14.2 - The Maxnificent Seven
2.
Saturday, July 4, 2026
I crashed into the saloon; everyone turned to look at me. The pianist stopped playing, the barman thought to himself, 'here's trouble.' No-one went for their shooter - good. No need for bloodshed today.
I spat on the wooden floor and moseyed on over to a table at the back.
"Howdy, pardners," I said.
"Hi, Max, how you doing?" said Rachel, wife of Mateo. "You look well!"
I chewed on my tobacco and spat another blob out. "Heard some rubes were looking for a gun. I'll tell you what I tell 'em all. Gun's free. You pay for the bullets."
Mateo leaned forward and touched my poncho. "Aren't you boiling in that?"
A saloon girl came over. "Can I get you a drink?"
"Whisky, neat," I drawled. "Leave the bottle."
"He'd like a chai tea latte," said Emma.
"Babes!" I complained. "But yes, a chai tea latte and a cold glass of water, please." The waitress admired my outfit and left.
Rachel gave me a quizzical look. "Are you on a stag night, or...?"
"I'm doing a western," I said. "It's the Maxnificent Seven, isn't it?"
"Is it?" said Mateo. He counted on his fingers.
"Yes, it is," I said. "I've come to Gibraltar to make you a million quid. Do you really want to take me out of my champion mentality?"
"No," he said, leaning back, smiling. He and his wife looked just the same as when I had met them in Tenerife. Tanned, well fed, healthy, rich. Their kindness had helped me recover from my coma and now we were pardners. Pardners in football. "I'm not sure if this counts as cosplay or LARPing but I've got everything arranged just as you want. Just so I don't ruin it, maybe you should tell me the plan."
"The plan is we wear ponchos and talk American. The Magnificent Seven is a movie set in the Old West. A village - I think it's in Mexico - is being raided by bandits so they cross the border to hire a top gunslinger. That's me. He ropes some others into helping; that's everyone we're about to meet. The village is Gibraltar. The bandits are minor teams dotted around Europe. It's a stunningly accurate simile."
"Gosh," said Emma. She had been hanging out with Mateo and Rachel while I'd been in our hotel room trying and failing to get my fake moustache to stay on.
"The plan is the members of The Seven meet each other one by one, like in the movie."
"Hang on," said Rachel. "Don't they know who's coming?"
"They know the basic outline but overall, no. It's a surprise."
"Oh!" she said. "That's fun. Meet your new teammates the Max Best way."
"You got it, darlin'."
"Um," said Emma. "Maybe we can leave the Old West's attitude to women in the Old West."
"Sure thing, sweet cheeks."
Mateo smiled. "Your accent is impeccable."
I looked around. "Might take the poncho off for a minute. It is rather toasty." I did just that. "Christ, seriously. What is it, 40 degrees?"
"It's 25," said Mateo. "Mild."
"Feels like 50. Football's a winter sport. Has everyone forgotten that? So the plan is the lads will meet today, do some light training tomorrow and get more intense through the week. The first match is on Thursday already. It's absolutely bonkers. Half the Premier League is still at the World Cup, right, so for them last season is still going. We're starting next season already! Mad."
"How was your World Cup?" asked Mateo.
My drinks came and I chugged half the water. "It was fine. Looking at the national team head coaches I'm starting to think I'm getting to be a good manager."
"You're not impressed?" said Mateo.
"There are a few really good ones, of course, but most are mediocre and they don't have a lot of time with their players so their tactics have to be quite simple. I would definitely do a better job of in-game management. Yeah," I said, closing my eyes as I sipped on my chai latte, "I've made some good gains recently."
***
At the start of June, the curse had gone through its yearly update. There was one very noticeable and very welcome change I spotted immediately:
Your Reputation in England: Average
Your World Reputation: Unknown
It had taken a long time to get any kind of reputation at all, but the jumps - from very poor to poor to average - seemed to be coming faster. As always, everyone's Manager Points reset with the update. I currently had zero.
Another simple change was that Chester FC were listed as a League One club. Seeing the word one instead of two actually got me slightly emotional. A hell of a lot of hard work had gone into that.
The profiles of my staff had updated. As usual, the first one I opened was MD's. His Ambition score was stuck on 4 out of 20. In a way, it was a relief. He had loosened the purse strings more than he was really comfortable with but the future of the club was absolutely assured. It was bloody difficult working with a fraction of the budget of rival clubs but it wasn't that we should spend more, it was that everyone else should spend less. His low ambition score meant that I could mess things up but not to the point I killed Chester FC; I had made my peace with that a long time ago.
Brooke Star got an entry in the staff list but there were no numbers for her. I guessed the curse didn't know how to rate her business skills.
The junior coaches, such as Elin and Jude, popped in a few categories. Working with exceptional coaches every day was rubbing off on them.
Our senior coaches earned modest improvements. Sandra Lane had bumped up her adaptability and scouting scores, while Peter Bauer had made gains in lots of soft skills. Both still preferred 3-4-3.
Pascal's profile had been pretty normal when I made him the women's team manager. His preferred formation had initially been 4-2-2-2, which seemed overly German of him, but the update had given him the strangest profile I'd ever seen - even stranger than the Brig's 'all or nothing' numbers. Pascal's coaching style now read 'Flair-based', which was absolutely unique. Every other coach was either 'technique-based', 'fitness-based', or 'general'. Flair-based? The mind boggled.
There were three other never-before-seen entries on Pascal's profile. His favoured style was 'unconventional', I learned that he 'likes his players to take high-percentage shots', but it was his preferred formation that really made me raise a middle finger to the universe. Instead of being a familiar set of numbers such as 4-4-2, it simply read: Bestball.
Fuck you, imps!
Even more interesting than the profile updates was a message telling me that several curse screens had been updated. The most intriguing was that two new sliders had been added to my in-game tactics screens.
Game Speed wouldn't make time go slower, which would have been absolutely sensational. No, it would let me tell my players how fast to play the game. I assumed that sliding it all the way to the top would make us take goal kicks and throw-ins as soon as we had the ball, à la the Australian nutjob Big Ange, while sliding it all the way down would make the goalie clean the mud from his boots on each post, summon his defenders short, wave them away, and basically push the referee to his limits. At last I would have the power to bore the shit out of the entire planet and put myself in pole position for the Newcastle United and Arsenal jobs.
The Gamesmanship slider would influence how 'fairly' we played. Want your players to roll sixteen times after being fouled? No? How about twelve?
I probably would not lean into these new powers too much but I mean, it was nice to have the option...
Meanwhile, my experience points had been accumulating slowly but surely.
XP balance: 5,092
That was enough to buy some shiny new perks but I was diligently saving up. To succeed in my mission I would need every drop of XP in the coming weeks. The Secret Sandra perk allowed me to spend XP making my players train better. It had the potential to make all the difference and when this mission was over, the next one would start. And the next, and the next.
***
"Just give him a minute," said Emma. "He'll be back."
"What?" I said. "What?" With a shake of the head, I offered an apologetic little grin. "Did I go internal? How long was I out?"
"Not long," said Emma. "They were asking about Toronto. The business you did."
"Um, it wasn't me, really," I said. "It was Emma; she was an absolute ledge. First up, this guy from Soccer Supremo is staying in our hotel and he sidles up to us at breakfast all like 'Max! Can we give you loads of money?' At first I was like nah bro that life ain't for me but I remembered I owe you quite a bit so I got my lawyer to go into battle for me."
Mateo frowned. "Max, we talked about this. I'm happy to take the money from what we earn together, this season or next."
"I know but it's hanging over me a little bit and Emma came back with an offer for exactly the amount I owe you."
"Minus tax," said Emma.
"Yeah but, you know, the number made me think it was meant to be."
The number was one hundred thousand pounds and all I had to do was pose for some photos that Soccer Supremo could use on their sales art and the box cover - if anyone bought games in boxes anymore - and do two small events. Had the offer come because my reputation had kicked to a higher level? I certainly felt it was easier talking to League One and Two players.
After the first meeting I downloaded the mobile version of Soccer Supremo and while some of the game was still blurred and none of the data was visible, looking at those screens was no longer a horrible, alien experience. Progress! I'd told the guy that if anyone asked I would say I was too busy being a soccer supremo to play the game but that it was a pretty accurate representation of my life. He accepted that.
"Then he was Mark the deal-maker," said Emma.
"Mark?" said Rachel.
"Max," said Emma. "Max the deal-maker. Tell them, Max."
"Nothing much to say, really. Peter Bauer told me Bayern were looking at a Swiss midfielder for thirty million Euro. In the warm-up I saw that he was perfectly fine - maybe a good signing for them, I really couldn't say because I don't know their squad. But Canada had a very similar player, two years younger, much much cheaper. Parnell Gourlay, he's called. Why not buy him instead? I mean, work permits maybe? I asked Dieter Bauer if he'd prefer a cheaper Canadian version and he said yes please so we arranged a little bit of transfer talk in the studio while publicising a local charity."
Emma leaned into me and gave me a shake. "You missed the best bit!"
"No, I didn't."
"Your finder's fee!"
"Oh. Yeah we got the player to leave his agent and join Emma's one. Good deal all round. Bayern are paying him twenty grand a week, in pounds, so that's good money for the agency. Plus the signing bonus."
Parnell Gourlay was a PA 160 central midfielder who could play on the right. Basically a luxury version of Andrew Harrison. He was a lovely guy, no trouble, but he would be the next step in Ruth's personal progression fantasy. International transfers, working with high-profile clubs - it was a big step up in complexity. She was well on the way to being a superagent! The quarter of a million pound injection into the agency would keep her motivated for another year, I was sure.
"The agency is set for take-off," I said. "Did you hear about our player Angel? She got a perfume deal. Makes my Soccer Supremo package look like chump change. It's absolute madness." Jejune, in addition to sponsoring Chester's women's team, had paid two hundred grand to put Angel's face on their promos. R.E.M. got a ten percent cut; the magic money tree was starting to bear fruit. Even after bumping Chelli's pay to 400 pounds a week, my share of the profits was two grand a week and rising.
Mateo made an impressed face. "Looks like you don't need money from little old College 1975, Max."
Emma answered for me. "Er, yeah he does. He needs a million in the bank so he can marry me. Don't you, babes?"
"A million?" said Rachel. "Why a million?"
"Because he's a nutjob," explained Emma. "And because he doesn't understand inflation. If I wait long enough, a loaf of bread will cost a million and then I'll finally get my man." She fluttered her eyelids, which made me laugh. She took a hit of her drink. "How much are we going to get from this European adventure?"
"Depends how far we go," I said. "We're in the UEFA Conference League and there are four rounds of qualifiers before the actual league. Win the first tie and College gets close to break-even for the year."
"From one match?" said Emma, amazed, even though I'd told her eighteen times.
"Yeah. If we lose in the first round, we get enough to cover about half the club's costs. Not great; Mateo might have to sell one of his Picassos. If we lose in the second round, there's already a small profit. If we lose the third tie, we get a decent chunk of change. The prize money for getting that far is already over a million Euro. After costs it's not enough to start planning weddings but it's enough to light cigars with our petty cash. But win the third qualifier and it's another hundred grand each. If we win the fourth qualifier, though, we get to the league stage and just getting there is worth three million. That's the goal. That's Emma money."
Emma twisted her lips. "There's no such thing as Emma money; the best things in life are free."
I whipped my phone out and pretended to type into a search engine. "Wedding in gaudy castle... free... No results. Huh."
She laughed. "Our wedding won't be gaudy, Max. Jesus. So, okay, I think I get it. If you win four football matches I can start shopping for golden thrones. That seems pretty unequivocal."
"Fortunately," I said, smugly, "I don't know what that word means."
Emma used one hand to pat the ring finger of the other. "Soon," she said. "Soon." Mateo rested his hand on Rachel's back; both were smiling. Emma put her index finger to her temple. "Um... so are we going to win or what? You didn't say."
I shrugged. "Depends who we get drawn against. We've got a team from Luxembourg first. My reckoning is that they'll be about as good as a team near the bottom of League Two. College are normally National League North level."
"Normally," said Rachel. "Until the Maxnificent Seven arrive."
"Exactly," I said. "Those Luxemburgers won't know what hit them."
Emma frowned. "And The Seven. Why are they doing it?"
"Little bit of a cash bonus," I said. "But mostly it's the chance to play in European competition. Most players our level never get close, never play a single one. If we can play eight matches, that's incredible. Every tie is home and away, right, so for someone like - " I clammed up.
"You nearly told me one of the names, didn't you? Duggers. You were going to say Duggers. Wait, what's that thing you always say? Have a strong spine. You want a goalie, a centre back, a midfielder. So... Sticky, Christian Fierce. No, it'll be Zach Green! That's why you're doing a movie set in Mexico."
"Haven't you heard?" I said. "They renamed Mexico 'America'." I checked the time. "Can we walk to the next place?"
"Sure," said Mateo. He went to the bar to pay for our drinks.
Outside, I watched as a street lamp melted into a small puddle of molten iron. "Maybe I'll carry the poncho for now."
Rachel said, "Are you a big fan of that movie?"
"Which?"
"The one with the ponchos."
"Oh, yeah, it's fun. Very, ah, what's that word? Where people copy it?"
"Influential."
I clicked my fingers. "Right! It's a remake of a Japanese classic and you see the basic setup in a lot of movies. The baddies are coming to town and the heroes inspire the villagers and together they set traps and defend themselves."
"Is that the plan? You're going to teach the College players how to set traps and defend?"
"No," I said, distracted. It was really bloody hot - we wouldn't be able to play a high-intensity style in this kind of weather. Had I picked the right players? "Most of the College lads are there to make up the numbers. Let the baddies take pot shots at them while I fire six shots in six seconds. Pew pew pew!"
She laughed for some reason. "I'm looking forward to this. Mateo has been so relaxed since he signed Jackie Reaper and sold Gabriel to you. He feels things are looking bright for Tranmere and of course you turned Gibraltar's worst team into its second best over the course of a weekend. But what about the World Cup, Max? You didn't tell us anything."
"Yeah," said Mateo, catching up. "Tell us about the matches, at least."
"Not much to say, really," I said, as we set off down the road towards our next stop. "I don't want to be a miserable bastard but it was too hot and there were just too many teams and too many shit, one-sided matches played at walking pace. Group B was quite tasty so I got lucky with that. Canada, Switzerland, Serbia, Ivory Coast. One clear villain, plenty of talent, countries with good footballing pedigree. Some of the other groups were a joke and seeing the FIFA twats throwing themselves at the feet of every dictator in the world just left me itchy to leave. I know it's not very, like, enthusiastic."
"You disguised your antipathy very well on the broadcasts," said Rachel.
"I'm 26 now. All kinds of mature, Rachel! I'm trying to pick fights I can win. Restoring the global order to something like decency is maybe a tiny bit out of my league; beating the third best team in Luxembourg is challenge enough. Yeah but Toronto was nice. We had some time to do a bit of sightseeing. We had an ice skating lesson, which was great because Emma likes her men bruised like a year-old banana. Niagara Falls, have you been there? That was amazing."
"There was no weird role-playing of any kind," said Emma.
"That's true," I said. "None of it was weird."
"What about the matches?" said Mateo, exasperated.
"Canada one, Switzerland one. What do you want me to say? It was fine. I really like Switzerland as a team but they don't have that little bit of X-factor so they play functional football. Canada have more X-factor but less overall quality. Ivory Coast have a super uneven squad. Pretty much all the international teams are flawed. They need a megabrain who's monitoring the pipeline of players from an early age. I think from what I've seen I can get Wales quite competitive."
Emma said, "There was one interesting thing. To me, anyway. We met a guy from the production team while we were waiting to board our flight and Max suggested a little project to him. He worked super hard on it but it needed Canada to do a certain routine in their match and they didn't do it. Did they, Max?"
"They tried but it's quite specific and their left-back is dangerous but well-known; the oppo were too cautious to give him space. Serbia were disciplined. Ivory Coast less so, and Canada tried to do the move but botched it. Apparently DigiWorld have got their Canadian presenter to do some bonus content for the socials based on my idea so the footage won't go to waste. Once the third match was over I was out of there. Couple of days blasting Vancouver. Here's my new favourite word: aquabus. I spent way too much time wondering if we could run an aquabus in Chester on match days. You'd come by train, walk down to the Rowing Club, ride the aquabus along the Dee. Wouldn't that be awesome?"
"They want to know about Vancouver, babes."
"Right. We went to visit a company that makes modular stadiums. They can get really flexible with the widths so they're an interesting option for eco-friendly, relatively inexpensive stands on the slightly unusual footprints at Saltney and West Didsbury. That was a good use of half a day. They were dead friendly, weren't they? As for the rest of the city, I liked Gastown and the Chinese garden was ace. But we hit the road pretty fast. We wanted to see a grizzly, didn't we, babes? And I wanted to see where they filmed Northern Exposure but turns out that's Alaska. One guy said he could show me where Ryan Reynolds filmed The Adam Project and I was like yeah I'll just head off into the wilderness, thanks."
Mateo was shaking his head. "We normally can't shut you up about football and now you don't want to talk about it. I can't believe my ears."
I spread my arms. "Mateo, it was a glorified holiday! I wasn't playing, I wasn't managing. None of my players are there. I hate the format, I despise the organisers, and most of the matches are boring. This isn't the World Cup you grew up with. Maybe it'll get better. There's still, what, two weeks to go? A lot of tournaments are shit until the knockouts and people only remember the latter stages. I genuinely couldn't give two shits, though. College 1975 versus Progress Niederkorn is my entire world."
***
College 1975
Average CA: 49.36
FC Progress Niederkorn Estimated Average CA: 80
College Win Probability: 3%
***
"Where are we going?" said Emma, exhausted after three draining minutes of gentle strolling.
I pointed to another bar. A familiar couple of faces were outside, drinking something cold. I pulled on my poncho. "Get ready," I growled.
"Are you going to do this with everyone we meet?" said Mateo. I narrowed my eyes at him; he lifted his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. I'm a desperate villager. Let's do it your way."
I shuffled towards my target, hands by my hips, fingers twitching.
Henri Lyons saw me approaching, blinked, and then shot to his feet. He rummaged inside a plastic bag and pulled on a poncho of his own. Lee Hudson looked from Henri to me, shook his head, and took out the second poncho. He was pretending to be reluctant but he bent his knees and twitched his fingers just like me. "Heard there was a village in trouble. Heard you was looking for a couple of guns," he said.
I replied, "Guns are expensive. Men are cheap."
Henri said, "Some men are cheaper than others. What's the pay?"
"Twenty dollars."
Lee stood up straight and went into his normal voice. "Wait, what?"
Like him, I broke character. "That's the fee in the movie," I explained. "It's from 1960!"
Henri shook his head. "It is set in frontier times, is it not? 1900, let us say. Twenty dollars was perhaps a lot of money in those days."
"Can we get back to saying awesome things, please?"
Henri nodded. "Naturellement." He looked away, then back at me. "How many men are we?"
"Oh!" I said, excited. "Yul Brynner and Steve McQueen do this thing in the movie where they count on their fingers how many men they've gathered. You can be Steve McQueen."
Henri's eyes shone. "At long last, the role I was born to play. But then it cannot be I who asks the question... Lee, ask how many we are."
Lee said, "How many are we?"
Henri replied by wriggling his arm out of the poncho and stretching out his fingers.
One, two, three.
"Cue transition music," I said.
"Cue the hugs," said Henri.
***
Average CA (Max not included): 58.3
FC Progress Niederkorn Estimated Average CA: 80
College Win Probability: 15%
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***
We walked together towards the stadium, chatting all the way.
"Heard you replaced me with a kid," said Lee Hudson.
"Heard you replaced me with a senior citizen," said Henri.
I smiled. "Guilty on both counts."
"Tell us about 'em," said Lee.
"Okay, where to start? New right back is Matt Rush. He's 20, on loan from Man United for the season. I'm planning as though he'll get recalled in January."
"Why do you say that?" said Henri.
"Just a hunch, I don't know. If they sack Pedro Porto, which is the way the wind seems to be blowing, it's the sort of thing they'd do. The owners are short-sighted, incompetent, petty, and vindictive. You can tell them I'm turning a half a million pound asset into a five-million pound player but they aren't the sort who'll listen. So I'll be spending some of my time in the next few months looking to fix the right back slot."
Lee nodded, passing no comment on the unstated fact that he wasn't the solution. "How long until Roddy is ready?"
Roddy Jones was a Welsh wonderkid in our youth system. He had PA 184 and had the potential to be a world star. "We'll ease him into the first team squad over the course of the season but he can't be our first choice right back in the Championship, talented as he is."
"How good's Matt Rush?"
"Incredibly good." Rush was CA 95, PA 180. "Fast, technical, ballsy. I would think about trying to convince United to sell him but he's already on Gemma money. We couldn't afford a transfer fee and his wages." The loan contract between us and Man United didn't tell me what Rush was earning but thanks to the curse I knew anyway. He was on five grand a week, same as me. A good season in League One and United would tie him down to a long-term contract for at least twenty K. "I'm not a fan of loan deals, as you know, but this one is win-win-win. Small win for us, big win for Matt, enormous win for United." I sighed. "We're not paying any of his wages so that does help. I'll have a bit more to spread around the rest of the squad."
Lee was surprised. "You haven't sorted everyone's contracts yet?"
I grinned. "I did mine."
Lee looked up to the sky but he matched my grin. "Fair enough, boss."
"And I gave tiny bumps to Sandra and the Brig. Just a couple of hundred each to acknowledge their efforts. Peter Bauer is coming in on a decent wedge." He was one of four new signings who were earning last season's maximum wage of 3,000 a week. "The rest of the squad need to wait a few weeks until I'm back home. If the new stand opens on time, I'll dish out what's left of my budget."
Henri nodded. "Don't wait too long. Even at Chester, there will be grumblings about wages. But tell us of my so-called replacement."
"He's called Colin."
Henri made a disgusted sound. "I cannot be followed by a man called Colin. It is abominable. What happened to the Max Best who wrote poetry?"
"Colin Beckton," I said. "Played in the Prem, the Championship, Scotland, MLS. He's 34 and wants to get into coaching and - get this - he took a pay cut! I'm getting a good coach and a deadly striker. Two for the price of one! I'm really pleased with myself."
"That always goes without saying," said Henri.
"He's fast and clinical. He's stronger than he looks so he can hold the ball up and if we don't play him the whole match he can work the channels. We won't do much of that, I don't think, because he's so lethal you don't want him wasting energy chasing down full backs and that shit. He doesn't win aerial duels but if you land the ball on his head he's going to score. With Duggers firing crosses from the left and Rushy doing bits down the right, he'll score a fuckload. That's if Gabby doesn't get there first."
Gabriel was our new record signing. I had paid Tranmere 800,000 big ones to get him to Chester on a three plus one contract. He was a Brazilian version of Foquita, but ten percent less effective in all areas.
"He didn't impress me when I saw him at Prenton Park," said Henri.
"No," I said. "He had to adapt to the language, the culture, the football, and Tranmere were terrible last season. His metrics were shit, which is good because otherwise we'd never have been able to sign him. He'll actually start third in the pecking order behind Colin and Dazza." Gabby was only CA 85, twelve points behind Dazza Smith, the Australian, who was two points behind Colin. "We can ease him into the season. Give him some extra coaching attention."
Gabby was definitely a candidate for Secret Sandra. Investing some XP into him in September and October would give me three strikers far too good for League One. We would demolish almost everyone we played.
Henri was thoughtful. "You're managing the budget well, it seems. You have a free right back and a player-coach for half price."
I checked where Mateo was before speaking more softly. "I'm actually most pleased with Dan Badford. I persuaded Mateo and Jackie to take him on loan for the season with Tranmere covering his salary. I didn't say what his salary was, though! They assumed it was low, which was true when we agreed the deal, but then I gave Dan a big pay rise, as befits a Youth Cup winner. There's one player happy with his wages, at least!" Dan got a pretty insane rise from 450 a week to 1,500 while I was able to set his wages to 0 in my spreadsheet. "Have you ever seen a football manager achieve a budget efficiency of over 100%? You have now."
Henri smiled. "Max. You are incorrigible."
"Yes. I often say that about myself. Incorge..."
"Incorrigible."
"Yes. Anyway, that deal is a bit of a risk. It's not loads of money but it assumes he keeps getting better. If he hits his ceiling this season then I'm paying him way too much."
Lee shook his head. "He's not near his ceiling. He's special."
"Well, I agree. And so does Jackie, which is why he gave me a few choice words when he heard about Dan's new contract but said fuck it, he's worth it. Jackie's got more budget than me, the tight bastard, and he always wanted a silky-smooth playmaker. You think he'd be more grateful."
Lee stopped suddenly and looked around. He was in Gibraltar on a beautiful sunny day. There was The Rock, there was Africa, there was Marks and Spencer. "Ah, this is the life. Max, I just want to say thanks. I had a good feeling when we met but you've overdelivered."
"Thanks, bro."
"So what's the deal? Who else is coming for this thing? All I know is you can have a maximum of three from one club. Henri and I don't count so I'm guessing it's you and two more from Chester. But who?"
"The only clue I'll give you is that we're calling it the Maxnificent Seven."
Lee frowned. "So it's all people called Max? What?"
I didn't reply but simply stood next to him as we looked out to sea. Henri joined the line. He draped his arm around my neck. "You're watching movies again. That's good."
"When it gets stressful, I can't focus for two hours straight. Since the Youth Cup final I've been more at peace. There's loads to do, loads to think about, but I can tune it out and enjoy the moment. Watch a movie, read a chapter, meditate. Next season will be bloody hard. The ones after will only get more insane. This is my last chance at having some fun. I want to make the most of it."
Henri smiled. "This is already fun. And it's good you invited Sticky. He's quite a character."
I gave him a sharp look. "Are you... Are you trying to guess who I invited? Trying to trick me into saying? You'll find out in ten minutes!"
Henri scrunched his hands into balls. "I can't stand it! I need to know! Please, tell me, Max!"
In reply, I pointed at the stadium.
Henri grunted in mock frustration. Lee said, "It's all right, boss. He's just angry that he's going to lose twenty quid. I bet on Swanny for goalie. In these summer matches you'll want a keeper who's good with his feet so we can slow the game down for a while. It's Swanny, isn't it, boss? Right? Boss, come back!"
***
I walked with Mateo for a few minutes. We had been in contact a lot in recent months, partly to upgrade the playing staff at College, but mostly to prepare the way for Jackie at Tranmere.
He thought about how to word his first question. "I notice that, ah, Bradford City have been splashing the cash."
"Oh?" I said. "That's really worrying." I couldn't help but break into a huge grin. "How are the other two Legends settling in?"
The League Two Legends were one of my more brilliant inventions. It came from the same cheese-fuelled ideas factory as the Maxnificent Seven. The Legends would be a roving band of nomads who would spend one season at a club, help them to win League Two, and then move on. Once fourth tier clubs realised the group effectively guaranteed promotion there was bound to be a bidding war for their services, and because they came as a pack their wages would remain tasty. The group had signed up with Ruth's agency; I was financially incentivised to make sure they kept slapping.
In addition to Henri and Lee, I'd found two more guys who understood the concept and were willing to try it. Tyler Jansen was a hard-working midfielder with a great long-range shot. He was 29 and unlike the former Chester players, he still had some ceiling. He could have played in League One but I had persuaded him he would make more money - and have more fun - as a Legend. Jaylyn Cook, 32, was a flexible defender who I knew Jackie Reaper would love. He was not overly enthusiastic about being a League Two player and I could imagine him trying to stay with Tranmere if they got promoted. We would see.
"How are they settling in?" said Mateo. "So far so good."
"That reminds me of a story," I said. "Guy falls out of a building. As he's plummeting, the people on every floor hear him calling out, 'so far so good!'"
Mateo eyed me. "Is that a message? A warning?"
I laughed. "No. It's an anecdote from the movie."
"Max, I haven't seen it! You can't quote from it and expect me to follow."
"If you think that's hard, wait till you read Emma's book. All right, here we go. Ponchos, on, guys! Emma, where's your fake moustache?"
"It fell off."
"We need a glue guy."
I did my cowboy walk as we walked through the stadium gate and onto the side of the pitch. A year from now, this would be a building site. I thought of the photos Brooke had been sending me. Giant gouges in the earth where once mighty blue-and-white warriors had roamed. We would return soon: bigger, better, faster.
Lee and Henri came up beside me, snapping me back into the here and now. Henri said, "Trouble, boss?"
"Trouble," I said.
To our left, someone was sitting in the stand. When he spotted us, he shot to his feet. There was a flash of a white plastic bag and then the now-familiar sight of someone trying to work out which hole in the poncho was for the head. On our right, another new character was strolling towards us. He was already wearing his poncho and he'd brought himself a matching hat, too.
Henri exclaimed, "Jack the Lad!"
Lee Hudson grinned. "A defender. Thank fuck for that. Part of me was worried I'd be the only one who knew the offside trap."
"Fellas," said Jack, dishing out fist bumps. "Boss," he said, to me. "Boss," he said, more respectfully to Mateo. "Emma Weaver," he said, sliding his cowboy hat backwards. "My my."
Jack the Lad was James Gladfelter, a PA 80 left back. He was a lad and a bloke and seemed to have based his personality on Ted Lasso's Jamie Tartt - a dim-witted but ultimately decent party boy.
While Jack talked to his new Tranmere teammates, Mateo pulled me to one side. He already knew the names of the players I'd invited, of course, but he didn't completely know my reasoning and was intensely curious. "Max, talk me through this one. Why Jack? You took the piss out of him when you played for Tranmere."
"Well, there are certain limitations, right? I can only take three Chester players. I don't know loads of guys from other clubs, not guys who could make a difference, anyway. Who have you got at Tranmere who is going to move the needle for College? Henri and Lee, obviously. Tyler and Jaylyn would be good but they don't know me very well. They would probably think this was stupid, right? You know I didn't bring a goalie. I wanted either Swanny or Sticky from Chester but I can't risk leaving Sandra with Banksy playing a League One match. Right?"
"We signed a new goalie," said Mateo. We in this case meant College. Every footballer in Gib knew that the Lincoln Red Imps were no longer the only game in town and we were finding it easier to upgrade on players. We had eased out some guys in the CA 30-40 range and replaced them with CA 50 ones. Success breeds success.
"Yeah, and he'll have to do. I looked at Trev Northcross. He's a lovely guy but not a big enough upgrade." Northcross was Tranmere's backup keeper. He had been very kind to me when I was recovering from my murder and signing him would have been great for Emma, but he was only PA 65. Even if he was currently maxed out, which he probably wasn't, he was not enough of an improvement over the CA 50 local. "Okay so what else do we need? I thought long and hard about Josh Owens and I actually had his name down until pretty much the last minute."
"He's only your backup left back, isn't he?"
"Yeah but with a little push he can be as good as Cole Adams. But Josh has a long throw. I'm going to get into stereotypes now but what do foreign teams hate? Crosses into the box, long throws, old-fashioned Ian Evans physical football."
"They don't like it up 'em."
"There's no way Progress Niederkorn know how to defend against a Josh Owens long throw. It would have been absolute carnage!" I sighed, happily. "We'll try that next season when Saltney are in Europe. Jackie wouldn't let me take Tony Herbert but since he's going to do three-at-the-back to start the season he can live without Jack the Lad. This is good for JTL, too. He can show Jackie he's reliable and could play the left mid role if needed."
"Fascinating. Thanks, Max."
The next player stopped ten yards away, with a sombrero covering his face. Henri, Lee, and Jack lined up next to me. I put on my movie star voice and called out, "You been following us. Why?"
"Heard you need another gun. What's better..." William B. Roberts lifted his chin. "What's better than a young gun?"
"Wibbers!" cried Henri, and was about to dish out yet more hugs. I threw my arm in front of him. "He's called Baggers now."
"I am?" said Wibbers.
"Emma rebranded you."
"Oh. Baggers? Okay!" He took a few happy steps towards us.
"Hold it right there," I said. He froze. I looked him up and down. "This is a job for men. You're too darn young."
Baggers scowled. "If you're good enough, you're old enough." He turned and finger-gunned the goalposts before blowing imaginary smoke from his fingers. "And I'm the best there is."
"I like him," said Lee.
"He's cocky," said Jack. "He'll get us in trouble."
"And I'll get you out of it, too," said Baggers.
I looked to Henri as though asking his permission to bring Billy the Kid into the fold. Henri pointed at the players in turn and showed five fingers. Steve McQueen?
More like Steve McKing.
(Terrible. Cut that.)
***
Average CA (Max not included): 65.1
FC Progress Niederkorn Estimated Average CA: 80
College Win Probability: 33%
***
We took our ponchos off while we made our way to the docks. Emma and I wanted to hear all the hot news from the under 19 Euros, but Baggers didn't have much to say.
"It wasn't much fun. Norway is hot in June, did you know that?"
"There's Nor-way to know what the weather will be. No? Nothing?"
"We went out in the group stage. Absolute shambles. First match is against Turkey and the coach says he wants to do a high-intensity match. Picks the pressing forwards. That's not me, obvs."
I felt a pang of regret. I had been trying to get Baggers to concentrate on being an awesome attacking weapon, thus we had only taught him basic defensive skills. My decision had helped him demolish various youth level goalscoring records but it had cost him a place in the England team. That could easily bite me on the arse. "Shit."
"Turns out the Turkish lads are used to playing in that heat - who knew? - and they're not bothered by the press one little bit. They pick us off, go a goal up and then it's shithousery right to the end. Time-wasting, theatrics, winding us up."
"Ugh."
"They get a second goal near the end. Next round of matches we get a really good draw against Germany but Spain lose. Because of the fixtures we're basically out at that point. I think Spain lost deliberately to get rid of us. What do you think, boss? Is that possible?"
"It would be risky. I doubt they did it, to be honest. They are miles ahead, aren't they? Their final against France was pretty epic. Some tasty players in that game, Jesus Christ."
"I barely got twenty minutes in the whole tournament."
Emma said, "Baggers, I'm so sorry."
He stared at the pavement as we walked. "It's okay. Sarah told me the national team bosses are clueless and I'm lucky to have the gaffer as my gaffer." He looked at me. "I'm going to do it like you said."
I panicked. "What did I say?"
"Use it as fuel. Have an amazing career and shove it in his face." He scrunched his face up in disgust. "He's so shit! Chester have got five managers better than him."
"That's almost certainly true."
William's Morale had been at rock bottom pretty much since England's first lineup had been announced. I had no doubt that being one of the Maxnificent Seven and playing in Europe would sort him right out but I hadn't expected his mood to improve within five minutes of seeing us. He took time out to look around him. The famous mountain, the sun, the sea, the Emma. He smiled as he walked fast to catch up. "How are you two? You went to Canada, right?"
"Yeah," I said, as a cheeky seagull quacked at me from a nearby roof. "Guess who's going to be the face of Soccer Supremo?"
He stopped again, amazed. "Are you serious? That's incredible! What?"
I smiled. "Mad, innit?"
Emma said, "Max said he'd only do it if they bumped up your stats."
"Mine?" said Baggers. "What to?"
I waved the question away. "I don't know, do I? I don't play the stupid thing. I told them you're the best in the business and they will look smart if they know that ahead of time. I want every gamer in the country wondering why you aren't starting every England match. The full team, I mean, not the youths."
He held up a hand. "Boss, please. Please don't joke about this."
"No joke. Some YouTuber is going to realise you're the bizniz and once word gets out you're going to be the most bought wonderkid in the whole game. I want thousands of little Tottenham and Arsenal dweebs posting 'buy Baggers!' on their shitty Discord servers. Kinda feel like I'm giving myself a future headache but I don't really give a monkey's, tbh. Seeing England shit the bed every tournament is getting on my tits. Next World Cup, you'll be top scorer. True story." His Morale briefly jumped to the maximum. "Did you know Soccer Supremo's database has hundreds of numbers that aren't shown in the game, not even in the editor? They go super deep. I'm hoping in a year or two they'll give me full access. I would be able to scout fifty thousand players from my garden!"
"Cor!" said Baggers.
Emma gave me a tiny punch. "Max asked them to lower his numbers but they said it makes no sense because he's supposed to be the next big thing. They talked about adding a new career mode. The Max Best Challenge. You get a realistic budget but you also get to be a player-manager and your player can play any position."
"So cool," said Baggers.
"I think they were joking," I said.
"They weren't joking," said Emma. "Except for the bit where they said having a club hairdresser would add to your facilities score."
It was my turn to stop walking. "What? When did they say that? That's a great idea!"
"Yeah!" agreed Baggers. "Can we afford it?"
"Um, no," I said. "We had to add a few positions already. Apart from loads of backroom peeps, we're getting a media rep and a club doctor."
"A club doctor!" said Baggers. "What will they do? What does it mean for Dean and Livia?"
"Like, if you sprain your leg you go to Dean but if you break it you go to the doctor. If Jojo gets a fever, she’ll be able to see the doc. He or she will be a physio too so there will be loads of overlap. During the pandemic Dean stepped up and did what was needed. If there's another outbreak, the doctor will do it. Which would be odd because everyone agrees Dean was awesome during Covid. Dean will probably be all depressed because technically this person will be his boss but I need to persuade him that it's good and he'll be able to focus and the new person will be a help."
"Dean's a ledge," said Baggers.
I pointed. "Make sure you tell him, will you? I can't deal with friction between him and the new person."
Baggers nodded. "Growing pains."
I laughed. "Are you Billy the Kid, gunslinger, or are you pitching for the mentor role? Hey, how's Sarah?"
Baggers blushed. "Good."
"Is that it?" I said. "Is that all I get?"
"Dead good."
I scoffed. "All right. Listen, Baggers. You've had a shit summer but don't forget you won the Youth Cup. You're mint. You're an extra strong mint. I'm right, the England twat is wrong." As it stood, Baggers was on CA 79 but I felt like he was due a burst of improvement. "There's nothing much to do in Gib but train and we're going to train the hell out of you. By the time we get back to England you'll be a proper League One player. I want ten league goals from you this season and I'm going to get them. You with me?"
The challenge perked him up. "Yes, boss. Am I allowed to score ten in the UEFA Conference, too?"
"Cocky little shit. No. You can have five."
He was looking very pleased with himself. "By the way, I know who the next one of the seven is."
"Who?"
"Foquita."
I laughed pretty hard. "What? He's at Benfica. Why would they loan him to a tiny club they've never heard of?"
"Because you made it part of the deal."
"Mental," I said. "Anyway, I don't need him, do I?"
"Why's that?"
I gave him a squeeze. "Because I've got you."
Emma took my arm and whispered, "Watch out or the fan fiction is going to get spicy."
I whispered back. "Have you written chapter two yet?"
"You know I haven't. My book club said chapter one was too confusing."
"I liked it and that's all that matters."
Emma pointed. "Who the shit is that?"
A guy in a poncho was sitting on a bench with a boat bobbing away behind him. His hat was tipped down and had slipped at a strange angle. It looked wrong and sinister.
"Shit!" I said, because I had been too deep into the conversation with Baggers to remember the route I'd designed. "Ponchos!" My guys put their outfits on, including the hats. "Baggers. See who it is."
"Why me?"
"Because of reasons."
"Oh, great." He inched forward and slowly reached out towards the brim of the hat.
A voice called out. "Nobody move."
Something pressed into my back. I turned my head slightly and saw that the person was also holding a fingergun towards Henri. I cried, "Don't shoot me, friend! I'll give you everything."
"I've been offered a lot for my work," said the voice. "But never everything."
Baggers lifted the brim of the hat and found it belonged to a model skeleton, the kind you might get in a physio's office. He laughed. "Magnus, where did you get this?"
Magnus Evergreen's finger stopped pressing into my back and we clasped hands. He gave fistbumps to the others and introduced himself to Jack. "Where did I get it? Where do you think? I killed a man."
Baggers lifted the skeleton's arm. "He's plastic."
"Yeah," I said. "Man City fan. Magnus? Ten out of ten introduction."
Henri was beaming, looking around at the players. "What formation are we going to play, Max?"
"I was thinking 4-2-3-1. Me and Magnus as the double pivot. Just fucking lock things down, don't let anyone through. Unleash Wibbers."
"Baggers," said Emma.
"Shit!" I said. "It is literally impossible to keep track of even one new nickname!"
"Why is he Baggers?" said Rachel.
"Because he bags goals," said Lee H. "He's a bagsman."
Henri said, "Magnus, good summer so far?"
Magnus was pulling his poncho on. "Good, yes. The boss sent me to Munich to learn how they help players recover from injury. And I have been here for a week learning from the medical team at the Gibraltar FA. It's very interesting."
"Are you on expenses?" said Henri.
Magnus smiled. "That's classified." He looked at me. "Where have you been?"
I pointed behind me.
"Where are you going?"
I pointed ahead, out to sea.
Magnus pointed at the skeleton. "I need to bring him back before we go."
I shook my head. "Take him with us for now. This whole thing has been calculated to military precision."
"Max?"
I turned to the left and saw Pascal Bochum in a loose green Die Toten Hosen t-shirt, licking an ice cream. "Pascal? What are you doing? Where's your poncho? Those were weirdly expensive. And you're supposed to be in the boat!"
He checked the time. "That's in twenty minutes. You're early."
"No," I said. "Wait, didn't you get the message? I changed the plan."
"You were going on about how much you loved doing a digital detox. I'm doing one."
I let out a tiny grunt. "Yeah, but - "
"Military precision?" said Emma.
Henri said, "Excuse me. Pascal, I am delighted to see you here and ecstatic for the chance to play alongside you again, but I do not understand. There cannot be four players on loan from one club. Max, do you not intend to play? Wait, you said you do. I am perplexed. What is happening?"
Magnus said, "It's me. My contract was up in the summer so, as with you and Lee, I am becoming a College 1975 player outright."
"Oh!" said Henri. "So we have three natives, three from Chester, one from Tranmere Rovers. Yes, there we go." He slipped his other hand out of his poncho so that he could show seven fingers. "We are complete."
Lee Hudson swept his gaze around the group. "This is a pretty fucking good team."
Henri gave Pascal a huge hug. "And we have two player-managers!"
I said, "Onto the boat, everyone."
"Oh, nice," said Emma.
It was pretty cramped on there, but it was only supposed to take us out a short distance.
***
I sat next to Pascal, who was clutching a lifebuoy. "Good summer, bro?"
"Boss, I have a thousand questions about the women's team."
I nodded. "Course you do, but we've got six weeks out here, if all goes well. They won't be back in training till mid-August, right? We've got ages to discuss it. We need to go to Luxembourg and get a result and then we can relax."
"Yes. Yes, I understand."
The way he was struggling to contain the tension made me laugh. "Go on, ask me the big one."
"Are we okay? Is my squad good enough?"
"Absolutely. We fucking slap, mate. It's literally unfair. It's not a question of if we win." I gave him a friendly arm punch. "It's a question of how we win. I want to fill that stadium and that's where you come in. Flair Goes the Neighbourhood. The German Always Slaps Twice. The Men Who Stare at GOATs. And so on."
Truth be told, I was looking for an upgrade on Scottie Love, our goalie, but the rest of the squad was mad. 16 of the 22 had triple digit ceilings.
Pascal didn't have access to the PA numbers that showed we were already WSL quality. "I'm worried that we lost Bonnie and Bea Pea. Great characters."
"You're right to start with character, but it's my job to focus on talent."
Bonnie and Bea Pea had joined Saltney Town. Bonnie was filling the role of player-director invented by Pat Nevin at Motherwell. MD was teaching her how to run a football club. She was overwhelmed but I knew it was imposter syndrome - it wasn't that hard. Bea Pea had joined as a striker, though I couldn't pay her. I'd had a long talk with her about it and she knew how gutted I was. Meanwhile, Julie McKay had decided she wanted to go off and do her own thing. She was the first Chester Women player who hadn't joined Saltney after being cut. I wasn't sure if I wanted her to find somewhere she liked or if I wanted her to look around and realise being with her mates was more rewarding than min-maxing her playing level.
Pascal had a slightly green look about him that wasn't completely explained by his t-shirt. The water wasn't that rough, was it? "I learned from you that leadership is important. It's not so easy to lose a leader."
"Yes. Absolutely. But listen, I've been thinking years ahead. You're going to teach them Relationism this year and then what? It might be that I want you to focus on your playing career for a bit, so if you turn us into an awesome hybrid team who can I get as manager? There are no candidates! So we need to grow some."
"Grow some?"
I nodded, eyes shining. "Yes! We're going to use this trip to think of five or six of the women who we think might make good managers. Then we're going to convince them to do their first coaching badges."
"Charlotte," he said, instantly. "Meghan. Sarah Greene. Mari Hughes! Mari most of all."
I grinned and let my back rest against the side of the boat. "Easy gig, isn't it?"
He looked down at his feet. "Max?"
"Yes?"
He looked around the boat, did a slow blink, and swallowed. "I'm excited."
I dangled my head over the edge of the boat, towards the waves, towards the reefs, towards the mermaids. "Yeah, mate. It's gonna be wild."
***
Not far from the coast was a yacht called The Muirmaid. I wasn't sure if Mateo owned it or had simply rented it and I didn't want to ask.
There was a small crew who helped us get on board before plying us with food and drink. I had asked for a blackboard and some chalk to be brought on board.
When everyone had got their sea legs to some extent and when everyone was holding a glass of something fun, I asked for their attention. It was time to unveil my Maxterplan.
Average CA (Max not included): 71.7
FC Progress Niederkorn Estimated Average CA: 80
College Win Probability: 55%
***
The players - in their ponchos, despite their complaints - watched as I wrote the words 'College 1975 2026' on the top of the blackboard.
"Your writing style got very confusing since I left Chester," said Magnus.
I looked at Emma and was about to make a joke but she wasn't quite ready to let people know she was writing high literature. "Okay, as I said to some of you, I imagine we'll do a lot of 4-2-3-1. I've been building up my stamina and should have no problem lasting a whole match. There's a week between games. Plenty of time to recover so don't worry about being peeled off the pitch when the final whistle blows. Basically we have four rounds of increasing difficulty and if we win, we're showered in prizes and glory. And in some cases, wives."
Henri gasped. "It's a tournament arc!"
I let my head drop. "What? Is that a thing from your books?"
"Yes. What it is, right, is the main character - "
I interrupted him. "Emma, you've read the top 20 sports fiction novels. Do you know what a tournament arc is?"
"Um, no."
"Great. I'm going to classify that as non-essential information, Henri. Sorry not sorry. Okay so College don't have any league matches until October. These matches are everything. We will use the recovery days to do some team trips. Attendance strictly voluntary but most people who live in Gib get bored and are happy to see a bit of action every now and then. One trip I want to do when we beat the Luxembourg lads is to watch Casablanca in Casablanca."
"Oh, mais oui!" said Henri, practically jumping for joy. "Yes! Amazing."
I pointed. "That way is Marbella and Malaga. Good days out. That way is Seville. We could go to the barber there. Seriously, though, if we get far enough in these ties, Mateo might be able to rent Sevilla's training ground for a few days." Pascal's face lit up. I jabbed my thumb behind me. "We could listen to Bob Dylan songs in Tangier."
Henri leapt and punched the air again. "Max! I am in culture heaven! What else?"
I smiled. "Er, we could wear Lynx Africa in Africa. That's it. Um... Camel racing? Heh. Look, I'm sure we'll find things to do. It's not action-packed around here but we can fill our days. Mostly it'll be footy footy footy."
"Can we watch the World Cup?" said Baggers.
"Ugh," I said. "You know what? I'm not sure if there's a good sports bar here. Let's ask the captain."
"The captain of this yacht?" said Lee. "Why?"
"Captain, oh my captain!" I called.
A tall man in a crisp white uniform came in. Henri shot to his feet and embraced him. Pascal and Magnus weren't far behind. Chester FC legend Glenn Ryder grinned. "You called, gaffer?"
"Yes, captain. Why are you dressed in that ridiculous get up? Would you mind putting on your official team poncho?"
"Whoa whoa whoa," said Emma. She barged Glenn's former teammates out of the way and fussed with the buttons on his broad chest. She looked up at the legendary title-winning centre back who was on Gemma money here in Gibraltar. "This outfit is giving me all kinds of ideas."
"Yeah yeah yeah," I said. "He's hot as fuck but it's poncho time."
Glenn's eyes shone as he looked around the little cabin. He had missed being part of the craziness. "Sorry, Emma. Boss's orders."
"Okay, take it off if you have to, but do it slowly."
Glenn laughed and slipped his captain's hat onto her head before doing a hugely unerotic striptease. One of the real cabin crew handed him a poncho, which he slipped on.
"One more detail," I said. I reached forward and pinned a sheriff's badge onto his chest.
"Aren't you the sheriff?" said Rachel.
"I'm the mayor."
"So what's Mateo?"
"He's the villager who needs to be saved from the bandits!" I rubbed my face as though annoyed, but I couldn't keep up the pretence. Things were going far too well and I had an incredibly good feeling about this trip. I wrote a few key words on the blackboard. "Goals. Beat Niederkorn. That's absolutely essential, guys. If we win that one we can go a little bit crazy. We might need to take mad risks to get results against the other teams but this lot are there for the taking. We'll play it straight down the middle, no messing about. In and out, let it happen."
Pascal said, "We're away first. Get a draw there and beat them here?"
Emma said, "Sorry, what does that mean?"
Pascal explained. "These matches are decided over two legs. One is played at home, one away. The aggregate score determines the winner. If we lose 2-0 there but win 3-0 here, we go through."
Henri said, "It's an advantage to play the second leg at home because if the aggregate scores are dead level and it goes to extra time, it's thirty more minutes in our stadium. And if it goes to penalties, it's in front of our fans."
"All true," I said, "but we don't have fans and there won't be many in Luxembourg, either. This match could finance the wedding of the year but to the outside world it means nothing. By the way, no spoilers but I think we will have the chance to absolutely destroy them in their gaff. They won't be expecting any of our tricks. They won't be expecting us!"
I drew a few circles on the blackboard. One for Jack the Lad, one for Glenn, one for Lee H. Me and Magnus. Pascal, Wibbers, and Henri. I scribbled their names in the circles.
I glanced at Mateo and nodded; he reached for his phone. "I just wish - ugh."
"What?" said Henri.
"I just wish we had something else. Just, I don't know. Just one more... something..."
Henri smiled. "But then it wouldn't be the Maxnificent Seven." I grinned at him; Mateo tapped on his phone. Henri saw that something was happening. "No! Max! Listen! It wouldn't be the Maxnificent Seven!"
I shook my head. "Ocean's Eleven didn't include Danny Ocean, did it?"
"Yes, it did," said at least five voices, including one of the sailors.
I shrugged. "I'm thinking of the 1960 original, I think. Whatever. Emma and I are artists. She can do what she wants and so can I."
There was a buzz around the cabin as the players leaned into each other trying to guess who was coming. Pascal speculated it would be a coach or a physio. Lee suggested it would be Peter Bauer, coming as my assistant manager. Henri wondered if it would be Dieter Bauer himself, brought out of retirement for one last caper.
The sound of conversation died down as we tuned into a new one - the roar of an engine. The little boat that had brought us to the yacht was back. Someone got off it. "Ponchos," I said. "Hats."
Those in the room with hats used them to cover their faces. Emma pulled her captain's hat down.
Into the cabin strode a stranger. He was in a poncho, of course, and was rocking black leather gloves like Robert Vaughn's character in The Magnificent Seven. A bandana covered most of his face. His eyes were hidden behind a wide Mexican hat with green-and-white tassels.
Henri said, "Green and white - the colours of College 1975."
The stranger didn't look up but went straight to the blackboard. With his back to the room, he examined the circles and the names. He picked up the chalk and - with ear-piercing scrapes - added another circle.
He stepped away. Instead of writing his name, he had drawn a shape.
"What's that?" said Jack the Lad. "A fish?"
The stranger went back to the board and added a few zigzags.
"Er," said Jack. "A fish with gills in the wrong place?"
"They're teeth," I said. "And green and white are also the colours... of Nigeria. Say hello... to the fastest gun in the west."
Crawley Town’s rapid winger Wes Hayward pulled back his hat. He looked around at his temporary teammates, at Emma, at Mateo and Rachel. Finally, he raised an eyebrow at me. "Crowded in here, boss."
"Ssh!" I said to the others so that they wouldn't ruin the greatest line in the history of football-movie crossovers. "Go ahead, Sharky." I nodded at him, my eyes wide and eager. “It’s crowded in here, yes?”
He grinned. "You're gonna need a bigger boat."
***
Average CA (Max not included): 75
FC Progress Niederkorn Estimated Average CA: 80
College Win Probability: 77%
***
Next chapter: The Jaws of Victory