Player Manager - A Sports Progression Fantasy

10.

Thursday, July 3

It was the first day back in training for most of the lads. We were at BoshCard and there was a sense of both continuity and renewal. Continuity in that we were back in the old haunts. The showers, the changing rooms, Best Bistro, our mates from the credit card company. Renewal in that we were up in the big leagues against some big-name clubs and we'd made a few transfers.

I'd learned a lesson about changing too much of the squad in one go so this year it was a few out, a few in, business done early so we could focus on maximising our CA growth in pre-season while building fitness and morale. Pretty obvious, unconventional only because other clubs were stupid, and overall it felt good, it felt right, and the squad was looking exciting.

Some key players were not with us - Henri, Pascal, Youngster, and Magnus were still on their summer holidays (with my permission and encouragement). Zach was having an Independence Day Week. Dazza, Lee, and Lee (my new right back) were due to come next Monday.

I welcomed the first teamers with a very quick 'welcome back, champions!' speech, had individual chats with them while they warmed up, then took a back seat as Jude, Well In, and Spectrum broke off into small groups to do rondos and technique drills.

Watching them was motivational, but gave me a kind of restless feeling.

The motivation came from seeing green on their player profiles. Number goes up! Of course, most of the lazy bastards had been slacking since the end of last season and had lost up to five points of CA, so this was just a case of crawling back to where we'd finished. The early signs suggested we would be back to our old levels by the time of the Slovakia match, and that was encouraging.

The restlessness was harder to explain.

We finished with some five-a-side matches. It was a bit of fun before Saturday's friendly match, because on Monday the Brig and Vimsy were going to get the lads started on the serious business of getting fitness up. Running drills followed by running drills followed by a quick vomit break followed by hill running, with extra running for anyone who vomited on the hill.

I wasn't doing any coaching (my experiments with Relationism would start soon enough) and I certainly wasn't going to be joining the running drills, so there wasn't much for me to do other than to stand there and give the players the old Eye of Sauron when I felt they were slacking.

What I was mostly thinking about was the coming season. A realistic best first eleven, one that I might actually field in a competitive match, was CA 67. I could get up to 68 by leaving out Andrew Harrison and including Dazza, but that wasn't a very balanced team. Meanwhile, I expected our first League Two opponents, Fleetwood Town, to be around CA 90. That match would be away and we would probably get tonked, as we would in our first ever AOK Cup match - away to the Championship side Bolton Wanderers. Starting with two hammerings would be bad for morale, but if we could pick up some points in August that would quell some nerves.

The problem was that our first four league fixtures were against four of the best sides in the division. In fact, it was worse than that. The first fixture I had us as actual favourites to win was match 11 against Sutton.

So how to get some points in the first ten matches? How to make pre-season training as productive as the Phwoar Room had been?

I needed to get creative.

At the end of the session I pulled William B. Roberts aside and asked him to come in before training on Monday to talk about a new contract. His smile was heart-warming but while he was currently desperate to break into Chester's first team, it wouldn't be long until some football experts were saying he had outgrown us. How could I keep him at the club long-term?

I needed to get creative.

***

Saturday, July 5

Pre-season friendly 1 of 6: AFC Liverpool versus Chester FC

The horrible thing about positional play, especially as implemented by the curse, was that players stood where I told them to stand and did what I wanted them to do. The great thing about positional play as implemented by the curse was that players stood where I told them and did what I wanted.

I looked from the abstracted 2D pitch in my mind to the 3D one seen by my eyes and found that everything lined up. I slid Andrew Harrison's icon to right wing back and watched as he changed position. I moved him back and switched to 4-5-1. The players shifted.

God mode!

I swapped my left and right midfielders and watched as they drifted across the pitch.

Absolute power!

Yeah, it wasn't so bad having an antique version of Soccer Supremo in my head. I switched back to 4-4-2 and went through the old hits like slipping into a warm bath. Checking the match ratings, keeping an eye on everyone's Condition, looking at my match data (shots on target, shots off target, fouls, offsides, and so on).

We were in a 4-4-2 for loads of reasons.

• First, Sandra was at the Women's Euros in Switzerland. My absolute nightmare was that she would get spotted in the crowd and recognised, as had happened to me in Chile, which would trigger a chain of events where she got snatched away from me by a bigger club or even - holy shit - a national team. Anyway, I knew she would want me to use normal formations and not do anything stupid.
• Second, these were pre-season friendlies designed to get our fitness up and to ease our way into the season - no-one gave a shit about the score, except maybe the goalies and defenders. And the strikers. Okay, some people gave a shit but not me.
• Third, now that we were in League Two we could expect every team we played to have an analyst and I wanted to make their lives hard by using different formations, putting out line ups featuring players they'd never heard of, and generally doing weird things. Which, yeah, didn't really take me out of my comfort zone.
• Fourth, not having Youngster or Magnus ruled out 4-2-3-1.
• Fifth, because without Dazza and Henri my only proper striker was Tom Westwood, I was using Wibbers as a second striker and was trying to avoid the temptation of tinkering with his role. Keep things simple, Max!
• Finally, 4-4-2 was a formation that allowed me to give minutes to loads of nervous players in positions they knew.

A major - extremely secret - goal for pre-season was to hack the curse. I wanted to win the FA Youth Cup and to do that I was including kids like Tyson and Benny in first team training and filling their boots with minutes so that when they appeared against a national team it would catapult their CA. Slovakia? More like Slov-hack-ia.

(That's terrible. Cut that.)

The scheme was ambitious, crazy even, but if I could increase my youth team by five points across the board before the season had even started, we would surely be in with a chance, especially because I intended to continue the craziness until we got knocked out of the cup.

The risk was that my first team wouldn't improve by as much as they potentially could and they might get smashed up a few times, but if I wanted to win the Youth Cup I was going to have to give minutes to young players like Noah, Chas, and Sevenoaks.

My recent experiences had made me slightly rethink how player development worked. Yes, my young players improved by training with the first team and that improvement was faster for guys with higher PA. Yes, players improved by playing minutes and the amount of that improvement seemed to be linked to factors like opposition quality, competition importance, morale, and even whether the kid had done well in the match or not.

But some of the players at the u20 World Cup had much higher CA than I would have thought possible. Foquita, for example, had CA 99, which was higher than a lot of talented teenagers I'd seen at Man United or Chelsea. How had that happened? Being picked for your national team was obviously a major boost, as I had seen with Youngster. I had to get Wibbers and Banksy into the England set up ASAP, and if there were other events that gave big one-off boosts I needed to know what they were.

For now I was stuck with the weapons I controlled - training time and first-team minutes. With one eye very much looking forward to the Youth Cup final (to be held in May at Old Trafford, home of Manchester actual United) and knowing I could make 11 substitutions in friendlies, I had brought 22 players up to Marine, where the semi-pro semi-socialist club AFC Liverpool played their home matches. Wikipedia said that in 1949 the Rossett Park ground had been home to a match between Marine and the Nigerian national team, a fact which boggled my mind. What must that have been like? They still had rationing in 1949. You couldn't get extra sugar or butter but you could get two tickets to see the Super Eagles. Wow.

Marine's pitch was a very nice 4G affair which suited our passing game. Liverpool had an average CA of 18. In the recent past we had loaned them our young players Bomber and Bivvy (a centre back and a goalie, respectively) so I put them in the starting line up. Liverpool had also had plenty of dealings with my loan manager, Ryan Jack, so that was enough to get him a place.

Most of the squad were desperate to play. It struck me that even if we got far in a couple of cups, there wouldn't be enough action to keep everyone happy. I would have to remind them, when I laid out this season's Maxterplan, that they were paid to train, not to play. I didn't feel any particular need to play against Liverpool myself, so I selected a mix of starters, reserves, and youth teamers and got on with it.

What I found interesting and very positive was that the squad players who didn't even make it to the bench wanted to come and watch. Maybe they were simply checking on their rivals but the show of togetherness felt like a good thing. Our collective Morale (one of the patches had led to this number being handily summarised for me) had slipped to 4.0 (out of 7) as the euphoria of winning the National League had worn off, to be replaced - I think - by apprehension. We were going into League Two, with every single match televised, we would have the lowest budget and if we got our arses handed to us there would be no hiding place.

I'd made other decisions to keep some continuity. We wore the old kits and travelled in a hired diesel coach. New season, same as the old season. For now.

I blinked as Liverpool's manager switched from 4-4-2 to 4-5-1. I stared at the pitch, almost snarling, as I prepared to counteract him. But I remembered why I'd picked Bomber, Bivvy, and Ryan Jack - this was a club we were friends with. They were sound lads and made our kids feel welcome. I untensed, let my face soften, and licked my lips.

There would be plenty of times I would need to get ruthless or to get up in someone's face. Not today, though. Today we were all smiles.

I checked some numbers.

XP balance: 6,772

The stash was piling up again but I wasn't quite sure what my next purchase would be. I was leaning towards buying 5-3-2, a defensive formation, because it could help us in the short term as we got pummelled by League Two sides. It was just over four and a half thousand XP and I was in no particular hurry to buy it. When I got it, a quiet word with Sandra would be enough to get the lads practising the new formation a couple of times a week. Sandra was the best!

One interesting thing was that managing this match against a semi-pro side was giving me as much XP as watching the under 20 World Cup. The baseline income was 1 XP per minute, which was doubled because I was the manager. But last July I'd bought a perk called The Friendzone that gave me 50% more XP for six pre-season friendlies. I thought it would take three seasons to earn back the cost of the perk and move into profit, but I wondered if that was true. What would I get for managing against a national team? Surely more than 1 per minute, right? Was it possible I would get a baseline of 7 XP per minute... doubled... plus fifty percent...?

I smiled. It didn't really matter. Sandra was away so there was no question of anyone else taking control of these friendlies. It wasn't exactly hard work for me. There were no real stakes. It was a case of letting the lads build up fitness while I imagined Sandra telling me to keep things simple. And what's simpler than 4-4-2? I knew she'd be pleased.

It was quite boring though. I looked around the bench - Vimsy, the Brig, no-one to talk tactics with. Maybe I could try one little thing I'd always wanted to see in action. I pushed Sunday Sowunmi one slot forward and set Christian Fierce to man-mark Liverpool's lone striker.

***

Sunday, July 6

Bern, Switzerland. UEFA Women's Euro 2025.

"There's a break in play here at the Wankdorf stadium with the hosts still pressing for an equaliser. It's an absolute scorcher of a day - yes, they're going to combine this injury with the water break. Very sensible. As we look around the stands, some familiar faces. There's Roger Federer's personal chocolatier. Oh, and Magdalena Blocher's English teacher. That's DJ Bobo. Who's this? Yes, I do think that's Sandra Lane, assistant manager of Chester FC's men's team. She will break new ground this season when she becomes the first woman to manage in the English men's football league. I wonder what she makes of the tournament so far?"

***

Monday, July 7

The boardroom at the Deva was the perfect place to negotiate new contracts. The old wood, the plush cushions, the felt detailing that made random surfaces feel like a snooker table, it all made me feel like a trillionaire. There could be 2,000 superyachts in the world. 10,000 maybe, but there were only 92 teams in the English football league and one of them was my playground. I'd been up all night eating cheese and was hyper. If anything I was too excited and optimistic.

It was time to negotiate a new contract with William B. Roberts, which was perhaps the most important deal of the entire summer, more so even than Foquita or Banksy. Will had brought his dad and his agent, Ruth. Failure to agree terms could lead to the lad wanting a move. He had three years left on his contract so I was in a strong position, but I didn't plan to keep unhappy players around. If we couldn't find common ground I would offer him a pay rise if he gave me another year so that I could sell him for a good price next summer, like Ronaldo had agreed with Alex Ferguson before his world-record transfer to Real Madrid.

What I most wanted was to get Wibbers to add another year to his deal, or perhaps renew at 3+1. Three years guaranteed with another year the club could add if they wanted. That way, I could expect to have him until he was 20 with years left on his contract, and sell him for an eight-figure sum.

They came in and we made small talk. Small talk such as Ruth saying, "Max, why have you put all our trophies on this table?" and me replying, "That wasn't me; they're being polished but the man ran out of polish because there are so many." Small talk such as Ruth saying, "Why are we doing this meeting so early?" and me replying, "Because in half an hour William's going to start two weeks of hard running and he's very quickly going to hate me, the Brig, and the entire football club."

We moved on to medium talk. William said he was happy at the club, his dad was happy, his mum was happy, his talented younger brother Adam was happy.

When the time was right, I launched into my pitch. I said I was hugely ambitious and William's profile was rising just as fast as the club's.

"We're going to be on TV all the time. Every league match is televised and we've got Bolton Wanderers in the first round of the AOK Cup. That's a big game in a big stadium and there's going to be plenty more of that. Ruth has started to get you some sponsorship money, hasn't she?"

William nodded. He was a much smaller personality indoors than out on the pitch. "Grindhog, yeah."

"There will be loads of that sort of thing coming. This season you need to kick on. You're 18 in March and I want you making it hard for me to leave you out of the team."

"It's not ever hard for you, is it?" said Ruth. "You're a ruthless bastard."

William smiled and looked proud to have such a manager.

"Yeah, okay," I admitted. "It's just a form of words, isn't it? It's what football people say. I'm trying to be more conventional while Sandra is away so I don't, you know, go off the rails. What I mean is, you've had your tutorial and now it's big boy time. Wibbers gotta git gud. One thing that'll help is getting called up to the England setup."

"England? This season?" he said.

"Yep. There's an under 18s team and a 19s. I saw what it did for Youngster and it's a real boost, big boost. We've got to get you in there. To be honest I was a tiny bit reluctant to get your name out in the world but we're in League Two so you're not leaving here for anything lower than a Championship team and next season I'll be able to pay you decent wages." All three of them understood the implication. This season's pay would remain dogshit. I pressed on. "I'm going to use some of my considerable genius to get you called up, ASAP. Okay let's get to my offer and then I'll explain why I think you should sign it. You're on 520 a week now. You know I don't have lots of spare budget but I'll bump you to 700 a week and you'll be able to earn a bit more when we go on cup runs. I'd like a 4-year deal."

"Three's fine," said Ruth.

"Three plus one," I said, "but the one can only be triggered if we're in League One. If we're still in League Two, you'll be free to go but if we're going up I want you with us."

Ruth looked at William. She said, "I like that. What about you?"

He nodded.

"Top," I said. "You'll get increases every year, Will. This year we're strapped because of the training ground. I'm not trying to take the piss, right, you can see the money is all out there." I stood and looked out onto the pitch. "We've got to rebuild the stadium, too, but I have to balance that with paying decent wages and improving Bumpers." I smiled and shook my head. "It'll be years until we've got enough money to do everything properly but that's okay. I've got an idea. Check this out." I grinned at them. A big, cheesy grin.

"Oh no," said Ruth.

"I think it's possible - just about possible - that William will improve faster than the club. This year's fine - he's got miles to go to catch Pascal." I wasn't sure why I was talking about him like he wasn't there, so I switched tack. "Next year should be okay, too, but it's possible Bumpers won't be as good as I hope, or we lose Sandra or something like that and we get to the point of holding you back. That's the absolute last thing I want. Your development is my top priority and that's not just empty words - I've paid Banbury all your future appearance money so I can use you as much as I want. As much as you need. The thing is, though, I believe in your talent so much that I think you've got the potential to be massive. I'm talking about a transfer fee enough to rebuild this stadium and build a dental clinic bigger than the Death Star."

"The Death Star?" spluttered Ruth.

William said, "Man City's training ground."

"Oh, right."

"I was telling Brooke I wanted to sell Youngster for loads of money but keep him in the squad. Impossible, right? Well," I said, with a huge smile. I was about to pitch some absolute nonsense and I LOVED it. "We're getting promoted this season, obviously, but I'll be watching you carefully and if I think you need to play at a higher level than League One next season, I'll loan you to a Championship club. They can pay me a fee. Two million; we'll give you a cut. The season after that, Chester will be in the Championship and I'll have spent that cash turning Bumpers into a wonderland."

Ruth was frowning pretty hard. "You... no. That's the wrong way round. Big clubs loan players down to small clubs. Or big clubs loan to other big clubs and get a loan fee. No-one loans to bigger clubs. That's... that's crazy."

"Why is it crazy?"

"Because..." she said. "Because no-one does it."

I slapped the table. "We'll do it. I'll do it with Wibbers and Youngster. Clubs will pay me to train my players. The clubs get a top player for a season and the lads get, like, new experiences and all that, but after a year we'll be reunited and get back to slapping our way to the very, very top."

Ruth was still frowning but in an impressed way. "This is why you want a four-year deal?"

"Right. It gives me a bit of space to put William's career first while making sure Chester benefit, too."

William said, "Which teams would want me for just one year?"

I waved the question away. "If you keep listening to me and Sandra you're going to be good, mate. Really good. I think clubs will agree to the deal thinking that after a year with them you'll be so in love with having a proper, normal manager and a big stadium and a nice training ground that you'll demand a transfer. Right?"

"And if I do?"

I shrugged. "I'm not going to stand in your way. As long as they pay what you're worth. I personally don't see it as much of a risk because here you're part of something unique - a club that's growing fast. Every month there's something new going on and it's because of your work. Your goals and your assists. Oh, I just thought of a club that might be interested. Bolton Wanderers! If you slap them in the cup they'll remember it and in a couple of years when I suggest it to their director of football he'll be interested, I reckon. Yeah, Bolton. Big club, great history. I'm looking forward to that match almost as much as the Slovakia one."

"I can't believe we're playing Slovakia," said Wibbers, dreamily, and Ruth looked up at the ceiling. Once again, her client had undermined her negotiating position.

"Max," she said. "We quite like you but 700 isn't enough. We need to negotiate that."

"No," I said. "He's going to have a breakout season and sponsors will be queuing to get involved. I was thinking I could include him in some of my BoshCard stuff. You should send him to acting lessons."

"Acting lessons?" said William, horrified.

"Just to be a bit looser on camera. I didn't actually mean acting lessons. Um..."

"Media training," said Ruth.

I clicked my fingers. "That's what I meant!"

"The club should provide that," said Ruth.

"The club has no fucking money left, Ruth. Just do it so we're ready for whatever opportunities come up. Okay?"

Mr. Roberts chuckled to himself. "It's a rum old place, this. You tell our agent to spend her money on your player... and she agrees!"

I looked at William. "What do you think, Wibbers? Do you want a boring life?"

He smiled briefly, but then looked worried. "Are we still going for the Youth Cup?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to be the manager for those games?"

"Yes."

He was still for about ten seconds, then turned to Ruth and nodded.

I reacted calmly and professionally. "Jolly good show, old chap," I believe I said. "Splendid and spiffing news."

"Max," said Ruth. "This is the boardroom. Get down off the table."

***

Tuesday, July 8

Training was gloriously chaotic.

Apart from me we had 24 players in the first-team squad. Youngster was the centre of attention for his World Cup exploits. Henri and Tom were getting to know Dazza. Pascal had a badly-sunburned red face except for one large section where he had been wearing diving goggles. The goalie section was abuzz with chat, the two new Lees were being made to feel welcome by Christian and Ryan Jack.

Then there was a small army of youth team players including Lucas, Tyson, Benny, Chas, and Noah.

Noah's middle brother, Michael, was there, even if he was technically a Saltney player. Ditto Vivek, who I'd invited to give him a good start to his new life as a West Didsbury man.

There were so many players that we had split them into three groups, each containing some first teamers and some youth guys. Jude, Spectrum, and Well In did some light technical work to get me some of that sweet, sweet green, but most of the sessions in July involved the Brig and Vimsy shouting at people.

Shouting at them to run, followed by more shouting.

The Brig had invited a boffin from the Welsh FA and together they were monitoring the GPS data from every player's sports vests in real time. I went over to their trestle table laboratory and peered at the squiggly lines.

"Everything good, Brig?"

"Yes, sir."

"Individually-tailored, is it?"

"That's right, sir. We took baseline figures from the end of last season so we know how hard to push them. It's extremely scientific. Cutting-edge, almost."

The boffin looked up at me. "Would you like to join in, Mr. Best?"

I smiled. "The Brig doesn't let me. He can't bring himself to shout at me. Can you?"

"So far no. One must respect the chain of command, no matter how much the chain is asking to be yanked. Are you going to be fit for the start of the season, sir? You haven't done much."

"I'm doing squash," I said. "I go squash a ball against the walls for twenty minutes. It's absolutely great fun. Very therapeutic. Charges up the ideas factory, know what I mean? You go in stressed and restless, you come out with a plan. Plans within plans. Plans cubed."

"John," said the Welsh guy, as he pointed to a screen. The Brig nodded and strode away and yelled at Dan Badford. Dan's face contorted but he picked up the pace.

I drifted away from the scene. Better to leave them to it, and anyway I had very little to contribute to this part of the season. The players, while they hated the monotony and the pain well remembered the close matches at the end of last season where our fitness had turned losses into draws and draws into wins, and for the new signings this was a good introduction to Chester. Completely conventional pre-season fitness work that would make them feel like they had joined a real football club. Not like Chipper, whose first morning as a Chester player involved learning about megashrimp. Yeah, better to leave them to it.

Before heading up to my office, perhaps with a nice snack from the bistro, I checked the Brig's profile. It was by far the strangest one I'd ever seen.

---