Rykers journey – A tale of blocked shots, painkillers and shin pads


For some, the expectation of managing a club is too much. For others, it’s the fans expectations that cause a coach to crumble. Me? I didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought’ – Scott Ryker


It was defintiely picturesque where I started out and it was home for a little while. And like all good stories, there’s women, many actually, I now know not all women are the same but I had to try as many as possible, you know just to make sure. There’s tragedy, many of them as well, exotic settings and a dog, and who doesn’t love dogs??

As with all good stories mine started with a woman, let’s call her Pam. I could understand why she did it, but I’d of liked a bit of a heads up really. Basically she went off with another man, but he’s not actually a man. He’s a woman that is a woman in everything but the name. He was born a female, given a female name, has tits, periods and mood swings, but identifies and dresses like a man. Pam even gave him my favourite pair of slippers as a gift the fucking nut job, but my now ex-fiancé herself identifies as a fucking George Foreman grill, it was the in thing back in those days. So the toaster left me for a lady that thinks she’s a man because, her words not mine, she’s finally found herself. Fucking hell the 2020’s were a weird time!

She also told me I wasn’t the best partner, or lover, or person in general really. Apparently, again her words not mine, I only gave a fuck about football, gear and my pals. In my defence she didn’t help with my constant sense of being a failure, my ups and downs with anxiety and being bi-polar, chuck in a bit of self-doubt as well, and you can see why we split up. But of course it’s all my fault, not the toasters.

Do you know how hard it is to make it in football? I mean even in a country such as mine, where our football is described as terrible at best, to not being able to get a job, paid or otherwise in football is just depressing man. I’m sure I’m not the first, or will be the last, to fuck it up on the pitch and then want to try my hand off it. But then, why did she have to leave me for someone that’s just as confused as I was? Thanks for being my rock and there for me! (Pam, If you’re reading this and can’t tell, I’m being sarcastic!)

Despite leaving me for a lady that thinks she’s a man, the toaster didn’t actually stop pestering me. For weeks she’d ring me, ask me if I’d got a job, which I always said no to, then she’d ask what I was up to, but then get in a hissy fit and hang up when I told her I’m balls deep in her sister (this was true twice) or that me and my best pal Robbie were sharing copious amounts of blow with 3 Honduran midgets (also true, once).

The worlds a big place, and if I couldn’t make it at home then I had to leave. But to where? Where could a nobody in football that was a shit player with mental health issues, a painkiller dependency, a drug habit and a low self esteem go? There was only 1 place that would accept me at that time.

Despite the worlds best efforts to derail the start of my career in the form of lockdowns and travel restrictions, I was able, with the help of a shady character I’ll only refer to as my agent for the time being, to be granted a work visa, something the toaster wouldn’t be able to.

My agent was a friend of a friend of a friend who’s brother was having an affair with the wife of football agent Glenn Jacobs who told me she could put me in touch with Glenn. As fate would have it he was in America brokering a deal with some MLS sides over draft picks in the Superdraft . He was in Toronto and I made my way there with my new agent / friend.

During our talk I explained my issues and what I wanted to do with my life off the pitch. He put me in touch with the chairman of a football club nearly six thousand miles away. I didn’t realise it at the time but football agents are basically just glorified salesmen. He pitched me the idea of joining this club and the way he spoke me made think I was the best manager to ever grace football and the club were the biggest club in the world. I was sold on the idea instantly. I had to get my national C licence before I could accept the job, which took a couple of days online. But the deal was agreed and I was on my way.

During the talks and even on the flight there I was lead to believe the club had been promoted to the country’s second division, and that it was just a matter of staying up that season. How wrong I was. The club were a decent sized club albeit young having only been formed in 2012. I know I should’ve done a bit of looking into them, but I was only concerned with heading out to the party capital of the world, and all the crazy things I could get up to whilst I’m there.

I’d never been to Ibiza before but you know what goes on there. I’m a bit of an 80’s nerd and heard all about Tony Pike’s hotel and the various goings on there over the years, so there was only 1 place for me to stay initially. I decided to put on my Billy big bollocks hat and proclaimed to the few patrons in the bar that afternoon that I, Scott Ryker, was the new Ibiza FC manager, and that I will be the one to stablise the team that season and lead the charge to take on the likes of Barcelona, Madrid and so on.

The customers just turned their heads and went back to the drinks or whatever, but the young lad on the bar was grinning and motioned me over. After chatting for a few minutes he said ‘Buddy, I’ve got news for you, you’re not taking over the main club in Ibiza, you’re heading to their little brother, called CD Ibiza’ I just shook my head and got my contract out and showed him. but right there in black and white were the words Scott Ryker, first team manager Club Deportivo Ibiza Islas Pitiusas (C.D Ibiza), effective 07, August, 2021

The barkeep told me that the bigger Ibizia club were doing well and had Paco Jemez in charge at that time and reminded me, in no uncertain terms that I’m no Paco Jemez! I wasn’t too downhearted, how many people get the chance to go to Ibiza and manage a football team there? Not many.

I was asked by a fan not long after I landed there how did I manage to get the job with no experience to call on, and being from the other side of the world? I tried to be honest and replied with it just happened, but he didn’t believe me. So I told him that I’m a strange, self centered egotistical maniac, who was too eager to find new things to have sex with, not just humans either, and that I went to great lengths to find the perfect place to feed my lust for that insatiable desire, and here I am in Ibiza. Fair to say I didn’t see him again after that.

That’s the start of my story and how I landed at a football team in Ibiza.


Next chapter – You always remember your first (Rykers journey – Chapter 2)

6 thoughts on “Rykers journey – A tale of blocked shots, painkillers and shin pads

  1. Pingback: You always remember your first (Rykers journey – Chapter 2) | On the Break

  2. Pingback: Es tiempo de fiesta en Ibiza (Rykers journey – chapter 3) | On the Break

  3. Pingback: The girl in the yellow dress (Rykers journey – chapter 4) | On the Break

  4. Pingback: 4AM in Ibiza (Rykers journey – chapter 5) | On the Break

  5. Pingback: Touching distance (Rykers journey – chapter 6) | On the Break

  6. Pingback: Was it all a dream? (Rykers journey – chapter 7) | On the Break

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