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Toffee Nose, Bluenose, Fuck Knows…

It was somewhere over the South Atlantic that Marcus Wedau began to dream. Dream of taking Everton to glory. It was a long way from the glamorous backwaters of Germany where he had spent his playing career and even further from China, where he’d been a fitness coach to a team that still used ancient medicine as a first line defence against injury… A few more roast dog dinners and he would have cracked, Marcus mused. Still, to get the call from Everton and to actually get the job was beyond his wildest dreams

He was on his way back from the U-20 Copa Libertadores Semi-Final in the private jet that Farhad had leant him. “A scouting mission” he said. Not really, but he liked the time to think. He’d never worked with a scouting team before, always preferring to work with the youth academy. But at a Premier League club, you had money. You just didn’t have time.

He’d taken over the Merseyside club just before Christmas 2019 and had guided them up the table to an impressive 7th place in the Premier League by February 1st, the highlight of which was a 2-1 win over Manchester City. Guardiola, that bald fraud, had the temerity to complain that they’d not been using the ween enough. Fuck him, thought Marcus. The intercom sounded and told him that it would be 13 hours until they landed in England

As he put his seat down and pulled the blanket over him, he thought about the upcoming youth intake. He smiled. This was where the real work would begin…

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