I "Ruined My Life" to Prove Arne Slot Is a Fraud
Long post. Genuinely long. Get a snack or sumn (TLDR version at the bottom)
Some of you were in my post here a while back. The one where I was having a complete meltdown because I could not beat Arne Slot. He was at Arsenal winning trebles while I sat at Chelsea. Then he went to Barca and knocked me out of the UCL two seasons in a row like I was a Sunday league side. Posted that thread at 1am and meant every single word.
Then someone in the comments mentioned they run a save called Pep's a Fraud. Just follow Pep to every job, show up, dismantle him, make sure he never wins anything. I read that comment about four times.
Arne Slot is a Fraud. New save. That was it.
20 seasons, two IRL years of my life I am never getting back and I regret nothing.
THE START
Booted the save unemployed. No job, no club, just me and pure hatred for one bald Dutch man. Sitting there refreshing the job board like a loser and you want to know what the only Premier League vacancy was?
Tottenham Hotspur.
I need you to understand something. I am a Chelsea fan. I have spent years of my real actual human life laughing at that club. I genuinely hope they get relegated irl, sorry Spurs fans, and I mean that with love. And here I am taking their job in FM like some kind of desperate war criminal. Told myself it was just a vehicle. A means to an end. A vessel for revenge.
Took the job. Felt my soul leave my body a little bit. Carried on anyway.
YEARS 1 TO 3. SPURS. I AM SO SORRY
Slot was still at Liverpool year one so im across London watching him win the title while I'm trying to get Spurs to stop conceding headers from every corner. Finished fourth. Kept my job barely.
Year two I actually got the squad doing something. Brought in three players who could press properly and built something real. Went to Anfield in November and won 2-0 and felt like an absolute genius. Slot gave this calm collected presser about it being a blip and I hated him for it. He finished second that season. No title. First crack.
Year three I won the league with Tottenham Hotspur and I need you to understand the complicated emotions involved. Celebrated. Then immediately felt like I needed a shower. Won the title with Spurs like some kind of villain origin story. But Slot got the sack at Liverpool and I knew I had to follow him, couldn't stay at Spurs being happy. That felt deeply wrong on every level.
YEARS 4 TO 7. FRANCE. THIS NEARLY FINISHED ME.
He took PSG. I took Lyon. I want to be fully honest, this period nearly ended me as a person.
PSG had just an absolutely disgusting squad. Players that made my entire wage budget look like pocket change. Year one I finished third, got knocked out in the UCL league phase and sat staring at the tactics screen for a genuinely long time. He won the treble that year. I let the trophy ceremony cutscene play out fully as a punishment to myself.
Year two was better. Finished second, knocked him out of the Coupe de France in the semis. He won Ligue 1 on the last day by two points and I closed the laptop and went for an actual walk outside.
Year three was the one that really got me. Title race, final weekend, we needed to win and needed PSG to drop points at home to a nothing side. We won 4-0. Checked the other score. PSG won 2-1. He lifted the trophy. I just sat there in complete silence, no rage, just this hollow empty feeling like the game had decided it wasn't my time yet.
He left for Real Madrid shortly after and I was genuinely relieved. France was doing something to me.
YEARS 8 TO 13. SPAIN. WHERE IT GOT PERSONAL. AND THEN WEIRD.
Atletico job. This was always going to be warfare and it delivered everything.
Madrid derbies during this stretch were just unhinged. 3-3s, 90th minute winners, a red card in the 12th minute, my keeper saving two penalties in extra time and then conceding from open play immediately after. My notes app from this period is just tactical tweaks and the word FRAUD appearing in capitals at random intervals for no clear reason.
Overall record was mine across those years. Better league finishes, knocked him out of cups, had the upper hand more often than not.
But then year 11 happened and I need to talk about Marco Rose.
Nobody invited this man to Spain. Nobody asked for him. He just showed up at Sevilla out of nowhere like a weather event and spent one single season absolutely humiliating everyone in the league. Finished above both me and Slot. Won La Liga. Beat me 4-1 at home. Beat Slot 3-0 away. Just came in, made complete fools of us both, won the title and then left for some job in Turkey the following summer like nothing happened. Gone as fast as he arrived.
Me and Slot both finished that season looking at each other across the table like two people who just got pickpocketed by the same guy. I didn't even feel the usual rivalry energy for a few weeks after. Just a shared quiet humiliation. Marco Rose came to Spain, cooked both of us and disappeared into the sunset with a La Liga medal and I still think about it.
Anyway. He won the UCL in year 12 and I didn't and that was a proper dagger. Watched his players lift it and genuinely considered ending the save.
THE INTERNATIONAL DETOUR. NEITHER OF US COVERED OURSELVES IN GLORY.
This bit still makes me laugh.
Somewhere around year 14 between club jobs we both somehow ended up as international managers at the same time. He took Netherlands obviously, because of course he did. And I looked at the available jobs and saw Germany sitting there open and just started cackling. Netherlands vs Germany. The most historically loaded rivalry in international football, its like the save wrote itself.
We spent two years circling each other in qualifiers and friendlies talking a big game. Building up to what felt like an inevitable World Cup final showdown. The football gods had clearly set this up and I was ready.
World Cup comes. We're both cruising through. Quarters, both win. Semis come around and we're in different halves of the draw so we cant even meet until the final.
I lost my semi. He lost his semi.
Neither of us made the final.
We both got eliminated by different teams in the same round without even playing each other and I think that is the most FM thing that has ever happened to me in my entire life. The save spent two years building to a World Cup final between us and then just went nah and knocked us both out separately. Like Spain all over again except this time there was no Marco Rose to blame, just our own individual inadequacy on the biggest stage. I went back to club football with my tail between my legs and im fairly sure he did too. Never spoke of it again.
YEARS 14 TO 18. GERMANY. THE FRAUD GETS NERVOUS
Back to clubs. He took Bayern, I took Dortmund, we moved to Germany like two old men who genuinely couldn't let it go.
This period was mostly mine. Bundesliga in year 15 felt clean and deserved. Knocked him out the DFB-Pokal two seasons running. UCL semi in year 16 we beat him on away goals after two absolutely mental legs and that night felt like proper justice.
Then year 17 broke my heart. Final day, title race, needed a win at home. Lost 1-0 to a team with absolutely nothing to play for. Bayern won their game. He took the title by one point and his end of season interview had something about consistency being what separates real managers and I wanted to put my fist through my monitor.
He left Bayern after year 18 and I thought the save was done honestly. Started winding down. Won one more Bundesliga just to feel clean about the whole Germany chapter.
Then the notification came through.
Arne Slot. New job. Inter Milan.
I laughed for a solid ten seconds. Then applied for the AC Milan job when it was available nearly mid season lol
YEARS 19 TO 20. ITALY. THE END
One last chapter neither of us had planned.
Milan derby games in year 19 were almost respectful by our standards. Split the league games, I finished above him in Serie A. You could see it in his tactics, rotating more, giving young players time, something was just different. He was deep into his 60s in game at this point and id been following this man since I was a young unemployed manager sitting at a Spurs laptop wondering where it all went wrong.
Year 20. UCL run. Cruised the groups, knocked out a couple decent sides, just kept moving forward. Wasn't really thinking about the bracket too hard.
Quarters. Semis. Final.
Looked at who I was playing.
Inter Milan.
Him. One more time. And I still didn't know what I know now, just thought it was another final against a man id spent half my life chasing across five countries.
We won 3-1. Wasn't close at all. He had no answers for anything we did, the press killed them all night, and the third goal was a 25 yard strike that went in off the post and honestly felt like the game giving me a little nod. Watched the full trophy presentation without skipping a single second.
Then the news appeared.
Arne Slot has retired from management.
His last ever game in football was a Champions League final. He didn't announce it???. I only found out after I'd already lifted the trophy and done the full celebration.
Sat with that for a while.
Twenty game years. Five countries. Spurs, God forgive me and may they be relegated swiftly. One season in Spain where Marco Rose showed up out of nowhere and humiliated both of us before vanishing to Turkey like a ghost. An international detour where me and the fraud both lost our World Cup semis without even playing each other. One bald Dutch man who never once made it easy and spent two decades being completely wrong about who the real fraud was.
He's gone. The save is done.
I can finally watch the sunrise on a grateful and peaceful universe.
****
TL;DR: followed arne slot across the world for 20 game years, marco rose showed up in spain for literally one season cooked us both and left, took germany while he had netherlands at the world cup and we both lost our semis without playing each other, beat him in his final ever game without knowing it was his last, he retired after the CL final, i am free*