Player Manager - A Sports Progression Fantasy

3.

Red Army is a hard-hitting Wrexham AFC podcast, unique in that club's media ecosystem since criticism of Ryan Reynolds is permitted. The podcast has a Discord chat server open to its Patreon supporters. One of the channels on the server is called LALAC, a phrase which is never explained to newbies because if you don't know what it means, you shouldn't be there.

The channel is as old as the podcast, but these extracts only go back to the start of the 2025/2026 transfer window.

***

Wednesday, July 2

Stoop

I've just seen who that mob are trying to sign so I'm just here to add to my theory that Max SexPest brings one hottie into his fold every four months or so.

For the women, my order goes like this: Their striker Angel (hallelujah); Best's media trainer at Darlington (Miss Fox, Princess of the Pencil Skirt); the Chester physio (The Divine Ponytail); the board member who financed the women's team and started an agency (REM=Rapidly Erect Member); the head of marketing (Brooke FiveStar, bit too perfect); his girlfriend (fit but bad taste); his girlfriend's lawyer friend who looks like Julia Roberts (Eat, Pray, Lust); his scout (Fleur Me to the Moon).

The objectively attractive men, in no particular order: Henri Lyons; the Texan Wrexham reject; Wayward Hayward; now this Australian lad.

TopPoppy

What the hell did I just read? Are you in the right Discord mate? This is for Wrexham fans.

CrunchyAbs

Yeah, totally. And by the way, we don't objectify women around here. But link me to your photo collection.

BeardedWonderwall

On the topic of that particular player...

Chester have got promoted, got some TV money, and they're going to break their transfer record for the Aussie lad. That new record? You might want to sit down for this. Two hundred and fifty thousand pounds. What we were paying for backups in our National League days. Fuck me they're such a tin pot little club. I actually feel bad coming in this channel these days; it's like laughing at a special needs class you see on a day out at a beach. It's raining, they've got ice cream all down their tops, but it's the best day of their year.

SummerhillBill

Our women's team manager is hotter than any of the women in that list. She's a Catherine Zeta Jones regen and she's the last Wrexham manager to beat a Jester team, plus the only one who's ever beat Max Best.

BeardedWonderwall

Was that the match he threw a tantrum because his deaf girl got booked coz she didn't hear the whistle? Didn't we beat him when he was Grimsby manager?

SummerhillBill

No it was 4-all. Here's a <video> of him trying not to cry at the final whistle.

CrunchyAbs

See THAT was funny. That's the sort of content I want from this channel, not 'oh look how hot everyone at Chester is'. Fuck sake.

***

Monday, July 7

TopPoppy

Some of you know my work does building supplies and I've just done a delivery to Chester's new training ground. You will not believe what I'm about to show you but I swear this is all true. Check out <this photo> of the building site.

Seriously, look at that photo before you do anything else.

Typical building site, yeah? Temporary little work cabins, toilets, the usual.

Got good news and bad news. The good news is, that's it. That's Chester's new training ground. I don't mean that's the construction site, I mean that's it. That's its final form. Everything's cheap cabins. Think of a toilet at Glastonbury. Now think of thirty toilets side by side - that's what Chester live in now. That's their level. No wonder their media guy is called Boggy.

I mentioned bad news. Right. They've got a secret weapon. You ready for this?

<Here is Chester's secret weapon.>

CrunchyAbs

What am I looking at?

TopPoppy

That's a billboard they've bought. They live in a toilet, they can't keep their players, they don't pay their match day staff, but they can afford a huge billboard that no-one looks at because it's on a busy roundabout and if you take your eye off the road you'll cause a fifty-car pile up.

CrunchyAbs

What are the odds Stoop will be adding that spot to the walking tours of Chester he gives?

Stoop

If they put up a fifty foot poster of Angel I'll make regular - hang on - you said WALKING tours. I misread it.

***

Wednesday, July 9

BrokenGround

All right lads, sound the emergency klaxon. Red alert, red alert, this is not a drill.

I'm in the army. I won't say which unit but if I'm right about what's happening you'll be able to work it out soon enough. Let's just say we're local and we play army football. Footy is a pretty big deal in the service and it is taken seriously. We have our own branch of the football association (Army FA), we train referees, it's big. Every unit has a team, we train twice a week, we play sixes in tournaments and elevens in leagues. At the end of the season there are cup finals in Aldershot, which is like our Wembley as you might be able to guess.

The best teams play in our version of the FA Cup final, the best players get selected for the regiments, and the best of THOSE get called up for the army against the navy or RAF, and then there's even an armed forces team so the best of all the players can play against the German armed forces and so on.

It's very organised and like I said, we take it seriously. There's a lot of rivalry, a lot of pride, a lot of fierce matches. You think Wrexham v Chester is intense? Wait till you see the army v the navy. Holy smokes.

Okay so that's some background. We had training today and our organiser got us inside before we went onto the pitch.

TopPoppy

Quick question. It's 5 pm. What do you mean you had training today?

BrokenGround

We play our inter-unit league on Wednesday afternoons. It's pre-season right now so we're training instead. Pre-season for us doesn't mean fitness work because if you're in the army it's your job to be fit. Next week we're playing a sixes match and that's against civvies so obviously we can't do that on a weekday afternoon so that's on Thursday night. Just think that footie is part of our regular job and it'll make more sense that we do it in the daytime.

TopPoppy

Ah, interesting. It's your job to be fit. I've never thought of the army like that.

BrokenGround

I'm going to try to do this without saying any ranks. I don't need to get DD'd for talking about footie on Discord. Our main character is H. He's basically our unit's player-manager and he does all the organising. Making sure we've got a ref, a pitch, getting new kit, equipment. It's a fucking hassle so we all appreciate it but it does mean he feels entitled to some time on the pitch and all things considered, we'd rather he didn't. But that's not the point.

H gets us in our debriefing room and says, 'Lads, I've got some exciting news.' We've often said we don't think H even gets excited when he's porking his missus, so this must be big.

'We've got a special head coach coming in for a few months. A professional player who is doing his badges. He's going to be doing some new drills with us. He's got special funding and special permission from the Football Association of Wales and the army. He could have chosen almost any unit but he has chosen us. He'll come along to the match next week and then we'll be training at his football club. Basically, he'll be your manager for a month or two which means some slight changes to the routine. I have been asked to ask you to extend the army's courtesy to him.'

'Who is it?' we ask.

'That's on a need-to-know basis, lads. I don't know myself. All I know is he has friends in high places. All right, let's get out there. Good session today, please, lads. Let's try to learn left from right by Thursday; I don't want to be embarrassed when he turns up.'

TopPoppy

Why is this in LALAC?

Oh hang on.

Hang the fuck on.

Are you saying your new manager is going to be Max fucking Best?

BrokenGround

I think so! We know he's got mates in the army even though he doesn't wear a poppy and we know he's connected to the FAW from that scandal where they built him a football pitch.

Fuck - I just realised I'm going to be training on that very pitch. That's probably how he got funded - promised to train some Welsh lads on there. We've got to go up to fucking Chester so he can tick a box and get half a million quid. Fuck!

Teulu

That's sick. That's not right.

Stoop

Er, hang on a second. A brilliant player is going to train BrokenGround and his unit? That's bad, is it?

CrunchyAbs

Here comes the Chester fan.

Stoop

I'm not a Chester fan, I'm a Wrex season ticket holder. I'm on the highest tier of a Wrexham fans podcast. Use your fucking brain.

This is to BG. Mate, if you don't want a professional player to coach you, he can come to my Sunday League team. We're shit and we need help and we won't whine about it like a load of ungrateful little bitches.

BrokenGround

We're shit too but better shit than playing for Max Best.

CrunchyAbs

The other lads in your unit, they Wrexham fans too?

BrokenGround

About half, yeah. We've got some Cards and Jacks and one sad bastard Newport lad. He's so pathetic we don't even bully him.

CrunchyAbs

What's the mood like?

BrokenGround

They're like H - excited. They haven't been following Best's joke of a career like we have. I'll have to set them straight in the next week.

BeardedWonderwall

You've got to let us know how it goes, lad.

CrunchyAbs

This.

***

Wednesday, July 16

BrokenGround

Wow. I've been at my unit's six-a-side match and now I'm back home laughing my head off.

It's Max Best all right.

TopPoppy

You're going to tell us what happened right?

BrokenGround

Yeah just give me a minute.

BeardedWonderwall

Whoa my heart's pounding. What's this? Is this what the humans call anticipation?

BrokenGround

All right so I told you we've got a sixes tournament coming up. We had a friendly against some lads from the university. They're young and fit, right, which is a nightmare except we are the fucking British army, mate. You're not fitter than us you speccy ponces. Get back to your hipster cafes and your poetry.

There's no sign of our top amazing wonderful new manager so H gets on with things as usual. First half kicks off and I forget anything's supposed to be happening. I get busy dominating the midfield. Think Roy Keane mixed with Pirlo.

TopPoppy

Well, fuck. I thought this might be real. That's disappointing.

BrokenGround

This is real, mate. This happened.

Okay think Roy Keane mixed with Pirlo but not quite as good and a leg full of metal. You happy now?

TopPoppy

No. It's fake. You're doing a comedy bit in one of the comedy channels. At least with that pervert we get photos of beautiful women. You're not even a good fantasist. Why would Max Best be coaching some lads in Wrexham?

BrokenGround

All right hang on I took a photo. Do NOT spread this around or I'll have to fuck you up.

<Photo.>

BeardedWonderwall

It's a guy who looks like Max Best sitting on a bench looking bored. It could have been taken in any sports hall and it could have been taken anytime.

BrokenGround

Fuck me, you pricks are hard work.

Stoop

That's a current photo. His hair's still growing back at the sides from when he had his mohawk.

BrokenGround

The pervert has spoken! Do you want to hear the story or not? Jesus Christ.

TopPoppy

The story better end with you signing for Chester, since you're the best footballer in Wales.

BrokenGround

Well him not signing me is just more proof that Best is a fraud, isn't it?

Right, anyway, I'm writing this down while it's fresh because you'll see one day that I was giving you the inside skinny. He'll use this on his socials or in some fucking moronic credit card advert.

Reminder: everything's going great; we don't need so-called help. We're three-nil down at half time and Best comes over.

TopPoppy

Hahahahaha!

BeardedWonderwall

Petition to rename the channel 'Let's All Laugh at BrokenGround'.

BrokenGround

What? What's funny?

TopPoppy

Nothing. Tell us more about how it feels to dominate midfield.

BrokenGround

It's not my fault the rest of the team is shit.

So I'm busy laying into them, pointing out all the mistakes they've made, when H gets a moony sort of look in his eyes. Max Best has wandered over. He looks bored, not interested, it's like he regrets offering to come and coach us.

TopPoppy

Which is how I'd feel if I was a manager and I'd just found the next Roy Keane. Jesus wept.

BrokenGround

Yeah, funny. Okay we're not much cop but it's important to us, isn't it? We've got our unit badges on our shirts. We're playing for pride. It has meaning to us, do you get me? And he's dismissive. He's rude.

BeardedWonderwall

What did he say?

BrokenGround

Not much. He played musical chairs with us.

BeardedWonderwall

What does that mean?

BrokenGround

He looks at this little notebook he's got and points at one of our lads - big, slow, slovenly soldier I'll call Fatso - and says 'you go in the centre'. He moves two guys to striker. Puts me in defence. I'm livid. I can't believe it. I'm our best midfielder by miles. Fatso can't run. No-one can understand how he's even still in the army - it's like we're so desperate for bodies they'll let anyone in even if they don't pass the tests. It does my head in, and now he's in my slot in midfield?

Then Best goes, 'Don't play any long passes. Five yards, that's it.'

H tries to stand up to him. 'That's not very practical.'

Best goes 'nah that'll slap you watch.'

At this point I'm fuming so hard I can barely think let alone speak but I manage to get a couple of words out. 'I'm a midfielder. I play in midfield.'

He looks confused and flips a page up and down in his notebook. 'That's not what it says here', he says, and some people laugh. And as if I wasn't wound up enough, he puts his book down and I see the pages are all blank.

He's literally taking the piss. I fucking hate him!

TopPoppy

And then what?

BrokenGround

That's it. He turns up, puts us all in the wrong positions, goes home and laughs to his mates.

TopPoppy

The match, man. What happened in the second half?

BrokenGround

Yeah well it was a disaster, wasn't it? We were trying to do this five-yard pass thing and it kept breaking down. We ended up with the midfielders and strikers dropping back to give options and it was just frantic and chaotic. It was a joke. Total joke.

TopPoppy

So you got pummelled?

BrokenGround

Not pummelled no but we lost 4-3 in the end.

TopPoppy

Hahahahaha!

Stoop

Mate. Read what you are writing.

BrokenGround

Look, the only reason we didn't get turned over was everyone was so confused. We were so busy trying to move the ball one inch at a time that the other team saw their chance and flooded at us and we were all in a panic and Fatso hacked the ball clear and one of our strikers ran onto it and scored.

So the uni lads, smart lads aren't they, thought it was deliberate so they didn't rush at us again. We were doing all these little passes all squashed together and they didn't really know how to defend it.

Okay I've just re-read that and it makes it sound good but I'm telling you it was a total farce. It was beyond a joke, lads, really.

Stoop

Yeah I know what you're going to say that I'm a Chester fan but more than being a top level Patron I'm someone who has the unique distinction as the only person in this Discord who has read and understood more than ten books and here's what forty years of honing my reading comprehension skills is telling me.

1) Best turns up, sees you're all shit, reorganises you. 2) You're in the right positions now and you do much better. 3) He makes you play short passes and as if by magic you start to have success. 4) You are thick as pigshit and can't understand what has happened.

BrokenGround

Get fucked.

***

Saturday, Jul 19

ButteryCrumpets

Blackpool 5 Chester 2

Lol.

***

Wednesday, Jul 23

BrokenGround

All right I didn't plan to come back to this because apparently no-one's interested in a close-up view of Max Fraud and apparently I'm the only only who thinks he's a complete joke. But we just had our first proper training session with him at his taxpayer-funded pitch and I want to vent.

His club is technically in a place called Saltney but it's Chester. Hop on the bus, go up the A483, turn off where you see the giant piles of shit.

The pitch is brand new and it's nice and apparently we're the first players to ever use it. The lads are pleased until it becomes clear that the reason no-one has been on it is that the inspectors haven't been to sign it off. I ask if it's safe and Best pinches his nose and says 'if you find any sinkholes or booby traps let me know. Oh, wait, no, good point, I did ask them to install a trap door that drops you into a shark tank so yeah, watch you don't trigger that.'

Sarky bastard.

I've got to say that despite my reservations I was excited because the lads had spent the whole week wondering what the sessions would be like and it got me wondering. Maybe I'd actually learn a few tricks. Improve my game. Get picked for the regiment. The army, even!

So we form three banks of six and we go through this stretching routine. Hamstrings, glute bridges, 90 90s, back curls, hip hikes, I mean it's one after the other. Five minutes, ten minutes. No joke - we did thirty minutes of that! Half our session!

I said it before but we're the army. We're paid to be fit. We don't need some football ponce teaching us flexibility.

You can imagine I'm fuming. He's wasting our time, laughing at us.

Finally a bag of footballs appears. Thank Christ!

We practise one-twos.

Three cones on a zig zag. Stand at cone one. Pass to cone two. Run to cone three while the player on cone two takes a touch and passes it ahead.

The simplest, most basic drill. We do it again and again for half an hour.

Best blows his whistle. 'Good sesh, lads. There's hot water in the showers. See you on Saturday.'

I'm livid.

SummerhillBill

That sounds bad. What did the others think?

BrokenGround

A couple are clinging onto the delusion that this is a treat of some sort, but that was an eye-opener for everyone else. All the stories I've been telling them are finally sinking in. It was quiet on the drive home. I sent out a montage of Best falling over and another of him getting kicked and that gave everyone a lift.

SummerhillBill

As it would.

***

Jul 29, 2025

ButteryCrumpets

Morecambe 2 Chester 0

Lol.

***

Jul 31, 2025

TopPoppy

Did BrokenGround post his Max Best training update yesterday?

BrokenGround

No, I didn't think anyone was interested.

TopPoppy

I'm fascinated. Please let us know what he's doing. It doesn't have to be funny.

BeardedWonderwall

I second that. We all spend so much time on here talking shit that we know nothing about but you're in contact with a pro player and okay he's a fucking nutcase but none of us will get to kick a ball on the Racecourse or even at the Colliers training ground so you're the closest thing we've got to an expert.

CrunchyAbs

I've just realised that if you train with him on Wednesdays you'll be up close with him after Chester get smashed on a Tuesday night. Morecambe dicked them this Tuesday. How was he yesterday?

BrokenGround

He was fine. I tried to tease him about it but he blanked me. Just stared at me like a serial killer. Dead eyes. Someone else said, 'He's joking that you lost last night.' Best goes 'What?' 'You lost to Morecambe, Max!' He frowns for a while then laughs. He does that thing where you pretend to squeeze tears out of your eyes with your hands. 'Boo hoo!' he goes, the prick. 'I wost to Morecambe in a pre-season fwendly. Boo hoo. Best out.' He stamps his foot like a toddler. 'Best OUT!' The lads are pissing themselves, but I'm not. This is why he's at Chester. He's not a winner. You've got to play to win every match. There's no such thing as a friendly.

Anyway, training was maddening again. We did the same stretches in the same order. What was mad was that some of the lads couldn't do some of the moves. Not that it matters because we're soldiers not pole dancers.

TopPoppy

You can do all the stretches, then? You're the Roy Keane of stretches? [Smiley face.]

BrokenGround

Well, no, because of some old injuries. But this is the winner thing again. He goes 'yeah if you can't do ten, do five. If you can't do five, hold the starting position for thirty seconds'. It's like no wonder his team are getting their arses handed to them by everyone they play. He doesn't have the drive to power through and do ten reps. Me? If it says ten reps I'm doing ten unless my body literally physically can't do it.

Half an hour of that bullshit, then fifteen minutes of one-twos.

TopPoppy

Again? Shit.

BrokenGround

I know. He just stands there. Barely says anything. Just watches. Sometimes he doesn't even do that - he's on his phone.

But he did mix it up for the end. He got us to put more cones out to stretch the zig zag to about thirty yards. He put three guys on each side. One guy in the middle. Six attackers, one defender, basically.

'You can only do one-twos' he says, and rolls a ball to the end of the line.

I thought I must have missed some of the instructions but the guy at the side does a short pass and the guy on the other side chips it over the defender's head towards the edge, the goal.

Best blows his whistle. 'You can only do one-twos.'

It makes no sense. What are we supposed to do and how are we supposed to do it?

We go again. The first guy kicks the ball and runs for the return pass. He plays it on, runs around his teammate, the one who's on his side of the line, and gets the return pass.

Whistle. 'No overtaking. You can take over the second half of someone else's one-two.'

Well that just sounds like playing a pass to me but we go again and now we're starting to see the shape of it. The guy in the middle realises the oppo are always going to do a one-two so he knows how and when he can intercept it. He does just that, and he takes up the slot of the guy who lost the ball.

Okay so it's a piggy-in-the-middle rondo drill but stretched out into a thin rectangle. Why didn't Best just say that?

We get a bit better at it and we get the ball all the way to the other end. Best changes some of the lads out and puts a second guy in the middle.

We're trying to move the ball along to the end but what we're doing is so predictable the guys in the middle actually have the advantage. We're getting frustrated because the whole thing makes no sense but then time's up and we fuck off home and this time I don't even bother with the funny videos. I'm just... I'm not even angry. I just want things to go back to how they were.

TopPoppy

Feel like pure shit just want H back.

BrokenGround

Ha. Yeah. Better the devil you know than the one you don't.

BeardedWonderwall

Chin up, lad. He'll get bored of it soon enough, won't he?

***

Saturday, Aug 2

ButteryCrumpets

Chester 0 Slovakia 4

Lol.

Also: wtf.

***

Wednesday, Aug 6

BrokenGround

Just been to Chester for our latest sesh. Half an hour of stretching, then into the zigzag rondo thing.

Some people said they didn't understand my explanation last time.

Think about a load of cones laid out on diagonals like the arm of a crane - just, yeah, or a zigzag. There are three lines of players. The attackers at the top are A1, A2, and so on. The attackers at the bottom are B1, B2. The defenders in the middle are just the piggies - they don't get a name.

We've made these names up ourselves, right, because as frustrated as we all were, some of the lads wanted to believe there's some sort of purpose behind it all.

Important to remind you that Best barely talks to us. He'll pretend to forget that he got his arse handed to him by Slovakia and that he shamed an entire city by turning his patch into Bratislava for the day. He'll respond to jokes about how he has never won a match in League Two and, you know, some general banter. But he won't talk during the drills and certainly won't tell us what we're supposed to be doing or why.

So we're doing the drill, trying to move the ball along to the end of this route by doing one-twos following the diagonals of the cones. How it went at first was player A1, the guy at the start, would exchange passes with player B1, the next player in the zigzag, and when B1 had a good angle he'd send a pass to A2. The piggies are trying to stop it from happening, and Best's main involvement is controlling the number of piggies. When the outsiders are struggling, a piggy is removed. When they get into a groove, another piggy goes in.

So we're doing this again and again and again and it's driving me fucking crazy because it's almost impossible to get anywhere if there is more than one piggy but suddenly Fatso does something mad. He's A2 when it happens. We've been passing on diagonals because that's how the cones were laid out, but as a piggy goes to press Fatso he passes to A1, the guy who's *right next to him*. A1 panics and plays it to B1.

Best blows his whistle. 'You must play one-twos' he says. A1 made the mistake - apparently - so he goes to change places with the nearest piggy but Best tells him to stay where he is.

We go again. Fatso does the same thing. He passes to A1.

It's like time has stood still. Half of us turn to Best to see what he's going to do but he's not doing anything. A1's looking at the ball like... what? You can almost hear the cogs in his brain going. It's got to be a one-two, right? Did Best ever say we had to pass diagonally? We just assumed the rules but he never said it... So A1 rolls the ball back to Fatso. Fatso bounces it straight back to A1. They do three quick one-twos and a piggy goes, what's all this? He moves to intercept but when he does, Fatso takes a touch, turns, and hits a pass to B3 who passes to A3. We've done in two seconds what used to take twenty.

And from then it's a totally different game. The advantage is with the guys on the edge, not the piggies. You can pass the ball around as much as you want and if a piggy tries to get it you just pass to where he isn't.

Best blows his whistle. He's got this huge, self-satisfied grin on his face and he's not the only one. Even I was buzzing. We'd done it! 'Time's up,' he goes. 'Hot showers for you. Cold shower for me. You've got me all aroused, lads.'

Stoop

Oh my God that sounds amazing.

TaranMellt

I've just caught up with all this. BrokenGround please keep writing it! But don't get yourself into trouble with your unit.

BrokenGround

Well Chester are away this Saturday so we will be doing our own training without him so the next instalment will be after they get thrashed by Bolton in the cup. Might get a few laughs out of that.

***

Tuesday, Aug 12

Stoop

Fuck is anyone watching Bolton v Chester? They've just snapped the little German fella like a twig.

Teulu

I was gonna watch the highlights but I'm hearing it's a proper horror tackle and I can't watch that. I got royally effed up by a tackle like that. I hope he's all right.

TopPoppy

Hey, BrokenGround, ask Max Best how to score three goals in ten minutes. I think he has been holding back in your training sessions.

TopPoppy

Oh fuck, he's just been slammed into the post. Lol what the fuck am I even watching here? Bolton have lost the plot.

Stoop

Best concussion sub. No way he's going to Wrexham tomorrow, is there?

TopPoppy

They do the sessions in Chester. But yeah. That's a shame for BG. I think he likes Best really.

***

Wednesday, Aug 13

BrokenGround

Best turned up. He looked pissed off, didn't smile once, barely spoke. Last night he was bleeding all through his interview - something of a hobby - but today the only visible damage was a little plaster on his forehead.

He was supposed to be in concussion protocol so he brought reinforcements. Remember Stoop updated his list of who's hot at Chester? Not sure why that's in the laugh at Chester section but no joke, he's miles wrong. Best brought Livia Stranton, that physio, the one dating Jackie Reaper, and she is twenty times more beautiful in real life than on TV. Seriously, guys, I'm in love. She's crazy perfect.

BeardedWonderwall

What was she doing there?

BrokenGround

Just stopping him from working, I think. The first half hour he sat at the side of the pitch and had this face like thunder, just proper angry. We still did the stretching thing but it was done by The Brig, Chester's head of performance.

BeardedWonderwall

They don't really call him the Brig, do they?

BrokenGround

They do.

Okay this guy's another one who's totally different on camera. On screen he's not much but in real life he reeks of danger. I've seen a few guys like that in the army. They go in two directions. One ends up as the lead story on the nine o'clock news with the word 'manhunt' in big letters. The other goes into the SAS, commando, black ops, mercenary, all that movie shit. If you're ever with the firm tearing up Chester and this guy comes along, drop your bricks and bottles, turn around, walk home.

Yeah, he told us to do the stretches and we did the stretches. Turns out the Brig was the guy who invented the routine and every player at Chester does it four times a week, right down to the under 12s.

We do the routine with no complaints. We're tough army guys but we're not stupid.

For some reason when he's doing his rounds, the Brig watches me in particular. I do the moves properly instead of half-arsing it and fuck me, it's hard. When we're done my knees are jelly. All my leg muscles are screaming they'll cramp. Instead of thinking 'we've only got half an hour left' I'm thinking 'we've only got half an hour left'.

The Brig wanders off to ask Best what we're supposed to do next and he comes back and says, 'Apparently you've been doing a one-two drill.'

We start to explain it to him and he puts his hand up and says, 'show me'. We grab the cones, lay them out, and get stuck in.

It goes fast. We bounce the ball around pretty nicely and get it to the end. We cheer.

The Brig gives us a strange look. 'Did Mr. Best say you had to get the ball to the end?'

Fatso slaps himself in the face and says 'fuck!' and some of the lads laugh. I'm like, then what's the point of the drill? What the shit is going on?

Livia comes over. 'New drill. Make a big square from cones.'

'How big?' says someone.

'Big. Hurry the fuck up!' She's mad at us for making Best work! We rush around and obey. 'One player at each corner. One piggy. The game is to find out the rules of the game.'

An incredible thing to say. Reactions vary. Fatso's excited, as are a few others. They want to be the one to crack this latest code. Some guys are mildly amused. Some are pissed. It's just endless nonsense. When are we going to learn formations? Pressing? Counter-pressing? All that stuff we see on TV?

The guys on the corners of the box pass the ball to each other. When they fuck up, they become the piggy. It's a completely normal rondo. Livia is watching us carefully, but Best is ten yards back, now on his arse, slumped forward, probably thinking about his player in hospital. Which I understand, by the way, but why not cancel the session if you're not in the mood?

Pass, pass, pass. Rondos are a good warm up but they're boring if you do them too long. We're feeling our legs from doing the workout and things slow down. Someone passes to Fatso and he puts his foot on the ball while he thinks what to do. There has to be a trick, right, but he has already tried doing all kinds of one-two variations and Best hasn't reacted. Maybe we did it right but he didn't notice? Maybe Livia was supposed to notice but she's a physio not a coach?

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Fatso has waited too long and the piggy gets close to him. Fatso fakes a pass left and goes right instead - it's his only hope.

'Point!' shouts Livia.

We stop and look at her. Half of us missed the action. 'Fatso, what did you do?'

'I don't know!' he says. His mates get the ball back to him and he puts his foot on the ball again. He gets tackled and becomes the piggy.

'I've got it!' shouts this guy we call Dick Gently. They get the ball to him and he points to the guy next to him and goes 'quick!'

Fatso moves that way but DG passes the other way.

'Point!'

'You've got to dummy,' shouts DG.

There's chaos and that's the only time Best is interested. He's still slumped but he's got a kind of hungry look in his eye as we work out how to get points.

You can't do a dummy every time, right, or it's too easy for the piggy. You have to wait for your moment and if you do it right, even though the piggy knows what you're going to do, he can't stop you.

Time's up and I'm relieved and disappointed. My legs couldn't take much more but it was just getting good.

Best doesn't get up. We head to the changing rooms and he's just there on the pitch with his hands around his knees. One of the proper Wrexham lads, Hot Rod, goes up to him and says, 'Good win, Max.'

'Win?'

'Last night.'

'Oh.'

'Sorry about your player.'

'Yeah, thanks. Yeah.'

'Is he going to be all right?'

Best's head drops. He's barely audible. 'I don't know.'

The Brig comes. 'Off you go, lads.'

As I'm about to go through the door to have a shower, I turn back. Best's still there, wrecked. Livia's standing over him sort of protective. The Brig's facing us. He's one of us but he's one of them. It's such a strange scene.

We're quiet in the showers but after a few minutes on the bus home we just explode with chat.

TaranMellt

I just want to say I'm loving this series. It's my new favourite web serial.

***

Saturday, Aug 16

ButteryCrumpets

Chester 0 Burton Albion 3

Lol.

***

Wednesday, Aug 20

BrokenGround

Best was a lot more perked up today and he completely changed the routine. It was just him again, no babes, no Brigs.

We've got our six-a-side tournament this coming Saturday so we moved the big goals off the pitch, brought out some little ones, and used a half of a half for some small-sided games. Six against six with three seemingly random line ups, five minute matches, winner stays on.

At first it looked like he was just going to watch us as we played against each other, which I probably wouldn't have minded all that much, but then he stopped us and got Fatso's team into a huddle. I don't know what he said but I think it was 'don't pass more than five yards' because they all got squashed together.

They sucked at first, and lost, but then when it was their turn again, they had a bit more organisation and then they broke out the one-twos, the feints, and basically treated the match like a big version of the drills we'd been doing.

And, yeah, they dominated. You couldn't get the ball off them unless you overcommitted and if you did that, Fatso would clip a longer pass onto a runner and they'd get shots away.

I was getting steamed up, especially because Best was just standing there with a bored look on his face. 'What are we supposed to do?' I said. 'How do you defend against it?'

He went, 'How should I know?'

That got me fuming again and the next match I ran around in a fury and almost got us a win but not quite. At the break one of the smarter lads on our team went, 'I think we're supposed to do the same thing.'

'What same thing?'

'The short passing. The one-twos. All that stuff.'

'Then why doesn't he tell us to do that?'

'He didn't tell us not to.'

I thought, fuck it, let's try it. So the next time we're on, we're doing to Fatso's team what they're doing to everyone else, except we've been on a losing streak so we're really determined. We keep the ball but when the oppo come at us, Fatso yells at them to get back so we couldn't get counters like they did.

TaranMellt

He's not stupid, that guy.

BrokenGround

No, he's not. Anyway, the session went like that. Sort of an arms race of who could do more tactics. Every now and then Best would say something to one of the teams and things would change slightly and the other two teams had to work out what was going on. He didn't talk to my team. Oh, except one thing. One time he said, 'have you ever thought about using the side of the pitch?'

We couldn't work out what he meant and I went 'he's fucking with us' and said I didn't want to hear more about it.

TopPoppy

Mate, what is wrong with you? I'm loving this story but why do you leave it to Fatso to do all the thinking?

BrokenGround

I know, I know. But be fair - this is the guy we've been hating and laughing at for three years. You can't assume he's trying to help you. But on the bus home I told the others what he said and we were trying to decipher it. I've got to say that almost makes this whole torture worth it. Talking about footy with your mates more than 'that ref was shit' and the usual. You know the way Chester fans always go 'he's done what lol'? I actually get it now.

TopPoppy

Next session Saturday?

BrokenGround

No, we might do some Saturday sessions when Chester are playing at home but this week they're in Nottingham and they've got their stupid ecobus so they leave early. And my unit isn't training - it's our sixes tournament. We've been building to it for months. I just want to get through the group stage for fucking once. And beat E Company 8, the pricks, for once. Just once!

BeardedWonderwall

Fingers crossed, lad. We're right behind you.

***

Saturday, Aug 23

ButteryCrumpets

Notts County 2 Chester 0

Lol.

***

Sunday, Aug 24

BrokenGround

Got in late last night, lads. Did the tournament then had a few bevvies. My day summarised in one word: shit show.

Stoop

What happened? Spill the beans.

BrokenGround

Yeah so we had 1 Mercian first up and did all right but fell apart at the end. Fatso was like 'why are we playing the same old shit?' He wanted us to do this Bestball stuff and I was like 'not in a fucking tournament mate' and he was like why not it's mint? And I was like 'because I don't want people fucking laughing at me that's why now shut your gob' but H said yeah we should give it a try, right? Because he's got the powers-that-be nagging him for updates about this super amazing thing that's happening. Fuck, even the refs were coming to us going 'are you that team with Max Best?' and they were disappointed when we said he wasn't around.

Sick of this!

Back to the footy. We played 4 Scots and the lads tried to do one-twos and keep the ball and play short passes and all that and we got fucking annihilated. It was like 7-0 in fifteen minutes which is bad even for us. Lads from EC8 were by the touchline pissing their pants because they'd heard we were getting proper coaching and everything. 'What were you like before the coach turned up, holy fuck.' Giving it large.

After the match we were all acrimonious in a way we aren't normally when we lose and H said guys, put a lid on it. But he said we'd play normal footy in the last game.

So yeah, we lost all three games, bottom of the group, and we lost the wooden spoon playoff. We are officially the shittest team in the army.

I was happier than ever to see Chester had lost. With any luck Best will get sacked and he'll leave us alone.

***

Saturday, Aug 30

ButteryCrumpets

Chester 3 Bradford City 3 (after being 3-0 up).

Lol.

SummerhillBill

Fuck me that was hilarious. Jester are the gift that keep on giving. Someone find a close up of Best's face at the end and I'll give you a grand. Two grand if you catch the exact moment the first tear spills down his cheek, or his lip starts to wobble.

Stoop

Bradford celebrating at the end like they'd won the league was pretty low rent. Not sure I'd want that if I was one of their fans.

TopPoppy

Chester's next fixtures are hard. A lot more pain to come if you ask me. If you had a bet on Max Best to get sacked first in League Two, put some champagne in the fridge.

***

Tuesday, Sep 2

ButteryCrumpets

Wigan Athletic 5 Chester 0

Lol.

CrunchyAbs

Oh my God this guy's shit. He's actually shit. I can't believe we've wasted so much of our lives discussing him in these threads.

BeardedWonderwall

My Chester mates are going 'it's only the Vans Trophy'. Pathetic.

CrunchyAbs

Why do you have mates who support Chester? That's the real question.

***

Wednesday, Sep 3

BrokenGround

Lads, I've just had an experience that has finally put to rest any lingering doubts I may have had about the character of Chester FC's player-manager. I have been methodical, I have been diligent, I have checked my workings, had them peer reviewed, and I can finally, fully confirm that yes, Max Best is a dickhead.

CrunchyAbs

Genuinely excited right now. I'm supposed to pick up my kids from school but they'll have to wait.

BrokenGround

It was our first eleven-a-side match of the season and remember we've done zero training for it. We've faffed about with some one-twos and prepared for our sixes tournament in a way that made us worse. I have zero faith in Best and his methods and that's a feeling that's finally spreading beyond the Wrexham and Grimsby fanbases, as you can hear on any neutral podcast or read about on any betting blog.

We're playing away and he meets us there. Seems like the Brig's his driver so you'd think he might be a conduit between the army and the craziness but the Brig defers to Best when it comes to football. At times during the match we were pleading with him to do something but he just gave us strange looks.

I'm getting ahead of myself.

H has a suggestion for the starting eleven and Best goes yeah yeah yeah this is top oh but what if we change this to this and a minute later we've got a completely different starting line up and everyone's out of position. H says okay but what's the formation. Best goes 'eleven' and the Brig laughs. So we're going on the pitch with no plan, no training, no formation, no team talk. Actually that's not fair. He says, 'My favourite movie is Platoon because he throws his hands up and goes waaah. Okay let's slap.'

It's like he wants us to lose.

H is unhappy. He doesn't really have a say but he can feed back to the chain of command that this experiment, whatever it is, isn't going well. He needs to pick his moment. For now his hands are tied because there are majors and lieutenant colonels who have taken an interest in the project. Any time a high-profile civilian takes an interest in army football, command are going to fawn all over him.

I'd say that getting in with the army's top brass was Best's intention except he has shown numerous times he doesn't know the first fucking thing about the army - as will be proven later - and he doesn't seem to give a flying fig who we are or what we do.

TopPoppy

Looks like I picked the wrong day to run out of popcorn.

BrokenGround

The first half is a mess. We're doing rolling subs and Best has us on and off, in and out like we're jack-in-the-boxes. The only person who doesn't come off is Fatso, who is Best's blue-eyed boy.

Best doesn't give us any instructions, doesn't move us around, doesn't fix anything.

One time, the Brig shouts encouragement and Best tells him not to. That's not just my imagination - the subs heard him.

We're all just flailing around, goals are flying in, and the only time Best has anything to say is when he complains about the pitch.

'This is much better than our home pitch', says Dick Gently.

'No way,' says Best.

'Really,' says DG. 'Ours is like the one at Chester when you fell flat on your face taking a corner.'

DG is worried he has gone too far because Best goes distant. He's only thinking of the match, though. 'That was offside,' he says. 'I think I might actually be good at this. Fuck.' He thinks about what DG said. 'Me falling flat on my face? I bet you liked that on your forums.' That's it. He's not bothered.

It's four-nil at half time and we're all muddy and stressed and bickering with each other. That's when Best does the single most infuriating thing I've ever witnessed. He's lucky the Brig was there. I'm deadly serious about that.

TP, have you got your popcorn?

TopPoppy

[Popcorn emoji.]

BrokenGround

Half time. We go off to the side of the pitch and yell at each other but there's no heat to it because we all know who is to blame.

'All right lads,' says Best. 'Let's all count to five. Nice, deep, cleansing breaths. Hom. Hommmm.'

We're ready to breathe flames. Best doesn't realise how close he is to pushing a bunch of proud Welshmen too far.

'So listen everyone. I heard about how you got on in your tournament. There's a bit of a mismatch between your old way of playing and your new way of playing. The old ways keep creeping back, don't they? But you can't do both. It's one or the other, yeah? One of the reasons I wanted to coach an army team is that the Brig told me army lads are disciplined, hard-working, self-sufficient problem-solvers and that's what I need for this project. So tell me now, is he wrong?'

Of course, no-one says anything because if you agree, he's going to trick you into doing things his way.

Best shrugs. 'I think I need to establish dominance. Ah, I've got it.'

He walks around, gesticulating grandly.

'I am Max Best. You can't do what I can do.' He flicks a ball up, does some kick ups, kicks it head high, then volleys it dramatically towards the distant goal. It spins wide and nearly hits the corner flag. 'Yeah, pretend that went in. As I was saying, you can't do what I can do. I'm a legend of the game. I'm a generational talent. When I say jump, gravity says 'how high?'

'But I can do what you can do. You're a rifle unit, yes? You can blindfold me and put any rifle manufactured in the northern hemisphere in the last fifty years on a table and I will strip it to bits and reassemble it within 22 seconds.

'I can hit a bullseye from a hip stance from 200 metres or I can do the lying-down thing and hit from 400.

'I can throw a grenade and blow up a building and walk away while it explodes behind me while I smoke a cigar. I recorded the world's longest ever one-inch punch.

'I can drink whisky straight from the bottle while a foxy, pony-tailed field surgeon plucks a bullet from my innards with a big pair of tweezers while I say 'pain don't hurt' and then we bang.

'Okay? I'm a world-class expert in all aspects of human endeavour so do what I tell you.'

There's a silence during which I only hear myself scream. I visualise my name being read out on the news under the caption 'manhunt'. There's a hideous squeaking and I realise half a dozen lads are struggling to breathe. They are pissing themselves laughing.

Best lets out one quick laugh of his own. 'Wow, that was fun. It has been a while since I've talked that much shit.'

The Brig's mouth twitches. 'Has it, sir?'

Best claps his hands together and looks around the group. 'Right. Enough foreplay. Do as you're fucking told, please. Thank you.'

Someone says, 'But you haven't told us anything!'

Best goes 'urgh!' and he's angry suddenly. The anger passes quickly but he's as animated and lively as I've seen him in person. 'Five yard passes! Five yard passes! Hot Rod, did you hear me tell you to play five-yard passes yes or no?'

'Yes, Max, but that was in training.'

'What? What? What the fuck, guys. That's the whole plan. It's not going to change from week to week. I'm not going to say it every time we meet like you're a bunch of simpletons. You're intelligent people. The plan is five-yard passes. Always. Forever. That's the whole plan. That's the start of the plan and the end of the plan. Print it, laminate it. Carve it into the fucking moon. I don't want to bin anyone off because I know none of you chose this and in the end you're doing your bit for your country and all that but at the same time I'm not interested in begging you to trust me or some shit. I chose an army team because I thought you'd follow instructions and I could save a few months of social engineering. What are you resisting for? If this project is a huge fucking disaster it's on my head. I'll be the one getting laughed at. I'll be the one being mocked on your Wrexham podcast forums.'

Lads, he looked right at me when he said that! I got shivers.

He says, 'By the way, I thought we'd done enough in our short time together to show that we were on the right track. No offence but when I took over you lot were shit.'

'None taken, sir,' said the Brig.

'The good news is you're not shit now but this lot are.'

He meant the other team.

'I've given you a golden Willy Wonga ticket, entry to a magical world of wonder and whimsy. A way you can dominate almost every match you play. Get closer together, do the short passes. How simple do you want it?' He shakes his head at our lack of gratitude. He picks up a ball and moves it around as he talks. 'How do you do short passes? A one-two is a good start, isn't it? Think of the pitch like our zigzag drill. We move up into their half, nice and safe, in control, and when they lose their shape we fucking ram it down their throats. And if they keep their shape, we one-two all the way into the penalty area. I don't want to say this out loud, lads. You need to work it out for yourselves.'

I'm sick of his face, his voice, his hoodie, his arrogance, his girlfriend, his money, his fame. 'Or we could wait till you get sacked.'

He looks at me and I feel like I've landed a good blow. I hope I've hurt him. But he's only struggling to process what I've said. 'Sacked from the army?' He shoots a nervous look from the Brig to H before looking at me again. 'I don't work for the army, mate. I work for Chester Football Club.'

'Sacked from Chester.'

He's relieved that I'm not some sort of dum-dum there to make up the numbers, which gets me even more riled up. He smirks. I can't remember the last time I've seen a smirk in real life. Never, maybe? 'I'm more likely to be made commander-in-chief of the army than I am to get sacked from Chester. Five-yard passes, guys. Think of the ball as a sandbag. You're in a line passing sandbags to each other to build a wall for some army reason. I've seen you guys do it in movies and you do it very well.' He smirks BIGGER. 'But not as well as me. Okay, off you pop.'

CrunchyAbs

Fuuuuuuuck I hate him.

TopPoppy

You won, though, didn't you BG? You did what he said and you turned it around?

BrokenGround

No we lost five-nil.

***

Saturday, Sep 6

ButteryCrumpets

Chesterfield 2 Chester 0

Lol.

Teulu

Two points from five games is relegation form. Whisper it... could they?

CrunchyAbs

Put that on your giant billboard you stupid pricks.

TopPoppy

I'm starting to think that badly coaching a bunch of Squaddies who hate him is a bad use of Max Best's time.

***

Wednesday, Sep 10

BrokenGround

All right bit of a twist in the tale today. It was our unit's first home game of the season and Best had brought a friend.

First things first, we play in a local park near the barracks. There are goalposts and nets and corner flags but there the similarity to the training pitch at Saltney ends. That pitch is flat, true, and slightly spongy. Our pitch is rock hard with loads of divots, bumps, and holes. At this time of year it's a pure ankle breaker. Over winter it turns into a bog. There's always one day in November where the soil softens just enough to let us play some good football - we always win that game.

'We're not playing on this,' he says. 'You're teasing me. This is a prank. Okay, you got me, let's all laugh at Chester, it's funny, now let's go to the real place.'

H is defensive. What's he supposed to do with no budget? 'Max, this is it. This is where we play.'

'You're the fucking army. Where are the facilities?'

'If you think this is bad, you should try using our gear.'

Best does this thing where he's sort of snarling and trying to control himself. He opens his eyes wide, looks up, and breathes. 'Unacceptable. I'll sort it out by the next home game.'

'That's next week,' says H. He's in a panic like he's in trouble. No, mate, Best's in trouble because he doesn't know how to win in League Two. He's the Peter Principle writ large. Promoted to the level of his incompetence.

'I need four beefy boys to help me move something,' he says.

Enough of the lads think Best is all right to volunteer, and they follow him to the car park. I'm at the side of the pitch wishing I'd volunteered so I could find out what was going on. You know, for this story.

BeardedWonderwall

What's in the box? What's in the booooxxxx?

BrokenGround

It wasn't a box. It was a wheelchair. The little German player! They carry him all the way to the side of the pitch; I suppose I wouldn't want to roll a wheelchair on that surface either, not with a broken leg.

He's supposed to be at home wrapped up in cotton wool. He's all pale and he looks in pain but Best doesn't give a shit. He gets the lads around.

'This is Pascal. He's my assistant manager for this project startinnnnnnng... now.' He slashes his finger down like it's a race or something. 'His bones got smashed into a thousand pieces so one of the subs needs to stand here next to him and make sure the ball doesn't hit him in the leg.'

'Can it hit him in the face?' says DG.

'Yeah, sure. The more knocked around he gets the more fuss he gets from his harem. Isn't that right, Pascal?'

'Hello, everyone. I'm very happy to be here. I must say I am jealous.'

'Jealous of what?' I demand.

Pascal looks confused. 'Why, you are - '

'Oi,' says Best. 'Don't tell them.'

'What? They don't know? How can they not know?'

'Theirs not to reason why, theirs but to do and die. Into the valley of Best rode the six hundred. All right? Now, someone tell Pascal how you're going to play.'

I scoff. 'We're going to play short passes and we're going to lose.'

Pascal gets these deep worry lines. I guess he's been doing a lot of that recently. I heard the doctors said he'd be out for ten months. 'The one does not follow the other.'

Best smiles. 'You watch them for the first half and we'll talk about your first impressions during the break.'

I say, 'Won't we be talking tactics at half time?'

'Only if you don't do what you're told. It'll save us all a lot of time and stress if you just stick to the plan.'

BeardedWonderwall

Let me guess. You got whupped.

BrokenGround

Well, it was nil-nil at half time. I wouldn't say whupped but we didn't create any chances. The pitch is so bad. Even if Best has some big genius plan we can't do it on our patch, right? I kept wanting to boot the ball long but I knew he'd get sarky with me so I just gave it to Fatso and we'd move up the pitch until the ball bobbled. I mean, passes that we normally make would just shoot under someone's foot or hit a divot and spin up and away. The other unit took one look at the pitch and decided, yeah, long ball.

CrunchyAbs

I don't get why you don't have a good place to play.

BrokenGround

If you were in the army you wouldn't ask those questions.

At half-time, Pascal cements himself as the best thing ever to come out of Chester. We're all flopped on the side of the pitch taking on water and calories. 'Max,' he goes. 'We can't play like that in the second half.'

'Why the fuck not? That was mint. It's working.'

'Because the pitch is abysmal! They cannot play a passing game on this surface.'

Best stands and goes over and looms over the kid. Sticks his finger in his face. 'They can and they will. No retreat, no surrender.'

'I have a better idea.'

Best flops to the ground, sits cross-legged like a kid in school. 'Teach me, master.'

'The defence should be allowed to hit long passes to the channels. Out for throw-ins, even. They can form the blob around the throw-in taker and go from there. It's much less risky and you can still get what you want.'

Best closes his eyes, thinks about it. 'The assman is wise.'

I can't believe it. 'You're going to let us hoof the ball clear like a normal team?'

'Hoof?' says Best, his face scrunched up like I've slagged off his girl.

'No hoofs,' says Pascal. 'The clearance must be directed. Hit zone 15.'

Best is up and walking around. 'What assman is trying to say is we're not the fucking artillery. We don't just lob bombs any-fucking-where. We are riflemen. We aim, we shoot, we hit the target. I do, anyway, not sure about you lot. Hot Rod, go over there. Away ten more yards. Spread your hands out. Spin around like Mary Poppins. Okay, lads, that's zone 15.'

Fatso points. 'The space in front of the penalty area is zone 14, right?'

'That is correct,' says Pascal. 'Zone 15 is to the right. Zone 18 is one zone further forward, in line with the penalty area. You don't want to hit the ball there or it will go straight out for a goal kick and the pressure will come right back at you. Aiming for zone 15 will give the pass a natural angle so that it goes out for a throw in. When that happens, you run up and form the blob there.'

'Why do you keep saying blob?' says The Midnighter, who plays right mid.

'He's German,' says Max. 'They say strange things over there. He won't do it again.'

Fatso shoots to his feet. 'The blob is when we're all bunched up on the pitch!'

'Pascal!' yells Best. 'Look what you've done!'

'What?'

'We don't teach them; they learn it!'

'I am sorry, boss.'

'Kin 'ell.'

BeardedWonderwall

Nothing about this story makes sense but I love it.

Teulu

Never thought my favourite character would be a diving German.

BrokenGround

I'll just straight up say that we lost one-nil but it was a totally different feeling.

First, there was the sense that there was a big plan that Best was guiding us towards. Pascal knew what it was and he said he was jealous, right?

Second, we had a plan for the match. We launch the ball fifty yards and scramble to get numbers around and try to win the ball high up the pitch. Then we do the short passing shit. That's actually fun. That works for me. What doesn't work is starting from our goal kick and trying to do slick Premier League passing moves. It's depressing, actually, thinking how hard you have to work and how perfect everything has to be to even get near the oppo's box. Best is a good player and I think he doesn't know what it's like to be us. Pascal's good, too, but he knows how hard it is because he's little.

Third, when we were chasing an equaliser we went long and turned the ball over from a throw in, just like we planned. Pascal screamed, 'Yes, lads! That's it!' Best told him not to cheer us on. Pascal went, 'Come on, Welsh! Yes mate! And again!' Best just smiled. On his own he's a prick, obvs, but with his people he's all right.

Fourth, yeah, the other unit, some lads from Merseyside, were getting frustrated with how we were playing and that was motivational. They were getting stuck in our blob and we actually played most of the half in their half.

Right near the end, we had our big chance. We played a few passes before Fatso pinged a ball forward. We had two lads chasing it. Hot Rod went after the ball while The Midnighter went into the box. Square ball - great chance - blazed it over!

Final whistle. We shake hands, go back to base. Best doesn't care about the score but Pascal is gutted, same as me. He has been in the hospital, in his bed, and this was his first big trip outside and he's sick as a parrot seeing us lose.

We're chatting a mile a minute because we all like how the half went and we lighten up enough to tease The Midnighter about his miss. If he could pull birds the way he'd pulled that shot he'd be a real ladies man. He blames the pitch and we all jeer.

'No,' says Best, darkly. 'It was the pitch.'

He goes off to chat to the refs who he says had a top game, and I see my chance to get some hot goss. 'Hey, Pascal,' I say. 'What's the mood with your lads? Are you all depressed?'

'Chester? Depressed is too strong. The fixtures are tough but we knew that going into the season. Max always outlines his plan and he's always right. We are on track.'

'It doesn't look like it from the outside.'

He shrugs. 'I'm a tiny German forward trying to make a career in England. I know I don't look like much. None of us look like much. We do not have the luxury of caring about appearances.'

'Not sure about that. I'm on a, er, Facebook group with Wrexham fans. One guy's obsessed with how attractive people at Chester are.'

Big smile. 'Yes, it's unusual. Max always says he wants to sign some uggos for balance.' He looks up at me. 'Maybe that's why he chose 3 R Welsh.'

I freeze, but I don't get angry. I realise he's joking even though he's completely deadpan. Dry as a broken bone. 'Cheeky bastard.'

'I wish I was out there with you,' he says.

'You'll play again,' I say. I've come back from worse.

'By then Max will have worked out how to teach this. You get to be in it from the start. You could be famous.'

'Famous?' I scoff. 'For losing every match?'

'Why would you lose every match?'

'That's what we're doing. Best doesn't care. No offence but that's why Chester are in a tailspin.'

He frowns at the word tailspin. 'We are in the same boat. I shouldn't say boat since you are the army. We are in the same panzer. We have to work through the early stage of the process. Trust me, you will finish strong. When Max is finished with you there will be a lot of attention.'

I look at the pitch where we played mostly inept football. 'Because of this? What is it?' He mimes zipping his mouth closed. I bend down and get closer. 'He told us to use the sides but he won't explain why.'

Pascal checks Best isn't looking, unzips his mouth, and whispers. 'Take the blob to the sides and use the touchline as an extra defender.'

'What? Why?'

'Just do it.' He zips his mouth up.

Teulu

I love him! I want a Pascal spin-off.

TaranMellt

What do we reckon's coming next? They gonna move the matches to Chester or what?

BrokenGround

I know it's blasphemous but I'd prefer that to breaking my ankle. We'll see. I know Best gets things done but I mean, just look at him. He's a blow-hard. All hot air.

***

Saturday, Sep 13

BrokenGround

We trained at Saltney with Pascal there. It's more wheelchair-friendly so he was able to wheel himself around. Best asked someone to stick close and watch for stray balls again so we took turns doing that. I took a shift so I could get the goss on Best but didn't get too far. Pascal confirmed some things we already knew and admitted Best is a maniac but he didn't seem to think that was a problem.

He kept saying he was jealous. That word again! Apparently Best almost never coaches but when he does it's epic. That's why people keep popping their head in to see what we're doing.

We skipped the stretches so that Best could talk Pascal through what we had been doing. We repeated the old drills and it felt good to be back on a flat surface.

For the last twenty we got cones and made a rectangle on the edge of the pitch. While we were laying out the cones, Pascal was wagging his eyebrows at me, trying to make me realise this was significant.

But all we did was a rondo variant. One group trying to keep the ball for as long as possible, the other trying to turn it over.

Nothing special about it at all, but when we were done Pascal was like 'see?' I smiled and nodded back but had no fucking clue. I would talk to Fatso and the others about it on the way home and see if we could piece it together.

***

ButteryCrumpets

Chester 1 Barrow 2

Lol.

Stoop

Two points from six matches and the next two are sure-fire defeats. Best is a dead man walking.

Teulu

A cup win would keep him going. 4th round of the AOK Cup is good for a minnow like Chester.

***

Wednesday, Sep 17

BrokenGround

Guys, my head is spinning. This adventure keeps getting weirder. Keep going further down the rabbit hole. You'll never guess what happened.

BeardedWonderwall

They sacked him right there in front of you?

BrokenGround

Not even close. They're playing tonight in the cup so I couldn't even tease him about that one. I got stuck in on losing to Barrow, though. Asked Best if he was tired because he was carrying his team or because he was propping up the league table. He replied that his boss loved a good relegation scrap. 'That's his milieu,' he said, laughing. I had to look it up. It means, like, the environment he's comfortable in. 'He'll be sick when we go on a winning spree'.

Okay now there are loads of things I should have said in response to that but we've missed a key fact that explains why things were strange.

First up, our match was postponed. The other unit got called up to manoeuvres but Best tells H fine let's train instead.

So we get in our minibuses and drive off but we go the wrong way and we all remember Best saying we wouldn't play on our pitch again. So where did we go?

BeardedWonderwall

Chester.

BrokenGround

Cold.

BeardedWonderwall

Aldershot.

BrokenGround

Colder.

BeardedWonderwall

Holy Christ just tell us.

BrokenGround

Colliers Park. Where Wrexham train. We drive there and park next to some very, very flash cars. One licence plate says Muggles but with 5s instead of Gs.

BeardedWonderwall

No way did Wrexham AFC let Max Best in.

BrokenGround

I knew you'd be like this so I took photos. I'll post them later.

So we're all in a daze getting ready and Best just looks tired. I mean, for real, he's carrying his team. He's always getting messages and calls. I haven't mentioned it but when he's at Saltney people just turn up to ask him questions. It's like he's so busy he has to do meetings just whenever, wherever. It's mad and it's getting to him, you can see it.

Pascal's there. He's got a big smile and I ask him what's up and he says we're the highlight of his week. He says we're even better than Spanish lessons, which is the kind of bonkers thing everyone at Chester says.

Colliers, though. The facilities are amazing, the staff are happy to see us, the pitches are perfect. We get a grass one that feels like a snooker table. Wrexham players wander past.

We start our stretches distracted. 'Do it properly, you dicks.' Never guess who yelled that. But I'm thinking, the guy came through. BeardedWonderwall, you said none of us would ever play at Colliers or the Racecourse but there I was! So I did the routine properly. Much less wobbly at the end this time.

Then we do the rectangle-at-the-side drill except this time we go at it much harder because thanks to Pascal's hints we've worked out what it's for. In a match, instead of trying to pass up the middle of the pitch like a bunch of chumps, we're going to go up the sides and if we lose the ball the oppo will have a hard time countering us.

Best calls us in, says he likes the intensity, and is about to give us a new task when Paul Parker comes by.

Half of us are buzzing. The Wrexham manager! In person! But there's a tension, too. He and Best have history and it's not all good. Off the top of my head, Best said Parker played 'pub team football', mocked our long throws in a video (even though he has a long throw guy himself!), and Best worked with Crawley to knock us out of the playoffs.

'All right lads?' says Parker. 'All right Best?'

'Yeah, top.'

'How's your new training ground?'

Best perks up. 'Very good. Not a slam dunk, but in off the backboard. Everyone's kicking on, but especially the young players and the women. Loads of improvement there. There is some minor whinging, mostly from me, but yeah, pretty happy overall. Relieved.'

'You've got a big game tonight, don't you?'

'Not as big as 3 R Welsh against R2D2 Lancs.'

Parky looks at us. 'What's all this about?' he asks Best.

'Just helping out some lads with a dream. I got a letter written in crayon on army stationery. Dear Mr. Best, can you help us transform football forever? Can we please learn to mix north and south, old and new, yin and yang? I was like, yeah, sure, I'm free on Wednesdays.'

Parky's amused, as you would be if you'd won five out of six and looked certs to go up to the Championship while your local rivals were bottom of League Two. 'You were just about to change the drill, yeah?'

'Yeah. I thought since we were in Wrexham AFC's training ground we should learn how to shuffle and slide. Keep it tight.'

Best is taking the piss, saying Parky plays defensive football, but Parky rises above it. 'Yeah, go on. Let's have a look.'

Best looks from us to our hero. 'Some of these idiots are Wrexham fans. Can they get selfies or whatever?'

'Yeah, course they can.'

Best nods at us. 'How many of you have your phone on you?'

I say, 'They're in our lockers.'

'Well,' says Best. 'Tough shit. You missed your chance. Now let's get back to work.'

My blood starts to boil but Parky laughs. 'You're fucking mental, you. Lads, I'll come back when you're done, yeah? Take all the photos you want. But like the man says, back to work.'

Best grins at him - it's like they're mates even though they're enemies. I don't get that. He tells us what we're doing next.

We're going to knock the ball around in the rectangle, same as before, but at some point Best will blow his whistle and he'll play a pass across the pitch. There will be three attackers there and everyone from the rectangle - I suppose I should call it the blob - has to rush back and form a 4-4-2 to stop them scoring.

'I want you to erect a structure,' says Best. 'From blob to structure in five seconds or fewer. Oh, this is Wrexham, isn't it? From blob to structure in five seconds or less. You ready, lads?' He taps on his phone - the stopwatch app. 'Let's see how fast you can get erect.'

I feel my cheeks flush not because of the joke but because Parky's watching. He's absolutely fascinated and so is Pascal. They've never seen anything like this.

We pass the ball around until Best blows his whistle. We watch as he pings a pass all the way across the pitch. It looks like he's sent it too far ahead but it spins back right onto the feet of one of the guys. That guy sets off into a sprint and I stop admiring the pass.

I put my head down and run for all my life. Parky's watching.

Fourteen players around me are in a full sprint. Ten are in defensive bibs, four will join the other three as attackers. Every person on the pitch is rushing towards the same goal. It's unprecedented. It's mental.

The defenders don't make it. The strikers get to a line of cones after which they're allowed to score, and they simply roll the ball into the net.

Fuck.

We trudge back to the rectangle, blowing hard. 'Guys,' complains Best. 'Don't embarrass me in front of Paul Parker, for fuck's sake. Do it again.'

We retake our positions and knock the ball around. I've learned my lesson - don't watch the pass, just retreat. Best goes to kick his long pass and I sprint towards my penalty box.

'Boo!' cries Best. 'Boo hiss! Same old Wrexham, always cheating!'

I've gone twenty yards so I have to walk back, hands on head, sucking in air. My legs are on fire.

Best goes to kick his ball and says 'ha!' but no-one bought the fake.

Then he blows his whistle, sprays another dreamy pass out wide, and the defenders rush back. I don't bother - I can't do three sprints in half a minute.

The pass is right on the fucking money again and the attackers rush forward.

'Why are there three?' says Parky. Best doesn't reply.

This time, the defenders get to the cones in time but the attackers pass to each other and carve out a shot. It goes wide even though it was an open net.

'Ah, got it,' says Parky, but he doesn't explain it to me. 'How many more of these are you going to do?'

Best looks at his phone. 'We've got another forty minutes,' he says.

Parky's horrified, and so am I, but one of us laughs. 'I see what you're doing with this drill, though why you'd ever need it I don't know. There's something wrong with it, though. I can't put my finger on it.'

Pascal speaks up and it's clear Parky hadn't noticed him. 'The defenders should start out in 4-4-2, walk to the blob, play, then rush back to where they started. That will help them, ah, achieve erection.'

'Ah, mate,' says Best. 'That is fucking mint. That's it, yes.'

'Pascal Bochum,' says Parky, going to the wheelchair and offering a handshake. 'Watched you on tape. Our stats guys love you.'

'Whoa whoa whoa,' laughs Best. 'No tapping up my players. I, like, actually need this little fucker. Look what a mess we are without him.'

'Your stats guys love me?' says Pascal, dreamily. He's close to tears. 'Can I see the scouting reports?'

'No you fucking can't,' says Best. 'I am the state, remember. I don't want you changing your play style to look good on fucking Wrexham's stats. What the shit.'

Parky's laughing but he gets a text. 'I have to go and do some work but I'll be back for the photos.'

'I'm gonna shoot off when they hit the showers,' says Best. 'BrokenGround, make sure H knows to wait for Mr. Parker, yeah?'

'Yeah, course.'

'Seeya Best. Good luck tonight. Seeya later, BrokenGround.'

He spoke to me! Parky spoke to me! And he came back like he said. Posed for selfies and told us how lucky we were and that all the lads were gonna come and watch us play and Eve would be around too. That's the one who looks like Catherine Zeta Jones. I went, 'But Best is a fraud though, yeah?' and Parky just laughed and said I was hilarious.

And just because you're a bunch of twats who never believe anything...

<Photo>

BeardedWonderwall

Fucking amazing, lad. Well done.

SummerhillBill

Good for you, BG. Good for you.

***

[Later the same day.]

TopPoppy

Can anyone find a stream of the Chester match?

BrokenGround

No. I'm following on the blog by that old woman who does minute by minute updates until she gets distracted.

TopPoppy

What's going on? I can only see the score.

BrokenGround

Yeah sounds like first twenty minutes was all Chester. Max Best running riot. He crossed to Henri Lyons for the opener. Then it was loads of long shots, proper siege. Best went off and ever since it has been all Wimbledon.

TopPoppy

Ask him why he only plays twenty minutes.

TaranMellt

I'm following it on Fotmob. It was all Chester and now they're getting battered. No way they'll survive this.

SummerhillBill

Jester get battered! Everywhere they go!

Jester get battered! Everywhere they go!

***

BrokenGround

Full time! They did it. Held out. Jesus. They're in the Fourth Round. How can you be so shit in the league and get to the Fourth Round of the cup?

TopPoppy

What time's the draw for the next round?

Stoop

I think they'll do it soon.

TopPoppy

If you're a Chester fan what do you want?

SummerhillBill

Euthanasia.

Stoop

Looking at the other teams they're going out for sure, so you might as well get an away match and make some money. Christ knows they could use it.

BrokenGround

Yeah, you want a big away match. Prem.

TopPoppy

Man United home to Everton. Used to be a good game, that.

Chelsea v Burnley.

Yeah I think all the small teams are out of the hat so...

Fuck it's gonna be Newcastle.

Home or away though?

Away's worth half a million quid.

BrokenGround

Home to Newcastle. They were 50-50 to get half a million. The one time you don't want a home draw and they fucked it up.

SummerhillBill

lol

Tinpot.

***

Saturday, Sep 20

BrokenGround

Not much to say today, lads. We went to Saltney to train. That seems like it'll be the pattern. Saltney Saturday, Wrexham Wednesday. Unless we've got an away match.

We did a mix of the drills we've been doing then had a half-pitch match against ourselves. Best didn't say anything, but Pascal shouted advice sometimes.

For the first time, we had to get off the pitch on the dot because some lads had booked it after. Good money for Max Best, that. Nice little earner. If he keeps going like that, he'll be able to afford a new car.

***

ButteryCrumpets

Chester 0 Mansfield 3

Lol.

CrunchyAbs

I don't understand this guy. He's one-nil down with ten to go and puts on a couple of teenagers I've never heard of and turns defeat into humiliation. Jamie Brotherhood? Who? What's he playing at?

TaranMellt

Who knows? He's exhausting. 2 points from 7 games isn't even funny. I mean, it is. It is funny. It is very funny. It is hilariously funny.

***

Wednesday, Sep 24

BrokenGround

Wow. Okay. Where do I start with this?

We went to play the army cadet officers in Bury. Best and Pascal drove separately, as usual, in Best's shit car.

The pitch is okay, not great, but we warm up and think we're gonna be able to pass it around a bit.

Best has told H he's thinking of ending this thing, whatever it is, and he is even more subdued than normal and no wonder - Chester are deep in the League Two doo-doo. Your fancy cup runs aren't gonna save your job, are they? Pascal does almost all the talking but even that isn't much. Just names the team, says we're gonna do the zone 15 thing, let Fatso set the tempo, keep your passes short, form your blob, use the sides, fast back into position when there's danger.

It doesn't matter that they're depressed. We aren't there to chat with them, are we? Aren't there to make friends.

We warm up, match kicks off, the officers have never seen anything like us. We score two quick goals and we're all over them. It's the best we've ever played. Ever.

I'm walking off the pitch absolutely buzzing. It's like, this is something. I don't know what exactly, but it's something. It's not a joke, he's not taking the piss. Do you know what I mean? I'm thinking, can we beat E Company 8 if we play like this?

The half time team talk goes like this. Max Best, famous for his motivational speeches, says, 'Yeah, do that again.' He looks up, thinks, and adds, 'But when you score, do jazz hands. There's a reason but I can't tell you.'

'There isn't a reason,' says Pascal. 'But do it if you want.'

We don't do jazz hands when we score because we don't score. Fatso turns his ankle, tries to play on, but Best won't have it. They have a row on the touchline and I have to be honest, without Fatso we're just not as good. He's the one who knows when to collapse the blob to hit the out balls. He sets up most of our attacks these days.

We concede a goal and then it's backs to the wall for the last twenty minutes.

Best had been chatting away to Pascal about God knows what but even he shut up and Pascal was cheering us on, bouncing on his wheelchair and we were throwing ourselves into blocks and doing last-ditch clearances off the line and everything.

Near the end, someone gets the ball and boots it clear to buy us some breathing space and Best explodes. 'Pass the fucking ball!'

He doesn't get it. You can't pass the ball when you're under the cosh. You've got to get rid.

The officers come right back at us, get it wide, nice cross, header, done. Two-all.

Frustrating.

Best normally says something before leaving but today he doesn't. He shakes hands with the oppo, the ref, and wheels Pascal away. He helps the lad into the passenger seat, gets in his car... and nothing. It doesn't start.

He gets out, screams 'Fucking go you prick!'

He kicks a tyre, gets back in. Still nothing.

I turn to Hot Rod. 'Head's gone.'

'He's cracked.'

Best wanders back towards the changing rooms - we're all standing outside, watching the show. 'H. Can you take Pascal back with you, please? I know it's a hassle but my car's dead.'

'What about you?' says H.

'What about me? Can you take care of my player, please.' He doesn't really say it as a question.

I like Pascal. I don't want him waiting here for hours for someone to turn up and fix Best's car. 'H, why don't you take Pascal home, car 2 can go with anyone who's got school runs and all that, and car 3 can wait and make sure Best's sorted.'

Best looks at me with his tired, tired eyes. 'Leave no man behind, is it?'

'Fucking right,' I say, even though he's Chester and he's the enemy and he's a dick.

'Sorted,' says Best. He gets his phone out. 'I want to shout at someone. Who can I shout at?'

BeardedWonderwall

Don't tell me you spent an hour or two just you and Max Best?

BrokenGround

Yeah, pretty much! We had our showers, sorted Pascal out in the van. Second lot left. Me, Hot Rod, and The Frampton Menace had a look at Best's car.

'You don't need a mechanic,' says Hot Rod. 'You need a priest.'

'I think it already gave up the ghost,' says Frampton.

BeardedWonderwall

Are you seriously introducing a new character with no explanation?

BrokenGround

What? He's a goalie. He's just a guy. We're army grunts, there's nothing to say. This isn't Tolstoy.

Best is proper upset. He's, like, distraught about the death of his car. I mean, I know it's just the accumulation of all the things that are going wrong in his life and I know I've played a very small part in his misery and I've got to say, that brings me some comfort.

BeardedWonderwall

Fuck me, that's savage.

lol

BrokenGround

Best was hoping to be back in Chester in time to watch some school match. The Brig calls and says if Best has a lift he should take it and the Brig will sort the car out. Best doesn't speak for ages, gets all his stuff, and goes in our van.

'I go in the front,' says Frampton.

'Not today,' says Best, and that's the end of that conversation.

We drive in silence for a while but I know it's my one chance to land some blows for the Red Army. Best has spent three years digging the Wrex, hasn't he, and now he's a captive audience and I'm gonna give him a taste of his own medicine.

TopPoppy

Talk about kicking a man while he's down.

BrokenGround

Best time to do it, isn't it?

I start with something simple. 'Bad timing with the car, isn't it, what with you being so close to the sack?'

He does something strange. He turns really slowly and he has this aura about him that is actually intimidating. It's like, he's at the end of his tether, his world is collapsing, and the guy who gave away the ball is the one giving him shit.

TopPoppy

You didn't say you were the one who gave the ball away.

BrokenGround

Well, it didn't seem relevant at the time.

I'm just saying the guy's a nutcase, he's fit, strong, I think he somehow knows I'm here on the Discord ripping the piss out of him seven days a week, and we're in a van. My training isn't going to help in a fight on the motorway.

The worst thing is - he's smiling. 'The sack?' He shows his teeth and my mouth goes dry. I fumbled around with my hands out of his sight looking for a weapon. It's on. It's about to happen. Wrexham v Chester the way it's meant to be.

Stoop

Yeah, tell me more about his teeth and your mouth and your fumbling hands and your weapon.

TopPoppy

JFC this guy.

BrokenGround

Not like that! But it didn't happen, anyway. Here's what he did: he laughed.

TopPoppy

He laughed?

BrokenGround

Laughed his head off. Had tears and everything.

'You fucking twats rubbing yourselves off every Saturday thinking I'll get sacked. What the fuck is wrong with you? Hee.' That was one of those noises you make when you've finished a batch of laughs, right? 'Guys, sorry to ruin your sex life but I'm not getting sacked. Hee. What the hell.'

Of course, him laughing at me gets me running my mouth off again. I go, 'It's just that you're bottom of the league and you're never gonna win a match in League Two and even Chester aren't stupid enough to keep you around and it doesn't matter how far you go in the cups.'

He does a fake recoil thing like he's shocked I can say more than five words at a time, and he laughs some more. 'It's true I'm not in the running for Manager of the Month, but it's nice for someone else to have a turn.'

'The fuck are you talking about? Your team is shit.'

'Nah. We're fine.'

I can't believe what I'm hearing. The guy's completely delusional. It's like he doesn't even know he's burned out. I tap Frampton and shake my head like 'can you believe this?' He can't. I know this channel is where we're supposed to laugh at Chester but burnout is no laughing matter. 'Best, you're depressed. Everyone can see that. And no wonder. You're going to get relegated, your new striker can't score, your best player's injured, you've got a Wrexham reject shitting the bed twice a week, you didn't get an away draw in the cup, Carlisle are going to turn you over this weekend, your training ground is a laughing stock, everyone hates you, we can't play the football you want us to play, your girlfriend's only the sixth hottest woman at your club, and your car just fucking died rather than take you home. You need help.'

Best nods and covers his mouth and - of course - he's laughing again, but not in a nasty way. 'I mean, honestly, thanks for the intervention. I seem to attract a lot of those. You're shooting at the wrong target, though. I'm not depressed.'

'Course you fucking are.'

'I'm not. All right, let's talk this out so I can put your mind at ease. Okay, my car. That's the first thing. The easiest thing. Yeah I don't want to buy a new car because I've got a little pot of money saved up that I'll have to dip into, right? And that's supposed to be reserved for my mum if she needs it for something.'

'Your mum is sick,' I say, stupidly, because I knew that.

'Right. I want to move her into a house with a carer but I can't afford a house with a carer and I can afford it a lot less now than I could this morning, do you get me? That's not helpful. And okay, money is a stressful topic right now because I've got a lad joining Saltney in January and in the summer I'm supposed to pay a hundred grand to his club. Annnnd I don't have it. So that's looming.'

'Rent a car,' says Hot Rod. 'You don't need to buy one.'

'I'll look into that, thanks. Yeah, I've got money on the mind, but it's not, like, catastrophic. I think at this point I know enough people who would trust me enough to lend me some.' He pulled at his lip a few times. 'What else is bothering me? Erm...'

He's making a big show of trying to think of things. I mean, either he's a great actor or he's got the memory of a goldfish. 'Relegation,' I say.

'Nah, not that. Carlisle will beat us, sure, but then we have Gillingham who have spent a lot of money but they don't seem to be any better than last season. I think we could surprise them. Doncaster at home? We're favourites for that. We're not that far off their level now. Sutton away is one of the easiest games we'll play. Seven points from those three and the season's off and running, right? I knew it would be like this and it isn't fun and I thought we would have maybe a couple more points but I'm happy with the cup performances and we've given loads of minutes to our kids already. In every metric except points we're flying. I'm delighted.'

'Delighted? Come on, you're not delighted.'

'No, I am. The only thing that winds me up is seeing Bradford get their act together so fast. Chipper scoring goals, R. Brown resting his injury, no more of this foul-a-minute crap. I just can't fucking understand what happened there. It's like someone's controlling Folke Wester. Some kind of puppet master. I was wondering if it was someone like me.'

'What do you mean?'

'Ah, nothing. Just sort of like a director of football but it isn't Chip Star. You know what he did? He made Wester pick a captain of the defence, a captain of the midfield.'

'You're joking,' says Hot Rod.

'I'm really not. It's what they do in the NFL I think but it's so cringe in a footy team. I think we can agree Chip Star isn't masterminding any-fucking-thing. No, that Bradford sitch is a mystery and a half but it's not, like, making me depressed. It's annoying, yeah. Loads of things are annoying.'

'What else is annoying?' says Hot Rod.

Best bursts out laughing again. 'You training to be a sports psychologist? Ha. You're a natural. What else was on your list? My girlfriend's only the sixth hottest... I mean, each to his own. Oh, and I'm depressed that you can't play the way I want you to play. Guys, you're doing it. You're good. I'm loving it. I'm already feeling like it has been a success and I can move on to the youth team.'

'Move on?' I say. It's a sort of panic. 'We haven't done anything yet. We haven't won a game yet.'

'Yeah but you will. I've got the flywheel going, same as with Chester. You can't see it moving but I can. I'm actually good at this. West are tearing up their league, Saltney, College, they've all flown out of the traps. Oh! You didn't mention the women's team. They won their first game in style. Piece of piss. They're amazing because I'm amazing; what's depressing about that? There's a documentary coming out about them in the weeks leading up to Christmas. You're probably sick of documentaries because you have to watch that saccharin-sweet hagiography about Ryan Reynolds but our one is good.'

'It's about the women's team?' says Frampton. 'I don't watch women's football.'

'Okay, now I'm depressed. Got another hour in the car with this fucking gammon. Fuck me.'

'I'm not a gammon. I just don't like it. I don't want it shoved down my throat every time I go to a website.'

'Hot Rod, pull over. Let me out. I'll walk from here.'

I tut. 'No-one's pulling over and no-one's getting out. Frampton, shut the fuck up. He runs a fucking women's team, doesn't he? Don't be a dick. No, just shut the fuck up.' I feel like I've calmed the situation so I look out the window to see where we are but out of the corner of my eye I see Best flicking Vs at Frampton. 'Best!'

'What?' He's like a child and so is Frampton. The goalie's got his arms folded and a sulky face on.

'Just... Okay, I've been watching you and you're not delighted. You're not happy.'

Best pulls his bottom lip for a while. 'It's like therapy, this, but cheaper. Okay so there's another thing that's getting me down a tiny bit. I can't see how we're gonna avoid this same thing next season.'

'When you're in the National League?' sneers Frampton, which I normally would have found funny but JFC man, read the room.

'In League One.'

I snap. 'You're bottom of League Two! You're not getting promoted.'

'Course we fucking are. We'll probably win the league, even. But then what? Our budget now is 30 grand. The lowest in League One is 70. Okay, I can work more miracles, work more magic, yay. Give me 60 and I'll compete but it's this shit again. Lose the first ten games, be a laughing stock. Okay it's fun to shove it in everyone's faces at the end but you know what? I wouldn't mind just non-stop slapping from the start of the season to the end. But I can't think of a way to break the cycle. I mean, it's not the worst cycle, is it? It's not like Wrexham treading water in the National League for 15 years.'

'You need outside investment,' I say. 'Like we got.'

'Hmm. I kind of took that option off the table, though. Might not have done myself any favours there. Okay but Dylan, what I'm worried about comes after a season of glory and glamour. Right? It's first world problems.'

TopPoppy

Did you just doxx yourself, mate?

BrokenGround

What?

Okay I won't write out the whole conversation if that's what you're saying. We talk some more and I think he's not depressed. He's tired from working too hard but in his head, everything's going amazingly well. I feel like I've done my bit as a social worker so I turn to the most important topic - the unit.

I say, 'Why are you doing this?'

'I want to see if I can teach you this new style of football.'

'But you're not teaching us. You said.'

'Yeah, well, it sort of feels like something you learn by doing. It's such a radical approach to us, isn't it? Us Brits aren't mentally ready for it on an intellectual level, but if I set you small enough challenges you can learn it step by step. That was the idea, anyway. I think I did it pretty well. It would have been easier if you weren't so unfit.'

Frampton goes, 'Bitch, we're fit.'

'Bitch, please.'

I say, 'Why us, though? They said you could have chosen any unit.'

'Yeah but you're Welsh.'

'What does that mean?'

'The Welsh FA is supporting me big time and you're part of the payback.'

'You mean they bought you a money-making pitch.'

'Yeah but it's other stuff, too. Saltney's manager, Well In, he came to see you train once. He's amazing. He's running Saltney for me. The pitch is nothing compared to getting the club into Europe. Well In wins pretty much every match; I couldn't get that sort of talent normally. When Pascal got injured I was like shit, got to keep him busy. So I called the FAW and asked if they could slip him into a coaching course. You've heard him - he's a tiny genius. He's the type who will give back to Wales, too, one day. So it's just a good, healthy relationship where we're helping each other out. Of course I want to do my badges with a Welsh side.'

'But we're Wrexham.'

'If that's a Chester Wrexham comment you're barking up the wrong tree. I'm from Manchester and I don't give a shit about your rivalry. You're two men with bad haircuts fighting over a comb. Share the fucking comb, mate. Take turns, you know what I mean?'

I don't know what he means but there's no point going into it. 'How did you get the club to let us use their training ground?'

He laughs. 'I called and said can I use a pitch please and they said who's asking and I said Max Best and they said no. So I said it's for the army and they said oh okay then. Absolutely not an issue.'

'I don't think they'd have said yes if H called.'

'Yeah, well,' says Best, suddenly facing forward, not wanting eye contact. 'Sometimes it helps to be Max Best.'

'The fuck does that mean?'

'Yeah, just, you know.'

'I don't know.'

'I have something they want.'

'What?'

He shakes his head. He's not going to say. He nods. He has decided to tell us. He shakes his head again. He won't tell us. He repeats the process; it's maddening.

'Tell us what they want.'

He does one quick little shrug. 'They want to show how generous they are, giving their resources to the local unit and all that guff. And they want to film me coaching you while Parky and Muggles watch in the background. They'll probably set up a scene where the owners can come up to you, salute, and say thank you for your service. Military episode with me as the mad scientist comic relief.'

'They want you in Welcome to Wrexham? You're joking.'

'Yeah but I've outfoxed them. You've got the pitch for the whole season. That's locked in, right? But I never promised I would be there. So they can fucking swivel. Lolz.'

Teulu

That took a turn.

BeardedWonderwall

I'm speechless. He's robbing the club to give... to you.

BrokenGround

We go a few more miles while Best works his phone.

My head's all over the place. I mean, yeah he's awful, horrible, weird, but now that he's saying he's leaving, I want him to stay. It's hard to explain but when you spend time with him you start to think he's got everything worked out.

'This new football,' I say, all clever-like because I've got a plan.

'Mmm?'

'Will we win with it?'

'On a good pitch you'll fuck a lot of teams up. No-one will want to see you pull into the car park. They'll be like shit, it's 3 R Welsh. Guys will call in sick instead of playing you.'

I look at Frampton. He doesn't like Best but he likes the sound of that. I say one of the things that's been bugging me the most. 'To be honest on the touchline it doesn't really look like you care if we win or lose.'

'I don't. If you're going to boot the ball away like a fucking chump you're never going to win so why would I let that bother me? I'm getting what I want out of this process. If you want to win, you need to play to win. Go all-in. Fearless football. Dive head-first into the blob. Know what I mean? But what you choose is nothing to do with me; I don't pay you.'

'You're going to do it with Chester?'

'Yeah. Gonna try it with the youth team. Do some giant-killings.'

'You haven't perfected it, have you?'

'No but I've got the gist, I reckon.'

'You think? You should keep going with us. Make sure you've got it nailed on before you try it with those lads. Wait till we beat one of the big units, then you'll know it's working. Really working.' I try to keep my voice level. 'We've got EC8 in a few weeks. Help us beat them, maybe.'

Hot Rod is with me. 'Come on, Max. Stick around. Stay with us. You and Pascal. It'll be a laugh, yeah?'

'A laugh, yeah,' says Best. He shifts on his seat and looks right at me. 'All right.' It's mad but my heart's pounding. He's staring into my fucking soul, lads! 'I'll stay on one condition.'

'What?' I say, but I've got this premonition. He knows. He knows what I've been doing in this channel! 'What do you want?'

'If you want me to keep going, if you want Parky and his lads fawning over you, if you want to meet Eve, play at Aldershot, beat EC8... You've got to play how I want, no matter how much of a mind fuck it is. You've got to play how I want and BrokenGround has to look me in the eye, no blinking, and sing...'

'Sing what?'

'Let's All Laugh at Wrexham.'