Chapter 32

The takeover was done. The club is now under new stewardship, and in the polished corridors of the boardroom, the truth was laid bare: Slawomir Sobczak was the new chairman. It wasn’t a downpour of melancholy or drudgery, today was bright, harsh even, and the glare of the overhead lights revealed every crevice of hope and uncertainty in equal measure.

In the locker room, Scott Lańkowski gathered his team around. His voice, rough as gravel and laced with the weight of unspoken promises, cut through the chatter. 
'Lads’ he began, his eyes scanning the tired but determined faces ‘the takeover has been completed. We’ve got a new chairman, Slawomir Sobczak. Now, I can’t confirm a thing until I’ve spoken with him myself. But you all know this club’s future is on the line, and we’re not about to let anyone mess with what we’ve built’

The players exchanged wary glances. They’d heard rumors, felt the tremor of change, but now it was concrete, a shift in the boardroom that could either fortify their bond or shatter the fragile hope they’d so desperately nurtured.

Later, in the hushed sterility of the boardroom, Scott faced Sobczak. The new chairman, a man with a calm authority and a keen glint in his eye, extended a firm handshake that spoke of fresh beginnings and unwavering resolve.

‘Scott’ Sobczak said, his tone measured yet brimming with quiet enthusiasm, ‘I’ve been following the team’s progress. I must say, I’m impressed. You’ve taken Ślęza to heights I hadn’t dared to imagine. The way you’ve molded this squad, it's nothing short of remarkable’

Scotts jaw tightened a mixture of guarded pride and lingering apprehension ‘thank you, we’re doing what we can. But I need to know what your plans are, I don’t want to be running blindly into the future’

The new chairman smiled, a slow sincere curve of his lips that spoke of trust rather than of interference ‘let me be clear; I believe you’re the man to lead the club forward. I’m offering you a one year extension on your current contract. I want you to have the space to continue what you’ve started here and to assure you that 

my role is to support you, not meddle with the team. You and your backroom staff have my full faith’

Scott’s eyes searched Slawomir’s face, seeking any hint of duplicity, but found only honest conviction. The promise, as unexpected as it was welcome, stirred a cautious relief deep within him. Still, a shadow of doubt lingered, a reminder that change, even under the best circumstances, could unravel the tight tapestry he’d spent weaving. He accepted the new deal without hesitation.

Outside the boardroom, the club hummed with the buzz of possibility and uncertainty. The players, unaware of the full details of Scotts chat with the new chairman sensed a shift in the air. The takeover had been confirmed, new leadership now held the reins, promising support and independence in equal measure.

As Scott stepped back into the corridor, he allowed himself a moment’s solitude. His mind raced with conflicting thoughts; the elation of a fresh mandate to build something greater, and the nagging worry that such transitions were often the harbinger of unforeseen challenges. Would he be remembered as more than just a savior? Was this takeover his chance to lead the team that didn’t just stave off relegation but would truly compete for glory?

He took a deep breath, steadying himself. In that quiet moment, lit by the harsh glare of fluorescent bulbs rather than the forgiving light of rain, Scott vowed to embrace the challenge. 

With Slawomir’s trust behind him and his own determination as his guide, he would forge ahead undaunted by the unknown, ready to carve a legacy that would outshine any doubts he had.

In the relentless pursuit of a brighter future, Scott Lańkowski stepped forward into a new chapter, his heart resolute, his mind sharpened, and his destiny finally his to command.

– – – – --

Football news roundup - January 2019

The winter window has come and gone, leaving behind a trail of broken dreams, financial excess, and the occasional glimmer of hope. In the cold, dark heart of European football, clubs schemed, gambled, and counted the cost of their desperation. Some strengthened, some splurged, and others simply collapsed under the weight of their own failures.

Leicester City fired the opening shot of the window, prying Sidnei from Málaga for €13 million. A move that whispers of pragmatism, a club trying to build something steady amid the chaos and shore up a backline that’s conceded on average 1.6 goals a game this season.

Real Madrid, eternal architects of footballing drama, swooped in for CSKA Moscow’s long serving Alan Dzagoev for €29 million. The Russian midfield general wasted no time, threading a pass to Gareth Bale in his debut, a round of 32 Copa del Rey game against Las Palmas, an early hint of the damage he might do in white.

Barcelona, never one to shy away from shaking things up, spent €29 million on Pedro Obiang, luring him away from Championship leaders West Ham, because, apparently, the Catalans now shop in the second tier of English football, in a deal that is as surprising as it is expensive for a vastly underperforming player.

Manchester City, ever the poker players of the transfer world, made Serge Aurier their latest acquisition for €45 million from Barcelona, proving once again that there’s not a full back alive they won’t overpay for, in a move that suggests Pep Guardiola sees something the rest of us don’t.

On the way out, Fernandinho was discarded for just €2 million, that's his monthly wage, the transfer fee was zero, sent off to Al-Sadd in Qatar. A cruel, quiet goodbye for a man who had bossed City's midfield. The same day as the Fernandinho transfer, John Stones was sold to Benfica for €28 million. Stones had at one point been seen as the future of England’s defense, but now finds himself at a crossroads, hoping to resurrect his career in a league where defenders are given more time on the ball but far less room for error.

But the transfer to watch? Arsenal’s €27 million coup of Christoph Kariner, a 19-year-old Austrian winger that terrorized defenses at Red Bull Salzburg, who has an outrageous stat line -  19 goals and 33 assists in 48 league games. He has already been capped 11 times, and his reputation is rising, but will he be a star in the making, or just another wonderkid swallowed by the Premier League machine? The general consensus is he could become the signing of the season and an all time great, assuming Arsenal don’t ruin him.

Meanwhile, across North London, Spurs responded in kind, throwing €44 million at Hertha Berlin for Niklas Stark, proving their annual January tradition of buying a defence minded player no one was really talking about is alive and well.

In Italy only one move truly mattered. Second placed Napoli’s Allan sold his soul to the Chinese Super League, swapping title dreams for big wages in a €59 million move to Shanghai SIPG.

In Germany Timo Werner’s Bayern nightmare reached its inevitable conclusion. Six months after his €38 million move, he was shipped back to Stuttgart on loan, a victim of Robert Lewandowski’s ruthless dominance (23 goals and counting).

In France PSG are doing what PSG do, tossing €22 million at Utrecht for Giovanni Troupée, another name added to their endless carousel of talent.

And now, to Merseyside, where the fog of misfortune lingers thick in the air.

Liverpool FC (12th in the Premier League) A club everyone once feared, are now a stumbling giant. The board sacked Marcelino, unimpressed with his 28 wins, 11 draws and 19 losses record. His crime? Mediocrity. The man they called in to clean up the mess? Phillip Cocu. Fresh from his time at PSV, he swapped Eredivisie title races for the turmoil of Anfield, a bold move, or perhaps a misguided one? No grand declarations and no signings in January, probably because anyone worth signing is avoiding Anfield like it's riddled with the plague and is on fire. With Cocu he’s a man that has built his coaching reputation on control and structure and now finds himself at a club unravelling at the seams. There’s been no hint of any new direction from Cocu or the board, just a quiet acceptance of the malaise that has taken hold at Anfield. The kind of appointment that whispers rather than roars.

Everton (Lost in the Championship) Across Stanley Park, things are worse. Much worse. Everton, still disoriented from relegation, threw €29 million at Leicester for Harvey Barnes and another €22 million at Derby for the signature of Will Hughes, desperately grasping at solutions and seeming allergic to scoring goals.

Their next game? Rotherham United away. A nothing fixture, one they should win without breaking a sweat. Instead, Everton fell 2-0, a crushing humiliation. Aitor Karanka paid the price, sacked before he could even finish his post match interview.

Now, the Toffees search for a savior. Duncan Ferguson looms in the shadows, a man who doesn’t do tactics, doesn’t do subtlety just pure, unfiltered aggression. Maybe that’s exactly what Everton need. Or maybe, just maybe, they’re already beyond saving. The feeling is either the Everton players are going to get a reality check under Big Dunc, or at least one of them is going to be headbutted by the end of February.

January’s window has closed, but the stories it wrote are only just beginning. Some teams have strengthened, others have gambled, and a select few are simply drowning.

-- -- -- -- --

Chapter 31

The winter break had arrived like a brief lull in a relentless storm. In the quiet halls of Ślęza Wrocław’s training ground Scott Lańkowski allowed himself a rare moment of quiet satisfaction. The team was riding high with 14 wins, 2 draws and 4 losses which meant at the break they are top of the league, with a 4 point lead over a determined Polonia Warszawa side. It’s a record that spoke of grit and ambition, a testament to the work they’d put in right from the off.

Scotts mind kept returning to the one decision he’d hesitated over, the signing of forward Leândro. The striker was a risk he’d doubted at first but had now emerged as the teams top scorer with 13 goals in those 20 league games. His brilliance and consistency had silenced Scotts internal critics. Alongside him, Jakobczyk with 12 and Koftas with 10, had formed a trio that balanced risk with reliability. The pitch had become a canvas for their raw talent, each match a painting of victory forged in sweat and determination.

In the quiet aftermath of the break, as the team busied itself with drills and tactical discussion, Scott was summoned to a meeting with chairman Kamil Aftyka. The air in the boardroom was charged with the same tension that simmered on match days.

Scott sat down and said with a smile ‘Kamil, the teams doing well. Top of the league and we are playing some good football. I have an idea why you called me to this meeting. I need stability, no surprises, no upheaval that could scupper our progression’.

Kamil’s eyes, usually so impenetrable, betrayed a hint of excitement as he slid a thin folder across the table ‘Scott, listen. I’ve been in talks with another group, a serious one this time. The takeover of the club is expected to happen soon. We’re at an advanced stage’

The words hung in the air, as heavy as lead. Scott’s pulse quickened. A takeover meant new management, new strategies, and potential disruption. His heart, already burdened with the weight of his own high expectations for the season, sank a little. ‘Another group? How many is it now?’ Kamil didn’t reply, Scott knew this was the fourth such group to begin talks about the takeover of the club, so he continued ‘what will that mean for us, for the team? We’re on the cusp of progression, I really need to know that this change won’t undo everything we’ve done so far this season’

Kamil leaned in with a steady gaze and said ‘your contract is secure Scott, I’ve made that clear and it’s part of any deal for me to sell the club. But change is inevitable, and I expect the new chairman will bring his own vision. I’m merely waiting for the final signatures’

Scott’s mind raced. The takeover was a gamble, a wild card in a season unfolding exactly how he wanted it to. His whole mindset was on gambling for promotion, meticulously laid out plans like a chess game could now be out of his control. There had been countless bright futures and seasons derailed over the years by off the pitch power plays.

‘I get it, but….’ Scott paused, showing his unease before continuing ‘we’re on the edge of promotion. With the team we’ve got we’re not just avoiding relegation or content in mid table, we’re challenging for the title. I need to know this takeover won’t shake the foundation’

Kamil offered a measured smile ‘change can be a catalyst, Scott. It might even propel the club further. But I understand your concern. I’ll do what I can to see that the transition is as smooth as possible’

The conversation ended with a promise that felt as fragile as glass. As Scott stepped out into the cool corridors of the club, his mind churned with both delight and dread. Leândro’s form is a beacon of hope and a confirmation that his risks could pay off. Yet the looming takeover cast a long, uncertain shadow over his plans. Was he building a legacy of champions, or was he simply setting himself up for another fight against forces he could never fully control?

In that uneasy quiet, Scott Lańkowski vowed to safeguard his team’s spirit. The upcoming second part of the season would be his proving ground where every goal, every tackle, and every triumph would be a defiant stand against the chaos of change. And no matter what the new owners might bring, he would ensure that Ślęza Wrocław remained a fortress of resilience and ambition.

-- -- -- -- --

Love saves with random nations / clubs like this. Following.

Great opening post mate, consider me invested.

ii Liga. The big game. Ślęza Wrocław vs Polonia Warszawa

The morning sun was casting sharp shadows over the training ground, cutting through Wroclaw’s usual bitter cold. Scott Lańkowski stood before the team in the locker room, his gaze focussed and steeled with resolve. The air was different today, not heavy with rain but charged with a fierce clarity.

‘Listen up boys’ he began with a low voice and unwavering ‘tomorrow we’ve got to have no fear. Nothing to lose and everything to gain. We take it to the leaders, Polonia Warsawa are top of the league as we know, and unbeaten in fifteen games. But that’s exactly why we must show them that we mean business. We’re not going to play it safe, we're going to fight for every inch. Remember I said at the start of the season this year is about identity? Well we have our identity on the line tomorrow and we’re going to write it loud and proud. So when we line up tomorrow go out there and leave it all on the pitch’

The players responded with a murmur of determination, each man absorbing Scott’s rallying cry as if it were a lifeline.

The big game came around quickly. The ref blew the whistle to start and the game was underway. The first goal came quickly. In the eighth minute Koftas, given the starting nod over Leândro ignited the match and the fire in the home fans, an early goal of the season contender, as he hit a shot on the half volley from the edge of the area that left the Warsawa keeper clutching at the air.

The home crowd erupted and Koftas, arms aloft soaked it all in.

After the restart Ślęza pressed high and won it back deep in the Warsawa half. Koftas held up the ball and with a slight nod to his strike partner Jakobczyk played it into the box towards the penalty spot. As Jakobczyk ran toward it the ensuing tussle between striker and defender, the covering Warsawa man Stasz committed a clumsy foul sending Jakobczyk to the deck. 

The ref initially hesitated but looked to his left and saw the linesmens flag up and awarded the penalty to the home team

The tension, already high with a nervous excitement spiked, and the penalty, a moment of potential destiny, was given to Glanowski to convert. But his effort while hard and on target went the same way as Gorski in the Warsawa net.

The miss seared Scotts temper as his jaw clenched he muttered under his breath, frustration mingling with disbelief at the squandered opportunity.

At half time the score still read 1-0 in favour of Ślęza. In the locker room the calm efficiency of goalkeeper Gessl was the unsung hero, making a series of vital stops that kept the lead intact. Scott recognised that every save was a small defiance against the leaders.

The second half brought renewed energy. Leândro, starting on the bench came on as a second half substitute for Koftas and began to carve his way into the game. In a swift sequence his clever movement off the ball to find space to receive the inbound pass from Mroz to then feed Jakobczyk who had a simple tap in that double the lead. The goal wasn’t just a number, it was a statement.

Suddenly the gap at the top of the league shrank to a single point, and the stadium buzzed with a tangible surge of hope.

As the final whilst blew jubilation swept the stands. The team all stood united in triumph and celebrated with a fervor that mingled relief and ambition. In the midst of the cheer Scotts mind was racing, not with self congratulation, but with a quiet and fierce belief that they could do. Promotion was no longer a distant dream, it was a real possibility. And perhaps, after this victory they could even dare to win the league.

As the team gathered around the boss at pitchside, all eyes alight with a newfound confidence. And Scott vowed that this was the beginning of a future written in bold strokes, and tempered in the heat of relentless ambition.

– – – – --

That boy Machado is proving to be a key player

Chapter 30

The game was tough as expected, away at Olimpia Grudziądz. The match was a bitter cocktail of nerves and unexpected brilliance. Within the first minute sparks flew, another neat link up between Leândro and Jakobczyk sliced through the defence leaving the opposition staggered. Mateusz Broz, a familiar face to Scott from their time in Bytom, set up the equaliser with a deft pass which left center half Ngamayama straggling. As Broz jogged back to take up position in his half his eyes met Scotts across the pitch, a silent nod of mutual respect between them both that said ‘we’re both doing what we need to’

The momentum swung and Ślęza fought back, their attacking game a relentless edge. In a twist of fate or good fortune, young forward Koftas emerged from the bench for his first game back from injury, a spark in his own personal darkness. He carved open the defence with a goal that rekindled his hope and ignited the away fans. Then in a moment of precision and pressure he won a penalty that Glanowski cooly coveted, etching a 3-1 away win into the history books. Scotts heart pounded with cautious triumph as he watched the game unfold, a credible moment of harmony on the otherwise uncertain stage of league football.

Back at home the team rode high on that energy. They returned with a vengeance against Legionowo, smashing them 4-0 in a display of seamless cohesion and renewed confidence. Koftas grabbing two and Jakobczyk also continuing his goalscoring form.

The streets around the stadium hummed with the promise of a bright future, but as the lights dimmed on that euphoric afternoon, fate struck a cruel counterpoint.

In the next home match against Stomil Olsztyn, the magic vanished. The home pitch, usually a battleground of sweat and resolve, became a stage for disgrace. Ślęza’s performance crumbled under the weight of miscommunication and sluggish resolve, resulting in a shocking 4-0 loss that seared into Scott’s memory as the worst display in his tenure. 

Rage coiled in him like a venomous snake. In the heat of the aftermath, with anger flashing in his eyes, Scott ordered a double training session for the next day, a brutal dose of reality aimed to mend fractured discipline.

The punishment on the training ground was as relentless as the rain, a merciless grind that left no room for weakness. And slowly, as if in answer to his fury, redemption came in the very next match. In the away fixture, the team traveled to Blekitni Stargard. Under a gray, watchful sky, they returned to form and vanquished their foes 4-0 in a pristine, ironic statement of resilience on enemy turf.

And while the pitch was a theater for redemption and despair, off of it uncertainty was brewing. Rumors swirled like smoke in a dimly lit back room, another new group was interested in buying the club, the third such group so far. Chairman Kamil Aftyka had already entered talks and whispers in the local press promised change again. The prospect of new ownership loomed like a spector, promising opportunity and upheaval.

Scott stood at the edge of it all, his mind a tangle of elation and dread. On the one hand, Jakobczyk and Leândro’s dazzling partnership had lit the path to victory; on the other, the crushing defeat at Stomil had left him questioning whether his vision was enough. 

The pressure of potential change both on the field and in the boardroom pressed down on him. Every decision was a gamble with the future of Ślęza, a future that could either cement his legacy as a true builder of winners or condemn him to the role of perpetual savior.

As the rain fell once more, Scott’s eyes traced the empty stands of the stadium, a silent, mournful audience to his doubts and his dreams. He knew that tomorrow would bring another battle, another chance to prove that he was more than a mere fixer. 

In that lingering moment between victory and ruin, amid whispers of change and the promise of redemption, Scott Lańkowski steeled himself for the trials ahead. 

The season was far from over, and with every step, he continued to forge a future where champions were born from fire, even if it meant burning everything else to the ground.

– – – – --

Chapter 29

At the Ślęza training ground on the outskirts of the city, the air held the scent of wet earth mixing with the sweat of the early morning drills. Scott Lańkowski leaned against the chain link fence, watching the players chase elusive perfection in the muddy light. His mind, however, was far from the pitch.

Marcin Lachowski, ever the calm in the storm of transfers and contracts approached with his phone out ‘Scott, the deal’s done’ he said, tone measured and almost detached as usual ‘Mateusz Siodowy has agreed to to go GKS Katowice. I managed to get twenty six thousand for him’. 

Scotts jaw tightened as he processed the news. Siodowy wasn’t just any player, he was a man Scott had relied on and shaped in his days as Bytom manager, a beacon of loyalty and grit that he’d helped polish at Ślęza. Now this departure felt like he was losing a piece of himself.

‘Twenty six for Matty?’ Scott said with a bitter edge to his voice. He knew he couldn’t keep players in the third division, especially when top division teams come in for them, but this was tougher than the other sales ‘I trust him with everything on the pitch, he’s been the heartbeat of my defence for two seasons’

Marcins eyes betrayed a hint of sympathy and his words remained all business ‘it’s the game, Scott. Until we get up we have to sell when the price is right, we have to make moves if we’re to build a team to get us out of this division. The money was right, the timing could've been better, but we’re going places’

With a heavy sigh Scott made his way to the locker room where Siodowy was packing his gear and saying his goodbyes. The air was thick with unspoken words and the aroma of sweat and loss. He pulled Siodowy aside, his gaze locked on the worn lines of his own face hardened by the decision to sell.

‘Matty’ Scott began, tone gruff yet laced with genuine affection ‘you’ve been everything to me these last two years and I wish you the best in this new chapter, although I don’t really have the words…’ Siodowy cut him off by putting an arm around Scott, a silent understanding passing between them. With a nod and a muted farewell he left the locker room with his bag and like a ghost disappearing into the twilight walked out of the training ground to pastures new.

Back on the training pitch the storm of uncertainty was far from over. The local press had caught wind of a supporters trust making a play to buy the club which had been put up for sale, a potential lifeline that could upend the order of things. Whispers in the corridors and clattering keyboards promised a new era, but as the talks progressed between Kamil and the trust, they broke down, another fleeting hope in a world built on promises and broken deals.

In the midst of this latest sale Scott found himself questioning everything once again. Were these moves the necessary building blocks for a championship side, or was he simply unable to hold onto players he’d nurtured? Manolov, Antkowiak, Michalski and now Siodowy, all great players, players to build a team around, he’d allowed to leave for profit.

The season was in full swing, and the record so far bore witness to his internal dilemma; a bright start with three wins from three, followed by two draws and two losses, one in the cup to Piast Gilwice that knocked them out, to round out the first month of the 2018/19 season. Now as Ślęza sat in fourth place, a respectable position no doubt, but a reminder that the margins between glory and mediocrity are razor thin.

Scott was stood alone in the office, lost in a tangle of regret and determination. The departure of Siodowy was a painful reminder of the harsh economics of the game, of choices that cut deeper than any tackle ever could. He wondered if his strategy was to build a team of true challengers or merely to patch the holes and keep the ship afloat.

In the murky light of the fading day Scotts inner voice whispered to him again, in the same cadence as the falling rain, questioning, doubting and yet refusing to yield ‘am I building a promotion worthy team, or just a patchwork of survivors? The season has just begun and every decision echoes in the corridors. But tomorrow, on that pitch I must show them that I can do more than just save teams, I must build a future’

The night came, and with torrential rain, heavy and unyielding, as Scott stared out into the darkness, the weight of his transfer choice pressing upon him like the ceaseless storm outside.

– – – – --

Chapter 28
 

The opening game of the season was here, and at the stadium it was a cathedral of wet concrete and shattered expectations, the cold wind slicing through the stands like the whisper of forgotten dreams. Ślęza Wrocław are the underdogs in the game, away at Olimpia Elbląg, a team that following their recent relegation are the favourites to bounce right back up into the second division. But in the crucible of rain and wind, the footballing gods had another plan.

The whistle blew to signal the start of the new season, and almost instantly, in a blur of gold and crimson shirts a neat one-two played out around the box between Leândro and Jakobczyk, a seamless give and go that shattered the noise from the expectant home fans in the crowd. In the very first minute, and the first attack of the game no less, Jakobczyk unleashed a first time shot that carved through the afternoon sun, finding the back of the net coming off Leândro’s subtle and sublime touch providing the perfect assist. The Elbląg players were all caught off guard and could only gape as the Ślęza players wheeled away in jubilation.

Scott Lańkowski, standing on the sideline, felt his heart pound like a drum in a back alley brawl. Shock and satisfaction mingled in his chest. He had expected a battle, a slog of survival. Instead, Ślęza had exploded right out of the blocks

Within ten minutes played the tempo had surged. A cross from the right by Mankowski met Leândro’s outstretched foot and the scoreboard changed to 2 in favour of Ślęza. A debut goal for the new signing.

Another fifteen minutes of football played in the game, which was quite close despite the scoreline, Leândro struck again, a cold clinical header just inside the box that left the home team reeling. 3-0 to Ślęza and cruising.

Barely eight minutes after the third goal, Leândro found space yet again and threaded a pass to set up Jakobczyk who made it 4-0 with a goal that seemed to defy the odds

As if on cue right from the restart again, Glanowski split the defense with a visionary pass. Jakobczyk already in unplayable form thumped home another goal, completing his hat trick on thirty five minutes that made the home crowd stunned in silent disbelief.

The half time whistle and respite from the game didn’t end the onslaught there; two minutes after the restart that man Leândro produced a moment of brilliance. Another forward pass from Jakobczyk found the new signing who went on a solo run that drew out three defending players in the mist and madness, then as the keeper came he toe poked the ball low and hard out of the outstretched arm to seal his own hat trick and the sixth goal for Ślęza.

To end the demolition of the league favourites, vice captain Ngamayama rose like a man possessed from an inswinging Mroz corner, his header sealing the staggering 7-0 victory

At full time Scott’s head was spinning with emotions. He could barley believe the scoreline, 7-0, etched in the bold against the scoreboard. His eyes beamed with pride as he watch the forwards Jakobczyk and Leândro in celebration, their partnership on the pitch a beacon of lethal promise. Yet beneath the admiration lay a simmering worry.

Quietly in the back of his mind Scott mulled over a difficult truth; if these two forwards carried the attack so brilliantly, what then of the on loan kid Koftas? The young striker, who Scott had taken a liking to and had promised would be a starter now seemed destined to be relegated to a rotation option, a role that stung his pride as much as it threatened the delicate balance of the team.

In the quiet of the locker room amid the echo of the tang of sweat and adrenaline, Scott spoke to Peter in a hushed almost resigned tone ‘I can’t believe what they’ve done today' he said, eyes reflecting both triumph and genuine shock ‘Jakobczyk and Leândro, they turned that game into an art form, but at what cost?’ It wasn’t a question, a mere statement referring to Koftas role in the team.

Peter shrugged and said ‘Scotty, we won tonight, both strikers got hat tricks and we showed the league we’re not messing around’ he waited a moment then said ‘we’ll figure it out as we go. We know Jakobczyk and Leândro can work together, Koftas when he’s back will have to play out of his skin every time to get the nod now. It’s a cut throat business the kid needs to know that’

But even as Peter’s words washed over him Scott’s mind remained a battleground of hope and doubt. The opening game was a tempest of promise, a glimpse of what might be if fate favoured them, as well as a stark reminder that every triumph in this cruel unforgiving game comes with a price.

Promotion, glory and the chance to build a legacy were all on the line. And tonight, amid the cheers and the goals, Scott vowed that he would forge a future where his name meant more than a last minute saviour. 
 

It would be built by winners, no matter how many sacrifices it took.

-- -- -- -- --

Chapter 27

The wind was racing outside the office window, a relentless percussion that matched Scott Lańkowski’s inner turmoil. The new season was about to begin and in his mind the stakes had never been higher. Ślęza’s only fit striker was Jakub Jakobczyk, while an excellent player, one man alone couldn’t carry the weight of a promotion push.

Across the cluttered desk, Marcin spread out the scouting report like a talisman. With a resolute tone he said ‘Leândro, Radomiak’s striker, 16 in 24 last season, even though they went down. We can secure him for thirteen thousand. He’ll walk straight into the team for the game against Olimpia Elbląg’

Scotts eyes narrowed, dark clouds gathering behind them ‘Radom, he couldn’t keep them up though. How can I trust a striker from a club that’s fallen so far?’ his voice was low and loaded with unease. Every harsh gust of wind echoed his doubts.

‘Because talent doesn’t always shine under the best conditions Scott. Leândro was the only bright spark in that sinking ship. I am certain he’s exactly what we need. The midfield of Mroz, Molski and Granowksi will love feeding him the ball, Jakub will thrive playing off him, so will Koftas. Leândro will do what he’s meant to do, I’m sure of it’ Marcin said with a firm tone

Scott just stared at the file, fingers tapping a rhythm on the desk. The notion of signing a striker from a fallen club gnawed at him ‘I’m not sure’ he muttered ‘it’s a gamble, and we know this season is all about gambles. What if he can’t adapt? He was their best player, he might not be our best player. What if his form was a product of their desperation and not real ability?’

Marcin was ready for this kind of question from Scott, but before he could reply with his already worked out answer, Peter Bastista made the move to convince the boss ‘we know sometimes we’ve got to take a chance, that’s what this season is all about. I’ve seen the boy play, he’s got a killer instinct and a natural eye for goal, the kind that our midfield can unlock. And we can’t afford to just rely on Jakub’

Scotts gaze shifted between the two men, his most trusted comrades. He replayed the words in his mind, each on stirring the restless battleground inside him. His mind raced back to the nights spent rescuing Bytom from relegation, the man who stopped that impending disaster. Now, in Wroclaw, with promotion the aim and on the line, he feared his growing reputation would be pinned on a gamble gone wrong.

Marcin’s eyes held steady as he said ‘this isn’t about playing it safe, it’s about evolving. We need a striker that can do more than just fill a void. Leândro is that spark’

Scott let out a long breath, his thoughts swirling like the wind outside. He finally nodded, though the weight of uncertainty clung to him ‘fine, okay’ he said, voice tight with determinant and a slight hint of resignation ‘bring him in’

The deal was done. Leândro was signed for a mere thirteen thousand five hundred Euro and the news spread through the ranks at the club like wildfire. Some of the players knew who he was and were happy to be playing alongside him. Błażej Radler was the first to comment, telling Scott that he’d been turned inside out on more than one occasion by the new signing.

In the first training session since his arrival, Leândro was a fresh face, but still an untested blade in the fire of competition. As the session commenced Scott was watching him closely. Every touch and every run carried the silent pressure of expectation. The midfield worked the drills and operated with surgical precision, feeding the ball into Leândro who was quick, hungry and seemed unburdened by past failures. Jakub Jakobczyk in contrast was happy playing off him and playing the ball into the new man, a seemingly quick transition to a new strike partner.

Yet even as he saw his two forwards flashes of teamwork and brilliance Scotts mind was a storm of worry. What if Jakobczyk went down, could Leândro bare the burden on his own shoulders? How long would Koftas be out if his injury flared up? The future was a tightrope walk over a chasm of doubt.

In the back of his mind Scotts internal voice whispered to him. This gamble might redefine him as more than a relegation stopper, it could be his chance to build a winning legacy. But the fear lingered, a specter in every shadow on the pitch.

Scott sat in the locker room later that day and he couldn’t shake the mix of hope and anxiety that gnawed at him. The new season was a double edged sword, a chance to be a winner or yet another gamble that might leave him haunted by the same old doubts.

In the darkness he vowed to watch every move, and to trust his new signing, and to fight every ounce of his being. Promotion was on the horizon but only time would tell if Leândro would be the man to lead them there, or if the gamble would come back to him and the team.

-- -- -- -- --

Chapter 26

The night before was cold and ruthless, a fitting stage for a game of chance and grit. In the locker room Scott was eyeing his newly appointed captain, last seasons vice captain Kajetan Latka, and the newly confirmed vice captain Alain Ngamayama. Their faces were set and steeled for the battle ahead. The Polish FA cup first round lay before them, a chance to get some early form and to let the other teams in the league know he's more than just a relegation salvager.

On the pitch the cup match against Sandecja began like a tense, slow burning fuse. Jakub Jakobczyk broke the silence in the 22nd minute, his strike slicing through the gloom to give Ślęza the lead. The crowd’s murmur was a low expectant growl, but the game held its breath.

For the next fifty minutes of the game both teams were swapping hard tackles and fleeting opportunities. The air was thick with sweat, grime and the echo of a thousand doubts. But then in the seventy second minute Sandecja equalised. A low shot that crept into the bottom corner.

That goal forced Scott to grit his teeth, the balance had been shattered.

But as if fate had more cards to play, the new signing Diego Malania, whose signing had been received with optimistic caution, capitilsed on a set piece from the kick off for the equaliser. His header, precise and hard carved the path for the rest of the game.

A brief moment later, Jaroszek, the other new signing in defence seemed to seal the deal, however the linesman had raised his flag and ruled his headed goal offside.

The decision was bitter but irrelevant as Ślęza held on for a 2-1 victory.

That victory was tainted however. The other striker in the first team Mikolaj Koftas, had been forced off with an injury, a cruel twist in the tale. As Scott surveyed the post match scene in the floodlit stands of the stadium, worry started gnawing at him. The cup game was an early taste of success in the new season but the team was now dangerously thin up front. After letting Antowiak leave and this injury, he was left with just the one fit striker, Jakobczyk, a player as crucial as he was vulnerable.

After the players had all left and there was just Scott and Marcin left in the locker room, Scott said ‘Koftas is down’ his tone a mix of frustration and fear ‘we’re running with one forward. If Jakobczyk gets injured, then what?’ he let the comment sit before adding ‘the league starts next week away at Elbląg. They might have been relegated and looking to go back up, but you know how unpredictable the opening day of the season can be’

Maricn leaned in with steady eyes ‘I know Scott, I’ve got my ear to the ground and the scout has come back to me already, and I think I’ve found the answer. A striker with the right blend of grit and hunger to slot in easily. Leave it with me a day or so, I’ll get back to you with the details’

Scott stared into the dim light, his mind now a whirlpool of ambition and doubt. The new season was days away, a season where every match would be a gamble, every minute a risk of failure. He had saved two teams from relegation but he craved a legacy that transcended mere survival, a legacy of a winner.

His heart pounded as he contemplated the precarious future. With fresh faces taking up leadership positions on the pitch and an early victory in the cup to mask deeper vulnerabilities, the challenge ahead was monumental. And beneath it all Scott wrestled with his own restless spirit, a yearning to prove he was more than just a saviour of teams, that he was a man capable of forging winners, even as the bitter chill of uncertainty crept into every corner of his soul. Scott knew this was only the beginning. Every decision, every gamble from here on out would either carve his name into glory or leave him as nothing more than a man haunted by what might have been.

-- -- -- -- --

I like the concept of this, first part his time in England the second is talking about Sporting. Def folllowing.

Here's to Machado

Chapter 25

As he walked out of the stadium it was eerily quiet, setting the tone for the conversation that would be taking place in a matter of moments. As Kamil Aftyka approached him Scott felt the weight of the world press down on him like never before.

Kamil Aftyka, the chairman had built a reputation of someone that seemed as unpredictable as the weather. He looked Scott square in the eyes, both mens expressions unreadable, both faces masks that held secrets and half truths

‘Scott’ Kamil began ‘I’ve been looking for you’ Scott didn’t believe this for a second as he, Peter and Marcin had been locked in the office for hours. He didn’t say anything so Kamil took the hint and said ‘I need to tell you something. I’m selling the team’

For a long moment time seemed to freeze. Scotts mind was trying to compute what Kamil had just said and his heart hammered in his chest like a wild animal trying to break free. The words hit him like a sucker punch below the belt, unexpected, brutal and loaded with uncertain consequences. His mind starting racing with scenarios; new owners, new rules, new and possibly lower ambitions that might not include him at the helm of the very team he’d been painstakingly building

‘What on Earth? You’re selling the club?’ Scotts voice was rough, barley above a whisper

Kamils eyes softened for a moment, just a split second, as if weighing the burden of his words ‘Yes, Scott, I am. The decision has been made, but it wasn’t taken lightly. And listen, your contract you signed, your role as manager, it will be honored as part of the deal, I promise you that’

Promise. The word rang hollow in the storm of Scotts thoughts. Even with that assurance the future now looked murky. New owners meant new agendas, new pressures and aims, and the season was already a delicate balancing act

Scotts inner turmoil roiled like a dark sea. He’d fought tooth and nail to make sure Sleza weren’t relegation candidates last season and to build something out of nothing. Now, the very foundation of that work was about to be uprooted by the shifting winds of new ownership. He felt like a lone fighter standing in the rain, uncertain whether the coming tempest would lift him to glory, or tear him and the team apart

He stared at Kamil his eyes mixing with defiance and dread ‘you know what this means, don’t you? A change in management, a change in priorities. We’re on the brink of a good run and I'm aiming for promotion. Now I’m supposed to worry about what the new owners want with our team?’

Kamil spoke, voice soft but insistent ‘Scott, change is inevitable. I wouldn’t be making the deal if I didn’t believe you’re the right man to lead this club through whatever comes next, trust me when I say that. And trust me when I say that your contract stands, you have nothing to fear from the deal’

But trust was a fragile thing in the world of football, a world of shattered dreams and broken promises. Scott could only nod as his mind was a storm of anxious thoughts and worries. He wondered if he’d ever be free of the weight of expectations or if he’d be forever known as the relegation saviour, forced to rescue teams only to see them crumble under new ambitions.

As the day went on Scott felt the chill of uncertainty seep into his bones. The season ahead was already riddled with high stakes and fresh gambles and now carried an extra burden, a future not entirely his to control.

In that moment he made a silent vow, that he would fight on, not just to save a team from the abyss but to carve his own destiny amid the chaos of change. Whether the new owners would be friend or foe he knew one thing for certain; he would not let this shift in power define him.

The club might get sold, new owners might come in but Scotts resolve would burn as fiercely as ever, even if his heart trembled beneath the weight of uncertainty.

– – – – --

Chapter 24

The snow was viscous and hammered down the narrow window inside Scotts office, each drop a cold reminder of the new seasons uncertain promise. In the dimly lit office Scott sat with furrowed brows, his mind a battleground of ambition and recent ghosts. He’d built his reputation the last two years as a man that pulled his teams back from the brink, a relegation saviour in Bytom and a miracle worker for promoted Ślęza. But now, as the season loomed with all its treacherous possibilities, he longed to be known as not just a stoppage artist. He wanted to win.

Across the room was Marcin Lachowski, and he slid forward a print out toward Scott.

‘Diego Malania’ he said, tone even, a calm amidst the storm ‘center half from Khimki in Russia. They agreed to twelve thousand, he’s solid, exactly what we need to build a wall at the back’

Scotts eyes narrowed, studying the report as if it was a cipher to his destiny ‘Malania, looks like the perfect gamble that’ll tip the scales our way. But what about the creativity we need in the middle, we’ve discussed nothing but defence all day’ his voice was low, almost questioning the very choices that saved his previous campaigns.

Marcin leaned forward, his hand clasped as if sealing a secret pact ‘that’s where Mateusz Michalski comes in. In the 33 games he played last season he got us 4 goals with 11 assists, not bad and an average rating of 7.22. Stal Mielec and Raków Częstochow both want him. He’s happy with either team, it’s more a case of what money we can get for him. The kicker here is, you asked earlier if he can be replaced. And I’ve got his replacement already lined up’

Scotts heart gave a slow and measured beat as he recalled those words earlier in the week. He’d always feared that swapping players like for like meant he could only rescue a team, not build a winner ‘go on then’ he said to Marcin, voice tight.

‘Michal Glanowski. A roaming playmaker with the same spark as Michalski. More experienced and he’ll strengthen the team and give the forwards the creativity they need to thrive. I didn’t say it but Michalski has agreed a deal with Stal Mielec for twenty thousand, a nice sum I think’

A smile tugged at Scotts lips. Everyone knows a manager that lingers too long in the role of a fixer, those that save teams from disaster without ever daring to dream of glory. Now with new faces coming in and old ones being cashed in on, he felt the pressure to transform his image from a mere bandage to a builder of champions. ‘Okay, I’ll go speak to Mateusz, let him know what’s going on’

Before he could sink deeper into his thoughts though Marcin dropped one last piece of news as he pulled his phone out ‘Also, this one might hurt a bit. Slodowy is attracting interest. I know you like him, but Cracovia and Chroby both want him, both top division teams with money to spend, as well as Suwalki in the division above us’

Scott let the silence stretch out as the snow continued its relentless rhythm outside. He wondered if in chasing promotion from the third division, was he setting himself up for another season of what ifs and doubts? Was he capable of turning a rescue mission into a triumph, or was he doomed to be remembered only as the man who kept teams from being buried?

His mind drifted back to Jakub, the man who had cast him aside at Bytom. The betrayal stung then but with Bytoms relegation a grim satisfaction tempered the bitterness. However every time Scott closed his eyes that slight sneer echoed in the dark. He had something to prove, not just to the footballing world but to himself. More than just a relegation doctor he wanted, no, needed to be a winner. To shake of the weight of his father Piotr’s long legacy, the head scout for the Polish national team and chief scout for Toronto FC. Scott wasn’t just Piotr’s son any more, he is his own man ready to risk it all for a taste, just a small taste of genuine glory.

Peter Bastista, leaning casually on the table broke into his thoughts ‘you're doing it again Scott’ Peter was referring to Scotts overthinking, a trait Peter had picked up since joining the team as Scotts assistant ‘We’ve got the right pieces coming together. It’s a gamble, every football match is, but you know as well as me that you’ve got to risk everything if you’re going to change the game’

Scott looked at his trusty assistant and in Peters confidence he saw a spark he desperately needed ‘maybe you’re right, Pete’ he said murmuring, voice softening as the acceptance to gamble sank in ‘we take the gamble and if it pays off, we show them we’re not just relegation survivors. We’re builders of winners’

In that snow filled moment, with the deals of Michalski and Granowski done, and Slodowy being discussed, Scott felt a flicker of hope. The season ahead will be a long, uncertain road paved with risks and ups and downs.

But the gamble wasn’t just about survival any more. It’s about rising up to claim the glory he’d been dreaming of.

-- -- -- -- --

Chapter 23

Scott was sitting at his desk, his mind a tangled web of past victories, overachievements and gnawing doubts. The last two seasons had been miracles of survival, in Bytom a series of narrow escapes from certain relegation, and at Ślęza the team never once looked like relegation candidates, both of these experiences had earned him the reputation as the ultimate firefighter. But deep down, not that deep to be fair, Scott seethed with a burning need to be recognised as more than being able to stave off disaster. He wanted to be a winner.

Peter Bastista sat opposite him, with Marcin Lachowski, the pragmatic architect also in the room, going through scouting reports and throwing names out in conversation. He’d picked out a handful of names, a promise of something different, something daring enough to break free from the pattern of rescue acts.

Marcins voice was low and measured ‘Artur Kwiatkowski and Patryk Zygmunt. Two young wingers, both with pace and guts, and from what I've seen they’re both hungry Scott. With Molski, and Mańkowski these two can be rotation options and both have potential in buckets’

Scott nodded absentmindedly, his eyes dark and distant. ‘What about the Serb? Maksimovic?’ he asked tapping his finger on the report ‘I’ve heard he’s decent’

‘Indeed he is, he’s been on my radar for a while’ Marcin said, pushing another folder across the table ‘as has Bartosz Jaroszek, the center half who will organize the back like a general marshalling his troops, much like you did in your day’ he nodded to Peter with a wink and continued ‘and lastly there’s António Rosário, I like this kid I really do’

Scott’s heart rate increased, a mixture of hope and trepidation. The players identified were a mixture of bright prospects brimming with potential and raw talent. Yet the weight of his recent success of surviving relegation and the success of those loomed large. His fear was if he only continued to rescue teams from the brink his legacy would forever be tarnished as a manager who merely survived, not one who conquered.

He leaned forward, eyes narrowing as if trying to read the future on the papers ‘I can’t shake it Pete’ he said quietly ‘no matter what we do, they’ll always say I’m the guy who just stops relegation, I’m not built to be a winner, I’m built to be the saviour’

Peters laugh was short and bitter ‘Scott, you worry too much. Sometimes a gamble is just a gamble. You build something, you take a chance, if it works, we all win. If it doesn’t we learn from it. You’re over thinking it as usual’

But Scotts mind churned like a stormy sea. Every victory he’d clawed from the jaws of defeat in Bytom and Wroclaw had come with scars, and those scars are a constant reminder of what he might never be, a champion. His father, Piotr Lańkowski, had carved his own legacy as a scout for both the Polish national team and Toronto FC in Canada. Scott is desperate to prove he’s more than just Piotr’s son, that his own name would be remembered for daring to chase glory.

Marcins voice cut through his inner turmoil ‘We want to be building a team capable of challenging for promotion Scott. This isn’t about avoiding failure anymore, it’s about going all out. These players, this club, its all about our chance to change the narrative’

Scott stared at the list and then at the rain soaked pavement outside ‘what if it falls apart, this gamble, if it doesn’t pay off? Then we’ll be back to being the relegation survivalists, people that save teams but never win anything’

‘We won’t know until we try Scotty. And maybe you’re more capable than you think. Sometimes you’ve gotta risk everything to carve your own path’

‘Sounds like something my dad would say’ Scott said, Peter just smiled. A long silence followed that as they both mulled over the words, the weight of doubt mingling in with the lure of possibility. In that moment they both made the decision, the commitment not only to the team but to themselves. They would sign new faces, they would bet on the young talent they’ve found and hope that destiny might smile on them.

‘Let’s sign them, all five. Let’s build a team that will fight for promotion. I don’t want to be known as the guy who stops relegation, it’s time to make my mark’

The decision was made, and as the rain outside softened to a mist. Whilst unspoken between them, they both felt a flicker of determination ignite, a promise made without words that this season, they’ll dream of more than survival, they’ll dare to win.

– – – – --

Part 3 - Second season syndrome

Chapter 22

The rain was tapping a slow rhythm against the office window, a dull metronome to the conversation unfolding inside. Scott Lańkowski leaned back in the chair, eyes scanning the report he’d already read a number of times, the corners of the paper curling at the edges after being thumbed through over and over. Across from him was his trusty lieutenant Peter Bastista, sitting with arms crossed, expression flat but sharp. They’d been here a number of times throughout the season already, late night talks with tough decisions being made. The business of football wrapped in the illusion of control.

‘Koftas. I like him. Another year’s done then?’ Scott said, pushing the folder back toward the middle of the table

‘Yeah’ Peter then nodded ‘Kid’s got something about him hasn’t he’ Both are in agreement that the young forward will develop even more with another years first team football at the club ‘Double digits for us, he works hard and you know what, he always listens. Can’t argue with that’ Peter finished off saying

Scott sat thinking. Mikolaj Koftas had been one of their unexpected bright spots. A loaned from Śląsk, the team Scott supports, the kid had delivered when they needed him. The rumor was other teams in the i liga, the division above were also monitoring him, so the offer for another year's loan was put in early. Other clubs that could afford to buy Koftas outright, with bigger budgets, but Śląsk wanted assurances Koftas would be playing every week, which Scott had promised would happen. Another year, and another chance to see the youth player develop.

‘Good, I’m happy that one’s sorted’ Scott said, but before he could move on to the next issue on the agenda, there was a knock at the door. Marcin Lachowski, the director of football stepped in, looking as unreadable as ever.

‘Well they’ve bid for him’ he said. Scott and Peter knew exactly who he was referring to. Odra Opole, who have done incredibly well with back to back to back promotions to the top division, had been credited with an interest in Hubert Antkowiak. Antkowiak had been brought in with high hopes, only for him to spend most of the season wrapped in bandages and disappointment. Twenty appearances, most from the bench, and only six goals. Not good enough, even for a promoted team at the bottom of the league, not a promoted team that had overachieved and were going places.

Peter didn’t miss a beat when he said ‘I’d accept’. Scott just rubbed his chin and looked at Marcin then said ‘how much?’

‘Starting bid is pathetic, eight’

‘Thousand?’ Scott asked, shocked. Marcin gave a wry smile with a nod of his head. Scott laughed and said ‘Do they think we need to sell to raise funds? Are we a fucking charity?’

Marcin shrugged and said ‘it’s a starting bid and he wants to speak to them’ to which Scott snapped ‘if they want him and he wants to go they’re paying for him. Take nothing less than twenty’

Marcin nodded and left the room. Peter and Scott went back over the things they’d agreed needed priority, Koftas being one of the first ones. As the minutes turned to hours there was heavy tension in the room brewing like a storm waiting to break. Neither man wanted to admit it, but they’d need another forward if and when Antkowiak left.

But the silence was broken by Scotts phone ringing. It was Marcin. The deal was done. They’d agreed on twenty thousand for Antkowiak, in one lump sum.

Scott hung up and said to Peter ‘that’s that, done. Twenty in a lump sum’

‘Good business, he won’t start every week’ was Peters reply.

The clock was ticking on the wall, symbolising both the time they’d spent already in the room, plus the time they had left to reinforce the squad, and now replace Antkowiak. The night was already getting longer but there was one other conversation that wouldn’t wait.

As Peter left the room, Kamil Aftyka, the Ślęza Wrocław chairman, replaced him in the chair opposite Scott. Kamil is the the kind of guy that wears a suit that always looks slightly too big for him, like he was content wearing baggy clothes. He slid a piece of paper across the table, the new contract. The weight of it more psychological than financial.

‘One year, slight increase in wage. And an automatic extension if, or more likely when, we get promoted’

Scott didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. ‘One year?’
 

Kamil shifted, a bit of unease on his face ‘listen Scott. You did more than anyone expected. This club was supposed to be fighting for it’s life. Instead you had us knocking on the door of promotion, and you nearly had us there. But you know how football is, one good year doesn't make you untouchable’

Scott nodded and tapped his fingers on the contract. The truth was he’d expected as much. Kamil was the kind of guy you’d call stable, content, but he’s not ambitious, not really. A long term deal from him wasn’t ever on the cards.

‘Fine’ Scott said, picking up the pen ‘One more year’. The ink dried fast.

As he left the stadium he walked into the cold night air and took a deep breath. A new season is coming. New battles, new regrets and new opportunities. But for now he was still the manager of Ślęza Wrocław.

And that’s enough.

– – – – --

Let's hope for a big win to keep the promotion challenge going

The rain fell like a slow dirge over Wrocław as Scott Lańkowski was sitting in his cramped office. The dim light of the small lamp on the desk danced across crumpled papers and faded scout reports. Right now the weight of the season that has just finished pressed on him like a leaden coat, but his thoughts wandered back to a bitter chapter. Polonia Bytom.

He’d saved the from the abyss, fought tooth and nail, scraping, clawing and scratching their way from relegation despite the eight point deduction they’d been hit with. Yet Jaukb Snochowski, the chairman, the cold and calculating figure who’d unceremoniously told Scott where the door was, had let him go. He’ll remember the sneer from Jakub and the look in his eyes as he brushed off Scotts achievements like it was yesterdays news. Now after the final game of the season and seeing that Bytom had been relegated without a points deduction, a flicker of satisfaction had warmed in Scotts chest. But that wasn’t enough was it. Satisfaction is a counterfeit currency, the true redemption lay in proving that his success at Ślęza this season isn’t merely an echo of his past. Two teams he’d managed, both expected to go down. Both times he’d survived certain relegation.

Scott’s mind churned with a restless hunger for more. It wasn’t just the fire to avenge the wrongs of Bytom or the silent promise that one day he’d outshine the long shadow cast by his father, Piotr Lańkowski. Old man Lańkowski, a revered scout for the Polish national team as well as head scout for Toronto FC he’d always been the benchmark. ‘Don’t just be my son’ he’d said to Scott not longer after taking the Ślęza job, as if the weight of that legacy was a shackle around his neck. But now, every decision, every tactical change and every point gained or lost was a silent, defiant answer.

Across the room Scotts assistant manager Peter Bastista walked in and sat down. He’d brought some folders and emptied them onto the desk and shuffled some papers absentmindedly, unaware of the storm currently brewing in Scotts mind. They’d celebrated a successful season at Ślęza Wrocław, a top five finish when at the start of the season a bottom four finish was predicted. Yet the taste of triumph was tainted by an unmistakeable feeling that Scott, and Peter by association, still had something to prove. Something that wasn’t measured in points or dreams of promotion. It was a battle for identity, a fight to assert that he was more than just a guy that had rescued two clubs in his own unique and gritty way.

Scotts fingers drummed on the surface of the old desk as he recalled Jakubs dismissive tone, and the bitter promise he’d made to himself that day. The thought of that betrayal stung, a jagged sharp tooth still lodged in his memory. Now as he looked out of the rain streaked window at the city he now calls home, there was a flicker of doubt.

Beneath the anger and the drive the doubt crept in. Was it enough to prove his worth, to silence the echo of his fathers influence and his first employers scorn? He didn’t know, all he knew was that every training session, every hard fought match was another step toward defining himself on his own terms.

In the low murmur of the office his inner voice roiled like a restless sea. He needed to be more than a saviour, he needed to be a visionary. The thrill of saving teams from relegation was fleeting, but the real challenge lay in carving out his own legacy, one that wouldn’t be measured by the scars of that first betrayal, but by the bold moves of the man unafraid to walk his own path.

He leaned back, nodded to Peter, closed his eyes and let the quiet resolve creep in. The night dark was coming in and the streets beyond whispered of endless possibilities. Soon the new season would start up, and with it, the chance to show everyone, especially himself, that Scott Lańkowski was more than a footnote or only known as a one trick pony.

He would rise, again and again, until the world recognised that he wasn’t just Piotr Lańkowski junior. Scott would be a man forged in the grit and grind of the beautiful game, ready to claim his own place in the cold ledger of football

World Cup 2018

The 2018 World Cup in Russia delivered everything you’d expect from the biggest competition in football, thrilling upsets, penalty shootouts and a country claiming yet another title, as Brazil made it six World Cups with the 2018 crown. The tournament also saw several big antions fall earlier than expected leading to some managerial changes in the aftermath.

Englands hope of ending their long wait for a World Cup came crashing down in the round of 16. After an unsurprising group stage in which they hung on for a 1-0 win against hosts Russia in the tournament opener, than stuttered 1-1 against the USA and then sealed their place in the next round with an unconvinving 1-0 win over Ghana,they faced Uruguay, where a disciplined performance from the South Americans saw them edge past England. A late goal from Edinson Cavani sent the Three Lions on their way.
 

One of the biggest upsets of the 2018 World Cup also came in the round of 16 when Colombia eliminated defending champions Germany, on penalties no less. After a tense battle Germany were leading 2-1 in extra time before conceding when Falcao headed in at the far post with seconds left on the clock, to send the game to penalties. Falcao stepped up and scored the decisive penalty to send Germany packing. The shock defeat also ended the reign of Joachim Löw’s reign as Germany manager.
 

The fairytale wa short lived for Colombia as Spain showed Germany how to do it as a hat trick from Diego Costa sent the South Americans home. Spain had looked like genuine contenders all the way through the tournament, winning every game right up until the final.
 

The biggest surprise of the tournament was undoubtedly Costa Rica. They defied all the odds and produced on of the biggest shocks in footballing history when they beat France 2-0 in the round of 16. This was then followed up with another victory over Mexico in an end to end game which they edged 3-2. Even against Brazil in the semi final they never looked out of place. Going down 2-1 to the eventual winners they equalised in the second half and never looked flustered. The fairytale run of Costa Rica ended but everyone associated with them can hold their heads high after an amazing run to the semi final.
 

Brazil had a solid tournament from start to finish, navigating their way past tough opposition before eventually lifting the trophy. The beat Spain 2-0 in the final to seal the sixth World Cup title.

As is often the case after a World Cup, several high profile managers paid the price for underwhelming performances. Gareth Southgate was the first to leave his position, confirming he stepped down shortly after the loss to Uruguay. Didier Deschamps was next to leave, getting sacked after that shocking loss to Costa Rica. Joachim Löw was dismissed after falling to Costa Rica. Julen Lopetegui was kept on by Spain after getting to the final.
 

Following that there was a managerial merry-Go-Round featuring these nations and club teams. The managers leaving after the World Cup had a knock on effect sparking a wave of high profile appointments.

Arsène Wenger left Arsenal after 22 years to become the new France manager, taking over from Didier Deschamps. Joachim Löw swapped international football for club management, replacing Wenger at Arsenal. Jürgen Klopp returned to Germany, taking over at Bayer Leverkusen. Roger Schmidt had left Leverkusen to become Germany’s new manager, tasked with rebuilding the national team. 
 

And finally Claude Puel left Southampton to take charge of England, in a surprising appointment. No, no one else knows why either. 

– – – – --

Summer 2018 transfer news
 

The summer transfer window has already been a wild one in anticipation of the new footballing calendar, with teams in Saudi Arabia and China throwing money around, Bayern Munich flexing their financial muscle and relegated clubs undergoing dramatic overhauls. The first big transfers of the summer came from Saudi clubs, as the Middle East continues to lead the charge

Al-Hilal made the first stupid move of the summer, as Luuk De Jong swapped PSV Eindhoven for Saudi Arabia for €29 million. This was followed up with the signings of Roberto Rosales from Málaga (€12M), Emmanuel Mas from Trabzonspor (€9M), Marcelo Díaz from Celta Vigo (€8M) and  Stefano Sturaro from Juventus (€13M)

Al-Ahli weren’t holding back either, as they spent €35 million in total to bring in Roman Zobnin, Jens Toornstra and Maicon.

China's money train rolled as Giovanni Moreno left Shanghai Greenland for Quanjian for €12M and Wellington Nem left Shakhtar for Jiangsu Guoxin-Sainty for €24M.

UAE clubs joined the party as Lekhwiya SC signed Dante from Nice for €5M and Cheick Tioté also signed from Beijing Beikong €6M. Not huge fees but big wages are being offered to join clubs in the UAE.

Bayern strengthened with some of the Bundesliga’s best players. Carlo Ancellotti managed to tempt RB Leipzig into selling Timo Werner for €38 million, Leon Goretzka from Schalke for €36 million and Djibril Sidibé joins from Monaco for €42 million. Bernd Leno swaps Bundesliga teams as he leaves Leverkusen for Dortmund for €34 million.

The biggest transfer of the summer saw Koke leave Atletico Madrid for Premier League champions Manchester City for €96 million. Atletico seem determined to be the Manchester based teams feeder club, as the Koke deal follows last summer's sale of Griezmann to Manchester United.

Some big transfers from the Premier League as expected. Wonderkid Malang Sarr leaves Nice for Southampton for €35 million, a huge fee for the Saints to pay. Iñaki Williams leaves Athletic Bilbao to join Marcelino at Liverpool for €22 million. Thomas Lemar leaves French champions Monaco for Chelsea for €58 million. Danilo leaves Bayern Munich to sign for Man United for €31 million. Son Heung-Min leaves Rafa Benitez at Spurs to sign for his former team Newcastle in a €22 million deal, he is the Toons marquee signing of the summer.

The off again on again takeover of Newcastle United continues to dominate the local news in the North East, however that doesn’t stop owner Mike Ashley convincing Gus Hiddink to sign a contract extension for 2 more years. The rumor is he will have a better chance of selling the club with a big name as the first team manager.

In Italy AC Milan sanctioned the sale of Donnarumma to PSG for €45 million, all of which is pure profit for the goalkeeper that rose through the Milan ranks. 

Monaco look set to dominate Ligue 1 and the Champions League, as they sign Alvaro Morata from Real Madrid for €38 million. Another interesting transfer sees Lyon sign none other than Karim Benzema on loan for the season from Real Madrid. With Andrea Belotti scoring 37 goals last season for Real, Benzema was cast off and deemed surplus to requirements, only playing 11 times. A nostalgic return to his old club on loan is sure to relight the fire in the world class forward.

The fallout from relegation saw Everton and West Ham pretty much rebuild their first teams. The exodus from Everton saw Bolasie, Schneiderlin, Deulofeu, Galloway, Baines, Fernandez, Cleverley, Mori, Lennon, McGeady, Calvert-Lewin, Williams, Barkley, McCarthy, and Davies all leave, bringing in a total of €99 million. Aitor Karanka, sacked early on in the season by Middlesbrough is tasked with the rebuild and only invests €26 million back into the team. There are rumors of money troubles at the Merseyside based club. The big news from Goodison is that they somehow, despite interest from PSG, both Manchesters, Chelsea, Inter Milan and Napoli, managed to keep hold of Romelu Lukaku who is expected to score at least a goal a game in the second tier. Whether they can keep hold of him in the January transfer window remains to be seen.

West Ham in contrast shipped out the underperforming Antonio, Dos Santos, Reid, Garcia, Burke, Valencia, Otavio, Snodgrass, Masuaku, Pask, Fernandes to bring in €81 million. 

Niko Kovac, who took over form Slaven Billic spent €45 million of that on Begovic, Ladeira, Giraudo, Kent, Wisdom, Armstrong, and Murphy. He managed to convince Noble, Cresswell, Oxford, Kouyaté, Shelvey, Ayew, and Lanzini to remain at the club.

-- -- -- -- --

Football news summer 2018

The end of the 2017 / 18 Premier League season delivered some twists and turns that nobody could have predicted. Heading into the final fixture Chelsea look certain to win it, sitting in first place on 81 points, with second placed Manchester City 2 points behind on 79. City’s only path to back to back titles was a mirror image of last season. Last season they needed to win their game whilst a team from London (Arsenal last season, Chelsea this) needed to lose. The decisive matches saw Chelsea host Southampton at Stamford Bridge whilst Manchester City hosted an Everton side looking to avoid relegation.

Everton in 17th place had 30 points, the same as 18th placed Middlesbrough. All Everton needed to do was math the ‘Boro result. Hull would be hosting Middlesbrough. However these things are much easier said than done.

At the Bridge Chelsea struggled to break down the rigid Southampton defence. Claude Puel set up the Saints to play with a flat back 5 which stopped most of Chelseas attack. Southamtpon caught Chelsea on the break more than once and Charlie Austin tucked home early in the second half to give the Saints a credible 1-0 away win.

In stark contrast, at the Etihad Manchester City delivered a masterclass, thrashing Everton 4-0 to leapfrog Chelsea into first place and claiming the Premier League title for a second year running. In an unexpected turn Arsenal managed to sneak into second place on goal difference to end as runners up for the second year running. Adding to the surprises this season was Newcastle United who defied expectaionts. Coming off winning the Champiosnhip last season they finished an impressive fifth place ending the season under Gus Hiddink (after Rafa Benitez left for Spurs) and winning the FA Cup. Liverpool found themselves in unfamiliar waters as they finished eighth.

That 4-0 defeat for Everton effectively sent them down, as Middlesbrough secured their own safety by beating Hull 3-0. Everton join already relegated Derby County and West Ham in the drop.

Looking ahead the relegated trio of Everton, Derby and West Ham will be replaced with Championship winners Wolverhampton Wanderers and runners up Brighton and Hove Albion. Ipswich Town also secured their return to the Premier League by beating Cardiff in the play offs.

In Spain and La Liga Barcelona continued their dominant stranglehold on the league by amassing 103 points for the second season running. This win makes it 4 in a row for Luis Enriques men. Real Madrid finished second on 92 points. Their cross city rivals Athletico finish third on 81 and Villarreal, Sevilla and Valenica round out the top six.

In the Bundesliga, the race for the crown was as dramatic as ever. Bayern Munich emerged as champions, but only by a slim margin, with only three points sepertaing them from runners up Bayer Leverkusen. The remainder of the top six featured a mix of emerging and established sides RB Leipzig, Borussia Dortmund, Schalke and Koln.

In Italy Antonio Conte had an instant impact as he guided Juventus to the Serie A title in his first season, wresting the title away from last season winners Inter Milan. Napoli were runners up with Roma in third place. Both Milan sides (AC and Inter) ended up tied on 65 points occupying fifth and sixth, with AC being given fifth place due to a slightly better goal difference.

In France Monaco continued with their resurgence as they secured a second successive Ligue 1 crown. They finished on 95 points, edging out the mega bucks of PSG who finished on 91. Lyon, Marsielle, Caen and Nantes round out the top six. On the individual front in one of the feel good stories of the season, Jack Colback earned himself a spot in the team of the year. On a season long loan from Newcastle, he featured in every game (38 in the league, 3 in the cup) scoring 3 goals and providing 5 assists. This along with posting a very respectable average rating of 7.91.

In Monaco they signed Dusan Vlahovic who made a significant impace after signing in January transfer window. He netted 13 goals in just 17 appearances, providing a crucial factor in the title win for Monaco.

In Portugal an old name made the headlines. Federico Macheda, of Man Unted fame once upon a time, led the scoring charts by netting 18 league goals. His efforts were pivotal in propelling Sprtiong Lisbon to their first league title in 17 seasons. As per tradition, Benfica and Porto round out the top three with Braga, as usual, occupying fourth place.

– – – – --

Chapter 21

Scott Lańkowski stood in the locker room, arms folded and scanning the determined faces of his players. Two games left of his maiden season as Ślęza Wrocław manager, the first was away at the recently crowned champions Raków Częstochowa.

This game was a fight for redemption following the home loss to Scotts former team Polonia Bytom. It ended in a 1-1 draw despite Ślęza taking the lead through Aleks Kwiek. The promotion charge was still on, if unlikely. 

Ślęza had dropped to sixth with one game to play. 52 points. The scenario to get promoted was ridiculous. A long shot, the kind that never comes off. Ślęza had to win. Not just that, but Blekitni, Olimpia Grudziądz, and Widzew Łódź all had to lose for Ślęza to get promoted. The one game Ślęza had was against Olimpia Zambrów

Scott laid it out plain and simple ‘promotion was never on the cards, and now, with one last battle to go it’s not in our hands any more’ voice low and firm ‘we win today and all we can do is see what happens in the other games. No regrets, no half measures, no wishing we’d done more’

He looked around the room, Radler, the veteran lacing them up for the very last time as a player. Koftas, the young forward who had come on leaps and bounds. Ngamayama and Latka, two solid players that needed to put the Bytom game behind them.

‘Everything considered this season has been a miracle’ Scott continued ‘we were supposed to be in Zambrów’s place, clawing for survival. Instead we’re in the mix for promotion and I’m so proud of you all. And if this is our last game before we break for the summer, lets make sure we go out the right way'

Silence, but it was accompanied with determined nods.

It was time. The final game was here.

Olimpia Zambrów needed this just as much as Ślęza. They were fighting to stay in the league opposite Ślęza’s fighting to get promoted out of it.

The opening minutes of the game were a glorified street fight, hard tackles, scrappy passes and no rhythm to the game other than solid physicality. A team trying to survive versus a team chasing the impossible.

Then, young forward Olejniczak, playing up top alongside Koftas in place of the injured Antokiwak struck first. A ball over the top from Kluzek, the defender watching the man not the ball misjudged the bounce and Olejniczak, keeping his nerve cooly slotted it past the keeper. 1-0. 

Scott clenched a fist. The dream was alive.

But Zambrów weren’t done. They pressed and pushed for an equaliser which didn’t come by the time half time came around. In the second half the tension rose from both sides, but it was Wojiciech Mroz that calmed Ślęza down. Another long ball found it’s mark and Mroz calmly guided the ball into the net. 2-0 and cruising.

Zambrów refused to die and kept pushing and fighting for an opening which eventually they got. Young striker Feliks drive and low shot found it’s way past Gessl in the Ślęza goal to give the home team some hope.

It would be for nought as Ślęza held on for a 2-1 victory.

The players celebrated but Scott and Peter Bastista held back, eyes locked on Marcin Lachowski who was looking at his phone. Waiting. Hoping. Then the shake of Lachowski’s head told them what they were waiting for.

Blekitni won. Olimpia Grudziądz won. Widzew Łódź won.

Ślęza finished fifth.

Scott stood in the locker room, hands on his hips. Fifth place had to be considered a hell of a season.

But still, just a little short. He turned to his team, taking them all in. Some looked disappointed, some exhausted, some just proud. He started by saying ‘we did everything we could today, nobody, not you or me, expected us to be here today. Nobody gave us a chance, and yet we almost pulled off the impossible’

He let that sink in.’Hold your heads high, this isn’t the end, trust me. This is just the beginning’

And as he stepped outside, breathing in the night air, he couldn’t help but smile.

Because he knew, next season, Ślęza Wrocław wouldn’t just be a surprise anymore. 

They’d be contenders.

– – – – --

It's good this, I've been keeping up on your Wordpress. Keep it up.

Chapter 20

Scott Lańkowski stood on the touchline, eyes locked on the battlefield before him. Ślęza Wrocław. Polonia Bytom. Third versus seventeenth. Current versus former employers. A win for one meant a step closer to promotion. A win for the other meant one step closer to survival.

The stakes dripped like rain from the clouds above. From the first whistle it was war, just like in the reverse fixture earlier in the season.

Tackles flew in in like a bar brawl nobody wanted to break up. Studs raked against shin pads, shoulders crashed into ribs and elbows met jaws. Every time the whistle blew another body was picking itself up from the hard frozen turf. The ref had his yellow card and seemed reluctant to use it. The first few challenges he let go, but couldn’t bring himself to let the game flow. There was more stoppages than shots on goal in the first half.

Scott watched his current and previous team fight for every inch, Mroz against his old team battling in the middle, Koftas lurking for scraps up front with Ngamayama and Latka trying to hold the fort at the back. But something felt off.

Bytom, backs against the wall all season had played like a team with nothing to lose. Ślęza looked sharper, better and the more likely to score, but the goal wouldn’t come.

At the half Scott walked into the dressing room and closed the door behind him. The players were there already, sweaty, battered, bruised, breathing hard and still in the game

‘We’ve got forty five minutes to put this to bed’ Scott said, voice measured but tight with frustration. He looked at the group and said ‘keep playing like this and we will find that goal. Keep the ball on the ground, keep it moving and move it quick. Don’t force it, let the ball do the hard work and for the love of everything watch for them on the counter’

They nodded. They knew.

As the game kicked off for the second half it unraveled faster than Scott, or anyone associated with Ślęza could believe.

Ślęza had lost possession a couple of times since the restart, but in the fiftyfirst minute it was Mroz, usually composed on the ball that lost it in the middle. Bytom moved fast, and before anyone could close him down on the edge of the box Krakowczyk unleashed a rocket. Gessl dived and stretched, but not enough as the ball kissed the inside of the post as it went in. 1-0 to Bytom.

Scott shook his head. Fine, one goal, we can come back. But fate had other plans.

Four minutes later Ngamayama squared upto the man he was marking Mackowksi, who was fast and slippery. Too fast, and too slippery for the Ślęza man. One fient to the left as Ngamayama tried to show him on to his right, and the Bytom forward was gone. Ngamayama flailed, slipped and Mackowski cut inside and buried it low past Gessl. 2-0 to Bytom

Then came the hammer blow. Sixty three minutes on the clock. Latka misjudged the long ball over the top, got caught with the bounce and fluffed the clearance. It fell to Ceglarz as he pounced on the loose ball like a street thief. One touch to settle, another to calmly slot it past Gessl in the Ślęza goal. 3-0 to Bytom.

Silence. Stunned silence from the Ślęza fans. Scott turned away from the pitch running his hand over his face. Disaster. The fight was gone, the game was done. A late goal from a corner meant the game ended 3-1 to Bytom, but the goal meant nothing. Even before the whistle blew Scott was marching down the tunnel to the home dressing room.

The door slammed so hard it rattle on its hinges. The players sat in tense silence, exhausted and ashamed. They didn’t need a speech from the boss to know they’d let this one slip away. And Scott wasn’t the kind of manager to throw things across the room, he didn’t need to, his words hit harder than any flying bottle of water could.

‘What the hell was that?!’ his voice cut through the air like a blade. No one spoke.

Scott turned, eyes blazing and pointed at Latka ‘that third goal? That’s on you. You had one job there, clear the fucking ball! And you bottled it’

Latka shook his head, and as he tried to speak Scott held a hand up and said ‘don’t, just don’t I expect much better from you’

Then Scott turned to Ngamayama ‘and you, you call that defending? That kid made you look like an amatuer, you didn’t even try and stop him’

Ngamayama didn’t respond, he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Scott shook his head again, hands on his hips. He was furious, but more than that he was disappointed

‘We had a chance to put this season in our hands and you threw it away’ he glared at the, ‘I don’t care if Bytom are fighting for their lives, we should’ve buried them, we should've btoken them, we should’ve given them the loss that sent them down’

More silence, heavy suffocating silence. Then Scott sighed and said ‘it won’t kill our season, but if we play like that again in the next two games we’re not getting promoted’ and he turned to leave, but as he got to the door he stopped and said ‘sort yourselves out’

One loss wasn’t the end of the promotion challenge, not yet. There are two games to go and they can still get third and automatic promotion, but it would be tough. They’d need to win both games and hope the other teams above them drop points.

Scott wouldn’t let this slip, not after everything they’d built so far.

– – – – --

Chapter 19

Blazej Radler had asked Scott for some time earlier in the day. Scott had known this conversation would be coming before long, he’d seen the signs.

The Sleza captain now in his third season at the club had seen it all. The old warhorse is 35 pushing 36 and had been in countless battles over the years as a player, and this season was no different. This last season he’d given everything to the badge, but as Scott suspected, the time had come.

‘Boss, I think I’m done’ Radlers voice came steady but clearly carrying the decision ‘June 18th is when I’ll officially hang my boots up’

Scott nodded and said he’d seen this coming, much to Radlers relief. The captain's legs still moved, but not like they used to. Experience can only carry you so far when your body starts to betray you

‘You’ve been a rock for this team, not just for me this season but the last couple of years you've been here’ Scott started then said ‘and you’ve earned a happy retirement, but…’ Scott said as Radler said ‘but what, Scott?

‘But, as you know Pete and Marcin came with me from Bytom, they were my most trusted players, they would walk through fire for me if I asked. My dad once said he gets the best results working with people he trusts, so with that said, how would you feel about staying? I’m still bitter about Manolov leaving, and I could’ve done with a firm voice from the youth team at that time, so how about if I kept you on as a coach for the youth team, the under 18’s?

Radler blinked, shock evident on his face ‘you’d trust me with the kids?’

Scott smiled ‘absolutely. You’ve trained with them already, they know you’re the club captain and look up to you anyway, so we might as well make it official’

Radler nodded and said ‘yeah, okay. I’d like that’

The handshake was firm like two men sealing a pact. One chapter closed, another opened. He’d officially start his new role at the end of the season, but Scott had him working with the youth team right away.

A day later Sleza would host Olimpia Grudziądz, who are riding high in third place, one above Sleza. Nobody thought either of these teams would be in the top half yet alone pushing for promotion, but here they both were.

Olimpia Grudziądz boasted the most prolific striker in the league. His 21 goals are what helped them to third place. That striker is Mateusz Broz, the same striker Scott had signed last season while in Bytom, and a reason they survived relegation. As with the other players at Bytom, Broz was allowed to leave due to mounting money worries.

Scott had made a point to himself to meet Broz in the tunnel before kick off, and when they met he held out a hand which Broz took with a smile

‘Scott, didn’t expect to see you up this end of the league’ he said with a laugh

‘Nah neither did we’ Scott replied, also with a chuckle

‘Hell of a job you’re doing here, just like last season’

‘You too Matty, you’re on fire’

Broz was all business then as he said ‘don’t try and flatter me, I’m still here to score and do a job today’

Which he did, late on in the game. Too late for Scotts liking. Sleza had held a comfortable 3-1 lead heading into the last four minutes and were cruising. Until Broz had slotted a long range shot in the 87th minute, setting five minutes worth of added time of pure hell in the form of long looping balls into the Sleza box. They held on for a 3-2 win but it was anything but close

Scott exhaled at the final whistle as the players jogged off, knowing they dodged a bullet. Exhausted, but victorious. The unlikely promotion was still on. The table has shifted and Sleza and Olimipa have swapped places with three games left to go. Sleza now in third on 51 points and promotion wasn’t just an impossible dream, it was a real possibility.

Scott exhaled at the final whistle as the players jogged off, knowing they dodged a bullet. Exhausted, but victorious. The unlikely promotion was still on. The table has shifted and Sleza and Olimipa have swapped places with three games left to go. Sleza now in third on 51 points and promotion wasn’t just an impossible dream, it was a real possibility.

And up next? Polonia Bytom at home. Scott didn’t have much to say in the dressing room before the game. The players felt it. The weight of the match, the blossoming rivalry between the teams, the stakes.

Koftas laced his boots, muttering to himself, young eyes full of fire and burning with focus.

Latka, taking the captain's armband in place of Radler, was stretching in the corner with Mroz as they were discussing the game.

Jakobczyk, Siodowy, Gessl and the others turned as Radler, not in the squad but still club captain, stood up and asked for attention. He spoke, voice deep and steady cutting through the tension ‘we’ve come this far’ he started ‘we weren’t meant to be where we find ourselves. But here we are. This club was meant to be at the bottom of the table trying to stay in the division, yet we’ve got a hell of a chance of getting out of it at the other end’

Scott watched, arms crossed. He didn’t need to add anything. They were ready. Bytom were coming to Wroclaw, attempting to stay in the league.

Sleza was waiting.

– – – – --

Chapter 18

Scott Lańkowski was sitting down on the touchline at the training ground when he’d got the text. He stared at the phone like it was a bad hand in a rigged poker game. Dawid Molski. 7 weeks minimum. Strained knee ligaments. He shook his head again and exhaled, not for the first time this morning and ran his hand over his forehead. Seven weeks wasn’t classed as a long term injury but it wasn’t nothing either. Molski had played in every game so far, rotating at right full back with Siodowy at times but being mostly used on the right wing. He was a machine too, fast, fearless and never gave up. The other players fed on that energy, and now he was out, and the team slightly weaker for it.

Peter Bastista walked over and sat down on the bench next to Scott and said ‘bad luck’ shaking his head as well

Scott let out a small chuckle and said ‘bad luck would be a cold shower in the Polish winter before training. This is just a bloody curse!’ the winter break had ended and football had come back to Sleza with a vengeance.

The first game saw Sleza extend their unbeaten run, stretching back from beating Scotts old team Polonia Bytom through the break. Radomiak Radom away ended in a 0-0 draw. It was the kind of match that felt like trudging through wet cement blindfolded. No spark, no magic no excitement from either team, just cold winds and tired legs. The draw flattered both teams really and the point gained they both had to pretend was worth something.

Then Polonia Warsaw came to Wroclaw. They scored an early goal to silence the Sleza fans but that didn’t stop Scotts team from trying. They knocked, punched, pounded and battered the Warsaw door but couldn’t find a way through. Chance after chance came, each one either going wide, over or right at the keeper. None ever good enough to go into the net.

Scott had sat in the dugout after the game, jaw clenched so tight it was on the verge of crackinfg. He hated games like that, the kind where you know your team deserved something, you were the better team but the footballing gods weren’t in the mood to be fair.

The response came in emphatic fashion. Blekitni at home and they didn’t know what hit him. Sleza played like a team that remembered what winning felt like, and looked like a top half team pushing for promotion. The final score of 6-2 was well earned. The main talking point was the hat trick from Wojciech Mroz, one of the players Scott relied on last year and one of his summer singings this season. Mroz is your typical defensive midfielder who’s main job is to break up attacks, not finish them. 

Riding high from scoring six in the previous game the team carried that confidence into the next game. A 3-0 away win at Rybnik in which the team looked sharp and dangerous throughout. But football can be cruel, and sometimes it made no damn sense.

Stal Rzeszow away, they were humbled 3-0. The kind of match where the ball never bounces your way, where the opponent played like a pack of wolves and your team are the meat.

And now this. Scott wasn’t done processing the injury to Molski when Marcin Lachowski joined Scott and Peter. He wore the look of a man who had more bad news than he wanted to deliver. Scott didn’t even give him the chance to break the news ‘who’s hurt this time?

Marcin sighed ‘Sobczak’

‘How bad’ was Scotts reply

‘Three months. Optimistically’

Scott swore under his breath. That was the season, three months or so left. No sense keeping him around when he won’t play again ‘terminate the loan, I’ll go speak to him’

Marcin nodded and said ‘already in motion, I’ve told Slask about it’

Not expecting that to be the last of the bad news Scott said ‘is that it?

Marcin hesitated, which told Scott he already knew the answer ‘who else?

‘Antkowiak’ Marcin said ‘four weeks if we’re lucky’

Scott just closed his eyes. Antkowiak had been in and out of the team due to injury, but he’d done well when he’d played and had managed 6 goals and 3 assists in 18 appearances. 

‘Of course. One of the three forwards is out, again’ he let out a dry sigh and said ‘anything else? Maybe a meteor heading for the training? He said with a laugh

Peter smirked and said ‘well if there is it’ll probably land on Koftas and Jakobczyk leaving us with no fit forwards’

Scott had to laigh at that. He knew the score, this was football afterall. One moment you’re flying high, the next you’re crawling on the floor. You didn’t get to complain, you just dealt with it. He got up and said ‘it is what it is, we move on’

Marcin and Peter both nodded and followed him into the changing rooms.

The season wasn’t going to wait for them.

– – – – --

Chapter 17

The winter air in Wroclaw had bit, the kind that crept under you clothes and sitteled in tour bones. Inside the office the radiator rattled like an old drunk telling people stories they didn’t want to hear.

Scott was sat behind his desk, arms cross with eyes flickering between Peter Bastista and Marcin Lachowski. There was holes to fill. Manolov, the young aggressive upstart, was gone whether Scott liked it or not. With him leaving they needed cover at left full back. And between the sticks? Sobczak, on loan from Śląsk had been doing okay, but he’s got a mistake a game in him at his young age, and he’s been injured, meaning the team had been scrambling and using and even more untested youth player for two games.

Marcin, the professional pragmatist, tapped a folder on the desk ‘Aaron Kircher. Austrian. Solid, experienced, knows his role. More importantly, he’s fine playing second fiddle to Latka’

Scott picked up the folder, flipping through the pages. Kircher was nothing flashy, certainly not the fire cracker Manolov is, but he’s a steady hand and reliable. He’s a man that knew he wouldn’t be starting every week and wouldn’t throw a tantrum about it

Scott then said ‘he’s not Ivan’

Peter smirked ‘that’s a good thing’

Scott and Peter continuingly disagreed on the sale of Manaolov. The young full back is a live wire, Scott adamant that his passion just needed channeling, Peter saying it would cost them big. Even as a full back Manolov could be a game changer one game, but then a red card waiting to happen the next. Sleza didn’t need that, not now.

‘And the keeper?’ Scott sid putting Kirchers file to the side

Marcin slid another folder across the desk ‘Seb Gessl, young, another Austrian, also available on a free. He’s hungry, determined and ready to fight for his place in the team’

Scott drummed his finges on the wood. He liked it, both signings made sense and Marcin and the scout had managed to find both players relatively quickly.

‘What’s the catch?’ Scott asked

‘No catch, boss. Just good business’ Marcin replied

Scott nodded. The winter break was almost over and the remaining fourteen games of the season would start up again, third in the table and punching above their weight. Staying there meant making the right moves, not rolling the dice

He looked at Peter, nodded, then to Marcin and said ‘Agreed, get them both done’

Marcin smiled, stood up and took his phone out as he left the room

‘I hope they like the cold’ Peter said

Scott smiled and looked out the window, watching as the last dregs of daylight bled into the skyline. The cold was the least of their worries.

– – – – --

Chapter 16

Scott had just got home when his phone started vibrating, an unknown caller. He was sceptiacal about answering unknown numbers, but he answered anyway

‘Scott, my name is Krzysztof Holub, I’m sure you know who I am’

For a single moment the world outside faded. The low hum of the radiator, the distant sound of cars on the road and slow dripping rain, all of it melted into the background. Krzysztof Holub. The chairman of Śląsk Wrocław. The club Scott had love for as long as he can remember.

His heart kicked up a beat, was this it? Was this the call? The call he’d dreamed about for a long time.

He’d been doing well at Ślęza. Overachieving all things considered. Third in the league at the winter break, with a team built on smart signings and shrewd loaned in players. He’d beaten expectations, just like he had in Bytom last season. Maybe someone at Śląsk had noticed. Maybe they were looking for fresh blood.

His hand was steady as he held the phone to his ear, gut twisting with something between excitement and nerves.

Krzysztof’s voice came again, smooth and professional ‘hows life down the road at Ślęza?’

Scott clezred his throat, trying to play it cool and calm ‘you know, can’t complain much, we’re doing okay’

‘You are that is true. Been keeping an eye on your progress, impressive stuff I must say’

Scott felt his pulse quicken. Here it comes, this is it!

Then Krzysztof continued ‘I wanted to talk to you about Adrian Łyszczarz’

Scott blinked ‘Łyszczarz?’

‘Yes, he needs games, minutes on the pitch, and we think you would be a good fit for him. A short term loan until the end of the season’

Scott felt something in him deflate, just a little. He kept his face blank even though Krzysztof  couldn’t see him. Of course it wasn’t a job offer, it was a favour.

Scott let out a slow breath rubbing his temple. ‘Look, I appreciate the call, I really do, but I’ve got my midfield sorted. Mańkowski has come in and been solid, Kluzek is delivering and the teams settled. I can’t promise Łyszczarz any game time that he needs’

Krzysztof was silent a moment, then said ‘you sure? He’s a talent Scott, gonna really be something’

Scott chuckled, just a hint of bitterness in there ‘I don't doubt that, but talent doesn’t do much if it’s sitting on my bench’

Krzysztof then said ‘I get it, just thought I’d ask’

Scott didn't know what else to say so just said ‘okay, thanks, I appreciate it, listen if anything changes you’ll be the first to know’

Krzysztof chuckled and said ‘I’ll hold you to that’

The call ended there and Scott stood and stared at his phone for a long moment before putting it down. For a few brief seconds he’d let himself dream, the chance to manage Śląsk Wroclaw. 

But reality had a way of reminding you exactly where you stood. Maybe someday, but that day was not today.

-- -- -- -- --