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Four days after the CSKA Moscow defeat, I finally trudge back into Finch Farm, head hung low and I slink into my office. But someone else is sat behind my desk.

“Where have you been?” asks Bill Kenwright, looking up from a clipboard. “We thought you’d defected.”

“I got drunk,” I say quietly. “Missed the plane. Missed a lot of planes.”

“Are you okay?”

“I guess.”

“Are you ready for work?”

“I guess.”

“I need more than that,” says Bill, looking concerned. “I don’t want you to just creep in here smelling like Boris Yeltsin’s PE kit. I want you to…. dazzle me!”

I stare at him as he beams at me and does his jazz hands.

“I can do that. I just need some coffee.”

“We really need you to be okay,” says Bill, getting out of my seat and heading to the coffee machine. “We’re all disappointed to miss out on the Champions League, but there’s still Thursday nights on Channel 5. And look who we got in the draw.”

“That seems doable,” I say, brightening up a bit. “Bilbao will be tough, but we should be all right.”

“There you go,” smiles Bill, handing me a small cup of extremely black liquid. “Drink this you’ll be right as rain.”

There’s a knock on the open door of my office. I turn around.

“Erm… can I move my stuff in now?” asks Ronald Koeman sheepishly.

“False alarm, Ronald,” grins Bill. “He’s back and we won’t need you after all.”

“For fuck’s sake,” sighs Ronald. He turns around. “Get back in the van, Erwin,” he calls out. “It’s happened again.”

We gave some U23 games before the visit of Chelsea in the Premier League. I am increasingly impressed with young Shani Tarashaj who spent the entirety of last season on loan at Frankfurt. He’s an elegant striker with an eye for the unexpected and, as he delicately lobs a young Tottenham reserve goalkeeper, I conclude that he’ll get a go in the League Cup if Oumar Niasse can’t find his way again soon. And then he breaks his ankle three minutes later. But he does look good.

I don’t make any changes to the team that lost to CSKA Moscow, partly because they actually played really well, partly because international week is approaching, so there’s little point in resting players.

We start really well, alleviating any fears of a metaphorical Champions League hangover. There’s just the very real hangover that still throbs at the back of my skull.

After 18 minutes, Aaron Lennon and Seamus Coleman exchange passes on the right flank, Coleman fires in a vicious cross at the near post and Lukaku is there to nod home. It looks like we’re well on the way to a morale boosting takedown of a filthy rich footballing superpower.

Four minutes later, Coleman leaps in on Cesc Fabregas like he slept with his sister and nearly breaks him in half. It’s a red card and I fear a three-match suspension will follow. I move to James McCarthy to right-back, ask Idrissa Gueye to sit deeper, and wait for the inevitable collapse. With five minutes to go before half time, Oscar nods a corner into the centre of the six-yard box where only Diego Costa stands. This is because I forgot to rearrange the remaining players for defensive corners. I kick a box of water bottles because I cannot kick myself.

But moments after the restart, Ross Barkley spanks a ball clear into Chelsea’s half, Lukaku races onto it, beats his man, and then slides the ball past Thibaut Courtois from 30 yards out. We’re back in front.

Not only are we back in front, but we seem to be back in control of the game. We’re the better side by some distance after the break, we make and miss scores of good chances but then Lukaku puts the result beyond doubt by outmuscling two Chelsea defenders, finding space, and lashing his shot into the top corner. We’ve taken a 3-1 victory from a game in which we’ve been reduced to 10 men for nearly 70 minutes. That’s an extraordinary result.

The transfer window passes smoothly for us. Mo Besic leaves for Hertha Berlin for £9m, Darron Gibson goes to Birmingham on loan with a view to a deal at the end of the season. We also shift Ashley Williams on loan to Rapid Vienna, though we still have to pay 90% of his wages. That puts a total of £25m in the January transfer kitty, a war chest that will undoubtedly be enhanced when Demigod Vida realises that I can’t possibly keep my promise of a Champions League win this season and he demands to leave. But Ross Barkley and Leighton Baines both tell me that they’re happy to stay at the club now. It’s a bit awkward for Baines because I signed Kieran Tierney as his replacement, but it’s worse for Bryan Oviedo and Luke Garbutt who now find themselves third and fourth choice left-backs.

European football is imminent and so it’s perfect timing for Niasse to injure himself for two weeks. It means that Lukaku is now our only senior striker, so I’m relieved to see that his tantrums are a thing of the past. Matthew Pennington and Jonathan Biabiany make their first appearances on the bench as we face a Manchester City side led by Sergio Aguero, Antoine Griezmann, and our old friend Gerard Deulofeu….

We barely touch the ball in the first half. Pep Guardiola has this side effortlessly pinging the ball around the park like it’s a video game and we just can’t keep up with them. It’s incredible to think that City have actually struggled a bit this season, we should be three down at the break at least.

I try to take control of the situation in the dressing room by patiently explaining where they’re going wrong and then constructively offering solutions. But I fail.

“You cowards! You utter cowards,” I scream instead. “You’re going to curl up and surrender just because it’s Pep?! Just because they’re bigger than us? That’s Deulofeu out there! He used to be your mate and you’re letting walk around on two legs! Break him! Fucking break him in two and let’s at least walk away with the knowledge that we’ve hurt someone today. You people make me sick. Get out there and do better or I’ll geld one of you with an ice cream scoop as an example to the others!”

They’re a lot sprightlier after that, I can tell you. Finally, we seem to be playing an active part in the match. Lukaku hits the post shortly after the restart, Filip Kostic bursts into life on the lift, but we don’t make the breakthrough until the arrival of Biabiany and Andrea Poli.

That little bit of pace seems to startle City. First Kostic finds Biabiany for a header at the back post, then Poli beats Joe Hart with a long-ranger. And then, best of all, Idrissa Gueye “tangles” with Deulofeu and gives him a nasty head wound that will see him miss City’s first Champions League game.

We may not be in the Champions League this season, but by thunder, we are everyone’s least favourite opponent.

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Click here to read Iain Macintosh’s ‘Football Manager 2026: Release version review’.