Glory Of The Football Manager System-Chapter 405: The Pundit
Back in my office, I had two hours before the team meeting. I sat at my desk, the tactical notes spread out before me, the 4-2-3-1 gegenpress blueprint I had designed specifically for Stoke annotated in red ink the press triggers, the recovery runs, the moments when Rodríguez would be given licence to drift and when he would be expected to work.
My eyes kept drifting to the television in the corner. Sky Sports News was running a special on the opening weekend of the Premier League season, and they had a panel assembled in the studio. I turned up the volume.
David Jones was in the presenter’s chair, flanked by Jamie Carragher on his left and Gary Neville on his right. The graphic on the screen behind them read: "TRANSFER WINDOW VERDICT: WHO WON THE SUMMER?"
"Right," Jones said, leaning forward, "let’s start with the big one. Manchester United. Over two hundred million spent. Lukaku from Everton for seventy-five million. Matic from Chelsea for forty million. Lindelöf from Benfica. Gary, your old club. Happy with the window?"
Neville shifted in his seat, the look of a man choosing his words very carefully. "I think they’ve addressed some needs. Lukaku is a proven Premier League goalscorer. Matic gives them experience in midfield. But..." He paused. "I still think they look short in certain areas. The full-back positions. The creativity in midfield. They’ve spent a lot of money, but I’m not sure they’ve spent it on the right problems."
"Jamie," Jones said, turning to Carragher, who was already leaning forward, a barely-contained grin on his face.
"I’ll tell you what, David," Carragher said, his Scouse accent thick with relish, "if you want to talk about a club that has had a genuinely brilliant window, forget Manchester United. Forget Manchester City. Forget Chelsea. You want to talk about Crystal Palace."
Neville raised an eyebrow. "Crystal Palace?"
"Crystal Palace," Carragher repeated, with the satisfaction of a man who has been waiting to say something for a long time.
"Let me walk you through it. They let go of twelve players. Twelve. Dead wood, overpaid, out of contract. Gone. Clean slate. And then Danny Walsh, a twenty-eight-year-old manager with a UEFA A Licence and, frankly, one of the sharpest football minds I’ve seen in years, goes out and rebuilds the entire squad. Rúben Neves from Benfica, a player who was playing in the UCL last season, for what, fifteen million? He is a world-class midfielder. Absolutely world-class. Serge Gnabry, five million, a release clause from Werder Bremen. Five million! The man is going to be one of the best wingers in Europe in two years. Mamadou Sakho, back from Liverpool, a player the Palace fans adore, for thirteen million with add-ons. And then, the pièce de résistance..."
He paused for effect. "James Rodríguez. On loan from Real Madrid. Real Madrid. At Selhurst Park." 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞
Neville laughed, a short, disbelieving laugh. "It is extraordinary, I’ll give you that."
"It’s not just extraordinary," Carragher pressed on, his voice rising.
"It’s a masterclass. It’s what happens when a club has a clear identity, a clear philosophy, and a manager who knows exactly what he wants. Compare that to United, who have spent two hundred million and still don’t look like they have a clear idea of what they are. Walsh has spent what, forty, fifty million all in? And his squad is deeper, more balanced, and more coherent than anything United have put together. It’s not even close."
Jones smiled, enjoying the theatre. "And the man himself has won every match he’s managed. Seven from seven. Five in the league, two in Europe. Twenty-five goals scored, two conceded. Those are extraordinary numbers."
"They’re insane numbers," Carragher said.
"And I know, I know it’s a small sample size. Seven matches. But the way those matches were won, the tactical detail, the performance data, it’s unlike anything I’ve seen from a young English coach. The social media crowd are already calling him the greatest English manager alive. Now, that’s obviously ridiculous after seven games..." he held up his hands, smiling, "but the fact that the conversation is even happening tells you something. It tells you that people can see what this lad is."
"Gary?" Jones turned to Neville, who was shaking his head with a wry smile.
"I’ll say this," Neville said carefully.
"I’m not going to call anyone the greatest anything after seven matches. But what Walsh has done with the recruitment, the squad building, the coaching, the results... it’s exceptional. If he keeps this up for a full season, then we can start having those conversations. But a full season is a very different animal. Let’s see where Crystal Palace are in February."
Jones turned to the camera. "Well, there you have it. Crystal Palace, the story of the summer. We’ll find out if the football backs it up when they kick off against Stoke City at Selhurst Park this afternoon. Coverage starts at twelve-thirty."
I turned the television off. I sat back in my chair and stared at the ceiling. The praise was intoxicating. It was also a trap. I had seen what happened to clubs that believed their own hype.
I had seen what happened to managers who read their own press clippings. Seven matches. Seven wins. And people were calling me the greatest English manager alive. It was absurd. It was flattering. It was dangerous.
The System, as ever, brought me back to earth.
[Reality Check: You have managed 7 competitive first-team matches.]
[The current Premier League record for consecutive wins from the start of a managerial appointment is 7 (Pep Guardiola, Manchester City, 2016). You are level with Guardiola.]
[If you win today, you will hold the record outright. The probability of public and media pressure intensifying significantly following a record-breaking eighth consecutive win: 97%.]
[Recommendation: Ignore all external noise. Focus on Stoke City’s defensive structure. They have conceded 14 goals from set-pieces in their last 22 Premier League matches. Kevin Bray’s corner routines are your most efficient route to an early goal.]
I picked up my tactical notes. I went to work.
***
Thank you for 300 Power Stones.
