Los Coladeros, Episode 42: Brave New World
It’s not the way I wanted to arrive at the Ramón Sánchez Pizjuán for our second derby of the season against Sevilla, but in the end, I was left with no choice. The dugout is going to be a little bit quieter this afternoon as Jimmy Graham, the man who joined me as my assistant manager just four days after I first arrived at Los Coladeros, has just asked for wages that would put him in the top bracket of earners at the entire club — just below Recoba and Batistuta, but above Shearer, Tsigalko, Duff, Batty, Tobros and Ronaldo. There’s no way I can give in to those kinds of demands, so I’ve had to wish Jimmy all the best in his future endeavours — and, for one game only, my trusty assistant Susan will join me in my technical area. She nervously rises from the seat alongside me a full half-hour before kick-off and begins shaking me a cold, dry martini. I’m going to need a few of them today, that’s for sure.
The loss of one of Spanish football’s most impressive ball bags has no doubt affected our preparation for Los Palanganas, who — despite being flat bottom of the league with just eight points from their first 13 games — still boast some international, household name players. Gerardo Torrado, Roque Junior, Francisco Gallardo, and, of course, the great José Antonio Reyes swell their ranks, and to be honest, it’s amazing they’re doing so badly. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s down to their tactics and a lack of squad depth; all their central midfielders are DMCs with very little thrust or creativity, and when you add that to a flat 4–4–2 that tells both CMs to withdraw to the same spot in DMC whenever they’re defending, plus a pair of strikers who only have three goals between them in a combined 20 appearances, you start to get the gist of the problem.
And so, to my team. I feel a little bereft without having Jimmy’s tactical advice screamed into my ear from close range, but still, I feel like I know what to do about this Sevilla side. If they’re going to invite us onto them, we’re going to kick their back doors in — and I set up to do just that. I’m tempted to go to my top-heavy front three, but instead choose to drop the more pivot-minded Alonso and drop Ronaldo back into the centre, restoring Lundén to his favoured right-sided AMC position alongside Recoba and behind Tsigalko, who I want to replace with Shearer, but whose recent form even I can’t ignore. Three goals in two games since being restored to the point of my attack doesn’t warrant being left out, even in a game that the form book says we should win comfortably.
Naturally Sevilla have changed their tactics up for this game, trying to make an impression in front of their own fans against their noisy neighbours, and they come out to strike us hard, fast and early — and it backfires in spectacular fashion. Rosado drives a shot wide in the first minute, then they come forward again but Reyes is caught offside — and while they’re resetting, Arteta spots a gap behind their disorganised defence, hits a Hollywood pass towards Tsigalko, and the Hitman leaps above right-back Alfonso to head home our opening goal of the day — a perfect route-one counter-punch, in just the fifth minute!
Vexed, Sevilla come out at us again; Gallardo sees a free-kick saved by Voulgaris before Lundén wins us a dead ball of our own from Arteta’s clearance, high upfield on the left. Jamie Victory lines it up, whips it into the box, and Arteta rises through a forest of defenders to head past Notario and claim his first ever Coladeros goal to make it 2–0 after 11 minutes! And the fun isn’t over, because just five minute later after Recoba has hit two sighters just off target, he re-calibrates just in time to meet a low Jonas Lundén cross at the far post to smash into the top corner, and after 16 minutes, it’s Sevilla 0–3 Coladeros, Notario is on a 4, and at this rate, the scoreline could be pretty much anything.
15 minutes go by without any action which suits me just fine, and as we reach the half-hour mark, I relax into my seat and ask Susan to mix me another drink — a Vesper this time please, if you have the ingredients. Unfortunately we all know what happens when I relax, and seconds later, Iván Rosado defies all logic and expectation to go on a mazy run that takes him past Batty, through the legs of Tobros if you can believe that, and finishes with a ferocious right-footed strike into the top corner that Voulgaris can only wave at. Twas ever thus.
I mean, fine — they’ve scored a wonder goal. You can’t do much about wonder goals. The fact is, we’re cutting Sevilla to shreds here — they can’t possibly mount a comeback on a foundation of individual golazos. The half time whistle eventually arrives with the scores still at 3–1, although Ronaldo and Arteta both hit the post before the break and Recoba forgets who he’s playing for long enough to block a goal bound Tsigalko drive that deflects off him and onto the crossbar. Still, though, the players have so far looked strong, disciplined and sober, which is more than can be said for me.
The second half is where Jimmy would usually keep the players in check as Susan’s cocktails start to take their toll, and it shows, as Sevilla substitute Rubio uses every bit of his Dribbling 20 to weave his way through our defence and blast a high shot through Voulgaris and in to reduce the score to 3–2 with 43 minutes still to play. I berate my players with something unintelligible that works wonders for Mike Duff, who takes the ball from kick off, screams past two Sevilla players down the right flank, and lofts it into the box for Tsigalko to jump over Roque Junior and head in off the bar. It’s 4–2, I’ve got a headache behind my right eye, can we just go home now please.
I change Batty for Bergtoft and the tiring Recoba for Moukoko, and a minute later, Prieto and Gallardo combine to find Reyes inside the penalty box, and he scores with what feels like the fifth header of the day to make this absurd local derby 4–3, and we’ve still got 25 minutes to go. Remember when we were 3–0 up? It feels like it was a week ago. Luckily for me, Tonton Zola Moukoko has a lot to prove if he wants to reach the heights we know he can, and with 15 minutes left, he chests a Tobros long ball into the box, flicks it up off his thigh, and hits a stupendous volley that rakes past Notario, into the top bins, and at 5–3, the scoring is finally over. Both teams could score twice more in the closing stages if it weren’t for our respective forwards exhaustedly dangling their legs at shots, but nevertheless, and despite our lack of Jimmy, we’ve still slapped and booted our way to victory. 5–3 is the final score in our second Seville derby.
And so, the quest to find my new assistant manager begins in earnest. Cheeky approaches to jobless wonders Gianluca Vialli, Frank Rijkaard and Ruud Gullit are treated with the disdain they deserve, and while I’m not surprised Kevin Keegan and Peter Reid also turn me down, I did have faint hopes that one of them might take a holiday in Spain over the pubs of the north-east. What a fool I am.
Instead, I head into my Staff Search list for a more precise look at the sorts of names I can expect. I’m instantly struck by the presence of none other than Luiz Felipe Scolari and Carlos Alberto Parreira on my Interested list, but my hopes are dashed when they both refuse to answer the phone. Whoever’s administrating this list needs a pay cut. I love surrounding myself with former international players wherever possible, and as I prune and filter my list down to the world’s very best coaches, I come to realise that most of them don’t have any. The sight of former Italy U21 and Inter coach Marco Tardelli is welcome, but he wants almost as much money as Jimmy Graham so he rules himself out, as does George Graham (no relation, I think) — and while I’d love to have the former Arsenal man alongside me, that £12k per week would be best saved for something else, I suspect.
In the end, there’s one name that stands out above all others. A former England international under the great Sir Bobby Robson, currently wasted as a scout at Exeter, he looks absolutely perfect for the job — and not only because he’s prepared to take £900 a week. With our Spanish Cup 1st Round game against Villarreal looming, I offer a contract and pray that he accepts before we have to set off to El Madrigal.
In the meantime, it’s early December, and contracts are starting to expire. I get notifications that both Wayne Rooney and David Villa are available to my grabby hands, but while they’re prepared to talk to me, their contract demands — around £40k per week each — are a bit too spicy for my liking. I’m also told that Lucic, Batistuta and Recoba are only six months from leaving us, and I consider my options. Teddy wants a 400% payrise to stay, and at 30 years old and having been replaced by two young Greeks, I don’t think I’ll take him up on that. Batistuta is the very definition of a vanity signing and is clearly in his final flourish as a player — plus he wants even more money to extend his deal for a year, so I reject that too. I’d love to keep Recoba — not only has he been great for us, but he’s worth almost £10m and has plenty of years left in him. I move to offer him an extended deal, but he doesn’t want to talk about it — so at this stage, he’s leaving in the summer too. The coffin nails swiftly follow, as Auxerre and Lorient both swoop the same day to offer him end-of-contract deals.
My prospective new assistant accepts my deal, but not in time to join us on the road to Villarreal, so for the second game in a row, Susan and her mobile bar will join me in the dugout for a game that, to be completely honest with you, I’m treating as a free hit. They say you shouldn’t look ahead, but we’ve got Real Madrid at La Cartuja in just four days’ time, and as such, I have very little interest in risking any of my regular starting players. And besides — I’ve actually got a very, very good second string. Let’s find out if they can take us all the way to cup glory.
We make a glorious return to the Diamond, with Costanzo re-taking the gloves, Alberto Saavedra making his debut at right-back and Rui Baião also appearing for the first time in the famous silver and blue alongside Sestelo in centre-mid. Moukoko regains a starting berth after his goal against Sevilla, and the most experienced strike partnership in world football are tasked with firing us to glory. You know what? I feel pretty good about this.
My optimism blimp goes all Hindenburg after just eight minutes. Yellow Submarine striker Guayre, whose name I’m glad I only have to write and not say, skips past Batty and Lucic on his way to smashing a low drive past Costanzo and in to give the home side an early lead. Villarreal have a young Pepe Reina in nets, and he’s on red alert to keep Moukoko out twice in the following exchanges — but there’s a sting in the tail. After a decent period of pressure, Batistuta is caught offside, Unai wallops the ball aimlessly forward, but it turns into a perfect route-one pass for Bruno Marioni, who loops a header up and over the stranded Costanzo (Costrandzo?) to make it 2–0 after half an hour.
We then return with a flurry of chances to end the half, but just as we’ve seen from this set of players recently, they just can’t get enough of them on target; Reina only has to save from a David Batty pass-gone-wrong which is drifting into the top corner before he claws it over the bar, but other than that, I’m sorry to say that Shearer and Batistuta are guilty of missing the target when they really should score. After pretty astounding starts in Seville, both of them seem to be fading fast.
I leave the players on until the hour mark, at which point I have to make changes. Sestelo and Kalogeras are both having shockers, so they’re withdrawn for Victory and Adolfo — although it does nothing much to help for ten minutes afterwards, and in fact we’re indebted to Costanzo for keeping the score down to 2–0. Suddenly, though, there’s a glimmer of light: we start to put moves together again, but can’t find the final pass or shot, until Baião whips a ball into the box towards Shearer, it deflects off Ballesteros, and spins past Reina to make it 2–1 with 20 minutes to go — and there’s suddenly all to play for!
It’s Guaranteed Goals time. Samba replaces Moukoko, my third 5 of the day, and we go three up front with two in behind. We struggle and strain to get the ball forward but can’t get close enough to trouble the Villarreal defence… until the 90th minute. Saavedra finds Baião in the centre, who spins on the ball and sends it into the box first time, to the near post — Adolfo is there!! ADOLFO!!
SAVED BY REINA! And that’s the full-time whistle! Well, we had a go. Some of my players did really well today — Batty, Costanzo, Baião and Shearer can shower first so they get all the hot water — but some others, who I’ve already named, have totally let us down. Good performances across the board and we could have come out of here with a win today, but as it is, we’re sunk by the Yellow Submarine. Oh well.
As we climb slowly aboard Chugger for the long drive home, my phone pings in my pocket. It’s my new assistant manager, asking if I’d like him to use the Scottish side of his accent to get the first-team players ready for Real Madrid. You know what, Trev? I really would.
Thank you so much for reading Diamond Geezers and Los Coladeros in 2019! I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all your support. We’re heading off to drink far too much eggnog in our winter break now, but we’ll return with an all-new episode on January 6th. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
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