27 June 2019. The Kornutyak household, near Minaj, Ukraine.
Personae dramatis: Volodymar Kornutyak; Mrs Kornutyak
MRS K.: You seem sure that the move to MFC Mykolaiv would be right for you.
KORNUTYAK: At my age, a move up from third tier to second is rare and not to be sneezed at.
MRS K.: Will you get to play though? I mean you’re 35. You’re not what you were.
KORNUTYAK: I didn’t hear you complain too much last night.
MRS K.: No, but they don’t do that on the football field. Although they might get bigger crowds if they did.
KORNUTYAK: The Gaffer there — Pasha — seems keen to bring me in. Says he’s needs leaders on the pitch. Keeps telling me I’ve got the right qualities for the ‘kind of football he wants us to play’.
MRS K.: What did he mean by that? Unimaginative, slow-paced, football that doesn’t involve heading?
KORNUTYAK: Thanks, love. No, you’re right. We should call the whole thing off. Call the kids in and I’ll tell them Mum’s decided we’re not moving to the seaside. After all, it’s not as if we could do with the bonuses, is it?
MRS K.: What bonuses are those?
KORNUTYAK: 3% of annual wage for each clean sheet. With my leadership, there will of course be lots of those. I might not be able to get there myself, but I can tell the youngsters which spaces to get into. Plus an extra third of wages if we stay up. I’d been thinking, we could have a nice holiday: go and see your sister. But no, you’re right, I’m in decline.
MRS K.: Oh, I don’t know, Volo. 35’s nothing these days. And you train well, remember. And you’d be stepping up just the one level.
KORNUTYAK: I’ll sign the contract in the morning, then.