Crash and burn

Leverkusen, 03 June 2013

I woke up and got the coffee maker going.  “It’s business as usual”, or so I tried to tell myself, by starting my day as I have since I was old enough to need coffee in the morning.  I am currently living near the stadium, in a cozy house near Karl-Marx-Straße, which makes my daily commute way easier.  After a quick bath and a shave, I put on a suit and make my way to the BayArena.

Sometimes I wonder if that fateful night three months ago was for the best.  This is my fourth home in so many years, and I was starting to feel restless about having no roots whatsoever.  I have lived most of my life in the same Rio de Janeiro neighbourhood, so I miss knowing my way around the streets as I do back home.  I haven’t been able to do that since I left Rio – once I was beginning to know my way around a city, it was time to move again.

As I pulled up my car in the club parking lot, I got an overwhelming feeling that I should just give up and go back home.  And by that, I mean home: back to Rio, maybe try and get an university degree and live a long, happy life.  So many people do that, why shouldn’t I?

The truth is, I would never forgive myself for not trying.  Football is such a wonderful sport, but is also highly addictive.  Maybe they should use one of those warning stickers they put in cigarette pa—

“Are you alright, Mr. Hime?”

I hadn’t noticed the club’s PR Director standing right beside my door.  Shit, was he there for a long time?  I must look like a scared schoolboy heading to the principal’s office.

“Yeah, I just… I was just putting my thoughts in order.”

“A very healthy habit, sir.  We wouldn’t want you to choke on your first interview as manager.  Speaking of which, shall we?”

He did came across as an arrogant know-it-all, but I am pretty sure he didn't mean it.  Everybody was being nice to me at the club, on account of everything I had done for them, but I could not help but feel that they were keeping their distance, just in case I crashed and burned.

As he led me into the club facilities, I tried to keep my head up and look confident, but I felt the whole weight of the building resting on my shoulders.  I wanted to slump, but I could not afford to.  The only thing I had going for me is fan support and locker-room morale – as soon as both turn against me, I am out.

We turned a corner and, as he held a door open for me, I stepped into the same room I had a year and a half before, when a smiling Hyypiä handed me the no. 10 jersey.  The team president was there already.
As he called the room into order, he began: “I’d like to present you our new coach and manager, Mr. Philip Hime.”

My breakfast turned on my stomach.

“I am certain you will remember Mr. Hime’s as an accomplished member of our first team, who suffered an unfortunate accident last winter.  We have every confidence he is the man to lead our club back to the Champions League this year.”

Holy crap, I’m going to throw up.

“And now, any questions?”

As I stiffly worked through the journalists’ questions, I thought maybe I should prove them wrong just out of spite.  I will take this team to the top, or I will crash and burn trying.