On reflection, perhaps getting rid of John so soon after my appointment wasn’t the best decision.
Not only is my Chairman now visibly miffed at my ruthless treatment of someone he obviously cared for, but more importantly it’s left me with quite a gap in my backroom set up.
It turns out that that my former Assistant Manager was the only non-playing member of staff employed by the club, apart from two cowboys masquerading as physios (still yet to see any medical certification to confirm this). With John sent packing the club’s coaching and scouting teams were effectively me. This wouldn’t do. I’d come here to lead a footballing revolution, not get my hands dirty coaching my hapless under 23 squad, babysitting the under 18s and attending drab midweek games to check out future opponents. No, this wouldn’t do at all.
Countless phone calls later it appeared there were very few credible candidates out there to assume the role of being my number two. Let alone any who actually wanted to sign for a club whose boardroom doubled up as the burger van on match day.
Just when I was considering the unthinkable and crawling apologetically back to John, I got the call.
I’d speculatively invited defensive stalwart Brede Hangeland to join my new elite backroom collective as my trusted assistant. Having recently completed his Continental A Licence following retirement from playing earlier this summer I’d heard that he was looking for the right club to put his newfound skills to the test. Deep down I had no doubt that Worcester City was not that club, but had every intention of persuading him otherwise.
As it turned out, he didn’t need much persuading. Buoyed by the vision I sold to him it took me only a matter of minutes to get him to agree terms. The only issue as part of the negotiation was his insistence on me waiving any compensation were he to leave us for a managerial role elsewhere. I begrudgingly agreed, acknowledging that in Brede I was bringing in someone with an excellent reputation within the game and who would undoubtedly inspire my young crop of part-time joiners and factory workers. Also, despite only picking up £160 a week and having to provide his own clipboard and cones, I was confident that once he found himself under my wing it would be very unlikely that he’d ever consider looking elsewhere.
So with Brede confirmed, I left my Chairman to scribble down the formalities on the back of a napkin whilst I afforded myself an early finish and headed home for the afternoon. I’d considered giving the medical chuckle brothers their marching orders but considering they weren’t even picking up any wages I decided they could stay for now. As useless as they were, with them gone I’d have to add sticky plaster administration to my daily list of chores, and that was something I could certainly do without.
No, I had more pressing things to consider. Bringing Brede in was a massive coup, yet I was still desperately short in terms of backroom staff and hadn’t even met my new crop of players yet. Consumed with a mixture of dread and nervous excitement about tomorrow’s team meeting I stepped out into the daylight.
Doesn’t matter. I’ve got Brede. I’ll stick the big man up top if I need to.
I smiled. This is almost too easy.