(The tape recorder clicks on. The low hum of the coach engine provides the backing track to a post-mortem that is equal parts tragic and glorious.)
Act I: The January Window (or: The Humbling of Moise Kean)
If you want to know what it’s like managing Fiorentina, let me tell you about January.
For a month, Moise Kean strutted around the training ground waiting for a private jet to Riyadh or London. The Saudi clubs sniffed around. The Premier League clubs made polite inquiries. I was already measuring his locker for the new arrival. But nothing materialised. The phone stopped ringing. And then, on deadline day, a very timid Moise Kean knocked softly on my office door and politely asked if he could, perhaps, just stay and be a squad player. I magnanimously allowed him to remain. Humility is a beautiful thing.
Jacopo Fazzini, meanwhile, remains at the club. I cannot get rid of him. He is the ghost of the Artemio Franchi stadium.
There were other fires to put out:
- An unwelcome bid came in for homegrown defender Luca Ranieri, and I had to use all my diplomatic skill to promise him a move “at the right price” just to stop a mutiny.
- Rolando Mandragora, my vice-captain, was also subject to a bid, but thankfully he looked at the sheer panic in my eyes and decided not to kick up a fuss.
- I immediately slapped a bumper new contract on Pio Esposito—ostensibly as a “reward for his form,” but mostly because I was terrified someone would notice he had scored 20 goals.
But then came the incomings. The boardroom found some loose change in the sofa cushions. Enter Matteo Darmian for £750k—a man who can play literally anywhere across the backline—and Mikel Merino on loan to stop our midfield from completely collapsing. We also secured my old favourite, Valentin Carboni, on a pre-contract for next season.
But the real coup? The masterpiece?
Harry Maguire. £4.3m.
Yes, he’s on an eye-watering £120k a week, but he strolled into Florence, put his massive head on every cross that came into our box, and instantly elevated our entire defence. You don’t know true security until you’ve seen Harry Maguire clearing a corner on a rainy Thursday night in Tuscany.
Act II: The Tactical Wobble and The Cursed Session
The honeymoon period ended. The AI figured out my 5-3-1-1. The opposition managers looked at our low-block-and-pray system, laughed in Italian, and simply stopped letting us have the ball.
Something had to change. Enter the 4-3-3.
Suddenly, we were purring. We went on an eight-game winning streak across all competitions. We were in the mix for the top six. The top four—and the blinding lights of the Champions League—were genuinely in sight. We made the cup semis. We progressed in the Conference League.
But Football Manager gives, and Football Manager takes away. In game nine, we hit a purple-and-red brick wall named Bologna. We banged on the door for 90 minutes, but they delighted in frustrating their local rivals. 0-0.
Then, the same thing happened in the next game. And the next. Three consecutive 0-0 draws. The momentum vanished, and I watched Iain and Inter Milan slowly pull away from me, laughing at me in their rearview mirrors.
Which leads me to a run of fixtures I will forever refer to as The Cursed Session.
Exhibit A: Fiorentina 4 – 4 Atalanta
A monumental six-pointer for Champions League qualification. We exploded out of the blocks, taking a largely undeserved 3-0 lead against Iain’s corporate machine. I was ready to text him a single smiling emoji. But then, we inexplicably surrendered it. 3-3. We rallied, went 4-3 up, and I ordered my men to build a trench around our penalty box.
But Salihamidžić had other ideas. A free-kick from 35 yards. Top corner.
“His first of the season,” Iain helpfully typed in the chat.
We threw everyone forward for a winner, left ourselves completely exposed, and only a merciful offside flag saved us from losing 5-4. A 4-4 draw. A great game for the neutral. A heart attack for me.
Exhibit B: Fiorentina 2 – 3 Inter Milan
A win would put us into third place. We played beautifully. We battered them. We took a rightful early lead. We had all the momentum.
- Bang. Inter corner. 1-1.
- We kept dominating. We scored again. 2-1.
- Bang. We give away an utterly mindless penalty from a looping, harmless cross. 2-2.
At half-time, I threw the water bottle (gently) and encouraged the lads. We came out strong. I would have taken a draw against a superior team. But then… an Inter free-kick in the dying moments. Hakan Çalhanoğlu steps up.
3-2 Inter. A devastatingly harsh loss.
Iain, ever the diplomat, offered his deepest sympathies. He told me he drew a game 0-0 against Cagliari at the beginning of the season, so he knows exactly how it feels. He does not know how it feels. I took my anger out on the breakable items in my managerial office.
Act III: Heartbreak in Turin
You can only plough on. Next up: Juventus in the Coppa Italia semi-final.
We played brilliantly. It was tight, tense, and looked destined for extra time. Then, the clock hit 90+2. The words “Highlight” flashed at the bottom of the screen.
Every seasoned Football Manager player knows the sheer, icy dread of a late highlight. A Juventus corner. Cleared. Recycled. Crossed. Goal.
Out of the cup.
The hangover lingered. We conceded another late goal in our next league game, drawing again. The Champions League dream was officially dead. Iain coasted into 3rd place. Inter finished 4th. I finished 6th, just three agonising points behind Iain. Those matches against Atalanta and Inter cost us millions in UEFA prize money.
Act IV: Thursday Night Kings
But wait. There was a saving grace.
While our league form became a tragedy of late goals, our Thursday nights were bathed in glory. We marched through the Europa Conference League, swatting aside the continental titans of Genk, Cluj, Braga, and eventually, Olympique Lyonnais in the final.
We won a European trophy.
The ultimate redemption arc belongs to Albert Gudmundsson. After spending the first half of the season sulking about being homesick, he finally decided to unpack his bags, put his boots on, and scored the winner in the final against Lyon.
I was so magnanimous in victory, I even let Moise Kean hold the cup. He actually managed to score a few goals down the stretch, justifying his decision to refuse to leave the club.
The Season Review
The Heroes:
- David De Gea & Robin Gosens: Absolute stalwarts. Consistent, brilliant.
- Harry Maguire & Matteo Darmian: The January lifesavers. Maguire was a colossal presence, justifying every penny of his wages.
- Amir Richardson: Stepped into midfield when we needed him most and bossed it.
- Alexis Saelemaekers: Clutch moments from wing-back all season long.
The Villains:
- Pio Esposito & Edin Dzeko: My striking duo entirely forgot how to kick a football after January. Esposito got his fat new contract and immediately clocked out.
- Late Goals: My absolute nemesis.
We finished 6th. We won a European trophy. We qualified for the Europa League. The purple dawn is rising. Next year, Iain, we’re coming for you.
