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.

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

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

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

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

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

For €30 million.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because right on cue something weird does happen.

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

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

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

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

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

Quiet for five minutes, then everything happens at once.

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

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

So to recap:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Might take some getting used to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Transfer window summer 2022

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

== == == == ==

Summer 2022 review

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

== == == == ==

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

== == == == ==

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

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

Perfect start. Madness continues.

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

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

It didn’t take long for Portugal to respond. 

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

Cue the chaos.

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

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

Normal service resumed? Maybe.

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

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

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

But the real danger came after.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One pass. Perfectly weighted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So to recap:

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

Football. It always makes perfect sense.

== == == == ==

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Exactly the final everyone predicted, obviously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

== == == == ==

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

== == == == ==

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

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

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

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

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

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

== == == == ==

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

== == == == ==

World Cup 2022

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

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

Instead, Evan James chose violence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

== == == == ==

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Emir frowned slightly ‘that’s it?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Emir held his gaze ‘I’ll be in touch’

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

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

He looked back

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

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

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

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

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

== == == == ==

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

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

Emir nodded and said ‘and if they do?’ 

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

Emir nodded, already picturing it ‘and Hungary?’

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

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

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

Emir tilted his head slightly ‘because of James?’

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

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

== == == == ==

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

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

Emir nodded ‘how?’

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

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

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

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

Scott gave a small nod ‘exactly.’

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

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

Emir frowned slightly ‘explain’

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

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

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

Emir nodded slowly ‘so knockout football suits them?’

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

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

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

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

== == == == ==

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

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

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

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

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

Scott sat back slightly ‘good’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Emir looked at him ‘and inside it?’

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

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

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

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

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

Simple. Certain. Positive.

Emir leaned back slightly ‘you’re that confident?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Emir frowned slightly ‘in terms of delivery?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

== == == == ==

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scott looked straight at him.

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

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

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

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

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

Emir held his gaze and didn’t interrupt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

== == == == ==

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

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

He didn’t get far.

‘Scott’

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

Not confrontational now. Just direct.

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

Scott gave a small nod.

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

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

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

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

Scott didn’t interrupt.

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

That caught Scott’s attention more.

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

Another pause ‘and about the North American participants’

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

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

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

It was football, purely that.

‘Why me?’ Scott asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Less combative, more professional.

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

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

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

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

Scott waited.

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

Then he was gone.

Scott watched him disappear down the corridor.

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

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

== == == == ==

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That word again.

Properly.

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

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

Not him. Them.

That mattered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Earned. Secured. Done properly.

Scott stepped back slightly, letting it happen again.

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

For now.

== == == == == 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scott nodded once ‘yeah, we did’

Another pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One chapter closed, plenty more waiting to be opened.

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

Not celebration. Not relief. Just acceptance.

Because now, it all started again.

== == == == ==

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

Not tension and not hope, but certainty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scott glanced back out at the pitch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They’d done it. Promoted.

== == == == ==

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

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

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

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

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

Peter leaned in slightly and said ‘nearly there Scotty’

Scott didn’t reply, not yet.

== == == == ==

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

Five minutes of added time.

More minutes to manage, more moments to get through.

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

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

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

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

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

2–0. Job done.

No calculations needed. No other results required.

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

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

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

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

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

The Velež Mostar players erupted.

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

Two nil. Done properly. Finished. Champions.

== == == == ==