The Greatest Manager of All time

April 25, early morning. The sky over Swansea was overcast, as if the storm clouds from the Celtic Sea a few days earlier had been blown into the city by the northwesterly wind.

The moment Oliver Cromwell opened his eyes, he jumped out of bed and went straight to his bedroom window. With a smile on his face, he pulled the curtains open with both hands. He had expected a bright, cloudless day, sunshine pouring over everything, only to find the sky gray and heavy, as though it might start raining at any moment.

He frowned slightly and muttered to himself, "How is it cloudy today? That's ridiculous."

Fine. Today was Oliver Cromwell's eighteenth birthday, so apparently cloudy weather was "ridiculous" in his eyes.

He turned on the speakers in his room, and Oasis' Fade Away filled the air.

Cromwell went into the bathroom, singing along with Oasis while he showered.

After he came out refreshed and changed his clothes, he went downstairs and saw a cake sitting on the table. There was a card on top of it.

It read:

Dear Oliver, happy birthday. My forever-beloved little brother has become an adult now, so remember to take even better care of your big sister.

Signed: Your Great Elder Sister.

There was also a postscript:

Don't come into my room and disturb my sleep. Remember to come home for lunch.

Cromwell looked up toward Jennifer Cromwell's room upstairs. He had not even known his sister had come home last night, much less that she had prepared a cake for him. She should have been staying in her university dorm.

Cromwell smiled, feeling genuinely touched.

Then he took one bite of the cake that had sat out all night and gone stiff, made a disgusted face, and tossed it straight into the trash.

The cake was not big anyway, only about a pound.

He knew his sister avoided sweet food, and he himself hardly touched sweets these days, so no one would eat a hardened cake like this. Throwing it away was not much of a waste.

Cromwell cooked himself a healthy, nutritious breakfast in the kitchen, then smiled and said to himself, "Eighteen years old. Happy birthday, Oliver."

He happily finished breakfast, and just as he was about to head out, there was movement on the second floor. Jennifer Cromwell, wearing pajamas and scratching her messy hair, stood sleepily on the landing and looked down at the living room.

Then she suddenly saw the cake sitting in the trash and screamed, "Oliver, you bastard! I bought you a birthday cake, and you actually threw it away!"

Oliver Cromwell ran toward the front door without even looking back.

"I took a bite. Thanks for the cake, even though it tasted awful!"

"When I turned eighteen, you forgot my birthday, and now you have the nerve to be picky?"

"Jen, I have training. Bye. I'll be back for lunch, so remember to make me something good."

"When you come back, I'm beating you up first!"

Bang.

The door opened and closed. Cromwell left with his backpack, pulled his motorcycle out from the little shed, got on, started the engine, and rode off.

Neighbors who had gotten up early saw Cromwell riding away from home and greeted him one after another.

"Oliver, work hard again today!"

"Oliver, if you come back late tonight, keep it down!"

"Oliver, you look even more handsome today!"

"Oliver, my son's stuck on a level in his game. When are you coming over to teach him?"

Cromwell always smiled at these colorful neighbors. He had always been a cheerful, lively big boy and was well liked by everyone. Today, he waved back at them with extra flair.

Fifteen minutes later, when he arrived at the club's training ground on his motorcycle, he was stunned in the parking lot.

As the team captain, although he did not drive a car, he still had a spot in the club parking area.

A team might only officially assign parking spaces to players who owned cars, but someone like Cromwell, as the captain, basically had a fixed place where he parked his motorcycle.

This was also one of those unspoken dressing-room rules. From small things like parking spaces, seats on the team bus, locker placement in the dressing room, to bigger things like priority over gym equipment, younger players, reserves, and youth team members were all expected to give way to first-team regulars.

But today, Cromwell found six different motorcycles parked in the space where he usually left his bike.

Clearly, he would have to park somewhere else.

Just then, Lynn also drove into the club. He slowed down in the parking lot and saw Cromwell struggling with where to leave his motorcycle. Lynn stopped the car, lowered the window, leaned out, and asked, "What's wrong?"

Cromwell took off his helmet, helplessly pointed at the space now occupied by several motorcycles, and said, "No idea whose bikes are parked there."

Lynn glanced at them and frowned. "Ask later. If they don't belong to club staff, we'll question security. These are clearly internal parking spaces. How can they just let people park anywhere? For now, find somewhere else. Everyone recognizes your bike anyway. Nothing will happen to it."

Cromwell did not really mind. After all, he did not need to use something like a fixed parking spot to display his authority as captain.

After parking his motorcycle, Cromwell went into the dressing room to change into his training gear.

He saw many of his teammates had already arrived, which surprised him a little. Normally, at this hour, there would not be many people in the dressing room.

He heard Ibrahimović, Charisteas, James Cook, and a few others discussing motorcycles.

"I think it's pretty good. I'll buy a pair of sunglasses today. It'd be even better if there was a beautiful woman hugging me from behind," Ibrahimović said smugly.

James Cook still sounded shaken. "On the way here this morning, a dog suddenly ran onto the pavement in front of me. I slammed the brakes so hard I nearly sent myself flying."

"If you're new to it, ride slower," Charisteas reminded him.

James Cook immediately nodded, clearly agreeing from the bottom of his heart.

Cromwell roughly understood who had taken his parking space.

It was these teammates who used to walk to the club.

He smiled casually and said, "Then we can all go out together in the future. No need to borrow anyone's car. That's great."

As soon as he finished speaking, those teammates only nodded lightly at him. Then they each turned back to their lockers to change clothes, greeted one another briefly, and left the dressing room for the training pitch.

Cromwell felt something strange in his chest.

He reflected on himself.

'Was what I said just now that out of place?'

It felt a bit like he had tried to join in and been ignored.

He shook his head and did not think too much about it, then went out to the training pitch.

Before training began, Lynn asked who owned the motorcycles in the parking lot. Ibrahimović and several other players raised their hands.

Lynn casually said, "The club has reserved spaces for you. From now on, park your bikes in your own spots so management stays organized."

Training officially began.

Everything looked so normal, just like countless training days they had repeated before.

But when Cromwell again suggested that everyone compete with each other during training, his teammates did not respond enthusiastically.

Instead, they looked at him with the sort of eyes one might use on someone who still had not grown up, as if saying, "Stop messing around. We're already tired of your boring little games."

Cromwell began to feel a little down.

Then, during the fifteen-minute practice match before morning training ended, Cromwell was defending when he had physical contact with Villa. Villa suddenly snapped at him as though he had been provoked.

"Oliver, are you trying to injure me? If you don't understand the correct way to make a challenge, then go learn it properly first!"

Cromwell argued back, "My challenge just now wasn't even that heavy!"

"But you fouled me!"

"Yeah, I fouled you. Does football not have fouls? But I didn't mean anything by it!"

"Not meaning anything doesn't mean you can't hurt someone!"

Other teammates immediately stepped forward and separated them.

Lynn, who had been overseeing the practice match from the sideline, could not quite understand what was happening.

He had no choice but to call Cromwell and Villa over. Frowning, he asked, "Do you two have a problem with each other?"

Cromwell shook his head. Villa also shook his head.

Lynn said, "You both work hard in training, so a few little clashes are inevitable. I hope you can understand and tolerate each other. Teammates don't act with malice toward each other."

Villa did not look at Cromwell and said, somewhat reluctantly, "Boss, I understand. I shouldn't have lost my temper. I was just worried I might get injured."

Before Lynn could speak, Cromwell followed up. "I was also at fault just now. My technique in the challenge really wasn't standard. I'll pay attention in the future."

What else could Lynn say?

He sent the two back onto the pitch.

When training ended at noon, no one spoke to Cromwell. Even his best friend in the team, James Cook, left the dressing room together with Ibrahimović and the others. Several players then rode their motorcycles out of the club together, apparently heading to a restaurant for lunch.

When Cromwell arrived alone in the parking lot, they had just left. Watching their backs disappear along with the sound of their motorcycles, Cromwell suddenly felt unbearably lost.

He did not know what he had done wrong. The friends who had once been so close to him now seemed to treat him like he was invisible.

So when he returned home at noon and faced his sister, who had happily cooked an entire table of food for him herself, he still seemed distracted. Because of this, Her Great Elder Sister rewarded him with several eye-rolls and hurt, resentful looks.

Cromwell kept reflecting.

'Did I do something over the line recently?'

'Did I lose my memory or something?'

The day before yesterday, the team had beaten Brighton, and after they returned, everyone had been laughing and celebrating the title. Yesterday was a rest day. He had stayed home the entire day, slept properly, done some simple indoor exercise, watched a movie to relax, and today he had gone to the club for training.

Yet suddenly, everything felt completely different!

He did not know why his teammates seemed to be ignoring him, or rather, treating him in a way completely unlike before.

After resting briefly at noon, Cromwell still brought his usual enthusiasm when he returned for afternoon training. But what had happened in the morning happened again. Everyone seemed to dislike him. Yes, Cromwell felt it was dislike. It was as if he were a child who refused to grow up. No one responded to what he said, and the suggestions he made were ignored.

He was unhappy.

Deeply unhappy.

And he did not bury it inside.

After afternoon training ended, he stopped everyone in the dressing room.

With a bang, he shut the dressing-room door.

Then he stood by the door and faced everyone. The players stopped what they were doing and all turned to look at Cromwell.

Seeing their expressionless faces, Cromwell felt terrible.

He said to them, "Guys, I don't know how I offended you. Maybe I really did something that broke some sacred law, but if you're going to sentence me to death, you should at least tell me what crime I committed. If I was wrong, I'll apologize. Sincerely. I don't like things being like this. If you're unhappy with me, please tell me. Let's speak openly and make things clear."

The dressing room was silent.

After about ten seconds, Cromwell looked around at everyone. Many of them avoided his eyes, including James Cook.

Cromwell gave a self-mocking smile, and for a moment, he even began to doubt himself.

'Am I really that much of a failure as a person?'

At that moment, Ibrahimović walked out and headed straight toward him. He looked at Cromwell solemnly and said, "Oliver, you want to know the reason?"

Cromwell nodded bitterly and said in a low voice, "Of course. I have to know!"

"Good. Go shower, change, and come with us. We'll let you know the reason!"

Ibrahimović's cold expression was genuinely intimidating. Cromwell even had the illusion that he had really done something unforgivable, something that enraged both gods and men.

He quickly went to shower. By the time he had changed, everyone had already packed up. Then they all went to the parking lot together.

Ibrahimović and the others got on their motorcycles. When Cromwell also got onto his motorcycle and put on his helmet, Ibrahimović gestured to him.

Follow us!

Cromwell's expression was grave as he rode after Ibrahimović, who was leading the way.

Once they were on the road, the Swansea convoy was actually a little frightening.

Eight motorcycles and five cars. Apart from Ibrahimović and Cromwell's motorcycles, which had no passengers, every other motorcycle carried someone on the back. The five cars were also full.

Cromwell did not know that the last car at the back of this mixed convoy was Lynn's Bentley. Lynn was driving, Mo Yuan was in the passenger seat, and Emlyn Hughes and Tony Benn sat in the back.

Cromwell was led by Ibrahimović to the back streets of the Mansel district, the area he knew best. There were plenty of entertainment venues here, and most of them were Taylor family businesses.

Ibrahimović stopped at the entrance of one entertainment venue. By this point, Cromwell already sensed that something was strange.

Because not only had his teammates come, the coaches and several club staff had also come!

He parked his motorcycle by the entrance. Just after taking off his helmet, he saw Ibrahimović standing at the door of a nightclub called 411.

In American slang, "411" meant "what's the info?" and it had a similar meaning in the Welsh capital, Cardiff.

In Cromwell's understanding of the Mansel district, and even all of Swansea, 411 Night Club was probably the best nightclub in the entire city.

He had never once been inside, because the entrance fee was not cheap.

Thirty-five pounds!

After becoming a full-time footballer, he generally had no time or energy for places like this anyway.

Suddenly, he tilted his head and laughed.

"So after all this, you've been messing with me the whole day? You wanted to surprise me?"