Category: Gaming

AS Roma haven’t won a title for over two decades. Can Martyn Green succeed, where Luciano Spalletti, Claudio Ranieri, even Jose Mourinho failed? Probably not…

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When my taxi arrives at the Trigoria training ground, there are throngs of Roma fans waiting for me. That’s nice of them. I’ll admit, I was a bit worried that supporters of one of the sleeping giants of European football wouldn’t be happy. My most recent managerial appointment was in the French third division. But, if anything, they are too excited! They rock the car, they shout things to me through the windows. I don’t speak Italian, but I assume ‘ritardato mentale’ is some sort of greeting. A couple of the younger ones have even brought me some of the region’s finest produce, but they get overexcited and don’t realise the window is closed when they try to throw tomatoes to me. Little scamps.

Bruno Conti is waiting in my office when I arrive. He’s the kind of Roma legend that makes Francesco Totti look like a reject who chose to play for Lazio. 50 years at the club, as a player, a coach, a manager and now a director. He’s got a similar welcoming scowl to the fans outside – something about these Italians – and doesn’t speak English. He gives a long introduction, and I make out the words ‘errore’ and ‘disastro’. They sound cool. ‘Mr. Disastro’ is like a superhero name. His translator shrugs. ‘He says welcome to Rome’, and they leave, just as a little old lady knocks on the door with a bowl of pasta.

I’m not entirely sure why I took this job. It’s not my usual style. French third tier, English non-league, tiny principality with a population of 30,000. That’s where I thrive. Away from the spotlight. No expectations. No pressure. But I was swept along by Roma’s American owner Dan Friedkin. He says things like ‘franchise’ and ‘soccer’, and his smile is brighter than the sun. His email said he wanted 110%, which is obviously impossible. I’m British. I can give 11%. Maybe 13%, in an emergency. I assume it was a typo.

My office is empty except for my desk, a laptop, and a whiteboard on the wall. I can’t find any markers, but I always carry one; something I learned in my years at the bottom. The desk drawer just contains a framed photo of Didier Drogba and a bottle of something called ‘Ganhador’ in the colours of the Portuguese flag. Strange. I take a sniff, and wake up about twenty minutes later covered in pasta sauce. Strong stuff. If that’s what it takes to succeed here, maybe I’m not up to it.

But football is football, I have my marker, and I can always trust in the whiteboard. I start to mark it up.

We have some problems. We are surprisingly weak at the back. Slow, ponderous, and not very good at passing. Gianluca Mancini is capable, but our only left back is Leonardo Spinazzola, and I’ve never worked out what to do with defenders who can’t defend. Hassem Aouar is an exciting midfielder, and Lorenzo Pellegrini is decent. Up top is Romelu Lukaku, so, y’know. And Paulo Dybala. Lovely Paulo.

Lovely Paulo is the real reason I took the job. He’s got skill, he can change a game. So important. Magic. Whatever we do will have to get the best out of lovely Paulo. I sketch out some tactics. We’ll start with a pretty standard 433, covering our defensive frailties and giving lovely Paulo plenty of space to impact the game from the right. I make a couple of tweaks for attacking and defensive versions too. Start simple, and build from there. That’s my approach.

I stand back and admire my handiwork. The little old lady brings me more pasta. I gratefully accept. When in Rome, eh?

It does present a couple of challenges. If lovely Paulo gets injured – quite likely, unfortunately – we don’t have a lot of cover. And we only have one left back, and that left back is Spinazzola, so we probably need two. Rui Patricio is old, and his contract is coming to an end, so we could do with replacing him too. And, Edoardo Bove aside, we don’t have much for the future. Which might be nice.

I make a mental note to give some instructions to the scouts. We don’t have a huge amount of money, but I can always find a bargain. More challengingly, Jose seemed to have tried to do everything himself. We’ve got a couple of fitness coaches, and a goalkeeping coach, but I’m currently tasked with every other aspect of training. But there’s enough space in the budget for new coaches, so it’s just a matter of finding them. For once, I might not have to run every aspect of the club. I can focus on returning Roma to the summit of Italian football.

Because that’s what it’s all about. Roma have less than half as many league titles as Pro Vercelli, who just about avoided relegation to the fourth tier last season. The last one came more than twenty years ago. The Europa Conference League eased that pain, but it’s not the same. The football fans of Rome – both clubs – hunger for more. At least one of those clubs deserves more.

Speaking of hunger, I have barely finished my second bowl of pasta before the little old lady arrives with a third. I like her.

The late afternoon sun is starting to set as I stand there trying to work out my next move. But a man comes round with a cleaning trolley and seems annoyed at me. He’s waving at the whiteboard and throwing his hands up. Here we go. Everyone’s a manager until the whistle blows. Then it’s my neck on the chopping block. If I’m going to lose, I’ll do it my way. And this whiteboard, this blueprint of just how I’ll do it, is mine. No cleaner is going to tell me what’s what. It doesn’t matter what level you are. Football is football. Tactics are tactics. And a whiteboard is a whiteboard.

He walks over to my laptop, opens it, and presses the spacebar. The whiteboard springs to life. ‘Stupido,’ he says as he walks out. I agree. Stupid technology.

Part Two