It was one of those summer mornings when the air over Manchester was heavy with questions, worries, and endless debates about the direction of their women’s team. Even the grey clouds seemed to lean in to listen to the rumours swirling outside the Joie Stadium, where Manchester City’s top brass had gathered behind thick glass doors to confirm what insiders had been whispering for weeks. The meeting was hushed but serious. This was no small decision. This was about the future of a team that had come so close to glory before watching it all slip through their fingers in the most painful way possible. They had wanted titles, they had wanted European football, and most of all, they had wanted stability. But last season had been chaos. Gareth Taylor’s sacking in March, Nick Cushing’s interim stint, the final day heartbreak when they lost the title to Chelsea, the disastrous injury list, and that single-point failure that meant no Champions League. The players felt it. The fans felt it even more. A once-proud project seemed to be teetering on the edge of confusion. In those tense rooms, papers were signed, promises were made, and eyes were set on a new man for the job: Andrée Jeglertz.
The news didn’t take long to spread. At first, it was a quiet leak. A few trusted journalists were told in hushed phone calls, tapping out cryptic tweets about “advanced negotiations” and “international pedigree.” Then the BBC confirmed it: Denmark boss Andrée Jeglertz would take over as Manchester City Women’s head coach after Euro 2025. It was a bold choice, but the club insisted it was the right one. He had signed a contract running all the way to 2029, a long-term bet that said everything about how City wanted to do things differently. They didn’t want just a stopgap. They didn’t want another lost season. They wanted a builder, a teacher, someone who had seen success and pain and learned from both. Jeglertz, 53, wasn’t a household name for many in England, but he was respected where it mattered.
He was Swedish, and though his playing career had been modest—a few appearances for Sweden’s Under-21 side, nothing that made him famous—it was in coaching that he’d made his name. His CV had weight behind it, real silverware. People still remembered 2004, when he guided Umeå IK to the UEFA Women’s Cup title, the competition that would later become the Champions League. It had been a masterclass in coaching, turning talent into champions. His players spoke about his attention to detail, his calm confidence, and the way he believed in them even when results looked bad. After that club success, he’d gone into international football, taking over Finland’s women’s national team in 2010. He hadn’t just picked easy jobs. Finland had been a developing side, eager to grow, and Jeglertz had brought structure, belief, and a touch of the tactical flexibility that Swedish coaches were known for.
He’d seen a lot since then. By the time Denmark came calling after the 2023 World Cup, he was a seasoned hand, not easily rattled by politics or setbacks. When he took over the Danes, it wasn’t a sure thing they’d make the Euros, but he steered them there, building a side capable of battling in a tough Group C with Germany, Poland, and Sweden themselves. His appointment by Manchester City wasn’t just about that résumé. It was about the vision he sold the club’s hierarchy. They were still smarting from last season’s collapse. It wasn’t only that they’d lost the title on the final day to Chelsea. It was that it felt like they had wasted a golden chance. They had let injuries, tactical rigidity, and bad luck conspire to drag them from first place to fourth. Missing the Champions League by one point stung even worse.
The squad was talented. No one denied that. There were England internationals, creative talents, experienced leaders. But something was broken in the system. City’s bosses wanted someone who would fix it without ripping everything apart. They didn’t want a manager who’d declare a “revolution” that would take five years and alienate the players. They wanted evolution. And that’s exactly what Jeglertz promised.
When they unveiled him in front of the cameras, he looked calm, serious, but with a spark of excitement. His first words were deliberate: “Manchester City is one of the biggest clubs in the world. There is so much talent in this group. One of my key things is to continue the job that’s been done and take it to the next level.” It was a smart move, a nod to Gareth Taylor’s work, even if Taylor had been sacked. Jeglertz wasn’t coming in to declare everything before him worthless. He wanted continuity, but improvement. He spoke of winning. He spoke of developing players. And he spoke of wanting them to get better every day.
The players listened carefully. For some of them, it was déjà vu. They’d heard promises before. But this felt a little different. Jeglertz had the calm of a man who’d rebuilt before. Who knew he wouldn’t have it easy. City’s squad was both star-studded and vulnerable. Last season’s injury crisis had been a nightmare: ACL tears, muscular problems, knock-on effects of a packed calendar. Some of their brightest hopes had spent months on crutches or watching from the bench, powerless as the team’s title dreams evaporated.
Jeglertz didn’t promise magic solutions. But he did promise a plan. He wanted to rethink their training approach, reduce injuries, make sure players were fresh in April and May when the title was won or lost. He also wanted them to play “attractive and winning football.” It was a phrase the board loved. The fans, too. City didn’t want to bunker down and scrap for 1-0 wins. They wanted to dominate games, dictate tempo, use their technically gifted players in a system that let them shine. Jeglertz’s background with Umeå and the Nordic national teams suggested he could do that. His teams passed well, pressed with intelligence, adapted to opponents without losing their own style.
City’s sporting director spoke glowingly about the decision. Behind closed doors, they had worried that after Gareth Taylor’s sacking they might struggle to attract a top-level replacement. Some of their other targets had big demands. Others were wary of the pressure. But Jeglertz had been willing to talk immediately. He hadn’t seen City’s troubles as a warning sign. He saw them as a challenge. A place to prove himself again in a big European league.
The players were split. Some were nervous about another big change. This would be their third manager in less than a year, counting Nick Cushing’s interim role. Continuity had been lost. Training ground whispers said a few veterans were worried about their place under a new regime. Would Jeglertz favour youth? Would he want to bring in his own signings? But others were excited. They wanted new ideas. They wanted someone who wouldn’t accept excuses. One player was overheard saying: “At least he’s got a plan. That’s more than we had at times last year.”
In the media, the reaction was mixed at first. Some pointed to Jeglertz’s lack of English club experience. Would he understand the unique intensity of the Women’s Super League? The way you could go from playing Bristol City one week to Chelsea or Arsenal the next, all in front of sold-out crowds and TV cameras? But others pointed to his European pedigree. Umeå’s Champions League title. His experience with multiple national teams. His understanding of developing players in systems that didn’t have bottomless budgets. They argued he was the perfect man to maximise City’s existing squad without begging the board for a dozen new signings.
And so it began. As the announcement was made official, Jeglertz went to work immediately behind the scenes. Though he wouldn’t formally take charge until after Euro 2025, he began having calls with City’s staff, discussing pre-season plans, medical protocols, recruitment strategy. He watched videos of every game from last season, making notes. He asked for injury reports. He wanted to know what went wrong. Not just the headlines about injuries, but the details. Which sessions were too intense? Which players were overworked? Why did the team fail to kill games off even when they dominated possession?
Meanwhile, City’s board prepared to back him. They had learned from last year. Injuries had killed their season because the squad was too thin. So they began drawing up transfer lists with Jeglertz’s input. They weren’t going to spend recklessly, but they knew they needed reinforcements. A new centre-back. Another midfielder who could control tempo. A winger with pace who could stretch defences. Even a goalkeeper option to ensure they had depth in every position. Jeglertz didn’t demand superstars. He wanted the right players.
Fans had their say, too. Social media was a storm of opinions. Some thought the appointment was a gamble. Others were cautiously optimistic. A few posted highlight reels from Umeå’s 2004 triumph, hoping history would repeat itself. City’s ultras, famous for their loyalty, promised to back him—if he delivered. There was no patience for another wasted season. They wanted the title back. They wanted Champions League football. They wanted to beat Chelsea on the final day instead of watching them lift the trophy.
Through all of this, Jeglertz stayed calm. Those who knew him said he was unflappable. He’d dealt with football associations that moved slowly. He’d navigated national team politics. He’d seen players crying after brutal defeats. He wasn’t going to panic because a few journalists questioned him or a couple of fans doubted him. He had signed until 2029. He was in this for the long term.
The Euro 2025 tournament loomed large. Denmark’s Group C assignment was no joke: Germany, Poland, Sweden. The Danish FA hoped Jeglertz would give them one last strong campaign before heading to Manchester full-time. He didn’t promise miracles but vowed Denmark would be tough to beat. City’s management watched those games nervously, hoping he wouldn’t get injured by the stress before he even started in Manchester. When he finally arrived in Manchester after the Euros, he was greeted by a club eager for his vision. He met the players face-to-face. He outlined his philosophy: movement, possession, pressing as a unit, defensive organisation that didn’t just depend on the back four. He didn’t talk down to them. He challenged them. He asked them what they wanted to improve. He said: “If you don’t want to get better every day, this isn’t the club for you.”
The first training sessions were intense but thoughtful. He tried new drills. He pushed them hard but monitored their fitness. He spoke with medical staff daily. He didn’t want to see last season’s injury list repeated. Behind the scenes, he worked on trust. Some players had been scarred by last season’s turmoil. He promised them clarity. No favourites, no cryptic messages in the press. If you were good enough, you played. If you weren’t, you worked until you were.
For Manchester City, it felt like the start of something new. Not a revolution with fireworks and slogans, but a project grounded in calm authority. Jeglertz was not a showman. He didn’t do grand gestures or viral soundbites. But he understood football. He understood players. He understood winning. And in Manchester, that was enough to give people hope that this time, maybe, they’d get it right. By the time the new Women’s Super League season began, the talk around the Joie Stadium had changed. Pessimism gave way to cautious belief. Jeglertz was seen walking the touchline with quiet focus, issuing instructions, encouraging young players, challenging veterans to set the standard
