The Beginning

‘How the fuck are we even here?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, how the fuck did you manage to pull this off?!?’

‘Blagged it didn’t I’

‘I can see that, but here, of all places?’

‘Here, I’ll show you’ the younger of the 2 men replied, and pulled out a piece of crumpled up paper. Written on there was a hand written note:

Dear FC Skovshoved chairman,
My name is Jock McGhee. I am a former footballer turned manager. Under my guidance as club captain of the famous Cumbernauld Colts FC we raced through the leagues securing promotion after promotion, and were one step away from hitting the big time of the Scottish League Two, when disaster struck. I was cruelly and unfairly tackled from behind whilst on my way to scoring the winning goal in the Cumbernauld Classic, a tie between the world renowned Cumbernauld Colts and those inbred twats from East Stirling. The injury was a double meniscus tear and a torn ACL, and my trophy laden career as a player was over.
Flawlessly transitioning into management, I took the reigns of Loch Ness FC 1 year after my injury and took them to back to back promotions. Despite narrowly missing out on promotion to the big leagues in Scotland on technicalities both times, I am applying for the role of manager at your great club. I bring a wealth of experience and tactical knowledge, and can see me building your club into a dynasty.
Yours respectfully, Jock McGhee
P.S – my dad says you owe him a favour.

‘You’re so full of shit. Cumbernauld Colts?!? Is that even a real team?’

‘Sure is kidda’

‘And Loch Ness, back to back promotions?! HAHAHAH’ the older of the men couldn’t stop himself from laughing

‘Told you I blagged it’

‘What’s this favour you put at the bottom?’

‘Don’t worry about that, maybe I’ll tell you about it one day, but this is just the start we needed. I will become Motherwell manager you know!’

‘Behave yourself, me and you, we’re getting nowhere near Motherwell. We’re here in Skovshoved, did I even say it right? Anyway, it’s at the arse end of Denmark, we’re not even that far from Sweden from here, and we’re a million miles away from home!’

‘We’re actually around 1 thousand 1 hundred and 70 miles, I checked’ Jock replied, but before the older man could speak, he continued ‘Look, you told me you’ll come with me here, and how I see it, we do well enough, get a bit of a name for ourselves, and before long Motherwell will be begging us to take over!’

‘But what if it doesn’t work out, and we stuff it’

‘Then we find another team, and go again. There’s plenty of teams here, and if Graham Potter can go to Sweden, to that Oster whatever they’re called, and can get them in to the Swedish Premier League, then Jock McGhee can come to Denmark, do even better than Potter did in Sweden, and become the greatest manager of all time’

‘Alex Ferguson says hi’

‘Shut up, I’ll be better than him, and you’re going to help me! We were never going to get on with anyone back home, not even in the lower leagues, they would be able tell I’m lying a mile away, here though, a fresh start, no one knows us yet, and by the time they do know us, we’ll be seen in a good light. If not, well there’s always Wales, or god forbid Northern Ireland to fall back on, there’s bound to be a job there for us’

‘And where are we gonna live?’

‘Hotel for the time being, don’t worry about it’ Jock dismissed Craig’s concerns. In actuality, Jakob Grandahl, the chairman of Skovshoved actually owned property in the area, and had offered Jock a 2 bedroomed apartment in the town.

As Jock finished talking, the plane they were on landed in Copenhagen. From there it was a short taxi drive, roughly half an hour to Skovshoved where Jock McGhee, Motherwell born and bred, and Motherwell FC mad, had been hired as the new first team manager of Skovshoved IF.

A failed semi pro player, he’d been forced to retire at the young age of 26 due to injury. Well injury is the technical term. Jock and his best friend Craig Anderson had been drinking one night after a game, and it got a bit rough and they started wrestling. It wasn’t the wrestling that did it, but the fall down a flight of stairs in the block of flats that Jock lived in did. A double meniscus tear in his right knee and a torn ACL meant his playing days came to an abrupt end. An avid student of the game, specifically never missing an episode of Match of the Day and regularly attending Motherwell games, gave him the bright idea to become a manager. His father was a player in Scandinavia, more on that later, and he’d become aware of the position at Skovshoved.

Welcome to Denmark Jock.



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