The tenth part of the series from guest author @SegundoVolante1 Be sure to give him a follow if you enjoy his story.
There was a feeling of Euphoria around the club after the Santamarina game. We had shut all of the haters up. We felt like nothing could stop us. I utilised the feeling of togetherness between the players and me, Vincent and Nestor devised an extra hard training plan for the week focusing mostly on tactics. To get the players more familiar with the system. We were very good but I wanted us to get better. We had a tough run of fixtures coming up and I had decided to focus only on football. No partying, girls anything like that.
Our next game was against Riestra who were another very good side and I was very cautious. I didn’t really like some of the attitude from the players who thought they had already won the league because of the last game. We were only fucking 8 games in you cocky bastards.
Ferro vs Deportivo Riestra:
This was at home. In front of our fans. The players were still in a good mood even though I wasn’t too confident. Riestra were sitting in mid table and they were one of the highest scoring teams in the division. The players were far to care free in my opinion and they wouldn’t listen to my attempts to calm them down. The pre-game speech was pretty simple, don’t be too complacent was the basic message with some swear words thrown in.
The first half hour was pretty routine with both teams not looking particularly dangerous until Bochi took a long shot and Losa made an unreal save but Lammachia turned it in. Then the second goal came, in the same fucking minute. The ball was played to Lucio from the kick off but he dallied on the ball for too long and he slipped which allowed their striker Benitez clean through on goal and he finished it amicably.
I was too dejected for a half time and I was dying for a drink but I had promised myself to be more professional. Fuck it, if the players were not being professional then why should I. Fuck the cunts!
I emerged to the dug out 15 minutes late after downing a few tumblers of whisky and I found out that the score was still 0 0. More drab play and they eventually scored in the 89th minute. I just left the stadium. Fuck this shit!
I didn’t go to training for the next few days. They had ignored me and it cost them. That baguette munching wanker Gilabert was slaughtering me in the press and my morale was shot. I struggled to get out of bed and I drank myself to sleep every day. I didn’t know a loss could affect me so badly. It got so bad that I went into the hospital. My kidney couldn’t take it. My drinking had bit me in the ass. I had to have a surgery and my whole body was in agony. The stupid fucking surgeon hadn’t given me enough anaesthetic I had to stay in the hospital for 2 weeks so Nestor and Vincent were taking charge of our games against San Martin and Quilmes. From what I had seen so far I was confident in their ability. They might even better than me. I was a fucking drunk not a football manager.
I felt like crying but before the tears came it all went black.