Los Coladeros, Episode 14: Business Time
“And we’re Cooooolaaaaderos! Cooooladeros FC! We’re by FAR the greatest team! The wooorld has eeever seen!”
Poor Jimmy Graham spends a full six minutes trying to extract Susan and I from Yo Soy Tu Padre and shove us onto Chugger for the drive back to Catalonia. He was with us initially, along with the rest of my coaches and scouts, but at this point we’ve been drinking vermouth for six straight days and are in no mood to end the party. Not only do we have Tsigalko and Moukoko joining us in the summer and we just got our first clean sheet for four months, but Johan Sjöberg and Karl Ready have also been given international callups for their respective contributions to our cause — Sjöberg for all those missed headers and Ready for all those missed games, I guess.
Either way, there’s reason to celebrate, but after almost drinking the proprietor dry over the last week, I’m in no condition to perform any of my duties as manager. I hand Jimmy a list of sixteen names scrawled onto a napkin, and tell him to sort it out. He does a pretty good job, to be fair. That’s why he gets paid the big bucks.
Our hosts are without a win in nine and are having a torrid time since selling their star striker, Aitor Aldeondo, back to Real Sociedad, shearing them of half their league goals in the process. They’re in a real downward spiral and struggling for any sort of form, so it takes them all of eight minutes to take the lead against us, naturally scoring with their first shot on target — a Sergio Porras free kick that zips into the top corner, past Pinheiro, and Jimmy Graham’s side are a goal down. This would never have happened if I was capable of standing or speaking.
However, half an hour later, we’re back on level terms. Jamie Victory stands over a dead ball of his own, looking to execute our tried-and-tested free-kick routine of smashing it off the face of some poor bastard in the wall so that Richard Smith can volley it home from the edge of the box — but Victory accidentally misses the wall entirely, and instead the ball sails over them, past the flailing Almansa in Hospitalet’s goal, and nestles into the top corner. A freak accident, sure, but we’ll take it — it’s 1–1.
I go back to sleep on the touchline, awoken only by the shrill of the referee’s half-time whistle. At the break, I tell Richard Smith that I don’t like his face any more and replace him with Wales international Karl Ready, while also pointing around the room at random players and telling them I expect them to score so that we can go home.
Three minutes in, Jaime does exactly what I asked. Sestelo chucks a high ball into the box, Adolfo powers a header at Almansa, he saves but can’t hold the wet ball, and Atletico Madrid’s new DMC thunders home the rebound to give us the lead for the first time today. 20 minutes later, we’re at it again — Jaime finds Mustafa on the right, he turns on his sirens and powers past two Hospitalet players, crosses into the box, and William Leandersson nods home for 3–1!
I was concerned in the build-up to this game on learning that Hospitalet have a striker who hasn’t scored for them yet — it’s a Champ tradition for players to score their first goal(s) against you — and to nobody’s surprise, it takes less than five minutes for our hosts to peg us back. Javi Prats, their best player by a mile now that Aldeondo is gone, beats Adolfo and Mustafa down our right hand side and crosses for José Cano to grab his first goal for Hospitalet, and force my eyes open just long enough for me to roll them.
Michael Dunwell has done nothing but miss the target today, which is surprising for him, so I drag him off and let Eduardo Benito have a run for the final 20 minutes in what will probably be one of his final appearances for the Rainmakers. Knowing that himself, he immediately gets into the action, lurking on the shoulder of the last man and causing problems for the Hospitalet back line, and within three minutes of his introduction, he’s on the scoresheet: Sjöberg, of all people, charges to the edge of the box and crosses low for the young Spaniard to tap home for 4–2, and surely the end of this game.
It pretty much is. There’s only time remaining for Javi Prats, playing through injury for Hospitalet today, to be taken to a, er… local medical facility after going down with another knock — he could hardly be in better company — and after Joan Barbara slashes a couple of long range efforts into the crowd, the referee’s whistle finally sounds, and we’ve put our old enemies to the sword once and for all.
That result confirms our participation in the end-of-season promotion playoff round, condemns Hospitalet to fourth in the division and in serious danger of dropping out of the top four altogether, and leaves me with a hangover the size of Mount Rushmore to contend with for our final few games.
We’re now just four matches shy of finishing the season, and considering our job is done, and also that those games are against teams in the bottom six… I decide to rattle through them as quickly as I can so we can get to the good stuff. Plus, I mean, we’ve won the league at this point. We haven’t actually, of course, but barring a real catastrophe against the bottom teams, nobody’s catching us now. Right then. Hold onto your butts. First up: Reus.
It’s a routine win against a team that should be fighting for their lives, only one point from the relegation zone, but instead take a bloody good soaking from your Rainmakers. It’s 4–0 after half an hour, with Leandersson and Dunwell both scoring inside six minutes, and with an hour gone, we look like we might be on course to grab a couple more plus a clean sheet. Naturally the moment I allow that thought to enter my mind Marshmallow pulls one back for the visitors, and in the end, that’s how the game finishes. Exactly as it should be.
Next up, flat bottom of the table and already-relegated Mallorca B, who only have 12 points from their 35 games so far. That must be some sort of record. We could “win the title” here, whatever that means, depending on other results — and we couldn’t have a better opponent. Let’s make it count.
We turn in another superb performance. I pull on Condom for his debut (finally, it’s been months), and he actually does what he came here for. Mallorca B manage five efforts on target, and even though Pi manages to break him in the 41st minute, he offers protection to the exact level we could have expected: about 85%. Up their end, we stick four in the onion bag, with Mo Sissoko the most notable goalscorer, notching himself a brace after following in for sloppy seconds on his own initial chances. I think that’s enough of that for now.
And, due to results elsewhere… that victory does take us to the league title! After beating Burgos and Hospitalet, it was pretty much a foregone conclusion — plus the title doesn’t matter because all you’re doing is qualifying for the bit afterwards anyway — but nevertheless, we’re going to finish top no matter what. I allow all the players to skip training and go out to do whatever they want for the next little while. Not you, Assou-Ekotto.
In the aftermath, I accept a generous bid of £0 for Francisco Cobo, who will leave for Jerez in the summer — definitely don’t need him now we’ve got Daniel Ung and Leaky Bum arriving at the same time — and in another supermarket swoop, I raid Djurgårdens for defensive midfielder Stefan Bergtoft, who’s quite a player, but can’t get anywhere near their team since two of their three “star” players are both DMCs as well: Kim Kallstrom and Stefan Rehn. Although I would have preferred Kim, of course, his valuation is unmeetable, and besides, for £700k over 24 months, this kid will be a bargain. Our replacement for Jaime is finally settled, and he looks good.
Anyway! Back to the action now, and it’s 19th-placed Valencia B at La Cartuja.
As you can see, it’s an eventful day, and we almost get champed — they were actually 3–2 up with only two shots on target following Sjöberg’s own goal, and despite constant attacking and hitting the goal ourselves, we just can’t get the goals we need to win. Hugo Pinheiro, captain today, finishes on a 5 after a diabolical performance, and the rest of the team aren’t much better — apart from Nilsson, the only good player on the entire pitch, who grabs a brace and could have won the game single-handedly if it weren’t for David Rangel in the Valencia nets.
By far the most annoying thing about this isn’t the defeat, it’s the red card for Jaime, who celebrates my signing of his replacement by getting himself a four-match suspension after a brutal leg-snapper in the 52nd minute. That’ll keep him out for… potentially all the post-season games, I’m not sure how many there are. But still. Dios mio.
So, having learned my lesson, I put out a completely changed team for our final game of the regular season against Espanyol B so that nobody else can rule themselves out of the most important part of our campaign. It’s a totally changed XI, plus a return to the Typhoon. Hold me.
STORM TIME IS COMING TO YOU TODAY!
Espanyol B are really quite horrible here. Eduardo Benito mauls them with a fabulous hat-trick, Gustan gets two assists, Sissoko and Lio both batter their way onto the scoresheet with the sort of speculative long-range shots that only the yoof of today would consider, and blow me down if Marius Condom wasn’t the answer to my goalkeeping questions all along.
And so, after half a season of looking up the arses of Hospitalet and some truly ropey moments along the way, we end up finishing our first ever season in professional football atop the Spanish Second Division B3 by seven points. That ‘goals for’ column is a joy to behold, in particular — though I can’t believe we only conceded 46. I thought we let that many in during March alone. However, no matter what happens next, we can always say that we topped the league. Hopefully our prize money reflects just that. As a side note, look at Hospitalet now — in the end, we finished 21 points ahead of them, which is crazy to think about when you remember how long it took us to overhaul them. What a one-man team they really were.
At the other end, Reus completely wet the bed and get themselves automatically relegated, causing Sergio Melgarejo’s £50k release fee to be triggered. I swoop instantly with a bid — he’s clearly far too good to be in the Spanish non-leagues. 24 goals for a relegated team is a fantastic return.
They are forced to accept… and he rejects me out of hand. He must have heard me calling him Marshmallow. It’s your name, son. Whatever. We’ll have Maxim in a few weeks, hopefully.
And with that, the post-season groups are organised. As league champions, we’re drawn against teams that finished second, third and fourth in other groups, and it’s an accent-fest: Jaén, Logroñés and the beach footballers of Pájara Playas are about to receive the thunder. We play each side twice, six games total, with the group winner sneaking their way into the Segunda División next season. I can’t wait.
…so I won’t. First up are the Playas, and looking at their players’ attributes, you’d think they were useless. Their top scorer has 5 for Finishing and their top assister has 8 for Passing. Their ‘star’ forward Jorge Salvatierra has 19 for Off the Ball, but that’s pretty much it. Winger Robaina is clearly a star at this level, so Tarkan will have his hands full keeping him quiet, but otherwise, they seem to be a side performing way, way above their actual level. We know how that feels.
For us, it’s all change. To be honest, I’m tempted to leave some of the players in who contributed to the 5–0 mauling of Espanyol B, but in the end, I know I can’t do that in such an important game. Sissoko, Leandersson and Bentio will be available from el banco today, and could do some damage coming on if we need it, but for the most part, it’s business as usual.
I feel tense in the build up to this one, and it’s reflected by the Ultras, who have all nervously downed several pints each before arriving at La Cartuja. I don’t blame them. I’ve reserved Susan a spot in the dugout and instructed her to bring a backpack full of the cheapest spirits money can buy. I have a feeling I might need them before this one is over.
Sergio Sestelo, our lord and saviour, is into the action straight away, unleashing a volley at goal that Carlos Gaitán pushes clear. After that, the game quietens down for 25 minutes, and I’m gesturing to Susan to pass me whatever she pulls out of the bag first — and as a knock-off bottle of vodka comes my way, the ball drops at the feet of Robaina for the first time. He seems to bring the ball forward unchallenged for a full minute before chopping past Mustafa, putting Smith on the floor, and hitting a furious strike past Pinheiro and in to give the visitors the lead.
It’s an awful moment, made worse moments later when left-back Leo gets booked for wiping out Sestelo, then squares up to Dunwell and shoves him over off the ball — but manages to not receive a second yellow, a straight red, or even a note to his parents. He just completely gets away with it, and I’m apoplectic in my technical area, especially when the free-kick comes to nothing and the half time whistle goes with my team still behind.
I give the team a shouty, ranting team talk at half time, telling them they shouldn’t be getting pushed around by these bozos — but it doesn’t work, and the bozos hit three stinging shots on target in the opening stages of the second half that we’re lucky to survive. Hugo Pinheiro is enormous in goal, keeping the Playas at bay, and eventually gathers the ball safely into his grasp before belting it downfield towards Torbjörn Nilsson. He takes a touch, turns towards goal, then bends a pass around the side of the Playas defence — Michael Dunwell has read it! Dunwell gets to it first, and is clean through on goal! It’s Dunwell vs Gaitán… GOL GOL GOL GOL GOL GOL GOL GOL GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL! Michael Dunwell’s incisive run and finish brings us back to level terms with 30 minutes to go!!
The goal changes everything. We’re now all over the Playas, and Dunwell in particular is like a man possessed. Three minutes after scoring his goal he’s marauding towards the away goal once more, beating Lledó and Axtábal on his way through, and shaping to shoot — but Leo wipes him out in the box! The man who shouldn’t even be on the pitch has surely got to go now… BUT NO! OF COURSE NOT! The referee, who I have to assume is Leo’s stepfather trying to form an emotional bond with the distant child of his new partner, doesn’t just think it isn’t a second yellow — it’s also not a foul or a penalty, and he waves play on. Absolutely unbelievable stuff. You’ll never be his real dad.
Mustafa is then forced off injured in another awful piece of news for my threadbare squad; Karl Ready comes on and Sjöberg goes to right-back in his place. However, despite the annoyance of that non-penalty and the loss of Tarkan, we don’t stop coming at Playas. We’re first to every ball and winning every header, my midfield is dominating the game, and eventually, Nilsson makes some space and gets the ball wide for Jamie Victory. Running up against the full-back, Victory muscles his way through and whips a deadly cross into the box — Dunwell gets across the front of Lledó and heads at goal! DUNWELL! HNNNGGGGOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL COLADEROOOOOOOSSS! MICHAEL DUNWELL PUTS US INTO THE LEAD!!
I bring Sissoko on for the unusually quiet Sestelo and shut this game right down. I tell the players to bog the pitch and turn this into a crunching midfield battle, and although Playas get close enough to our goal to take a couple of shots, they’re both off-target, and after a topsy-turvy game with some highly questionable refereeing, we’ve got our first points on the board. Thank goodness for that.
Jaén also win their game, so we are both off like rockets to start this promotion mini-league. Next up? First vs Second. Winner pretty much takes all. It’s going to be huge.
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