The final seven minutes felt like a cup final and not an opening day fixture, certainly not a league match in August.

A cup final.

Every challenge was cheered, every clearance celebrated and every attack greeted by a roar from one end of the stadium and a groan from the other.

At 4-4, both teams sensed an opportunity. But both teams also knew a mistake would be fatal. 

The first big chance fell to Sarajevo. Eightyeight minutes on the clock, Mujić, who had tormented Velež all afternoon, found space once more between midfield and defence. The home crowd rose in anticipation. He slipped a clever pass through the channel and Sarajevo were in one on one.

For a second Scott's heart sank, then the Velež goalkeeper, Abdihodžić,  produced his best save of the afternoon. Strong hand to put it out for a corner.

The home supporters couldn't believe it.

Neither could Peter ‘that was huge!’

Scott nodded. They had a corner to defend. The resulting set piece caused panic, bodies everywhere, keeper flapping, and the ball bounced loose twice. A desperate block then another, and eventually it was Krecak that just hacked it clear.

The midfielder immediately received a round of applause from the travelling supporters, a goal and a goal saving clearance on his debut.

Not a bad introduction.

Then came Velež's chance and it nearly won them the match. Ninetieth minute, Kone again down the right, who else?

The winger received possession near halfway and immediately drove forward, by now the Sarajevo left back looked like he'd spent ninety minutes being chased by wolves. Kone skipped past him once more, easily, then delivered a low cross.

Perfectly weighted, Adnan arrived, six yards out, the away supporters were already celebrating.

The striker connected cleanly first time, the ball all but goal bound, then somehow Sarajevo's goalkeeper got a hand to it, an unbelievable reaction save.

The ball flew over the crossbar. Adnan dropped to his knees, not in frustration but in disbelief.

Peter simply stared at the pitch ‘how the……’

Scott laughed. The sort of laugh managers produce when football stops making sense ‘I've got no idea’

As four minutes of stoppage time were shown Adnan shook Sarajevo’s keepers hand, out of respect for the save. Then the stadium responded with a collective roar as they realised there were four more minutes. Both sets of supporters convinced their team could still win.

And both nearly did.

Velež struck the crossbar from the corner they’d just won.

Sarajevo saw a dangerous cross flash across the six yard box without anyone getting a touch.

As the final whistle went, a moment went by where nobody moved.

Players from both sides stood bent over, exhausted, drained, wondering how on earth they had just participated in that.

The scoreboard above the stadium read:

FK Sarajevo 4-4 Velež Mostar

Opening day. Eight goals. The Velež comebacks. A debut goal from Krecak. A brace from Maid Adnan, and a point that somehow felt both deserved and miraculous.

Scott walked onto the pitch as players shook hands, Peter joined him moments later.

Neither spoke immediately, they simply watched.

Eventually Peter broke the silence ‘well’

Scott smiled ‘there it is again’

‘What?’

‘The most useful word in football’

Peter laughed ‘well’

Scott nodded ‘exactly’

For all the flaws in the game, for all the defending that would need reviewing, for all the moments they'd want back, there was one thing neither man could ignore.

At 4-2 down away against one of the strongest teams in the division, Velež had refused to quit.

That mattered. Perhaps more than the point itself.

Peter glanced toward the away supporters still singing long after full time ‘you know they'll love us after that’

Scott looked at the scoreboard one final time.

4-4.

An absolutely  ridiculous result. A chaotic result. A thoroughly entertaining result. And maybe, just maybe, a sign that this Velež side possessed something valuable.

Character.

The season was only ninety minutes old. But it had already announced itself in spectacular fashion.

== == == == ==

The celebrations for Krecak's goal had barely finished when the game produced another twist. By now, nobody inside the stadium should have been surprised.

This match had abandoned normality somewhere around the second equaliser. Every time one team seemed in control, the other hit back. Every time momentum appeared settled, it shifted again.

And now Sarajevo were beginning to wobble, for the first time in this second half.

The restart hadn't even fully settled when Velež won possession again. A loose touch form Sarajevo, then a rushed pass and suddenly they looked nervous.

The home crowd sensed it too. The noise that had been carrying the home side moments earlier now felt anxious.

Concerned.

The ball found Koné out wide and immediately the winger attacked. By now Sarajevo's left back wanted absolutely no part of it, for nearly eighty minutes Koné  had been running at him, testing him and forcing him backwards.

Now the defender looked exhausted. Koné knocked the ball forward and accelerated. The full back turned, a second too late, and Koné was gone.

Peter rose from the bench and screamed ‘go on!’ before the winger even reached the penalty area.

Koné surged forward, then suddenly cut inside onto his weaker left foot, exactly what the defender wanted him to do. Exactly what Koné probably should not have done.

Scott could see it unfolding, the angle was poor, the shooting lane over crowded.

The technique......well, the technique wasn't great. Koné swung his left foot through the ball and the strike was awful.

Dragged it, scuffed with the studs and going nowhere particularly dangerous.

Then the footballing gods intervened. The ball smashed into center half Sipović, the Sarajevo defender had barely enough time to react.

One second he was trying to block the shot, the next he was watching it ricochet off him, wrong footing his goalkeeper completely. The ball looped awkwardly toward goal as the keeper scrambled to his left. Too late. Net. 4-4. 

For a second there was stunned silence from the home fans, not celebration, not anger, just confusion. Nobody quite believing what they'd witnessed.

Then the away end erupted. Absolute chaos.

Koné stood frozen, looking almost embarrassed. His teammates didn't care, within seconds they were all over him and the scoreboard changed again.

FK Sarajevo 4-4 Velež Mostar.

Eighty three minutes, seven minutes remaining. On the touchline Peter doubled over laughing.

Scott shook his head ‘that wasn't a shot’

‘No’

‘It wasn't a cross either’

‘No’

Peter pointed toward Koné ‘I genuinely don't know what that was’

Scott couldn't help smiling ‘an assist from Spiović?’

That only made Peter laugh harder.

Meanwhile the Sarajevo bench looked shell shocked. Just three minutes earlier they had been leading 4-2 against a promoted side, the game as good as won.

Comfortable. Professional. In control.

Now the entire stadium was nervous. The home supporters had gone from celebration to disbelief. Players were arguing with one another and hands were being thrown into the air.

Confidence was draining away.

Scott looked at the clock. Seven minutes plus stoppage time.

Enough time for either side to win it, enough time for somebody to become a hero or a villain.

Peter finally straightened up ‘you realise this is the most ridiculous opening game imaginable’

Scott nodded ‘it is that Pete’

Peter looked toward the pitch ‘wanna to settle for 4 each?’

Scott watched his players gathering around the centre circle. Players who had come back from behind enough times in this game, players who now believed they could score every time they attacked. Then he smiled.

‘Not a chance’

And judging by the look on Velež's faces, neither did they.

== == == == ==

The wait felt endless, for Velež, for Sarajevo, for everyone inside the stadium.  Eventually the protests died away, the referee wasn't changing his decision.

The ball was placed on the spot, and Salihović stepped forward.

Not Mujić who won the penalty. The midfielder who had won the penalty stood nearby, hands on hips, leaving the responsibility to his teammate.

Scott watched from the edge of the technical area.

No shouting, no movement, just watching.

Salihović began his run, three quick steps then the strike, low, hard and into the corner.

Abdihodžić in goal guessed incorrectly. 4-2. 

Sixty five minutes gone, and the noise inside the stadium became deafening, and for the first time all afternoon, Velež looked wounded.

Not beaten, but wounded. The two goal deficit mattered, Scott could see it.

Passes that had been crisp earlier were suddenly a little rushed from the restart, players trying slightly harder than they needed to and Sarajevo sensed it immediately.

Good teams always do. The next ten minutes were probably their best spell of the entire match.

Mujić, full of confidence now, seemed to be everywhere, winning tackles, driving forward and finding pockets of space.

The home crowd responded to every touch, every successful pass, every challenge won.

Scott remained standing, arms folded, watching, waiting for another response.

Peter moved beside him ‘we need the next goal to have any chance’

Scott nodded. Obvious, but true.

At 4-2, the game was drifting away. But at 4-3, everything would change.

To Velež's credit, they never stopped trying. Adnan continued making runs in behind his marker, Ramić kept battling with defenders and trying to find his strike partner. Koné was still carrying a threat down the right but just not finding the final ball.

The problem was Sarajevo suddenly looked comfortable. Experienced, professional, they knew exactly how to manage a lead.

Every throw in took just that little longer, every foul slowed the game, every clearance was followed by a moment to breathe. The sort of things good sides do when protecting an advantage. Game management the football hipsters would call it.

Peter glanced at the clock. Seventy four minutes. ’We've still got time’

Scott nodded. True, but not much. If they were going to get back into the game, it would need to be soon

Then came the substitution, one of the new arrivals, one of the summer signings, the player Peter had jokingly blamed for Ješić's goal in the first half.

Krecak.

The midfielder jogged onto the pitch with instructions still ringing in his ears. Keep possession, support attacks, arrive late. Simple.

The kind of role Scott believed suited him perfectly.

Six short minutes later, it paid off.

Velež worked possession patiently down the left, not forcing anything, not panicking. The ball was recycled through midfield. One pass from Krecak, then another from Kobilica, eventually it found Adnan just outside the area.

The striker couldn't turn either side, both defenders had his options covered, instead he laid it backwards, into the space that was there, wide open, and arriving onto it was Krecak.

The midfielder didn't hesitate. First time, striking it clean. The shot flew through bodies, past defenders and then past the goalkeeper who saw it late and into the bottom corner.

Perfect. 4-3. Game on.

For a split second there was silence then the away end exploded. Krecak sprinted away in disbelief, arms stretched wide. A debut goal, and what a goal it was in his first competitive appearance for the club.

And suddenly the entire complexion of the match changed.

Peter grabbed Scott's shoulder ‘there we go Scotty’

Scott couldn't stop himself smiling ‘you've been waiting all afternoon to say that’

‘I absolutely have’

Krecak was buried beneath a pile of teammates near the corner flag. The young midfielder eventually emerged grinning from ear to ear waving to the fans.

One goal didn't erase the earlier discussion about Ješić. One goal didn't guarantee anything.

But football had a funny habit of making arguments look very different eighty minutes into a match.

The scoreboard now read:

FK Sarajevo 4-3 Velež Mostar.

Ten minutes remained. And for the third time in this game, Velež had dragged themselves back into the fight.

== == == == ==

The problem with good teams is that they don't stay rattled for long, that's why they win matches, that's why they challenge for trophies. And that's why FK Sarajevo were considered one of the favourites for the league title before a ball had even been kicked this season.

For a few minutes after Adnan's equaliser, Velež looked the more dangerous side. The momentum had shifted, the crowd had quietened, Sarajevo suddenly looked vulnerable.

Then one moment changed everything. Again.

It started with a loose ball in midfield, nothing especially threatening, Sarajevo recycled possession, moved it sideways then backwards. Velež dropped into shape, no immediate danger or so it seemed.

The ball found Mujić around thirty five yards from goal. Nobody closed him down immediately, not because the defending was poor, because nobody expected what came next. Mujić took one touch, looked up, then unleashed a strike from distance.

The moment it left his foot, Scott knew there was trouble. The ball flew through the air with pace and dip. The goalkeeper stretched, full length, fingertips nowhere near it.

The shot crashed into the corner of the net.

3-2.

The home fans erupted for a third time, this one louder than the previous two, because there wasn't much defending you could do against that.

Sometimes footballers just produced moments, and Mujić had produced one.

Peter shook his head ‘that's ridiculous’

Scott couldn't disagree ‘not much stopping that’

The replay on the stadium screen only reinforced the point. Thirty yards out, maybe more, perfect technique, perfect placement, goal.

The Velež players slowly walked back toward the centre circle, hands on hips trying to gather themselves once again.

Three times behind, three separate punches to absorb.

Scott was already preparing himself for another response, maybe another push forward, maybe another chance for Adnan.

Maybe...

The referee blew his whistle.

Play restarted.

And within seconds, everything got worse. Much worse.

The scorer was involved immediately. Mujić collected possession in midfield and surged forward, playing a give a go and suddenly Velež looked stretched.

The Sarajevo midfielder drove into space, past one challenge, then another.

Peter was already shouting ‘stop him!’

Scott echoed it ‘get tight! Quicker!’

But Mujić kept going. Straight through the middle of the pitch, the crowd rising with every stride. Then Bosnjak stepped across, a desperate attempt to halt the attack, a late challenge, a split second decision.

The contact was obvious. Mujić tumbled and the whistle came instantly.

For a moment, everyone expected a free kick the foul had happened so quickly and s0 centrally.

Then the referee pointed, straight to the spot.

Penalty.

The stadium exploded once more, this time in anticipation. Sarajevo players celebrating, Velež players surrounded the referee protesting.

Bosnjak stood frozen, hands on his head unable to believe it.

Scott looked toward Peter ‘inside??

Peter grimaced ‘just. Won’t be much in it’

The replay wasn't kind, the foul began outside but Bosnjak's trailing leg caught Mujić as he entered the area. The referee wasn't changing his mind. The penalty stood.

And suddenly, after battling back twice against one of Bosnia's strongest sides, Velež found themselves staring at the possibility of falling two goals behind.

Scott folded his arms. Around him, the Sarajevo supporters were already celebrating.

The ball sat on the penalty spot.

Salhiovjić stood near to the penalty spot, and the opening day was threatening to slip away in a matter of seconds.

== == == == ==

The reaction this time was even better. There was frustration after the goal, of course there was, players exchanged words and a few arms were thrown into the air. The travelling supporters behind the goal fell silent. But unlike earlier in the match, there was no period of uncertainty.

No wobble. No panic. Velež simply got back to work, and Scott noticed it immediately.

‘They've grown up’ Peter said quietly.

Scott nodded.

A year ago, conceding twice away at Sarajevo might have broken this team.

Now?

They looked annoyed rather than defeated. The next ten minutes belonged almost entirely to Velež. The midfield started winning second balls, Koné continued causing problems down the flank, Ramić occupied both Sarajevo centre backs almost by himself.

The home crowd, so loud after Dervišević's goal, began to quieten once more. Every pass Velež completed seemed to drain a little more energy from the stadium.

Then came the equaliser, and once again, it came from the same man.

Maid Adnan.

The move started deep, patient, measured, exactly the sort of football Scott had spent months trying to install. The ball moved through midfield, one touch, two touches and always forward and with purpose

Sarajevo's shape began to stretch, a passing lane opened, then another and suddenly Velež were moving through the centre of the pitch.

Ramić dropped deeper to receive possession and immediately linked the play, Kobilica from midfield surged beyond him, a quick exchange followed, Kobilica continuing his run outside, then Ramić played it inside to Adnan just inside the penalty area.

It wasn't a perfect opportunity. Not yet.

A defender was already closing him down aggressively, the angle wasn't ideal, the away fans sensed the danger and began roaring their team forward.

Adnan didn't hesitate, one touch, steady, another step then he opened his body and placed the finish beautifully beyond the goalkeeper.

Low. Precise. Unreachable.

2-2.

For a second there was silence, that strange silence that exists between a goal being scored and a crowd fully processing it.

Then the away end erupted, players sprinted toward Adnan, the striker punched the air once before being engulfed by teammates. Ramić arrived first again, Koné wasn't far behind then the entire Velež bench was on its feet.

Peter let out a laugh ‘well well’

Eighteen goals last season, two already on opening day, away against one of the biggest clubs in the country. Not a bad way to start a campaign.

As play prepared to restart, Sarajevo suddenly looked rattled.

Not panicked. But rattled.

Twice they had gone in front and twice newly promoted and favourites to go back down Velež had come back.

The home crowd could sense it too, the atmosphere had changed. The expectation that Sarajevo would eventually pull away was beginning to disappear.

Scott folded his arms and looked across the pitch, Adnan was jogging back into position, his expression calm, business like, as though scoring twice away at Sarajevo was simply part of his afternoon.

Peter shook his head ‘you know…..’

Scott glanced over ‘go on’

‘If he keeps this up, we're going to spend all of January trying to stop somebody buying him’

Scott smiled ‘that's January's problem’

For now, there was a far more immediate concern. The score was 2-2, the momentum was shifting, and for the first time all afternoon, FK Sarajevo looked like the side with something to lose.

== == == == ==

The optimism lasted less than a minute, football could be cruel like that. One good team talk. One positive mood. One belief filled walk back onto the pitch. Then a single mistake.

Velež kicked off the second half, the plan was simple enough, start quickly, keep Sarajevo pinned back and build on the momentum from the final twenty minutes of the first half.

Instead, within seconds, they found themselves defending. A loose pass in midfield was recovered by Sarajevo, who immediately drove down their left flank.

Danilovic tracked the runner, the winger knocked the ball past him and then the full back lunged.

Contact, whistle right away, free kick out on Sarajevo’s right. A dangerous position, but not close enough to shoot, meaning it was perfect for a delivery.

Scott immediately started pointing and yelled ‘get organised’

Players turned, the centre halves shouted, midfielders scrambled back toward the box, but before Velež could properly reset themselves, Sarajevo were already taking it.

‘Watch it!’ Peter shouted to no one in particular, but it was too late.

The ball was whipped into the penalty area, fast, flat and viscous. Exactly the kind of delivery defenders hated. Several Velež players reacted half a second late, one tracked the near post run, another followed the striker, but nobody picked up Dervišević.

The Sarajevo defender had drifted unnoticed into the space between them.

Unmarked, completely unmarked.

The cross arrived and Dervišević met it six yards from goal.

Header. Goal. 2-1.

The stadium exploded. Again.

This time the celebration felt even louder than the first, because Sarajevo had struck immediately, because they had punished Velež before they could settle and because they knew exactly how important those moments could be.

Scott closed his eyes for a second. Just one second, then reopened them already analysing, already moving on.

Beside him, Peter let out a frustrated sigh ‘oh, that's poor’

Scott nodded ‘very’. No anger, no shouting, the goal was too obvious for that. Everybody knew, the players knew, the staff knew and the supporters knew. You simply can't leave a player alone in that area, not at any level, and certainly not against  a team like Sarajevo.

On the pitch, Danilović stood with his hands on his hips, the defender looked devastated, knowing he’d been chosen over the younger Dijakovic. The foul, the quick restart and the goal, all of it connected in his mind.

Peter noticed immediately ‘get hold of him’

Scott nodded, the last thing they needed now was their left back disappearing mentally from the match. Scott stepped to the edge of the technical area and shouted ‘forget it’ then pointed forward and said ‘next action, recover!’

The defender nodded. Scott repeated it ‘next action, recover’. Because mistakes happened, even to experienced players, the important part wasn't the mistake, it was what came after. 

Sarajevo's supporters were still celebrating as the scoreboard updated.

FK Sarajevo 2-1 Velež Mostar.

After forty five minutes of encouragement and belief at half time, Velež were behind again.

And now Scott would learn something important about his team.

The first response after going behind had been excellent. But could they do it twice?

== == == == ==

The rest of the first half swung back and forth, but for the first time in the game it was Velež asking the questions. The equaliser had changed something.

Confidence. Belief. Maybe even surprise, because once Sarajevo discovered Velež weren't going to roll over, the game became far more even.

A few minutes after the goal, Maid Adnan nearly struck again. A loose clearance fell kindly to Ramić twenty yards from goal. The striker reacted first, one touch, looked to shoot but instead played it into the box to Adnan who hit it first time.

Cleanly struck. The home supporters behind the goal were already groaning, then Sarajevo's goalkeeper threw himself low to his right and somehow pushed it around the post.

Scott applauded. Not the miss, the intent ‘good’ he shouted. ‘Again’

The Velež bench was alive now, players on their feet, staff constantly communicating, the nervousness of the opening fifteen minutes completely gone.

Then came another chance, and perhaps the best one of the half. A quick transition through midfield, Kobilica dictating play, then finding Koné, who was again involved. A lofted pass threaded into the channel.

This time it found Ramić, the striker, not one for pace, burst through past his marker, one on one with the onrushing keeper, exactly the situation every forward dreams about.

The away fans rose, Scott took half a step forward. Ramić struck it early but the goalkeeper spread himself brilliantly. Saved with his fingertips, the rebound bounced clear. Sarajevo had survived another scare.

Peter slapped his hands together in frustration ‘ah that's a good chance’

Scott nodded ‘he did everything right’

Sometimes the goalkeeper just wins. Football wasn't always more complicated than that.

The whistle eventually arrived with the scoreboard showing 1-1. A score that felt unlikely after the opening fifteen minutes. Sarajevo had started the stronger side, created more pressure, scored the first goal.

Yet as the players headed toward the tunnel, there was only one team looking disappointed not to be leading.

== == == == ==

Inside the dressing room, the mood was calm. Not celebrating, not satisfied, but calm. Players drank water and rehydration drinks, some sat quietly catching their breath, others discussed moments from the half amongst themselves.

Scott waited until everyone had settled. Then stood ‘good response there’

Simple. Direct. Immediately several heads nodded, they knew exactly what he meant ‘you were second best for fifteen minutes or so’. Nobody argued. ‘You couldn't get near them’ Still nobody argued. Scott pointed toward the door leading back to the pitch ‘then you fixed it’

A few players exchanged glances. He wasn't wrong. ‘The reaction was excellent’. Scott looked around the room ‘most teams this season will come here, concede early, and spend the next hour feeling sorry for themselves’

A brief pause.

‘You didn't’

That earned a few smiles. Then Peter stepped forward. The assistant coach looked around the room ‘you know what impressed me most?’. Nobody answered. ‘You stopped panicking’

He pointed toward the midfielders ‘the first ten minutes everybody wanted to solve every problem with one pass’. A few players laughed because it was true. ‘Then you started trusting each other again’ There was that word again, trust.

Peter nodded toward Koné  ‘you started using the width’. Toward Ramić ‘you started holding the ball up’. Then toward Adnan ‘and you started getting him into goalscoring positions’. The striker grinned. Peter smiled back ‘which is usually a sensible plan’

That got a laugh from the room.

Scott stepped back in ‘the game is there for us’. Now every player was listening carefully ‘Sarajevo had their spell’. He pointed toward the pitch ‘so did we’. 

A pause.

‘The difference is they scored during theirs’

The room fell quiet again. ‘We keep playing like we did after the goal and there'll be more chances’. Scott looked directly at Adnan and Ramić ‘you two have already shown that’. Both nodded, because they knew. On another day one of those chances was already in the net. Scott folded his arms ‘no fear’. He looked around the room one last time ‘we've already proved we belong here’.

A few players sat up straighter. ‘Now go and prove it for another forty five minutes’

The room erupted into applause and shouts. Boots slammed against the floor. Players rose. The opening half of the new season was over.

And instead of hanging on against one of Bosnia's biggest clubs, Velež walked back toward the tunnel believing they could win.

== == == == ==

The discussion about Vukašin Ješić barely had time to settle before Velež responded.

And that, more than anything, pleased Scott. Not the goal itself, but the reaction, because weaker teams often spent ten minutes feeling sorry for themselves after conceding.

This team didn't.

From the restart Velež suddenly looked sharper. More aggressive, more willing to play, the midfield began finding pockets of space and the full backs pushed higher, and for the first time all afternoon, Sarajevo were forced backwards.

‘That's better’ Peter muttered beside him.

Scott nodded ‘much’

The equaliser arrived on twenty one minutes. A move that had been worked on repeatedly throughout preseason.

Simple. Quick. Direct. The ball found Ibrahima Koné on the right hand side, and immediately he drove forward. One defender backed off, then another and the winger kept coming. The noise inside the stadium dipped slightly as Sarajevo's defensive shape began to retreat.

Koné  waited, just a moment, then released the pass at exactly the right moment into the feet of former Sarajevo man Ramić. Back to goal. Centre half tight behind him, and the striker did exactly what Scott wanted from him.

Didn't force a turn, didn’t force the defender to do any more than he already was, and didn't try something clever. One touch. Held the ball. Quick glance to his right and then laying it off. Perfectly weighted.

And arriving onto it was one of last season's heroes.

Maid Adnan. Eighteen league goals the previous year, the man who had dragged Velež through difficult spells time and time again.

He didn't panic, because hidn't need to. One touch to set himself, the second touch to stroke it  into the corner.

Goal. 1-1.

The away end exploded. Adnan sprinted away toward the travelling supporters in the far corner, arms spread wide. Behind him, teammates piled in.

Koné arrived first. Then Ramić. Then half the team.

Scott allowed himself a smile. A proper one, not because they'd scored, but because it was exactly the kind of goal they'd been trying to create all summer. The right players in the right positions, trusting each other, doing the simple things well.

Beside him, Peter said ‘well’

Scott glanced over ‘go on’

'At least Krecak didn't concede that one’

Scott shook his head ‘there it is’

‘I was trying to be positive’

‘You were not!’

Peter grinned ‘nah, I wasn't’

They watched Adnan jog back toward the halfway line, not celebrating wildly anymore, just focused.

Ready to go again. The mark of a striker who expected to score, not hoped to.

Peter folded his arms ‘eighteen last season for the young man’

Scott nodded ‘if he gets anywhere near that again we'll be alright’

Peter watched the striker take up his position ‘he looks hungry’

‘He always does’

For the first time all afternoon, the nervous energy around the Velež bench had disappeared.

The game had settled. The crowd had quietened. And suddenly, after being second best for much of the opening twenty minutes, Velež looked like they belonged here.

At 1-1, the match was beginning again.

== == == == ==

The opening fifteen minutes had been uncomfortable viewing. Not disastrous, not chaotic, just uncomfortable. The kind of start that made managers shift in their seats and assistants stop making jokes.

FK Sarajevo had begun exactly as expected. Fast, aggressive on and off the ball, confident. Their passing carried an extra sharpness, driven by a crowd sensing an opportunity to start the season with a statement.

Velež, meanwhile, looked half a second behind everything. Second to loose balls, second into tackles, second to every decision.

Scott stood near the edge of his technical area, arms folded. Watching, calculating, waiting for his side to settle.

Then, in the sixteenth minute, Sarajevo found the breakthrough.

It started harmlessly enough in midfield. A quick exchange between winger and central midfield, a one touch pass inside, then another and another forward. Suddenly three maroon shirts were moving through the centre of the pitch while Velež retreated.

Nobody got close enough, nobody slowed the move down.

The ball was worked into the edge of the penalty area where Vukašin Ješić arrived perfectly.

One touch to steady his pace, a second touch to open his body up, then the controlled shot inside the area.

The ball flew low beyond the goalkeeper and nestled into the bottom corner.

1-0.

The stadium erupted. Scott didn't move, didn't swear, didn't kick a water bottle. Just watched Ješić wheel away toward the home supporters.

Behind him, Peter Basista let out a slow breath ‘well’

Scott nodded once ‘yeah’

For a moment they simply listened to the noise. Thirteen thousand home supporters celebrating, Velež players jogging back toward the halfway line, the familiar feeling of an away match becoming significantly more difficult.

Then Peter spoke again, quietly ‘so….’

Scott already knew where this was heading ‘don't’

Peter smirked ‘we did talk about him though’

Scott looked over ‘we talked about a lot of players’

‘We specifically talked about him, multiple times’

Scott sighed. That was true. During the summer scouting meetings, Ješić's name had appeared more than once. Young, technical, good movement between the lines and if the rumors were to be believed, available on loan from todays opponents. Exactly the type of midfielder Velež had been considering before eventually deciding their budget was better spent elsewhere. Instead, they'd chosen Krecak, who’d done a lot less in this game by being named on the bench, than Ješić, still a player Scott still believed would become important. 

But football had an annoying habit of presenting alternative timelines directly in front of your face. Usually at the worst possible moment.

Peter wasn't finished ‘you know he's definitely going to score again now that I've mentioned it’

Scott laughed despite himself ‘thanks’

‘Just saying’

‘You think Krecak was the wrong decision?’

Peter shook his head immediately ‘no’. The answer came too quickly to be dishonest ‘I think Krecak fits what we're trying to build’

Scott nodded ‘so do I’

Peter looked back toward the pitch where Sarajevo were enjoying their best spell of the afternoon ‘but……’

Scott rolled his eyes ‘there's always a but’

Peter grinned ‘there is when the guy you were looking at scores against you sixteen minutes into the season’

That earned a reluctant smile, because there was some truth to it. Managers and scouts could spend months debating players, comparing reports, reviewing videos and arguing over statistics. Then football would reduce the entire conversation to one simple moment.

One player scores, the other doesn't, at least temporarily.

Scott looked back at the pitch. The match wasn't even twenty minutes old, there was plenty of football left ‘let's see what happens’

Peter nodded ‘yeah’

As the game was getting ready to be restarted, Scott stepped closer to the touchline.

The post goal analysis would have to wait, right now, Velež had a match to rescue.

== == == == ==

The coach carrying the players from Mostar rolled through the streets of Sarajevo beneath a grey August sky. Nobody on board was talking much, some listened to music, some stared out of the window, a few younger players kept checking their phones despite being told repeatedly not to.

Opening day.

No matter how many matches a footballer played, opening day always felt different. New season, new expectations, new fears and new hopes.

At the front of the coach, Scott sat beside Peter Basista, studying a scouting report he'd already read three times.

Peter glanced at him ‘you know reading it again won't make Sarajevo any slower’

Scott folded the report shut ‘worth a try’

‘They've still got good players’

‘I know’

‘They've still got more money than us’

‘I know’

‘They're still one of, if not the biggest clubs in the country’

Scott looked at him ‘I know all that Pete’

Peter grinned ‘good. Just checking’

== == == == ==

An hour before kick off the Velež dressing room buzzed with nervous energy. Players moved around tying boots and adjusting tape, the music wasn't particularly loud, nobody wanted it loud.

Not today.

Scott stood in the centre of the room and waited. Eventually the conversations died away, every pair of eyes turned towards him and he looked around slowly.

Several new faces. Several players about to make their league debuts for the club, others entering their first full season under him, a very different dressing room to the one he'd inherited just over a year ago.

But still his dressing room.

‘Right’ he started

Silence.

‘You all know what everyone expects this season’

A few players nodded. Scott continued ‘they expect us to finish near the bottom’

More nods.

‘They expect us to struggle’

True.

‘They expect us to spend the entire season looking over our shoulders’

Nobody disagreed, because that was exactly what most people were predicting.

Scott folded his arms ‘and maybe they're right’

That caused a few surprised looks. Even Peter raised an eyebrow.

Scott smiled slightly ‘maybe we do spend the season fighting’. He pointed around the room ‘but if we're fighting, they're fighting too’

The players listened carefully now. ‘Nobody gets a free afternoon against us’. His voice hardened ‘nobody walks onto a pitch expecting an easy three points’. He pointed toward the tunnel ‘Sarajevo have better facilities’

A few players nodded.

‘Bigger crowds’

More nods.

‘Probably a bigger wage bill than us’

That earned a few laughs.

Scott smiled ‘but they don't get to start one goal up because of it’

The room laughed properly this time.

Good.

The tension eased slightly. Scott's expression became serious again ‘we've worked all summer for this’

His gaze settled briefly on Boris Husić. Then Dijaković. Then onto Krecak and Ramic.

‘The season starts now’

A pause.

‘Not next week at home’

Another pause.

‘Now’

The room was completely silent.

‘I don't care if we win’

That got their attention.

‘I don't care if we draw’

Several players exchanged confused looks. ‘What I care about is whether Sarajevo know they've been in a football match when they walk off that pitch’

A few heads nodded. Then more. Then nearly all of them.

Scott looked around the room one final time ‘compete, run, work, and trust each other’

His voice dropped ‘and make them earn absolutely everything’

He stepped back. Peter took his turn. The assistant walked forward slowly, unlike Scott, Peter didn't raise his voice this time ‘when we arrived here’ he began ‘people told us Bosnian football was difficult’

Several players smiled.

‘It is.’

That earned a few laughs. Peter pointed toward the door ‘you know what else it is?’

Nobody answered.

‘Physical. Emotional’. A few nods. ‘And occasionally completely insane’

The dressing room laughed.

Even Scott smiled. Peter grinned ‘you can't control referees’

True.

‘You can't control crowds’

Also true.

‘You can't control what Sarajevo do’

The players listened.

‘But you can control whether the man beside you trusts you’

That got their attention.

‘Cover each other, talk, and help each other’

His gaze moved around the room.

‘If somebody makes a mistake….’

He pointed toward the floor.

‘.....the next player fixes it’

A few players nodded immediately.

'No blaming, no pointing fingers, no sulking and absolutely no hiding’ Peter smiled then said  ‘leave that for the opposition’

That earned another laugh, then his face became serious, ‘this is a new season’. A pause. ‘Which means nobody in this room has failed yet’

The words hung in the air ‘go and enjoy it’

== == == == ==

As Peter stepped back, Scott gave a final nod ‘alright’

The captain, Belmin Kobilica stood first, nodded at Scott, as he did a few players slapped hands and the rest stood up too. The nervousness hadn't vanished after the managers words, it never did. But it had become something else now.

Energy, purpose and belief.

Outside, nearly thirteen thousand supporters were beginning to fill the stands of FK Sarajevo.

The noise was growing, the season was waiting.

And for the first time since being promoted as champions, Velež Mostar were about to discover exactly what kind of team they had become.

== == == == ==

The decision came the following morning. Bojan Lugonja arrived at the training ground early and asked to speak with Scott and Marcin before training, the meeting lasted less than fifteen minutes. Not because it wasn't important, because he'd already made up his mind.

‘I've chosen Vasas’

Scott nodded. There was no surprise in it. Both offers had been good, but from the conversations held with the player, Vasas SC had simply felt like the better fit. The project appealed to him, the location most likely appealed to him, and perhaps most importantly, the role they were offering appealed to him.

‘Then that's what we'll do’ Scott said.

Marcin slid the paperwork across the table ‘fifty thousand. Paid immediately’

Bojan smiled ‘you got what you wanted’

Marcin smirked ‘we usually do’

The transfer was completed later that afternoon.

Another departure, another piece of business concluded cleanly, exactly how Scott preferred it.

== == == == ==

Preseason continued on. The weeks rolled by in a blur of training sessions, tactical meetings, and friendly matches played on baking summer afternoons and warm evenings. Results were mixed, which suited Scott perfectly. He cared far more about patterns than score lines.

Boris Husić looked increasingly dangerous every week. Dijaković was beginning to look comfortable in his new role. The younger players were adapting to higher expectations. Most importantly, the squad looked like a group rather than a collection of individuals.

That mattered.

Especially with a difficult season approaching, nobody inside the club was under any illusions.

The objective remained simple - stay in the division at all costs. Anything else was a bonus.

The final preseason match ended with tired legs, half empty stands and the usual flood of substitutes that made the last twenty minutes resemble organised chaos more than football.

As Scott walked back toward the dressing room, his phone vibrated. Then again. Then a third time. He already knew what that meant.

Transfer business.

By the time he reached his office, Marcin was waiting ‘you've seen it?’

Scott looked down at the notification. ‘I have now’

Offer accepted

Buying club: FK Borac Čačak. Serbian Premier division.
Player: Illija Danilović.
Fee: €54,000.

Scott sat down and for a moment neither man spoke.

Danilović had been one of the more experienced figures in the dressing room since Scott's arrival. Reliable. Professional. The sort of player younger footballers naturally listened to. The sort every manager likes having around.

Eventually Marcin broke the silence ‘any regrets?’

Scott thought about it. Then shook his head ‘no’. Because the reality was simple. Young Paval Dijaković was ready. The coaching staff had spent months preparing him for exactly this moment. Every performance review. Every tactical meeting. Every minute on the training ground. Everything pointed toward the same conclusion, that the future starting at left back was already at the club.

Keeping Danilović would have meant fewer opportunities for Dijaković.

Perhaps for six months. Perhaps for a year. But eventually the decision would still need to be made.

Scott preferred making difficult decisions early.

Marcin nodded ‘that's what I thought’

He sat opposite him 'Borac pushed hard’

‘How hard?’

‘They specifically mentioned his experience’

Scott laughed softly ‘which is exactly why we were willing to listen’

Marcin smiled ‘they think he'll help them stay up’

Scott couldn't argue. Danilović was exactly the kind of defender every relegation threatened side wanted. Dependable. Positionally smart. Rarely injured. The glamorous signings made headlines, but players like Danilović kept clubs in divisions.

‘Fiftyfour thousand is fair’ Scott said eventually.

‘I think so too’

The following afternoon, Danilović arrived at the training ground to discuss the move. Scott and Marcin laid everything out. The fee, the contract and Borac's plans for him. When they finished, Danilović sat quietly for a few moments. Then he surprised both of them ‘I don't want to go’

Marcin looked up ‘you're sure?’

Danilović nodded ‘completely’

Scott remained silent.

The defender continued ‘I understand why the club accepted the offer’

That caught Scott's attention.

Danilović smiled slightly ‘you're trying to build something here. Dijaković needs minutes. He deserves them’

Scott appreciated the honesty. There was no bitterness in his voice, no complaints, no ego, just understanding.

‘But?’

Danilović shrugged ‘I still think I can help’. He looked directly at Scott ‘maybe I won't play every week. Maybe my role changes’. A brief pause ‘but this club gave me an opportunity when I needed one. I'd like to stay and finish what we've started’

For a moment the room was silent. Then Scott nodded ‘fair enough’

Marcin looked between them ‘you're turning down a good contract’

Danilović smiled ‘football isn't always about money’

Scott couldn't help but grin ‘careful now. If word gets out you said that, agents across Europe will hunt you down’

That earned a laugh from everyone. The matter was settled.

Borac were informed that the player had rejected the move.

The transfer collapsed immediately. No hard feelings, just one of football's oldest realities. A club can agree a fee. A manager can approve a sale. A sporting director can negotiate every detail.

But ultimately, the player still gets a say.

As Danilović left the office, Scott glanced at Marcin ‘not the outcome you expected?’

Marcin shook his head ‘no’

‘Disappointed?’

A small smile appeared ‘not in the slightest’

Neither was Scott. Dijaković would still get his opportunities, that much had already been decided between the coaching staff, but having Danilović's experience around the dressing room for another season? For a club expecting another difficult fight near the bottom of the table, there were certainly worse problems to have.

== == == == ==

Just caught up with this again mate, I'm same as you, go from blasting FM and writing up the posts for ages then give it a rest for weeks sometimes months at a time. No pressure on you to write mate your stories are always wroth the wait.

The departure was confirmed with remarkably little fuss. There were no dramatic goodbyes, no emotional speeches. Just a handshake in Scott's office, a genuine embrace with Peter, and a final walk around the training ground before Benson Hedilazio climbed into a waiting car bound for Bulgaria.

The agreement with Lokomotiv Plovdiv had been completed exactly as Scott and Marcin had planned.

£105,000 paid immediately. Performance related add-ons that could take the total package to £145,000.

The replacement already signed and training. It wasn't just a successful sale, it was proof that the club was beginning to operate with a level of planning that had been absent for years.

As the car disappeared through the gates, Scott simply wished Benson luck. No promises to stay in touch. No clichés. Just a sincere hope that he'd make the most of the opportunity.

Three days later, Marcin appeared in Scott's office again, this time carrying two separate folders.

Scott looked up from his laptop ‘I'm beginning to associate those folders with losing players’

Marcin smiled ‘yeah, you should’. He dropped both onto the desk ‘this one first’

Scott opened it. Bojan Lugonja, the defender. Offer received, transfer fee: €35,000. Buying club: Gyirmót FC Győr.

Scott barely needed ten seconds ‘no’

Marcin nodded immediately ‘my thought exactly’

‘He starts enough games and has enough versatility that thirty five isn't worth the disruption’

‘I've already prepared a response’

Scott looked up ‘what are you thinking?’

'Fifty, if he wants it’

‘Flat?’

‘Flat’

Scott considered it ‘no instalments dressed up as guaranteed money?’

‘None’

‘No appearance bonuses pretending to be transfer fees?’

Marcin shook his head ‘straight up limp sum’

Scott leaned back ‘speak to him and if he wants to, then go for it’

The response from Hungary came quicker than either expected, Marcin knocked once before entering ‘they've accepted’

Scott looked genuinely surprised ‘without a fight?’

‘Not really, they tried fortytwo with a structured payment plan’

‘And?’

‘I said fifty’

‘They accepted?’

Marcin allowed himself the faintest smile ‘eventually, they accepted’

Scott chuckled ‘I'm starting to think you're enjoying negotiations too much’

‘I absolutely am’. Before Scott could reply, Marcin held up the second folder ‘wait, there's more’

Scott sighed theatrically ‘of course there is’

Marcin opened it, another Hungarian club, this time it was Vasas SC.

Same player, same league, similar interest.

Marcin folded his arms ‘they asked for our valuation first, no offer up front’

‘And?’

‘I didn't waste anyone's time’

Scott already knew the answer ‘you said fifty, same as the first one’

He nodded ‘I said fifty’

‘And?’

‘They've accepted too’

For a moment, the room was completely silent. Scott looked from one folder to the other ‘so both clubs are prepared to pay our asking price, for a first teamer that isn’t exactly irreplaceable?’

Marcin nodded ‘which means the decision isn't ours anymore’

‘No, it’s not’

‘It's Bojan's’

Later that afternoon, Lugonja sat opposite Scott and Marcin with both offers laid neatly in front of him. Scott deliberately didn't try to influence him ‘you've earned the right to choose’

Bojan looked between the papers ‘do you want me to stay?’

Scott answered honestly ‘I'd be happy if you stayed’

‘And if I leave?’

‘I'll shake your hand, thank you for everything you've given us and wish you well for your career’

No sales pitch. no guilt, no attempt to pressure him or appease him.

Marcin spoke next ‘financially, both clubs have satisfied what we wanted. Whatever happens now should be based on what's best for your career, not us or the other teams’

Bojan nodded slowly ‘I appreciate that’

Scott stood and extended his hand ‘take the rest of the day off, think it over, sleep on it tonight’

‘No rush?’

Scott smiled ‘no, we’re not pushing the sale, and we all know transfers have enough people rushing you already’

Bojan shook his hand ‘I'll give you my answer tomorrow’

As the defender left the office, Marcin looked across at Scott ‘we've reached an interesting point’

Scott raised an eyebrow ‘how so?’

‘We're no longer trying to convince clubs to value our players’. He tapped both folders ‘they're starting to compete for them’

Scott looked towards the training pitches where Boris Husić was already flying down the wing in a practice match, while the echoes of Benson Hedilazio's departure were barely beginning to fade.

For the first time in a while, it felt as though the club wasn't merely surviving the transfer market.

It was learning how to use it.

== == == == ==

The call from Marcin came just after eight in the morning.

Scott hadn't even finished his first coffee ‘we've got him’

Scott put the mug down ‘Plovdiv?’

‘No’. A pause ‘the replacement’

That got his attention.

An hour later, the pair were sat in Marcin's office with a laptop open between them. On the screen was a compilation that looked as though it had been edited by somebody fuelled entirely by caffeine and heavy metal music.

The same action repeated over and over. Receive. Push it past the fullback. Run. Run some more. Then either cut inside or smash a cross into the six yard box.

Scott watched in silence.

Marcin clicked pause ‘Boris Husić’

Scott looked at the accompanying report. Twentyone years old, left winger, on the books at Montpellier and spent the previous season on loan in the Polish Ekstraklasa with Lechia Gdańsk.

Pace rated as exceptional. A direct runner, comfortable attacking defenders one on one and capable on either flank if required.

Scott looked back up ‘the Polish experience interests me’

Marcin nodded ‘he won't need six months to adapt to this part of Europe. Different country, yes, but similar football culture, similar weather, similar physical demands’

Another page. Character report, professional, hard working but quiet and still tactically developing.

‘Montpellier think very highly of him’ Marcin continued ‘from what I've been told, they see him as a first team player in the future. They don't want to sell him’

‘So why loan him?’

‘They think another full season of regular football will do more for his development than twenty substitute appearances in Ligue 1’

Scott nodded. Makes sense.

Marcin smiled ‘and they've specifically asked that he plays’

‘Good’

‘They've watched what we've done with younger players’

That made Scott raise an eyebrow ‘they've been watching us?’

‘They have now’. Marcin leaned back in his chair ‘apparently the reports on our player development have travelled further than either of us realised’

Scott couldn't help but smile at that. For years he'd been trying to convince people that development wasn't just facilities and reputation. It was trust. Minutes. Responsibility, sometimes simply believing in somebody before everyone else did.

Marcin slid another sheet across ‘straight loan. Affordable wages with no obligation to buy’

Scott skimmed it once. Then twice, there weren't many catches. ‘If Benson leaves’ Scott asked ‘can this happen immediately?’

Marcin nodded ‘the paperwork is just about done. Medical arrangements just waiting for the nod, his and his clubs representatives are happy’

Scott sat back ‘so all we're waiting for…..’

‘...is Bulgaria’

== == == == ==

Three days later, the phone rang again. Marcin didn't bother with introductions ‘they've agreed’

Scott's first question wasn't about the fee ‘Husić?’

‘Already on his way here’

‘And Benson?’

‘Agent's been informed, he's travelling to Bulgaria to speak with them’

Scott allowed himself a small smile. The succession plan had worked, no scrambling, no panic signing, no desperate free agent brought in on deadline day.

Just one talented winger on the verge of leaving, and another arriving with an impressive pedigree and something to prove.

The following afternoon, Boris Husić walked onto the training ground wearing club colours for the first time. He wasn't especially imposing. Lean rather than powerful, young enough that there was still something of the academy player about him.

But the first sprint during the warm up made several heads turn, one of the fitness coaches actually looked at his stopwatch twice.

Peter let out a low whistle ‘that's decent’

Scott didn't answer. He was watching Husić collect the ball on the touchline, one touch, knock it twenty yards into space and explode after it.

The defender had absolutely no chance.

By the end of the move, the cross fizzed dangerously across goal with enough pace to make the goalkeeper think twice about trying to claim it.

Peter glanced sideways ‘he reminds me of someone’

Scott smiled ‘me too’

Benson Hedilazio wasn't gone yet. The paperwork still had to be completed and the farewells still had to be said.

But as Husić jogged back into position, Scott felt something he hadn't expected.

Not relief. Confidence. Because replacing players was never about finding somebody identical. It was about finding the next player ready to become themselves.

And judging by the reports from France, the faith Montpellier had placed in him, and the flashes already visible on the training pitch, Boris Husić might just become something very special indeed.

== == == == ==

Mróz stared at Scott for another few seconds before finally letting out a breath through his nose and shaking his head ‘you really don’t ease people into things, do you?’

Scott smirked ‘no point’

Another pause, then finally ‘alright, I’ll do it’

Scott nodded once, like this had all been expected. But internally, there it was again. That small flicker. The same one he got whenever he made a decision that felt instinctive rather than logical.

‘Good’ Scott replied simply ‘because preseason for the academy starts getting planned now, not in August’

Mróz laughed under his breath ‘there it is’

‘What?’

‘The part where you immediately make the exciting thing stressful’

‘That’s management’

Before either could say anything else, the office door opened. Marcin Lachowski walked in carrying his laptop under one arm and already wearing the expression of somebody halfway through three separate problems.

‘Sorry’ he said quickly ‘I need Scott for a second’

Scott looked toward him ‘what happened?’

Marcin held open the laptop ‘Lokomotiv Plovdiv’

That got Scott’s attention immediately, knowing it’s an offer ‘who for?’

‘Benson’

Scott leaned back slightly. Of course it was Benson Hedilazio. Quick. Aggressive. Direct. Still raw in places, but the kind of winger clubs noticed instantly because chaos followed him around every time he touched the ball.

‘How much?’

‘Seventy five, up front, a bunch of addons on top’

Scott’s expression barely changed ‘not enough’

Marcin nodded ‘agreed’ he stepped further into the office ‘but before you say anything else, I already spoke to his agent’

Scott raised an eyebrow ‘you move fast’

‘I have to around here’

Fair point.

Marcin continued ‘I told them we’d negotiate with Plovdiv on one condition’

Scott already knew the answer ‘we get the replacement in first’

‘Exactly’

Mróz stayed quiet, just watching the conversation unfold. It was the first proper glimpse he’d had into how this level really operated behind closed doors.

Not dramatic speeches. Not tactics boards. This.

Timing. Money. Damage control before damage existed.

Scott stood and walked toward the window. Outside, training staff were dragging equipment across the far pitch through the freezing air ‘how serious do you think Plovdiv are?’

‘Serious enough that they contacted the agent before wasting time with us’

Scott nodded slowly. That usually meant confidence. Or desperation. Sometimes both.

‘What’s Benson’s mind on it like?’

‘He wants the move’ Marcin admitted, ‘he’s already talking about the bigger wages and top division football. Closer to the spotlight’

Scott didn’t blame him, that was the reality of clubs like this. You built. You developed. Then somebody with more money arrived. Football’s food chain in full effect.

‘So’ Marcin said, laying the laptop on the desk ‘my thinking is this….’. He slid the paperwork across ‘we tell them one hundred and five thousand guaranteed upfront, no silly structure to begin with’

Scott scanned the paper ‘and?’

‘They want to give us add ons, so we stick some in there taking it to one forty five’

Scott nodded slowly.  League appearances, goals, monthly instalments, percentage of the profit and a cup win for good measure.

Smart structuring.

‘We can probably guarantee they’ll accept, they got to the semis of the league cup last season’ Marcin added ‘Bulgarian clubs aren’t throwing money around unless they really believe in the player’

Scott looked over the numbers again. Then finally said ‘alright’

Marcin looked up ‘if they hit one hundred and five immediately’

‘We accept’

‘And the add ons?’

‘They need to be realistic ones. Not nonsense based on Champions League appearances or a national call up in five years’

Marcin smirked faintly ‘I already thought that’

Of course he had. That was the thing about Lachowski. People inside the club sometimes underestimated him because he wasn’t loud, didn’t pound tables, didn’t try acting like football’s answer to a Wall Street shark.

But he was sharp. Very sharp.

‘And the replacement?’ Scott asked.

Marcin closed the folder again ‘already started on that front’

That got a small laugh out of Scott ‘you started before speaking to me?’

‘As always’ with a smirk, he continued ‘you think clubs survive by waiting?’. Fair again. Marcin looked toward Mróz then and said ‘you alright? You’ve been awfully quiet’

The younger coach blinked slightly, almost forgetting he was there ‘yeah, sorry, just letting you guys work’

Scott then said ‘he’s the new under 19 manager’

Marcin stopped mid motion. Actually stopped. Then slowly smiled ‘well’ he said, looking at Mróz ‘congratulations’

Mróz still looked like the whole day hadn’t fully registered yet.

Transfers. Promotions. Staff changes. Future planning. The machine never stopped moving.

Not at clubs in the top division, not even for five minutes.

Scott looked down at the figures one last time before sliding the paperwork back across the desk.

‘One hundred and five thousand guaranteed’ he said. ‘No fancy creative accounting, no payments spread over the next decade’

Marcin nodded ‘agreed’

‘The add ons?’

‘I've drafted them already. Twenty thousand after fifty league appearances, ten thousand if they qualify for Europe while he's there, and another ten thousand if he's sold on for over half a million. Plus a ten percent of any future transfer’

Scott thought about it for a moment ‘reasonable for us in the short term, and reachable for them on the add ons, I like it. Nothing that relies on miracles’

Marcin closed the folder ‘so we're agreed’

Scott gave a single nod ‘we are. If they won't move from the up front amount, Benson stays here’

‘That was my view too’ Marcin said. 

Neither man particularly wanted to sell him. Benson Hedilazio had become one of the most dangerous players in the squad, the sort of winger who could turn a stale match with one burst of acceleration. But they also knew the reality of the club's finances and reputation. They weren't in the business of refusing good money forever. They were in the business of selling well.

Marcin reached for his phone ‘I'll get back to their sporting director’

Before he could leave, Scott stopped him ‘one thing’

Marcin looked back.

‘No announcement. No congratulations. Nothing leaks until we've identified the replacement and we're confident we can get him’

‘Already told his agent that’

‘And Benson?’

‘He knows we’re talking but not that we're close’

Scott nodded approvingly. ‘Good’

An hour later there was another knock on Scott's office door, this time it was Benson himself. He looked curious more than anxious. ‘You wanted to see me, boss?’

Scott motioned for him to sit.

Marcin remained in the room, leaning against the filing cabinet.

Scott didn't waste time ‘as you know there's been an offer from Lokomotiv Plovdiv’

Benson's eyebrows rose slightly ‘so it's true’

‘It is’

He stayed composed, but there was a flicker in his eyes that Scott recognised immediately.

Hope ‘are you selling me?’

Scott shook his head ‘not yet’

Benson looked slightly disappointed.

‘We've told them our valuation, and what you mean to our team. If they meet it, and if we secure a replacement before anything is signed, then we'll let you speak to them’

‘To speak to them?’

‘Yes’. Scott's tone was calm but firm. ‘You've earned that respect. If the clubs agree terms, you'll have permission to negotiate with Lokomotiv and decide whether it's the right move for you’

Benson sat quietly for a second before giving a small nod. ‘Thank you’

‘But I need you to understand this’ Scott continued ‘nothing is done yet, not by a long way. They may refuse our terms, we may not find the right replacement. If that happens, you come back onto that training pitch exac/tly as you've done every other day’

‘No problem, boss’

‘And if we get things moving and let you know?’

Benson smiled ‘I'll still give everything until the last minute I'm here’

Scott believed him.

Marcin finally spoke ‘I feel you need to know the particulars, so we've asked for one hundred and five thousand up front, with add-ons that could take the deal to one hundred and fortyfive. If they agree, your agent should expect a call fairly quickly’ he waited a moment, then said ‘as in I think you may be on a flight to Bulgaria tomorrow’

Benson stood, visibly trying not to let his excitement show too much ‘II appreciate that. Whatever happens, thank you for being straight with me’

After he left, Scott watched the office door close.

Marcin folded his arms ‘he took that well’

Scott nodded ‘players can handle bad news’

Marcin looked across the room ‘they just don't like surprises’

Scott smiled faintly ‘exactly’

Now all they could do was wait for Plovdiv's response, and hope that somewhere, perhaps in another overlooked dressing room in another forgotten league, the next Benson Hedilazio was waiting to be found.

== == == == ==

The request for the meeting came through just after breakfast. Short. Formal. György Eperjesi, the under 19’s manager, wanted to speak with Scott and Wojciech Mroz together.

No explanation, no context, which usually meant there already was one.

Scott found Wojciech outside the youth pitch twenty minutes before the meeting. The under 19s were running drills in the background, Eperesji barely watching them.

That told Scott enough already ‘you know what this is about?’ he asked.

Mroz gave a tired shrug ‘I think so’

Scott leaned lightly against the fence. Waiting.

Mroz looked out toward the pitch before speaking again ‘I think he’s leaving’

No drama. No bitterness. Just instinct. 

Scott frowned slightly ‘you know something?’

Mroz shook his head ‘no’ he said, ‘just got a feeling’

That interested Scott more, because Mroz wasn’t emotional about football. Not outwardly. If he felt something, that would mean he’d seen something.

‘The last few weeks…..’ Mroz continued quietly ‘he’s been somewhere else’

Scott listened carefully.

‘Still here working I mean’ Mroz added quickly ‘still professional. But……’. A pause. ‘Not invested’

That word mattered.

Scott glanced toward the youth players again ‘you asked him?’

Mroz shook his head immediately ‘no point’. Another pause. ‘If somebody’s already leaving in their head, the conversation comes too late’

That landed harder than Scott expected, because he understood it instantly.

He’d seen it in players before. Managers too. The body stayed, the focus didn’t and the mind was certainly somewhere else.

Scott folded his arms ‘you think he’s got something lined up?’

This time Mroz nodded ‘I do now’

Silence settled between them briefly, only interrupted by the sound of boots striking wet grass nearby.

Scott exhaled slowly ‘you disappointed?’

Mroz thought about it, longer than expected ‘a little bit’ he admitted. Then a faint shrug ‘but if he’s leaving for the right reason…’

He let the sentence hang, didn’t need to finish it, because football understood ambition better than loyalty most day.

== == == == ==

The meeting itself was held in Scott’s office. No tension. No raised voices. which almost made it worse.

György sat opposite them, hands together, composed in the way people usually are once a decision has already been made. Scott let him speak first. György nodded once ‘I’ve accepted another position’ he said. Direct.  No build up. ‘At NK Osijek’

Mroz didn’t react outwardly, not even slightly.

Scott leaned back in his chair ‘what role?’

György met his eyes ‘the same, under-19’s manager’

That got the smallest reaction from Scott. Not surprise. Recognition, because it made sense.

Bigger club, a better pathway, higher level academy structure. A move upward.

‘When?’ Scott asked.

‘As soon as my two week notice is worked’

Silence again. György finally exhaled, the first real crack in his composure ‘this wasn’t easy’ he said quietly.

Scott looked at him for the first time since the meeting started ‘no’ he replied calmly ‘it usually isn’t’ That landed harder than anger would have.

György nodded slowly ‘I learned a lot here’

Scott believed him. That was the difficult part, because departures in football were rarely clean.  People outgrew levels. Outgrew jobs. Outgrew projects. A bit like Scott at Ślęza in a way.

And success, real success, usually accelerated that process.

Scott finally stood, held a hand out across the desk ‘congratulations’ he said. And he meant it.

György shook his hand firmly, then Mroz’s. No speeches. No promises to stay in touch.  Just a professional understanding.

After György left, the office stayed quiet. Mroz sat back slowly, eyes fixed on the closed door.

‘You already knew’ Scott said.

Mroz gave the faintest smile ‘nah’ he replied. A pause, then ‘I just recognised it’

Scott nodded once, because he did too.

== == == ==

The office felt quieter after György left. Not physically, the same old radiator still hissed in the corner like it was dying in slow motion. The same half broken blinds still let strips of grey winter light fall across the desk. Somewhere down the corridor somebody was shouting at a washing machine sized printer that refused to work.

But quieter. Like something important had just walked out the door.

Wojciech still sat opposite Scott with both hands wrapped around a paper coffee cup he hadn’t touched once ‘he was good for this place’ Mróz said eventually.

Scott nodded ‘yeah, he was’

The coach stared toward the floor for a second before speaking again ‘I learned a lot from him in the short time I’ve been here’

There was no bitterness in it. No politics. No jealousy. Just honesty.

‘He gave me responsibility’ Mróz continued ‘didn’t treat me like some kid because I’ve only been coaching a year. Most older coaches…’ he shrugged lightly ‘they want obedience more than ideas’

Scott leaned back in his chair ‘that’s because most older coaches are terrified’

Mróz looked up ‘of what?’

‘Being replaced’

That got the first smile out of him all morning. Small. Brief. Gone almost immediately.

Scott studied him for a moment. Wojciech Mróz didn’t look like some future big name coach. No expensive coat, no polished confidence, no smooth media trained charisma. He looked like what he was, a former lower league footballer whose knees gave out before his ambitions did. But Scott knew the type. He’d spent years around players and coaches nobody else noticed.

The quiet ones. The ones who listened. The ones who absorbed everything. The useful ones.

‘You know’ Scott said casually ‘when I first met Peter Bastista at Bytom, I think he thought I was completely insane’

Mróz laughed quietly ‘he still probably does’

‘Fair’ Scott said, then folded his arms ‘but I trusted him anyway. Put him beside me. Let him grow into the role’

Mróz nodded slowly ‘you did the same here too’

Scott nodded ‘because football clubs don’t move forward unless somebody gives people chances before they’re fully ready’

The room went still for a second.

Scott looked at him directly ‘how would you feel about taking the Under 19s? Now that György is on his way out?

Mróz blinked. Multiple times, like his brain needed a second to catch up ‘Doing wha…..’ he stopped himself, then said ‘you mean permanently?’

‘It’s yours if you want it’

Silence.

Outside in the corridor somebody slammed a door hard enough to shake the frame.

Mróz looked genuinely stunned now. Not emotional. Not theatrical. Just caught completely off guard ‘I thought maybe…’ he paused awkwardly ‘I don’t know. Assistant role maybe. Or helping whoever came in, I’ve only been a youth coach a year Scott and….

Scott shook his head and cut him off ‘no’. Another silence ‘you’re ready now’

Mróz let out a nervous laugh through his nose ‘you’re saying that very confidently’

‘I am’

‘Why?’

Scott smirked slightly ‘because I’ve seen you work’.  He pointed toward him ‘you care. The youth players trust you, you actually listen when people talk. Half the coaches in football are too busy trying to sound intelligent to notice what’s happening in front of them’

Mróz looked down at the coffee cup in his hands again.

Scott continued ‘you remind me of the kind of player managers overlook all the time. Not flashy enough. Not loud enough. But reliable. Smart. Improves people around him’

The younger coach shook his head slightly, still trying to process it all ‘this is….’ he exhaled slowly ‘I didn’t expect this conversation today’

‘Neither did I’

That was the truth. Scott had walked into the room expecting damage control. Another replacement, another restructure, another name to put on a shortlist. Instead he’d made the decision in about ten seconds flat. The same way he used to sometimes throw an untested kid into the starting eleven at Bytom because instinct told him they’d survive the pressure.

Sometimes football management was hours of analysis, sometimes it was just recognising belief when you saw it.

‘You backed me on the pitch’ Mróz said quietly ‘even when people thought I wasn’t good enough, or the right fit, at Bytom or Ślęza when you took me there’

Scott nodded once ‘and I’m backing you, off the pitch now’

For the first time since György announced he was leaving, the room didn’t feel quite as empty anymore.

== == == == ==

The third signing felt different again. Not polished like Ante Krecak, not instinctive in the way Mirsad Ramic appeared to be. This one felt unfinished. Which, to Scott, was sometimes better

Almir Hodzic arrived from FK Jedinstvo Bihać on a free transfer two days later.

Six foot two, a strange height for a winger. At least at first glance. Peter laughed quietly when he first saw the report ‘looks more like a centre half’

Marcin shook his head ‘wait until you see him run’

That changed things, because Hodžić didn’t move like someone his size should.

A long stride and deceptively quick over distance. Not explosive in the first step, but once he opened up, defenders struggled to stay with him.

Eighty five appearances already for the Jedinstvo first team in the second division, still young but still rough in moments, but there was something there.

Potential.

Scott watched clips of him three times before saying anything. Most of the touches weren’t spectacular, some were messy and others the less said about them the better. Not to mention that a few decisions came too late. But every time space appeared, he attacked it instinctively. That was harder to teach.

‘He doesn’t hesitate’ Scott said eventually.

Peter leaned back slightly ‘but doesn’t always look in control either’

Scott nodded ‘neither do the defenders trying to catch him’. That got the first real grin out of Marcin all morning.

The deal itself moved quickly.

No fee, no drama, the reality being that Jedinstvo couldn’t offer what the Premier Division could. And Hodžić knew it

By the afternoon he was standing at the edge of training, looking slightly overwhelmed by the step up around him.

The pace, the noise, the level. Scott walked over before anyone else could ‘you nervous?’ he asked.

Hodžić hesitated. Then nodded once. Good.

Scott respected honesty more than bravado ‘you should be’ he said.

That caught the winger slightly off guard.

Scott pointed toward the pitch ‘it’s faster here’ he said. Then continued with ‘smaller spaces, worse consequences’

Hodžić listened carefully.

‘But’ Scott continued ‘the space still exists’

A pause.

‘And when you see it, I want you to make sure you attack it, no hesitation’

Simple. Hodžić nodded again. This time quicker, more certain.

Peter watched the exchange from further back ‘you really leaning into this whole forward thing now?’

Scott looked out across the pitch again ‘nah’ he said quietly, and after a slight pause he said ‘we’re just done being afraid of losing the ball’

That was new too. Because last season, control had often meant caution.

This season, it needed to mean belief. And players like Hodžić only worked if the team around them accepted that.

Not every decision would be clean, not every attack would succeed.

But hesitation?

At this level, that killed you faster than mistakes did.

== == == == ==

The Hodžić deal was announced quietly. A short statement, a few photos for the website, another signing most of the league barely noticed.

Which usually meant Marcin liked him.

Training finished late that evening, players drifting off in groups, the noise around the ground slowly disappearing into the Mostar heat.

Scott stayed behind, not unusual anymore, the office was quieter at night. Less interruption, less performance.

He sat with the laptop open longer than he intended to.

Fixture lists.

Squad reports.

Budgets.

Transfer rumors.

Then, almost without thinking he searched for Ślęza Wrocław.

It’s been a full year, but it didn’t feel that long.

They’d finished in sixth place, six points off second, a year after Scott finished with back to back third place finishes. Sixth wasn’t third, but it’s still close enough to matter.

Not close enough to change anything though.

Scott leaned back slightly reading through the squad list slower than he expected to. Some names still there that he signed, some he brought through the ranks, some gone and some improved.

Then one stood out immediately.

Yoane Wissa. Eighteen league goals that season, and the leagues top scorer, something Scott knew all about, having Leândro achieving the same feat.

He let out a quiet breath through his nose. Not surprise but recognition.

Peter walked in midway through it, carrying two coffees and stopped when he saw the screen ‘you checking on our old house?’

Scott took the coffee without looking away ‘sixth’ he said.

Peter stepped closer, read the table himself ‘huh’ he muttered ‘not bad’. A small pause from them both, as Peter then said ‘that boy Wissa they’ve got, he bagged eighteen’

Scott nodded once ‘good signing’ he said quietly. Because he hadn’t signed him, that mattered. Ślęza had moved on after he left. Adapted, made their own decisions, and maybe that was healthier than the alternative.

Peter sat opposite him ‘you miss it there?’

Scott thought about it longer than expected.

Ślęza. His second home. The uncertainty. The constant proving. The feeling every week that one bad result would collapse the whole thing.

Then he looked out the window toward the Velež pitch. Different country, different pressure, different level now after promotion.

‘No’ he said eventually.

Peter nodded once, like he already knew the answer.

‘But’ Scott added quietly ‘I’m glad they stayed competitive’

That mattered more than he expected, because football moved quickly.

Too quickly sometimes.

Managers left, players moved on, and usually whatever you built disappeared with you. But sixth place, still fighting near the top end of the table, still relevant.

That meant something.

Peter sipped his coffee ‘you know what the annoying part is?’

Scott already knew, but still let his friend say it.

‘They’re probably disappointed with sixth’

That got the faintest smile out of Scott, that part was true.

When they arrived there, survival had felt ambitious. Four years under Scott and a year after his leaving, sixth felt underwhelming, that was progress.

Scott closed the laptop slowly, because that chapter wasn’t unfinished anymore. For the first time since leaving, it felt complete, and maybe that was important too.

There was no looking backwards now, only forwards, the level ahead of them.

== == == == ==

Love it mate. Keep it up.

Ante Krecak, central midfielder, had been about fitting into the team, about function, about what they needed to become.

Mirsad Ramic, center forward, was something else entirely.

He arrived without ceremony, without expectation. Though he had managed seven goals in the premier league last season for FK Sarajevo, he was released.

Peter read the report twice before looking up ‘seven goals for the best team in Bosnia?’ he said ‘that’s what we’re going with?’

Marcin didn’t react ‘he played in this league, not always where he wanted. Not always how he should and I’m sure he’ll be the first to tell you that’

Scott leaned back slightly in his chair, the fact he’d played in this league mattered more than the number of times he’d scored ‘why’s he available?’ he asked.

Marcin gave a small shrug ‘I guess he didn’t fit, like Kracek’

Peter let out a quiet breath and said ‘starting to sound familiar, that’

Scott didn’t smile or react, because it’s true, players who didn’t fit somewhere else, might just fit in here. That had been the story before. But this level wasn’t the same gamble.

‘Can he score?’ Scott asked, and that was the main question.

Marcin met his eyes and simply said ‘yes’. No hesitation. That was enough, as this wasn’t about finding the perfect player, it was about finding the one who would act.

Scott stood, walking toward the window, training already underway outside.

Movement sharper now. Faster. Less forgiving.

‘Lets get him in’ he said.

Peter frowned slightly ‘you’re not worried about the number?’

Scott shook his head ‘no, I'm worried about the moment’ a pause, then he said ‘if he needs thinking time, he’s not the player we want, or need’

Chances in the top division didn’t come often, and when they did, they didn’t wait.

Ramić wouldn’t need ten, or five. He might get one.

Marcin nodded once ‘he doesn’t’

Velež offered something simple. Minutes, a first team role and the chance to be the one who finishes things.

He signed that morning. No announcement. No build up. Just a signature and then into training.

Scott watched from the same spot as always, arms folded,  nothing given away.

Simple passing drills and movements done. Nothing complex.

Krećak settled into it immediately. One touch, two at most, always forward if it was there and always scanning. He didn’t demand the ball, but he was always available for it.

Marcin noticed ‘see that?’ he said quietly.

Scott nodded, he’d already seen it.

Krećak received under pressure, body opening before the ball arrived, shifting it away in the same movement, no pause, no reset, the decision made before contact.

Peter exhaled softly ‘yeah, that’ll do’

At the other end Ramić hadn’t touched the ball yet. Not properly. But he drifted, watched and waited

One of the younger defenders stepped out too aggressively, the ball broke loose from a touch in midfield, and for a second, nothing, then movement, Ramić was already gone.

Not fast or explosive, just early.

The ball was played through almost by instinct form Kobilica, then one touch from Ramić and the finish.

No celebration, just a clenched fist.

He jogged back into position like it had always been there.

Peter blinked ‘that’s it?’ he said.

Scott didn’t take his eyes off Ramić and said ‘that’s it’

That was the difference these two singings would be make.

Krećak shaped the play. Ramić ended it.

Same drill, same team, two completely different answers.

Training moved on, more intensity now, smaller spaces and less time.  Krećak adapted without thinking, angles tightening, touches quicker but always going forward.

Always forward.

Ramić barely moved for long stretches.

Then suddenly, he did. Another chance. Another finish.

Not clean this time, but that didn’t matter, it still went in.

Peter folded his arms ‘not pretty’ he said.

Scott nodded ‘we don’t need them to be’

Peter looked at the pitch again and said ‘that’s the plan with these two is it? One builds, the other finishes?’

Scott finally shifted and stepped a little closer to the pitch ‘that’s the game, Pete’

A pause.

‘Now it just has to work here’

Because the question now wasn’t whether they could do it at all, just whether they could do it here, at this level.

Training ended without ceremony, the players drifting off, talking, discussing.

Krećak stayed out a little longer, passing between the cones, repeating the same movement.

Again. And again. And again.

Ramić didn’t follow suit, he walked straight in to the changing rooms, his days work done.

Peter watched them both ‘bit different, those two’ he said.

Scott nodded ‘good’

They would need both. Control and consequence.

And now they could see it.

Not on paper. Not ideas in meetings, but on the pitch.

== == == == ==

Part seven - Control & Consequence

The noise around the World Cup faded quicker than expected, articles stopped circulating and opinions moved on.

But the work didn’t.

That first day back at training didn’t feel like celebration, it felt like assessment.

Scott stood just off the pitch, arms folded, watching the shape of it all.

Same players, same voices, different level.

Peter stepped up beside him ‘looks the same’ he said.

Scott didn’t look away but said ‘it won’t be’

That was the reality now, because promotion hadn’t changed what they were but it had changed what was required.

Marcin joined them, laptop in hand as always ‘no point easing into it, the fixtures certainly won’t’ he said

Scott gave a slight nod, he already knew that.

‘Where are we?’ Peter asked, meaning the state of the transfers they’d made enquiries on, free agents they’d reached out to.

Marcin flipped the laptop open ‘getting there’ he said. Scott finally glanced over and nodded, leaving the director of football to do what he does best.

Peter nodded towards the pitch, as captain Belmin Kobilica was directing the play they were working on and said ‘we need depth in the middle. Someone who can actually play at this level without thinking about it’

Scott turned back to the pitch, and watched Djordevic take an extra touch, then another, then go backwards to Malania in defence.  Too slow. Far too slow. ‘Who you got in mind?’ knowing fine well Marcin had made enquiries Scott hadn’t been made aware of.

Marcin didn’t hesitate ‘a kid called Ante Krecak’ he said.

Peter raised an eyebrow and said ‘never heard of him’

‘Exactly’ Marcin replied with a wry smile

That got Scott’s attention.

‘Twenty, and just released by Hajduk Split. No fee. Wants minutes that we’ll give him’

Peter frowned slightly ‘released from a top Croat side doesn’t scream Premier Division ready to me’

Marcin shrugged ‘context my good friend, context matters. I’ve seen him, I don’t think he fit into what Hadjuk were doing’. A small pause, he then said ‘but he fits what we are’

Scott said nothing for a moment. Then he said ‘what does he do that young Djordevic over there doesn't?’

Marcin closed the laptop and said ‘he plays forward, not sideways, or backwards like Djordevic does, but forward’

That was enough. Scott looked back out at the session. Watched the same pattern again.

Touch. Touch. Safe pass. Control.  But no decision, no urgency.

‘When can he be here?’ Scott asked.

Marcin didn’t smile this time ‘tomorrow’

Peter let out a quiet laugh ‘you don’t mess around do you’

Marcin gave a small nod and said ‘it’s a free transfer, he didn’t need convincing’

Scott nodded once. Good. Because this wasn’t about building something new, it’s about sharpening what they already had.

Training paused briefly as Scott stepped forward onto the pitch. Players turning toward him. Waiting. 

He glanced across the group. ‘We’re not changing how we play’ he said.

A few looks between players.

‘But we are changing what happens inside it’

Now they were listening properly.

Scott’s eyes moved across the midfielders ‘less thinking, less safety, more decision making on the fly’

A pause. ‘And if you’re not sure…’

He pointed forward.

‘You go that way’

Simple.

Clear.

Different.

Peter watched from the side, arms folded again ‘that from the article?’ he muttered quietly.

Scott didn’t look back ‘no, it’s from watching the boys today’

And that was the shift, because now, it wasn’t about proving they belonged.

It was about proving they could play there.

== == == == ==

The final was not decided by dominance, it was decided by control. There were moments where the game threatened to break, where structure faltered and where the outcome felt as though it might drift beyond design.

Matt Clarke ensured that. His red card did not come from confusion, it came from instinct and aggression. A reaction to danger rather than a calculation of it.

And for a brief period, control disappeared.

That is where this team revealed itself. Not in the phases where everything functioned as expected, but in the ones where it did not, because the response was not panic.

It was adjustment.

Anderson Kent slowed the game. Diego Galván intervened when the structure could not. Carter-Vickers, ever the pro, kept things calm and measured.

And when the moment arrived, it was not forced. It was taken.

Whether through Christian Pulisic or one of the players operating around him the outcome did not rely on a single path. That is the distinction, because this was not a team attempting to prevent chaos.

It was a team prepared to resolve it. And in doing so, they did not simply win the final. They defined how they intended to play it.

== == == == ==

If Mauro Cortese represents stability then Diego Galván represents intervention. Selected first overall in the 2018 MLS Draft by New York Red Bulls, Galván arrived with expectation.

Not potential, expectation. 

And unlike many out of a draft who carry that label, he justified it. A move to Burnley FC in the summer of 2019, for $8 million placed him in a different environment. Less possession and more pressure. More consequence.

For three seasons, Burnley did not survive in the Premier League comfortably, they survived because of him. Shot after shot, game after game. Not just saves but decisive ones. There is a difference between goalkeepers who perform well and those who define outcomes.

Galván falls into the latter. That distinction earned him his next move.

€ 20 million to Tottenham Hotspur, confirmed shortly after the World Cup ended. A step up in expectation, a step up in visibility. And yet the question around him remains slightly different to others at this level. Because goalkeepers like Galván are not measured by consistency alone, they are measured by moments.

The save that keeps a team in the game. The intervention that shifts momentum. The decision that prevents collapse. For the United States, that matters. Especially in the final against Portugal, making two key stops in the second half, first a close range shot from Neves and then a long looping effort from Bernardo Silva to keep the States winning 2-1.

While their structure often controls matches there are still moments it cannot. And when those moments arrive they do not rely on probability.

They rely on him.

== == == == ==

If Mathieu Lebreton provides stability then Joel Thoms provides continuity. Selected fourth overall in the 2018 MLS Draft by New England Revolution, Thoms entered a team already positioned to succeed. That matters, because not every young player improves a team.

Some learn how to function within one, and New England’s success was immediate. They won the MLS cup that season, as well as the Supporters shield. They repeated the Supporters shield win in 2019 too.

Thoms did not define those teams, but he understood them. And that understanding translated in the summer of 2020 with a move to CF Monterrey that brought a different challenge. Different league, different tempo and different expectations.

He adapted, and success followed again, with the Copa Total Sudamericana in 2021.

This is where Thoms separates himself. He does not dominate matches, he does not impose himself in the way attacking players might. Instead he aligns himself with winning structures.

Positionally reliable. Tactically disciplined. Capable of operating in systems that demand different things from the same role. Because unlike Canada who rely on clarity across the team, The United States operate across multiple interpretations of control.

And players like Thoms allow that flexibility.

He is not the headline and he is not the moment. But he is present in all of them.

From domestic success in North America, then in South America with a Mexican side, and now, on the international stage showing consistency, not through repetition, but through adaptation.

== == == == ==

If Joel Thoms represents continuity then Andrew Aguado represents emergence. Selected 36th overall in the second round of the 2020 MLS Draft by New York Red Bulls, a position that rarely carries any expectation at all, Aguado’s trajectory was not designed to be followed closely. He was not meant to define anything.

And yet he did. A move to Tigres UANL in the 2020/21 season placed him in a different environment, a more competitive and more demanding environment.

And he responded. Forty one appearances in the 2021/22 season leading into the World Cup, not gradual development but filled with immediate trust. That is where Aguado separates himself, because players selected that late are not expected to accelerate, they are expected to adapt.

He did both. Phenomenally well.

Interest followed. A $21.5 million move to Arsenal has just been agreed. Not as a project player or a rotation option, but as a World Cup winner and starting left back.

For the United States and soon to be Arsenal, Aguado offers something distinct. Where others maintain structure he advances it. Willing to step forward. Comfortable operating higher up the pitch. Capable of turning defensive phases into attacking ones.

That balance matters, because while the United States rely on control they do not limit how that control is applied. Aguado represents that evolution.  Not fixed within a role but expanding it.

== == == == ==

If Andrew Aguado represents emergence, then Cameron Carter-Vickers represents inevitability. At Tottenham Hotspur, his season has not yet been defined by volume, with only twenty appearances this season before the World Cup.

Not insignificant but not complete. Not even close. And yet there is little doubt about what follows. Because defenders like Carter-Vickers are not judged purely by minutes played they are judged by presence.

Physical. Commanding. Positionally assertive rather than reactive.

He does not wait for games to come to him, he meets them head on. That is what separates him.

At club level, his role is still forming. Rotation, opportunity, development within a competitive environment.

At international level there is no such uncertainty. For the United States he is not a prospect, he is a reference point. The defender others adjust around. The one tasked with ensuring that control remains intact when pressure builds. Because while systems can dictate structure they still rely on individuals to enforce it.

Carter-Vickers does exactly that.

And when his role at Tottenham Hotspur inevitably expands it will not feel like a promotion.

It will feel like alignment.

== == == == ==

If Cameron Carter-Vickers represents inevitability and authority, then Matt Clarke represents intensity.  His rise was not gradual. Drafted by Montréal in 2020, Clarke made just twelve appearances in the six months between January and August. Not enough to establish himself, but enough to be noticed.

Premier League side Middlesbrough paid €16.25 million for the unproven defensive midfielder. A fee that suggested belief more than certainty.

His first season in England ended in relegation. A team struggling from the minute he landed in Teeside, a system breaking and a level that demanded more than potential.

His response was not subtle. It was direct. Sixty eight appearances across two seasons, showing relentless work rate and constant involvement. Not a player who disappears when the level rises but one who meets it.

Clarke does not play with restraint, he plays with conviction. Aggressive in duels, ccommitted in challenges and relentless in recovery and at times, over the edge.

His red card in the World Cup final did not define him, but it explained him, because players like Clarke do not operate within emotion, they are driven by it.

For the United States and Middlesboro, that brings something different. While others maintain control, Clarke disrupts the moments where control is threatened.

He does not wait for structure to solve problems, he attacks them, literally, and he knows better than anyone that that carries risk. But it also carries presence.

And in a team built on control, that presence matters.

== == == == ==

If Cameron Carter-Vickers enforces control then Anderson Kent defines it. Selected first overall in the 2020 MLS Draft by Minnesota United FC, Kent did not take long to establish himself. Thirty eight appearances in his first season. Not adaptation, immediate responsibility. That kind of volume, at that stage, rarely goes unnoticed.

Which it didn’t. 

Tottenham Hotspur moved quickly.  €22 million for an established first teamer. Not for potential alone, but for certainty.

Since arriving in London, Kent has accumulated seventy two appearances across his first two seasons. Consistency at that level is not accidental, because midfielders like Kent are not defined by moments. They are defined by rhythm. Because while others influence games in moments, Kent influences them continuously.

He does not create chaos. He prevents it, and in doing so, allows others to operate with clarity.

That is the difference.

Where Canada’s structure defines their play, The United States rely on players like Kent to maintain it in real time.

Control, not as an idea, but as a function.

== == == == ==

If Anderson Kent defines control, then James Jones sustains it. Drafted in 2018 by Orlando City, his early career followed a familiar path. Opportunities, minutes, potential but not enough certainty. His contract was not renewed, a decision that, even at the time, raised questions.

In hindsight, it demands them because Manchester United did not hesitate. They signed him on a free transfer, no fee meaning no drawn out negotiations. Just recognition. 

It is the same mistake New York Red Bulls made with Evan James. A player underestimated, until he wasn’t.

Since the 2018/19 season when he signed for Manchester United, Jones has accumulated seventy five appearances, not as a headline player, not as the defining figure but as something equally important. Reliable.

Midfielders like Jones do not dominate games in moments, they preserve them across phases. Positionally aware. Technically secure. Consistent in decision making. He does not force control, he maintains it. 

For the United States that distinction matters, because while players like Christian Pulisic and Tye Miller define outcomes, Jones ensures those moments are built on something stable. He is not the system itself, but he ensures it does not break.

== == == == ==

Every team has a focal point. A player everything moves toward, or through. For the United States, that player is not emerging. Christian Pulisic is established.

€121 million from Bayern Munich to Manchester United in the summer of 2020/21. A transfer that did not suggest rotation or the future, but expectation. He has met it.

Since arriving, Pulisic has not missed a game for Manchester United. Not one.

At any level availability becomes as valuable as ability, because consistency is not just about performance. It is about presence.

Pulisic offers both for club and country.

Direct with the ball, decisive without it and more than capable of shifting a game in a single action.

Where others operate within structure, he bends it. That is what separates him.

For the United States, this creates a different kind of balance, because while players like Anderson Kent maintain control, and Cameron Carter-Vickers enforce it, Pulisic provides something structure alone cannot.

Resolution. The final action. The moment that defines everything that came before it.

This is where the United States differ from their Northern rivals. They do not rely on a system to produce outcomes. They rely on a system to deliver the ball to the player who will.

And more often than not, Pulisic does.

== == == == ==

If Christian Pulisic is the focal point then Tye Miller is the consequence of it.  Selected third overall in the 2018 MLS Draft by Houston Dynamo, Miller’s early trajectory suggested promise. Twenty one games that season resulting in thirteen goals.

Enough to draw attention, and Chelsea moved quickly.

A €15 million deal was agreed upon on deadline day. The deal was signed and Miller was immediately loaned back to Houston. More games and more goals followed. Thirteen more games in the MLS brought another ten goals.

And then, nothing. Back at Chelsea he spent the next year in the reserves.

For many players, that is where momentum disappears, where development stalls.

For Miller it became a pause, not an end. A loan deal out to Atalanta in 2019/20 reignited everything. Thirty seven games and fifteen goals. It caught attention again, this time from Bayer Leverkusen. Who somehow signed him from Chelsea for a mere €6.75 million. 

A different kind of investment for sure, not based on hype but on evidence. And in Germany, as he did in Italy and The States, he delivered. Eighty seven appearances across his two seasons so far producing an impressive forty seven goals. 

This is where Miller defines himself. Not as the central figure, but as the player who benefits most from the system around him. While Christian Pulisic draws attention and players like Anderson Kent maintain control, Miller exploits the space that follows.

He does not need to dominate games. He just needs to finish them. And increasingly, he does.

== == == == ==

If Christian Pulisic is the focal point then Peter Hernández is the proof that the system produces more than one answer.

His career did not begin with certainty. Drafted in 2017 by New York Red Bulls, opportunities were limited. Ten appearances that season producing three goals. Not enough to define anything, and yet it was enough to be seen.

Dutch heavyweights Ajax saw enough, something, and moved in and signed him for $8 million. A decision that, at the time, felt ambitious. In hindsight it was transformative.

At Ajax, Hernández did not simply improve, he learned. He played in every game in the 2018/19 Eredivisie season. Twenty goals in forty appearances across all competitions for a player not given much of a look in New York.

Not just production on the pitch, but education, because Ajax do not just develop players. They define how football is understood.

A move to West Ham United followed in 2019, the fee quoted as €20 million.  A different league with much different demands but the same outcome. He’s made eighty one appearances since the move, scoring an impressive forty one goals. Consistency. Not through dominance but through understanding.

And at the World Cup that understanding translated again. Four goals for the States on their way to the trophy, which matched his striker partner Tye Miller.

Neither seen as the primary figure or as the headline, Pulisic takes that title. But both are seen as something equally important and both bring repetition.

Because while Christian Pulisic draws attention, and systems create opportunities, Hernández ensures those opportunities are not isolated.

He arrives again. And again. And again. That is what defines him, not the spectacular moment but the consistent one, because this is not a team reliant on one solution.

It is a team that produces them.

== == == == ==

If Jim Brennan represents progression, then Dominic Kinnear represents return. When he took over the United States national team in January 2021, the appointment did not feel revolutionary, it felt familiar.

A coach whose success belonged, largely, to another era. Two MLS titles with Houston Dynamo in 2006 and 2007, and before that, he'd won the MLS with San Jose Earthquakes in 2001 and 2003, a proven winner, but one whose recent years had not matched that standard.

Between that 2007 MLS victory and his appointment in 2021 there was no silverware, which raised the question - had the game moved on, or had he been left behind?

His answer was immediate. The 2021 Gold Cup? Won. Not through reinvention, but through application, because Kinnear did not attempt to change everything. He recognised what he had, a squad capable of control, capable of variation and capable of producing moments through multiple players, and he built around that.

At the World Cup that understanding held. Not a run defined by chaos, not a reliance on one individual but a team capable of adapting within its own structure. That is Kinnear’s strength.

He does not impose a singular idea, he identifies the one that already exists and refines it. Players like Anderson Kent control tempo, Christian Pulisic defines outcomes, Tye Miller and Peter Hernández ensure those outcomes are repeated.

Kinnear does not disrupt that balance, he simply maintains it, and that is what makes this team difficult to define, because it is not built on one idea, it is built on the ability to adjust without losing control.

Interest from Puebla Fútbol Club and FC Juárez following the tournament is not unexpected. Not because he has reinvented himself, but because he has reminded everyone of something simpler - winning does not always require something new. Sometimes it requires recognising what already works. 

This United States team is not one defined by a single idea. It is not structure in its purest form. It is not control in its simplest sense. It is something more complicated. A system that does not rely on one answer, because it has several.

Where the Canada national team remove uncertainty through clarity, The States embrace it, without losing control of it. They do not need every moment to be predictable because they trust the players within those moments to resolve them.

Control exists. But it is not rigid. It adapts.

From the authority of Carter-Vickers to the rhythm of Anderson Kent to the decisions of Christian Pulisic, this is not a system that removes variation. It absorbs it. And perhaps that is where the difference lies, because if Canada have shown that structure can take you far, then the United States have suggested something else; that control does not need to limit possibility. 

Only to contain it.

== == == == ==

If Evan James represents certainty, then Marcus Alderson represents something else entirely. Possibility. 

Selected 15th overall in the 2020 MLS Draft by Vancouver Whitecaps, Alderson was not expected to define anything. Not immediately, not at that level anyway. But eighteen months later, he had. His rise was not gradual, it was decisive.

Performances in Vancouver that suggested not just talent, but clarity, an understanding of space, timing, creativity and responsibility that translated quickly beyond the league he began in. It earned him a big move, a move to countryman Evan James’ city rivals Manchester United for €11.75 million.  Expectation followed.

Fifty appearances from that transfer before the World Cup this summer, and a steady return of six assists this season. Numbers that, at first glance, feel modest, but that would be to misunderstand his role.

Alderson is not there to dominate games, not yet.

He is there to connect them. To move the ball between phases, to recognise when to accelerate play and when to slow it down. To operate in spaces that are often ignored, but always important.

At Manchester United that has meant adaptation, fewer moments on the ball, less control over games than his more recognised team mates would have, but it does mean more responsibility without possession, and that matters. Because players like Alderson are not judged by what they do in isolation, they are judged by how they fit. For Canada that fit becomes clearer. Freed from the expectation of controlling matches he becomes part of something more defined. More structured.

And in that structure he grows. He is not the headline. He is not the moment.

But he is increasingly the reason those moments exist, and that may prove just as important.

== == == == ==

If Marcus Alderson connects the game then Frédéric Fayard disrupts it. Comfortable on either side, Fayard’s career has not followed a straight line.

Drafted by Montréal in 2018, he was not retained long enough to define himself. Opportunities were limited, and time was shorter than it needed to be. He was released.

His waivers were claimed by Seattle Sounders FC in the summer of 2021, and that is where his career began. Thirty one appearances and sixteen assists. Numbers that suggest not just creativity but intent. Fayard does not wait for structure, he challenges it where others maintain shape, he looks to break it. Where others recycle possession, he accelerates it. That willingness to act, to take risk defined his time in Seattle and it also earned him a move.

€7 million to Premier League team Burnley FC.

The adjustment to the Premier League is often where promise fades. But for Fayard it sharpened. He played in all thirty eight league games, grabbed himself a respectable fifteen goals and laid on eleven assists. Not adaptation. Production. And crucially, more importantly consistency.

Because playing every game at that level is not simply about ability, it is about trust as well.  At Burnley, Fayard has become more than an outlet he has become a reference point.

For Canada, that changes everything. With Evan James providing the finish, and Marcus Alderson linking phases Fayard offers something different.

Uncertainty. In a good way.

He stretches games, forces defenders to make decisions and creates moments where none should exist. And in tournament football that unpredictability is not a luxury.

It is a weapon.

== == == == ==

If Frédéric Fayard introduces unpredictability, then full back Mathieu Lebreton restores the control. Selected early in the second round of the 2021 MLS Draft by Toronto FC, Lebreton’s progression has been quieter than those around him.

Less immediate. Less visible. Thirty one appearances across two seasons does not demand attention, it suggests patience.  And yet, tournament football has a way of accelerating perception.

Lebreton does not dominate games and certainly does not create headlines. He does something else, he stabilises them.

Positionally disciplined. Measured in possession. Reluctant to overcommit but capable of doing so when the moment demands it.

For Canada, that balance is essential, because while their attacking players create moments Lebreton ensures those moments are not undone.

His role is not to win games, it is to prevent them from being lost.

And in a tournament defined by margins that distinction matters. Interest from VfB Stuttgart following the World Cup feels inevitable, legitimate. Not because he has transformed overnight but because he has been seen. Players like Lebreton often are not, not until they step into an environment where their clarity becomes obvious. He is not the headline grabber like James. He is not the breakthrough star like Alderson.

But he’s out to prove to be one of the reasons his team functions at all.

== == == == ==

If Mathieu Lebreton provides structure, then Mauro Cortese provides certainty between the sticks.

Drafted in the second round in 2018 by Montréal, his early career did little to suggest what would follow. Sixteen appearances across four seasons is nothing to brag about.

Not development. Not progression. Stagnation, and eventually, he was waived.

Picked up by New York City FC with little expectation and told he would be nothing but a depth option, a replacement, just happy to be given a roster spot.

Instead, he became something else.

First choice in goal for New York, he played every game since signing. Consistency replaced uncertainty, minutes replaced doubt and by the time the tournament arrived there was no debate; he was the goalkeeper for Canada

Cortese does not play with flair, he does not demand attention. What he does do is he commands his area, he simplifies decisions and he removes risk where others might invite it. And that, for Canada, is critical. Because behind a side built on clarity and transition there must be trust. Trust that mistakes will not define the outcome, trust that structure will hold.

Cortese provides that, and more.

Interest from Bristol City ahead of their first season in the Premier League feels less like speculation and more like recognition. Not of potential, but of reliability. Cortese has already admitted to speaking to Carlo Cudicini, the Bristol boss at the conclusion of the World Cup, and a player like Cortese isn’t built on moments, they’re built in response to them.

== == == == ==

If Frédéric Fayard represents production, then José Rendón represents projection. Born in Burnaby to Mexican parents, Rendón had a decision to make early in career.

The opportunity from the Mexico national football team was real, they wanted him, and had told him early. Mexico; established, predictable, always in the conversation.

He chose something else. He chose the Canadian national team, his country of birth, not his parents’. Not the safer path, but the clearer one.

Selected 12th overall in the January 2022 draft by Vancouver Whitecaps, his introduction to senior football has been immediate. Appearing in all twentythree games from the draft until the break for the World Cup. No easing in, no gradual integration, just thrown in and given responsibility from the start.

Rendón does not yet define games in the way others in the squad, Canada or Vancouver, can. He does not carry the same output, or the same consistency. But that is not his role. Not yet. 

He plays with a different kind of freedom. Direct.  Unpredictable. At times, raw, everything the Mexican national team aren’t.

Where players like Marcus Alderson understand structure, Rendón tests its limits, and that carries risk, turnovers, decisions made too early or too late. But it also carries something else. Possibility, because players like Rendón do not arrive fully formed, they evolve.

For the Canada national team his role is not to lead, it is to stretch what already exists, to offer something different, to ensure that structure does not become stagnation.

And that may be just as important as any goal or assist.

== == == == ==

And finally, there is the architect.

Jim Brennan has held the role since July 2017, long enough to define a direction, long enough to be judged by it. Early results were not immediate.

A semi final appearance at the 2019 Gold Cup, ended by the United States. A quarter final in the 2021 Gold Cup, where Jamaica proved too strong.

Progress maybe, but not breakthrough. At that stage, the question around Brennan was familiar - was this as far as it would go? Because building structure is one thing, elevating it is another.

The World Cup in China answered that question, making it to the Quarter finals, and showing everyone they mean business.

Not a run built on moments alone.

Not a sequence of fortunate results.

A progression, because what Brennan has constructed is not dependent on individuals.

Even with players like Evan James, the system does not bend to them.

They operate within it, that is the distinction.

Across the squad, from the control of Mathieu Lebreton, to the reliability of unsung hero Mauro Cortese, to the unpredictability of Frédéric Fayard and the emergence of José Rendón, there is consistency. Clarity. Identity.  And that is not accidental.

It is coached. 

This is not a story built on surprise, it is not momentum, it is not a moment that arrived and will fade just as quickly. It is something else.

A team that understands itself, a system that holds under pressure, a group of players who do not need to be more than they are, because they know exactly what that is.

In a tournament defined by margins, by chaos, by moments that cannot be predicted, 

Canada did something far simpler; they removed uncertainty.

And in doing so, they achieved something far more difficult than brilliance.

They were consistent.

Which raises a question that extends beyond this tournament, beyond this team, beyond even the individuals who defined it.

If structure can take a team this far, if clarity can withstand this level, then perhaps the real question is no longer whether it works.

But why so many still doubt that it does.

== == == == ==

Structure Travels Further Than Talent

By Emir Hadžić. 18 July 2022.

The biggest surprise of the World Cup in China was not a result. It was a pattern.

The Canada national football team did not dominate possession, and likewise the USA did not outplay every opponent, not even close. But both did something more important. 

They understood themselves.

Canada, built around moments and the precision of Evan James, did not need control. They needed clarity, and they had it.

The United States, more structured in possession, showed a different version of the same idea: Organisation first. Expression second, Matt Clarke’s red card in the final be damned.

This is where modern football is moving, away from chaos and toward control.

And yet there is still resistance to this idea in parts of Europe. A belief that talent alone will decide games and that structure limits creativity.

The tournament in China suggested otherwise, because when margins tighten, when games are decided by moments, the teams who know exactly what they are tend to survive longest.

For Canada, the tournament in China did not begin with a system, it began with a player.

Evan James did not arrive quietly.

Twentyfour league goals for Premier League champions Manchester City had already placed him among the most efficient forwards in Europe. That alone would have been enough to draw attention. But tournaments do not reward reputations, they expose them.

And yet James did not look exposed. He looked inevitable.

There is a particular quality to forwards who operate at this level. Not speed, not strength, not even finishing, of which James is one of the most lethal in the world.

It is timing.

James does not chase the game, he waits for it, then arrives exactly where it is going to be, not where it is. 

For the Canadaians that made him something more than a goal scorer. It made him a solution. Because Canada did not control their matches, save for the demolition of Hungary, and they did not dominate possession in their World Cup games. They did not impose themselves in the way traditional footballing powers expect teams to do.  

What they did instead was understand exactly what they were. Transitions with pace were sharp. Decisions were quick. And when the moment came, James was there.

But to reduce Canada to one player would be to misunderstand them entirely.

Behind him the structure held for the most part.

Wide players stretched the pitch with discipline rather than freedom. The central midfielders resisted the temptation to chase the ball, instead maintaining shape and distance.

Defensively, they were not flawless, but they were consistent and that consistency mattered, because in tournament football, perfection is not required, clarity is. 

But the question around Evan James is no longer about what he has done, it is about what comes next.

At 23, his trajectory already reads like something complete. Discarded early by New York Red Bulls after the MLS draft, a decision that now looks less like misjudgement and more like negligence, he rebuilt his career the hard way.

No shortcuts and certainly no guarantees.

Hamburger in Germany took the gamble. Not because he was proven, far from it, but because he was clear in what he could become.

Two seasons in Hamburg produced a so so number of games at thirty nine, but in those thrity nine games he scored twenty two goals.

For a player discarded without a real opportunity by the Red Bulls, that is not just a return, it’s a statement. Not built on hype and not handed to him.

Earned. 

Because players in that position do not arrive quietly in Europe and produce numbers like that by accident, they arrive with something to prove.

And more importantly, the better ones always prove it.

Those numbers weren’t just something for Hamburg to look at and possibly build their team around, they were enough to be noticed, enough to be trusted and enough to move.

From there, the step to Manchester City did not feel like a leap, it felt like alignment

And that is where the real question begins, because players like James do not fail through lack of ability. They fail through expectation and repetition Through the demand to do the same thing, at the same level, over and over again.

He has already answered the first question; Can he reach the top?

Now comes the harder one; Can he stay there?

The margins that elevate a player are not the same margins that sustain him.

James has benefited from clarity, from systems that understand him and from teams that create the moments he thrives on.

But what happens when those moments become fewer?  When defenders adjust? When space disappears? That is where careers are defined. Not in the rise but in the response to what follows, as there is nowhere obvious to go now.

He’s just signed a five year contract at Manchester City, 250k a week, a salary that places him among the elite, and with a team built to win everything.

This is not a stepping stone, this is the destination, which changes the question entirely.

For most players the challenge is simply being good enough to reach this level. But for Evan James, the challenge now is existing within it.

There are no more ‘next moves’, no potential transfer stories in the press, no obvious progressions and there’s no bigger stage waiting.

Only repetition. Expectation and the demand to do it again, at the same level but under greater scrutiny, with fewer excuses, which they already have. 

In his first season, City won the UEFA Champions League alongside the FIFA Club World Cup. In his second The Champions League again, The UEFA Super Cup and another Club World Cup. And to warm him up for the World Cup he now has a Premier League winners medal to go with his FA Community Shield winner medal earned this year. Oh, let’s not forget the distinction of being Manchester City’s leading scorer this season too.

This is not potential. This is not projection. This is dominance.  At 23!

Which makes the question even more uncomfortable. Because when a player has already won everything, when success becomes routine, when expectation replaces ambition, what drives him next?

For Evan James, the challenge is no longer breaking through, it is sustaining excellence in an environment where anything less than excellence is failure.

Winning once is achievement.  Winning twice is confirmation. But winning repeatedly, is expectation.

== == == == ==

Structure Isn’t Enough. 

By Emir Hadžić, Mostar Arena Sport. 30 June 2022.

There is a certain type of manager who thrives in chaos, and then there is Scott Lańkowski.

Disciplined. Organised. Precise. At Velež Mostar those qualities brought immediate success. Promotion wasn’t expected, not this season at least, but once it became possible, it felt inevitable. That is the mark of structure, it is the mark of control.

But this is not new, because Lańkowski has been here before.

At Ślęza Wrocław, in his four seasons there, he built something remarkably similar. A team without the biggest budget, a team expected just to stay in the third division. A team without the strongest individuals, any stand out players or any right to nearly be promoted to the Polish Premier division.

But as the team that understood itself better than anyone else, they survived when they were expected to fall. They rose when they were expected to stabilise.

And then they stopped. Twice.

Third place in the i liga, twice in a row.

Close enough to feel it just not close enough to touch it It is not failure as such, but it is a pattern. Because at Ślęza, as it is at Velež, Lańkowski’s strength was clarity.

Every player knew their role, every phase had purpose, every movement had intention.

But when the margins tightened, when promotion required something more than structure, more than organisation, Ślęza stalled.

The question now is not whether he can organise a team, because that has already been answered. The question is far less comfortable:

Can he take a team beyond structure when structure alone stops being enough?

Because at this level that he and his team finds themselves at, it demands constant and reactive evolution. Not just discipline, but adaptation. There is, at times, a rigidity to Lańkowski’s work, which one could argue is not a weakness, but a risk.

His teams are clear. But clarity can become predictability.

And predictability, at this level, any level really, gets punished.

That tension is already visible. Velež explored a return for Bernd Reinert from SV Sandhausen, their affiliate club.

A player who understood the system, he’d played in every league game this season. He’s certainly a player who fits the structure, knows what the manager wants from his team and helped them to promotion by winning the league.

The move did not happen, Reinert reportedly not interested in going back to Mostar. And that may matter more than it seems.

Because returning to what worked before is not always how you take the next step.

Velež are predicted to struggle this season, and that may be fair.

But if Lańkowski has shown the footballing world anything, it’s that at Ślęza Wrocław, where they were expected to struggle and instead survived, then grew, then pushed far beyond what the club realistically was.

And now in Mostar, it is that expectation rarely defines his teams.

The real question is simpler, and sharper.

Was Ślęza his foundation, or his ceiling? 

== == == == ==

The paper wasn’t folded neatly, it never was. Scott had it spread across the desk, one hand resting on the edge, the other still, like he hadn’t quite decided what to do with it.

The room was quiet. Too quiet.

He read the line again ‘At Ślęza Wrocław, in his four seasons there, he built something remarkably similar’

A small pause, his jaw tightened slightly, then he looked back up ‘Disciplined. Organised. Precise’. 

His eyes moved slower now ‘At Velež Mostar those qualities brought immediate success’

Scott leaned back in his chair and exhaled. Not frustration or anger, something else.

Recognition.

Ślęza Wrocław. Different place, different time, same feeling. The cold training sessions, half empty stands at times, games where they weren’t supposed to compete never mind win, but they did.

He could see it clearly, far too clearly.

And then the next part of the article ‘And then they stopped. Twice. Third place in the i liga, twice in a row’

That was the one that would stick.  Scott’s eyes didn’t move for a second, because that part, that part didn’t need exaggerating, it was just true.

The door opened behind him, Peter didn’t knock, he never did.

‘You seen this?’ he said, already halfway into the room.

Scott didn’t turn ‘yeah, just'

Peter stepped closer, spotting the paper immediately ‘typical’ he muttered ‘win the league, promotion and suddenly you’re not good enough again’

Scott didn’t react to that, because that wasn’t the part that stuck.

Peter leaned over slightly, reading a section, then he said ‘there, that bit’

Scott already knew which bit.

‘Third place twice in Poland’ Peter said ‘what’s that got to do with now?’

Scott finally looked up, met his eyes ‘it’s not wrong though’ he said

Peter blinked, he didn’t expect that ‘It is wrong’ he shot back ‘different team. Different league, different country, different situation I could go on’

Scott shook his head slightly ‘no’ he said, then ‘it’s the same question’

That stopped Peter from going on one of his rants. ‘What question?

Scott glanced back down at the paper and then read it out, quieter this time ‘foundation… or ceiling’

The words hung there.

Peter exhaled slowly ‘come off it Scotty’ he said ‘you’re not buying that. Surely?’

Scott didn’t answer straight away, because that wasn’t the point.

Marcin appeared in the doorway now, leaning against the frame ‘you’ve both read it?’

Peter nodded toward Scott ‘he has, and apparently he agrees with it’

Marcin stepped in slightly, picked up the paper and skimmed it. After a few moments he gave a small nod ‘he’s not attacking you’ 

Peter scoffed ‘feels like it’.

Marcin could feel Peter bubbling, so shook his head and trying to stop Peter from going off he said ‘he’s testing it, putting the feelers out, waiting for a reaction’ which is on it’s way, Marcin thought but didn’t say out loud.

Scott looked up again ‘that’s his job’

Peter folded his arms, scoffed again and said 'well he test it all he wants, we’ve already answered it’

Scott held his gaze ‘not yet we haven’t’

That landed differently. Peter frowned and said ‘what do you mean?’

Scott glanced toward the window, then back at them ‘we answered it at Ślęza’ he said, another small pause before he continued with ‘we haven’t answered it here’

Silence again. Longer this time.  Marcin watched him carefully, because that, that was the real line.

Not the article. Not the prediction. Not the doubt. That line about not answering anyone here in Mostar, yet.

Peter shook his head slightly ‘you will’ he said.

Scott didn’t reply, he just looked back down at the paper, folded it and let the silence linger.

Because the question wasn’t going anywhere.

It was just waiting. For the season to start.

== == == == ==

The coffee on the table hadn’t started to cool off before the next piece of news arrived. The new seasons fixtures. On the same day as the pre-season predictions from the pundits, with the same timing. Almost like football never gave you space to breathe, only the illusion of it.

Marcin was the first to see it, as usual he was the one on top of the news circulating outside of the team, and he didn’t say anything straight away, he just stared at the phone screen a second longer than usual.

Peter noticed, and trying then failing to lighten the mood he said ‘oh dear he’s got his serious eyes on. Is this good or bad?’

Marcin exhaled through his nose and said ‘depends how you look at it’ and h turned the phone slightly so they could see 'opening day, we’re at home’

A small pause. Against ‘FK Sarajevo’

Peter let out a quiet laugh ‘of course it is’ and he just shook his head ‘why ease into the Premier Division when you can just throw us straight in front of it?’

Scott stepped closer, looked at the phone but didn’t react straight away.

FK Sarajevo. It’s not just another team in the league, it’s one of the big names, one of the standards.

Marcin spoke again, more measured this time ‘they’ll be expecting to win it' he said ‘even being  away from home. They won’t see us as anything other than a promoted side’

Peter smirked slightly ‘good, let them think that’

Scott’s eyes stayed on the screen a moment longer.

Then he said ‘the first game, it’s going to tell us a lot, everything maybe’. Marcin and Peter both looked at him as he continued ‘no hiding, and as you said no easing in either’

Marcin nodded slowly ‘and they’ll test everything. Our organisation, discipline, mentality’

Peter leaned forward slightly now ‘and the crowd’ he said ‘first home game back at this level, the place will be alive’

Marcin raised an eyebrow ‘you’re not worried about starting like that?’

Scott finally looked away from the screen ‘no’ he said ‘why should be worried? I’d rather know where we are and what we need to change, if anything’

That sat differently because it wasn’t bravado, it was intent.

Peter chuckled under his breath ‘well if we manage to get anything from that opening game…..’

He didn’t finish, he didn’t need to. They all knew what he was getting at. So Scott ended it by saying ‘then it sets the tone for us’.

Silence, but this one felt sharper.

Marcin didn’t close the laptop but did say ‘so, we prepare for them properly’

Scott nodded once as they continued heading for the training pitches. The season no longer felt like something coming, it had a shape now. A starting point. A test.  And it wasn’t a gentle one.

It was FK Sarajevo. The most well known team in Bosnia. Winners of multiple Bosnia and former Yugoslav league titles, at home on the opening day

Despite being in a small rut having not won the league for the last three seasons, Fudbalski Klub Borac Banja Luka have won it three years in a row, Sarajevo are still the team to beat. There would be no excuses and certainly no soft landing, just the rock solid truth of Premier Division football, right from the start.

Scott pushed the door open, already halfway into the corridor. Peter was right behind him ‘alright, back to work then’ he said stretching his shoulders slightly

They’d almost made it out of the room. Almost.

‘Gents’ Marcin’s voice cut through from behind them. Not loud but enough that they both stopped and turned. Marcin was still by the table with one hand resting on the laptop, the other hovering slightly like he wasn’t sure whether to say it or not ‘you’re both forgetting something’

Peter frowned ‘what is it? This better not be one of your stupid guessing games’

Marcin didn’t answer straight away, he just turned the laptop back toward them and tapped on it further down the page ‘the first derby of the season’ he said.

Scott stepped back into the room, and didn’t need long to find it.

13th August.

HŠK Zrinjski Mostar vs FK Velež Mostar.

Peter let out a low whistle ‘ah, that’

Scott stared at it a second longer. The date, the teams and what it meant.

‘Five years’ Marcin added quietly ‘since the last Mostar derby’

Peter shook his head slowly ‘that city is going to be absolute chaos that week’

Scott didn’t respond straight away. Away from home in the first derby, albeit only a short thirteen minute drive from Vrapčići to Bijelim Brijegom, the home of Zrinjski.

But still, the first derby in years, and early in the season.

‘Good timing for our first local derby of the season eh’ Peter muttered.

Marcin glanced between them, his usual demeanour of professionalism on display ‘we’ll need to handle it properly, the build up, the pressure from the fans, media, absolutely everything around it’. A small pause, then he said ‘it can get bigger than the game if you let it’

Scott finally looked away from the screen and said ‘it won’t’ 

Peter was quick to say ‘you sure Scotty?’

Scott met his eyes ‘yeah, why wouldn’t I be? It’s still three points’

Peter smirked ‘so laid back about it. Yeah it’s three points but it won’t feel like it. It’s going to be a war’

Scott didn’t argue. Derby games are never simple.

He turned back toward the door again. This time Marcin didn’t stop him.

As Scott and Peter stepped out toward the training pitch, the season shifted again, it wasn’t just about staying up anymore.

Not just about proving they belonged at this level.

There was something else now. Something woven into it.  Something louder.

Closer.

And whether they wanted it or not, something they were going to have to face.

== == == == ==

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.

== == == == ==

Well consider me hooked man!!

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

== == == == ==

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.

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.