Neymar stares down at me stares down at me from the flagpole outside the Parc des Princes. Kylian Mbappe has his arms folded on one side of the Brazilian, and the perennial grin of the greatest player of all time shines out on the other. The billboard proudly claims “Ici C’est Paris” – this is Paris. I stand for there for a moment, hail a taxi, and begin the short trip up the Boulevard Perepherale. This isn’t Paris. Not really.
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Short is of course a relative term in Paris’ traffic. The 7 mile trip, up a single road, takes nearly 40 minutes, and I have to tune out the driver’s insistence that, this year, with an impressive transfer window behind them, PSG will definitely win the Champions League. When he pulls up in Saint-Ouen, he looks as confused as I do when I ask where the football ground is. “You were just there?” he says quizzically, and then speeds off back toward the tourists. I wander north through the tired commune. I’m almost inside the Stade Bauer before I see the floodlights. It’s tucked away among the tall buildings of one of Paris’ poorest districts, and I’m almost inside because one stand is rubble. It may not be impressive, but this is where the heart of Parisian football lives. This is the home of Red Star FC. This is Paris.
Patrice Haddad, filmmaker and chairman of Red Star, is away on a shoot. Former Manchester United and Sunderland forward David Bellion is off running the clubs oversized outreach programme, which is what attracted me here in the first place. But that just leaves Steve Marlet to greet me. He’s holding something in his hand. Maybe a straw, but too short. The tiny boardroom is a far cry from the Parc des Princes. It’s a far cry from Craven Cottage, where Steve strutted his stuff for a few years. But it’s got character. It’s got soul.
My mission, Steve explains, is simple. Topple PSG. It doesn’t sound simple. We are in the third tier of French football, with a half-demolished stadium (“it’ll be finished in 2024”, Steve reassures me, although it’s been in disrepair since the late 1990s), and as is made clear, there is no money. None for transfers. None for wages.
My method, laid out in the contract I have just signed, is much more difficult. To topple PSG, our mega-rich neighbours with global superstars and player recruitment from here to Timbuktu, I have to remain in the city. We are going to reconnect with our community. Only players born within the confines of Grand Paris. We are going to truly become Paris’ club. Apparently.
Steve explains that his and David’s vision isn’t so brutal as a fresh start. The non-Parisians already in the squad can stay until the end of the contracts, but won’t be allowed to sign new ones. The youth team (“it’s good!”, he claims, while avoiding eye contact) will be my main source of recruitment, and any non-Parisian prospects will be allowed to sign one contract, so that we might profit from their sale, but only one. And they can never play for the club. Harsh. Paris might just be the most productive talent generator in world football, but it’s not the only one. This will be tough.
I decide to take over every aspect of the club they’ll let me. With all due respect to the staff already in post, I’ve been doing this for twenty years. I took Leyton Orient to multiple Champions League wins in 03/04. I did the same with Chelmsford City in 2019. In 2012, I even completed the San Marino Challenge! So, yes, I’ll be taking charge here. I spend a couple of hours painstakingly assessing the squad – there’s some quality, but we’re light in a couple of positions. We could use another centre back for sure, and we have an amateur as a backup in midfield. With no money to spend, I put in a request to find a Senior Affiliate. An email from Patrice pops up almost immediately agreeing, and I set about getting to know my new players.
My first meeting with the players goes well. I explain my plans for the season – promotion, by the playoffs if necessary – and set out the code of conduct. They are generally happy, so I sit down and try to figure out the best system for them. I tend to like 5 at the back, but our lack of defenders means the pragmatic choice is 4. Stephane Sparagna can pass it around a bit, so I give him responsibility for playing out from deep. Cheick Ndoye and Mayoro N’Doye should give us some strength in the middle. They don’t like being called Ndoye Squared, but I’m going to do it anyway. They should allow Damien Durand, our one player of real quality, the freedom to dictate things from the wing. If he stays. He’s attracting interest from higher up the league.
Next is training. I like fitness coaches, but with our limited budget we don’t need two, especially as we don’t have any regular coaches. Randolphe Rothe-Ball is sent packing to free up a little money for someone to focus on our attacking movement. I set out the intensive preseason training regime and there are a few grumbles. But they won’t grumbling in May. I can’t ask them to be the best technical footballers in the world, but I can demand that we are the fittest side in the division. And I arrange a number of friendlies against weaker opposition. The lads will know our systems backwards by the time the season starts.
Maybe this won’t be so difficult. I have a decent first team squad, and I can use the “good” youth team to fill in where I have to. I pop up to ask Steve where they are, but he seems to have gone home for the day. It’s my fault, I did spend three hours assessing the squad and another two tailoring the perfect training sessions. I go hunting for my young Red Stars.
And I keep hunting. All evening. And the next day.
Steve lied. The youth team are not good. They’re not even average. They don’t exist.
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