A Scotsman Abroad: The Careet of Mark Pearce

For some unkmnown reason, my previous saves aren't behaving as they should so I'm going back in time to Football Manager 2020 and ideally bring you a new career save: 

A Scotsman Abroad: The Career of Mark Pearce

As always, we won't start with an established club side: in fact we're starting very obscure indeed as you are going to find out.

So, let's get this show on the road.

Yours,

HockeyBhoy

PS: The name Mark Pearce was created using my own first name and my Mam's maiden name.

Football, the beautiful game.

It was the only thing that interested Mark Pearce.

As a young boy growing up in the streets of Whitburn, a small town 22 miles west of Edinburgh, all Mark wanted to do was to kick a ball about with his three brothers and school pals. The Pearce boys lived there with their parents John “Jock” Pearce, a postman, and their mother Anne who was a stay at home housewife by day and part-time office cleaner in the evenings. It was a happy childhood.

They grew supporting Celtic and Sunderland just like Dad, and his forefathers before him. Mark was the gifted one of the four, a technically gifted but tricky right winger with blistering pace and provider of assist after assist in his school team. His impressive displays caught the eye of scouts representing both Glasgow giants Celtic and Rangers as well as the two big Edinburgh sides: Hearts and Hibernian. Even sides south of the border were watching him closely too, Middlesbrough, Hull City and West Ham United were keen to prise the boy away from Scotland.

But Mark only wanted to sign for one of them, and pull on the famous green and white hoops - making his faither (as he called him) a very happy man indeed.

However, fate would deal a cruel hand one day in 1999. In a game for Celtic Boys against their Rangers counterparts, Mark was speeding down the wing with Celtic leading 3-0, and getting ready to whip in another dangerous for one of his centre forwards to run onto and ideally convert. Then he pulled up sharply and seconds later, collapsed onto the turf with nobody near him. There was a sound of a rifle going off, Mark screamed in absolute agony. His team mates looked on in distress, his Rangers opponent swiftly put the ball out of play: knowing this was a serious injury unfolding. With seconds a stretcher was on the pitch, and an ambulance radioed for us. “Jock” Pearce stood on the sidelines, powerless.

Mark was rushed to the Southern General Hospital, and prepped immediately for emergency surgery. Whilst the surgery to repair Mark's shredded Achilles Tendon was successful, there was unfortunately more damage which culminated in the surgeon telling Mark and his parents that his football career was as good as finished with. Mark blubbed his eyes out, what else could he do? He did his GCSE's, getting top grades in every subject whilst assessing his now re-mapped out future. It was then when Jock stepped up once more, getting Mark a job on deliveries with him as soon as his schooling had finished with whilst getting time to study for his A-Levels at West Lothian College.

Although his professional career was over, Mark played amateur football for Whitburn Junior and started to take his coaching badges to keep his footballing interest well and truly piqued. He started coaching kids and Sunday League sides, and it was being noticed by others. Then one phone call changed everything again, it came from his old school friend Simon Dell:

“Mark, grab yourself a suitcase with clothes ready. Got you on a flight to Copenhagen in the morning, someone I know will be meeting you there.”

“What for?” Mark enquired.

“A football related job. Time to leave Scotland and pounding those streets mate."

“Eh?”

“Just be on that 0830 flight tomorrow morning, that's all.”

Intrigued, Mark wondered what next.

The alarm clock went off at 05:00 hours.

Mark was used to waking early, normally at 04:30 to do his postal delivery duty so waking half an hour later represented a bit of a lie-in for him. He still had no idea why Simon had got him booked on a flight to Cppenhagen. It all appeared so mysterious, very cloak and dagger.

He approached the SAS check-in desk at Edinburgh Airport at 6:00am, showed his passport and checked in his luggage. Mark put his earphones on, the sounds of AC/DC flooding in for his listening pleasure. But Mark couldn't sit still for a minute, he was completely on edge and spent time pacing up and down to departure lounge much every other passenger's strange look. Another glance at the departure board, Mark's umpteenth in a short space of time, showed the flight was delayed by 15 minutes. Reason: problems with the fuelling.

Eventually, Mark and his fellow Copenhagen-bound passengers boarded the flight. Mark's seat was at the rear of the aircraft, at the window on the right hand side. He didn't talk to anyone on the flight, bar the air steward when presented with his in-flight meal. Two and a half hours later, the aircraft landed in Copenhagen and Mark couldn't wait to disembark. He hated flying, full stop even when he went on summer holidays with his mates. Collecting his suitcase from the carousel, Mark made his way through the airport complex whilst looking for any indication of what was happening.. Then he saw a man, smartly dressed with a grey suit, white shirt and a chauffeur's peaked cap.

“You are Mr Pearce?” came the inquisitive voice.

Mark nodded in the affirmative.

“I have come to collect you, We must drive away for the ferry, Elisabeth has arranged it.”

“Who's Elisabeth?” Mark asked.

“My boss, friend of Mr Simon. Come quick please, we cannot hesitate.”

“Whatever you say pal. I just want to know what's going on.”

“Nothing to worry over. Elisabeth will tell you when we arrive.”

“Right.”

Mark was still baffled. Who was Elisabeth, and what connection did she have with Simon Dell? Questions remained unanswered, still. 

A stranger in a strange land, that how it felt as Mark Pearce walked through the exit doors in Copenhagen Airport.

The driver was giving nothing away, ignoring any direct questions Mark had for him. All he was saying was: “Elisabeth will sort it.” every time. But who is Elisabeth and what connection did she have with Simon Dell?  The Red Volvo  sped its way through traffic, Mark still perplexed. Eventually two and a half hours, it drew to a halt at what looked like a ferry terminal, the driver got out and walked towards a uniformed guard in the gathering gloom with Mark locked in the vehicle: unable to get out. Mark witnessed the driver produce some papers to the guard who checked them and handed them back with a nod of the head.  It was then the driver approached the passenger rear door where Mark was sitting and beckoned him to lower the window. Mark complied.

“Mr Mark sir, all our paperwork is good but they need to see your passport?  You have this yes?” asked the driver.

“Yes it's here, why though?” Mark responded.

“So we can board ferry, just a security check like in airport.”

“Right.” Mark handed the passport to the driver who showed it to the guard. “All okay?”

“Yes excellent.” Mark's passport was returned. “We board ferry now for Tórshavn. You can sleep in cabin if you like, Elisabeth has paid for it.”

Tórshavn - it was a place name that Mark had vaguely heard of somewhere but the memory was hazy to say the least. With very little mobile signal, Mark couldn't search the internet for detail. It was certainly different to being in Whitburn. The car boarded the ferry, and once a parking spot had been acquired: driver opened the passenger the door and escorted Mark to a state cabin room.

“You rest here Mr Mark, I will call for you when we are near Tórshavn. There's fruit and some drinks for you if you feel hungry or I can get you some Skerpikjøt with some rye bread if you like.”

“What's Skerpikjøt  when it's about?” Mark enquired, a puzzled look across his face.

“Skerpikjøt is a traditional dish of ours, I think you call it sliced mutton. With rye board, you could call it a, er, sandwich.”

“Yeah whatever.”

At that point, the driver left the cabin and Mark flopped himself on the bed: eyes towards the ceiling. What had Simon done, and more so immediately: where was Tórshavn for that matter? The pieces of the puzzle weren't exactly locking into place at the moment. Mark just hoped they would do, and sooner rather than later. Simon Dell had some serious questions to answer.

Oh Bhoy! It's so easy to read this, great start, I am really curious to see what will come of this.

"Mine damer og herrer, vi ankommer snart til Tórshavn. Alle passagerer bedes venligst vende tilbage til deres køretøjer og gøre sig klar til at gå i land.  Tak."

Was the announcement that came about four or so hours later. Mark had no idea what it meant, so started to fall asleep once more but was awoken from his slumber by the sight of the driver bounding into the cabin. He appeared to be in a rush.

“Mr Mark sir, did you hear the announcement?” asked the driver.

“I heard something but it made no sense, like it was someone eating with a mouthful of that skerpikjøt you got me. Which was actually quite nice.” Mark responded, whilst rubbing the grit from his eyes.

“Glad you liked it Mr Mark, you will be eating lots of that here. Basically we have to go back to car, we're almost in Tórshavn.”

“Just answer me this please? Where the bloody hell in the world is Tórshavn?”

“You not heard of Tórshavn Mr Mark? It's the capital of the Faroe Islands, my home country. Oh sorry for not introducing myself, I'm Kai.”

“Kai. What am I doing in the blooming Faroe Islands?”

“Let's go Mr Mark, we meet Mr Simon here and then onto Elisabeth.”

“I'm on my way Kai, lead us forwards my man.”

The port of Torshavn, capital of the Faroe Islands - a Danish speaking municipality but with its own home rule since 1946. Kai admitted to Mark that English wasn't a language that was commonly spoken here as the locals spoke their own language as well as Danish. When quizzed how Kai learnt his English, Kai just laughed:

“By listening to great English band Iron Maiden.”

Mark laughed back, and after going through more security checks: the two men were met by a tall, ginger haired guy whose face Mark tried his hardest to place.

“You made it here bud, so good to see you again after all these years.”

It was Simon Dell. The man responsible for this adventure. Simon jumped into the Volvo, and explained that he was now working with the Faroese government these days in finance but had never lost touch with things back home. As Kai continued to drive, Simon stated he had been watching Mark's football coaching exploits from here in Torshavn and had a vision their paths would cross again someday. Football was clearly the common denominator here. But where did the mysterious Elisabeth come into the equation? Simon explained.

“I got to know Elisabeth through working here in local government.” Simon began. “And she's quite into her football actually. Like proper addicted to it.”

“And me?” Mark queried.

“Well she's like the chairperson of a third tier amateur side here. Who kinda need a new head coach…”

“Wait a bloody minute Simon! You're telling me you've flown me all the way out to the Faroe Islands to become a head coach of an amateur football side that are a lower standard than Buckie Thistle?”

“Er, yes.”

“So what's the craic wages like?”

“Head coaches here at this level don't earn wages mate. They do it voluntarily…”

“Naw. Nae having this - turn this bloody car around Kai. I don't care what Elisabeth ruddy thinks, I'm not managing any football club on zero wages.”

“But she's got great contracts in the fishing industry there, and…”

“I'm not going to be a damn fisherman, it's bad enough dodging dugs as a postie in Whitburn. Turn the car around Kai, please."

Kai continued to drive forwards.

“Look mate it's all arranged, you will have a desk job in the fishing port - sit on your erse all day and do paperwork. Then manage the footy club on a part time basis. You always said you wanted to get out of Whitburn and be a football manager somewhere. Well, this is your chance mate. Think aboot it.”

“Aye  I did say that.” Mark responded, a calmer demeanour now replacing the previous angry one. “But I cannae speak their lingo.”

“This is where Kai comes in again, see him as your translator type gadgie. I'll still be around for a couple of months or so, my work contract expires here soon before I'm away to Oslo where my wife and weans live."

“I'm no making a mistake am I?”

“Naw mate, you're going to make a name for yersel. This is just the start. Let's go to meet Elisabeth, she's gonna love you pal. Literally love you.”

“Whatever.”

So eventually Mark knew why he had been asked to swap Whitburn for the Faroe Islands. Football.

Whilst the [prospect of becoming a Head Coach of a football team was tempting, the fact that Simon Dell hadn't been up front and honest initially still rankled in Mark's subconscious mind. Now he was set to meet the mysterious Elisabeth. The car pulled up eventually outside a museum in the village of Miðvágur, Kai went through the front door and disappeared into what looked like a café inside. He re-appeared a few minutes later, his left arm signalling come forward like a policeman directing traffic.

Elisabeth Haraldsen was sat at a table festooned with two glasses and a bottle of water. She was a slim brunette, dressed smartly as if she was about to conduct a job interview. Her football interest was as genuine as Simon had described it, a former player (she was a goalkeeper, despite her lack of height) who was now calling the shots at her local side. Quite the journey. Of course Kai would act as translator between both parties. The discussion lasted a good hour or so, well it seemed longer due to the fact of the translation required.

Mark listened intently to Elisabeth's vision for her football club, she clearly didn't want much. The main objectives were simple:

The side was obviously one that needed a kick up the backside, Mark thought especially now he knew what was expected from him. The job would be on a month to month basis which meant either party could walk away if they so desired. But Mark was in his mind, thinking bigger. Elisabeth had also, as Simon had stated previously, secured Mark paid employment in the office at the fishing port where he would just do basic administration. He arose from his seat, and signalled to Kai that he wanted a few moments to himself. Mark walked back to the car where Simon was still sat there, playing a game on his mobile. He rapped the window, and Simon wound it down.

“Mate, she's not wanting much in terms of club demands is she?”

“Nope, that's the attraction there - if you can get them winning games then it's a bonus. I wouldn't have recommended you to her if I didn't think you could get a tune of that side. They're just not accustomed to success.” Simon responded.

“Well you know I'm used to that winning feeling.”

“I know. Gonna take it?”

“Now I have got an understanding of what's expected, I think this could be an interesting proposition.”

“Every manager has to start somewhere.”

“That they do, that they do”

Mark walked back to the café where Elisabeth was wondering what his decision. His smile provided the answer. Elisabeth had a new Head Coach for her football club, Mark had just agreed to take his first steps into the world of football management. He would meet everyone in earnest the following morning, and take in his first sight of the MB Arena. Mark saw his journey similar to that of Graham Potter, the Englishman who took a then fourth tier Swedish side in the shape of Östersunds FK from obscurity to the top flight and the Europa League. Wouldn't that be something to replicate, even surpass. Seeing them walk out of the cafe, smiling, made Simon Dell happy too - his work was done. Now at the end of a long day, it was time for Mark to get his head down and sleep.

The new adventure would begin at 08:45 hours Faroese time.

“Morning has broken, like the first morning. Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird…”

It was the first day of Mark Pearce's life in the Faroe Islands after agreeing to become the new Head Coach of third tier MB. He called home, and informed his family of what happened in the last twenty four hours. Jock and Anne couldn't have been proud of their boy. “This is your destiny.” Jock told him. “”Make those dreams happen son."

So Monday 14 January 2019, the newest chapter in Mark Pearce's life would begin in earnest.

Today would be a busy day, meeting the players and backroom staff at the MB Arena in the morning and in the afternoon: his first ever press conference as a football manager. Kai would be there of course, acting as translator which Mark welcomed because it would have been a struggle otherwise. After having breakfast, a bowl of Crunchy Nut Cornflakes, Mark waited for kai's arrival. Kai arrived ten minutes later, the sounds of Iron Maiden's Powerslave filling the Faroese air as he parked up.

“Kai, got a quick question before we set off mate.” Mark began. “At breakfast this morning, I was offered Weetabix, Frosties or Crunchy Nut Cornflakes - wasn't expecting it. Any reason why?”

“We like British things here Mr Mark. Such as those and especially Cadbury's Dairy Milk chocolate.” Kai responded.

“Really?”

“Really Mr Mark. You give a Faroese girl Cadbury's Dairy Milk, and she love you forever. I mean forever. It's how I wooed my wife…"

Mark just chuckled as the car sereenly made its way to the MB Arena. MB, Kai explained, stood for Miðvágs Bóltfelag: the first part from the village's name itself which it represented and Bóltfelag literally meant football. It was a small stadium, holding no more than 1000 spectators although the average attendance would be more like double figures than anything else. Definitely more akin to what Mark had seen in Scottish Junior Football than the surroundings and atmosphere of a Bernabeu or Camp Nou on a El Clasico fixture. But as Simon reminded him yesterday: “Every manager has to start somewhere.”- and this was where Mark was now.

Awaiting him, were the backroom staff. It numbered just two - assistant manager Pætur Djurhuus who was a local and Kristoffer Kvistgaard: a Danish national who was in charge of the youth development. With a combined age of less than 95 between all three, they represented a youthful outlook and one that Elisabeth prided herself on. What they could achieve was in front of them, a blank canvas and a chance to start anew. The squad itself had 18 first team members, headed by 26 year old winger Eli Thomsen as current club captain. With no transfer funds to call upon, Mark had to meld and manipulate something into them. It wouldn't be easy but it was an opportunity that Mark was now embracing.

The afternoon saw Mark hold his first presser. With Elisabeth sat to his right and Kai to his left, he sounded upbeat and passionate which drew a lot of praise - he was certainly not there for a quick holiday. He wanted to succeed and that meant getting results. Mark had five friendlies to get something put in place before the real thing started in March.

First friendly tomorrow against MB's second string. Question was, what formation to play? Something basic might not be the worst thing in the world.

Well consider me invested

Time to stop wasting time; time to get the game face on…and get down to business!

Mark Pearce had only just been presented as the new Head Coach of MB, and now he was getting ready for his first match. However before it took place, he grabbed a quick few words with Elisabeth:

“Elisabeth, can I have a few words in private before the first pre-season game please?” Mark asked.

“Sure, what's up?” Elisabeth responded, warmly.

“What's the funds like for bringing in new players and staff, please?”

“To be honest, it's zilch. Unfortunately we do not have any money as such so you'll have to wheel and deal as regards players. And if you can you get someone into the staff structure on no wages then…”

“Yeah OK, I get the gist. Thanks.”

So no transfer funds and anyone who wants to join the Club would have to be on a £0 contract. Coupled with the fact that the Faroese Third Division wasn't exactly a division that would attract players like a magnet then Elisabeth was right, Mark would have to “wheel and deal” to try and get the best he could. Now if he could get an unlikely promotion then maybe the whole dynamic would change. That was Mark's ideal plan although Elisabeth would probably think otherwise. If Graham Potter could do unlikely things in Sweden with an obscure side that nobody knew about then what price Mark replicating this in the Faroe Islands? Anything's possible, right? Dream a little dream….

Time to see what this newly inherited bunch are like, and since MB2 had no official manager then Kristoffer Kvistgaard would be in the opposing dugout. Could Mark's reign start with a morale boosting win?

With the entire squad split between both teams, each side could not field a full pre-season complement of substitutes: Mark had seven changes at his disposal whilst Kristoffer had six for the second string. Therefore it was important not to pick up any serious injuries once all the changes had been made. The match itself was played in an absolute downpour with 

In a game that had plenty of goalmouth action, Mark opted for a 4-2-3-1 formation with Kristoffer matching up the tactic. The opening goal went the way of the “visitors” when Elias Jakobsen  lashed in an unstoppable volley into the top corner from fully 25 yards with Jákup Thomsen given no chance. A minute later, Mark was celebrating an equaliser when Eli Thomsen planted a free header home from Tórur Petersen's well-flighted free kick. The second string regained the lead after 26 minutes when Martin Arge produced a great turn and finish into the far corner. A crazy first 45 saw a second “home” goal in the 38th minute when a deep right wing cross to the far post was collected by an unmarked Kári Joensen to finish on the half volley.

Two goals in the last 16 minutes gave MB “2” the winning spoils, both scored by substitute Átil Hansen. The striker, introduced in the 56th minute scored his first in the 74th minute when he latched onto a long ball to outstrip Kari Højgaard and steer his shot beyond substitute goalkeeper Jonas Petersen. The goalkeeper was at fault for the fourth goal two minutes later when he failed to collect a hopeful ball and Hanseni nipped in to steer home. Food for thought for Mark, with 18 days to go to the second of five pre-season matches. Had he bitten off more than he could chew already?

Ever get that feeling that you possibly have made a mistake?

Mark hoped that he might be able to recruit some fresh blood into the ranks in the 18 days gap between pre-season friendly one and pre-season friendly two. After all, that inter-club friendly was a real eye opener for him. This was a squad that needed something and if Mark wanted to avoid finishing rank bottom, not that Elisabeth seemed to care, then new faces had to arrive.

However, getting anyone in was a massive task in itself, especially with zero transfer funds. Surely there would some free agents wanting to be signed up?

Those 18 days seemed like an absolute age, it was like time had simply stood still. Working in the offices at the fishing port wasn't exactly wonderful as Mark was basically an office junior. All he did was filing away correspondence and do the mail run. Nothing glamorous, and a far cry from walking the streets of Whitburn delivering the mail and dodging dogs. Mark called home every night, speaking to his family was keeping him going. Why did I agree to this gig, Mark constantly asked himself?

It felt like Simon had sold him a dud, and contrary to what Simon had told him: his old school chum wasn't exactly responsive when Mark tried to call him or drop him a text. It was like Simon had gone off grid, and didn't have a vested interest anymore. “That's the last time I'm gonna trust that ginger idiot. He's stitched me up again like he used to at school. Total bawbag.”  Mark mumbled to himself. “Next job, I'll do everything myself. Stuff anyone else."

So the next game was another one at the MB Arena but against top flight side TB. MB were not expected to win, but Mark just hoped for one thing: the Club would give their all and leave it all out on the pitch. Commitment to the cause.

Like the first game, the game was again played in rain soaked conditions. Kai told Mark that this was typical for the time of the year and to expect nothing different until at least May. It was just like being at home.

As for the game, the first half ended goalless but TB had been reduced to ten men in the 22nd minute when central midfield from Rógvi Joensen was sent off for a late two-footed challenge on Bjarni Olsen. Mark sensed that with the man advantage, then perhaps an unexpected win could be in the offing. But good teams always find ways to win, and the second half became a nightmare for Mark and his MB side.

Experienced Swedish winger Ken Fagelberg gave the top division side the lead eight minutes into the second half with a smart turn and finish from just inside the penalty area that gave Jonas Petersen no chance. The roof though fell in on Mark and MB in the final quarter of an hour as the visitors made light of their numerical disadvantage with three goals to give them a convincing triumph. In the 75th minute Mads Raben latched on to a through ball to beat Jákup Thomsen at his near post. Raben bagged his second seven minutes later, again latching onto a long ball before giving Thomsen the eyes and slotting the ball home with an air of confidence. The fourth came a minute from time, Bartal Gram with a thunderous drive from the edge of the box that crashed in off the underside of the bar.

Food for thought for sure.

“Please tell me, what have I. What have I done to deserve this…”

Sang the Pet Shop Boys in their collaboration with Dusty Springfield in 1987, but at the moment it could easily have been Mark Pearce. Mark felt lost, it was clear that he would need some kind of assistance if he wanted to make an immediate impression on Elisabeth that he was the right man for MB and justify her faith in bringing in an unknown foreign Head Coach.

The side had conceded eight goals in those two pre-season outings, four each time. Mark knew that the squad he had inherited was a squad of amateurs who by Mark's own secret admission: would struggle to get a starting spot at Whitburn Juniors. With nobody in place to head the recruitment specifically, Elisabeth was doing that as well. The players even took their kit home with them after matches and training sessions too. This was proper basic football. Mark was learning to his intense Faroese language course when suddenly his mobile rang. He (Mark) didn't recognise the number so there was a definite air of trepidation as he answered the call:

“Hello, is that Mr Mark Pearce?" came the initial contact.

“Yes it is, and you are?” Mark responded cautiously.

“My name is Jóhan Bergsson Johansen Mr Pearce. I was just wondering sir, do you have any space for strikers at your team at present?”

“Let me have a think Jóhan, can I take a rain check and call you back in say: 15 minutes or so?”

“Of course sir.”

Mark immediately contacted Kristoffer, and was told immediately in no certain terms: SIGN HIM! The striker was 25, and had scored 7 goals in 21 games in the division above last season. He was a goalscorer and a long way, better than the all the strikers MB had at the moment. Jóhan ticked the boxes but would he accept a deal within MB's structure? Mark needn't have worried as Johan said yes without hesitation. He therefore became the first signing through the door, and how good did that feel. Jóhan would debut this Saturday in pre-season game three against another top flight side in AB.

Jóhan was presented the following afternoon, and met his new team-mates shortly. Elisabeth nodded her approval too. If Jóhan could score a goal every three games in the division above then he should really flourish for MB. That was Mark's thinking. Now for reinforcements from other areas of the pitch was next. Mark also managed to talk Elisabeth into looking for people for important staffing roles. Mark wanted a Director of Football, Coach, a dedicated manager for MB 2 and a Head Physio in. Elisabeth agreed it would be good for the Club profile and rubberstamped the recommendations: it just a case of getting the right people in now. The Club's finances had also pleased her, they actually some cash in the bank.

Slowly but surely, Mark was trying to transform these perennial underachievers. Just get the results on the board when the real thing starts in seven weeks time.

The team again played 4-3-2-1 with the new boy given an immediate chance to show his new supporters what he is going to offer Mark and MB. Mark also decided that the substitutes would be players who could fulfil a specific role, and he would change the entire starting eleven on the hour - providing no injuries. Everything looks good on a bit of paper right?

In front of more people, which meant even more funds into the Club, Mark and MB avoided defeat for the first time in pre-season. It was a game that had goals and gave Mark every reason to feel happy. However, he rued his decision to make wholesale changes on the hour which he felt in the grand scheme of things, unbalanced the momentum which MB held.

MB took the lead in the ninth minute when Bjarni Petersen lashed home a 30 yarder that gave the AB goalkeeper no chance whatsoever. It even had both benches applauding, it was an absolute worldie of a strike. In the 25th minute, MB were awarded a penalty when Jóhannus Hansen was adjudged to have fouled the goalscorer as they challenged at a free kick; Eli Thomsen assumed responsibility but saw his 12 yard effort brilliantly saved by Bjarti Vitali Mørk. However, Mørk was again well beaten from distance as MB doubled their lead in the 33rd minute when the newcomer whizzed one home from the edge of the area. No a bad way to introduce yourself to your new club Jóhan Bergsson Johansen!

AB's response was immediate, they were being schooled by a third tier side who had a rookie Head Coach in the dugout. Striker Allan Joensen was particularly getting frustrated as he had two “goals” rubbed out in as many minutes after the second MB goal. On both occasions, Joensen was adjudged offside. The mood at half time was jubilant from a MB perspective but the Miðvágur air was literally being turned blue as Mark's opposing number was quite simply doing a Neil Warnock at his underperforming charges, Whatever he said, AB really started to step it up and MB were suddenly chasing literal shadows. The changes made by Mark did nothing to stem the incessant tide as the white shirted visitors mounted attack after attack.

Could MB hold out for a famous and unexpected win, even if it was in pre-season? AB halved the deficit in the 66th minute, Brazilian teenager Klayver Schimith with a sweet volley that just flew into the net with Jákup Thomsen a virtual spectator as it flew past him. Eight minutes later it became 2-2 when veteran Nigerian striker Adeshina Lawal reacted first to poke the ball past Thomsen with MB looking in vain for an offside that simply was never going to turn up. Still there was time for a third AB disallowed goal, substitute right-back Hedin Dam being signalled as offside this time. So an entertaining game ended in a draw, and Mark felt pleased: very pleased in fact.

Now if he could add more new names to the squad that would just great indeed. MB might just become the surprise packet, and for Mark: that would be very satisfactory indeed. It would cause a few eyebrows to be raised, and everyone loves an underdog. Well, don't they?