Roma are one of Europe’s sleeping giants. For some reason, they’ve asked lower league manager Martyn Green to wake them up…

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Part One

My way, it turns out, is to find someone to head off the Jim Henson version of Antonio Conte who happens to be my boss with someone even scarier. Even the fabled Bruno Conti can’t help but be a little intimidated when I introduce Roy Keane as my assistant. I already had an assistant, and in fairness probably a better one than Roy, but not one who could stand up to the mediterranean Hoggle. But it hasn’t exactly gone to plan…

‘Oh come on, you’ve got to sign Ole!’ he growls at me while I look at a stack of CVs. ‘He’s a good lad. He gets it.’ Ole Gunnar Solkjaer is duly added to the coaching staff.

‘What about Warren, he’s been at United and Forest, so you know, he’s got the pedigree.’ Warren Joyce signs from Nottingham Forest too.

After Paul McGuinness, I put my foot down, very gently.

‘Nobody else Roy. We’re Roma, after all. We can’t keep signing coaches from your old teams.’ He relents. We sign Kevin Ball from Sunderland.

When we get the train to the Alpine province of Trento for our little preseason tour, there isn’t enough room at their table. My other coaches all speak Italian, and I don’t, so I don’t sit with them either. Instead I wander the carriages, feeling like Henry V walking through his camp before Agincourt, and certainly not feeling like a man out of his depth. I thought the players might not be happy with a French third division manager stepping up, and hide where I can hear the English-speaking lads, but they are more concerned about the train.

‘We’re definitely going in the wrong direction!’

‘It’s going off the rails…’

‘We need to change direction before it’s too late.’

I make a mental note that trains make them anxious. That’s good man-management you see, reading between the lines. We’ll get coaches and planes for long journeys from now on. I find a seat away from everyone else – my choice, not theirs – and open my laptop.

There’s an email from Bruno. The Saudi money has come calling, and put in a £10m bid for lovely Paulo. That’s easy enough, they can’t have him. Not for that pittance. I tell him as much and close my laptop triumphantly, and sleep the rest of the way.

When we disembark, lovely Paulo comes over smiling. I assume he must enjoy such strong managerial support. He gives me a little hug and says ‘ciao!’. I don’t know why he’s saying hello to me. I especially don’t know why he’s heading to a different platform. And then onto a train. Back to Rome. What? I check my emails again. Some utter fuckwit has put a £10m release clause in his contract. And by ‘some utter fuckwit’ I mean Bruno. Al-Ittihad are offering him half of our entire wage budget to give up any semblance of principles too. Shit.

I now need two left backs, and two right wingers, without a proper scouting network set up yet. I could have done without losing my best player. I take Rui Patricio off of the transfer list; I can’t waste time and money finding a goalkeeper now.

I spend a long time looking at Domenico Berardi. Sassuolo’s hipsters’ choice. He’d be a big ‘screw you’ to Paulo, and would make me feel a lot better about things, but he’s £35m, and he wants more money than Paulo. My budget won’t stretch to that. Really, I’m just not comfortable spending money at all. A symptom of a lifetime in the lower leagues. Ola Solbakken is out on loan for the season, and can do a job when he comes back. So I just need someone young, and someone to cover. I offer a contract to Andre Ayew.

I also opt to bring in Ryan Bertrand. Sure, he’s old. Sure, he’s only played four times in the last two years. But he has international pedigree, he can tackle better than Spinazzola, he only wants a one year contract and he’s extremely cheap. Backups secured, I can focus on finding the right players to take the club forward in the long term. And I have a plan.

First up is Domagoj Bradaric. I know the Salernitana left back well, he was a mainstay of a strong Rennes team during my time in France. They are demanding close to ten million for him, but that isn’t going to work, and I force them down to less than half of that. He’s pretty good, and he’s young enough to improve. He also doesn’t expect to be first choice, so that’ll be a nice surprise for him this season and shouldn’t cause much fuss if I do find someone better.

The other part of the plan is simpler, but not easier. Valentin Barco is one of the brightest prospects in South America, and he has a release clause of just £8m. But he’s also one of the brightest prospects in South America, so Man City and Napoli also want him. I offer inflated wages for him, but still £50,000 less than what Paulo was on. Replace one Argentinian star with a future Argentinian star. If Man City don’t blow me out of the water.

Preseason is promising, and we are taking shape. We beat three domestic opponents on our tour, scoring but also conceding, which is worth noting. We then play three tougher games back in Rome, drawing them all. Mile Svilar gets a good chance to impress as Rui Patricio’s long-term replacement and, well, he doesn’t.

Even better news comes toward the end of the schedule. The ginger winger has eschewed the advances of the Italian champions, and the everything champions, and chosen the project in Rome. Valentin Barco joins the squad, he’ll go straight into Dybala’s spot, and Andre Ayew can become intimately acquainted with the bench. I feel like we’re set. The team know their shape, the players know their roles, and we’ve done some good work in the transfer market. I’m ready for Udinese at the Olimpico, in front of 70,000 ferocious fans. It’ll be fine. We just need a good start.

Fulham make a bid for unwanted right back Zeki Celik and I’m glad to take a few million for him. Brighton make a bigger bid for unwanted left back Leonardo Spinazzola and I worry for a moment that Tony Bloom’s spreadsheet is showing him something I haven’t seen. Then I figure it’s probably a computer glitch and send him packing before they can get the IT guy in.

My phone rings. It’s Roy.

‘Have you checked the transfer rules?’ he asks.

‘Umm…’

‘Oh come on!’ he exclaims. ‘You need to pay attention. You’re not in charge of some backwater now!’

I gulp uncomfortably. ‘What is it?’ I ask.

‘Barco. Can’t play him. Not this weekend, not next weekend. Not any weekend this season. Not eligible’ He puts the phone down.

Shit.