THE MISSION: Take control of a distinctly average Fiorentina side, survive the grueling Thursday-night purgatory of the Europa Conference League, and somehow gatecrash the Champions League places. Why Fiorentina? Let me be absolutely clear about the rigorous, data-driven analysis that led to this decision: they play in purple. It’s a very nice colour.
THE CATCH: We have no money, the midfield is constructed entirely of wet cardboard, and my good friend Iain is managing Atalanta. He has a Champions League budget, a vastly superior squad, and an incredibly smug aura that I intend to shatter into a million pieces.
The Summer Purge (or: How to Alienate Your Best Players)
I arrived in Florence to find the coffers not just empty, but echoing. If we were going to build a dynasty, I needed cash.
- Dodô: Marseille offered £11m and I practically piggybacked him to the airport. Unfortunately, this immediately infuriated Albert Gudmundsson and Moise Kean, two players who had spent the entirety of pre-season in the medical room. They demanded answers. I demanded they put some ice on their hamstrings and leave my office.
- Tariq Lamptey: Went to Borussia Dortmund for £7m. He is incredibly fast, but unfortunately, lacks any other redeeming footballing qualities. It’s like strapping a jet engine to a shopping trolley. Go and run in straight lines in Germany, Tariq.
- Cher N’Dour: Binned simply because his £22k-a-week wages were offensive to my eyes and I had serious doubts about his potential.
- Jacopo Fazzini: Sadly, despite my most aggressive efforts to peddle him across Europe, he could not find a suitor. He remains in the reserves, lingering like a bad smell.
The Rebuild
With my pockets jingling slightly, I went shopping. Our midfield was desperately limp, so say hello to the new blood:
- Vitaly Janelt (£11m, Brentford): A sturdy, reliable German ball-winner.
- Alexis Saelemaekers (Loan): A marauding right-wing-back. He has spent the first half of the season laying on assists like a waiter in a Michelin-star restaurant.
- The Benchwarmers: Alvaro Fidalgo as a rotation playmaker, veteran defender Juan Jesus, and Tiémoué Bakayoko to sit on the bench.
- The Coffee Club: I inexplicably signed Radamel Falcao and Marco van Ginkel on free transfers. I haven’t played them once. They just wander around the training ground drinking espresso.
KABOOM! That’s the sound of the masterstroke. Enter Pio Esposito. £8.5m from Inter. A teenager. A wonderkid. A god among men. He surpassed 20 goals before we even reached Christmas. I am building a statue of him outside the stadium as we speak.
The Pragmatic Purple Protocol
I started the season full of ideals. I deployed a sexy, narrow diamond formation. A flowing, progressive style.
We got absolutely found out.
So, I tore it up. Enter the new protocol. (redacted actual tactical stuff)
The Season So Far (August – December)
It has been a rollercoaster. We started strongly, stringing wins together and making me think I was a tactical genius. Then reality hit us with a folding chair in a brutal run of fixtures:
- Lost to Atalanta (which pleased Iain far too much).
- Lost to Napoli and Inter.
- Roma dismantled us 6-1. Let us never speak of the Roma game again.
But Football Manager is a hilarious mistress. We scraped a fortuitous win against AC Milan, and then obliterated Lazio 4-1. I looked at the post-match stats. Our Expected Goals (xG) was 0.3. We essentially scored four goals from one decent thought and three profound defensive errors. I am a genius.
There have been bizarre lows, naturally. We lost to Cremonese. Who scored the winner, you ask? Jamie Vardy. I stared at my monitor for twenty minutes after the full-time whistle. Jamie. Vardy. ### The Dressing Room Drama
We currently sit 5th, breathing down Iain’s neck at Atalanta, and still fighting in the cups. The actual heroes keeping me in a job are David de Gea in goal, wonderkid defender Pietro Comuzzo, the elite left-wing-back duo of Robin Gosens and Fabiano Parisi, and Nicolò Fagioli, my Swiss Army Knife in midfield.
But the drama never stops:
- Moise Kean, my ostensibly “star” striker, has not scored a single goal. Zero. Zip. Nada. Yet he had the absolute audacity to kick my door down, complain about a lack of first-team starts, and explicitly tell me he “doesn’t need to prove anything.” I’m stockpiling transfer list tape just for him.
- Albert Gudmundsson is homesick and struggling to settle in Florence—one of the most beautiful cities on Earth. I told him to get on with it. He didn’t like that.
Will we catch Atalanta? Will Moise Kean ever accidentally hit the target? Will I ever give Falcao a game? We march on to January.
