The Greatest Manager of All time

After Swansea scored, Ray Kennedy lowered his head. Because Hive Stadium was so small, he could hear the abuse coming from the fans behind him.

And it was not just one person. It was a whole group of them.

Bees fans.

"Kennedy, why the fuck haven't you resigned yet?"

"Can you really take the club's money and still sleep at night?"

"You should've died ages ago! Why drag the Bees down with you?"

"Kennedy, hurry up and go home! Your wife's getting fucked senseless right now!"

"To be shameless to this extent, you really are one of a kind!"

"Piss off back to Swansea! Stop ruining Barnet!"

All kinds of vicious, rude, and humiliating abuse rang out without pause.

Even Lynn could hear it from the away dugout.

Lynn remained unmoved. At that moment, he had no desire to kick the man while he was down.

Because he suddenly remembered that he, too, had once been treated almost this cruelly by all kinds of people in English football.

And he could not even imagine how Ray Kennedy felt right now.

How long had this been going on?

One match?

Two matches?

Ten matches?

Months?

Lynn could not imagine it.

Ray Kennedy rushed out of the dugout and went to the touchline, roaring at his players.

"Show some fight! Go at them! Otherwise, all of you will be playing in the Conference next season!"

He warned the players on the pitch with a fierce voice and expression, but it had little effect.

The players did not even want to look at him.

When Ray Kennedy returned to the dugout, the fans behind him mocked him even more heavily.

"Oh, Kennedy's gone to shout again!"

"He's complaining for no bloody reason again!"

"As long as he pisses off, the problem is solved. Why keep blaming everyone else?"

Hearing that ridicule, Ray Kennedy felt the nerves in his mind stretch to their breaking point. The negative emotions he had been suppressing inside were almost at their limit too. Everything, all of it, everything he had endured, was now on the edge of collapse and eruption.

There was only one reason he had kept clinging to this position.

He did not want to lose his job.

He was not a famous manager. He was not a top coach who earned millions a year. If he resigned by himself, the club would save a large sum of money. They would not need to compensate his contract or pay him a termination fee.

And he had a family to support. Naturally, he could not afford to be unemployed.

That was why he stayed in the manager's seat. Even if everyone disliked him, even if everyone wished he would just get out, he still insisted on staying.

On the pitch, the match between Swansea and Barnet continued.

It looked like a fight between a lion and a sheep. There was no suspense at all.

Even sixteen-year-old Cristiano Ronaldo was able to gain the upper hand against Barnet's twenty-four-year-old left-back King.

Cristiano Ronaldo showed off his footwork. He could dribble freely across the pitch and run wherever he liked. Barnet's defending was simply terrible!

In the 39th minute, after Cristiano Ronaldo beat King down the wing for the third time, he sent in a cross. Everyone in the stadium saw Villa arrive at the far post and poke the ball into the net!

At that moment, the boos inside Hive Stadium shook the sky!

The fans were about to lose their minds.

With this kind of performance, it would be strange if Barnet did not go to hell!

English professional football had only four levels.

The Third Division was the lowest, while the Premier League was the highest.

In other words, below the Third Division, the Conference, regional leagues, county leagues, and so on were not fully professional leagues. Some were semi-professional, while others were completely amateur.

How many levels were there in English football?

Twenty-four!

Only four were fully professional!

The remaining twenty levels were not fully professional, but they were all closely connected, including with the four professional divisions. In theory, that meant even a club from the twenty-fourth tier might one day fight its way up to the Premier League!

Of course, something like that was almost impossible.

Dropping from the Third Division into the Football Conference, also known as non-league football, was the dividing line between professional and non-professional football.

If the fifth tier was described as hell, then this hell had twenty layers!

If Barnet failed to beat Swansea at home today, they would basically be going down to hell.

After Villa scored, an emotional fan behind Ray Kennedy tried to climb down from the stand and rush onto the pitch. What he intended to do, nobody knew, because security stopped him and dragged him away.

It looked like he had been trying to do something to Ray Kennedy, because even while being taken away, he kept hurling abuse at him.

Lynn, his coaching staff, and the players on Swansea's bench all curiously leaned out and looked toward the home dugout. They thought the little farce was over once the fan was escorted away, but they never expected an even bigger farce to unfold!

Ray Kennedy suddenly stood up.

He did not walk toward the touchline. Instead, he stepped out of the dugout and turned to face the stands. His eyes were red, not from weakness such as grief or hurt, but from rage!

His face flushed, veins bulging on his forehead, he raised both hands toward all the Bees fans in the stand.

Then he gave them the middle finger!

After that, he roared at the fans in the stands.

"You bastards! Sons of bitches! If you're so fucking good, come down and manage those useless cowards on the pitch yourselves! All you do is curse, curse, curse! What else can you do besides that? Fuck your whole families! Fuck every woman in your families! You think I like managing this shit team? I'm done! I'm fucking done!"

Ray Kennedy had clearly lost his mind.

Giving the fans the middle finger alone was already a mortal sin, but what he did next stunned everyone.

He took off his trousers.

Then, facing the home dugout, the seat he had been sitting in just one minute ago, he started urinating!

And while pissing, he continued provoking the Bees fans.

"Whoever loves that garbage seat can sit there! Barnet deserve to be relegated with fans like you! Relegated! Relegated! Fuck Barnet!"

When he finished, it seemed he had even wet his hand, but he did not care. He pulled up his trousers, fastened his belt, and walked toward the players' tunnel without looking back.

Everyone around him was stunned.

Even Lynn had his mouth open, his head tilted as he leaned out to watch.

After a long moment, some fans in the stands finally reacted. They immediately roared, rushed down from the stand, and chased into the players' tunnel. Lynn was startled and shrank back. He really was afraid that large-scale fan unrest might break out inside the stadium. That would not be a joke. Leaving himself aside, what if Swansea's players, on or off the pitch, were injured in the chaos?

This was not alarmist thinking.

But when he saw the fans were charging after Ray Kennedy, he relaxed slightly. Sitting properly again, Lynn thought about it carefully. There had probably been around thirty nimble fans who climbed over the stand and rushed into the players' tunnel.

Ray Kennedy, good luck!

Emlyn Hughes sat beside Lynn. Only a year ago, Swansea's coaching staff had still been serving Ray Kennedy as manager. No matter what, there had once been a working relationship between them.

Hughes stared blankly and muttered, "Ray's gone mad!"

Lynn scratched his head and said, "He's probably just reached the limit of what he can take. Uh, looking at it that way, he is a little pitiful."

Hughes shook his head and let out a long sigh, filled with endless emotion.

He remembered how, ten months ago, Lynn had offered Ray Kennedy the chance to stay as his assistant.

Unfortunately, Kennedy had refused.

Ten months later, not only had Kennedy done something insane, he was now being chased and beaten by his own fans!

Hive Stadium was filled with boos and angry denunciations of Ray Kennedy.

Even though fans in other stands could not clearly see what Kennedy had done, the news quickly spread through the stadium like a plague.

Because Barnet's manager had suddenly run off, and more than thirty fans had charged down from the stands and chased into the players' tunnel, the refereeing team could not pretend nothing had happened.

So the referee suspended the match. First, he questioned Barnet's staff: could stadium safety and match safety still be guaranteed?

Inside the players' tunnel, Ray Kennedy, under the protection of security guards, was still being chased and beaten by more than thirty fans. They fought all the way from the tunnel to the car park. The surveillance footage faithfully recorded everything, and after the match, security staff secretly sold it to Fleet Street, making themselves a tidy profit.

That was a story for later. For now, Barnet's staff immediately responded to the referee: safety was not a problem!

Barnet chairman Anthony Kleanthous, the same chairman who had brought in three Swansea rejects and Ray Kennedy at zero transfer cost, and had even mocked Lynn's "generosity" at the time, now regretted everything so deeply his intestines practically turned green.

He had not even come to the stadium today to watch the match in person. Instead, he hid at home alone.

He was afraid of the media.

Afraid of the fans.

But when he saw Ray Kennedy urinating at the dugout on the television broadcast, he stood up in a fury and screamed inside his room, "Kennedy, you fucking bastard!"

Good. He no longer needed to struggle over whether he would have to pay compensation if he sacked Kennedy.

Ray Kennedy had made the decision for him.

He had quit!

Insulting the fans, giving them the middle finger, and pissing on the dugout!

Ray Kennedy probably did not simply want to stop being Barnet manager. He might as well have decided to retire altogether!

As Anthony Kleanthous raged at home, club staff called his mobile phone.

"Hello!"

"Chairman, what do we do now? The referees are asking whether the match can continue. If it can't, we'll be awarded a 0–3 defeat to Swansea!"

"Why can't it continue? Kennedy ran away. Does missing one manager mean the match can't go on? Continue the match! Fuck!"

Anthony Kleanthous, at least at this moment, could still think clearly about one key issue.

If the match was abandoned and Barnet were awarded a home defeat, the furious Bees fans would have more than enough reason to demand refunds!

Barnet's relegation next season was basically certain now. Their operating income would definitely plunge.

They could not let the fans cause a ticket-refund incident too.

Even though whether the match continued or not no longer mattered much.

Barnet were doomed to lose!

Inside Hive Stadium, Swansea's starting players had already gathered by the touchline, drinking water, chatting, or standing with hands on hips as they waited to see how the situation developed.

Barnet's starting players had returned to the bench and sat down. They were utterly lost, feeling as if this day had become absurd beyond belief.

No.

This whole season had been an absurd journey for Barnet!

Lynn stood beside the referees, paying attention to the development of the situation.

Inside this noisy stadium, where the piercing boos never stopped, Lynn almost wondered if he was dreaming.

This season, he had bragged, cursed, and fought…

But he really had never urinated in public!

Ray Kennedy's piss seemed to have stunned everyone senseless.

Lynn even felt some sympathy for Ray Kennedy now. Some managers had heart attacks on the pitch. Some became meme-worthy expression machines. Some erupted like wild beasts. But this was the first time Lynn had ever seen someone behave like Ray Kennedy.

Even if Ray had come drunk to manage the match, Lynn might not have found it so bizarre.

After the refereeing team reached a conclusion, the referee said to Lynn, "The match will continue as normal."

Lynn nodded, turned toward the players resting nearby, and clapped his hands.

"All right, everyone, focus. The match is about to resume."

Lynn at least had something to do. After giving his instructions, he returned to the bench and sat down.

But when the referee turned to find someone from Barnet, he suddenly did not know who to inform that the match was resuming. The referees were also in a difficult position. They did not know whether officiating this match today was lucky or unlucky.

Some fans had already started protesting the match, hoping the club would refund their tickets.

But the players on both teams would not care about the fans' feelings. Swansea's players simply did not care; deep down, they even felt a dark pleasure, as if they were watching a good show.

Barnet's players were numb. A disastrous season had reached this point and turned into a complete farce.

The match resumed.

The players from both teams had rested for a while. After they ran around and warmed up again, the first half ended!

Lynn felt as if his head was about to explode!

From the moment he had stepped into Hive Stadium, the boos had never stopped ringing in his ears. And after Swansea scored, they only became louder!

Hive Stadium really was about to turn into a beehive!

Lynn could not take it anymore. The moment the referee blew the whistle to end the first half, he slipped into the players' tunnel.

He had barely taken two steps when he saw Ray Kennedy sitting in a lounge with his hands covering his head. Medical staff were bandaging the wound on his scalp. The blood running down his cheek proved he had just been attacked by fans.

Lynn stood by the door, and Kennedy noticed him.

Seeing Lynn, Kennedy had completely calmed down by now. His blood-stained face looked frightening, but then he did something else that shocked Lynn.

Ray Kennedy suddenly cried!

With tears streaming down his face, he accused Lynn.

"It's all your fault! Everything is your fault! If you hadn't bought Swansea, I would still be Swansea's manager! The Swansea team sitting top of the table right now should have been led by me! I wouldn't be humiliated by the fans over and over again! I wouldn't be the clown in the newspapers! All your honors should have been mine! Mine!

"It's all your fault! Waaah… it's all your fault! Why did you have to appear? Why did you have to ruin my life? Why? Why? Waaah…"

Lynn stared at the old man weeping bitterly, his eyes suddenly filled with pity.

He took a step back.

Then he turned and walked toward the dressing room.