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He took a deep breath in and exhaled, somewhat relieved. It was surely the worst stint he had ever had at a club, and the him gathering enough courage to tell his bully Boss that he wanted out was one of the toughest situations he had ever encountered in the Football World.
Yes, that world which is described as the Fountain of Eternal Youth, the Door to Fame, the Best Job in the World, the Stairway to Heaven. A thousand other clichés have been used to describe the game, but nobody in or loosely around Kecskemet had ever walked to Mr. Szaba Conz and told him precisely that: A Game. You could win, you could loose. Hell, the good old rules even permitted a team to draw. But three options were too much for him. The Managing Director of Kecskemeti TE wanted only to win.
Christopher Mamo, the previously-unheard-of Maltese Manager was appointed as Manager of ‘The Purple Squadron’ in June 2004. Just before the start of the Hungarian Div IB campaign, where Kecskemeti were the hot favourites… for the drop.
And so it all began in the Hungarian Summer of 2004, at Kecskemet, precisely in the offices adjacent to the Csabay Geza Koerut, the Stadium the Manager could never really call ‘Home’.
Right after meeting the Backroom Staff, amongst whom Mr. Conz clearly stood out as the most enigmatic figure of them all, Mamo was approached by the Assistant Manager, Mr. Gabor Lukacs.
“Mr. Mamo, we’re delighted at having the opportunity to work with you. We’ve all heard very promising things about you.”
“Well, thank you! I really hope we get the machine to work as soon as possible!”
“No doubt about that! But I have to draw your attention to the fact that we have only a handful of U21 players, and as you probably know the first eleven must contain no less than nine of them…”
“I’m aware of that. So, it’s a tough job right from day one, right?” Mamo joked with Lukacs. “I could get a little more complicated than that I’m afraid, if we don’t follow orders.”
“Orders? Of course, you get orders everywhere. They’re the bosses, we’re the guys who get their hands dirty. Don’t worry I’ll be able to handle it!”
“One should hope so!” He was clearly truing to give Mamo a word of advice. The Manager realized that and grabbed Lukacs from the arm. “Meaning?”
“All I can say, Chris, is that The FA won’t be only ones dishing out orders.”
Mamo suddenly felt uneasy. Had he jumped into a situation he couldn’t handle? He tried not to think about it, but being warned a mere five minutes after signing the contract looked suspicious. Had nobody had the decency of telling him how things really were run at the club?
Mamo had pledged alliance though, and despite knowing he was going to have to battle through the contract, he had no idea who he was going to battle against. Everyone seemed so nice. Maybe it was until the make-up started flaking? He had one suspect, though – Lukacs himself. He could only guess that the Assistant Manager had his own goals to reach. Like being a Manager for example? One had to wait and see.
Try as he might, he couldn’t stop thinking about that conversation. Once at the training ground, and with his players at his disposal, the tension could be felt and touched. Something was wrong with the players. Something was very wrong…
Yet it was wisest if he acted as if nothing had and was happening. A couple of kicks of the ball later, he had the players running about like they were ten-year-olds. It was all so surreal.
Mamo was left bewildered, to say the least, by the players’ attitude in training. They acted like zombies, having no fun, but playing like robots who had been instructed on beating their next opponent like he was a rubber doll. Whilst pleased with the available talent, he asked for a meeting with Mr. Conz.
After filing the request with the club secretary, Miss Davina Horvath, he made his way to his office. Stunned by Davina’s beauty, worried by the players’ behaviour, and scared by Lukacs’s ‘threat’. All ingredients for total failure were there. He didn’t need much time realize that, but a lot more time was needed to draw conclusions.
Once in the office, he sat at his desk. The previous tenant was one Joszef Kondas. He had managed to give Kecskemeti DIB football, but nothing else. Yet his name was there, in the short list that gave the Managers’ names through the brief history of the team which was known as ‘The Purple Squadron’. Come to think of it, even that was a little bit too regimental for his tastes. He shrugged these thoughts aside as he examined the desk for any items which might have been left behind by Kondas.
Nothing in the drawers, nothing on the desk. He could proceed to set up his own desk. He had the faint feeling that this was going to be the only room in which he could feel safe enough from the funny Hungarian way of life. He had read about the Budapest pickpockets, but this was far beyond what he had ever wished for.
With everything in place, he sat on the comfortable armchair he had in the office. He went though some papers which briefly explained the DIB rules. Lukacs was right. The first eleven had to consist of at least nine U21 players. His side had more than that, but needed some serious remodeling in some particular areas. He didn’t panic though. A few phone calls were all it took.
In the Florida heat, Jim Caffiero was sipping his rum-based ****tail. He took a look towards the right and saw fine girls for miles. He turned his head to the left and saw the same thing all over again.
“Oh it isn’t easy to be gay on a Florida beach nowadays!” Jim exclaimed, ironically hinting at the fact that he couldn’t spot one handsome guy among hundreds of eligible chicks. He stared at the horizon for a full ten seconds before realizing his mobile phone was ringing inside his beachbag.
“Jimmy Jimmy! How are you?”
“Yo Chris, no’ bad. Could be better tho’!”
“Listen Jim, I’m in Hungary right now…”
“In hunt for Eastern Girls?” Jim cut in. “No, not exactly. I’m working. For the next two years, it seems I’m stuck here.”
“Two flippin’ years? Yo man, you know what, you’d better phone mama instead of me and tell her where you’ve been. I mean we don’t want your soup getting all cold!”
“Jim, drop it. You know full well I was gonna come here. Well, the situation isn’t that rosy. Maybe we got ourselves into some serious shyt this time… The guys here. Well, I just don’t like them…”
“And… You need a couple of my boys to clean up the mess? I’ve got a couple of hot boys you may wanna see.”
“Yeah, I appreciate that. No funny business this time, though alright? Like that Leewkes guy you shipped me from Montserrat?”
“No, no. these guys have been personally chosen, viewed and tested.”
“I hope you don’t really mean that how I’m taking it!”
“Well, man. You want football stars. I give you football stars. Now where they come from, how I get to become their Agent… that’s another affair. So drop it! You want them or what?”
“Yeah send them over. I’ll be sending you those who won’t do back, though. I swear this time I won’t be licking your shaved arse…”
Right that moment, the door flung open like a cannon behind it had just fired mercilessly into its thick wood. Mr. Conz stormed in.
“Jim, see you send them well-prepared. I gotta go. Get back to you if I need anything, alright? Bye!”
Mr. Conz took out a cigar from his blazer’s chest pocket and carefully examined it, while Mamo awaited for him to start a conversation. Conz bit off the tip of the cigar, put it in his mouth the right way and proceeded to light it up. Mamo was alarmed at the level of sheer rudeness Conz had hanging around him.
“They just don’t make them like they used to. I mean I’m not expecting Cuban standards or anything. But tobacco is meant to please you, not choke you.”
Thoughts like ‘Not only rude. Also ignorant’ ran through Mamo’s mind as he said, “Mr. Conz, I’ve asked Miss Horvath to see you.”
“And that’s why I am here,” he continued. “I just wanted to give you a proper welcome. Conz Style.”
Mamo looked at Conz straight into the eyes. This man had a menacing way of doing things.
“Firstly, eyes off Miss Davina Horvath. Forget her. She’s already taken, and I wouldn’t like her man to be disappointed at all. You, for one, wouldn’t like it if it had to be you to disappoint the Man.”
“Point taken,” Mamo cleared out. “Secondly, we take orders around here.” He wasn’t pleading for collaboration. He was ordering it. “Questions so far?”
“No, none.” In reality Mamo had a million questions, but a mixture of fear, helplessness and caution stopped him from worsening an already bad situation. “Good, because here comes the good one. I think you’ve met the players? Well, I just wanted you to know that if you’re not happy with any one of them, just give me a phone call, and I’ll see their head severed.”
Mamo was stunned. Was that the treatment he would be given himself in the hour of difficulty? Maybe that was why the players were like zombies. The ball had turned into their only object towards which to direct their frustration and solitude.
“If you need anything, you know what to do.” Conz left the room, leaving the door open. Mamo hurried outside, where he saw Conz turning into the next corridor. He reached him and politely asked him what to do if he needed players.
“No money. Do the best with what you’ve got. Simple. Wheal and deal.”
Back at the office, Mamo sat down on the armchair. He saw it as a little token of comfort in a cold block of offices. His attention was drawn to what looked like a mall scrap of paper flurting out from under the Persian carpet which covered almost the entire room. He walked to it and picked it up. It was an envelope addressed to ‘The New Manager’.
He hid it away in one of the desk’s drawers, hoping he would forget all about it long before he was tempted to open it.
Hours turned into days, and days into a full week before the Caribbean entourage, headed by Jim Caffiero, arrived in Kecskemet. Jim was about to introduce himself to Davina Horvath, the secretary, before he was struck by a bruise which caressed the entire length of her arm, almost up to her shoulder.
Overcoming the initial shock, Jim tried to be as warm as possible. “Good morning, Miss. May I introduce myself? I’m Jim Caffiero, and I’m here all the way from Miami, Florida, to meet Mr. Christopher Mamo. I believe he is the Manager of Kecskemeti TE?”
“Sure, I’ll inform him of your arrival. You may wait for him in the next room.”
Jim followed instructions and had a seat, along with the five players he had brought over from the Carribean for Mamo’s scrutiny. The room, poorly lit, had just one source of light. And it was not natural light, either. It was a spot light which focused its efforts on a painting showing a big man, tough-faced and with big dark cheeks. One could call him the opposite of a warm guy into the bargain. Soon enough, Mamo appeared and went on to greet Jim personally.
“Jim, I wasn’t expecting you to come over personally! I’m delighted.”
“Oh, you know I always wanna see my guys in action. And I might as well have a quick look at yours. You never know…”
“Hands off, Jim, I’m warning you,” Mamo said half jokingly, half serious. “Alright, alright!”
“Even though I’m pretty sure you won’t be seeing anything that interests you.”
Jim looked at Mamo wickedly, in that same old way he looked at anyone who was challenging him, in one way or another.
“So, what did you bring me this time?” Mamo continued with the sole purpose of switching arguments. “Guys, get up. This is the Mr. Mamo I’ve been wanting you to get to know.” The five players all got up. All looked athletically well-built. After the preliminary introductions, all seven left for the training field.
Along the way, Jim couldn’t help but ask about the painting in the waiting room. Mamo told Jim all about his experiences for the past week. Jim couldn’t believe his ears. This Mr. Conz really was a bad person, he thought to himself.
“Chris, you might want to know a thing about the secretary.”
“Jim, trust me, the less I know the safer I am.”
“Fine, have it your way, but I’ve always known you to have a sense of justice, that if this time it means knowing what you oughtn’t, you would.”
Mamo got lost in Jim’s words. As Jim tripped on himself, Mamo conceded.
“What’s her name?”
“Davina.”
“The less you know, the better, I see.”
“Jim, she’s pretty much the only female creature that lurks these areas, it seems. Either something’s very wrong with the people here, or we’ve been taught to live in a completely different manner!”
“Probably both!”
“Anyway, I was actually warned to keep my hands off her. So there goes.”
“Yeah, but maybe everyone should keep their hands off her. She’s all bruised, poor thing. What the fnck is going on here, tell me!”
“Jim, I wish I knew. Jim, I really do. I get the contract served, and I’m outta here.”
At the training ground, Mamo assessed Jim’s players. Cuban goalkeeper Felix de Consuelo was a fine talent, as were anchormen Jimmy Forbes, from the Bahamas and Grenadan Kal Gimmenes. Dominican defender Alec Horth likewise impressed. They were definitely good additions to the squad. The least impressive of the ‘Famous Five’, as Mamo coined them after Blython’s fictitious characters, was Netherlands Antilles striker Peter Dani. After much insistence from Jim, however, the strikers was offered a contract too.
With Jim on his way back to Florida, Mamo could now concentrate on the football side of his job. Or so he wished…
After all changes to the squad were effected, with five players joining and one leaving, Mamo had the squad at his disposal. He could not help but notice the great gap between the old Kescemeti players and the newcomers. Worried as he was, though, he had to start working on some tactical instructions.
The squad consisted of 23 players, of which the only foreigners were ‘The Famous Five’.
Goalkeepers
Felix de Consuelo – Jozsef Toth – Daniel Sibalin
Left Backs
Zsolt Barna – Istvan Farkas Right Backs
Peter Pandur – Gabor Nyul Centre Backs
Adam Babos – Alec Horth – Zsolt Koncz – Csaba Nagy
Anchormen
Kal Gimmenes – Jimmy Forbes – Imre Szoboszlai – Gyorgy Kislorincz Left Wingers
Norbert Lazar – Balazs Sallai Right Wingers
Robert Loczi – Zsolst Sandor Attacking Midfielders
Zsolst Anka – Imre Domokos
Strikers
Peter Kiss – Peter Dani
Mamo tried to set up the team for the first match of the season: the Hungarian FA Cup tie away to non-league side Kistarcsai PFK.
Mamo’s first match in charge was undisputedly controlled and dominated by ‘The Purple Squadron’. Goals from Forbes , Loczi and Sallai earned Mamo and his side the following round of the FA Cup, away against.DI side Videoton.
Despite a Forbes strike which put Mamo’s side ahead on twenty minutes, though, Videoton clearly had the upper hand, and went on to win the tie and knock Kescemeti TE out of the cup.
On returning to the dressing room, Mamo was stunned at the passiveness demonstrated by the Hungarian players after a defeat which could have easily been avoided. Rather than deluded, they were sort of afraid. Mamo wondered.
As he opened the door to the dressing room, Mamo smelt a stench of cigar coming from inside. It was undoubtedly Mr. Conz who had come down to congratulate the players on their fine performance. But Conz had come down for something else.
“Mamo, I am totally dismayed. We have lost. You know what that means? You have cut deep, very deep. We cannot loose a match if we are to gain respect.”
A second of silence ensued, as Conz made his way to the exit, then BANG!, the dressing room door slammed shut. Mamo was taken aback, but even more when Conz reopened the door, only to threaten the Manager that if there was to be another defeat, he would spill blood.
As Conz left, the young players started sobbing and Mamo was deeply touched. He turned to Lukacs, the Assistant Manager, and plainly said, “We’re going to war.”
---
Matches Summary:
HFA Cup 1st Round: Kistarcsa 0-3 KTE (Forbes, Loczi, Sallai)
HFA Cup 2nd Round: Videoton 2-1 KTE (Forbes)
10x for the feedback Brian of Nazareth. Actually, it's very comforting to have some kind of response. And Forbes... he's a talent. Pity he's a regen!
---
Despite all his goodwill, Mamo depended on the demoralized and ill-treated players for their own, and more imminently his, salvation. Any further defeats, and he could well be on the ‘Missing’ list in some obscure Hungarian Police Station. He shivered at the thought.
Not yet knowing what to do, he sank in his armchair in deep reflection mode. An indistinct sound caught his attention. It sounded like a crying girl. He thought he had been so adversely affected by the entire situation that now he was imagining things. Yet the sound did not go away, and instead grew more identifiable. Yes – it was a crying girl. And it was coming from the suite in his office.
“What the fnck is going on here?” Mamo asked himself. He couldn’t believe that at every corner there was a new addition to the tale. New faces springing up, holding carton banners above their head reading something like ‘I’ve been beaten by Conz’, ‘Conz the Tyrant has locked me in his dungeon’ and so on and so forth. But was this a new face he’d never seen before?
The light brown curly hair was all too familiar to him. In two weeks, he had dreamt about it almost every night, as far as he could remember. What can’t be obtained is the most powerful object of desire. That was well-known.
“What’s the matter Davina? Hush, everything’s alright now!” Mamo picked her up and held her close to his heart. He couldn’t help but shed a few boiling hot tears at seeing such a sight. The tragedy that hit Kecskemet was far worse than Lukacs tried to depict on Day One.
Mamo made Davina some coffee as she recomposed herself. They spent the night talking about the Conz Tragedy, how it had come about, and how it could never end. Conz’s brother was the head of Hungarian Police, SS and CID. Something very inhumane always happened whenever Conz’s ‘Purple Squadron’ lost a battle.
Survivor 
Good start for the Bahaman dude 
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