Fulham - The Grass Ain't Always Greener

[JonWo]

Chapter 42: The Unfinished Chapter, by Mohammed Al-Fayed, 28/7/08

I was sat in my bolthole in Cairo when I heard the news that rocked me to my very core. You see, a certain Mr. Chervenkov had overthrown my Fulham empire and banished me back to my African homeland. The Russian ‘businessman’ - and I use the term loosely - had threatened to kill me if I dared to return to my club, following the riots which had ensued after my sacking of Jonathan Wolstenholme.

Despite our chequered and colourful past, it was with deep sorrow that I read that Mr. Wolstenholme had been callously murdered at a road-side, following Fulham’s League Cup final defeat.

‘Jonathan’ as I had affectionately come to know him was a bit of an enigma. However, after reading all of the newspaper reports, the television bulletins and comments from his ex-players and players alike, I came to one conclusion - he was a good man, who unfortunately had been led down the wrong path in life.

The media eulogised about this titan of English football who’s life had been so cruelly cut short. They seemed to conveniently forget that this was the same man who they had demonised just a few weeks before, as the person who had brought shame on the national game.

Make no mistake, those riots that took place outside of Craven Cottage were an unfortunate reminder of the death and destruction that occurred during the eighties and nineties. Hillsbrough, Heysel - you can add the ‘Fulham Outrages’ to that list.

However, you can lay the blame for this occurrence at the feet of a great many people, but Mr. Wolstenholme was not the key protagonist. He was merely a side-show in the unfortunate circus that had enveloped Craven Cottage. He was simply a man in the wrong place at the wrong time.

In the days following his death there was a huge outcry from the Fulham supporters, they wanted to see justice done and they wanted to hold someone accountable. The now derelict Hammersmith End of Craven Cottage became something of a shrine to Mr. Wolstenholme; as flowers and reefs were laid and the fans would frequently come to pay homage to the man who had lead the team to previously unimaginable lofty heights in the Premier League.

And so came the day of his funeral; the roads of London ground to a standstill as the horse drawn carriage carrying his coffin lead a slow procession throughout the city. To this day, I regret the fact that I didn’t have the gumption to attend, but my heart went out to each and every one of the thousands of true football fans who lined the streets as the cortège passed by.

The carriage briefly stopped outside of The Valley, but I thought that this was a crass touch from the organisers; the ground held nothing but bad memories for Jonathan. However, it was later down the procession where Jonathan reached his spiritual home - Craven Cottage. The ground was in a complete state of disrepair, but I know this wouldn’t have bothered Jonathan.

As the horse-drawn carriage ground to a standstill, the bells of Westminster Abbey rang out fifty-seven times, to commemorate each year of his life. The cortège slowly began moving again and the mourners - appropriately wearing the black and white colours of Fulham - continued to descend and throw flowers on the hearse.

As the procession finally reached Westminster Abbey and the pallbearers took their place, Jonathan’s coffin was slowly lowered out of the hearse. I don’t think the great man could have picked the men who would carry him to his final resting place better if he had chosen them himself; Fernando Meira, John Sheridan, Sokratis Papastathopoulos and Henrik Larsson all maintained a dignified, yet solemn silence as they carried Jonathan’s coffin into the cathedral.

Big screens were erected at both The Valley and Craven Cottage for the fans to watch Jonathan’s funeral. As the priest began to depict Jonathan’s life in a wholly inaccurate manner, John Sheridan rose out of his seat and decided to give his own eulogy. “Jonathan Wolstenholme; what can you say?” he asked, whimsically, as the huddled masses smiled.

Sheridan’s voice cracked with emotion as he began “Jonathan, you taught me everything I know and you are a true friend”. His voice echoed around the cathedral as he continued, “You were a good man - one of the best. You were someone who always had time for the little people; it didn’t matter if it was five o’clock in the morning or eleven at night, you were always there to offer a sympathetic ear”.

Sheridan tried to hide behind his macho dignity, but eventually his emotions got the better of him. In his absence, Fernando Meira to took the stand; with his eyes filling up he said “Jonathan Wolstenholme; my boss; my hero”. His Portuguese accent wasn’t lost on anyone in the cathedral, but his raw emotion endeared him to the entire nation “I called him ‘boss’ and he was my exactly that. Jonathan Wolstenholme was a very special man, he showed faith in me when many others had turned away and I’d like to think that I repaid him in my own special way”.

The fawning tributes continued to come for a man who was very much the ‘Mr. Marmite’ of modern football; you either loved him or you hated him, but in death; you couldn’t help but respect him.

In the followings months Mr. Chervenkov and Dmitri Kerzakov were both found guilty of conspiracy to murder and murder. Whilst Dmitri had been the otherwise elusive ‘intruder’ and the man who pulled the trigger on Jonathan, it was Mr. Chervenkov who had ordered the slaying.

I can’t help but blame myself, I was the one who had lead the two despicable Russians to Fulham and introduced them to Jonathan. If I hadn’t let there cash cloud my judgement I may have spotted their sinister motives earlier. However, they are both now locked up in Belmarsh prison, no longer a burden to the outside world. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t wish I had said ‘no’ to them when they initially wafted there hefty wad of cash in my face, but money talks and unfortunately, I let my ambitions get the better of me.

As the months passed and the new season beckoned, Jonathan’s cremated ashes would soon signal the start of the a new era at Fulham. I had regained my majority shareholding in the club and oversaw the redevelopment of the old Hammersmith End. As a fitting tribute to our deceased former manager, I renamed the new stand the ‘Wolstenholme End’. I know Jonathan would have approved.

Jonathan’s beloved Fulham would later go on to finish the season he had started in third position in the Premier Division and claim a place in the Champions League. As much as it saddens me to say it, Jonathan would have been brimming with patriotic pride as England later went on to win Euro 2008 during the Summer.

And so comes the eventful, if yet sorry end to Jonathan Wolstenholme’s life. The Queen had ordained him with a posthumous knighthood for his services to football, but I knew that Sir. Jonathan would like to have been remembered in a different way.

I don’t care if your sitting at home, at the ground watching a game or even in the pub, throwing back a few beers; I want you all on your feet as a mark of respect to the hero, the myth, the enigma, the icon, the legend - ladies and gentlemen.. I give you - Sir. Jonathan Wolstenholme.

[JonWo]

Hi guys, this is the end of the first instalment of my 'Fulham - The Grass Ain't Always Greener' Story, but I've started a new story, which is a continuation of this one...

Hope you all liked it anyway

[JamesPowell]

Really enjoyed this mate. Look forward to the next part.

[JonWo]

Part 2 - Fulham - On The Other Side

Prologue:

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. His was the front and back page story on The Times, The Mail, The Mirror, The Sun… heck even the Daily Sport gave him a few column inches. Simply put, he was my mentor and my idol. The late, great Jonathan Wolstenholme…

But times change, seasons change and eventually football clubs have to change. Jonathan’s untimely demise had cast a black cloud over Craven Cottage for many a year. Following in his illustrious foot steps had proved to be too tall an order, even for seasoned pro’s like Roy Hodgson, Roberto Mancini and Avram Garnt.

The managerial hot seat at Fulham had become somewhat of a poisoned chalice and during two years of infighting at the club, chairman Mohammed Al Fayed had been unable to find a deserving heir to Jonathan’s throne and the club had drifted back towards Premier League oblivion and sat precariously perched around the black hole leading to the Championship.

As Oldham manager I had been in awe of Jonathan’s ability to get the best out of a ramshackle squad, albeit one that had a smattering of quality.

However, with the likes of Papastathopoulos, Meira and Sarioglu now heading for greener pastures, the club were back at square one and the task ahead of me was just as daunting as the one Jonathan has initially faced.

With Mr. Al Fayed at the end of his tether and his chequebook feeling the full strain of three failed managerial appointments, he had turned to me. “John, this rot has to stop now! This club is on it’s knees and in much needed help of someone who can steady the ship. I know you have never managed in the Premier League before, but at this moment in time we need a leader of men, someone who can stir the hearts of these beleaguered troops and get them performing again”.

I sat and listened on intently “John, you know this is what Jonathan would have wanted, you were his protégé. You were the man he was moulding in his own image and I know you wouldn’t want to let Jonathan down”. Mr Al-Fayed should have realised that I didn’t need much convincing, Jonathan was my hero, my idol and I considered it an honour to carry on his legacy.

But what huge shoes they would be to step into. Jonathan wasn’t so much an icon at Craven Cottage, he was an institution. No matter how brief his reign was, he had still managed to worm his way into the hearts of each and every one of those Fulham fans’ hearts.

I left my meeting with Mr. Al-Fayed hugely uplifted, this was the end of my career with Oldham, but it was also my first real crack at managing in the big time.

That night, I returned to my home, pulled a can of beer out of the fridge and walked out onto my patio decking. As I snapped the ring pull on my Carling, I hoisted the can up towards the stars and in a determined voice uttered “This ones for you boss, YOUR FULHAM DYNASTY AIN’T DEAD YET!”

[SCIAG]

Great to see this back, JonWo.

[El Capitano Del Mondo]

Good to see this back!!

[JonWo]

Chapter 1 - Time to Say Hello

It is almost impossible to describe the feeling you get when you go to sleep one night, a relative unknown and then wake up the following morning in the full glare of the media spotlight.

But this was the type of intrusion and scrutiny I would have to get used if I was to accomplish my aim of not only following in Jonathan’s legendary footsteps… but going that extra mile and accomplishing what he, unfortunately, did not have time to.

I had made Mr. Al-Fayed fully aware of the fact that the squad was in desperate need of some rebuilding and that was even before I had stepped foot on the training ground.

So much had taken place at Fulham over the last couple of years and by now, the squad was virtually unrecognizable from the one Jonathan had left behind.

Heading out onto the training ground on that first day, I was apprehensive, but determined to make my mark. I was warmly greeted by my new left-lieutenant, Ray Lewington. He was a vastly experienced old-school coach and looking at his track record, I was delighted to have him as my number two.

We exchanged pleasentries briefly, but then got down to the real job at hand. “Hangeland, Duff, Dempsey and Johnson” he uttered, “these are the players who you should build the team around”.

Ray had his own ideas and beliefs and whilst I respected his judgement, I wanted to see the squad in action first-hand before I made any major decisions.

Once the boys had arrived, I took them through their drills and looked on intently as they went through their paces. I was hoping to see a glimmer of quality, something that would convince me that we could really make our mark on the Premier League this season.

As the tackles flew in and the players jostled for position, trying to impress, I began furiously jotting notes in my notebook.

Mark Schwarzer - A wiley old veteran, a safe as houses pair of hands between the sticks and someone who will be a real asset to the club.

Brede Hangeland - This guy’s an absolute man mountain but has a proven track record at this level and is an excellent man-marker. I’m somewhat worried about his lack of pace, but if I can pair him with a more athletic central defensive partner, I will be quite content with my defensive duo.

Danny Murphy - Perhaps the most vocal player on the training field. Murphy seems like a born leader with a great engine on him. From what I’ve seen, he also seems like a dab-hand from free kicks and I can see this boy being an key part of my team

Andy Johnson - ‘baldy’ as I’m now going to call him. He seems to know where the back of the net is and that’s good enough for me. He possesses a very decent turn of pace and despite his diminutive stature, I can see him being a real handful for opposition defenders.

As I called time on my first training session, I was pleasantly surprised by what I had seen. By no means was this squad the finished article and frankly, it paled in comparison to the one Jonathan has assembled, but I had seen enough during that one day to convince me that there was every chance of pulling off something a little bit special here at the newly redeveloped Craven Cottage.

Mr. Al-Fayed, in his infinite wisdom had decided to tone down the transfer budget to a mere 4 million, following on from two years of fruitless and reckless spending.

Still, this was a damn sight more than I was used to and I was determined to spend the money wisely. I didn’t want to leave a single stone unturned in my quest to find the very best players for Fulham Football Club and whilst my spirits were high and my heart fluttering with excitement, I knew that my real job hadn’t even begun yet.

[JonWo]

Chapter 2 - Enormity of the Task Ahead

Tuesday morning and it was my second full day in charge of Fulham. Now that I had begun to formulate my own opinions on the current team; who I wanted to keep and who I wanted to sell, I asked Ray to take the morning training session, as I headed to my new office and began phoning round a few of my old contacts and scouts and requested some reports, whilst also issuing a few directives on players I wanted them to check up on.

Although the squad would need changes in just about all areas if we were to once again reach the lofty heights of Champions League football, our budget of 4 million pounds, was, by comparison to certain other teams in the division, relatively poultry.

During an informal sit down lunch in Mr. Al-Fayed’s office, the chairman had informed me that he envisaged this latest rebuilding job being a three year project “This season; stay away from the drop zone at all costs” he began, “Next year; consolidation and the following year, I expect Champions League football. I am placing a lot of faith in your abilities John. You are untested at this level and whilst I am a fair and to an extent, a patient man, I will not tolerate my club underperforming”.

Short, swift and to the point, I actually appreciated Mr. Al-Fayed being so frank with me about his hopes and aspirations for the club, but at this stage of my managerial career, it really was make or break for me. Succeed and I would firmly establish myself as one of the best up and coming British managers in the league and a legitimate heir to Jonathan’s throne, but failure could prove a fatal blow to my aspirations of really making a mark in the world of football management.

If nothing else; our working lunch had provided me with much food for thought.

As with any new manager, I had my own ideas about they way I wanted my team to play. I had always enjoyed watching the great Dutch and Brazilian sides and preferred my teams to play with guile and attacking flair, where possible. Obviously this was a lot harder to implement in League One, but with the current talent at my disposal and those that I hoped to bring in, I had decided to go with a fairly attacking 4-3-3 formation.

There’s nothing like throwing caution to the wind, but as the pre-season friendlies got underway, I realised that an attacking philosophy had it’s drawbacks.

Despite it being little more than a training exercise, I couldn’t help but squirm as I watched the boys labour to a 3-0 victory over our reserve team. This was followed by unconvincing yet ultimately successful performances against Bristol Rovers and Gillingham, but our hastily arranged Italian tour turned out to be rather fruitless. A goalless draw with Verona was followed by a shambolic 2-0 defeat against Crotone in our final pre-season fixture before the new season.

The strain of the task ahead of me was already beginning to weigh heavily on my shoulders. I had been nothing but persistent in trying to bring in new players, but with the current state of the footballing economy, it was very much a sellers market.

Still, as the new season drew near and the situation became frantic, my phone was ringing off the hook. One day it was an agent trying to flog me his client at a knock down price, the other, a manager trying to add an extra couple of hundred thousand on to the price tag of one of my transfer targets.

The entire process was exhausting both mentally and physically, I was working eighteen hour days and my home life was suffering. But so determined was I to make a success of myself at Fulham, I soldiered on and as the new season lay only seven days away and I began facing up to the daunting prospect of a UEFA Cup qualifying game against Danish side Randers, I reclined in my office chair and attempted to take stock of the bedlam that had taken place during the past two weeks.

They say you should never mess with a winning squad and Fulham’s qualification for the UEFA Cup last season had shown that this was indeed a team that had ability. But that was the Roy Hodgson era and this is now the John Sheridan era; my team, my tactics and hopefully my future.

I had over seen a fairly sizeable cull of players, by anyone’s standards. Hodgson was a very astute manager, but some of his signings had been rather curious, to say the least.

Out went: Bobby Zamora (3.2m, Genoa), Dickson Etuhu (2.9m, Fiorentina), Bjorn Helge Riise (2m, Sunderland), Damien Duff (Bayern Munich, 4m) and Fredrik Stoor (loan, Leeds).

However, despite my best efforts, I found acquiring new players and convincing them that Fulham was a club on the up to be a tough challenge.

Very few people had heard of me outside of Ireland and the United Kingdom, I was a managerial nobody and why would cultured players want to join a team with a history as murky as Fulham’s and play for a manager they had never heard of?

So… I was forced to beg, borrow and steal whichever talent was willing to take the step down. However, I only managed to bring in two players; a prodigiously talented young French striker, in Yannis Tafer from Lyon and a teenage holding midfielder, Bernardo, from Cruzeiro - also a loan signing.

As I went to bed on the Tuesday night with our crucial European fixture looming, I was a bag of nerves. I tossed and turned in my bed, gazing at my alarm clock as it ticked from 11pm, to 12pm and then later 2am. The butterflies fluttering in my stomach refused to go away as my apprehension gnawed away at me. ‘Have I done enough? Could I have done more? What would Jonathan have done?’. I asked myself these questions over an over again until I almost felt tired.

However, there was no getting away from it, this was going to be a sleepless night. I climbed out of bed and headed to my bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror. As I looked into the mirror, the reflection of my eyes piercing through my soul, I was jolted out of my daze abruptly by the sound of my phone ringing.

Glancing at my phone, I saw the words ‘The Boss’ staring back at me. I wearily answered ‘Hello?’. ‘Jonathan, it’s Mohammed…’ came the reply, ‘Sorry it‘s late, but this can‘t wait until the morning…

[JonWo]

Part 3: A New (Old) Beginning

‘You what?’ I squealed, struggling to contain me excitement, ‘Your having a laugh aren’t you? It’s not April Fools Day for another eight months…’

‘No John, I have never been so serious about anything in my life… this is happening… nay, it’s already happened. Your one very lucky boy’.

‘Alright’, I thought to myself, ‘calm yourself down and ignore his condescending manner…’

I continued to stare at myself in the bathroom mirror, dazed, but with a wave of happiness sweeping over me. ‘John’, I heard Mohammed shriek down the phone, ‘John, I want you to come and meet me… this is great news! I want you to meet me outside of Harrods and I will fill you in on all the details. John… are you there…’, ‘Yes’ I replied.

‘Come and meet me on Brompton Road, I’ve had a couple of magnums to celebrate this deal, let me tell you’. I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face as I got dressed and caught a taxi into London city centre to go and meet Mr. Al-Fayed.

By now, it was nearly 4 o’clock in the morning, but after what Mr. Al-Fayed had just told me, going back to sleep was the furthest thing from my mind.

‘Welcome!’ Mr Al-Fayed shouted as I approached him, ‘Welcome to the complex I used to own, welcome to my legacy!!’. I hesitated for a moment, ’What do you mean, your ‘former’ complex? I thought you owned this place’.

‘Not any longer…’ Mr. Al-Fayed continued, ’Today, John, all that you see before you is no longer mine, I have sold this huge super-store for a vast profit’. However wide my grin had been before, the smile had been abruptly wiped from my face. ’What does this all mean?’ I shouted.

‘What this all means John is that all your wildest, most extravagant dreams have come true. ‘Then where is Megan Fox?’ I retorted, ‘No John, this is even better than pussy. Let me tell you.’ Mr Al-Fayed said with a rye grin on his face.

‘This is the dawning of a new era at Fulham football club’ he continued’. ‘I have been considering selling my store for a long time now and finally I have received an offer I feel is adequate. What this means John is that I can now afford to put all of my finances into Fulham Football Club’,

As the early Summer rain began to team down around me I listened to Mr. Al-Fayed intently, his drenched face beaming brightly, he said ‘John, forget about avoiding relegation, I have the solution. We will be contesting the European places this season, mark my words…’

‘It’s impossible!!’ I shouted, ‘The squad isn’t good enough…’. ‘I concur Mr. Sheridan, but don’t let it be said that I am not a man of my word - your wildest dreams are about to come true’.

Dumbfounded and soaked to my bones, I gave my eccentric boss the benefit of the doubt and heard him out… ‘My friend - your friend - Jonathan was a great man, who had a masterful eye for talented footballers. He was able to spot the cream of the crop, acquire them and then make them even better. He was to all intents an purposes, a modern day miracle worker’.

‘Mr. Sheridan’ he exclaimed, ‘Jonathan will live one through you and your football team. I have signed on the dotted line…’

‘What dotted line?’ I screamed back to him, as the harsh rain drove down and I struggled to process what I was hearing. ‘Mr. Sheridan, I have done it! I have revived Jonathan’s legacy, his team, his players… I have used my newly found wealth to re-sign the players that once made this team great! The players that made Jonathan proud. John…’ Mr Al-Fayed said, struggling for breath, trying to contain his excitement, ’I’ve brought them back - Meira, Papastathopoulos, Rodallega… there back, I’ve done it!’

[JonWo]

Part 4: Lucky Me?

On the eve of my first competitive day in charge, Mr. Al-Fayed had dropped this bombshell, but what a pleasant bombshell it was. No longer did I have to worry about our squad being too lightweight or too inexperienced to try and accomplish the chairman’s expectations. I now had some real quality, seasoned internationals to work with.

Despite Mr. Al-Fayed’s dramatic news, I couldn’t quite believe it until I saw it with my own eyes… and I didn’t have to wait long for the proof.

As the players congregated outside the team coach, waiting to board for the short journey to Craven Cottage, a swathe of flashing lights and noise surrounded me. As I turned around to see what all the commotion was about, I caught sight of a delighted looking Mr. Al-Fayed, purposely walking alongside five smartly dressed young men and a scrum of photographers bustling for position around them.

Mr. Al-Fayed beckoned me over and as I approached him I realised what all the excitement was about. Mr. Al-Fayed introduced me to each of the five men and as I shook their hands and the journalist began firing questions at me, I realised that the chairman was truly a man of his word, “This group of world class footballers will make Fulham great again” he bellowed as the rest of the squad looked on bemused from their seats on the coach.

They were:

Sokratis Papastathopoulos - The bedrock at the heart of Jonathan’s backline, the six foot Greek international’s defensive and goalscoring prowess in that glorious campaign three season’s ago had earned him cult status at Craven Cottage. However, the fan-favourite had found the loss of his manager to much to bare and he was sold to Genoa for 7.5 million during the Summer of 2008.

Fernando Meira - Jonathan’s captain; the well travelled Portuguese international spoke at his manager’s funeral but such was his despair at Jonathan’s tragic demise that he could not complete his eulogy. Heartbroken, Meira never managed to recapture the form which had seen him become a mainstay at Fulham and he was sold to Galatasaray for a nominal fee before moving to Ukranian giants Shaktar Donetsk.

Darijo Srna - The Croatian full back had always been a quiet, yet efficient member of Jonathan’s squad. However, with the club in ruin, the Croatian opted to jump ship and join Italian champions Inter Milan. He has flourished into a genuinely world class player during his time at the San Siro and with suitors left, right and centre, willing to pay top dollar for his services, I am delighted that he has opted to realign himself with his former team-mates at Craven Cottage. Although, I’m sure his signing has cost Mr. Al-Fayed more than a pretty penny.

Giovani dos Santos - His initial transfer to Fulham will have to go down as one of the most bizarre moves in footballing history. During a game of poker between Jonathan and his good friend Frank Rijkaard, the Dutchman had staked the prodigiously talented dos Santos on what he thought was a sure fire winning hand. However, Jonathan had trumped the then Barcelona manager, winning the hand and with it, ensuring that dos Santos joined Fulham on loan for the season. However, after a difficult spell at Tottenham following his return to the Nou Camp, dos Santos has joined our club full time on a free transfer.

Mauro Zarate - Arguably Jonathan’s best piece of transfer business. Twenty-two year old Argentine Zarate joined Fulham from Qatari club Al-Sadd and showed everyone that despite his diminutive stature he had the ability to get a bagful of goals in England. He was another player who struggled to cope with the loss of the manager who had given him his big break in European football and eloped to Italy shortly after for the princely sum of 20 million pounds.

Hugo Rodallega - A walking, talking, living miracle. Hugo has defied the odds to once again play football. The Colombian suffered a horrendous injury that looked to have ended his career during a game against Portsmouth in 2007. However, with the constant progression of medical science, Hugo’s foot injury has fully healed and despite his ill-fated first spell at Fulham ending in misery, he jumped at the chance to rejoin the Cottagers from Premier League rivals Wigan.

“I hope there’s room for my guests of honour on the team coach John”, Mr Al-Fayed said, ushering our new signings onto the bus. “Next stop, Craven Cottage and the UEFA Cup!” he shouted in his eccentric way as the driver started the engine.

The rest of the squad seemed somewhat subdued as they half-heartedly greeted their new team-mates on the way to the game. But any reservations they had about the new boys were of secondary importance right now, as their attentions turned to the prospect of a potential banana skin in the shape of Danish side Randers.

Fulham vs. Randers FC, Craven Cottage

I’ll be the first to admit that I knew very little about our upcoming opponents. My head had been in a spin virtually every moment of every day since I had been appointed as the new manager of Fulham, but despite my limited knowledge, I realised that any team competing at this stage of this competition deserved some respect.

So, my first game in charge and despite a fairly mundane turnout at Craven Cottage, the Wolstenholme End was very much alive and the ever loyal Fulham supporters were really getting behind the team.

After seeing the players in training for well over a week now, I announced my first ever starting eleven and it was clear that the player were nervous. With the recent arrival of six new signings, all of whom would be sitting in the director’s box, looking on today, they knew they had to perform.

Reading from a pre-written note, I announced the team; “It’s a 4-3-3 today boys, in goal; Schwarzer, the defenders are; Konchesky, Smalling, Hangeland and Kelly. In midfield, I want Dempsey and Murphy, with Bernardo playing the anchor role. Up top, it’s Johnson, Okaka and Nevland… Do us all proud today boys! We can put one foot in the competition proper with a good result”.

As the players who had been picked shook hands and began geeing each other up, the substitutes trudged their way out towards the dugout.

It was a brisk Wednesday evening and as the game got underway, a chant of ‘Fulham till I die’ rang around Craven Cottage. However, Randers seemed well up for this encounter and were out of the traps and into their rhythm instantly. But for the width of Mark Schwarzer’s goal-post, they would have taken a second minute lead, as Bundgaard swiped at a Karlsen cross.

The Danish side seemed to be doing a good job of silencing the home faithful but with the match only ten minutes old, one of my new signings set the game alight. Hangeland played the ball up field to Bernardo, the debutant strode forward through the opposition midfield before playing a deft one-two with Dempsey. As Dempsey’s return landed at the Brazilians right foot, he showed no hesitation, thumping an unstoppable shot from all of thirty yards out into the top right hand corner of the goal and giving us the lead.

The crowd’s delight was increased furthermore a mere eight minutes later with Hangeland giving us a 2-0 lead, nodding in Danny Murphy’s precision corner.

Randers looked there for the taking and as I urged my team to carry on pressing, I felt that we could put this tie out of their reach right here and now.

As the game went on I could tell my team were scenting blood. Bernardo grabbed his second to round off a tremendous debut and with Andy Johnson notching a fourth shortly before time, it seemed like easy sailing. Despite the fact that Randers scored a late consolation through Jesper Andersen, I was delighted with they boys’ efforts as the referee sounded the full time whistle.

Fulham 4 - 1 Randers FC

It had been a good day at the office and I expressed my gratitude to the players during my post-match team talk. Despite a very encouraging display, the team didn’t seem quite as happy as me.

I had sensed that a few of them had been a little bit perturbed by the arrival of so many new faces that morning and were probably worried that their places were under threat. “Hey, look guys” I said, before sending them on their way, “If you carry on playing like you did tonight those new guys are going to have a job even making the bench, let alone taking your places”.

The mood seemed to lighten a little, as a few smiles began to drift across the players faces. However, I was becoming increasingly worried about the damaging effect the arrival of so many new signings might have on team morale.

I had anticipated that this job would be anything but straight forward, but then again, I hadn’t budgeted on my chairman bringing in half a teams worth of world class talent.