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

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

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

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

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

== == == == ==

The second half started, and everything changed almost immediately.

Forty eight minutes played, the whole game changed.

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

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

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

Low. Early. Through bodies.

Goal. 0–1. Advantage Velež.

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

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

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

== == == == ==

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

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

Different finish. Same result. 2-0.

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

Scott stayed composed. But inside he felt it shift.

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

== == == == ==

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

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

== == == == ==

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

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

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

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

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

== == == == ==

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shot, close range, clean contact.

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

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

Out, safe for now.

Scott didn’t move and didn’t shout.

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

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

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

He knew.

== == == == ==

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

Half chances, loose moments and nothing decisive.

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

Just this pitch, just this game.

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

== == == == ==

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

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

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

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

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

Not pessimistic or negative, just realistic.

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

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

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

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

Different place. Different pressure. Same three people.

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

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

== == == == ==

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

== == == == ==

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

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

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

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

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

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

Simple.

‘All of it comes down to that’

== == == == ==

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

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

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

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

Closer. Clearer and heavier.

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

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

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

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

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

If they lost, then everything opened up.

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

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

Same words as before, but now they carried everything.

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

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

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

Peter smirked faintly and said ‘oh, they will’

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

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

== == == ==

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

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

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

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

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

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

He just met it, a simple uncontested header.

Far post into the goal, nothing but net.

1–1.

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

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

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

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

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

No panic, but no acceptance either.

== == == == ==

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not defeat, but not control either.

== == == == ==

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scott nodded once ‘yeah, I know’

No argument from the boss, because it was true.

== == == == ==

Velež Mostar starting line up:

GK - Abdihodžić. 

RB - Lugonja. 

LB - Danilovic. 

CB - Malania. 

CB - Leovac. 

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

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

CM - Kobilica (captain). 

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

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

CF - Goncerz (27 goals in 28 games).

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

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

Then the teams emerged. And the noise hit.

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

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

This wasn’t just support, this was expectation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

== == == == ==

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

Whistle. Kick off. Game on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

== == == == ==

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

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

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

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

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

Not today, not with what was on the line.

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

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

== == == == ==
 

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

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

And then, it came.

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

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

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

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

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

1–0.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What came after did.

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

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

== == == == ==

The stadium filled early. Not gradually. Not quietly.

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

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

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

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

== == == == ==

Inside the dressing room, it was quieter.

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

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

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

No raised voice, just clarity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

== == == == ==

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

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

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

But even he didn’t quite believe that.

== == == == ==

Consider me hooked, my current game is in Bosnia too.

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

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

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

Peter turned instantly ‘Široki did?’

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

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

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

== == == == ==

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

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

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

A few nods, because it was a great reaction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence, because that was the truth of it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was about one game. One opponent.

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

== == == == ==

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

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

Then the corner came on seventy-five minutes.

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

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

1–3.

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

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

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

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

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

And they did.

Seven minutes later the response came.

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

Ilić, off the bench, timing his run perfectly.

One touch, defender committed, finish.

1–4.  No hesitation. No doubt.

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

Scott gave a single nod.

Damage corrected, lesson reinforced.

And most importantly, control restored.

== == ==

Away at FK Goražde, there was no slow build. No hesitation, no feeling out period and no taking it steady. From the first whistle Velež Mostar played like a team that had been insulted, and had taken it personally.

Six minutes in, the response arrived. A quick move through midfield from Kobilica, sharp and direct with the through ball saw the it worked into Maid Adnan inside the box. He ran onto it, taking a defender with him and lashed it into the net, the keeper had no chance.

One touch to steady, a second to strike….

Low. Early. Caught the goalkeeper off balance.

0–1.

Scott didn’t celebrate, but he felt it, that edge and the intent. Good, keep it up. 

Six minutes later another goal.

This time it came from pressure. A mistake forced high up the pitch, the ball breaking loose, and Adnan reacted quickest. He didn’t overthink it. Didn’t look for options.

He just hit it first time.

0–2.

Peter turned to Scott, a sharp nod between them and said ‘this is better’

Scott didn’t reply, he was watching everything. The movement. The aggression. The way they were stepping onto second balls instead of waiting for them.

This wasn’t just a lead, this was a message. And on thirty minutes, it was underlined, sealed and delivered.

A cross from the right from Reinert drifted deeper than expected. Adnan peeled off his marker, adjusted his body, and met it clean but the deflection off the defender wrong footed the keeper who just stood and watched it sail by him to the far post.

Hat-trick. 0–3.

No wild celebration from him, just a raised arm and his teammates gathering around, the job still not done.

At half time with the score to 3-0 in favour of Velež , the dressing room felt completely different. Not loud or chaotic, but focussed.

Scott stood in front of them, arms folded, taking a moment before speaking. This was exactly what he wanted, this kind of reaction. It was Peter that broke the silence by saying 'this is the exact response we needed’

Players looked up, because they knew what he meant. The defeat last time out, the frustration that followed and the drop to second place. All of it answered, not with words, but with how they’d played in the first half.

‘We’ve come here with intensity’ Scott continued taking over the conversation from his assistant ‘with purpose. You’ve done the basics properly, kept the intensity up and look what happens’

A few small nods, because it was obvious.

Peter spoke again next, still carrying some of that anger from the last game, but now it had direction ‘but don’t let up, don’t stop, because three nil means nothing if you switch off’

Scott nodded and said ‘exactly. This is the level now, for the next fortyfive minutes and the remaining two games’

No drop in effort, no excuses.

Scott let his eyes settle on Adnan for a moment, hat-trick scorer, leading the line with confidence Then back to the group.

‘Finish it properly’

== == == == ==

The second half hadn’t long restarted when the ripple came again. Not from the pitch but from the bench.

Marcin checked his phone once, then again, just to be sure.

Then he moved quickly while shouting ‘PETE!’

Peter turned, already reading it in his face, sensing an issue ‘what’s up?’

Marcin didn’t waste time ‘Široki’ referring to the game between the current league leaders and Metallegh, the team that beat Velež last week. A moment passed before he said ‘have conceded’ and passed his phone to Peter who checked the screen.

That made him huff out a short, disbelieving breath ‘they beat us and now they’ve taken the lead over Široki’

He glanced out onto the pitch, then toward Scott. Scott caught the look and walked over ‘what is it?’

Peter leaned in slightly ‘Široki have conceded at home to Metalleghe’

Scott didn’t react outwardly, didn’t even smile and didn’t celebrate.

But there was a shift, because football had a way of circling back on itself.

The same team that had knocked them off balance a week ago were now doing them a favour.

Scott looked back out at the pitch where Velež Mostar were still in control at 0–3 against FK Goražde.

Different game, same stakes.

‘Good’ he said quietly.

== == == == ==

The next step was supposed to be forward.Instead, it stumbled, slipped and sent them backwards.

Away at Metalleghe, Velež Mostar never quite found their rhythm. Not in the way they had in recent weeks. Not with the same control, the same certainty.

It was messy. Second balls lost, passes forced and moments rushed.  Velež took the lead just as the second half restarted, but it never settled them. 

2–1. No collapse, but no control either.

The dressing room afterwards was quiet. Not stunned, not shocked, just frustrated.

Scott stood in front of them, hands on hips, staring for a moment before speaking ‘that, that was not us’. Simple, direct with no raised voice ‘and that was the problem’

A few players avoided eye contact, because they knew. They’d felt it on the pitch, the small hesitations, the rushed decisions, the lack of clarity that had crept back in.

Peter didn’t hold back ‘far too casual!’ he snapped, pacing across the room ‘at this stage of the season? Too laid back, not enough energy. In fact that pace and that effort at any stage of the season is pathetic!’

He kicked a stray bottle of water out of his path, the noise echoing off the walls as it exploded ‘do you understand what you’ve just done out there? he continued, voice rising, pointing toward the door like the pitch itself had followed them inside ‘you’ve just about handed promotion to Široki because I bet they didn’t play like that in their game. Just given it away to them’

No one moved, no one spoke. Peter turned sharply, eyes burning through the room 'you don’t get games like that anymore!’ he shouted ‘not now! Not when it matters!’

His breathing was heavy now, frustration spilling over in a way the players hadn’t seen before ‘this isn’t October! This isn't the time to switch off and say we can fix it next week!’ he shouted ‘this is where it’s won or thrown away!’

Scott stepped in then, not to calm him but to reinforce it ‘he’s right, and you all know it’ he waited a moment before saying ‘you’ve worked to get into this position, and today….’ he let it hang, then said ‘…you gave control away’

That was the main word. Control.

The thing they’d built their recent run on, the thing that had disappeared.

Adnan was the one to break the silence by saying ‘we’ll fix it’

Scott’s eyes moved to him ‘oh you will, I know you will, because now you don’t have a choice’

== == == == ==

That was the days first blow out of the way, then the second blow arrived. Not away at Metalleghe, or in the away dressing room where they were all still huddled.

A message passed quietly, then another.

Peter saw it first this time, he didn’t even need to say the team name ‘four’ was all he said

Scott looked over, knowing something was up. Peter shook his head slightly ‘four nil’ as he slammed his hand on the desk’

The game at Gradina was what he was referring to, which meant….

Scott didn’t need to hear the rest, Široki Brijeg were back on top of the table, winning 4-0 away at Gradina, meaning Velež dropped to second, just like that.

Peter let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair ‘unbelievable. If anything else goes wrong today……’

Scott stayed still letting Peter rant on, still processing, recalculating. Then he looked back at his players ‘they’ve done their job’ he said. No bitterness, no excuses ‘now we do ours’

Peter nodded, still frustrated but focused ‘three games’ he added ‘that’s all we’ve got now, nine points and we’re going to need all nine I’m sure’

Scott stepped forward slightly ‘we play Široki in two weeks, so it is still in our hands. We just need fate to do us a favour’

That made a few heads lift. Scott’s voice hardened, just enough as he added ‘you want promotion? You want to get into the Premier Division? Then respond’ another moment went by before Scott finished with ‘because now, it’s not just about momentum, it’s about holding our nerve’

== == == == == 

Momentum, once it came back, didn’t arrive with noise, it arrived with results. A hard fought 2–1 away win at Sloboda Mrkonjić Grad, the kind of game that tested patience more than quality. Tight spaces, heavy legs, moments where it could have slipped. But it didn’t, Ilic scoring the winner late on.

Then, back home, a controlled 2–0 against NK Gradina. No drama. No chaos. Just another job completed. Six more points and two more wins.

For the first time in weeks, there was daylight, they were now three points clear of NK Široki Brijeg with four games to go.

== == == == ==

Scott stood in his office, staring at the league table longer than usual, not celebrating and certainly not relaxing, just calculating.

Peter leaned against the door frame, arms folded ‘three point cushion, feels a bit different now’

Scott nodded slowly ‘it does’ but his tone wasn’t comfortable. Because three points wasn’t safety, not yet.

Peter pushed himself off the door frame, stepping inside the office and said ‘we’ve got four more games. Just need to keep doing what we’ve been doing, seven wins from our last eleven since the break, that’s good form Scotty’

Scott turned slightly, resting against the edge of the desk and closing the laptop as he did ‘we’re this close, Pete, this close to promotion’

Close, but not done, it’s never done until it’s done.

Peter smirked faintly and said ‘you ever notice that the closer you get, the worse it feels?’

Scott gave a small nod ‘because that’s when you can lose it’

Silence hung for a second, then another before Peter said ‘got something else to tell you about too. Just got word form the office that the game against Široki,it’s being shown on TV’

That landed differently,  Scott straightened slightly ‘live?’

Peter nodded. Scott let out a quiet breath.

Of course it was.

Title race. Two teams separated by a small margin, late in the season, it wasn’t just another game anymore. It could be the game that decides who goes up and who stays fighting another season in this division.

Peter gave a small grin ‘no hiding now’

Scott didn’t smile. Three points clear with four games left. One of those being under lights, cameras and a bit more pressure.

Good. Because if they were going to win this league and promotion out of it, they’d have to prove it where everyone could see.

== == == == ==

The call came later that afternoon. Short, direct and to the point. The chairman wanted to see him.

Scott made the walk down the corridor slowly, the kind of walk where you try not to read too much into it, but you still do. Results had been strong, the league table looked good. But football had a way of turning meetings like this into something else entirely.

He knocked once, then stepped inside. Behind the desk sat Šefkija Vila, calm as ever, hands folded, expression unreadable 'Scott, nice to see you’ Vila said, gesturing to the chair opposite.

Scott smiled and sat down. There was no small talk, and that was always a sign. For a moment, Vila just looked at him, then said ‘you’ve done well, I knew you would’ 

Simple. Measured.

Scott nodded once ‘thankyou, appreciate that’

‘Top of the table and we’ve got four games left. The team looks….’ he paused briefly, searching for the right word, ‘..…organised, ready for promotion dare I say’

Scott almost smiled at that ‘organised, we’re trying to be’

A faint flicker of amusement crossed Vila’s face, but it disappeared quickly ‘you’ve also handled things off the pitch’ he continued ‘transfers, discipline, the media, and not forgetting the dressing room’

Scott didn’t interrupt, because this wasn’t praise for the sake of it. This was leading somewhere else.

Vila folded his hands and said ‘when we agreed your contract, it was one year'

Scott nodded.

‘And an extension if you achieved promotion’

Another nod. That had always been the understanding.

Clear. Conditional. Earn it.

Vila leaned forward slightly ‘I don’t think we need to wait’

That made Scott pause, just for a second.

‘I would like to offer you a contract extension, for one more year’ Vila said

Silence. Scott hadn’t expected that. Not yet, not before it was mathematically done and promotion achieved.

For the first time in the meeting, he leaned back slightly in his chair, processing it 'you’re sure?’ he asked.

Vila didn’t hesitate ‘I am’ a pause, then he said ‘you have shown enough to me’

That landed.

Because in football, the word enough was rarely said before the job was finished. Scott looked down briefly, then back up. The original deal had been clear, one year to get promoted, that happens and you earn the extension. This was different, this was trust.

‘I appreciate that’ Scott said, his voice steady but quieter now.

Vila gave a small nod ‘it also sends a message about stability, continuity, and that you’re my guy for the job’

Scott understood that part immediately. To the players, to the staff and to anyone watching from the outside that this wasn’t a short term project, a stop gap to get into the Premier division. This was something being built.

Scott leaned forward slightly ‘I’d like to stay’

No hesitation now, because despite the pressure, the chaos, the thin margins, this felt right.

Vila allowed himself the faintest of smiles ‘good’

The details were straightforward. No complications, no drawn out negotiations or disagreements over things.

One more year. Signed. Sealed. Agreed.

As Scott stood to leave, Vila added one final in ‘just know that I believe in you to finish the job’

Scott met his gaze ‘I will’

And as he stepped back out into the corridor, contract secured before the objective set at the start of the season was even complete, it didn’t feel like relief, it felt like expectation.

There was no excuse not to deliver.

== == == == ==

The next game carried a different kind of tension. Not just about winning, but about keeping up. At home against NK Gradina, Velež Mostar knew exactly what was at stake before a ball had even been kicked. The table had tightened to the point where every goal, every minute, every update from somewhere else mattered.

Scott stood in the technical area early, arms folded, eyes not just on the pitch, but occasionally drifting toward the bench, towards Marcin who’d taken a seat on the bench with the rest of the staff, as opposed to sitting in the stands at home games as was his routine, who’d be checking on results elsewhere as the game went on.

The game itself started cautiously. Gradina sat deep, compact and disciplined. Velež moved the ball well enough, but the edge wasn’t quite there in the opening exchanges. It felt like one of those afternoons where patience would be tested.

Then, on thirty minutes, a moment.  The ball was won deep in theVelež half, switched from right to left them to the middle, where it found Josué just outside the area. He took a touch to settle, another to shift the angle, and then struck through it cleanly.

Fast, dipping and precise, right into the corner.

1–0.

The stadium lifted, relief spilling out as much as celebration. Scott gave a firm nod, turning briefly toward the bench, that was what they needed. 

For four minutes, everything felt right, then the message came through.

A quiet word from Marcin to of the staff. A glance, a nod, a confirmation. Scott didn’t react outwardly. But Peter saw it ‘what is it?’ he asked under his breath.

Marcin had joined them in the technical area and replied without looking at him ‘Široki are winning’ he said as he got his phone out. A second later he said ‘winning by one at home to Sloboda Tuzla’

Peter exhaled slowly, shaking his head ‘of course they are’ and just like that, despite leading their own game, Velež were back in second.

Nothing had changed on the pitch in Mostar, but everything had shifted around it. Scott looked back out at his players, still ahead and still in control of this game, but now chasing things again.

And the message, even without words, was clear - one goal wouldn’t be enough today.

== == == == ==

The second half began with an edge to it. Not panic but with urgency.

The word had spread quietly, indirectly but enough. Players didn’t need to hear the score from Široki Brijeg to feel it. The tempo had lifted, passes a little sharper, runs a fraction more aggressive the press triggered early.

On fifty-three minutes, that pressure turned into opportunity. Maid Adnan took the ball down under pressure and was clipped from behind about thirty yards out. Definitely within range to try something and test the keeper.

Scott stepped forward slightly as Belmin Kobilica placed the ball, rubbing his socks as he did so. On the surface, it looked straightforward, Kobilica the captain standing over it, making a note of who was standing where, and he being the obvious taker.

But then Scott saw it. A quick word, a glance and a nod. Kobilica leaning slightly toward Ljubisa Dunjic, and just like that, Scott knew what was coming.

To both sides of the wall Koné and Reinert were prowling, positioning themselves like they were about to cause chaos. Peter noticed it too.

‘Here we go…’ he muttered.

The referee blew the whistle. Kobilica stepped forward, body shape perfect for the strike, and then he stopped.

In that split second, everything moved. Koné and Reinert burst across the wall in opposite directions, dragging defenders with them, splitting the line just enough, just wide enough.

And Dunjic arrived, body opened up, right leg swinging. Clean contact. No hesitation.

The ball bent through the gap Reinert had created, rising just enough to be clear of the keepers outstretched arm before dipping viciously under the bar.

2–0.

For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then the stadium exploded.

Scott didn’t celebrate wildly but his reaction was immediate. A sharp turn toward Peter, a clenched fist, a nod that said everything.

That’s why we work on it.

On the pitch, Dunjic was swallowed by teammates, Kobilica jumping into him, acknowledging the execution and the young mans first goal of the season, and what a goal it was. A rehearsed moment, delivered under pressure, when it mattered. Scott watched it all unfold, then turned his attention back to the game.

Because now, now it meant something more. Not just the lead, but the response.

The message to the rest of the league, even without them seeing it, Velež weren’t just reacting anymore. They were dictating.

The restart hadn’t even settled. Players were still catching their breath, Gradina still trying to regroup after the free-kick and having just kicked off when the next shift came, this time from somewhere miles away.

On the bench, Marcin leaned forward, eyes fixed on his phone for a second longer than usual. Then he stood, moved quickly down the line ‘Pete’ he said, low but urgent

Peter turned. Marcin didn’t smile, but there was something in his eyes ‘Sloboda have equalised’

Peter blinked once, then let out a short breath, half disbelief, half satisfaction and said ‘get in!’

Peter glanced straight out onto the pitch, then back toward Scott, who hadn’t heard. He stepped closer ‘Scotty, Široki have just conceded, it’s one each there now’

Scott didn’t react outwardly, didn’t celebrate, he didn’t even smile. But something shifted behind his eyes, realisation kicking now that Velež were back in first place in the league.

Just like that. No fanfare, no announcement over the speakers, just a quiet change in the table that only a handful of people in the stadium knew about.

Scott turned back to the pitch, watching his players move the ball again. Still 2–0 up and still in control. But now, leading more than just the game.

Peter folded his arms, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth ‘funny ol’ game isn’t it’

Marcin nodded slightly, ever the realist said ‘it’s not finished yet, plenty of time to go in both games’

And that was the truth of it, because in a title race like this nothing stayed yours unless you kept taking it.

== == == == ==

The game had settled into a rhythm. Velež Mostar were in control, moving the ball with patience, keeping NK Gradina at arm’s length, the kind of control that drains the life out of a contest. Then the bench stirred again.

Marcin didn’t rush this time, he walked to the technical area, calm, measure, but there was something different in his face.

Peter saw it first ‘what is it?’

Marcin leaned in slightly ‘Sloboda, winning 2-1 now’

Peter blinked, smiled and then looked straight out at the pitch, and then back at Scott.

Scott turned before he even spoke, he could read it, sense it even ‘they’ve scored again?’ Scott asked.

Marcin nodded. Scott held his gaze for a moment before Marcin said ‘leading it two-one’

Silence.

And just like that, their two point lead returned. Peter exhaled slowly, then let out a quiet laugh ‘incredible'

But the moment passed quickly, because now came the question.

Peter leaned closer to Scott, voice lower ‘do we let them know’ nodding towards the pitch, as Velež probed again down the right with Reinert, who won a throw deep on the right hand side.

Scott didn’t answer straight away. He watched as Kobilica dropped deep to collect the ball from the throw that was played back inside, Dunjic offering angles continuing to look lively, Koné stretching the play wide, focussed on maintaining the lead.

‘If they know’ Peter continued ‘they might relax’

Scott nodded slightly, that was one side of it.

Two-nil up. News you’re top, a few percent drop in intensity, that’s all it takes. ‘But’ Peter added ‘it could push them as well. Kill the game properly, make it three and no way back’

Scott considered that. Footballers weren’t all the same, some sharpened with information. Others softened. He glanced back toward the bench, then out to the pitch again. Shaking his head Scott said ‘they don’t need it’

Peter frowned slightly. Scott explained, still watching the game ‘if they can’t see this out at two nil without knowing the score somewhere else, then we’ve got bigger problems to deal with’

Peter nodded slowly, that made sense, keep them in the moment, keep them in this game and only this game.

Marcin folded his arms, eyes back on the pitch ‘let them earn it’ he said quietly and made his way back to the bench, phone in hand.

Scott gave a small nod, and that was the decision.

Out on the pitch, nothing had changed, same shape, same focus and same control.

== == == == ==

But then it started as a ripple. A murmur in one corner, a sudden swell of noise that didn’t match anything happening on the pitch, the ball was out of play as Gradina were preparing a substitution. Heads in the crowd turning, phones being checked, words spreading faster than the ball ever could. Then it grew.

A roar, not for the Gradina forward jogging off, not for a tackle, not for a pass, not for anything Velež had done, but for something happening roughly twentyfive miles away.

Peter glanced toward the stands, then back at Scott and smiled ‘they know’

Scott didn’t reply, he didn’t need to.

The reaction was obvious now. Fans on their feet, arms raised and scarves flying. A chant beginning to build, not directed at NK Gradina, not even entirely at Velež Mostar.

Something else, something bigger. On the pitch, a few players started to notice, a look toward the stands followed by a brief hesitation. Confusion more than anything.

Ljubisa Dunjic glanced over his shoulder after a pass, brow furrowed. Adama Koné slowed for a second, listening. They didn’t know the details, but they could feel it.

Something had happened, somewhere.

Scott stepped forward slightly, clapping his hands once, sharp, deliberate and shouted to Dunjic ‘focus!’ then to Koné ‘ignore it, we’re playing here, not them!’

That cut through to them, because whatever the crowd knew, this game still needed finishing.

Peter leaned in slightly ‘they’re going to figure it out’

Scott nodded ‘let them, but they won’t know from us’

And that was the balance. The crowd carried the news, the noise carried the pressure.

But on the pitch it was still about control and discipline, still about seeing the job through.

Because if they lost focus now, if they let the moment drift, it wouldn’t matter what had happened at Široki Brijeg. And Scott wasn’t about to let that happen.

== == == == ==

The final minutes were played in a strange kind of tension. Not fear and not panic, just complete awareness.

The noise from the stands never really settled. It pulsed, rose, dipped, then surged again, like the crowd was watching two games at once, one in front of them and one they were keeping an eye on their phones for.

On the pitch, Velež Mostar didn’t break. They stayed compact, passed when it was on, pressed with efficiency and cleared when it wasn’t. No risks, no unnecessary flourishes.

Scott barely moved during the final moments. Peter paced a little, then stopped. Then paced again ‘just finish it’ he said..

Finally the whistle came.

Sharp. Final. Done.

2–0.

For a split second, there was a pause, then the stadium erupted, not just for the win, for what it meant.

Players looked around, some of the younger ones confused at the scale of it, others starting to piece it together. A few turned toward the stands, hands raised, trying to understand the noise.

On the touchline, Peter turned to Marcin ‘is it done?’

Marcin checked once more, quick, precise, then nodded ‘it is, 2-1 to Sloboda’

Peter let out a breath he’d been holding ‘top of the league then’ he said, almost to himself.

Scott didn’t celebrate immediately. He stood still for a moment, taking it in, not the noise, not the chaos, but the control of the situation.  They’d done their job, nothing more and nothing less. Then he turned toward the pitch, clapping his hands firmly towards the fans.

Inside the dressing room he stepped in, a grin breaking through ‘Sloboda did you a favour’ he said ‘Široki lost the lead in the table. We’re finishing today top of the league’

A beat. Then it hit. Smiles and shouts. A couple of players laughing in disbelief.

Top of the table, again.

Scott raised a hand, settling them just enough.

‘Enjoy it’ he said ‘but remember why it happened. We won, that’s the part we control. We control ourselves, because we need to make sure we rely on ourselves, and only ourselves to stay top of the league'

The room quieted slightly. No grand speech, no overreaction. Just the truth.

As the players headed out for the day, the noise from the stands still echoing behind them, Peter leaned in one last time ‘funny game’ he said.

Scott allowed himself a small smile ‘yeah’ he replied ‘but only if you keep doing your job’

== == == == ==

The third meeting carried a different weight. Same opponent, same stadium in the capital. But this time, everything felt tighter. The title race had stripped the game down to its essentials. Points. Margins. Nerve.

As Velež Mostar walked out at FK Željezničar Sarajevo, the atmosphere wasn’t just loud, it was expectant. The kind of noise that didn’t fade after kickoff, just settled into a constant pressure around the pitch.

Scott stood still in the technical area, hands deep in his coat pockets. No emotion on his face, but inside, everything was alert.

The opening minutes were sharp, aggressive. Željezničar pressed high, feeding off the crowd, trying to force mistakes early. Velež didn’t panic, but they didn’t dominate either, this wasn’t that kind of game. This was about moments. Winning them, surviving them even.

Around fifteen minutes in Velež began to find their footing. A couple of passes strung together. Midfield settling into a rhythm, the press from Željezničar losing a fraction of its intensity. Then came the first real break of the game.

A direct ball forward over the defence had split the line, dropping toward Grzegorz Goncerz as he peeled off the shoulder of the last defender. He took it in stride, driving into the box.

And then contact. Late, clumsy, the inexperience of the defender on show.

Masović, the young defender, had misjudged it completely. His leg caught Goncerz just as the striker shifted the ball inside. The whistle came instantly.

Penalty. For a split second, the stadium froze, then erupted.

Protests from the home fans. Arms raised on the touchline. Players surrounding the referee. But the decision didn’t change and Scott didn’t move, he just watched, he knew the outcome before the penalty had been taken.

Goncerz placed the ball down with that same calm he’d shown all season. No theatrics. No delay. The goalkeeper bounced on his line, trying to read something that wasn’t there.

The whistle blew. Goncerz stepped forward , and sent him the wrong way.

Low. Precise. Routine.

0–1.

Goal number twentysix. He didn’t celebrate wildly. Just a small turn, both fists clenched, teammates gathering around him.

Job done.

On the touchline, Scott gave a single nod. One moment, taken efficiently. And in a game like this, that could be everything.

== == == == ==

The goal didn’t quiet the stadium, if anything it sharpened it.

At 0–1 down Željezničar Sarajevo had no choice but to push. The press came again, harder this time, driven by urgency rather than adrenaline. Balls were played forward quicker, tackles a fraction later, the rhythm of the game tipping toward something more chaotic.

But Velež Mostar didn’t get dragged into it, and that was the difference.

Where earlier in the season they might have rushed, forced passes and tried to kill the game too early, now they absorbed it. Lines stayed compact. The midfield stayed disciplined. Every clearance had purpose, every pass an exit. 

Scott barely moved on the touchline. Just watched, measured it all. Peter, beside him, was quieter than usual too, occasional instructions, a sharp word here and there and gestures with his hands, but nothing like the explosions of recent weeks.

They trusted what they were seeing.

Željezničar had their moments. A free header from a cross that drifted just wide. A shot from distance that forced a strong save from Abdihodžić. A scramble in the box that took two blocks and a clearance from Leovan before the danger finally passed.

But none of it felt clean, and none of it felt like control.

As the game moved into the second half, frustration began to creep in from Željezničar, and everyone could see it in the tackles, the reactions, the rushed passes.

Then, on seventy-five minutes the game tipped. Elvir Kadušić, already on a yellow, arrived late into a challenge onto Kobilica. Not malicious, just mistimed, desperate, much like the challenge Masović made in the first half.

The referee didn’t hesitate. Second yellow. Red. game over.

For a moment, the stadium erupted in disbelief, then anger. Kadušić stood there, hands out, shaking his head as the reality settled in.

Scott allowed himself the smallest exhale, because now the game changed completely. With ten men, Željezničar still pushed, they had to, but the edges dulled. The press lost its bite, the spaces began to open. Velež didn’t rush for a second goal, they didn’t need to, this game was as good as done.

They kept the ball. Slowed the tempo. Moved their opponents from side to side, forcing them to chase, to tire, to accept what was coming.

Whistles from the crowd, groans with every backwards pass. But Velež stayed cold, professional, compact. When the final whistle came, it wasn’t dramatic, it was earned.

0–1. Another narrow win, another clean sheet and another step forward to promotion.

== == == == ==

On the way down the tunnel Scott shook Peter’s hand again, firmer this time. No words, just understanding that this wasn’t about blowing teams away anymore.

This was about control, about keeping their nerve, about knowing exactly what the game required, and giving nothing more.

When Peter leaned in slightly, a smirk breaking through the tension that had followed them all afternoon ‘that’s three now’ he muttered, referring to the three games and three wins against Željezničar Sarajevo.

Scott glanced at him.

Peter nodded toward the pitch, where the FK Željezničar Sarajevo players were still arguing with the referee ‘good job we didn’t take that job, eh?’

Scott let out a quiet breath through his nose, half laugh, half relief.

‘Yeah’ he replied ‘might not have been as fun’

Peter’s grin widened slightly ‘or we’d be the ones down there shouting at the referee instead’

Scott shook his head, a faint smile finally showing.

Behind them, the Velež players were already heading into the away dressing room. 

Calm. Controlled. Efficient.

== == == == ==

April didn’t end with a roar, instead it ended with clenched control. After the turbulence of the cup exit, FK Velež Mostar found something colder, something more calculated.

Two final games to round out the month. Two margins. Two statements.

First, away at FK Željezničar Sarajevo.

The same ground, the same noise, the same undertone from the cup game earlier in the season, but this time there was no emotion in it from Scott. No lingering edge about decisions or conversations from the past. Just business.

The goal came without ceremony. A move built patiently, a low cross into the box towards Adnan who not for the first time this season had got on the blind side of a defender, was fouled and a penalty given. Goncerz stepped up confidently, finished it efficiently. No explosion, no wild celebration, just a reset and a tightening of shape.

From that point on, Velež didn’t chase a second, they strangled the game, frustrating Željezničar enough that their young winger Kadusic, starting his second game this season, was given a second yellow card, no less than six minutes after his first.

Željezničar had possession spells, moments where the crowd tried to lift them, but it never felt like control. Not real control. Every attack seemed to meet a red shirt in the right place, every cross dealt with, every second ball anticipated.

Velež saw it one-nil. The kind of win that doesn’t make headlines, but wins leagues.

Then came NK Bosna Visoko at home. Different setting. Same script. No early breakthrough, no flowing dominance. Just patience stretching thin across the first half, the crowd beginning to murmur as passes became safer, tempo slightly slower.  Scott didn’t react. He’d seen this type of game before. And eventually, it cracked.

A single opening taken with efficiency. Adnan peeling off his marker as Goncerz headed a left wing cross into his path, a neat first touch and then a cool finish into the far corner.

One-nil.

From there, it was control again. Not flashy, not expansive. Just assured. The kind of performance that says ‘we don’t need more than this’

Six points, two clean sheets and no drama. But still, second place, level on points with NK Široki Brijeg.

The table was tightening into something uncomfortable, something that refused to give anything away.

Scott stood alone for a moment after the Bosna Visoko game, looking out at the pitch as it emptied. Earlier in the season, they’d blown teams away.

Now? They were learning something else. How to win when it wasn’t pretty. How to win when it was tense. How to win when one goal had to be enough.

And as April closed, that felt just as important as any four goal performance. Because this, this was what the run in looked like.

== == == == ==

If there had been any doubt in Scott’s mind about the response, it didn’t last long.

Back at home, under a cold but clear Mostar sky, Velež Mostar came out like a team with something to prove against FK Igman Konjic. Not just to the league, but to themselves.

Eight minutes in, the tone was set. A sharp move down the right saw the ball worked quickly into the box, where Grzegorz Goncerz peeled away from his marker with that instinct he’d shown all season. One touch to set, one to finish, low, precise, inevitable.

1–0.

Scott didn’t celebrate wildly. Just a firm nod, arms folded, that was more like it.

Thirteen minutes later, it got better.

Bernd Reinert, back in the starting line up, darted from his own half with the ball, got by two defenders and drove into the box, his quick feet drawing a clumsy challenge from Cutahija. The referee pointed to the spot without hesitation.

Goncerz placed the ball down. No fuss. No drama.He sent the goalkeeper the wrong way.

2–0.

Peter turned away from the pitch for a second, muttering under his breath ‘good. Keep going’. Velež did keep going and certainly weren’t finished.

On 21 minutes, Reinert was at it again, direct, aggressive, forcing defenders into mistakes. Another foul in the box. Another penalty. The home fans in the stadium almost laughed in disbelief.

Goncerz didn’t. This time, he changed it up. Not into the corner. No disguise with his run up, just straight down the middle.

3–0. Hat-trick.

He barely celebrated. Just turned, pointed briefly toward Reinert in acknowledgment, and jogged back to his half. There was a ruthlessness about it now.

And just before the whistle went for half time, it turned into something else entirely. A half cleared ball dropped on the edge of the area. Goncerz didn’t hesitate. He stepped into it and struck a thunderous volley.

Clean. Violent. Unstoppable.

The net rippled before the goalkeeper had even moved.

4–0.

Scott allowed himself a small smile this time. Not just because of the goals, but because of the reaction.

== == == == ==

The second half was quieter, but controlled. The job was already done, no need to overdo it, however Igman’s frustration began to show, and on 78 minutes Brkić saw red after a late, unnecessary challenge, being given his second yellow, that summed up their afternoon.

Velež kept the ball as well as that they kept the tempo. Professional, respectful even.

Then, in the 89th minute, yet another penalty. Even Scott shook his head slightly at that one.

Goncerz was already off the pitch by then, cooling down on the subs bench, his work long since completed.

With no recognised penalty taker on the pitch, Diego Malania pulled rank, and with it the responsibility to take the games fourth spot kick.

He placed the ball down calmly, glanced at the goalkeeper once, leaned back and swung his right foot, sending the ball to the keepers left.

5–0. No chaos, no manic celebration, just control.

== == == == ==

At full-time, Scott just nodded to Peter after shaking the Igman managers hand. No words needed between them, this was the response they had demanded.

Clinical. Focused. Relentless.

Inside the dressing room, the message was simple ‘that is how you bounce back’

And this time, there was no doubt in the room.

== == == == ==

The second leg didn’t begin with noise. No anger spilling over, no shouting from Peter or Scott from the touchline in the opening minutes. Just a quiet, controlled focus.

After the chaos of the first leg and the collapse against Velika Obarska, Velež Mostar looked like a team trying to remember itself. The ball moved quicker, they pressed with more intent and tackled like it mattered again.

Scott noticed it immediately. It wasn’t perfect, but better, much better.

Velika Obarska still carried the advantage, still sat compact and disciplined, but this time Velež weren’t drifting through the game they were forcing it.

The breakthrough came midway through the first half. 

A loose ball dropped just outside the area, and Josué reacted quicker than anyone. One touch with his right to steady himself, another to shift it onto his left, he opened his body and then he struck it. Low, clean and sent skidding across the surface and into the bottom corner.

1–0.

Level on the night. The handful of Velež fans that made the trip erupted with noise, but there was still tension in the air. Because everyone connected with Velež knew the truth, they still needed one more.

Scott stayed composed on the touchline, but inside there was a flicker of something dangerous - hope.

The rest of the half passed with Velež pushing, probing, trying to find that second goal. Half chances came and went. A header just over the bar from Goncerz. A shot by Adnan blocked before it was ever troubling the keeper. 

Not enough. And football has a way of punishing that.

Early in the second half, Obarska found their moment.  A simple move, nothing elaborate or overly technical. A ball worked out wide, a cross delivered into an area Velež hadn’t quite reset for.

The striker got there first, in behind Leovac at center half and with a glance of his right boot guided the ball into the net.

1–1. 2–1 on aggregate. Just like that.

Scott closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again, expression hardening.

Peter didn’t explode this time. Instead he stood on pointed at Leovac who didn’t need telling what the assistant manager was thinking.

And the frustration was still there from them all, tight, contained, simmering under the surface. Scott paced the edge of the technical area, muttering under his breath, shaking his head every time a pass went astray or a decision came a second too late.

‘Better’ he said to Peter who was still silently fuming the equaliser ‘but not enough, it’s not going to be enough’

And that was it. That was the game. Velež kept pushing, kept trying to force something in the final stages, but the edge wasn’t quite there. The final ball never quite landed to Adnan or Geoncerz, the pass from the middle never made it by the defence, that one moment they needed never arrived.

When the whistle went, it ended 1–1 on the day, 2-1 to Obarska on aggregate.

And with it, the cup run was over.

== == == == ==

The dressing room afterwards felt different to the previous two games. Still disappointed and still very frustrated, but not hollow. Peter was the first to speak this time ‘too late, lads, too late in the tackle, too late reacting, too late pressing just too late all over the pitch. Not just today but over both legs’

A few players dropped their heads. Because again, it was true. He exhaled and shook his head ‘but, the season isn’t over. Far from it. You need to react from this, that game today was ther for the taking. You’ve played worse games than that today and come out with a result, that’s the frustrating part of it’

Scott watched the room carefully as Peter laid it all out for them. They needed honesty, clarity on exactly how they’d let themselves down, but they also needed direction ‘we’re better than today, than the first leg, much better’ he said

Scrappy wins in the league, games where things hadn’t clicked, but they’d found a way anyway. He let that sit for a second ‘as you all know, that’s football for you’

No dramatics. No overreaction. ‘Going out in a quarter-final isn’t the end of the world’ Scott said ‘not for where we are really, and not for what we’re trying to do this season’

Peter folded his arms but didn’t interrupt, Scott’s tone sharpened slightly ‘what matters now is what happens next’. He looked around the room, making sure it landed with everyone 'because if we carry this performance into the remaining league games, we’ll be fine, won’t we’ a statement, not a question followed by a pause ‘but if we carry the last two performances instead…..’

He didn’t need to finish it, the full room understood what he was getting at. Scott just nodded once and said ‘bounce back, that’s it, that’s all I want’

He let them cool down, get showered and changed, mingle with each other for a bit before calling them back for one last note before they left for the day. His voice hardened when he said ‘you don’t get credit for reacting after the damage is done. We’re out of the cup, we put ourselves out. That might mean a couple less games now, but it just means we’ve got objective still, the only one we’ve had all season’

Promotion.

And after everything that had just happened in the last couple of games, there was no margin for another mistake.

== == == == ==

The warning signs had been there. Small ones at first, slight lapses, moments where control slipped just enough to let opponents breathe, nothing that wasn’t manageable game to game.

But the cup quarter-final brought everything into sharp, ugly focus. First leg at home, a chance to take control against Velika Obarska.

Instead, it became something else entirely. From the first whistle, FK Velež Mostar looked wrong. Not just off the pace, but disconnected.

Passes went astray. Movement lacked any sort of conviction and duels were lost too easily. The kind of performance that didn’t come from one mistake, but from a collective drop in standards, a collective drop in team work.

Scott stood on the touchline, arms folded tight across his chest, jaw set.

He didn’t shout at first. He just watched, hoping they got it together, and quickly, because sometimes the worst thing wasn’t a bad moment, it was when an entire team looked like it had forgotten who it was.

Velika Obarska didn’t need brilliance to take advantage, though it did take until the final minute of the game to make the breakthrough.

A loose ball in midfield wasn’t attacked quickly enough from Velež. Obarska broke forward, simple passes slicing through a static Velež shape. The shot itself wasn’t even clean but it took a deflection, wrong footed the goalkeeper, and rolled into the net.

0–1.

Silence.The kind that spreads slowly across a stadium when everyone knew it was coming, and it was just a matter of when it arrived.

Scott turned away briefly, exhaling through his nose.

Peter wasn’t as restrained. And then he snapped. Not the usual barking instructions, or the controlled anger Scott had grown used to.

This was different.

‘WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!’ he roared, storming down the touchline, arms flailing toward the pitch ‘this is pathetic! All of you need sacking! Embarrassing’

Heads in the stand nearest the dugout turned from the pitch to the assistant manager. ‘Not one of you has been good enough. School boy stuff, all of this looks like amateur hour!’

But it didn’t change much in the six added minutes, if anything, the performance drifted further by the time the full time whistle blew, Velež hadn’t lost 1-0, they were fortunate to have only lost 1-0.

Obarska created plenty of chances. Clear ones that on another day would've gone in. A header over the bar from six yards, a one-on-one dragged just wide, another effort pushed onto the post. And those were only the chances in the first half!

It could have been two, three even four. Maybe more.

When the final whistle came, the scoreline read 0–1. But it felt heavier.

Inside the dressing room, the air turned cold. Scott didn’t sit. He stood in the centre of the room, eyes moving from player to player ‘that is the worst performance we’ve had all season, and it’s not even close’

No one argued.

‘Not because we lost’ he continued ‘because of how we lost’ He pointed toward the door, back out to the pitch ‘they worked harder than us. They ran more, they created and wanted it more’

His voice sharpened slightly ‘and if you play like that again in the second leg, you won’t just go out of the cup…’

He let the sentence hang ‘…you’ll deserve to go out’

Peter didn’t soften it.

'Lucky’ he snapped ‘you’re damn lucky it’s only one’

A few players shifted uncomfortably, because they knew it was true.

== == == == ==

If the cup defeat was a warning, the next league match confirmed it. Away at FK Jedinstvo, Velež needed a response. They got the complete opposite.

From early on, Jedinstvo played with urgency, closing down quickly, attacking space and forcing mistakes. Velež looked hesitant again, like a team caught between confidence and doubt, and they conceded early.

Then again. By the time the third went in, the game was gone.

3–1.

And worse than the result was what it meant. For the first time in weeks, Velež slipped down into second place. The dressing room afterwards was quieter than after the cup defeat. Not tense or angry, just heavy.

Scott stood in front of them again, but this time there was no slow build ‘you think this is a bad week?’ he said, voice low as he shook his head ‘this is how seasons collapse, you lose focus, you think because you’re top, it stays that way’ he let it hang a moment before adding ‘it doesn’t, as you’ve all found out’

Peter paced behind him, unable to stay still ‘two games’ he snapped ‘two absolute shit shows of performances that are nowhere near the level we’ve set, the level YOU’VE ALL SET YOURSELVES’

Scott’s voice cut back in trying to calm his assistant down ‘if you want promotion, then you’ve got to prove it’

Silence filled the room, because now, for the first time all season, there was doubt. Genuine doubt. Not outside the club, not in the terraces or on the message boards online.

Inside.

== == == == ==

The winter break ended quietly. No fireworks, no grand declarations, just another matchday arriving at the stadium in Mostar.

FK Velež Mostar returned to action at home against NK Travnik, the kind of fixture that looked straightforward on paper but could easily become awkward if approached carelessly. The table still showed Velež at the top, their lead fragile, their margin for mistakes thin.

Scott knew exactly the kind of game this could become. Rusty players, cold pitch, cold and heavy legs. A team shaking off winter rust.

The opening twenty minutes reflected that. Passes slightly underhit and the movement a fraction slow. Travnik sat deep, content to frustrate and drag the tempo down. Eventually though, quality began to surface.

Grzegorz Goncerz broke the deadlock early in the second half, reacting quickest to a loose ball in the area after an inswinging corner from newly appointed captain Kobilica caused chaos in the Travnik defence. The finish was simple, side foot, low and controlled and the stadium responded like the weight of winter had finally lifted.

1-0

From there the match opened.

Travnik had to step forward and Velež began finding space between the lines. A second goal followed in the seventieth minute when Adnan slipped a clever pass through the defence for Koné, who darted in from the right hand side and finished calmly past the advancing goalkeeper.

2-0

But the moment Scott remembered most from the afternoon didn’t involve a goal. It came moments after the second goal went in.

On the left flank, Manuel Benson Hedilazio chased a loose ball toward the touchline. A Travnik defender slid across late, and as Hedilazio twisted to keep the ball in play his footing went awkwardly beneath him.

He stayed down. The noise from the home fans dipped into a worried murmur.

Scott immediately knew the signs, players clutching their foot, pain evident and the physios jogging quickly rather than walking.

Hedilazio limped off moments later, frustration written all over his face.

Early assessment from the medical staff suggested four to five weeks out. Not catastrophic, but long enough to disrupt the rhythm of the team’s left hand side.

Scott watched him disappear down the tunnel before returning his focus to the match.

The players responded well.

Velež controlled the final fifteen or so minutes, and a third goal eventually arrived late on when Goncerz rose highest to meet a floated cross, glancing a header back into the box towards the debuting Josué, off the bench, who glided the ball past the Travnik keeper.

3-0

Professional. Controlled. Job done.

The press room afterwards carried a slightly sharper atmosphere.

Among the reporters sitting in the front row was the now familiar figure of Emir Hadžić from Mostar Arena Sport. He waited until the second or third question before raising his hand. Scott noticed the slight smile.

‘Scott’ Hadžić began ‘comfortable win today, yes. But you lose Hedilazio, who has been important for your width and is having a good season’. He leaned slightly forward, not letting Scott reply before adding ‘your squad has already lost Bebanić in this window, are you worried the team may start losing momentum at the most important stage of the season?’

The room went quiet. Scott had already learned that Hadžić didn’t ask soft questions during their previous interactions in these post game press conferences at Vrapčići, the home ground of Velež.

Scott folded his hands calmly on the table. ‘No’ was all Scott said. 

Hadžić raised his eyebrows, inviting him to elaborate.

Scott did ‘we lost a good player in Bebanić, but the press don’t know the ins and outs of the deal’ he admitted, then raised a hand to stop Hadžić interrupting and said ‘with Hedilazio of course he will be missed for a few weeks.  But if a team’s momentum depends on one or two players, then it isn’t a strong team’

A few journalists scribbled that down quickly. Scott continued ‘the players showed today that they understand what’s at stake. Three goals, clean sheet and controlled performance after the winter break’

Hadžić nodded slightly, though the faint smile remained ‘so you’re confident the squad is strong enough to continue the push for promotion?’

Scott met his gaze, catching Hadžić’s hint that maybe, just maybe he thought Velež weren’t strong enough. Scott said ‘we’re top of the league for a reason’

For a moment the two men simply looked at each other across the press room. Not hostile, but not comfortable either.

Hadžić leaned back in his chair, making a final note in his notebook whilst nodding as he did. The story for the days report was writing itself, and Scott had a feeling the journalist would be back again soon.

== == == == ==

The winter break is supposed to be quiet. Rest, relaxation and reviewing the first half of the season, mixed in with a few contract renewals. One or two departures might go ahead, some tactical work in the office while the frost clung stubbornly to the grass each morning. But Marcin rarely believed in quiet. In fact he hated when it was too quiet.

One afternoon he appeared in Scott’s office holding a thin folder and wearing the expression Scott had come to recognise over the years, the look of a man who had found something interesting. ‘I’ve invited someone for a trial’ Marcin said.

Scott didn’t even look up at first, knowing Marcin’s eye for talent matched his won. ‘Where from?’

‘Brazil’

That made Scott raise an eyebrow and look up from the laptop.

Marcin placed the folder on the desk. ‘His name is Josué. Twenty years old. Central midfielder’

Scott flipped through the notes while Marcin spoke some more. A handful of photo’s of the kid playing, a couple of hand written notes from Marcin, some scouting observations in there too. Nothing glamorous or in depth, just enough to show glimpses of the player in action.

The main notes read - Quick feet. Good balance. Great touch.

The kind of midfielder who seemed comfortable receiving the ball under pressure.

‘Where was he playing?’ Scott asked.

‘Lower leagues back home. Bit of academy football before that, second division this season and he had a shot at Palmeiras apparently, but nothing came of it’ Marcin said.

That wasn’t unusual. Players like this existed all over the world, talented enough to stand out locally, but still waiting for someone in Europe to take a chance.

Scott leaned back in his chair ‘so why him? What’s he got to catch your eye?’

Marcin smiled slightly ‘because when he has the ball, things slow down’

Scott glanced back down at the notes, that description meant something to coaches. Some players rushed everything, panicked and with rushed passes. Decisions made half a second too early.  Others had a different rhythm, they could take the ball with a defender breathing down their neck and still look comfortable.

‘Four week trial’ Marcin continued ‘I want to see how he trains, how he handles the tempo and how he listens’

Scott nodded slowly ‘and if he’s good’

Marcin didn’t hesitate ‘then we offer him a deal’

Scott closed the laptop. They both knew the reality of that kind of signing.

A 20-year-old Brazilian midfielder arriving at FK Velež Mostar isn’t meant to be a ten year project. If things worked out, if Josué adapted, developed, improved, he wouldn’t be staying long. Clubs higher up the ladder would notice. Two seasons, maybe three, then someone with a bigger budget would come knocking.

Scott looked at Marcin ‘so we develop him…..’

‘…and someone else takes a chance on him, if he applies himself’ Marcin finished with a shrug.

Scott smiled faintly, ‘that's the plan with him? We’re not a Red Bull team’

Marcin leaned back in his chair ‘not just that, no. The plan is we win games while he’s here, develop the full team, progress, challenge for things, and he’ll improve us I’m sure of it’

That part was simple. Players like Josué were part gamble, part opportunity. Young enough to mould, talented enough to influence games right away and to excite scouts if everything clicked.

== == == == ==

Later that week the young Brazilian arrived at the training ground. Nervous, quiet but certainly taking everything in. Scott watched from the touchline as he joined the first attacking session.

The ball came to him under pressure. One touch. Then another, he slipped past a defender with a sudden shift of balance and played a calm pass into space towards Adnan.

Nothing overly spectacular, but it made Scott glance sideways toward Marcin.

Marcin had already noticed. The two men exchanged a small look that said the same thing.

This kid might not be here long. But while he was, he could be very useful.

== == == == ==

The formal offer arrived the following morning. NK Čelik Zenica officially offering €20,000 for Edin Bebanić.

Scott sat with the email open for a while before calling Bebanić into the office.

The captain knocked once and stepped inside, still wearing his training jacket. There was a calmness about him, the kind that came with experience. Players like him usually knew why they’d been called in before the conversation even started.

Scott gestured to the chair ‘I’m sure you already know, or have an idea about it, but Zenica have made an offer’ he said plainly ‘twenty thousand for you’

Bebanić didn’t react immediately. He leaned back slightly, absorbing it, eyes drifting for a moment toward the window overlooking the training ground. Then a small nod, accepting something in his mind.

‘As you know they’re in the Premier League’ Scott added ‘it’s a step up if you want it’

A faint smile appeared on Bebanić’s face ‘I’d had a feeling something might come from them’ he admitted, careful not to say too much.

Scott watched him carefully, knowing he was holding something back ‘I wanted to speak to you before the club decided anything, we’re playing well and…’

Bebanić cut the boss off, wanting to speak again ‘my contract is up at the end of the season anyway’

That wasn’t news Scott didn’t already know, Marcin had began working on contracts that were expiring in the next six months, but still it wasn’t something he liked hearing, but it also explained a lot.

‘I’d been thinking about leaving in the summer’ Bebanić continued calmly ‘not because of the club, or you in any way. You know that I hope’

Scott nodded, but didn’t say anything.

‘But I’m thirtythree now. Opportunities like this’ Bebanić shrugged lightly ‘you know how football is, at any age you don’t always get many opportunities’

The honesty of it made the situation clearer. If Velež rejected the offer, there was a real chance Bebanić would simply leave for nothing a few months later, promotion or not.

Scott leaned forward slightly ‘you’ve been important for me, for this club, ever since I walked through the door. Keeping the armband on you was an easy decision, you are my captain for a reason’.

Bebanić nodded respectfully and said ‘I appreciate everything you’ve done since you arrived’ he replied ‘the team’s in a good place now’

That part stuck with Scott. The team was in a good place right now. Top of the table, a dressing room growing stronger every week and the perfect balance of experience and youth.

Losing Bebanić would hurt, but it wouldn’t break the structure they’d built. Scott exhaled slowly and nodded ‘I can’t stand in your way right now. You’re out of contract and you’ve said you’re going to leave in the summer anyway. If that’s a move you’d be interested in discussing with them, I’ll accept the offer’

For the first time in the meeting, Bebanić looked genuinely relieved. They shook hands, firm, professional and with the quiet understanding that football careers rarely followed sentimental scripts.

As Bebanić stood to leave, Scott added one final thing ‘but one last thing, finish this week like you started it. You’re still the captain until you walk out of that door’

Bebanić smiled at that, nodded and headed down to the training pitch.

And when the office door closed behind him, Scott looked back at the email from Čelik Zenica.

This time, accepting the offer felt a lot easier.

== == == == ==

The paperwork was completed quickly without any issues. €20,000 transferred, signatures exchanged, handshakes done and just like that Edin Bebanić was officially a player of NK Čelik Zenica.

For the club it was tidy business, for Scott, it felt heavier.

Later that afternoon he sat his small office beside the training ground with Marcin, the winter light fading through the window as the players finished their session outside. Boots clattered on the concrete corridor, laughter drifting through the door.

Normal sounds, but Scott wasn’t fully hearing them.

‘Twenty thousand for an aging player in this league, isn’t bad Scott’ Marcin said, leaning back in his chair ‘especially with his contract ending in six months’

Scott nodded slowly, though his eyes were still on the window towards the training pitch ‘oh I know that, trust me I know’

Financially it made sense. If they’d waited until the summer, Bebanić will have walked away for nothing, he’d said as much. Zenica were offering top flight football. The player might not have explicitly said he wanted the move, but Scott felt he was clear about wanting out of Mostar.

Everything about the deal was logical. ‘He’s the captain of the team’ Scott said, not to Marcin or himself, he just said it aloud.quietly.

Marcin didn’t respond and let the silence linger.

Scott rubbed the back of his neck and with a concerned look his said ‘you start letting captains and first team players go mid-season’ he paused, then continued ‘the other players notice things like that. Not just here, around the league’ His voice wasn’t angry. Just thoughtful. ‘What are they going to think? Scott said ‘that we’re happy to move anyone on? That no one’s safe, that when we talk about building and putting things in place that it’s all a lie?’

Marcin gave a small shake of his head ‘behave Scott’ he started. When he stood up and walked to the window he continued ‘they’ll think you treated him fairly. He hasn’t got a bad word to say about you or the club. He also wanted the move, higher league, a step up. Plus they all know you spoke to him first’

That part mattered the most. Inside dressing rooms, players always found out the truth eventually. Deals done behind backs created tension, rumours travelled faster than tactics.

Scott had made sure Bebanić was involved in the decision. Still, another thought lingered ‘how does it look? The club is aiming for promotion and they let the captain leave while they're top of the league’

Marcin smiled faintly ‘it looks like a club that doesn’t trap its players’

Scott considered that. Football dressing rooms were strange ecosystems. Authority wasn’t just about shouting, throwing things or tactics boards. It was about reputation. Trust. The sense that the man leading the group knew what he was doing. Letting a captain leave could be seen as weakness, or on the flip side it could be seen as strength. ‘Someone will have to step up now, and take the armband' Marcin added.

Scott nodded. That was another side of it. Leadership didn’t disappear when one player left. It just moved. Maybe someone like Diego Malania. Maybe Belmin Kobilica. Maybe someone Scott hadn’t even considered yet.

Football teams had a way of revealing new leaders when the old ones moved on. 

Scott stood and glanced back toward the emptying pitch out of the window. For a moment he allowed himself to feel it, the small sting of letting a trusted player go, then the manager in him returned. ‘Alright’ he said quietly ‘it’s done, there’s no going back. Time to see who speaks the loudest now’

Because losing a captain didn’t weaken a team, sometimes it simply showed you who the next one would be.

== == == == ==

With Edin Bebanić now officially transferred to NK Čelik Zenica, one immediate question inside the dressing room had to be answered.

The captain’s armband. Scott didn’t leave it hanging for long. 

The following morning before training began, the squad gathered inside the dressing room. The mood was quiet but attentive. Players already knew Bebanić had moved on, and in football that always meant the hierarchy shifted.

Scott stood at the front of the room with Peter beside him ‘Edin’s gone, and with it the captaincy' he said simply ‘we all know what he meant to the team. The way he carried himself, the standards he set, I’m not telling you things you don’t already know’

A few players nodded quietly.  Scott continued ‘but when one leader leaves, another steps forward’

He looked across the room toward Belmin Kobilica. ‘Belmin has been vice-captain, so he knows what’s needed’ Scott said ‘and from today he’s the club captain’

Kobilica sat up slightly, clearly surprised to be the centre of attention even though the promotion was the logical step. Despite currently being sidelined with his achilles injury, he remained around the club during the day, getting involved in tactical meetings and still a respected voice inside the squad, one of the few players who naturally commanded attention when he spoke.

Scott gave a small nod toward him ‘you’ve earned it skipper’ he said as he handed him the captains armband itself

The players responded with a couple of claps, a handful of taps on lockers and murmurs of approval. The decision made sense. There was no tension, no debate, it was the obvious choice.

Then Scott added one more piece of the structure ‘for the rest of this season, the vice-captain will be Grzegorz Goncerz’

That announcement produced a few more approving nods. Goncerz had already taken on an informal leadership role through his performances alone. Seventeen goals before the winter break had made him the team’s most visible figure on the pitch, and his voice in the dressing room had grown louder as the season progressed.

Scott glanced around the room one last time ‘this doesn’t change how we work, leaders aren’t just the men wearing the armband’

A few players smiled at that. Because inside good teams, everyone understood the truth of it.

Captains could change. But standards couldn’t.

== == == == ==

The winter break didn’t just bring rest, it brought decisions. One of the first pieces of business Scott and the club moved on quickly was securing the future of their young forward Maid Adnan.

The striker had shown flashes throughout the first half of the season, raw, energetic, sometimes chaotic but undeniably dangerous. His performances in the cup, especially the hat trick against FK Sloga Simin Han, had convinced the coaching staff that there was something real there. Enough to act before someone else noticed.

In the small office next to Scott’s, Marcin laid the paperwork on the desk with a satisfied nod ‘a good decision, two more years’

Scott looked over the contract briefly before sliding it back across the desk.

Marcin continued, leaning back slightly in his chair ‘he’s still rough in parts’ he admitted ‘you see it sometimes with his movement. Sometimes he goes too early, sometimes he drifts when he should stay central’ he tapped the desk lightly ‘but the important things are there’

Desire. Determination. Hunger. Instinct in the box.

At nineteen Adnan still had plenty to learn, but Marcin liked what he saw in training. The young striker didn’t hide. He chased defenders, fought for aerial balls and didn’t shrink when the moment came to shoot.

‘Players like him,” Marcin added ‘they either disappear at this age or they explode’

Scott smiled slightly, already knowing the answer before he said ‘and which one is he?’

Marcin didn’t hesitate ‘you know he’s the second kind’ with a smile.

The reality inside the squad was simple. With Grzegorz Goncerz leading the line and delivering goals consistently, Adnan wouldn’t be expected to carry the team, yet. But he would feature more. Rotation games, minutes off the bench, cup matches and situations where Scott wanted fresh legs and direct running against tired defenders.

And when Goncerz eventually slowed or missed matches through suspension or fatigue the club would already have someone ready.

Later that afternoon, Adnan signed the contract inside the stadium offices.

Two years.

A quiet commitment between player and club.

As he left the room, Marcin watched him disappear down the corridor before glancing over at Scott 

‘He maybe doesn’t know it yet’ Marcin said calmly ‘but if he keeps working the way he does…’ he paused ‘he might become very important for us’

== == == == ==

Winter in Mostar had a way of slowing everything down. Training sessions were shorter, the air colder and conversations longer. The first half of the season had been intense and productive, but January always brought a different kind of pressure, the quiet pressure of decisions.

One of those arrived on Scott’s desk in the form of an offer from NK Čelik Zenica.

They wanted Edin Bebanić. Scott read the email twice before leaning back in his chair.

Bebanić wasn’t just another player in the squad. He was the club captain, a steady presence in midfield and a voice the younger players naturally followed. When things got chaotic in matches, it was usually Bebanić who slowed the tempo, barked instructions, and restored some kind of order. You didn’t replace players like that easily.

Peter stood in the doorway while Scott explained the situation.

‘It’s an offer from Zenica’ Scott said, tapping the desk lightly ‘Premier League, a proper step up for him’

Peter nodded slowly. That was the complication. Because Čelik Zenica weren’t just any club, they were playing in the top division of Bosnian football. A move there meant higher competition, bigger stadiums, more exposure. The kind of opportunity players sometimes waited their whole careers for.

Marcin joined them a few minutes later, having already heard the rumours circulating around the office. ‘Good player’ he said ‘and a good captain’

Scott didn’t disagree ‘that’s my problem with it’

He stood and walked toward the window overlooking the training pitch. The ground staff were out brushing frost off the grass, preparing it for the afternoon session, the first after the winter break.

On one hand, losing Bebanić would hurt. Leadership like that didn’t grow overnight. The dressing room respected him, and Scott trusted him to set standards when the staff weren’t around. But on the other hand…..

Scott remembered his own playing days, brief though they were. The chances like this that came along once, maybe twice if you’re lucky, and disappeared if you hesitated.

He turned back to Peter and Marcin ‘I don’t want to stand in his way really’

Peter felt the same and said ‘so do we speak to him about it?’

Scott nodded, that was the only way to do if. Not as a transaction but as a conversation, because sometimes the hardest part of managing a team wasn’t tactics or training.

Sometimes it was deciding whether to keep a captain, a leader and someone playing well, or let him go and chase something bigger.

== == == == ==

Winter transfers 2022

The winter transfer window kicks off with the Erling Haaland sweepstakes.  Manchester United and Bayern Munich are both reportedly circling the Inter Milan striker, who only joined the Italians from Red Bull Salzburg back in August 2020. 

After all, when a guy scores goals like Haaland does, half of Europe suddenly remembers they ‘always admired him’. Expect agents, rumours, and at least five clubs claiming they’re ‘monitoring the situation’ while Inter clutch the contract and hope someone brings a truly ridiculous suitcase of cash.

In the 18 months at Inter he’s played 68 games and scored 52 goals, numbers that tend to attract attention. This season he’s already on 19 in 25 games, continuing his habit of treating defenders like bowling pins, knocking them over on the way to goal and barely slowing down. 

Bayern Munich blink first, slapping a non-negotiable €85 million offer on the table. That’s nearly four times the €22 million Inter paid Salzburg, which at least forces the Inter board to stop and think about it for a moment.

Of course, that moment probably lasted about ten seconds, roughly the time it takes to remember they’ve got a striker who scores for fun and treats defenders like background scenery. Still, €85 million has a way of making even the most stubborn executives briefly consider selling the family silver.

Before Inter can even reply, José Mourinho and Manchester United come crashing into the room with their own offer, also non-negotiable, but €5 million higher at €90 million.

Classic Man United logic, if you’re going to start a bidding war, you might as well open by casually throwing another five million on the pile and seeing who blinks first. Somewhere in Munich, Bayern executives probably stared at the fax machine, sighed, and reached for the calculator again. Meanwhile Inter’s boardroom suddenly got a lot quieter, the kind of quiet that usually comes right before someone starts dreaming about nine figure transfer fees.

Inter Milan accept both offers and, in a move that is either very clever or very chaotic, inform the media that the final decision will be left to Erling Haaland himself - Munich, Manchester or simply staying in Milan and continuing to terrorize Serie A defenders.

So the situation is clear. 

Option one: join the reigning Premier League champions Manchester United, currently sitting third behind rivals Manchester City and Arsenal, where the pressure, media circus and José Mourinho mind games come free with the contract.

Option two: move to Bayern Munich, who are comfortably top of the Bundesliga and are as good as champions-elect and have built an entire industrial system around scoring goals and winning titles with ruthless efficiency.

Option three: stay with Inter Milan, where he’s already scoring at a ridiculous rate and knocking defenders over like furniture in a bar fight.

In other words, Haaland’s choices are simple, guaranteed trophies in Germany, glorious chaos in Manchester or keep doing exactly what he’s doing in Milan while two of Europe’s biggest clubs nervously wave giant piles of money at him. 

Not the worst dilemma a 21 year old world class striker has ever faced.

In the end, Erling Haaland chooses Bayern Munich over Manchester United, with the German champions landing him for €85 million.

The choice came down to a simple calculation, join a club that wins the Bundesliga almost every year or walk into the beautiful chaos of a José Mourinho project. Haaland, sensibly, decided he preferred scoring goals to attending weekly tactical interrogations.

So Munich gets a striker who treats defenders like speed bumps, Inter bank a huge profit on the €22 million they paid Red Bull Salzburg, and Manchester United are left wondering how a bidding war they actually won still somehow ended with them finishing second.

== == == == ==

Erling Haaland didn’t waste much time settling in at Bayern Munich. Thrown straight into the starting lineup against FSV Mainz 05, he responded the only way he seems to know how, by scoring three goals.

A hat trick on his debut. No easing in, no gentle introduction, just ninety minutes of chaos for the Mainz defenders who probably spent the evening wondering if Bayern had accidentally signed a freight train instead of a striker.

Safe to say the €85 million investment already looks like money well spent. Somewhere in the red side of Manchester, a few people probably watched the highlights and quietly switched the television off.

== == == == ==

The next big move of the winter window sees Chelsea splash €55 million to sign Suso from AC Milan. After nine seasons in Milan, Suso finally picked the perfect time to have the most productive stretch of his career, five goals and eleven assists in the first six months of the season.

Coincidentally, that was also just enough form to convince Chelsea to arrive with a suitcase full of cash. Funny how that works, nine years of steady service, then half a good season and suddenly London comes calling with €55 million and a contract the size of a small novel.

Manchester City have dipped into the market as well, signing Jonathan Tah from Bayer Leverkusen for €73 million.

City clearly decided that if you’re going to spend big money, you might as well do it properly, bringing in a proven international defender rather than rolling the dice on mystery prospects and hopeful YouTube compilations. Somewhere across town at Manchester United, someone might even be taking notes on how to spend a large transfer fee without accidentally starting a sociology experiment. 

Bayer Leverkusen didn’t sit on the €73 million they received for Jonathan Tah. Instead €30 million of it quickly went back out the door to sign Christopher Nkunku from Paris Saint‑Germain.

Which is one way of replacing a centre half, sell the defender and buy an attacker. The logic seems to be that if you can’t stop the other team scoring, you might as well try scoring more than them. It’s not exactly textbook squad planning, but it does promise entertainment if nothing else.

Liverpool have also joined the winter spending spree, paying a surprising €25 million to sign young Swiss centre half Yann Petit from FC Sion. His résumé is brief, shall we say. Three cup appearances for Sion and a grand total of 48 minutes of first team football. That’s it. Three games, less than an hour in total on the pitch.

But clearly John Terry sees something the rest of the football world has somehow missed. Either that or Liverpool’s scouting department accidentally watched the wrong player’s highlights and decided to just commit to the purchase.

The big question now is, is this kid really the answer to Liverpool’s defensive problems or is he about to learn very quickly that the Premier League is a slightly different environment than the Swiss Cup third round. Either way, for €25 million, Liverpool fans will be hoping Terry’s vision is a lot clearer than everyone else’s, because if history tells us anything, JT tends to take a keen interest in the personal lives of the players around him.

The last bit of big transfer news from around the world sees China popping up again with one of those transfer fees that makes the rest of the football world stop, blink and shake their head as if seeing things. €35 million for Raphael Veiga from Palmeiras.

Now, Veiga hasn’t exactly been setting Brazil on fire, but apparently that’s not a major requirement when the cheque book comes out. The thinking seems to be simple, if he hasn’t shone yet, maybe he just needs a different continent, a bigger contract, higher wages and a lot less pressure.

And who knows, China has a strange way of turning solid but unspectacular players into stars overnight, in China at least. If nothing else, Veiga’s bank account is already in world class form.

League news January 2022

Robert Lewandowski is having the sort of season that makes defenders wake up tired even before kickoff. The veteran striker has racked up 24 goals in 30 games for Newcastle United, helping push the club into third place at the end of January and right into the title conversation. The idea of Newcastle muscling their way into the top of the Premier League table once sounded like a fantasy, now it mostly sounds like defenders quietly begging for the final whistle.

Just ahead of them sit Manchester City, powered by a slightly terrifying double act. Canada’s golden boy Evan James has 19 goals already, while Paulo Dybala has chipped in with 20. Between them they’ve basically turned City’s attack into a two man production line, James does the running causing havoc between the lines, Dybala does the finishing, and opposing goalkeepers mostly just do the suffering.

With Lewandowski refusing to slow down and City’s forwards firing for fun, the top of the league is starting to feel less like a title race and more like a weekly arms race in who can score the most goals before tea time.

Over in La Liga the goals are flowing as well, particularly for Real Madrid. Vinícius Júnior has 13 in 18 games, while Martin Ødegaard has outdone him with 16 in 18. At this point Madrid’s attacking strategy appears to be very simple, give the ball to someone talented and watch the scoreboard change.

Meanwhile Patson Daka is quietly having a stormer for CD Leganés with 11 goals in 16 matches, which is impressive enough that VfL Wolfsburg are reportedly sniffing around. Leganés fans are understandably nervous, because when a mid table striker starts scoring like that, it usually means two things - a transfer rumour and a club accountant nervously checking the contract details.

In Portugal the scoring charts have taken on a slightly British accent this season. FC Porto are being led by James Wilson with 15 goals in all competitions, while Benfica rely on Danny Ings, who has chipped in with 11. At this rate the Primeira Liga might have to start serving Yorkshire tea at half time.

Then there’s Federico Macheda at Sporting CP with 10 goals, quietly reminding everyone that he can actually play a bit when he’s not being remembered solely for that dramatic debut goal years ago. Turns out if you give him regular minutes instead of nostalgia highlights, he’ll even score a few along the way.

== == == == ==

World Cup 2022 news

The groups for the 2022 FIFA World Cup have now been drawn, with China hosting the tournament. Which means, for the first time in World Cup history, the build up will feature an impressive mix of packed stadiums, enormous opening ceremonies and transfer rumours linking half the players in the tournament to Chinese clubs before the group stage even kicks off.

Being hosts, China automatically take their place in the tournament, giving their fans the chance to see the world’s best teams up close, and giving the rest of the field a gentle reminder that sometimes the most dangerous opponent in a World Cup group isn’t the host nation, it’s the travel schedule.

Group A sees hosts China drawn alongside Canada, Ghana and Hungary.

On paper it’s one of those groups where everyone immediately says the same thing - ‘very open’. Which is football’s polite way of saying nobody has the faintest idea what’s going to happen. China will hope home advantage carries them through, Canada will fancy their chances of making noise, relying on Evan James, Ghana are always dangerous when tournament football rolls around, and Hungary will quietly believe they can ruin everyone’s predictions.

In other words, four teams, three qualification spots up for grabs, and about a thousand pundits already preparing to explain after the fact why the result was ‘obvious all along’.

Group B is already earning its reputation as the obligatory ‘group of death’, with Australia, Brazil, and Croatia all expected to battle it out, while Guinea quietly accept their role as the likely whipping boys.

It’s one of those groups where the minnows don’t just get tested, they get a full tactical PhD in getting dominated. Guinea will gain invaluable experience, while the rest of the world will watch and wonder if they can survive more than one game without a 3-0 scoreline. Meanwhile, Australia, Brazil, and Croatia are probably already negotiating who gets which headline spot in the papers before the first whistle.

Group C has served up a proper footballing feast - Argentina, Poland, Senegal, and Spain.

It’s the kind of group that makes fans salivate and pundits instantly reach for the adjectives such as ‘fierce’, ‘unpredictable’, ‘explosive’ and so on. Argentina and Spain will bring the flair and history, Poland the clinical efficiency, and Senegal, well, they’ll bring the pace no doubt, and enough surprises to ruin anyone’s pre tournament brackets.

Expect tight games, some dramatic late goals and at least one commentator questioning their life choices after Spain loses to a team they thought they’d walk past

Group E looks like it could be another group of death-in-waiting  for Iran, with Egypt, Portugal and Switzerland all packed together.

Portugal’s presence alone given their star power and habit of reaching the late rounds raises the stakes straight away. Egypt bring pace and passion, Switzerland are the sort of well drilled side that can nick results against anyone, and Iran… well, they’re quietly competitive, like the team nobody expected to watch three days in a row until suddenly they’re still standing.

Calling it a group of death might be a bit dramatic, but it’s definitely one where three teams could easily beat each other on any given matchday, and the fourth could be the real spoiler. Think of it as the footballing equivalent of a buffet where everyone’s favourite dish is on the same plate, and nobody wants to leave hungry.

Group F is shaping up to be an intriguing mix, New Zealand join Chile, France, and Sweden.

On paper France will be the favourites to steamroll the other 3 nations, bringing star power and depth, while Chile and Sweden have the kind of disciplined squads that can make life miserable for anyone. And then there’s New Zealand, who will probably spend most of the tournament trying to survive, but let’s be honest they have a habit of making things awkward for the big boys.

Expect a few shocks, maybe a couple of stunning goals and at least one pundit saying ‘don’t underestimate the Kiwis’ while quietly hoping it doesn’t happen to their fantasy team.

== == == == ==

The table didn’t lie, but it didn’t tell the whole story either. At the winter break, Velež Mostar sat on top of the league with 38 points, a narrow one point lead over 

NK Široki Brijeg. On paper it looked tidy, controlled even, the kind of position clubs dream about when the snow starts falling across Bosnia.

Inside the dressing room, it felt different. It felt earned.

The autumn months had been a grind, some tight games, ugly pitches, late winners and the constant pressure of knowing one bad afternoon could flip the table. But Velež had found a rhythm. Not always pretty, sometimes ruthless, sometimes desperate but always enough.

At the heart of it was Grzegorz Goncerz. Seventeen league goals in seventeen games before the winter break. The kind of form that turns a striker into a problem defenders talk about all week. Some were poacher’s finishes, others cold blooded strikes from half chances and a few diving headers to boot. The ball seemed magnetized to him in the box.

In the office at the stadium, the talk was cautious. Everyone remembered how thin a one point lead really was. One bad run in February and it disappears like fog over the Neretva.

The winter break became a moment to reset and sharpen. The coaching staff drew up their priorities for the second half of the season:

• Keep Goncerz fit and fed. His goals were the difference in too many matches to ignore.
• Only add depth in the winter transfer window if there’s any injuries to key players. No panic signing players.
• Defensive discipline. Too many games had been decided by fine margins. Tighten that, and the title race tilts.
• Maintain the mentality. Every opponent from the restart would come hunting the league leaders.
   

Training over the winter would be hard. The kind that burns lungs in the cold air and turns friendlies into small wars. But around Mostar there was a quiet buzz.

Not loud optimism, something more dangerous.

Belief.

Because for the first time in the last five sessons, when people looked at the table and saw Velež Mostar sitting first, it didn’t feel like a fluke.

It felt like the start of something that might actually last until May.

== == == == ==

News from elsewhere in Bosnia arrived just before the winter break. At FK Željezničar Sarajevo, patience had run out.

Sitting ninth in the table at the winter break, the club’s board announced that their manager, Ratko Ninkovic, the man that took the job Scott had declined, had been dismissed.

The decision didn’t surprise many. But when Scott saw the headline, he paused for a moment.

Months earlier he had sat in a room on a phone call listening to their chairman outline the job. The tone of that conversation had stayed with him ever since. Not hostile. Not aggressive, just cold, calculating and to the point. Transactional even. Like a man describing an appointment rather than offering a project.

Scott closed the laptop down and set it aside. Outside the office window the Velež training pitch sat empty under the pale winter light.

Top of the league, a squad growing together, a club and fanbase beginning to believe.

He leaned back slightly in his chair and allowed himself a quiet thought.

He’d chosen the right place.

== == == == ==

The match itself began in an oddly cautious rhythm. Despite FK Velež Mostar dominating possession early, NK Podgrmeč Sanski Most looked determined to make the afternoon uncomfortable.

Their shape was compact, their midfield crowded, and every time Velež tried to play through the middle another yellow shirt seemed to step into the passing lane. 

Then, in the 19th minute, the whole game changed.

A loose pass in midfield allowed Velež to break quickly through Bebanic, and as he slipped the ball forward toward Goncerz, Podgrmeč defender Edin Palić lunged desperately to stop him.

The tackle was late and clumsy.

And despite not having the most pace, Goncerz was clear and racing clear through the centre, the referee didn’t hesitate.

Red card.

Palić stood for a moment in disbelief before slowly walking off the pitch, leaving his teammates to reorganise with ten men. From that moment the Podgrmeč manager was on the sideline issuing new instructions. He had abandoned any real ambition of attacking, and the objective now was to try and hold on and scrape a point.

Ten players retreated behind the ball, forming two tight defensive lines barely thirty metres from their own goal. The result was a long, frustrating remainder of the first half for Velež.

Wave after wave of possession. Crosses cleared, shots blocked and patience tested. By half time the score remained stubbornly 0–0.

Scott was walking in the tunnel with Peter saying in frustration 'they're not even trying to get us on the counter, they just want to sit back and do nothing’

Peter could only shrug and say ‘they don’t need to do anything else though’

== == == == ==

The breakthrough finally arrived four minutes after the restart. In the 49th minute, after another patient spell of possession the ball worked its way to Peceinca just outside the penalty area. With defenders retreating and space opening for the first time all afternoon, he drove a low shot through the crowd.

The ball skipped across the grass and into the corner.

1–0 and it was nothing less than Velež deserved.

The tension inside the stadium immediately lifted. Once the first goal arrived, the resistance began to crumble. Less than ten minutes later Goncerz won a penalty after being pulled down inside the box. He stepped up himself, sent the keeper the wrong way with a calm finish.

2–0. The afternoon then turned almost relaxed.

Another penalty followed after a push on Peneica in the box. Goncerz again. Same side he scored from earlier.

3–0.

The next goal arrived from a set piece. A corner swung in from the right found defender Lugonja, who made space for himself behind the exhausted Podgrmeč defence to calmly stroke the ball into the net for his second goal of the season.

4–0 and it was only going to increase.

By the time a third penalty was awarded late in the match after another push inside the box, even Scott shook his head in disbelief.

Peter laughed beside him ‘a hat trick of penalties’

Goncerz placed the ball down, waited for the whistle, and completed it. This time he went to the keepers left, and still scored.

5–0.

When the referee blew for full time, the scoreboard reflected the dominance.

Velež Mostar 5

Podgrmeč Sanski Most 0

Scott shook hands with the opposition manager before turning toward the tunnel.

Two hundred games in, five goals for the occasion, a professional performance.

Not spectacular football perhaps, but exactly the kind of controlled victory that good teams collected over the course of a long season.

As Scott walked out of the dressing round after everyone had left, Peter nudged him lightly ‘two hundred games, and a win, no small feat Scotty’

Scott glanced back once at the pitch before heading towards the exits. It wasn’t the most dramatic victory of his career but somehow that felt appropriate.

Two hundred matches had taught him something simple about football. The best days weren’t always the wild ones, sometimes they were the calm, professional days where your team simply did its job, and reminded everyone why it belonged near the top of the table.

== == == == ==

The milestone crept up on Scott quietly, two hundred matches as a manager.  It wasn’t something he had been counting or even paying attention to when he made his own notes after every game, but when the club secretary mentioned it during the week he paused for a moment.

Two hundred.

His first had come years earlier with Polonia Bytom, a nervous afternoon away at Kotwica Kołobrzeg.

The circumstances at the club had hardly been comfortable. Bytom had begun the season with an eight point deduction, the kind of punishment that hung over a club like a storm cloud before a ball had even been kicked. Expectations were low, pressure immediate.

But that afternoon everything had clicked. Four goals and a clean sheet.

A 4–0 victory that wiped away, at least for one day, the weight of that deduction, it had been the perfect start. And the first step in a managerial journey that had now reached competitive match number two hundred.

But it had been enough to start everything. Now, standing on the touchline in Mostar, the number felt different.

Less dramatic, more earned. Scott didn’t talk about it with the players. Football dressing rooms had a way of mocking milestones if you made too much of them. But privately he allowed himself a small moment of reflection. Two hundred games meant mistakes, lessons and experience.

And a long road from that first afternoon in Bytom to managing FK Velež Mostar in a promotion race.

== == == == ==

The league table had shifted earlier in the day.

NK Široki Brijeg, fresh off the 1-0 victory over Velež had kicked off before them and won again, meaning when Velež walked onto the pitch that evening, they did so in second place.

Scott glanced at the league table briefly in the dressing room tunnel. He didn’t feel the pressure of starting the day off in second place, if anything, he felt calm.

The team had been playing well. Creating chances and scoring goals. The only frustration had been the careless moments defensively that had cost them, however those things could be fixed.

The next opponent offered just that type of an opportunity. NK Podgrmeč Sanski Most had arrived in poor form, five matches without a win and confidence clearly low.

Scott knew football rarely followed the script that neatly, but the conditions were right for his team to reassert themselves.

== == == == ==

As the players gathered before kickoff, Peter leaned over beside him and whispered ‘two hundred games Scotty. And we’ve been there with you for every one’

Two hundred games. He hadn’t walked through them alone.

To his right stood Peter, arms folded, eyes already fixed on the pitch. In the not too distant past he’d been on the field barking orders instead of standing beside it, wearing the shirt of Polonia Bytom as vice captain the day Scott first took charge. Peter had even written the first line of the story himself, he scored the opening goal in that 4–0 win away at Kotwica Kołobrzeg.

When Scott moved to Ślęza Wrocław at the end of that season in Bytom, Peter hung up his boots, rejecting a one year contract to continue as a player in Bytom, and joined him on the touchline instead. He had been there ever since.

Just behind them stood Marcin Lachowski. Another face from those early Bytom days. Another former player who had trusted Scott enough to follow him into coaching when the move to Ślęza came.

Between them, they had seen everything. The early uncertainty in Scott’s spiritual home of Wrocław, the long bus journeys, relegation survival, promotion and setbacks all in four short seasons at Ślęza that felt like they might never end.

Two hundred games wasn’t just Scott’s number. It belonged to all three of them.

Scott smiled and said ‘not bad really’. That was all that was needed, no in depth discussion, no promises of another two hundred games, just the appreciation of the number.

== == == == ==

The cup draw itself felt kind. Another team in the same division as Velež this time around, another chance to keep momentum alive.

When Velež Mostar were paired with FK Velika Obarska in the quarter final, it had been received quietly inside the dressing room. No celebrations, no assumptions, just another game to prepare for.

But before that tie came a league test away to NK Široki Brijeg.

Široki in second place, Velež in first.  The kind of opponent that showed you exactly where you stood.

== == == == ==

The stadium was still settling when the warning came. Three minutes into the game and that was all it took.

Široki had a free kick in a strange position, slightly wide of the penalty area, almost level with the corner of the box. Too far out for a realistic shot, too narrow for a clean angle.

The kind of free kick that normally meant a floated ball into the crowd of bodies waiting inside the area, or going to a short option.

Scott stood on the touchline watching Velež organise. Or trying to was more appropriate.

The defensive line wasn’t quite set. Players pointing here and there. Malania dragging Plantak two steps deeper. Abdihodžić shouting from the goalmouth to no avail.

In the middle of the confusion stood a young forward Scott had noted in the scouting report.

Admir Hukić. 10 goals in all competitions this season.

Instead of waiting for runners, Hukić glanced once at the goal. Took a short run up. And hit it.

Not power. Not even a full swing.

Just a quick, opportunistic strike curling the ball with his left foot early before anyone was ready.

For a half second nobody moved. Nobody from either team. Then the ball was bending toward the near post.

Abdihodžić reacted late, shuffling across the goalmouth and diving with both arms out wide, but the surprise had already done its damage.

The ball dipped just inside the post and hit the back of the net.

1–0.

The stadium woke instantly.  Scott didn’t move. He had seen clever free kicks before, but rarely one taken from a position that demanded so much nerve.

Hukić wasn’t supposed to shoot, the angle wasn’t there, but that was exactly why he had.

On the sideline beside him, Peter screamed at the top of his lungs ‘far too easy’

Scott nodded, acknowledging his assistants' frustration. Not because the finish had been easy, but because the moment before it had been.

== == == == ==

The rest of the match unfolded with a kind of stubborn frustration. Velež controlled long stretches of possession, created enough chances throughout.

Koné threatened down the wing, Bebanić was trying to open up spaces with his passing and Goncerz battled with the centre halves, creating space for Adnan to run into.

But Široki were disciplined, compact and stubborn. Content to defend the lead they had stolen inside the opening minutes. Every attack from Velež seemed to arrive a half step too late, crosses were cut out by the first man, Bebanic couldn’t get the final ball through as it was intercepted constantly.

Goncerz was snapping at his shots, either first time shots that were blocked easily or they were right at the Široki keeper.

From the touchline Scott could feel the rhythm slipping away from them, not panic, more like unfiltered resistance. The kind that slowly drains belief from a game, and by the time there’s minutes left on the clock you know what the outcome is going to be.

Ninety minutes came and went. The early goal remained the only one.

The final score read:

Second placed Široki Brijeg 1. 

First placed, now only by one point Velež Mostar 0.

As the whistle blew Scott stood for a moment watching Hukić jogging toward the tunnel with the rest of his teammates. That goal was the young mans eleventh of the season, a good return so far in his first season in the first team.

One moment of boldness had decided the match, football could be cruel like that. But it was also a reminder that the margins at the top of the table were small.

And if Velež wanted to stay there, they would have to learn to control games from the very first minute, not the fourth.

== == == == ==

October arrived quietly in Mostar, but the calm didn’t last long. The first blow came on a grey morning at training. Belmin Kobilica had been jogging during a light possession drill when he suddenly stopped. No collision, no tackle, just a sharp step and then a grimace. Scott knew the look immediately.

Players didn’t sit down and stay down like that unless something was wrong. By the time the medical staff had finished examining him, the diagnosis was clear.

A damaged achilles tendon, six months out if he’s lucky, half the season gone in a single step.

Scott stood in the empty training ground office later that afternoon with Peter and Marcin as the news sank in.

Peter muttered quietly ‘best case he’s back in March, the final stretch’

Marcin leaned against the desk running names and figures through his head as he spoke ‘it’s our vice captain and the engine of the midfield’

Scott nodded slowly. Kobilica had been the balance in the team. The runner, the one who filled the gaps when others pushed forward, the pivot next to Bebanic. ‘You don’t replace players like that, not easily and certainly not right away’ Scott said quietly. After a moment he said, breaking the silence ‘you adapt’

== == == == ==

The league games that followed felt chaotic. Away at FK Gradina the match turned into something closer to a street fight than a football match. Goals flew in at both ends, defences stretched and both midfields bypassed.

Scott spent most of the match pacing the technical area while Peter shouted instructions that barely seemed to matter. While winning 3-1. Then 3–2, then somehow it was 5-3 and 5-4.

In the middle of it all Grzegorz Goncerz kept doing what Scott had signed him to do, appearing in the right place at the right time. Two goals in the game, both powerful, direct finishes. The first a penalty in which he sent the keeper the wrong way, the second a neat give and go with Adnan and a low hard finish inside the area.

Gradina pulled it back to 4-5 with nearly half an hour to play, but Velež held on to win it at that score line. Scott barely celebrated, he just exhaled slowly as the final whistle blew. After the handshakes and the players headed down the tunnel, Peter said to Scott ‘you win games like that, but they age you ten years doing it’

Scott didn’t disagree.

== == == == ==

If Gradina had been chaotic, the next game was simply frustrating. Back home in Mostar, FK Goražde arrived organised, disciplined, and stubborn.

Velež still created chances, still attacked and tried to play.

But the balance Kobilica had given them in midfield was missing, transitions were slower, the defensive shape slightly looser. By the end of the game the scoreboard read 4–3 to Goražde.

Scott stood in the tunnel afterwards, hands in his pockets, staring at the pitch.

It was only their second defeat of the season, but it felt like a warning.

== == == == ==

The Bosnia and Herzegovina Football Cup tie against FK Sloboda Tuzla arrived at exactly the right time. A bigger opponent, a different type of challenge.

The first leg in Mostar was tight. Sloboda were stronger physically and more experienced, but Velež played with patience.

Two goals, both by Goncerz set the tone of the game. Controlled, professional, excellent.

2–0 to Velež on the day.

The away leg in Tuzla was far more chaotic. Sloboda pushed forward aggressively, trying to drag themselves back into the tie, perhaps underestimating Velež in the first leg.

Velež took another two goal lead however, Goncerz and his strike partner on the day Pecenica briefly giving them a 4-0 aggregate lead. But Sloboda answered with a goal right from the second restart, plus another before half time to make it 2-4 on aggregate.

The tie and game was sealed in the sixty sixth minute, when right full back Lugonja found space in the box from a corner to tap in his first of the season.

By the end of the game it finished 3–2 in favour of Velež, but the aggregate told the real story. 5–2. Velež were through.

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Back on the team bus heading out of Tuzla, Scott sat by the window watching the dark road slide past. In the space of just over three weeks his team had:

Lost their midfield leader for the next six months or so. 
Won a 5-4 chaotic match.
Lost 4–3 at home in a frustrating game.
And knocked out a Premier Liga club in the cup, scoring five goals over two legs in the process.

Peter leaned across the aisle ‘you do realise that normal teams don’t do things by the book’ with a laugh. Scott smiled faintly and said ‘we’re not a normal team then’

Outside the bus window the lights faded into darkness as they drove south toward Mostar. Scott wasn’t worried about belief, his players already had that. If anything, they were growing in confidence with every game they played together. The goals they scored, the chances they created and the energy in the team was real.

But the games had shown him something else too.  They didn’t need more courage, they needed control.  Too many of the goals they conceded were avoidable. Moments of hesitation when composure would’ve done, a lost runner here or a clearance that should have been simpler there.

Small things. Margins. Distances. Things good teams learned to eliminate.

Scott rested his head back against the seat. If Velež could keep the attacking sharpness they had shown as well as to start cutting out the needless goals, then this season could become something very serious.

And deep down, he was already beginning to believe that it might.

== == == == ==

The press room in Mostar was small, crowded, and still buzzing with the noise from the cup match the day before. Scott could still hear the echo of the travelling supporters outside the stadium corridors as he took his seat at the front table. The smell of damp coats and coffee filled the room. To his right sat Peter who’d brought his own notes from the game, prepared to comment if called upon.

In front of them, a dozen local journalists waited with notebooks and recorders, it had become a familiar ritual already. Scott took a sip of water and spoke before anyone asked any questions ‘good win for us, difficult start, we had to make some changes when we conceded but the players responded well’

Pens scratched across paper, things were typed into phones and tablets, then one journalist leaned forward slightly. Scott recognised him immediately.  Emir Hadžić, from Mostar Arena Sport. Early fifties, sharp eyes and calm voice. The sort of journalist who didn’t shout questions, he placed them carefully.

‘Scott’ Emir began ‘Sloga took the lead yesterday and for fifteen or so minutes your team looked, shall we say, unsettled. This comes just after the first defeat of the season against GOŠK’ a statement, not a question yet as he paused. After a moment he continued ‘do you think that loss has affected the team psychologically?’

The room went quiet, it wasn’t an aggressive question but it was a clever one.

Scott leaned back in his chair, considering the wording, looked to Peter who was writing on his notepad. Peter looked up at Scott and nodded, letting Scott answer the question ‘I don’t think so’ he started calmly ‘you lose games in football. If a team collapses and consider a season done after one defeat, then it wasn’t a very strong team to begin with’

A few reporters nodded and made notes, Emir didn’t and waited for Scott to continue, which he did ‘what matters is the reaction. Yesterday we went behind in a difficult place, against a team that works very hard. But the players stayed calm, listened and reacted as we shuffled things around, played our football and scored four goals’. He allowed himself a small smile ‘that tells me their mentality is fine’

Emir scribbled something down while holding his hand up to indicate he wasn’t done, then looked up and said ‘Adnan’s hat trick?’

Scott nodded ‘the young man deserved it. He worked hard yesterday, not just goals but movement, pressing, linking up play. For a striker, a game like that builds confidence’

Another journalist asked about squad rotation, Peter answered that one, giving nothing away in terms of why rotation happened or what the line up would be for the game at the weekend. Then Emir raised his hand again ‘one more question. The draw for the next round was made earlier. You’ve been drawn at home to FK Sloboda Tuzla’

Scott nodded ‘Yeah, I heard that’

Sloboda are an established club in the Premier Liga of Bosnia and Herzegovina, the higher division, with a stronger squad, exactly the sort of tie that tested ambition.

Scott shrugged lightly at the silence in the room ‘that’s cup football for you’

Emir tilted his head ‘do you see it as a chance to prove something?’

Scott thought for a moment before answering ‘every game is a chance to prove something’ he said ‘but if you want to compete with the best teams, want to get promoted tpo the Premier Division then eventually you have to play them’. He leaned forward slightly and finished by saying ‘we’re all looking forward to it’

The room filled again with the sound of pens moving and fingers typing on devices. As the press conference ended and the journalists began packing their things, Emir lingered for a moment.

Scott noticed. Their eyes met briefly, there was no hostility there, just curiosity.

The sort of curiosity that follows a manager who might be building something interesting.

And Scott suspected this wouldn’t be the last time Emir Hadžić asked him a difficult question.

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