Monday, June 29th, 2016

Monday morning arrived with the kind of nervous energy I hadn't felt since my own interview five weeks ago. Today, I was on the other side of the desk. Today, I was the one asking the questions, evaluating candidates, and making decisions that would shape the future of the U18s program. No pressure.

Gary had booked the main conference room for the interviews. Two candidates today: Michael Torres at 10 am, Sarah Martinez at 2 pm. I'd spent Sunday night preparing questions, reviewing their CVs for the hundredth time, trying to figure out what I actually wanted in an assistant coach.

Someone who could challenge me without undermining me. Someone with experience but not so much ego that they'd resent working under a 27-year-old. Someone who understood modern tactics but could also connect with teenagers. Easy, right?

I spent the hour before Torres arrived pacing my office like a caged animal. The system, unhelpfully, displayed a notification:

[SYSTEM] Stress Level: Elevated. Recommendation: Breathe.

Thanks, system. Very helpful.

At 9:58 am, Gary knocked on my office door. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

"Relax. You're interviewing him, not the other way around. You're the head coach. Act like it."

Easy for him to say. He wasn't about to sit across from a former professional footballer and pretend he knew what he was doing.

Michael Torres arrived at exactly 10 am. He was shorter than I expected, maybe 5'9", but built like a brick wall. His handshake was firm, his smile easy. He wore a tracksuit, not a suit, which I immediately appreciated. This was football, not corporate finance.

"Danny," he said. "Good to meet you. Heard a lot about what you're doing here."

"All good things, I hope."

"Mostly." He grinned. "Some people think you're crazy. But the best coaches usually are."

I liked him already. We sat down, Gary between us, and I launched into my prepared questions. "Tell me about your transition from playing to coaching. What was the hardest part?"

"Realizing I couldn't do it for them," he said without hesitation. "As a player, if something wasn't working, I could just run harder, fight harder, make it happen. As a coach, you have to trust them to do it. That was brutal at first. I wanted to put the boots back on and show them myself."

"How'd you get past that?"

"I didn't, not completely. But I learned to channel it. I can't play for them, but I can give them the tools, the understanding, the belief. And sometimes, when they're not getting it, I can still demonstrate. That helps."

We talked tactics for twenty minutes. He knew his stuff: pressing triggers, defensive transitions, counter-attacking patterns.

He'd played under managers who'd implemented systems similar to what I was building. But more importantly, he understood players. He talked about egos, about motivation, about the difference between pushing someone and breaking them.

"What's your biggest weakness as a coach?" I asked.

"I'm impatient," he said. "I see what needs to happen, and I want it to happen now. But development takes time. I'm learning to accept that, but it's hard."

Honest. I appreciated that. "Why do you want this job?"

"Because I want to learn from someone who thinks differently than I do. You're analytical, data-driven, tactical. I'm instinctive, emotional, and experiential. I think we'd balance each other out. Plus, I want to be a head coach someday. Working under someone my age who's already doing it? That's valuable."

The interview lasted an hour. When he left, Gary looked at me. "Well?"

"He's good. Really good. But..."

"But?"

"I don't know if he'd challenge my thinking enough. He'd execute the plan brilliantly, but would he push me to make the plan better?"

Gary nodded. "Good question. Let's see what Martinez brings this afternoon."

I spent the lunch break walking around Copers Cope, trying to clear my head. Torres was good. Really good. But was he the right fit? I grabbed a sandwich from the canteen and ran into Paul Williams, the U23s coach.

"Danny," he said, nodding. "Heard you're interviewing assistant coaches."

Word traveled fast. "Yeah. Two candidates today."

"Good. You need the help." It wasn't said cruelly, just matter-of-factly. "No one can do it alone at this level. I've got three assistants for the U23s."

"Any advice?"

He considered for a moment. "Hire someone who'll tell you when you're wrong. Yes-men are useless. You need someone who'll challenge you, push you, make you better." He paused. "And don't hire someone just because they're nice. Hire someone who's good."

With that, he walked away, leaving me standing there with my sandwich and a lot to think about.

Sarah Martinez arrived at 2 pm sharp. She wore a Palace tracksuit, which I later learned she'd bought specifically for the interview. Smart.

"Danny," she said, her handshake firm. "Thanks for the opportunity."

"Thanks for coming. Tell me about Brighton. What are you working on there?"

"U23s, primarily tactical analysis and sports science integration. I help the head coach translate data into actionable training plans. Injury prevention, load management, tactical periodization."

"That's a lot of buzzwords."

She laughed. "Fair. Basically, I make sure we're training smart, not just hard. That we're peaking at the right times, that we're not overloading players, that the tactics we're teaching match the physical capabilities of the squad."

"Why leave Brighton?"

"Because I want to be more than an analyst. I want to coach. I want to be on the pitch, working with players, implementing ideas, not just presenting them in PowerPoint. And I want to work with someone who values data but doesn't worship it. Someone who understands that football is still played by humans, not algorithms."

I liked her immediately. We talked for ninety minutes. She challenged every assumption I made, questioned every tactical decision, pushed back on my ideas in ways that made them better. She wasn't trying to undermine me, she was stress-testing my thinking. By the end, I was exhausted but exhilarated.

"What's your biggest weakness?" I asked.

"I'm younger than most of the coaches I work with, and I'm a woman in a male-dominated field. Some people don't take me seriously at first. But I've learned to use that. Let them underestimate me. Then prove them wrong."

"How do you handle players who don't respect you?"

"I earn it. I show them I know more than they do. I help them get better. Respect isn't given, it's earned. And I'm very good at earning it."

When she left, Gary looked at me with a knowing smile. "Well?"

"That's the one," I said. "That's my assistant coach."

Gary made the call to HR that afternoon. Sarah Martinez would start the following Monday, July 6th. My first hire. My assistant coach. The first piece of the team I was building.

I called Emma that night, buzzing with energy. "I hired someone."

"Tell me everything."

I told her about Torres, about his experience and instincts. I told her about Sarah, about how she'd challenged me, pushed me, made me think harder about every decision.

"So why Sarah?"

"Because Torres would've been great at executing my plan. But Sarah will make the plan better. She'll challenge me. Push me. Make me a better coach."

"You're learning," Emma said, and I could hear the pride in her voice. "You're not just building a team. You're building a culture."

***

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