Something I’m hoping to get for Christmas is Football Manager 2019. I’ve been a fan of the series since the first ever edition came out. Although, since becoming a parent, I’ve only got it every few years.
So it’s fair to say that I’m looking forward to playing it. And, if youngest’s recent behaviour is anything to go by, she would like to be a football manager one day too.
The realisation that this may be the case hit me the other day. In fact, it was as a result of something she had thrown hitting me in the face.
A tea cup. A toy tea cup, but a proper porcelain one nonetheless.
I don’t know what I did to deserve this surrogate half-time punishment, but it was a proper old-school gaffer moment.
Perhaps I had made a schoolboy error of some kind and deviated from her tactical plan. I fail to see how though.
Earlier that day, she and her brothers – presumably they’re her assistants – had literally demanded a Christmas tree formation. We had dutifully obliged by putting our fake spruce in situ.
I had been very much involved in this too. There was no hugging the touchline here – I was the big man sent up from the back.
Whatever the explanation for this treatment, I won’t be putting in a transfer request. I’m committed to this team.
Of course, one thrown tea cup does not a football manager make.
So I’ve had a look through old photos of her in the hope of finding more evidence. And there’s plenty of it!
A lot of successful managers weren’t the best of players. I’ll just leave this picture here.
In further support of her managerial credentials, she gives a good pre-match team talk:
Plus she always makes time to discuss transfer deadline day plans with Geoff Shreeves:
Finally, I’m aware that most of the analogies above would make me a professional footballer. Here, then, is proof that I could be. Here I am with World Cup winner and *cough* teammate, Benedikt Höwedes.
Going back to the first bit of evidence that she wants to be a football manager, I’ve just realised something else. Writing about it here could be seen as talking to the press.
I await the docking of two weeks’ wages and a stint on the bench…