I Am Jose

"Absolutely brilliant!"

Iván Hidalgo's voice rang out in astonishment as he watched Ronaldinho deliver a sublime chip pass from just outside the penalty area—a pass so elegant and precise that it seemed to defy gravity. "I can't believe it—here we have a young coach, fresh from his second rescue mission, who's managed to win the unwavering adoration of an entire fanbase. Listen to the roar in Son Moix Stadium! The passion of the Mallorca supporters is palpable; they're chanting one name in unison—not that of a player, but that of our head coach, José Alemani. And this is only halftime!"

Xavier Bonés grinned, nodding in agreement. "I understand the fans perfectly. When Mallorca were teetering on the brink of relegation, this young man emerged out of nowhere to secure survival and even lift the team to a UEFA Cup triumph. And when we found ourselves at the bottom of the table again, he stepped up to become the club's major shareholder, pumping in massive investments and leading the team to victory. Sure, our performances in the early matches were a rollercoaster—joy mixed with trepidation—as fans worried his success might be a flash in the pan. But tonight, our performance on the field has silenced all doubts. If I were a Mallorca supporter, I'd be cheering our coach as loudly as any superstar."

Back in the locker room, after the match, José Alemani still couldn't quite shake the overwhelming emotion. He took a deep breath, glanced around at his players, and suddenly chuckled. "Don't look at me like that... I never expected to be this beloved," he said with a modest shrug.

A ripple of laughter broke out among the players. José simply waved his hand dismissively and added, "Remember, I'm the coach who won the UEFA Cup. They should be thanking me! But the real reward is when you all perform on the pitch and bring the fans to their feet. Every time one of you scores, listen to that crowd roar! Strive for that, and maybe someday your names will echo as loudly as mine does today."

"Natal, you're a natural orator," thought his assistant coach with a wry smile, though José paid him no mind as he turned to the tactics board. Swiftly, he marked out both teams' formations.

"Let's break it down," José began, his tone brisk and focused. "Barcelona's attack isn't really threatening us. They can't create much out wide. Ovimas had a decent game, but he couldn't break through our flanks—he also hasn't fully integrated into their system yet. Rivaldo is their most dangerous weapon, yet he wasn't on top form today. Our job is to ensure that when Rivaldo receives the ball inside the box, he doesn't get the luxury to settle and make himself comfortable. Carlos—our Camara—will handle him in the box, while outside, Tiago will mark him, with Vicente covering the gaps. The key is to prevent Rivaldo from exploiting space. As for the rest, Kluivert isn't a threat outside their three-pronged attack, Guardiola's injury has disrupted their midfield organization, Luis Enrique isn't a game-changer, and while Xavi is immensely talented, he's still young. So defensively, we need to stick to our game plan."

After a brief explanation of their defensive strategy, José switched to the offensive plan for the second half. "Our attack needs to be even sharper. Tiago, when you have a chance to surge forward, don't hesitate—your runs can create opportunities. You're young; your energy is boundless. Vicente, I need you to back him up. And Ronaldinho—you played beautifully in the first half. I want the other attackers to increase their runs and rotations to unsettle Barcelona's backline. Their defense isn't as cohesive as ours, and their strength lies in attack, not in defending. In the second half, we must seize the moment. The first goal of the half must be ours. If they equalize, it might shift the momentum, and I won't allow that!"

As José concluded his briefing with a determined flourish, his players roared back, "Don't worry, coach—our first goal in the second half will be ours!"

Satisfied with the energy in the room, José checked his watch. "Time to hit the field!" he bellowed.