A Chicken Instead of a Pheasant
4. A chicken instead of a pheasant. If you have no teeth, use your gums.
• Either the club or the manager may terminate the contract by written notice three months prior to its expiration.
• Upon termination of this contract, the manager shall be entitled to receive his base salary for the remainder of the contract term.
• However, the club reserves the right to terminate the manager’s contract should the team remain in 22nd–24th place through the first ten rounds.
• Should the club be relegated to League One, the manager shall resign.
The third clause, from the club’s perspective, meant they would at least show enough patience to watch him for ten rounds.
And if—God forbid—they dropped into the third tier, he would walk out on his own two feet without anyone having to ask him to leave.
The fifth clause was the classic “earring if hung on the ear, nose ring if hung on the nose.”
If the manager seriously violated club discipline, he could be dismissed.
“Club discipline” was a conveniently vague phrase. In practice it meant they could cut him loose the moment his actions ran counter to the club’s interests. Beneath the polite wording lay the real possibility that poor results—or simply the board’s arbitrary judgment—could see him sacked regardless of performance.
“I’d better read the rulebook carefully. Ha… Kyril liked me, though.”
He sipped the bitter coffee and the memory of last night rose unbidden: sitting at the same table with owner Kyril and the director who had staged the whole production, drinking one of Bordeaux’s five great wines—Château Margaux, the bottle Ernest Hemingway had loved.
“I was particularly taken with the aggressive tactics Manager Han Shin showed us. If there’s any player you especially want, the club will put real effort into signing him.”
“Above all, please make sure we re-sign our number 7, Jobe Bellingham.”
“Of course. We want to build Bellingham into the club’s absolute franchise star as well.”
Sunderland’s squad was already quite solid.
Chris Rigg, rated a fine prospect even in Football Manager; the one-club man Dan Neil; and Jobe Bellingham, younger brother of Jude Bellingham, currently regarded as one of the world’s best midfielders at Real Madrid. Add Abdullah Ba, the Frenchman of Mauritanian descent, and Sunderland had already pulled off a successful generational shift in midfield.
On top of that they had a useful winger in Jack Clarke, a centre-back in Daniel Ballard who could hold his own even in the EFL, and Anthony Patterson between the posts doing a reliable job as last line of defence. The squad was sturdy enough.
What they still needed was a replacement for Niall Huggins—whose defensive shortcomings at full-back were glaring—and a proper striker.
But… catching both rabbits at once would be hard.
Han Shin spoke.
“We need an excellent full-back. In modern football it’s one of the most important positions, no argument. Someone with the defensive steel to step into midfield or form one pillar of a back three.”
The producer tossed in a joke.
“Carragher once said there are only two types of full-back: the ones who failed to become wingers and the ones who failed to become centre-backs. Nobody grows up wanting to be a full-back. Hahaha.”
“And nobody wants to grow up to be Gary Neville either, right? Hahahaha.”
“Hahahahaha—you already knew that one?”
“Even in Korea I catch Carragher and Gary Neville’s banter all the time.”
“I’m in the business and it still amazes me every time—our programme being watched not just in Korea but all over the world.”
“I heard the ratings in Korea went through the roof this time?”
“Don’t even start. After Britain, the country that watched us the most was—surprisingly—Korea.”
“Manager, you really ought to make a trip over there sometime. You’ll be hugely popular.”
“Actually, the fans have been sending so many of those snacks—what are they called? The pies with marshmallow inside—that the whole team and I have been happily sharing them.”
“Choco Pies, you mean. Glad they suit your taste.”
“All thanks to you, Shin. Once again, congratulations on the win, Manager Han.”
“Thank you! It was an incredible experience and opportunity.”
Han Shin bowed his head in greeting.
“Why so formal? We’ll be seeing each other for another year.”
“True enough. Looking forward to working with you.”
The two men shook hands.
“The pleasure’s mine. I hope you take us up to the EFL during your tenure.”
“Oh, I’ll get us promoted for sure.”
Ting—!
They clinked wine glasses and took a sip. The fragrant bouquet of grapes unfurled and seemed as though it would linger for hours.
Kyril had been listening quietly. Now he pushed his glasses up and spoke with a serious face.
“As you know, Manager Han, full-backs are scarce on the market. When a decent one does appear, the asking price is brutal. Every big club in the EFL and beyond is hunting the same position. It won’t be easy.”
“Don’t worry too much. There’s a saying in Korea: ‘A chicken instead of a…’”
A chicken instead of a pheasant. But what was the English for pheasant again?
Pheasant…
“A pheasant. A chicken instead of a pheasant. In Korea we cook a soup for the New Year; the absolute best meat for it is pheasant, but when there’s no pheasant we put in chicken. That’s the idea.”
“Ah, I see. You mean you’ve got a Plan B.”
“In British terms you could say ‘taking the next best thing.’”
“Exactly. If a full-back doesn’t work out, I’ll just push Ballard up as a libero. If you have no teeth, you chew with your gums.”
“And what does that one mean?”
“If the wind won’t help you, row.”
The producer chimed in.
“There’s more than one way to skin a cat!”
“Right. You have to build the tactics around the squad you’ve got. And in that regard, Kyril, Sunderland looks like a fantastic squad to me.”
Kyril fixed him with a serious gaze.
“Manager Han Shin… can we go up this year?”
“Yes. Just believe in me, and I’ll do everything in my power to sail this club back into the dream league.”
“Hahaha—Manager Han Shin, that confidence is something else. That bold ambition is exactly why I watched you all the way through the tournament.”
“Hahaha, really? Not just because I was the only Asian to reach the round of sixteen?”
“What does origin matter? I was simply drawn in by the way you handled interviews and by the ability that backed it up. I’m a fan of yours myself.”
Manager War was, on the surface, a gaming tournament, but in truth it was an audition to find a manager fit to lead a real club. They had set up a mock press room, thrown mischievous questions at the candidates, and even staged locker-room conversations with actors mixed among actual players.
“A fan? I’m glad to have such a solid ally.”
“There are still people inside the club who struggle with change, but I’m putting my faith in you, Captain.”
“And I’m putting mine in you, Chairman.”
“Soon I’ll call the scouting team and the director together to discuss the full-back signing. I hope you’ll join us.”
“Gladly. May I ask for just one more position I absolutely want to bring in?”
“I already know. Striker, right?”
Yes. A forward.
There is an old saying in sport:
— Attack brings the crowds; defence brings the wins.
It is a maxim that preaches the importance of defence for winning titles. Yet football is ultimately a sport won by scoring goals. The true meaning is that only by protecting the lead created by outstanding attack can you bank the points needed to chase a championship. The prerequisite is that the attack must first deliver.
An outstanding striker was a necessary signing.
“Yes, exactly. Even a traditional striker who can play the goal-getter role would satisfy me.”
In the modern game the importance of high pressing from the front—starting with the strikers—and of combination play through the pass had come to the fore. Scoring was no longer the only job of a forward. A good striker had to be multi-talented, and those players were inevitably snapped up by the big clubs. Traditional pure finishers had actually become rarer; Han Shin’s request was, in its own way, a difficult order.
“Mm… understood.”
The producer, stirring his meat stew with a spoon, asked with genuine curiosity.
“By the way, you cook stew for holidays in Korea?”
“More precisely we put in something called tteok—I don’t love the translation, but think of it as rice cake, a sort of round pasta made of rice. We boil it into a soup and share it with family. Koreans say that eating tteokguk means you’ve gained a year.”
“Interesting. So Manager, you’ve eaten thirty bowls of tteokguk?”
“Ah, we don’t only eat it on holidays. It’s more of a home-cooking thing. I’ve probably had at least a hundred bowls of tteok-mandu-guk with dumplings in it.”
The producer tapped his bowl with the spoon.
“Haha! No wonder you never look nervous—you’re over a hundred years old!”
“Hahaha, a hundred-year-old serpent, that’s me. Oh, and pheasant no longer appears on the table, by the way. It’s just a traditional expression.”
“In Britain we still shoot pheasant every season. We do love our game birds. Did you know that?”
“I didn’t. Though I once saw a news story about the late Queen Elizabeth wringing a pheasant’s neck.”
“You know the details.”
“Working in English football has always been my dream.”
“Haha, glad you won the tournament then. And for our holidays we eat beef Wellington. Have you tried it?”
“Yes—I watched Gordon Ramsay make it, followed the recipe at home, and it was delicious.”
Among British dishes, maybe the best…
“Chef Gordon Ramsay really is famous.”
“He’s even expanded into Korea. Hell’s Kitchen was hugely popular.”
“Next time I’ll invite you to a place that does better beef Wellington than that.”
“Beef Wellington—I’ll look forward to it. How about you, Kyril?”
Kyril pressed his palms together in a gesture of gratitude.
“Please include me as well.”
“Kyril, you know… Koreans don’t actually put their hands together like that.”
“Oh, really?”
“Unless you’re Buddhist, the prayer gesture isn’t the proper greeting. You’re planning a pre-season trip to Korea, aren’t you?”
“Yes. We’re trying to arrange a match against a Seoul side. Tickets go on sale soon—do you think many fans will come?”
“It’ll be enormous. Among Championship clubs Sunderland will easily be the most popular. Ki Sung-yueng and Ji Dong-won both played here, so there’s that ‘friendly club’ image too. They’ll be waiting at the airport.”
“That’s both wonderful and a bit terrifying. Teach me the Korean greeting, please.”
“Just a light nod of the head like this. Bowing from the waist makes it even more respectful.”
Kyril copied Han Shin and dipped his head.
“Like this?”
“Yes, perfect.”
The producer joined the Korean-greeting lesson as well.
“And the words? Teach me.”
“Repeat after me, please: Jeoneun babo imnida. This is a popular greeting in Korea.”
“Jeoneun babo imnida.”
Kyril repeated it innocently.
“Pfft…”
The producer, who had actually researched Korean, burst out laughing.
“What? Why are you laughing? Was my pronunciation off? Jeoneun babo imnida. Jeoneun babo imnida. Right?”
The producer answered.
“I can’t speak. The ink on the contract isn’t even dry yet and the manager’s already this bold.”
Indeed, the contract Han Shin had signed at this very table was still slowly setting.
Anyway, what’s done is done.
“What? Is it something weird?”
Han Shin told Kyril the truth.
“Kyril, ‘Jeoneun babo imnida’ actually means ‘I’m an idiot.’ Hahahaha.”
Kyril’s face turned serious.
“Then the full-back and striker signings are off.”
“Just a joke—it’s ‘Annyeonghaseyo!’ Didn’t you ever see me greet people during the tournament?”
I was going to go all the way to ‘Saranghaeyo, Entertainment Weekly’…
“I simply forgot. Ah-neu-nyeo-ong-ha-se-yo. Right?”
“An. Nyeong. Ha. Se. Yo.”
“Annyeonghaseyo.”
“Perfect. The fans will love it when you visit Korea.”
The producer cut in.
“Kyril, why not lean into a witty image and just greet them with ‘I am an idiot’? The fans would eat it up.”
“That’s a good idea.”
“Please stop joking.”
…
“Should I go to Korea and greet them with ‘I am an idiot’?”
“Hahahahaha.”
“If you shout ‘Saranghaeyo, Entertainment Weekly’ it’ll become a meme and the Shorts will go crazy.”
“That doesn’t mean something weird again, does it?”
“No. Trust me.”
“I will.”
Kyril liked Han Shin a great deal, but there was one problem.
He did not, in fact, own 100 percent of the club’s shares.