Player Manager - A Sports Progression Fantasy

12.

Friday, September 18.

I turned onto a street in Upton, near the golf course, and went slowly past the driveways of half a dozen semi-detached houses. The inhabitants kept their hedges neatly squared off but they weren't too bothered about people finding their gaffs. Did that sign say 27 or 35?

There weren't any cars parked on the road itself, which was weird. Most British residential streets were absolutely rammed, day and night, to the point there was barely space to drive. Maybe this road had an aggressive towing policy. Before unclipping my seatbelt, I closed my eyes and felt the steering wheel. Did I like this car? Sure, it was fine. Would I buy this model? I would soon be minted. Why not get something nicer?

I flicked the indicator, pressed some buttons, pulled down the flaps. I didn't have a strong opinion about any of it, which was good. Nothing itched, nothing annoyed. It was the Andrew Harrison of cars. Hard-working, honest, can seat one to five people. Tapping the wheel, I remembered the jealousy I had felt when Henri had whizzed Gemma around Darlington in his Lotus Seven.

I squeezed my eyes shut as I gripped the wheel. What would it be like to drive a giant roller skate around town? It would be cool; I would be sexy. Why exactly did I need that? I'd rather buy a box-to-box midfielder.

I got out and was deep in thought when someone appeared out of nowhere. "I'm gonna kill you!" he said.

My reflexes took me away from him, towards the hedge, but even as I was doing that I realised it was Colin Beckton and he had actually said, "Hey, Max."

"Fuck me," I said, letting out a nervous laugh as I bounced off some shrubbery. He wanted to say something but I held a hand up. "Hang on. Just waiting for my life to finish flashing before my eyes." I looked down at the pavement, counted to three and said, "Oh, yeah! I forgot I did that. Oh-kay, that's gonna come out as a screamy dream. Colin, can you not sneak up on me in a darkened suburb at night?"

"Sorry, Max. Didn't mean to startle you on... a well-lit street on a warm, bright, late summer's evening."

I smiled. "Come on," I said, leading him up the driveway towards the house. A security spotlight came on; they needed one on the other side of the hedge. Just before I knocked on the door I lost confidence. "Um..."

"What?"

I pointed at the door. "This kind of thing makes sense in my head but... You're a serious man, an experienced professional. I probably shouldn't drag you into my escapades."

"I knew what I was signing up for."

I smiled wider. "No, you didn't."

I knocked on the door. Colin said, "What are we doing?"

"Follow my lead."

An Indian woman opened the door. She was somewhere between 40 and 50 and was dressed simply with round bronze earrings. She looked from me to Colin somewhat blankly. A girl's voice from inside called out, "Mum! Who is it?"

The woman shook her head. "It's Colin Beckton and a stranger."

I laughed and offered her a hug. "Hello, Mrs. Peyad," I said. A little shriek came from inside the house. I stepped aside. "This is Colin. Don't hug him. He's not a hugger."

Colin spread his arms and Mrs. Peyad embraced him. "Please, come in," she said. "Will you have a cup of tea?"

***

INTERLUDE

The Hero with No Decimal Places

A Hero's Journey Tale by Devi Peyad*

i. Ordinary World

We meet the hero in her everyday life.

My name is Devi and I play for Chester FC Women's Girl's Under Whatevers. That is the official title bestowed upon us by Max Actual Best, but we compete as Chester Girls u16s.

Max scouted me about a year ago when I was having a laugh on a field with some mates. A boy who was big into footie had brought a ball. He said 'Let's play Three and You're In' and after he explained the rules we had a good time. I was really terrible and I heard my naani's voice telling me that football was not for girls and certainly not for Indian girls. She would change her tune if she watched Vivek Purwaha, who played for Chester Men and now plays in Manchester. Have you seen his eyelashes? They're longer than Kim's!

I kicked the ball and Umesh said 'Devi! You're a striker not a defender.' I wanted to tell him I had tried to score but he stopped dead. A man was sprinting all the way across the park and it was clear he was coming towards us. Everyone was scared but then Umesh said, 'I can't believe it! That's Max Actual Best come to scout me! I knew it!' I had heard of Max Best - who in Chester hasn't? - so I stopped being afraid but it was still very strange.

Max crossed the entire field faster than I go upstairs in my house, but then in the last few steps slowed to a crawl and pretended to ignore us. 'Oh, you're playing football? What a lark. I wonder who amongst you can do the most tekkers?'

Umesh had to explain what that meant because Max was catching his breath. We each took a turn trying to keep the ball in the air. Umesh did about twelve kick ups. I did three.

'Marvellous!' said Max Actual Best, and I was pretty weirded out when I realised he was talking about me. 'I say!' he yelled, as though someone was watching him. He looked around, checking behind him. 'Yeah, you're in. Let's go.'

'Go where?' I said, because I'm not stupid. I don't wander off with strange men even if they claim to be MAB.

He gave me a second or third look. 'Go where? Um...' But he had really sprinted crazily far in almost no time and needed a moment to catch himself. He had his hands on his knees. 'Like, right midfield for England?" He looked up, hopefully. "I don't suppose you've got any Welsh relatives?'

'Welsh? No. My family's from India.'

'No offence but they're not going to the European Championships any time soon.'

I didn't know what to say to that.

I didn't know what to say when I went to Bumpers Bank for my first training session.

I didn't know what to say when I was the worst player. Or when I did my first nice pass. Or when I finally understood what they meant by shuffle and slide. Or what it was like to slam a shot past Babs, the goalie from the year above. Or when Vivek Purwaha and ALL his eyelashes turned up to help MAB convince my mother to let me play for Chester Women.

Mum didn't take much convincing. She told Max and Vivek how her mother had put a stop to her dreams of being a writer. She didn't want to put a stop to my dreams in the same way.

'As long as it doesn't interfere with her studies.'

It didn't. Why would it? What I study hardest is football.

Fast forward almost a year.

I was in training with the Chester girls. By then I was one of the first names on the team sheet. MAB sometimes came to watch us play, but mostly he watched us train. He liked to make, and this is a word I learned specifically to cope with him, sardonic comments. We all tried to do better. Very occasionally, he showed me how to deal with pressure and why certain passes I made were not helping the team. His ideas were usually simple but mind-blowing. When I watched football after that, I saw it in a new light. The other coaches were amazing, too, but nothing beat the feeling I got when they said 'wow, MAB really rates you!'

Life was good. Life was amazing. Who had a better life than Devi Peyad?

***

Who has a worse life than Devi Peyad?

Nobody.

Maybe a few people.

I'm injured. They say it's my meniscus, because it's my meniscus. While doing a simple passing drill, my knee put itself through a shredder like it was a transfer bid for William B. Roberts.

I'm done.

I'm finished.

My career as a footballer is over.

ii. Call to Adventure

It begins.

Mother asked if I would please do my homework.

iii. Refuse the Call

The hero is too busy feeling sorry for herself to achieve greatness.

I said no.

iv. Meet the Mentor

The hero encounters the person who knows how to trigger a montage scene.

Crazy doesn't begin to describe it. I heard a car come along our street. Nothing out of the ordinary there, but I think my brain realised that the car door didn't open. A car comes down our street, stops, and the door doesn't open? So what? You have to understand that I've been in a brace and using crutches for what feels like most of my life. Mum doesn't trust me to be on TikTok unsupervised so I'm not allowed to have the volume on my phone and I'm not allowed to wear earphones. I have become accustomed to the sounds of the street outside.

Get this.

Another car came, and for a long time its door also didn't open.

I got a tiny sliver of fear along my spine. What was going on?

One car door opened, slammed shut. The second did the same but quieter, like the driver had been waiting for the first. There was a yelp of fright. My spine went bonkers.

'Mum,' I whispered, but she couldn't hear.

After an agonising wait, I heard two sets of footsteps. They were coming up our driveway! I looked at my leg. Encased. Entombed. Can't even flee! The voices - men - chatted at the doorway and there was a knock.

Mum breezed past me. 'Don't,' I croaked, but she was already there. I found some bravery. Maybe if the villains heard my voice they would rethink their dastardly plans. 'Mum! Who is it?'

'It's Colin Beckton and a stranger.'

My head spun. What in the world? Colin was one of the men's first team coaches but I'd never seen him at the women's matches or spoken with him. He was something of a big shot. Scored goals all over the world and now he was a coach. People said he's very serious, very professional, works twice as hard as everyone else. Studious! That's a word I heard. Why was he here?

The voice that spoke next wasn't his. 'Hello, Mrs. Peyad!'

My goodness! It was Max Actual Best! I thought he was in Brazil. I tried to hobble from the living room spot where I had been feeling sorry for myself, but I nearly tripped over my schoolbag and I had to flop onto the sofa and I ended it in a weird position and probably injured my knee again! I didn't want Max to see me like this but he was so close - through a couple of doorways, about five yards from the sofa.

'This is Colin. Don't hug him. He's not a hugger.'

Argh! Max was in a good mood and I heard mum hugging Colin, just because Max said not to! Oh, God, she's going to embarrass me.

Mum said, 'Please, come in. Will you have a cup of tea?'

But Max had gone rogue and already burst into our house. Into my life. My inner world!

'Max,' I said, because I'm an idiot.

'Max Best,' he sang. 'Remember the name. Something something verb the game. Wicky wicky wicky.'

Oh, God. He was hyper. I can't deal with this. 'I thought you were in Brazil.'

'You thought a lot of things.'

'What?'

He smiled as he took in the scene. 'I don't know. It sounded good in my head. You know Colin Beckton?'

'Course.'

'Ha ha what's this?' He had seen our little bookshelf and grabbed a book called The Hero with a Thousand Faces. It's one I've noticed at least nine hundred and ninety-nine times but have never picked up. 'Absolute bosh. Is this your mum's or your dad's?'

'Don't know,' I said. 'What is it?'

'It's about a storytelling concept called The Hero's Journey. I use it all the time, it's mint. Colin,' said Max, and his eyes were twinkling. He held the book higher so Colin could see the cover. 'Change of plan.'

'You can't change the plan. I don't know what the plan is!'

Max walked around, very very intense. He stopped at the part of the floor where the living room met the kitchen. He cackled. 'Yes! This is it. This will do.'

Colin wasn't sure what was going on, which was some relief to me. Mum was also vaguely worried but she had seen enough of Max to know he's not a maniac, just manic.

Max was staring hard at the metal thing that covers the edge of the carpet, the divider between the kitchen's laminate flooring and the rest of the space. 'Threshold bar,' mumbled Max. 'Can we have a threshold guardian? Why the fudge not? Um... yes! Armour! Colin, put this apron on.'

'What? No.'

But Max was dancing around like an idiot. 'Put it on or you're fired! Haha! Okay you're the guardian. You need weapons. Mrs. Peyad, have you got, like, a Sword of Vishnu?'

'What is one of those?' asked mum.

'Dunno. I wish I knew more about your culture,' said Max. 'Um... Salt. Salt for cleansing. Can we make a line of salt here on the floor that Devi has to cross?'

'No, thank you.'

'Okay, sure sure cool cool. Right, Colin, you hold this, ah, Whisk of Whisky Business. You've got the Apron of Plus Ten Defence. You're a bit feeble, aren't you? Not very intimidating.'

Colin said, 'Maybe there's an apron that doesn't say Mister Good-Looking Is Cooking.'

Max opened a drawer at random but mum pushed it closed. 'I don't keep swords or shields in my kitchen, Max Best. And that is not a whisk but an egg beater.'

'Whoa!' said Max. 'No way. I don't know much but I know a whisk when I see one.'

Colin said, 'I'm sorry, Mrs. Peyad, but I agree with Max. Egg beaters are the ones that rotate.'

'No no no,' said mum, and the scene was crazy-making.

'Excuse me,' I said, narked. I think I was mostly mad at mum. I was the one they had come to see, though I had no clue why.

'Colin, let's do it like this. You're weak now but you will return later in the story with more gear, when the heroine is complacent.'

'Heroin?' I say. Did they think I was taking drugs?

Max was suddenly in front of me, earnest and full of life. 'You must cross the threshold, Devi! You have refused the call to adventure, I'm guessing, because otherwise why am I here? Come into the kitchen and fulfil your destiny. Watch out for that little bump.'

Mum coughed. 'If you're trying to follow mythic structure, you're the mentor so you need to teach her how to beat the guardian.'

'Oh, that's easy,' said Max, looking at Colin. 'While the ball's in the air, give him a nudge in the back. Someone somewhere told him to throw himself to the floor when that happens but this is League One, baby. You don't get nothing for that.'

Colin shook his head. 'Mate.'

Max looked at me and said, 'You do it like this.' He took a couple of big steps towards the kitchen and as he got to the metal strip across the edge of the carpet he fell into a kung-fu stance. 'Back, villain! Back, I say! Quick Devi, now!'

v. Cross the First Threshold

The hero journeys into the Special World.

I pushed myself into the kitchen.

vi. Tests, Allies, Enemies

She is challenged but teammates come to her aid.

Max held a chair out for me, which was polite of him.

'Okay what's next?' he said. He went into the living room and picked up my schoolbag. That made me feel hot around the neck, but he only brought it to the dining table and put it on the chair next to me. 'After Thresholds it's Tests, right?' He sat next to my schoolbag. Colin sat opposite him and put his own backpack on the chair next to me. All nicely symmetrical.

'In fact,' said mum, as she made four cups of tea, 'the next section is Tests, Allies, and Enemies. I do hope you won't be an enemy, Max.'

'That depends on Devi, doesn't it? I think I'm a pretty good ally for people who want it. You're her mum so you're a top ally. Colin, do you want to be a scoundrel?'

He got a little bit cheeky, which made him look very young. 'My scoundrel days are long behind me, Max. I'm a family man now. By the way, can I take the apron off?'

Max turned to mum. 'Shapeshifter,' he said, and they laughed.

'What's this about?' I demanded.

'Oooh!' laughed Max. 'She crosses one threshold and she's suddenly got the heart of a champion.'

'She has always been brave,' said mum.

'Devi,' said Max, as mum handed out steaming mugs. 'I'm here to tell you off. Do you want your mum here for that?'

The heat was all up my neck and creeping onto my cheeks. 'Whatever.' The word came out hot and defiant but Max sipped his tea, unbothered.

'She could go out and do some gardening or something.'

'It's pitch black out there!' I cried.

Incredibly, this statement made Max punch the air. 'Ha! Told you. One-nil, Colin! I won that one!'

Colin clicked his tongue. 'Devi doesn't know. She's been inside.'

'Inside, right,' said Max, calming all the way down. He actually got a little bit serious and a little bit scary. 'Devi, you're one of the best players in our youth system and I'd hate to lose you over this.'

The heat was hot but it was cold, too. Had he come to release me? That was unthinkable. Chester almost never cut players. You had to be absolutely horrible for them to even think... Is that what Max thought? What would Vivek say if he had been a trailblazer and I was the one who stuffed everything up for the Indian community? I wanted to run out of there but I couldn't. Mum saw me struggling and put her hand on my shoulder. 'Is this about text messages? Cyber bullying?'

Mum was worried I was being bullied at school! That meant she didn't know why Max was here, either, which meant she hadn't set up this meeting. I put my hand on hers. Max said, 'No because then I wouldn't be here. That's an immediate dismissal, no possibility of a return. It was in the code of conduct you agreed to, Devi. Remember that?'

I did. We started every season with a team meeting where we talked about things we wanted to add or remove. The captains took it really seriously. But Max was talking like if there was any bullying, I would be the one to do it! No way! I would never. 'I remember,' I said, wishing I had Vivek's eyelashes to hide behind.

'Yeah, so look. Your marks at school have been slipping for a while and since your injury they've fallen off a cliff.' He sipped his tea. 'This week was the worst yet. You were disruptive in class and haven't done any homework.'

'Disruptive? Mr. Abbey was being a - '

'Devi!' snapped my mum.

Max took a drink and held onto the mug for warmth. 'If you spoke to one of my coaches like you spoke to your teacher, how long do you reckon it would take before I kicked you out of Bumpers?'

The heat and the hurt was all mixing up inside me and I was getting dizzy. 'Don't know.'

'To be honest, I don't really care about that except that it reflects badly on Chester when one of our players is having a tantrum. You wouldn't catch me throwing a public hissy fit, would you, Colin? But yeah, I'm only really here about the homework.'

That made me even dizzier. 'What?'

'Too many footballers are as thick as two short planks. You've got a guy doing laughing gas and putting it on his socials. I mean, maybe it shouldn't be a crime but it's a crime. You're literally filming yourself doing a crime and putting it online for little kids to see, for your sponsors, the manager, the police. It blows my mind. Then there's the hateful prat who kicked a cat and put that online. He's lucky he's old and I won't get to annihilate him on the pitch. There are guys who film themselves being racist and put that online. This is Chester and we have fun but we have standards too. We do our homework on players so that hopefully we don't get those sorts of incidents but you need to know this isn't West Ham, this isn't Tottenham, this isn't Chelsea. We have consequences.'

'I didn't do any of that.'

'I'm letting you know where you stand and where you stand is on the edge of a cliff.'

'I can't stand.'

'Because of your knee? The club will continue to help with your rehab whatever happens in this conversation. Your rehab is safe, that’s in the bank. We've got a sports psychologist who's really good and I think you haven't seen him yet. I'm paying him to help injured players get through what they're going through but I can't make you go. If you want I can ask him to come here a few times. He's dead nice; it isn't scary. It's just a chat but he can give you ideas of things to help you. And hey, I was in a coma and had to learn to walk again. Colin missed a cup final because of the only hamstring injury he ever got. You can talk to us. We're with you all the way. All the way to the innermost cave and back. But this started before this injury, didn't it? You've been neglecting your studies and that's what worries me.'

I tried to swallow but my mouth was dry. I drank some of the tea. 'It's boring. I hate it. I just want to talk about football. It's the only thing with colour. Everything else is washed out.'

Max smiled. 'Yeah. But listen, boredom is a big part of the sport. It isn't all megs and slaps. You know I was in Gibraltar? We had one match a week. We couldn't drink and our fun days out were spent on cramped planes or at airports that were too hot or too cold. There was so much downtime but I was - incredibly - able to resist the temptation to film myself doing a crime. I'm able to manage my boredom. I actually like being bored. But most of the time I'm doing homework.'

'Homework?'

'Yeah. Studying Blackpool, for example. They're really interesting. They've played four different formations in the last four matches so how do I prepare? I prepare by doing four times as much work, four times as much thinking. Okay you'd say it's not boring because it's about football and I'd agree with that but all those years I spent at school doing useless garbage was actually good preparation. Can I sit still for twenty minutes while I stare at some charts and think what they mean? Of course I can; I did that every day for eight years. Can I take all my thoughts and put them into some kind of structure? I wrote a hundred essays at school. I don't always nail it but I can do it.

'The Aston Villa manager makes his players sit through three 90-minute presentations in the week before a match. Those sessions are so detailed and so tedious. Some players hate it. The players who film themselves doing crimes don't have the mental strength to sit still and listen and think, do they? They're like toddlers rushing around from experience to experience and they go missing in games against serious opposition.

'Villa's manager wants to test the concentration of his players. You see the results when they take to the pitch - they look coached and organised. This is the way elite sport is going. It's cerebral. You see those NFL playbooks that the players have to study. It's astonishing. Those players are constantly revising, revising, doing their homework.

'Devi, you have to do your homework if you want to stay at Chester. Football's so much about suffering and sacrificing and what could be a bigger sacrifice than doing Geography homework on a sunny Sunday afternoon? Some things you do in school are more useful than others. Sit up straight when they tell you about the Cambrian Era, that's a top tip. I'm not here asking you to get As in everything but yeah, you've got to go at it pretty hard. How do I know you're gonna be receptive when Pascal Bochum is telling you for the tenth time the runs he expects you to make when Liverpool have a four versus three overload in left mid when the right back is out of position? I'll know because you got four GCSEs. That's the point of exams, right? It's not 'oh that's your value forever'. It's a shortcut so employers - that's me - can say yes this person has basic competencies. I don't really care if you can take a good corner if you aren't listening in my team talks.'

After a short pause, Colin said, 'Did you go hard?'

'Did I what?

'Go at school hard.'

'I wouldn't say hard, no, and okay there were a couple of times I couldn't be arsed doing my homework but I was pretty good, all things considered. If I'd made a promise to a director of football that I'd work hard, I'd probably have done things exactly the same except I wouldn't have skipped those days. And maybe I wouldn't have been caught making out with my Geography teacher.'

'What!' I said.

'I didn't know he was married!'

Colin shook his head. 'Max is joking.'

'I am joking. That was my way of testing you're still paying attention.'

'I'm paying attention. I want to stay at Chester and get back in the team. I'll do my homework.'

'Top,' said Max. I half expected him to get up and leave. He didn't.

For the first time, I wondered exactly why Colin was there. The heat came back to my neck. 'You want me to do some now? You're going to sit there and watch me do my homework?'

'Of course not,' said Max. 'That would be ridiculous. We're a team. We're going to help.'

I reached out to grab my schoolbag but Max was faster. He put it on the chair to his right and unzipped it. He pulled out some textbooks. 'History? Bonus. That'll get me too hyped, though. Oh, perfect. What page are we doing?' He slapped my Maths book on the table in front of him, opened it to a random page, and clicked a pen.

'Page 204,' I yelped.

'Aww,' he said, as he found the right page. 'That one looked fun. Oh! Triangles in circles! I remember these. Okay, team, let's go.'

vii. Approach to the Innermost Cave

She nears her greatest battle.

'Max, wait,' I said. 'I'm sorry but I can't do this. I can't concentrate. It's not that I'm sulking, not all the time, anyway. Sometimes I really try to do some homework but I can't. I pick up a pen and I think 'is this my life now?' I want to play right midfield for England in the Euros and the World Cup. I want to be in Chesterness. What if I can't play?'

Max spun the pen around his finger. 'See that?'

'Yeah.'

'Couldn't do that when I woke up. Had to learn it again. Took ages.'

Colin said, 'I saw your tekkers recovery video. It was inspirational.'

Max pointed at Colin. 'See that? He was doing homework on us when we were doing homework on him.' He twirled his pen a few more times. 'Dean isn't worried about your knee in the slightest and neither is your surgeon. He said it went like a dream and you'll be right as rain if we don't rush you back. Newsflash, we're not rushing you back. Oh, and our medical score is going up big time. We've got a club doctor starting soon and I hope in January we'll have an amazing new physio. I think in your case what she'll be good at is helping you not to overcorrect. When you start running again you'll be trying to protect your injured knee and you'll only put more strain on your other joints. Nicole will help you to reset. She's absolutely amazing. For a time I wondered if she was actually magical but I'm pretty sure she's human. Where was I?'

'You were reassuring Devi she'll be able to play again by saying our new physio isn't a fairy godmother.'

Max swished the pen at me as though he was casting a spell. In a fairy voice he said, 'You shall go to the football! Heh, that was mint. Where's your mum gone? That deserved a bigger audience. Long story short, mate, you'll play again. Six weeks off isn't much, is it? You can work on your tactical awareness. You won't rush back and you'll do a little extra strength work. It's as easy as pie. Oh! Topical.'

viii. Ordeal

The biggest test... so far!

Max turned his focus to the page.

'Question one. What is the value of X? Okay I remember this. We need Pi. Now, the interesting thing about Pi is that no-one can agree what it's supposed to be. I read a story once about a wise old king who was sick of all the thinking and all the decimal places so he said, let's call it 4. He makes a good point, don't you think? R is the radius, isn't it? If we can work out the diameter, the R is half.'

Colin was leaning over. 'You're saying diameter but what you're pointing to is the circumference.'

'Same thing. I reckon that's about six centimetres, that circle. Four times six... Squared. Does that mean we square the R or square the whole thing? You know what, I'm going to write two answers. One of them has to be right. Um... 64 or... 576. Bosh!'

I stared in horror as the player-manager of Chester FC actually wrote two incorrect results in my answer book. In pen. 'What are you doing?'

'What?'

'Give me that.'

He handed the book over. When he was gone I would Tipp-Ex out the nonsense he had written. I calculated the answer and moved onto question 2. The two Chester FC employees sat quietly while my mum came back into the room and made more tea. Absolutely insane.

ix. Reward

The hero loads up on swag.

I did three questions and Max reached out for the book. I was reluctant to hand it over but I did. Thankfully, all he did was look at my neat rows of numbers and steps.

'Now that's one thing I don't like to do,' he said.

'What? Put the right answer?' said Colin.

Max thought that was funny. 'Show your working. You've laid out every step of your thought process so that if you go wrong, the teacher can see why and help you in a more targeted way. It's obvious to me that you're smart and methodical and I can't let you let your brain rot because you like football. You need to find a little bit of balance. Devi, there's a thing called carrot and stick. The stick is me saying I'll bin you off if you don't do what you agreed to do. The carrot is why Colin's here. Colin and I are going to do two things right here in your kitchen. First, he's got some analyses of our players and what drills he wants to do with them in the coming months. Sort of a personalised training programme that wraps around what we do as a team. We have these for every player but we're always updating them. You'll find it interesting but you have to remember, Colin has thirty of these to research and write. It takes blinking ages, do you get me? It might be fun for you today but if we went through thirty you would be tearing your hair out. Do you know what I'm saying?'

'I think so. Life as a footballer isn't just finishing practice, there are hill runs, too.'

'Exactly. And as a second treat, we're going to talk about the Blackpool match and how we're going to win.'

x. The Road Back

The hero realises the road home may be longer than she thought...

Colin unzipped his backpack and took out a folder. He opened it and showed me what was in it.

'Circles with triangles in!' I said.

He frowned and turned it back to face him. There was a large circle taking up most of the page, and it was divided into segments. I had seen such graphics used for player analysis but not like this. 'Haha, yes, that's true. It's a tool to help us plan sessions. Any drill fits into one of eight categories. The four green ones are in-possession: transition to attacking; secure possession; build and progress; create and finish. There are three rings - player, unit, team. This particular exercise is a finishing drill so it goes in create and finish and we heavily shade player and partially shade unit. That's because the focus is on individual skill but there is a slight teamwork function. If you lay out all these session plans for a week or a month you can look to see have I covered every skill in enough combinations? Are we doing too much tactical work and not enough individual player focus?'

'And the red? What does that mean?'

Max said, 'It means Colin didn't get the memo about colour-blind players.'

Colin bit his lip. 'Yep. Yep.'

'Go on,' said Max.

'Red, ah... what is currently red is out-of-possession. The four categories are deny and protect; block and prevent; press and regain; transition to defending.'

'Are the under 16s coaches doing this with us?'

'From this season, yes,' said Max. 'You won't notice it; this is what the coaches are doing when they're deciding what you should focus on. Colin and I are going to discuss this for a while.' He eyed my textbook. He eyed it again. He jerked his head towards it.

'Oh,' I said. Somehow I was back to grinding.

xi. Resurrection

The hero overcomes the final challenge.

Between maths questions I tried to see what they were doing. They were resting one knee on their chairs like boys in school as they leaned over a calendar. Colin was murmuring things and Max was nodding. Sometimes Max asked a question. The only time he spoke more than a few words was to ask Colin to take out one drill type because Max would do Relationism instead of that one. Relationism is Max's new invention and it's amazing. It's football you don't need to do homework for. I couldn't wait to learn it.

The women's first team was already training it but they hadn't used it in the win against West Brom. We had all heard the rumours that the Women's Super League was going to cancel relegation for a few years. They said it was to increase competitiveness but everyone knew they would sneakily make it permanent. Chester had to get straight promotions or we would never get to the WSL. If we were locked out just before we got there, that would be so unfair. If I never played in the top tier because those cowardly clubs didn't want a fair fight...

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

I had to get fit so I could help the team.

I had to do my homework so I wouldn't get cut.

I couldn't focus on the numbers. Argh!

Did I make a sound? Max and Colin turned to me. I was angry at one of them so I talked to the other one. 'Colin, how do you feel about that cup final you missed?'

'Not good, Devi. Still hurts sometimes, if I'm honest. I was flying at the time, you know? Goals from all angles just before a trip to Wembley for a cup final. But it wasn't meant to be.'

'How do you deal with it?'

Max said, 'He sleeps in a big dome connected to a hose that shoots cash over him. The sheer weight acts like a gravity blanket.'

Colin ignored Max's craziness, at first anyway. 'I had bad times but I've got plenty of good memories, too, and football gave me my family. Two daughters. They're my world. I'm mad about them. Are you imagining a dome like in The Crystal Maze? How would I sleep with - I mean, it'd sound like a leaf blower. That's not relaxing.'

'Wayne Rooney burns through two hoovers a month. He leaves them on so he can sleep. Likes the noise.'

'That would drive me insane. Not gonna lie, Devi, a cup final goal is a gap in my CV and I've got a pretty full one. I suppose it was better to be injured than dropped. I think that would have hurt more. I always thought I'd get another chance but that's football.'

'Bzzzz,' said Max, pressing an imaginary button. 'You'll get another shot. We can win the Vans Trophy. That's not just a cup final, it's a Wembley cup final.' He turned to me and tapped the textbook. 'I notice you slacking off. Do you want me to do the next one?'

'No,' I said.

While Colin and Max talked about skill wheels and which guest coaches were available when, and who needed rest and who needed action, I cleared half my Maths backlog in half an hour.

xii. Return with the Elixir

Triumph, at last.

'Right,' said Max. 'My turn.' He meant he was going to spill the beans about Blackpool.

I put my Maths book on the table. Max thought about complaining but he judged I had done enough for now. 'Bob Britton, Blackpool's manager, is a former centre back and he bucks the trend that managers do the opposite of how they played. He's very pragmatic, safety first. Wouldn't be quite fair to call him a dinosaur but he loves beefy boys, loves keeping things tight. He'll see us coming and think nil-nil, please.'

'They don't have a lot of creativity,' said Colin.

'No, they don't. If we get the first goal they are well and truly fudged so he'll be going all-out to prevent that. He has played 4-2-3-1 recently, and some 4-4-2. Mostly he's been switching between 3-5-2 and 5-3-2. I think he'll do 5-3-2 and the full backs will do something like a man-marking job on our wide players.'

'Duggers is causing conniptions everywhere we go.'

'He's such a nuisance because he can dribble, pass, and his movement is really clever. Britton will be thinking about him more than Bark or even Pascal on the right. But he won't be dismissing our right because of what Matt Rush did to Shrewsbury. What I want is to give him so many headaches he switches to 5-4-1.'

Colin's eyes widened. 'You mean... You want to trigger it?'

'Yes because if he brings off a striker to beef up the midfield, we can bring off a defender to beef up the attack. So I want to do 4-4-2 with Duggers left back and Pascal left mid.'

'A winger playing in defence away from home?'

'All our games are away, Colin. On the right we'll do something similar. Bark at right back, Rushy right midfield. We will swap them round and we'll switch between 4-4-2 and 4-2-4. From Britton's point of view, it'll just be loads of different players attacking down the wings, right? 5-3-2 doesn't give him enough protection out wide so he'll want to double up. That's why I think we can get him to take off a striker. The Blackpool fans will go nuts but he won't care. If he gets a point or sneaks a set piece goal win, he'll be in dreamland. So the plan is, first half we are solid but we generate threat down the wings. Half time, he makes his change, we go tonto. All out attack. Attack till we drop.'

Colin closed his eyes and thought about it. We were waiting for him to react so now he was the one under pressure! He grinned and got up. Like me, he thinks better when he's moving. 'What if they start with 4-4-2?'

'Then it's equal.'

'But we won't have proper full backs.'

'It's a calculated risk. It's three points for a win, Colin. We're going there to win.'

'They did 4-2-3-1 recently. What about that?'

'Doesn't give him enough protection down the sides and we'll have Youngster, Lee, Christian, and Zach against his front four.'

'You like going man-to-man.'

'I trust my players. I believe in them. Don't I, Devi?'

'Yeah, right until you put them in the bin.'

'Do you feel like you got put in the bin?'

'No. Was that... Is that what it's like? In the real team talks? Is that what I'm going to get one day?'

'That's the overview, yes. That's how I do it. There's another level underneath that. The level of detail and clip-watching and slides and watching your opponent again and again.'

'The homework.'

'The homework. You're not so far from the first team squad but even in two or three years it will all be much more serious, much more professional.' He smiled. 'I'll try to make sure it's still fun.'

I've been on a journey in the last hour. 'Do you think I should apologise to Mr. Abbey?'

Max tipped his head back and bellowed with laughter. 'The fact that you're asking me the question maybe reveals what you think you should do. He's your English teacher, is he?'

'Yeah.'

'If I were you I'd embed the apology into an essay. Near the end, maybe, to check if he's even reading what you've done. Heh.' He reached into my school bag and pulled out my English book. 'What's your homework for this?'

Mum reappeared from wherever she got to. 'She has to write about a role model she admires.'

'Well, she's a right midfielder so it's obviously me.' Max suddenly lit up like a Christmas tree. He grabbed the copy of The Hero with a Thousand Faces. 'Theme acquired! I've just had an amazing idea!'

*With help from Max Best and Colin Beckton. But mostly mum.

***

Colin and I popped into the semi-detached house and spent some time talking to Devi, a PA 149 midfielder. She was one of the very best players I had found from Chester itself but she was being a brat in school and her teachers were starting to despair. Devi's Morale had probably tanked after her injury, which was normal, but she seemed to have taken it harder than most. I needed to be able to keep an eye on such things. I hadn't added any of the youth team squads to the Panopticon yet because while incidents like these made that process more urgent, I also needed formations, Attributes, and all kinds of things.

I had invited Colin to deliver his latest coaching reports and go over the training plans for the coming months. My vague concept was that Devi would see how hard we worked behind the scenes, how many reports there were, that behind every moment of inspiration were hours and hours of toiling in front of a hot laptop. It would, perhaps, put schoolwork into some kind of perspective. Who knew if she would respond the way I hoped? It was worth a try.

As we came to the end of the driveway, we stopped. Colin's car was to the left, mine to the right. He said, "That was, literally, educational." I didn't reply - what could I say? - so he said, "Are you back for a while?"

"Yeah," I said. "I'll be going off on small scouting trips but almost everything is set now. We're on a fixed path. No more incomings this season so, yeah, head down, few weeks of grinding. I want to be top of the league when the stadium opens."

"When exactly did you come back?"

"This morning."

"This morning. Aren't Saltney playing tonight?"

"Yeah."

"You came here instead of there."

"I'll be there in spirit." Old Nick had invested a lot of time in trying to punish me for crimes I hadn't committed. I was sticking it to him by earning the minimum possible XP for a while; I would catch up when I was done with my sulk. "Well In knows what he's doing and I don't need to be there. Five wins from five already. Haverfordwest are maybe the third strongest team so it'll be interesting to see how they get on tonight."

"I don't know what it is but I can't imagine you in Brazil. Your tan game is on point but what were you doing all day?"

I cracked a huge smile. "First week was all business but this week I let my hair down. In the mornings I went to Corinthians and trained with them."

Colin's eyebrows shot up. "You trained with Corinthians? You don't even train with us!"

I snorted. "I started with the reserves, hanging out with our players. Next day, Nono, the DoF, kicked us all up to the first team. He wanted to see if I could walk the walk. That was fun, and he lent me some goalies so I could blast free kicks and take penalties. Chester have a big squad so I don't think I need full fitness. I'm dialling my stamina down and focusing on technique again."

"You talk like you can't do both."

"Since the murder I've had to choose a focus." I looked back at the house. "She's lucky, in a way. It seems like a big injury but it's not. Is it good for her to work through all this now? I wish she would talk to Alex."

"Now's a good moment to set up a time."

"You think?"

"Yes, Max. She's buzzing that you came."

"That we came, mate. Okay, ah... My sense is it would be better coming from you. What do you think?"

He shrugged. "I'll do it."

Colin walked back up the drive and knocked on the door. It opened and he went inside.

I had done more than scare Brazilian goalies with Beckhams and Cannonballs. In the afternoons and evenings I'd scouted pretty hard. I only got one blast of Playdar per day, but in such a rich talent hotspot it turned up banger after banger. There was the usual joke where the curse led me to six-year-olds and fifty-six-year-olds, but I found six suitably-aged players good enough for the Championship and three guys who could play in the Prem. One guy was borderline too old to get started, but I had persuaded Nono to give him a go.

I hadn't made my quota of finding an entire new team with a minimum PA of 110 but it was enough for Chelli to get his teeth into.

I thought about Willian, the Brazilian winger who had played for Fulham, Chelsea, and Arsenal among dozens of other clubs. He seemed to have one, sometimes two transfers a year and was always popping up on random teams. I wondered about his agent's cut of his signing-on fees and how they must have added up over the years. If I died of fright because a player-coach jumped out at me, Chelli would be just fine.

Colin returned. "All good," he said.

"Do we need to organise transport or anything?"

"No, Max. It's done. You were scouting down in Sampa, right? Did you find us a Neymar regen?"

"No. Would you want one?"

"If I could sell him for two hundred million," he said.

Him talking about player sales sent me along a different mental journey. "Yeah, our squad's bloated. We need to shift a couple of bodies but I don't think we'll quite get Neymar money." I remembered he had been asking about Brazil. "I found some younger guys, ones with no experience."

"Will they all be joining Chester?"

"No," I said. "They're going straight to the big clubs there. We'll be keeping in touch and when it's time for a move to Europe, we'll get a call. No, nothing much for Chester this time... Although I did come back with two players."

"Oh? Tell us about them."

"It's Nasa and Tomzilla," I said. "The ones I already registered but now they're coming in January. Nono's gonna try to give them a few minutes at the end of a Copa Libertadores match to help me with the paperwork. You know, send them on as a sub in the 90th minute to waste thirty seconds." I'd done one of my famous shady backroom deals, offering Nono a few top talents in exchange for that favour. He thought it was a good deal; he didn't know I would have sent the players his way regardless. "It's ahead of schedule and it'll explode my budget." To get a work permit, I would have to double Nasa and Tomzilla's wages. From January, they would cost 800 a week each instead of 400. The money would come out of Youngster's increase. I wasn't quite sure how I was going to give Magnus a rise and bring Nicole over.

Colin had an idea. "What about the transfer budget? If no-one's coming in, we can use that."

"Yes but - " I looked around and thought I saw the net curtain twitch. Devi spying on me. I lowered my voice. "I want to rebuild another stand."

"More home work?" said Colin, which got him a fist bump. "I don't know anything about the two Brazilian players," he said. "There is no data on them."

"Did you look?" I said.

"Yes. They're in the squad. I mean, officially. I knew they wouldn't come to England for ages but they're Chester players so I wanted to know about them."

"I'm almost tempted to go back inside and have this entire conversation again in front of Devi. You're a great role model, Colin. We're really lucky to have you. We'll sit down sometime with the other coaches and I'll tell you all about the lads. It's not a coaching challenge with Nasa and Tomzilla. At first it will all be about settling in but we've got Gabby and Tockers and I think I'll talk to Luisa about her helping out on a more structured basis."

"Good idea. As you grow you'll have more language challenges."

"Yeah."

That was in the future. The present was looking solid. Chester had good coaches and plenty of talent for them to mould. We needed to sell someone to raise funds but on the whole things were about as good as they could be. "Colin, you know football way better than me. What colour Lamborghini should I get?"

***

Saturday, September 19

Match 7 of 46: Blackpool versus Chester

I walked along the touchline, slightly amused. Considering the quality of attacking players I had on the pitch, the match was amazingly unwatchable, and the light rain wasn't helping because the ball was skidding all over the place.

Blackpool had an average CA of 101 and were treating the long-suffering home fans to a fearful 5-3-2.

Our 4-4-2 was purring along at 98.9. Blackpool were very fit, powerful, athletic, and had a lot more heading and jumping than we did. We had loads more technique, passing, and goal threat.

The Tangerines worked hard and fought for loose balls, pumping the ball towards the penalty area to see what might happen. Most of the time, Christian or Zach would get there first and clear. Still, Blackpool created five or six half chances and had three shots off target. A lot of calories were being expended to create those chances.

I dipped into the home team's player profiles and assessed their Morale. The average was about 3.5 - between poor and okay. Ours had wobbled a little with the three defeats in a row but had recovered to 4.3. Our starting eleven was in better form than theirs, too.

I was on the bench, and so was Wibbers. He had barely played since returning from Gibraltar and he was champing at the bit. So were a lot of others, though.

Including Magnus and the lads who were out on loan, I had 30 players. That was too many, and I had Nasa and Tomzilla coming in January. 32, then.

September was relatively sedate in terms of mostly featuring only Saturday matches, but the English league's craziness would rear its head towards the end of the month and by October we would be right into having two or even three fixtures a week. Even with heavy rotation, some guys would miss out. It would be a battle to include the two kids we had taken from Manchester United, for example, and from January it would be a head-scratcher trying to find ways to include Nasa and Tom.

Blackpool worked the ball around the midfield but instead of progressing it into a better spot, simply thumped the ball into our box again. Such a low percentage chance of anything happening from there! For the tenth time, I switched things around but this time I went bigger. We went to a 4-2-4 shape and I moved Dazza and Colin out to the wings and had Pascal and Bark as temporary centre forwards. It caused a lot of confusion - mission accomplished - and Bob Britton's yelling got a few decibels louder and more frantic.

After a polite interval, I put everyone back in the right spots.

Sandra had the day off. I wanted her to spend some time with my godson but heard on the grapevine that she would be assembling flat-pack furniture. Oof. I had hoped she would come back on Monday more energised, but if anything she would need another break.

I could have talked to Peter Bauer but there was really no tactical challenge to this match. Sure there were lots of tweaks I was making but my big intervention would come if Britton changed what he was doing. If he didn't, I would probably get more conventional and we would see who could nick a winner.

I fell into a crouch so it would seem like I was super absorbed by the match.

XP balance: 4,311

What to buy next? In Brazil, I had nearly bought Forex for Dummies, a 1,000 XP perk that would let me convert in-curse numbers such as wages or transfer fees into other currencies. There were situations where it would have been useful but there was something mindless about buying it just because I didn't have a clear target. It would be good to buy that perk before the next Transfer Room.

The next Attribute was in my budget and the next formation was close. Would unlocking 3-4-2-1 help? Of course, absolutely, but was it more important than putting two youth teams into my head so I could look after the kids? If I developed Playdar I would be able to more than double the effectiveness of my scouting trips. Inverted Full Backs would let me get very funky. The name was pretty stupid. Inverted implied they would play on the other side of the pitch when in fact the term described a full-back who defended as normal but attacked as a central midfielder. Very modern, even though teams had been doing it for years. It was so expensive, though. 15,000 XP to move a left back into midfield when we had the ball?

No, where my thoughts kept drifting to was the Interested Parties perk. It would add a little section to a player's profile telling me which players were attracting interest and from whom.

It would almost certainly hurt but I had to sell someone in January. Maybe two players.

Who? The only obvious candidate was Lee Contreras. This week he had reached CA 98 - his limit. He would spend October, November, and December playing the best football of his life and being the best central midfielder in the best team in League One. Surely there would be clubs willing to buy him?

The maddest thing about my squad composition was that almost everyone had so much ceiling they wouldn't peak this season. Christian Fierce (101/120), he of the shiny new £2,500 a week contract and superb Morale, probably wouldn't hit his limit this season. I expected Tom Westwood (76/92) to cap but waiting till the end of the season hoping Tom would reach his PA limit was dumb for at least three reasons.

So that led to the logical conclusion - on whom was I going to use God Save the King? I wanted to only use it on players who had peaked so as to stretch their PA. Henri again? Yeah, I had thought about him, and he was a client of the agency as part of the League Two Legends, but Lee C was the only logical investment who would benefit Chester. If I boosted his passing, he could perhaps get to PA 100 and that would be satisfying to look at, would help us in the next three months, and would raise his price.

But was anyone already interested in him? Wouldn't it be good to know that? If he was definitely going in January, would I use the perk on him? I mean... There was no-one else.

Lee was on a match rating of 7, same as Youngster. They were struggling to contribute and were outnumbered much of the time but they were giving us the defensive solidity we needed and were sensible enough to keep their passes short. Both were putting in very good League One central midfield performances.

If I sold Lee, my central midfield options would be pretty limited. Ryan Jack's CA was fluttering between 76 and 77. That caught my eye like a flickering light. Something's wrong with the wiring. Youngster was on CA 106 and his growth was becoming an issue. He had only added two points the whole season. Still, if we sold Lee we could play 4-2-3-1 with Youngster, me, and Magnus as the main DM options. I had another idea for that slot - Peter Bauer. I felt he would be perfectly good there and he would break CA 70 next week.

I glanced behind me. Andrew Harrison was on the bench. CA 82. I had been using him on the right of midfield but he could step into Lee's shoes as one of our CMs, couldn't he? In this league an athletic guy who could play simple passes was perfectly serviceable. And with his PA being one hundred and twenty-

"Max!" called Peter, rushing to my side. "Clash of heads. Bark's down."

I blinked. I had seen it and noted that he was fine but it must have looked strange that I hadn't reacted in the slightest. "Is Cole warmed up?"

"I'll make sure he is."

The curse didn't show Bark as being concussed but he seemed to be bleeding so I would let Dean decide what the sitch called for. If I had to take Bark off, Cole would go to left back, Pascal right midfield, Matt Rush right back. Boring and conventional stuff.

Yeah, I said to myself. It was imperative that I sold someone this January. I needed the Interested Parties perk. 6,000 XP. Wouldn't take long to get there.

Something struck me then. A strange hint of a scam that might just work.

"Hey, Peter. Sub Cole on anyway. Get Bark into a neck brace or some shit. Make him act groggy as he walks off."

Peter smiled but realised that wasn't the right vibe. He got his poker face on and skipped around following my commands.

Cole went on. Because it was a concussion sub, it didn't cost us one of our five changes. I mentally put our players in their more natural positions.

And - ring out the bells! - Bob Britton took his player off, too. The one who had been involved in the clash of heads with Bark. Maybe he was worried he would get slated if I took a concussed player off and he didn't. Or maybe he was using the incident as an excuse to do something he already wanted to do without it costing him a sub.

It looks like Blackpool are adopting a more defensive outlook.

I was so close to doing a fist pump but I hid it well enough, I think. Walking away from the oppo's dugout, I tweaked our instructions. Mentality: attacking. Forward runs: yes. Run with ball: yes. Lee Contreras was allowed to join attacks. Youngster got dragged back to his preferred DM slot.

Attack with seven, defend with three.

I rubbed my hands together, gleefully. This was more like it! Here we go!

***

The latest blog post from News of the Blues, the leading news and views platform for all things Chester FC.

Tangerines Tank as Honky-Tonk Yank Makes Bank

Author: D.Cox

Thirty minutes of tedium at the start, thirty minutes of tedium to finish. What's that you say? I've missed a section? Let me check my notes. Ah yes. In the middle of the tedium sandwich was thirty minutes of pulsating, full-throttle Max Best football.

Blackpool must have wished The Boy from Brazil was ill but the only jet lag on show was the lag as jet-heeled scamps trampled all over Bloomfield Road while orange-shirted squirts blurted mommy it bloomin' hurts! Pleasure Beach? It's been a pleasure to teach ya. Blackpool Illuminations? Here's some facts to ruminate on.

• Chester had 68% possession across the match but in parts that figure crossed 90%.
• Chester had 14 shots on target to the home side's 2.
• While Pool were busy marking Chester's dangermen, Zach Green and Christian Fierce were allowed to roam free.
• The league's best player didn't come onto the pitch. Neither did Max Best! (Hasn't Wibbers had enough rest?)

The pivotal moment seemed to be when Calabash Barkley was subbed off with suspected concussion. No slight on the lad because he's growing in confidence with every game but when Cole Adams entered the fray we looked more balanced and had more height to defend set pieces.

It was all Chester for five minutes after that change. Dugdale and Bochum attempted dribbles that didn't get very far so they switched to passing mode. Supported by the full backs and Lee Contreras, we pinged the ball around Blackpool's penalty area. Dugdale stung the keeper's palms with a couple of long-range strikes, while Dazza Smith was a nuisance and Beckton was often first to the knock-downs and rebounds.

The first goal came from a corner, though. After all Chester's thrusting play it was a simple corner that did it. Dugdale to Zach Green. Close your eyes and you can probably imagine it.

Strangely, far from pressing his foot on the accelerator, Best ordered a retreat. A confused and suspicious Blackpool side did little with the opportunity and seemed content to regroup at half time.

Seeing no changes during the break, Best's men came out all guns blazing. Appropriately, then, it was the rootin' tootin' sharpshootin' Green who put the boot in. Another Dugdale corner, this time an outswinger from the right, caused havoc. Fierce rose, Dazza volleyed, Beckton twisted, but Green fired home.

Pew pew, I got me two!

If Zach Green is on a goal bonus, he was quids in today.

By this time, Chester were playing 3-4-3 with Christian Fierce as a supplementary striker and Youngster patrolling the defence. A third goal from Beckton after a surge from young Matty Rush led to the striker leaping into the arms of Max Best.

A raft of subs ensued as Chester blocked up the back third of the pitch and conserved energy.

At full-time the boos from the few remaining home fans were drowned out by the cheers from Chester's blue-and-white army. Blackpool's manager, who once scored two goals from centre back for Manchester United to win them the Premier League, looks like he could be yet another victim of the Max Best curse. I make it eight managers sacked after being dismantled by our young whippersnapper.

For Best it was a perfect afternoon's work... until someone reminded him that with Sandra Lane given a rare and much deserved day off, he would have to do the press conference himself.

No good deed goes unpunished, Max!

***

I popped into the dressing room before going to talk to Gary Beswick and the rest of the media idiots. Everything seemed fine. Bark had taken a fair old whack to the nose and he was surrounded by stained tissues, but I spent a minute with him to cheer him up. He was 83/130 and would make us millions one day. Absolutely no rush!

Talking of Rush...

I was drawn across the room to a strange scene. In the morning, Pascal Bochum would be managing the women's team against Derby County. Big name opposition and with all the churn in their squad over the summer it was hard to predict how good their starting eleven would be. Pascal, still in his sweaty, dirty Chester away kit, was studying charts and data. I understood the impulse. Get the numbers in your skull where they could seep into your thinking bits while you were in the shower. Under the running water was where I had many of my best ideas.

So it was weird to see that Matt Rush was teasing Pascal for doing homework.

About two seconds after I realised what was happening, Christian and Dazza were between me and the on-loan full back. I held my hands up to show I was calm, which was 95% true, and they stepped aside, alert.

Matt had a slight air of panic about him. Bit late to start thinking about consequences, wasn't it? "Matt," I said, feeling the base of my chin. My jaw was all kinds of tense. "Seems like you're having a pop at the manager of the women's team for wanting to prepare for the match they've got in 18 hours."

"Pop? No. I was just - "

"Pascal has a job to do and like an adult he's preparing for it." Thinking about the stakes of the morning's match made the tension spread down to my neck. The sheer fucking stupidity of Rush's behaviour was actually boggling my mind. Hadn't he heard I'd got a Brazilian right back coming in a couple of months? Matt Rush didn't know the guy's CA. If your club brings a player over from Brazil you've got to worry about your place in the starting line up. You would worry unless you were a fucking moron. I forced myself to breathe. Control your anger before it controls you! I tried to use words to express myself without burning bridges, but if he wanted to fuck off back to United, that could be arranged. "I want experts here, bro. Experts. This country's sick of experts. Did you ever hear that? Now look where that way of thinking got us. All the way down the fucking toilet. Everything's shit except for this football club and that's because I want experts and people with an expert mentality. I can find fucking hundreds of kids in Toxteth or Moss Side who can whip in a cross, mate. When, though. That's the trick, isn't it? When, why, why not? You want to go back to playing nothing football with a load of zombies we can cancel your loan any time. Don't you ever bring down the collective IQ of my dressing room. Is that clear?"

With my rant finished, Dazza eased out of his bodyguard role. He looked at Matt. "Sharing your high-performance culture with us little fellas? Good on ya, champ."

Pascal was the person least affected by the incident. He had watched it all play out with mild interest. Taking notes for how to deal with players - or not, as the case might have been. He set me up with a gentle lob of a question. "Quick one, boss. How good is the new right back you're bringing in?"

I smashed the volley in the form of a pair of raised eyebrows and a pursed mouth. Just you wait and see, it meant. I stayed on topic by changing the topic. "What are you thinking for tomorrow?"

"Derby will play 4-4-2 and I'm thinking of doing the same." He smiled, pleased with himself.

"What have you got up your sleeve?"

"Nothing," he lied, playfully, and all the Chester lads laughed and whooped.

Matt Rush fucked off to a crevice and I went to do the post-match.

***

Sunday, September 20

Match 2 of 22: Derby County Women versus Chester Women

Emma drove us to Derby. I sat in the passenger seat and tried to focus on the positives in my life.

I kept thinking about Saltney Town and the frankly preposterous levels of talent I had coming through. In every age group I had a group of Welshmen that was in most cases better than their equivalent in the national team. In other words, Saltney's under 14s were more talented than the Welsh under 14s. And that was with me only drawing players from North Wales. Once I really got going and they really trusted me, I would turn Wales into the best-scouted team in Europe bar none. We could easily become a top team on the pitch, too. Maybe Spain and France would be ahead of us just because they had so much talent, but we would slap England more often than not.

And every player that we brought through would be registered to Saltney. To me. The financial rewards would be off the charts.

Despite my good mood, fucking Matt Rush and his anti-intellectual bullshit reared its head.

"People will watch a heist movie," I announced. "But if they were in one, they would get bored during the planning stage, go in all guns blazing, and get caught straight away. The movie would be eight minutes long. About the same length as Matt's career."

"Isn't he like 19?"

"He's 20 on my spreadsheets," I proclaimed, grandly. That made Emma laugh. So disloyal! "I want to bin someone off as a warning to the others. Devi would have been good because she's the star of the women's youth and everyone knows it. Sack her and I get two years of everyone doing the right thing."

"Gosh," said Emma. "What a perfect understanding of human psychology you have."

I tutted and went back into my own head where it was safe and everyone agreed with me. Saltney had 18 points from 18 - a truly astonishing start to the season, inspired by a rejuvenated Ash Bradley, the winger I was paying for out of my own pocket. His flair plus Well In's oppo analysis was a dream ticket. Some of the wins had been scrappy and there had been crazy levels of luck involved, but wins were wins and the team was only getting stronger.

West were Jay Coping through the season, as always. The fans were excited about getting a proper stadium and Gemma was on the case.

Gibraltar was being carved up in a way I partially regretted. Sebastian had made contact with the owner of Bruno's Magpies - Bruno maybe? - and those talks had gone well. Henri and his mum were talking to two of the remaining clubs. Hopefully those owners didn't know each other and she could pick the one that offered the lower price. So far, the GFA hadn't released its provocative statement about culling one team but I assumed that was imminent. I wish I had never mentioned that part of the scheme. The rest I was more or less comfortable with, but artificially driving down the price was a step too far and I didn't need the extra stomach acid. Too late now.

Generally things were going amazingly and the last thing to double check was the women's team. Any day now, the WSL, if rumours were to be believed, would vote to abolish relegation. At first I couldn't believe it, it was so anti-British, so against our values, so craven and cowardly. But then it hit me - Old Nick. Another punishment. Another way of making me keep my focus on my day job. The timing was amazing - relegation would end in two seasons. We could get to the WSL in two seasons, but not if I was in Gibraltar setting up last-minute equalisers.

Yeah. I saw Nick's tendrils all over the move. I didn't want to reward him with more XP but I had to support Pascal, hence the trip to Derbyshire.

Derby's women played in the Don Amott Arena, a charming little thing in lush countryside. Stupidly, they had prepared a wonderful pitch. That was their first mistake. Their second was being in our way.

Derby played 4-4-2 with an average CA of 58. Pretty good, but there was the usual over-reliance on physicality.

Pascal surprised me by picking a conventional 4-4-2 just as he had said.

Scottie Love (62/63) was going to be fine for the league but a weak link in the cups. I hadn't yet found a mega goalie, though.

The defence was pretty settled by now, very solid, and still very talented. Ridley T (58/85), Femi (68/121), Meghan (71/169), and Luxury Bell (63/88).

The midfield had Dani (68/177) on the left, Maddy (55/80) a surprise inclusion on the right, with Charlotte (68/101) and Sarah (74/167) in the middle.

The days when Angel (59/155) had been our best striker were long behind us, which was a relief as on her own she would not unduly trouble Derby. Kit Hodges (88/123) was a different question though. She was surely the best player in the league by a considerable distance.

The average was 66.7 - ten points clear of the home team - and we had Kisi (58/143) and Meredith Ann (33/200) on the bench. We also had a lot of Welsh girls in the CA 40 to 50 range. It wouldn't be long until they were getting serious first team minutes and dislodging some of the former stars.

Bring it on.

***

The latest blog post from News of the Blues, the leading news and views platform for all things Chester FC.

Ewes Lose as True Blues Turn Screws

The second match of Chester Women's season played out with eerie similarity to how the men's match went the day before. Both matches featured half an hour of scrappy positioning and cautious build-up, and ended with a whole bucketload of nothing.

The women's purple patch lasted longer than the men's and led to more goals.

Pascal Bochum sent his charges out in a solid 4-4-2 but once the midfield had asserted its dominance, out came the surprise. Luxury Bell, the right back, would move into central midfield when Chester were in possession. Inverted full-backs - defenders who leave their zone to become midfielders - are little seen in Chester teams, seemingly because Max Best does not rate the tactic. He will have to reconsider after seeing this, however.

The extra body in midfield, the extra passing option, the new angles along which the ball could travel, were a revelation. Chester's superiority became dominance. Derby, forced to work extra hard to stay in their defensive shape, tired, while the Seals with fresh legs were able to press ferociously when they lost the ball.

The first goal was created by Sarah Greene, who skipped past one tackle and slipped the ball to the side of a centre back. Kit had Angel making a good run but she chose to shoot. One-nil! Charlotte copied Greene, evading a tackle before slipping a through-ball to Angel. Angel passed to Kit. Two-nil. The third goal was yet another defence-splitting pass to Kit, who saw Angel's move... and shot. A hat trick for the red-headed striker and no little frustration for her strike partner, who was slow to join the celebrations.

Early in the second half, Dani Smith-Smithe slalomed through some very tired legs and rolled the ball past the hapless keeper. Meghan added a fifth with a long-range howitzer. Bochum brought on Kisi Yalley and three of the Ffamous Five, apparently with instructions to pass the ball sideways until the match was over.

There was time for one last burst of attacking verve as Kisi initiated a neat passing move and Greene chipped the ball to Angel who once again unselfishly passed instead of shooting. Kisi had an open goal... and somehow put the ball over the bar. She lay face down on the grass waiting for the earth to swallow her up.

The final score was five-nil but could have been anything. Chester Women are even more brilliant than ever, and while Pascal Bochum's dress sense is questionable, so far his tactics have not been.

***

Monday, September 21

Matt Rush avoided me during training. He kept his head down as he went through his drills. His Morale was low. His player profile didn't say 'dislikes Max Best' or anything, and I hadn't heard anything about him going back to United. It would be interesting to see which way this played out. Loan players again! Bunch of shitheads.

While I watched Rush - the worm - wriggle about the pitch, Brooke texted to ask what I thought about back office staff working from home. Why would I give two hoots, so long as they did the work they were supposed to do? Our massage therapists would need to be on site but our marketing people? Whatever. It would save on office space.

"Youngster," I said, in a break.

He came over. "Yes, Mr. Best? Am I to receive some of your holy wrath? I thought I was allowed to shoot during the shooting drills."

I shook my head. "I tried to keep you out of the shooting drills but apparently I'm the only one who never wants to see you kick a ball more than five yards. Leave that to Meghan, yeah? She's actually good at it."

"Yes, she is," he said. Happy young man.

"Listen, it's time to talk about your new contract."

He grinned. "Wonderful!"

"Let's see if you think it's wonderful when you get the offer. I'm not being playful or anything when I say... this is it. There's a number I can't go past so if you don't accept it, I mean, yeah."

His Morale dropped a level. "As my agent, what do you think about the offer?"

I smiled. "As the agent, I haven't heard it yet."

He thought about that and burst out laughing. "You are too funny."

"When can you get the whole gang there?"

"Oh? In Manchester?"

"Yeah. I think Kisi should be there for this so pick a time when she's home. I'll pop in to see my mum and see if that stupid cat even uses the climbing frame I paid for."

"It does. Kisi and I have been to help."

"You have?"

"When you were away. Gemma asked."

"Wow. So you've seen this cat. Is it worth all the hassle?"

"It is a very cute and funny creature and it likes me more than Kisi so yes it was worth it. Kisi may disagree!" He did his quacking goofball laugh. "When to come? I think... Thursday?"

"Yes, good. Just so you know, I'm thinking of playing DM with Peter against Carlisle this Saturday. It's not a reflection on your skills or performance. I want to help him through the match. You might come on for the second half, I don't know. Just hang there a second. Sandra." She was walking past but veered towards me. "I think I'll do Carlisle if you don't mind. They do a high press and if I play our whole system can be based on easing Peter into life in English football."

I thought I detected the stress of an IKEA-based weekend in the way she nodded. "You're the boss."

"Can I drop you off at a nearby spa while we go and grab those three points?"

She perked up. "Is that a serious offer?"

"Um... yeah."

"Two and a half hours in Sealbiscuit... to go to a spa? While you teach Dieter Bauer's grandson to play football? Pass. I want to see what all the fuss is about."

***

Tuesday, September 22

XP balance: 5,073

I'd thought about Lee Contreras long enough over the last few days. There was no-one even close to being as worthy or sensible for the God Save the King upgrade so before training I went to his player profile and chose an Attribute to increase.

If I had completely free choice, Lee would have benefitted most from a little extra pace or perhaps another point in decision making, but those weren't in the eight options. The perk was biased towards forwards, and Lee didn't need extra flair, creativity, or 'off the ball' (i.e. offensive movement). I didn't know his set pieces score but it was definitely single digits, same as his finishing. If I wanted to get the most PA growth I needed to choose one of his highest Attributes.

That left heading, strength, or passing.

There wasn't really any question that the best of the options for Lee was the latter, so I slapped some of that into him.

With no fanfare or ceremony, his passing increased and so did his PA.

I was pleased to see he was now CA 100, PA 100. Not all that much difference on the pitch, perhaps, but it made my spreadsheets much nicer to look at. He was my seventh triple-digit CA player. I wondered by how much that tweak had increased his transfer value, and what the number would be when I used it on a fully-fleshed-out Wibbers, or a mature Youngster.

Heh. Maybe I would buy two Lambos.

***

Wednesday, September 23

My office cabin at Bumpers Bank was next to a noisy construction site so I took my laptop and went to the Deva stadium. I decided I didn't want to work in one of the stuffy old rooms in the main stand; I went to the home dugout and replied to some emails.

Every now and then I would look up and admire the Pitch Grow Lights. They were LED lights on a wheeled frame that went up and down the pitch blasting the grass with the right part of the spectrum to help it grow.

To the right, the McNally was really shaping up. Most of the seats had been fitted, the advertising boards glistened, and the sky boxes were being converted into luxurious spaces for our sponsors to entertain clients. I wondered how often Aurélie Fragonard would actually come. Almost never, surely? But she had paid a decent chunk of change to rent the box for a year.

I got back to work and was merrily tapping at the keyboard when a worker walked past, realised someone was in the dugout, and reacted as I had done when Colin had appeared out of thin air at Devi's house.

"Holy crap!" he said. "Me 'art! What the blinking hell are you doing in there, lad?"

I held up my laptop and patted my cup of tea. "Have you never heard of home office?"

***

Thursday, September 24

I went to see my mum and Anna - no sign of Manchester's most pampered cat - and drove to Wythenshawe to make my contract offer to Youngster.

In a way it was pretty straightforward - except that my entire wage budget was sixty thousand pounds a week and in the Stoke Timeline I could easily imagine signing a player like Youngster for sixty thousand pounds a week and thinking I had made the deal of the century.

Whatever I offered him would be peanuts. Buttons.

I knocked on their front door and sighed. If he didn't like the number he heard, I could get seven figures for him in January or give him a token bump that would keep him happy until the end of the season. Maybe I could get twenty million for him next summer. For now, I needed to stay professional and dispassionate.

***

INTERLUDE

Dear Dani,

My head is such a mess! It's Thursday and I'm at home in Manchester. Pastor Yaw came round and do you know what I thought? I thought 'He has come to talk to me because I missed that open goal.' Hahaha yeah my head's gone.

I want to tell you about what just happened - clue: it's Max-related - but every time I close my eyes I see the ball sailing over the crossbar. How on earth did I do that?

I'm not sure if anyone told you but there was a lot of teasing in the dressing room after Derby. They were teasing Angel because she had done one of the all-time great performances and had no goals to show for it and they were teasing me because... you know.

After ten minutes, Femi growled 'that's enough'. Okay, joke time was over. The gaffer came in and he started talking about Liverpool Feds, didn't he? Meghan said, 'We've just won this one. Can't we enjoy it for a minute?'

Femi said, 'The boss wants to think ahead.'

We had a big discussion about how much homework is too much homework. The gaffer put his hand up. 'That was a mistake. Of course we should take the time to enjoy this win. I am just so excited about the next match and I can't wait to talk about it!' Everyone smiled because I don't think anyone enjoys his job as much as the gaffer. 'This can wait. Does anyone have a question for me about the match we played?'

Maddy said, 'This week can we do a finishing drill where we are one yard away from the goal under no pressure?' She was rinsing me!

Femi said, 'Maddy!'

'What? I couldn't help it.'

The gaffer wasn't completely sure how to handle the situation so he looked at me and said, 'Kisi, did you ever play tennis?'

'A bit.'

'When you stand by the net and do a volley, you must have soft hands. Soft hands, crisp, clean punchy contact. Yes? The same when you are close to goal. It is an irony of the sport that the situations of most stress are the times you ought to be the most relaxed. Watch Max or Wibbers as they run through on goal. Fast, determined, powerful, all kinds of things but in the split-second before shooting - blissful relaxation. I try to copy it in my own play but it does not come so naturally to me.'

Hearing that from a ledge like him really helped me a lot. You know what? I have just realised that you would definitely have read all this so I'm moving on to what happened just before.

Max came to tell James what his new wages would be.

Dani you're going to read some numbers. YOU MUST NOT repeat them.

Promise me, Dani! Okay that was a promise.

Two fingers towards my eyes, then pointing at you.

Is that sign language lol haha.

In the dining room were mum, dad, James, me, and Pastor Yaw. Max came in and put his backpack on the table and said what the shit is this?

He meant the mess. We have damp, Dani. Water is coming up through the bricks and the plaster and whatever and it's going up! The whole house will fall down if we don't do something. That's why about two feet of all the plaster in the entire ground floor has been bashed off by big boys with big hammers.

Max was suspicious, though. He doesn't trust builders and landlords so he called Gemma and asked if her dad could come and take a look one day soon because 'no-one scams the Yalleys except me'. Dad laughed and Max covered the phone and said, 'That reminds me, Kisi. I'm giving your dad another football club.'

'WHAT,' I said, which made everyone laugh more.

On the phone, Max listened to Gems and said, 'I know he lives in Newcastle but as I always say to people, if you want a job done right, get Gemma's dad to do it. No I really do say that all the time. Kisi, come and tell Gemma. Kisi doesn't want to. Look, if he comes, he'll get a Ghanaian feast laid on. Has he ever had fufu? Okay that would be amazing, thanks.' He hung up and said, 'Bosh. We'll get to the bottom of this, let me tell you. The truth will out!'

I said, 'Did you come here to project manage our damp-proofing or to sign my mum up to cook food for a stranger?'

Max grabbed the nearest Bible. 'Cooking food for a stranger is pages 10 to 300, mate. Anyway, who said anything about your mum? You can make fufu, can't you?'

James scoffed, which made me mad. 'Of course I can,' I said.

'There you go then.'

I realised I had played myself. Max smirked at me. He doesn't miss open goals. I tried to get out of it. 'I'm not as good as my mum though.'

Max was pleased with himself and he sat at the table. The others sat opposite him because it was like a negotiation. There wasn't space for me but Max wouldn't let me sit next to him. 'I need you in front of me,' he said. 'No, I'm not joking. I've done a thing. Just trust me.'

Okay so I stood behind James and my dad and leaned on James's shoulder sometimes. This was a big moment.

His wages were 950 pounds a week, Dani, which was okay last season but with every match that goes by it looks ever more puny. It's not healthy to compare but there are players who don't do as much for the team and who earn a lot more. We knew that Max was sorting everyone else out first and also going on a holiday and then another holiday and it was all right but it was definitely time.

There had been a lot of anticipation in the days leading up to this meeting.

Here it came.

The number.

All that needed to happen was for Max to tell us the number.

It would take literally half a second.

That isn't what happened.

Instead, Max got solemn and embarked on a speech saying how much he liked James as a player and a person.

Yes yes we know.

He talked about James the player, pulling out charts and graphs to demonstrate certain points.

Argh! Get on with it!

He asked if I had anything to add at this point.

'Me?' I said.

'Yes you.'

'No, why? What? That's a crazy thing to ask.'

'Oh. Sorry I'm not doing this to your specifications.'

I actually gasped then because I realised he was doing this whole performance to wind me up! He had asked James to pick a time when I would be there! So he could torment me! Mum gave me daggers so I had to shut my gob but suddenly the tension really got to me and knowing that everything was a wind-up, well, it wound me up!

'And now it's time,' said Max, slowly, 'to announce the offer. The amount of money... That Chester... Chester Football Club... would like to pay Youngster... James... James Yalley... to play football.'

'Urgh,' I said, which earned me a disapproving hiss from mum.

'I thought it might be fun to spice the process up a little bit,' said Max.

'No,' I groaned. Pastor Yaw was trying not to laugh, I think.

Max pulled out his laptop and clicked a couple of times. That's why I had to be on the other side of the table, see? What he showed us was typical Max. Where does he come up with this stuff? On the screen was a graphic like a Las Vegas slot machine with four wheels that rotated. You know the thing. Sometimes it shows a picture of a lemon or a strawberry and if you get three lemons you win ten dollars. Max clicked his trackpad and the wheels spun around.

They thunked into place showing a zero at the start and then 9-5-0.

'That's Youngster's current wage,' Max told me, helpfully.

'I know!' I said. 'Tell us the new one!'

'I'm getting to that.' He pressed the trackpad again and the numbers vanished. 'I thought it would be fun to show the numbers in reverse order. Here's the first one, which is the last one.'

His laptop made noises as the numbers zero to nine flipped around. It landed on zero.

'Ooh,' said Max. 'Not a good start. But don't panic. Let's go again.'

He clicked and the next digit went. Instead of showing the 5 from 950 we got another zero.

'Oof,' said Max. He pulled at the fabric around his neck. 'Getting hot in here. It's almost like gambling this, isn't it? What does the good book say about that?' He took the Bible and opened it at random. 'And Evra begat Hargreaves who begat Ferdinand.'

'Max,' complained Pastor Yaw.

Dani, I was going BONKERS.

'Okay, next one.' This was going to be really interesting. For example, if we got a 3 it meant James would be getting 1,300 or 2,300. I think Max programmed the third number to take longer than the first two, or maybe that's just how I felt. It turned up another zero and there was a murmur. A hint of worry on my side of the table. 1,000 a week would really be stretching James's fondness for Max and Chester, even if James wasn't all that motivated by money. You still like to feel valued, right? 50 quid a week extra?

'This presentation,' said Max, 'is brought to you by BoshCard. Don't just buy it, bosh it.'

'Oh my God,' I said.

'Last number,' said Max. He clicked and the digit on the left spun round... and round... and just a fraction of a second before my head burst open, landed on 3.

We all jumped and cheered. Mum cried. James and dad hugged. Pastor Yaw shook Max's hand. I had to go and get a glass of water and to dry my eyes.

Three thousand pounds a week! Maybe James would move mum and dad to a place that didn't have water running UP the walls! Maybe he would marry Meghan in a castle.

When I was a little calmer, I went over to Max. He was enjoying the scene, getting some second-hand happiness from us. 'That was more than I was expecting,' I said.

'Less than he deserves,' said Max.

Dad and James were still hugging. When I thought no-one was looking, I punched Max in the arm. 'Don't do that again.'

'Okay,' he said. 'I pwomise.'

***

Youngster was happy with the new deal. That was a relief.

I drove to Chorlton to check on Mr. Yalley's first football club, and then went home to watch videos of Carlisle United.

Emma sat next to me on the sofa and leaned her head against my arm while I scrubbed back and forth in a video that showed Carlisle's forwards. They had three Tom Westwood types who wouldn't give us a minute's peace. "You're doing your homework on them and they're doing their homework on you. You promised me expertise, athleticism, and moments of surprise. How can there be surprise when you know everything about every player?"

"Heh," I said. "I've got a surprise for them. Carlisle are gonna get something no-one's ever seen before in the history of the world."

"Are you gonna wear the red trousers I bought you?"

I laughed and closed my laptop. "I'll wear them when I manage a match in Germany. Babes, I need a car. The options are something small and cute like a Mini, a conversation starter like a Lotus Seven, or a footballer's yellow Lamborghini."

Emma tapped on her phone. "There's a Mini showroom in Puddington. Oh!" She laughed. "Listen to the sales blurb on this one. 100% electrified go-kart feeling. Max! It's like they've based their entire marketing strategy on boys who never grew up."

I smiled. "I get to play DM with Peter Bauer and I get to drive a go-kart everywhere? Life just keeps on getting better."