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Football Manager 2012


Soda Jerk
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I'm into the business end of my first season in the Bundesliga with 1860 Munich, I got a decent transfer and wage budget for my promotion, so I thanked my players for their fantastic Division 2 promotion effort by punting the whole fucking lot of them and replacing them with younger better players, stocking up on coaches and signing a new Assistant Manager who isn't a total goober like the last one. I brought in 19 players during the summer! I had 9 debutants in my opening league match. It worked as well, I'm sitting 5th in Bundesliga 10 games in. It's a piece of piss this management malarky.

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I wish I'd thought of a funny name when I was starting my game. My name is so boring. I do have two additional manager profiles who I add sometimes when I feel the need to fuck the game a little bit. Sexton Hardcastle, which is the name I give my create-a-character in every game I play, who in this game is a former Italy international, and also First Name Last Name, a rookie American manager.

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I play as English/Spanish former pro Greg Evigan. I gained Spanish citizenship after plying my trade as a no nonsense centre back for UD Almeria. I never learned to speak the language choosing to communicate exlusively with hand gestures and grunts. Now that I've turned my hand to management I'm trying to shake off my reputation as a hard nosed, anti-intellectual bruiser by creating a team full of attacking flair. I expect more 4-3 wins than ground out 1-0 victories.

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a nice little champions league and premier league double, got 57 million to spend have invested in some english players for a change, started the new season by winning the community shield for the 3rd time on the trot. ooh and an adventure to some football outpost for the club world championship to look forward to over christmas!

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RIGHT THEN.

Portsmouth, famous for this prick, are in the shit. A tiny squad, a wage budget deficit of almost 100 grand and Tal Ben Haim make Pompey favourites for relegation in 2011-12, and starting on -10 points certainly isn't going to help matters either. What was left of the fans' ambition was evaporated when new boss Michael Appleton was sensationally sacked just hours after being appointed, until the rumours began...

"BIG BASTARD spotted at Fratton Park!"

"Pompey administrators meet Bastard for £2.99 in local Wetherspoons!"

"Ex-Wehen boss set to ink 5-year plan!"

A fever overcame Portsmouth - the Big Bastard fever. Those who'd heard of his exploits foamed at the mouth, and those who hadn't felt their eyes widen with every passing whisper. "I heard he's taking Marco Christ with him!" "Apparently he's turned down Barca!" "I heard he hunts bears armed with just a pencil sharpner and a packet of pork scratchings. That's the kind of man I want managing my football club."

The scene was set. On Tuesday July 5th, 2011, Portsmouth's administrators held a press conference. "Ladies and Gentlemen," began Wally Balls, chief admin boy, "it was with great pleasure that I unveil Portsmouth Football Club's NEW MANAGER... Foosty Gambino!"

Jaws dropped. This wasn't what they were expecting. Nonetheless I swaggered out onto the stage like a chihuahua with a ten inch penis, swigging from a bottle of Blue Nun and puffing on a Café Créme cigar. "Aw'right caaahnts?!" I growled as I sat down, and that's when the crowd turned. Confusion turned to anger, hushed whispers to boos, and soon Wally was on his feet. "Calm down, everyb--" he said as a priceless ming vase flew past his head and smashed into a thousand pieces behind him.

"WE WANT BASTARD! WE WANT BASTARD!"

No sooner had I sat down than I was being ushered from the room like the accused in a murder trial. Not the kind of start I had in mind.

*

Mr. Balls called me into his office the following morning. "Terribly sorry about that, Foosty," he said, "I think they were expecting something else."

"Ungrateful cunts," I blurted. "I'll show them. I'm Foosty fucking Gambino, fuck Big Bastard, Marco Christ... all those other cunts. I'll show them good and proper." I paused for a few moments - Jake, my Tamagotchi, gets awfully ornery at this time of morning. STOP BEEPING EVERY FIVE FUCKING MINUTES YOU DIGITAL PRICK. "You ain't paying me £90 a week for nothing, you know. I'll push everyone's shit in."

"Well good, because you're not signing any cunt."

"Huh?"

"We're £100k over-budget in wages and I can't afford to give you a transfer budget. Oh, and there's a transfer embargo... THAT I'M NEVER GOING TO LIFT. lol."

Fuck, I say to myself, this is going to be a right ballache.

*

A quick look at my squad and I decide it's time to start trimming the fat. We're never going to get anywhere paying some of these wasters five-figure wages. I call Tal Ben-Haim into my office. "Look mate, this 'professional football' thing hasn't really worked out for you, has it? I'm not going to pay you £30k a week to get turned by Nicky Maynard and Marcus Tudgay for next two years. Get out of here, you're fucked." Boom, in sweep Bristol City to take the clogger off my hands for a cool £300k.

We don't need two half-decent 'keepers and both Jamie Ashdown and Stephen Henderson are earning good money here. Henderson is the better of the two (and has 19 for kicking... HOOF), so I call Ashdown through and give him the bad news. "Sorry Jamie, you've been pretty loyal and all, but you're fucked." Off he trots to West Brom, who give me £425k for his services.

Looking at the rest of the team, we have no natrual full-backs, two natural central midfielders (one who has 10 for passing) and a bunch of slow, tall bastards up front. I have to get rid of at least one of them, so I page Kanu and tell him to bring his arse upstairs. 30 minutes later he shambles in on his zimmer frame, trembling in the shadow of dementia. "Kanu, you're the king, but you're 52 now and I don't like your shitty little head. You're fucked."

I didn't expect a grown man to break down in tears over my desk, but that's exactly what Kanu did. I would've comforted him, but Foosty Gambino just isn't that kinda guy, so I called security and got the old man carted the fuck out of there. "WHY FOOSTY?! WHHHHYYYYYY?!" he wailed as he was carted down the stairs like an unruly mental patient. It's a moment that'll haunt me for the rest of my days.

*

The squad clear-out left me with a grand total of 14 players and no chance of bringing anyone in. I tried to ink semi-promising free agent forward Javlon Campbell to a lucrative £55 p/w contract, but the deal was canned by Wally Balls and his team of corporate knob-munchers. Furthermore, I tried to get rid of Aaron Mokoena and his hideous £28k contract, but nobody would take the fucker. Fantastic.

Balls called me into his office moments before our first pre-season friendly and informed me that the club's debt had been restructured and the bank balance was back to a healthy £0. Obviously buoyed by this fantastic news my boys romped to a scintillating 5-1 loss to Hibs with only beanpole striker Marko Futacs escaping with any dignity. It's gonna be a long fucking season.

Dear christ, this is the best thing I've ever read.

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Gambino's Way, Part 2

I took a moment to gather my thoughts: all 15 of my senior players were locked in the next room, and they were about to face their destiny. Visiting Hull isn't something I'd wish on anyone at the best of times, but on the first day of the season? Madre de dios.

A quick blast from my double-barrel shotgun blew the goddamn door off it's hinges (Gambino knows how to make an entrance) and a shocked silence overcame my boys. There I stood, a Café Créme between my lips, my shotgun in one hand and a bottle of ACID PISS in the other, ready to spit bloody hellfire. Those poor trembling bastards had no idea what was about to hit them.

This was it: my On Any Given Sunday moment, my "I have a dream." I closed my eyes, slowed my breathing and prepared to deliver the mother of all team talks. In truth, I had no idea what I was going to say, but then it came to me. A moment of inspiration, a flash of brilliance. My Mona Lisa. "FOR THE FANS! (passionate)".

The result? 0-0. Spineless cunts.

*

Five weeks down the line and Wally Balls finally comes to me with some good news. "Foosty," he says, "I've come to you with some good news. We've found a buyer. "

Suspicion twists my eyes, contorts my brow. "Who?"

"Tony Williamson."

"Who?"

"Tony Williamson. We expect the deal to be concluded by the weekend. There's just one catch, though. He wants to replace you as manager..."

"What the fuck?!" I lose my shit and throw my pint of OVD against the nearest wall. "Does he even know who I am? I'm Foosty fucking Gambino. I'm dragging this blue streak of shit back from the gutter, pal, and don't forget it. Did you see our game last week? Benjani scored a hat-trick. FUCKING BENJANI. Who else could conjure such a performance from that useless dick? Who does this 'Tony' think can step into Foosty's boots, hmmm? Big Bastard I bet. I fucking dick all over Big bastarding Bastard, pal."

"Guy Whittingham, actually."

"GUY FUCKING WHITTINGHAM?!"

At this point everything became a blur. A blind rage overcame me, and I'm pretty sure I ended-up taking my shirt off. Anyway, Wally filed a restraining order against me and Tony Williamson didn't fire me. Which was nice.

*

It's fucking December and things are going fucking good. We're up to 14th, scoring goals, and we've already fucked Newcastle, Everton and Man United in the League Cup. We've got Newcastle as a parent club. Pards phoned me up and he's like "Foosty my man, who do you want on-loan?"

"Well Mr. 'Dew, gimme Shola, Sammeobi, Mehdi Abeid, Haris Vuckic and a Curly Wurly. Deal?"

"Leave it with me."

Two days later and Sammy chooses Palace. That's okay though: Abeid, Vuckic and The Big Sho' are on their way. BLINDING. At least that's what I thought...

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE TRANSFERS 'COULDN'T BE CONFIRMED, YOU CUNT?" I bellow at the new owner. "They're free fucking loans with no wages, and have you *seen* Shola?! Fuck off."

"No signings while we're still in receivership, Foosty."

"What are you fucking on about? We've got £9m in the bank."

"That's for our creditors."

"What about the ridiculous £4m transfer budget you've just given me?"

"Can't spend that either."

"I'm playing fucking 16 year old fucking kids you fucking fuck! Huseklepp is fucked, Benjani is fucked, Mokoena is fucked, Varney is fucked. What if someone else gets fucked?! I'm fucked, that's what."

"No signings, cuntybaws."

"FUCK YOU."

I stormed out. I never did see that Curly Wurly either. Dick.

*

January 11th. Bolton in the League Cup semi-final. Our date with destiny. Their team: Jaaskelainen, Steinsson, Boyata, Wheater, Robinson, Sperudetti, Reo-Coker, Davies, Tuncay, N'Gog, Klasnic. Ours? Henderson, a pube, Halford, Pearce, Mullins, another pube, Lawrence, Norris, Varney, a big massive pube, Huseklepp. Shit just got real.

I deliver another one of my award-winning speeches and the boys are firing. 29 minutes in and Huseklepp's already banged-in a brace. 34 minutes... BIG PUBE, 3-0, YOU CAN STICK IT IN. Fucking blinding, boys. Half-time team talk? Nowt, don't need one. What happened? We won 8-fucking-1. Best team.

Well-in, but it's still January and we can't sign anyone. I stroll casually into the chairman's office and crack an axe through his desk. "Nae bloody money. What gives?"

"Foosty, I'm not gonna lie. We're still in the shit."

"Fit?!"

"No signings. No money. No new contracts."

"Half my team are leaving this summer."

"Yup."

"So who do I replace them with?"

"Nobody."

"So basically it's Premier League or bust?"

"Yeap."

"..."

I knew I'd regret sacking Kanu.

*

SCREENIES!

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The league. I'm doing ace, considering I have 15 senior players and half of them have been injured.

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The star man, playing in central midfield because everyone else is shit.

24lkar4.png

The kind of pube I've been relying on. Done alright, though.

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The Portsmouth story is the most triumphant tale I've ever read. I especially enjoy how Big Bastard is involved.

After getting sacked from Scarborough, Big Bastard has been out of the game for a bit, mulling over career options and exclusively listening to right-wing black metal to keep him fired up. I decided to put him in charge of a club I don't particularly like. Infact, I think they are a bunch of fucking traitors. That's fine though, because Big Bastard has never heard of them, and it's his opinion that counts.

FCUM_BADGE.jpg

FC United, formed by a bunch of whiny traitor Manchester United supporters in 2005 after the Glazers took over the club. Owned by the fans who sprawl banners all over their shared ground claiming they love both FC United and Manchester United, but have boycotted Old Trafford. However, most Manchester United fans refer to FCUM supporters as "judas filth". Quite right.

Big Bastard cares nothing for history or politics. Big Bastard couldn't give a stuff about crybaby fans forming their own club, and he intends to toughen up the club from the top down. The last thing Bastard wants is a board of directors who are just going to sit around crying over spilled milk like a bunch of fucking toddlers. He'll be looking to stamp that out almost immediately.

Bavarian born Bastard speaks very little English, latching onto the word "cunt" like a baby with a rattle. Inseparable. Motivation will come from threatening hand gestures, and instead of watching footage of upcoming opponents, he's going to show the whole team the scene from German war film Black Book where all the innocent civilians get shot in the face whilst trying to swim away from danger. Floating bodies in a river is bound to get the goals smashed in and some prissy wingers legs broken. To try and teach Bastard the basics of English, he's been watching simple slapstick US comedy movies, but he got a little too attached to Dodgeball. He saw a little bit of himself in Patches O'Hoolahan. Bastard met the squad today, and before even shaking his hand, he threw a socket wrench right in Jake Cottrell's face. He's due to miss the entire pre-season with a HOLE IN THE SKULL. Bastard lives and dies by first impressions.

Bastard has already had a good look around the transfer market. He didn't like the look of any of the English non-league shitclowns, so he brought in Filipino poacher Philip Younghusband. He's shit, but fast with a ridiculous name, and Bastard feels confident in bullying some end product out of the lad. Nothing says "put the ball in the net" like a spanner around the kneecaps.

He's whittled down to the squad based on the ones who look the hardest, after sacking both Tim Hardcastle and James Warrender from the U18's because they were both ginger. Now it's on to the friendlies. Sheffield FC up first. The oldest football club in the world against the newest football club in England. When asked "are you expecting a win today?" Big Bastard headbutted the team bus and puked all over team captain Mike Norton before sprinting towards Sheffield's ground and vaulting over the barbed wire.

Promotion or death. Probably literally.

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I can't wait for the day Big Bastard and Foosty Gambino finally finally lock horns. Two volatile titans of virtual football management in the nastiest showdown of all time. It's gonna be brutal. Remember Ali vs. Frazier? Rocky vs. Apollo? Churchill vs. Hitler? Man vs. Food? It's gonna dick all over those clashes.

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the new Fergie and Wenger?

Ha just dicked them bastards who bombed our chip shops Werder Bremen 7-1 in the Champions League then followed it up with a 5-2 drubbing of beyond hapless Sheff Wed who have now lost 9 on the spin. Them fucking scouse bastards Lolpool came to the Cambridge Stadium and turfed me over though.

And have gone back into international management with Turkey good start to world cup qualifying campaign with 2 wins out of 2, ok so beating Iceland was an expected formality but it was a sneaky 3-2 win at their place, my lads not too keen on all that cold. Followed that up with a rather impressive 3-0 stuffing of Russia at my place. They didn't like that up em!

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Big Bastard dicked the Northern Premier Division. Only lost 3 games. Chester put up a bit of a fight, but they crumbled like Arsenal do in March, except Chester crumbled in January. Got easy and boring after that. Hopefully the Blue Square North will put up a bit more of a fight.

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Just back from Morocco where I bagged the 'prestigious' Club World Championship. Not the most difficult trophy to win granted, could really have done without a trip to Africa just before the busy Christmas period. As is usual for European Champions straight into the semi final... my opponents? Guangzhou Hengda... yeah I'd never heard them either let alone pronounce the fucking name. From China. I thought I better take the competition seriously so name a strong 23 man squad thought the temptation to take a load of fringe players was very tempting. Wish I had of done, dicked them 6-1, they got the 1 in injury time with their only shot of the match. At least I'd heard of the finalists - Puma of Mexico. Cheeky fuckers took the lead but were easily trounced 6-2. Another trophy in the cabinet though not sure if this one actually counts - the board and fans were pretty happy though.

Got asked that most stupid of questions in the pre final press conference as to whether this is one of the biggest challenges I have ever faced? Fucks sake dickhead journalists get real. It's hardly the Champions League Final!

Still just the one defeat all season to Lolpool at home fucking scouse gits. 8 wins on the bounce in all competition, 2 points behind Man Poo and Chelski in the league after 14 games, one in hand on the shit and two on the ski. Next up Man Shitty in the League Cup Quarter Final, in a dilemma do I stick the reserves out or play a strong team? I mean the fans don't give a shit about the League Cup and do I really need a 2 leg semi final? Plus I beat Shitty 4-0 in Community Shield and 4-1 at their gaff in the league so by default they are due to beat me. Might as well be in this, yeah fuck it reserves it is and I shall tell them to go out and enjoy themselves but won't bung tea cups at them if they play shit and we get trounced.

The reserves will get another outing soon in the FA Cup 3rd Round against League Two Brentford.

Meanwhile on the international scene with Turkey four wins out of four so naturally pleased with the start to the world cup campaign!

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hmmm that didn't go quite to plan - played almost an unrecognisable reserve side... fucks sake I even played my useless transfer listed Argentinian striker who I have not let loose near the first team all season! I couldn't even loan him out with no fee and not expecting any of his wages to be paid. He only goes and scores both goals in a comfy 2-0 win. Oh well some more match time for those fringe and reserves players in the semi against Sunderland!

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my opponents? Guangzhou Hengda... yeah I'd never heard them either let alone pronounce the fucking name.

Believe it or not I've heard of them! Usually in the Club World Cup I get Al-Ahly from Egypt (infamous for that awful brawl a few months back) then Pumas or Jaguares in the final.

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  • 2 weeks later...

finally finished the season, won the community shield, super cup, club world championship and league cup, fell short in the league on last day of the season, knocked out fa cup in semi by my new bogey team Blackpool who also did the double over me in the league and was utterly raped by Barcelona in champs league quarter final 2-1 at home then 5-1 away. Got a 48 million budget for the new season and am looking to buy some shit hot kids. Also just signed a new 5 year contract at 100k a week! doubled me wages!

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