Football Dynasty

Chapter 181: Budget Request

The next day, Richard arrived at Maine Road a little late. As usual, he made his way straight to his office, half-distracted and still nursing his morning coffee.

BANG!

The sudden, echoing sound of something slamming against the stadium wall made him jump. He froze mid-step, blinking.

"At this hour?"

He checked his watch. Training should’ve wrapped up by now. Actually—scratch that. Wasn’t O’Neill the one who gave the players a day off to prepare for the match against Blackburn?

There shouldn’t be anyone here.

Frowning, Richard followed the source of the noise, the echo of another powerful thump guiding his steps toward the training pitch.

As he turned the corner, his eyes widened.

There they were—John Terry, Paul Robinson, and David Trezeguet—taking turns hammering shots at goal like it was mid-season. Fully geared, dripping with sweat, and completely locked in—deep in practice mode.

"What the hell?" Richard muttered under his breath.

Weren’t these lads just coming off a grueling FA Youth Cup match this morning?

They were supposed to be resting.

Richard scanned the pitch, hoping to spot at least a coach or someone supervising them—but there was no one.

Just the three of them. One was firing shots like a machine, another was defending and already drenched in sweat, while the third stood beneath the goalposts, eyes burning with fire as he blocked the ball.

Storming onto the field, Richard didn’t waste time. He stepped in front of the goal, snatched a ball, and kicked it aside. The players froze mid-motion.

"You lot," he barked, walking straight up to them, "where is your coach?"

The three looked at each other and then shook their heads.

"And what about you? Aren’t you in the match tomorrow against Blackburn?"

Trezeguet shook his head. "My name’s not on the list."

Richard sighed, dragging a hand down his face, then rubbing his temples in slow, irritated circles. He paced in front of them like a general surveying young soldiers who’d just set off a grenade in their own trench. Then he stopped, eyes narrowing.

"You ever see a car engine run without oil?" he asked.

The boys blinked, confused. Richard didn’t wait for an answer.

"It works—sure. For a while. Runs hot, runs hard. And then... boom." He clapped his hands together. "Total breakdown. Pistons shot. Whole thing’s useless."

He then pointed at each of them in turn. "That’s your body. That’s your career. You think pushing through exhaustion makes you elite? No—it makes you reckless."

Still no answer.

Richard sighed again. He raised four fingers and held them up right in front of their faces.

"Four hours," he said sharply. "That’s the maximum daily training limit UEFA allows for youth players."

Then he dropped two fingers.

"Twenty hours. That’s the weekly cap. You know why they have these rules, John? Paul? David?"

The three shook their heads, indifferent.

Richard narrowed his eyes. "Because if they didn’t, maniacs like you would train until your legs snap in half."

The players stood silently, unsure whether to leave or stay. Richard didn’t care.

"You think this is dedication, but it’s self-destruction. I pulled you off fundamentals when you joined the team to protect you—not to hold you back. Three to four hours of intensive training per day is already pushing it—and now you’re adding this?"

They looked at him blankly.

Then Terry shrugged and said, "I don’t think the team’s daily training is that tiring."

"Jesus Christ..." Richard muttered under his breath, nearly exploding.

"Are you King Kong? Or Hulk?" he snapped. "I don’t care how much you think your body can take. This ends now. You stop. You go home."

Both Terry, Robinson, and Trezeguet exchanged bewildered glances. ’What the hell are King Kong and Hulk?’ But none of them dared to ask—Richard was so deep in the zone, he didn’t even notice his slip-up.

Richard bent down and rolled a ball slowly beneath his foot, rocking it back and forth—annoyed, but also a little self-conscious. He could feel their eyes on him.

’Alright... don’t screw up the flick. Just one smooth lift. Easy. You’ve done this a thousand times...’

He tried to flick the ball up into his hand in one motion, but it bounced awkwardly, clipped his shin, and rolled away toward the corner flag.

"..."

There was a long, awkward silence.

’Is this what rock bottom feels like? Has my ball control officially retired too?’

The three didn’t laugh. Not even a smirk.

The new guy, David Trezeguet, just jogged over, picked up the ball, handed it back, and said calmly, "Sir, can I do just ten more shots?"

"I..."

Richard stared at him for a long second... then sighed in defeat.

"Five," he muttered. "And then you’re out of here. All three of you. Got it?"

"Yes, sir!"

Done with the trio, Richard finally arrived at his office and dived straight into work. He began researching NCSA and Netscape. More importantly—Adidas!

5.6 billion French francs.

Equivalent to $1 billion or £780 million—that was the amount Richard would have to spend to buy Adidas. But since Bernard Tapie himself was desperate, Richard needed to find a way to lower the price as much as possible.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Sunlight streamed gently through the office window just as Richard looked up from his papers, the sudden knock on the door breaking the quiet.

"Come in," he called.

Before the crucial match against Blackburn, Andreas Schlumberger and Dave Fevre entered the room, flanked by O’Neill and his assistant Robertson.

The serious expressions on their faces instantly pulled Richard’s attention away from his business research. His instincts told him this was about the players. He shut his laptop and leaned forward.

Soon they briefed him.

"Is it really that serious? Six players suggesting rest?" Richard asked, disbelief creeping into his voice as he scanned the medical report laid out before him.

This news meant that in the upcoming match, there would be no Roberto Carlos, Cafu, Gallas, Jackie McNamara, Neil Lennon, or Van Bommel.

"That’s why, isn’t that a bit extreme? Our lads look fit enough. Sure, they’ve had a few extra games recently, but if they just grit their teeth and push through, they can get through the next two fixtures this week and then finally have a break." O’Neill also furrowed his brow.

Hearing this, Richard instantly changed his mind and sided with Fevre and Schlumberger’s recommendation to rest the players immediately.

"No. The recommendations from Dr. Fevre and Dr. Schlumberger make perfect sense."

He then locked eyes with O’Neill, voice steady but firm. "You’re right that they might manage the next game against Blackburn, but remember—"

"Players aren’t machines," Richard said, his tone growing serious. "And even machines aren’t perfect. The most advanced machines break down and need repairs—sometimes in ways that no engineer can predict until the failure happens. Nuts and bolts don’t have emotions, stamina, or moods. Football players do. They’re human. They wear down."

Robertson looked at him incredulously. "Are you being alarmist?"

Richard clicked his tongue. "What are you saying? Both Dr. Fevre and Dr. Schlumberger are experts in sports medicine. Who else should I listen to? Besides, as I said, they’ve convinced me. In the long run, I want our players to have healthier, longer careers."

O’Neill saw Richard’s mind was made up, couldn’t help said. "If six key players don’t play, the substitutes should be fine, but you know the match tomorrow is Blackburn."

Indeed, without those key players, tomorrow’s match looked daunting.

Tim Sherwood, Stuart Ripley, and Niklas Gudmundsson were all threats. Richard even spotted some familiar names—former players from his agent days, like Alan Shearer and Graeme Le Saux, whom he had once brought into the City academy. _{𝖓𝔬𝖛𝔭𝔲𝖇.𝔠𝔬𝖒}

Facing them wouldn’t be easy. But truthfully, even without the starters, City’s squad was still manageable.

Zambrotta could cover for Cafu, and Finnan or Gallas could fill in for Roberto Carlos. In midfield, there was still plenty of talent—Keith Gillespie, Theodorus Zagorakis, Robbie Savage, Jammie Pollock, Steve Lomas, Graham Fenton and Jackie McNamara.

After giving his reasoning, Robertson wanted to argue, but O’Neill cut him off.

"Alright, we’ll put together a half-first-team, half-bench squad. If we don’t have enough players on the substitute list, we’ll call up two or three from the reserves."

Since Richard had already given his verdict, there was no use in arguing with him. Moreover, as a manager, his job was to accept the decision and move forward—focusing on how to adjust the team, motivate the players, and prepare for the next challenge.

What else could he say? Since O’Neill also agreed with Richard, he, as part of the staff, could only go along with it.

After O’Neill and Roberson left, both Fevre and Schlumberger remained, which meant there was still something they wanted to discuss.

Richard allowed them to speak their minds freely. However, when they finally did, he was bewildered.

"You want a gym? A new one? What about the current one?" he asked, confused.

Both Fevre and Schlumberger immediately shook their heads, rejecting the idea of using the current gym. The problem, they explained, dated back to Alan Ball.

Everyone knew that when he was manager, he prioritized player exposure. That’s why, at the time, he suggested that players train in public spaces—including the gym—so fans could feel closer to them.

"Right now, if a player wants to rehab or put in extra work, he’s doing it surrounded by noise and fans," Fevre said. "There’s no privacy. No focus. That’s not how elite athletes train. In Wigan, we had to move training out of public areas to avoid distractions like autograph hunters."

Richard frowned. The man had a point.

He then turned to Schlumberger. "What about you?"

Schlumberger nodded. "We’re still seeing players train using outdated methods. Basic stretching, core strengthening, recovery protocols—none of it is being done systematically. It’s only a matter of time before we lose key players to injuries that could’ve been prevented."

By the end of the discussion, basically both of them requested a dedicated budget for their respective departments: Recovery and Physiotherapy.

For Dave Fevre, he wanted to expand the physio department to a six-person team.

This would include:

2 Senior Physiotherapists (focused on injury management and return-to-play planning)

1 Rehabilitation Specialist (to work closely with injured players during post-physio recovery)

2 Sports Masseur (essential for muscle recovery before and after matches)

1 Hydrotherapy Assistant (especially if the gym included recovery pools or ice baths)

For Andreas Schlumberger, he requested a budget to improve the club’s physical recovery infrastructure. His proposal included:

Hydrotherapy equipment such as ice baths, complete with a budget for ice, foam rollers, and heat packs or hot water bottles.

More adjustable physio tables to reduce long waiting times for treatment.

Basic diagnostic tools (e.g., blood pressure monitors, flexibility testing kits, reflex hammers).

Portable massage beds for use during away games.

After listening to all the requests, Richard realized that it wasn’t just about new equipment or extra staff—it was about laying a solid foundation: balancing work and rest, training and recovery.

This was the missing piece City had needed for years.

A genuine smile spread across his face.

’Finally,’ he thought, feeling a wave of relief and excitement.

For the first time, City was on the path to becoming a truly professional club—not just in name, but in how they cared for their players. This wasn’t just about short-term fixes; it was about building a system that would protect the squad’s health, prolong careers, and elevate performance.

"You know what?" Richard said to both of them as he pulled a folder from his drawer and placed it on the table.

He continued, "Months ago, when I created this high-performance team, I decided I needed to take a deeper look at training, preparation, and diet. That’s what led me to Italy."

Both Fevre and Schlumberger looked at each other but said nothing, waiting for Richard to finish.

The folder Richard placed on the table was boldly titled "Proper On-Pitch Warmups."

It contained modular, timed training sessions. Richard then asked them if they could implement the program and follow it consistently.

"..."

Richard stayed quiet, giving the two doctors time to skim through the folder. After a few moments, Fevre finally broke the silence.

"It’s going to take time," he said thoughtfully.

Because in this module, a completely new training program will be introduced, essentially dismantling the current system, which largely revolves around five-a-sides.

Like stretching sessions and ice baths—previously unheard of—were now part of the program Richard wanted to make a habit at City, giving players longer playing careers. Basically the module states that players are not in optimal condition with the existing method.

"That’s what we do in Schalke," Schlumberger stated, pointing to the ice bath section included in the folder. "But Dave is right—City will need a full adjustment for this to work."

"I know," Richard replied. "That’s exactly why I chose this moment. I’m aiming for the new system to be fully in place after New Year. You know how it is—these players usually only get into their fittest condition after Christmas."

Of course, Richard made some adjustments to certain parts to better fit the culture of English football. This included personalized training plans, individual diets, and double training sessions—quite a change at a time when many players were more used to spending their afternoons in the pub or playing golf.

Don’t expect City’s players to embrace this easily. So, Richard leaned back, a thoughtful look crossing his face, then suddenly asked, "What do you think about the current City?"

Both Fevre and Schlumberger were taken aback, uncertain how to respond. To be honest, at first, they thought Richard was just looking for an excuse to reject their budget requests.

Richard continued, his voice steady and clear: "I want to build a new culture at City—one that puts health, recovery, and conditioning at the center, not as optional extras. We want a title-winning team, and this is where it starts."

While augmenting his knowledge by learning from fellow coaches during trips to Italy—including recent time with Gian Piero Ventrone at Juventus—Richard wanted to give both Fevre and Schlumberger a "carte blanche," a blank slate, using Ventrone as a reference and their expertise as sports doctors to meticulously plan the squad’s preparation and carefully manage the players’ workload to minimize injuries.

Fitness, flexibility, and strength work were tailored to complement on-pitch training. Richard does not believe the modern game is more demanding on players’ bodies; instead, he thinks the volume of injuries in the top flight comes from over-training.

"The physical demands are more or less the same," Richard says. "I believe injuries come from training. Coaches need to know when to stop, when to rest players. It’s all about planning."

And thanks to both Fevre and Schlumberger requesting to install a rudimentary gym at Maine Road, Richard was finally able to present his idea.

"I will put a lot of my trust in you for this. You’ll probably clash with O’Neill, his staff and the players in the future, so when you start to feel like you can’t do this anymore, remember—I will back you."

There was a brief silence.

That was a bit over the top, wasn’t it? After all, for a football club, what could be more important than the players and their coaching staff?

"You know why I rejected O’Neill’s request to buy players like Chris Sutton and Trevor Sinclair in the previous transfer window?"

"..."

"Let me explain the truth," Richard said, leaning forward. "Typically, the more famous a player is, the more reluctant they are to be ordered around by new recruits—especially by a new department just getting started. Think about it: if Alex Ferguson were coaching here, or Roy Keane or Eric Cantona were playing for us—would they listen to you? Would Alex Ferguson accept Marina as the new Director of Football or me handling the transfers?"

He smirked and added, "Heck, I guarantee he’d resign that very day."

"..."

"That’s why," Richard said firmly. "You have my full support. You lead, and we’ll follow. Let’s do this—let’s build a team grounded in sports science from the very beginning."