’s Victor Osimhen adding 22. Between them, they basically turned Ligue 1 into a weekly target practice session.

But the real talking point, the one that makes you double check and maybe refresh the page a few times just to be sure is Neal Maupay with 25 league goals. Yes, that Neal Maupay. 25 league goals for Saint-Etienne, which is more than Osimhen scored for PSG.

Most of the defenders in that league are asking how it happened, goalkeepers are replaying moments they’d rather forget and fans across Europe are wondering if they’ve slipped into an alternate timeline where Maupay is suddenly one of the most clinical forwards on the continent. Football, as always, refuses to make sense.

== == == == ==

Transfer window summer 2022

The first ‘what on earth is going on here then?’  transfer of the summer sees Joshua King leave Lazio after three solid seasons to join Al-Ittihad in Saudi Arabia.

On paper, it’s respectable enough, 102 appearances, 38 goals, he did his job and even scored in a Rome derby win over AS Roma, he kept things ticking, a good pro nothing outrageous.  But then you see the fee. €45 million. For a 30 year old.

By now Saudi clubs aren’t negotiating, they’re just spinning a wheel and agreeing to whatever number it lands on. Lazio probably tried to keep a straight face while signing the paperwork, then immediately checked their bank account three, maybe four times just to make sure it was real.

King, meanwhile, has just secured one last big payday and fair play to him, because if someone’s offering the kind of money these Saudi clubs are happy to pay, you don’t ask questions, you pack your bags and be on your way.

Speaking of clubs just casually throwing around absurd amounts of money, Manchester City have turned up with €103 million for Alexander Isak from Juventus.

Now, everyone knows Isak is quality, no arguments there. But this is Manchester City we’re talking about. A team that already has Paulo Dybala and the freshly crowned World Cup Player of the Tournament, and their own leading scorer last season Evan James. So naturally, the big question is - where and when exactly is Isak playing?

Up front? Sure, except that’s already crowded. Out wide? Maybe if you squint hard enough.  On the bench? For €103 million? Let’s hope not.

Isak leaves Juventus with a record that’s oddly impressive and slightly confusing at the same time. 54 goals in 90 games over three seasons. That’s appearances, not starts. 

On one hand, that’s roughly 30 games a season which for a €103 million striker at a top club raises a few eyebrows. You’d expect your main man to be ever present, not rotating in and out like a squad option.

But then you look at the return and it’s better than a goal every other game. That’s elite level output. So what is he exactly? Injury prone? Rotated heavily? Or just so efficient he didn’t need to play every week?

Now he walks into a Manchester City squad already stacked with two world class strikers which somehow makes things even murkier. Because if he was only getting 30 games a season in Turin, what’s he going to be getting in Manchester? Either City have just signed a lethal rotation option for €103 million or they’ve decided the best way to use elite strikers is to just stockpile them and figure it out later.

There is at least some logic to Manchester City’s attacking overload because Gabriel Jesus has finally had enough of being the spare part in a very expensive machine.

Stuck behind Paulo Dybala, Evan James and what feels like an entire squad of interchangeable wingers, Jesus has opted for a fresh start with Chelsea for €36 million. Now on paper that fee feels optimistic.  Last season saw a return of 14 appearances and 2 goals. Not exactly numbers that scream ‘spend big’

But Chelsea are clearly leaning into the classic football logic of ‘form is temporary, talent is permanent’ or more accurately ‘he used to be good, so let’s pretend that version is still in there somewhere’

To be fair there is a player in there, despite being sent off in the World Cup quarter final, we’ve seen it before. But right now this move feels like Chelsea are buying a highlight reel and hoping the rest of it turns up later.

Still, compared to some of the other deals flying around, €36 million might actually count as sensible. Which probably says more about the market than it does about Jesus 

As Chelsea clearly decided one deal wasn’t enough, so they’ve dipped back into the market again. This time sending €13 million to EA Guingamp for young winger Tësor Lua Lua. Now €13 million for a promising winger? That’s actually pretty reasonable in this market. Almost suspiciously sensible……

And then you see the wages. £76,000 a week. For a player most people had to Google five minutes ago.

To be fair to Chelsea, Lua Lua was part of that bizarrely successful Guingamp side that finished third, alongside the ageless Mark Noble pulling the strings like it was 2012 again. So there is something there.

But still Chelsea aren’t just buying potential here, they’re paying him like he’s already delivered it.

Based on these two deals it seems as though their transfer strategy feels less like careful planning and more like ‘he looked decent in once, give him a load of money and we’ll figure it out later’

Chelsea continue their ongoing mission to sign every young player with a pulse, this time dropping €49 million on Phil Martin from Derby County.

Now Martin’s 15 goals in 38 Championship games last season is decent, promising even. But €49 million on a forward that’s not even 20 yet? That’s not ‘promising youngster’ money, that’s ‘we expect you to solve problems immediately’ money.

Of course this is Chelsea we’re talking about, so there’s already a very familiar storyline forming. Sign him for big money → loan him out → loan him out again → loan him out again → forget he’s on the books → sell him for €8 million in three years while wondering what went wrong.

Martin’s probably unpacking his bags for the move to Stamford Bridge as we speak, only to be told where he’s heading on loan next week. We all feel like Chelsea aren’t building a squad, they’re running a very expensive youth hostel.

Diego Galván might just be one of the few transfers in this window that actually makes sense, which is saying something.

Picked first overall in the MLS draft of 2018, snapped up by Burnley for just €8 million in the 19/20 season, and three seasons later he’s off to Tottenham Hotspur for €20 million. That’s not just profit, that's daylight robbery with a polite handshake at the end.

And honestly Burnley fans probably feel like they’ve just sold the only thing keeping the roof from caving in. For three seasons Galván wasn’t just their goalkeeper he was their full defence. Shots flying in from everywhere, and there he was, saving everything short of existential dread.

Spurs, meanwhile, have quietly done something sensible. No drama, no €100 million gamble, just a proven keeper who’s spent years facing a shooting gallery every weekend and somehow coming out alive.

If anything, the biggest question is whether Galván will even know what to do at Spurs with fewer shots to stop and at least a couple of actual defenders in front of him.

Might take some getting used to.

Staying in London, West Ham United have clearly seen everyone else raiding the MLS and thought ‘oh go on then, we’ll have a go too’

They’ve shelled out €7.5 million for young full back Lee Sáula, the 5th overall pick in the 2021 MLS draft, who’d racked up 38 appearances since being drafted 18 months ago.

Now to be fair, that’s not bad going really, 38 games suggests he’s at least played football, which already puts him ahead of some of the other ‘mystery signings’ you hear about in every transfer window. But still €7.5 million for an untested full back straight out of the MLS? West Ham are either ahead of the curve or they’ve just watched one YouTube compilation titled ‘Lee Sáula– Defensive Skills & Welcome to Europe 4K’

Either way, he’s gone from half full MLS stadiums to the Premier League spotlight overnight. No pressure lad, just mark world class wingers every week and try not to get turned inside out on the regular.

West Ham United didn’t have to wait long to make that money back and then some, because Liverpool have come charging in with an outrageous €68 million for Jonathan Calleri.

Now, Calleri is a decent striker no doubt about it.  21 goals two seasons ago to go with the 15 he managed last season, solid, reliable, gets the job done. But €68 million? That’s not ‘solid striker’ money. That’s ‘this guy needs to fire us to the top four’ money.

Liverpool are clearly looking at him like he’s the missing piece, while everyone else is looking at the deal like ‘have they just paid superstar money for a very good Tuesday night striker?’  To be fair he might thrive. New system, better players around him, more chances, suddenly those 15 goals could turn into 25, maybe more. Or he could score less than 14 and we all just quietly pretend this transfer never happened and he goes on loan back to West Ham next summer.

John Terry and Liverpool are really leaning into the ‘just trust the process lads, whatever that process is’ approach this window, because they’ve now spent €28 million on Josh Tymon from Hull City.

Hats off to Tymon he’s been reliable and played all but two Premier League games last season as Hull finished a respectable 13th. That’s consistency, durability, and probably a lot of defending. He even chipped in with a goal, which came in a 6–1 loss to Chelsea at Stamford Bridge. So technically, yes, he’s got an eye for goal just maybe not for results.

€28 million for a dependable defender isn’t outrageous in today’s market, but when you line it up with some of Liverpool’s other moves, you start to wonder if they’re building a team or just collecting players who had a decent season somewhere else. Still, if nothing else, Tymon brings a bit of experience, reliability and the ability to score in games where everything else has already gone horribly wrong.

One move from Liverpool that actually does make sense sees them bring in Ilkay Gündogan on loan from Manchester City. A proven midfielder in the Premier League, calm on the ball and certainly knows how to control a game. Finally a signing where you don’t have to tilt your head and squint to understand it. As for Manchester City, well they’ve got more forwards and wingers than most clubs have squad numbers, so maybe this is just part of the grand plan:

‘Need another striker? No problem’
‘Another winger? Go on then’
‘Centre midfielders?’ Erm, yeah, they might be getting shipped out just to make space in the dressing room for more forwards at this point’

Gündogan probably walked into training, looked around at the 12 attackers and thought ‘right, I’ll see myself out’

Finishing off the incoming business at Anfield, Liverpool have dipped back into the MLS talent pool because apparently that’s where all the bargains live right these days.

They’ve spent €8.7 million on Tim Elfath from Seattle Sounders, a 6 foot 6 attacking midfielder who was a first round pick in the 2020 draft. Yes, that’s not a typo, a 6’6’’ attacking midfielder.

You probably have to assume John Terry or someone else at Liverpool saw him and just thought ‘what if Peter Crouch played in midfield?’

To be fair, 54 games and 11 goals in MLS is a decent return from the AMC position, so there’s clearly something there. But you do wonder what the plan is, late slow runs into the box? Or just stand him in the middle and let him head everything like a human radio tower?

Either way defenders are about to have a very confusing time trying to figure out how to mark a man who looks like a centre half but plays like a number 10.

On the way out, Liverpool have managed to pull off one of the more impressive bits of business this window, selling Tobias Svendsen to Schalke for €18 million.

Now this is a player who arrived from Molde for €4 million and barely featured, 15 appearances in total, and spent most of his Liverpool career being shipped out on loan, a lot like how Chelsea handle their youth team. At Burnley he got 26 games with 2 goals. Then at Nice for the last 2 and a half years saw 77 games with 25 goals.

Somewhere along the way he quietly turned into a decent player, albeit not at Liverpool. It’s less a transfer strategy and more a happy accident, like they’ve stumbled into profit by forgetting he was even their player. Svendsen spent more time collecting boarding passes than match minutes for Liverpool, but fair play as he leaves as an €18 million winger with a solid record in France.

Liverpool fans might not remember him but their accountants definitely will.

West Ham United have decided that the best way to replace Jonathan Calleri is to sign Kelechi Iheanacho. A few seasons ago that might not have been such a abad idea, yet this season they’ve signed him from Watford.

For €30 million.

Yes, that Watford. The one heading to the Championship. And yes, that Iheanacho, the one who managed a mighty 4 goals, 2 of which were penalties, in 29 Premier League games last season.

You do have to admire the confidence. West Ham have looked at that return and thought ‘you know how we should replace probably our best player? With a 4 goal striker, in a relegated team, yeah that’s it, we’re sure we can fix him and also pay over the odds to prove it’.

Watford are probably trying not to shout too loudly while the deal goes through. Because turning 4 league goals into €30 million is less a transfer and more a minor miracle.

Arsenal have decided they’re not sitting this window out either, splashing €45 million on Raheem Sterling from Bayer Leverkusen.

Now this is one that actually feels kind of sensible. Which given this transfer window, is almost suspicious in itself.

Sterling’s been doing his thing in Germany, winning the title this season under Jurgen Klopp and reminding everyone he’s still a top level attacker. €45 million for a proven player in his prime? That’s practically a bargain compared to some of the numbers being thrown around for players younger than Sterling.

Of course this is Arsenal we’re talking about, so there’s always that little voice in the back of your mind asking ‘will this be the signing that pushes them forward or the one that somehow derails everything?’  Still, compared to some of the chaos elsewhere, Arsenal have just picked up a player who actually improves the first team, which probably means something weird is about to happen next.

Because right on cue something weird does happen.

Fresh from signing off on the Sterling transfer and winning the Bundesliga, Jürgen Klopp just steps down from Leverkusen. No dramatic fallout in the press, no public disagreement. No ‘by mutual consent’ phony statement that convinces absolutely no one. Just gone. Word got out he’d left, that was it.

One minute he’s on top of Germany with Bayer Leverkusen, the next he’s walking away like he’s just finished a casual five a side.

Naturally nobody knows why. Which, of course, only makes it worse. As we know, in football, when something this big happens and no one has an explanation, it usually means one thing, give it a couple of days and the rumours will be completely unhinged.

But then, almost immediately, the penny drops. The very next day, Roger Schmidt steps down as Germany national team manager after that underwhelming World Cup dumped out in the second round by the eventual winners, the USA.

Suddenly, Jürgen Klopp walking away doesn’t look mysterious at all. It looks timed. Perfect even. Because when the Germany job opens up and Klopp just happens to be available 24 hours earlier, that’s not coincidence that’s football moving exactly how it always does.

Quiet for five minutes, then everything happens at once.

And just when you think things might settle down football decides to double down on the chaos.

Luis Enrique steps down as Spain national team manager and within what feels like about five minutes, is announced as the new boss of Bayer Leverkusen. On the same day Jürgen Klopp is confirmed as the new Germany national team manager.

So to recap:

• Germany job opens
• Klopp ‘mysteriously’ resigns
• Schmidt steps down
• Klopp takes the Germany job
• Luis Enrique leaves Spain
• Luis Enrique takes Klopp’s club job

All in about 48 hours. No word on whether Roger Schmidt is in line for the Spain job though.

Back to Arsenal and they’ve also dipped into the ever reliable MLS to Mexico to Europe pipeline, paying €21.5 million to Tigres UANL for full back Andrew Aguado.

Now this is a proper journey. He was drafted 2nd overall by the New York Red Bulls in 2020, then played a whopping total of 8 games before Tigres looked at that and said ‘Sí, ya hemos visto suficiente: 5,5 millones de euros’ or as we say in English ‘yeah, we’ve seen enough €5.5 million’

Fast forward two seasons, and Arsenal are now paying four times that.

So in summary for the young full back -  8 MLS games is enough to warrant a €5.5m move to Mexico, which turns into a €21.5m Premier League transfer.

MLS scouts must be wondering if they’re spotting talent or just accidentally creating it for everyone else. Aguado must have done something right in Mexico, because you don’t land a move to Arsenal by accident. 

But still, it’s quite the rise from barely breaking into a team sheet in New York to rocking up at the Emirates for over €20 million, a completely normal career path.

Elsewhere in Europe, Juventus have wasted absolutely no time reinvesting that Alexander Isak money, throwing €85 million (rising to €116m) at Borussia Dortmund for Joakim Onshuus.

And this one actually looks justified. He started at Molde, like most of the better Norwegian players do, then moved to Wolfsburg for €8 million and casually rattled in 41 goals in two seasons, which immediately had Dortmund throwing €52 million for his services.  Two seasons, 42 goals and 10 assists later, he’s on the move again. Not only did he keep producing while in Dortmund he actually improved. Which, in this market, feels illegal.

Juventus have essentially taken the Isak money and gone ‘right, same idea, get a Scandinavian forward in but with more goals’

Of course, the only slight concern is the fee creeping up to €116 million, because that’s the point where expectations stop being ‘score goals’ and start being ‘drag us to titles single handedly’

Still based on his track record, defenders in Italy might want to start preparing themselves now, because this isn’t a gamble. This guy is a problem.

Pep Guardiola and Bayern Munich have decided to join the ‘pay big money for potential and hope for the best’ club, splashing €57 million on Valery Golovin from Zenit Saint Petersburg. Now here’s the interesting part, Golovin has been ‘one for the future’ at Zenit for years, so much so that he’s never actually played for the first team. Not once, in his five seasons on the books there since coming through the youth team.

Instead he’s spent the last three seasons on loan at Lokomotiv Moscow, where to be fair he did rack up 60 appearances. So he’s not completely untested, just completely untested by the club selling him for €57 million.

Zenit have essentially pulled off the ultimate trick here, develop a player through the ranks, sell said player they never used for a huge fee and call it development.

Pep, meanwhile, must have seen something he really likes, because €57 million for a player with zero appearances for his parent club is either incredible scouting, or the boldest game of ‘trust me, he’s decent’ you’ll ever see.

Staying in Germany and continuing this strange trend of ‘loan them out, then sell them for a fortune’, Borussia Dortmund have picked up André Anderson from Bayern Munich for €51 million. Another one who’s spent more time away than at his parent club, Anderson was loaned out to Spartak Moscow last season and he absolutely delivered, 27 goals in 38 games.

That’s not ‘prospect’ numbers anymore, that’s ‘someone’s about to pay a lot of money for him’ which, of course, Dortmund have.

Bayern seem to have turned this into a very tidy little operation, bring in young talent, let them develop elsewhere, then cash in at exactly the right time.

Dortmund might be the real winners here. Because unlike some of these other moves, Anderson has actually shown he can produce, now it’s just a case of whether he does it in Germany or ends up back on loan in Moscow for the full experience.

Paris Saint-Germain have, unsurprisingly, decided they won’t be left not throwing money around, sending €48 million for José Fernando from Vitória.

Now, compared to some of their previous transfers this one actually has some logic behind it. Fernando has managed 54 games and 21 goals in two seasons in the Vitória first team from the attacking midfielder position, which is a solid return, especially at the young age of 22. There’s clearly talent there. But this is PSG, so context matters.

This isn’t just another signing, this is another attacking midfielder. Because when you already have a midfield packed with expensive talent, the obvious solution is to add another one. PSG aren’t building a midfield, they're curating a collection. On the PSG database there’s probably a spreadsheet titled ‘central midfielders we didn't really need but signed anyway’

John Stones leaving Benfica for €17 million might well be the most baffling deal of the window and not in a bad way, well not for Benfica anyway.

Signed for €28 million in 2018, he’s gone on to play 153 games, score 11 goals, captain the side for the last two seasons and build a trophy cabinet that’s anything but empty:

• League, cup and super cup in his first season
• Cup winners 19/20
• League and cup double in 20/21
• Another cup in 21/22
• In the Liga NOS Team of the Year every single season
• Benfica’s player of the season three years in a row

So naturally they’ve sold him for €17 million. Surely someone in the office at Benfica must have accidentally typed the wrong number and just decided to go with it. Because for AC Milan, this isn’t a bargain, it's daylight robbery with a receipt.

Milan have just picked up a proven leader, a serial winner and one of the most consistent defenders in Europe for less than some clubs are paying for untested teenagers with zero first team appearances. And somewhere back in Lisbon, someone high up at Benfica is probably starting to realise what they’ve just done, glancing at the squad list, looking at the fixtures ahead and quietly panicking as it dawns on them that replacing your captain, leader, player of the season the last three years and defensive rock for €17 million might not have been the masterstroke they thought it was.

Another name from the 2020 MLS draft class is on the move, and it’s getting to the point where you almost expect it now. Ryan Joachim, the 2020 MLS Rookie of the Year, is leaving Orlando City SC to join CF Monterrey for €21 million.

Not bad for the 6th overall pick who’s quietly put together a very solid record, 88 games, 22 goals and 29 assists. Certainly decent numbers in his first few seasons, the kind that make scouts start nodding like they’ve discovered him themselves. And of course, he’s from that 2020 draft. At this stage clubs aren’t even scouting players in America anymore, they’re just scrolling back through the 2020 draft list and picking names like it’s a menu.

Joachim might not have the dynamic factor of say Evan James or the strange career jumps of Andrew Aguado, but €21 million says Monterrey certainly see something more than just a solid player.

Either way, MLS fans are probably watching this all unfold wondering how their domestic league somehow turned into a very expensive showroom for the rest of the world.

Another big money export from the MLS, and once again it’s a team in Mexico doing the shopping, this one being Tigres UANL.

World Cup winner Sidney Reyes, drafted 18th overall in 2020 by New York City FC, is on his way to Mexico for €16.5 million. Not bad for a player who a couple of years ago was just another name being read out on draft day while half the room checked their phones.

Looking back on it, the 2020 MLS Draft is starting to look less like a talent pool and more like a cheat code.  Let’s just run through what that class has quietly produced:

• Evan James – first round pick, now a World Cup Golden Boot winner and one of the most dangerous forwards on the planet, tearing the Premier League apart.
• Andrew Aguado – second overall pick, €20m+ move to Arsenal after a pit stop in Mexico.
• Marcus Alderson – snapped up by Manchester United for serious money despite not playing in that many games for Montreal
• Ryan Joachim - left Orlando for the bright skies of Monterrey in this same window for €21 million
• Tim Elfath – the 6’6” attacking midfielder is on his way to play at Liverpool
• Chris Dowell, scorer of the winning goal in the World Cup final, drafted by Dallas.
• Matt Clarke, picked third by Minnesota now playing for Middlesbrough, despite being a great defensive midfielder will be best known for being sent off in the World Cup final
• And now Sidney Reyes – World Cup winner heading to Tigres for a healthy fee

Seriously scouts in 2020 might’ve accidentally stumbled into the greatest draft class of all time while pretending they knew what they were doing. Tigres at this point look less like a football club and more like a very well run flipping operation, spot the talent early, polish it up in Mexico then move it on once the price tag has quietly doubled overnight.

Reyes might be the next one off that conveyor belt or he might just enjoy being a World Cup winner in Mexico for a bit first. Either way, €16.5 million suggests Tigres aren’t buying him to check out his winners medal.

== == == == ==

The summer of 2022 also felt like the end of an era, as a whole generation quietly stepped away from the game.

Cristiano Ronaldo, Miguel Veloso, Ivan Rakitic, Olivier Giroud, Nacho Monreal, Gerard Piqué, Guillermo Ochoa and Gary Cahill all called time on their careers.

Not a bad list that. World Cups, Champions Leagues, league titles and probably enough appearances between them to last three lifetimes at least.

Ronaldo walking away is the headline of course, one of those moments where football just feels a bit different overnight.

The rest? Proper pros. The kind of players you only really appreciate once they’re gone, reliable, consistent and somehow always still there year after year.

It’s one of those summers where you look at the names and realise yeah, we’re getting old too

== == == == ==

The new season didn’t arrive with noise, more like it just crept in, quietly, inevitably.  The office felt slightly different now. Same table and same chairs, but a different weight.

Marcin had the report open in front of him, fingers resting on the edge of the paper like he already didn’t like what it said ‘they’ve got us bottom three’ he said.

No drama, just the fact.

Peter let out a short breath through his nose ‘of course they have’ he muttered.

Scott leaned back in his chair, arms folded. 'what are you expecting? We’re a promoted team and we’ll have only one player in the team coming up that has ever played in the top division next season. The pundits don’t need much more than that’

Peter or Marcin didn’t speak straight away, Peter stayed silent in his chair while Marcin stood by the window looking out over the training pitches. They looked the same as they had all last season, but they weren’t the same, nothing was.

‘Where exactly?’ Peter asked eventually, breaking the silence.

Marcin glanced down again.

‘Tenth, out of twelve’ Marcin said ‘just the two places above bottom’. A pause, then he said ‘a relegation scrap is what they think we’re in for.

Peter scoffed ’better than dead last, I suppose’

Scott then said ‘no one’s giving us anything, and that could be to our advantage’. There was no frustration in his voice, nor anger, just a quiet certainty

Marcin nodded ‘that’s the reality’ he said ‘we’re at a different level now. Better squads, more experience, better quality’

Peter looked over at him ‘you think we’re that far off it?’

Marcin didn’t flinch ‘I think we’re stepping into a league where most teams are already established’ he said. He tapped the paper lightly ‘we’re not going to outspend or outmuscle many of them’ That sat there, realistic, grounded.

Scott then said ‘we don’t need to’. Both of them looked at him as Scott stepped closer to the table ‘we’re not coming into this trying to be one of the best teams in the league right away’ he said ‘we’re coming into it to compete in it, and there’s a difference’

Marcin held his gaze ‘yes there is, but competing doesn’t always mean surviving’

Scott gave a slight nod ‘I know that, but I think we’re better than people are giving us credit for’. That shifted the room slightly, not tension but something else. Belief.

Peter leaned forward then ‘you’re confident? Before we’ve got anyone else through the door?’ he asked.

Scott didn’t hesitate ‘yes, absolutely’

Simple.

Marcin watched him, and thought carefully before speaking ‘based on what, Scott?’ not challenging or disrespectful, just testing.

Scott answered without overthinking it ‘organisation, clarity, players knowing their roles, as well as this group that’s still to be improved’. He let that sink in then said ‘we’re not finished, in fact we’re just getting started’

Peter nodded slowly ‘that’s fair, as long as the players know that’

Marcin closed the laptop but didn’t dismiss it ‘I still think we’re in for a fight’

Scott nodded and smiled ‘so do I’

That was the key difference, they weren’t arguing the reality of the upcoming season, just how it ended.

Peter leaned back again and said ‘what’s the target?

Scott allowed himself a small breath ‘we need to stay up, that’s the objective’ he waited a moment before adding ‘but not by clinging on’

That drew a look from both of them.

‘We need to be better than two other other teams. Not lucky enough to finish above them. We go into every game believing we can get something. Every one of them’ 

Peter gave a slow nod ‘yeah, that’s probably the best way to approach it’ he cracked a slight smile ‘so no panic, then’

Scott shook his head ‘no, we never panic Pete, you know that’ and after a slight pause he said ‘but no comfort either’

That landed exactly where it needed to. Scott then moved toward the door ‘let them put us where they want’ he said with a glance back and then said ‘we’ll decide where we finish’

Marcin allowed himself the faintest smile, Peter just nodded as they both got up and followed Scott out towards the training pitch.

There was realism in all of their words and there was pressure, there always is. But there was something else too, something quieter but stronger.

They weren’t just hoping to stay up. They were going to have a real go at it.

== == == == ==