hotmtlnovel 14.4 - To Shreds, You Say?
14.4 - To Shreds, You Say?
4.
Chesterness Series 3: The Best Player in the World
Episode One: Watch Party
EXTERIOR: THE DIGS
On-screen text: Thursday July 16, 2026
Interior: The living room. An enormous screen has been pulled down from the ceiling and an ultra short-throw projector is beaming the preamble to a football match. The sound is off. Lounging on sofas, armchairs, and beanbags are Angel, Bonnie, New Girl, Queenie, and Diane. Bringing snacks from the kitchen to the area are Charlotte and Femi. The only man present is Dylan. He looks uncomfortable. Femi flops next to New Girl and hands her a plate of tiny treats.
NEW GIRL
Thanks. So you used to live here?
FEMI
Yeah, at first. It was a good place to settle in. Right now from the women it's just Charlotte.
DIANE
Until Wonder Woman comes.
FEMI
We shouldn't put such pressure on her. She is still a child.
CHARLOTTE
Max is the one putting pressure on her. Club record signing aged 16. Five year contract. Hyping up the sponsors and putting her on billboards.
ANGEL
It was just her silhouette. Max doesn't want solo players in marketing materials.
CHARLOTTE
Yeah he says that but he does it all the time, doesn't he?
ANGEL
How old are you, New Girl?
NEW GIRL
I'm fifteen.
ANGEL
Have you done a to-camera intro?
NEW GIRL
What do you mean?
ANGEL
[To the camera operator.] Has she?
CAMERA DUDE
[Muffled, with subtitles.] Don't think so.
[Angel hops off the armchair and pulls New Girl up. She takes her arm and pulls her in front of the main camera.]
ANGEL
I'll show you the ropes. Here's a good distance from this kind of camera, right? There's loads of little ones in the room so don't worry about your blocking if you say something amazing. They'll get it, though Henri and Sophie will probably cut it because you've got too much screen time already or because Max is mad at you. Okay, so relax. Smile. No, that's a grimace. There we go! Tell us a little bit about yourself. No, don't look at me. There you go.
NEW GIRL
Okay, so, er, I'm Amy. Amy Shone.
ANGEL
Rhymes with bone.
AMY
They know. They can hear me.
ANGEL
Dani can't.
AMY
Oh, shit, right! Sorry!
ANGEL
Don't worry. We all forget sometimes. Okay, go again.
AMY
My name's Amy Shone, rhymes with bone. I'm fifteen. I'm dead nervous! I don't really know why I'm here.
ANGEL
Tell us how you met Max.
AMY
I didn't really meet him. My team was playing at Bumpers Bank and suddenly he came running and he looked around kinda confused like the Pulp Fiction meme. He came on the pitch and said what's your name? I said Amy. He said top name bro, have you got a team? I said yeah, this one. He said I mean like Everton or some fucks like that. I said no just this one. He said do you want to play for Chester? I said what right now and he laughed. My mates were getting annoyed that he was stopping the match so he got out this whistle and blew it loads and said he would kick us off the pitch if I didn't play centre back.
ANGEL
Oh, you're a defender? You look like a winger.
AMY
I was! I was a winger! I told it to Max and he laughed and said he'd kick us off the pitch if he saw me anywhere near the wings. Our captain said well that's fine for you to say but Amy's an important part of how we move the ball through the thirds. Max said mate why aren't you doing 4-3-3? And he reorganised us and he knew some of our names which was mental. We played like he said for a while and it was strange but yeah, it felt better. The only person who didn't like it was me; I didn't really know where to go. After five minutes, he blew his whistle again and said he was sorry about stealing our best player but the team could use the pitch for free for the rest of the season. He had already refunded the payment for that hour. I mean, I was dead flattered. It's Max Best, you know?
ANGEL
Yeah, he gets intense. Well, you must be good because he doesn't normally get excited about defenders. Are you joining the first-team squad?
AMY
I don't know.
DIANE
She must be.
ANGEL
Yeah, that's true.
AMY
How do you know?
ANGEL
Because you're here. Come on! You're one of us now.
[They go back to their spots.]
FEMI
Amy, have you been introduced to the others?
AMY
Briefly. I mean, I know you from the documentary. Does that count? Ha.
FEMI
You will have seen that Bonnie got a promotion.
ANGEL
No, Fems. Season Two isn't out until November.
FEMI
Oh my days, that's right. Bonnie works for Saltney Town. She is a big shot.
BONNIE
You've taken my spot in the squad.
AMY
Oh, no! I'm so sorry.
BONNIE
It's okay. It happens, doesn't it? What's your squad number?
AMY
Twelve.
BONNIE
That's Meghan's number.
AMY
Um, she's number four, they said. She wanted it.
[There's a moment of quiet.]
AMY
You're all freaking me out.
BONNIE
Sorry, Amy, we're just trying to read the tea leaves. Sometimes we can guess what he's thinking from clues like him interrupting a match. That's not normal so he obviously thinks you're really good. But if you got the number 4 it would have been a real statement. It wouldn't necessarily mean he thought you were better than Meghan because I could imagine him doing it to light a fire under her arse.
QUEENIE
And the Welsh girls would want a promotion to 12. Tanwen and Dafina are 20 and 23. If I was fifteen years old and I got shirt 12 I'd be buzzing.
ANGEL
I got the nine.
DIANE
Whoa! Seriously?
ANGEL
Yeah. I was surprised, too. I thought it would have gone to Kit.
AMY
Bea Pea had the nine before, right?
BONNIE
Pretty much since the team was formed. Angel's nine, Meredith Ann's ten. Kit's still 22. Not really Max's idea of a long-term star striker.
AMY
Sorry but why are we only talking about Max? Isn't Pascal Bochum the manager?
ANGEL
He is. But if he doesn't pick me, Max will bin him right off.
BONNIE
You wish.
AMY
Are you happy with Pascal in charge?
CHARLOTTE
I am.
ANGEL
Jackie Reaper was great. Max thinks great isn't good enough. Amy, I'm not sure if you're better than Meghan or Femi or Tanwen but you've done amazing to get in.
AMY
I was stoked to sign but my dad was worried. He said having a boy in charge is all well and good when you're winning but when things turn sour you need experience. He thinks the players are gonna, like, act out and push Pascal's buttons and shit like that.
ANGEL
Yeah, well, maybe, but it won't be me first.
CHARLOTTE
Nor me.
DIANE
Count me out on that.
AMY
Why?
ANGEL
Max will go nuclear on the first troublemaker. Pour encourager les autres. That means to set an example.
QUEENIE
Maybe it's Amy!
AMY
What?
QUEENIE
Maybe that's why Amy's here. He's giving her a few grand to train with us for a while and then to provoke the new boss. Max will boot her into orbit, the rest of us are on best behaviour for a few months while Pascal learns the job.
ANGEL
Queenie, don't be a dick! Look what you've done!
QUEENIE
Aww, Amy, I was only joking. Max won't boot you into space, honest.
BONNIE
Amy, you'll be fine. Dylan was on Max's team last year and if there was ever a player Max wanted to boot into space, it was him. Wasn't it?
DYLAN
Me? Yeah. Heh. He got us playing short passes so I kicked it long. I was trying to wind him up so he'd quit and leave us alone. Yeah, if he can be patient with a big donkey like me, he'll be even more patient with a good player like you. Imagine a winger playing in defence! I bet you can dribble, can you?
AMY
A bit.
DYLAN
That's what he wants. Style. You'll bring the ball out of defence and cause havoc, you'll see. And don't you worry about not knowing where to stand. That part's easy. And if anyone gets past you they'll be scoring on Queenie and that'll be her just desserts for talking out of her -
BONNIE
Out of her arse.
DYLAN
[Embarrassed.] Well.
QUEENIE
No-one's scoring on me this season. Max told Jackie who told Livia who told Jill who told Pippa that I'll be better than Scottie Love by the end of the season.
ANGEL
[Bending down.] Here, you dropped some names. Okay everyone settle down. The match is nearly starting.
AMY
Why is the sound off?
ANGEL
So we can use this footage in the documentary. We should do a session on media rights licensing. It's absolutely fascinating.
CHARLOTTE
Amy, if Angel ever gets on your nerves, tell her she smells nice.
AMY
She does smell nice.
ANGEL
You and I are going to get along very well!
DIANE
Oh my shitting God! What the actual Christ is happening?
FEMI
Language, Diane. Please.
CHARLOTTE
What is it?
DIANE
ITK transfer tweet. That means ‘in the know’, Amy. Someone with sources. Check this out. Tottenham Hotspur are desperate to land England under 19 starlet William B. Roberts and have launched an eight million pound transfer bid.
CHARLOTTE
What the fuck!
ANGEL
That's why he's on the bench!
BONNIE
He's on the bench because Niederkorn are shit and Max doesn't need all his ringers playing 90 minutes.
ANGEL
Bonnie! Use your noggin. Spurs are trying to buy Wibbers so Max has put him on the bench to make sure he doesn't get injured.
BONNIE
He's called Baggers now.
[Pause.]
ANGEL
Sorry, what?
BONNIE
He's Baggers, not Wibbers.
ANGEL
Can we focus please? What's gonna happen when Wibbers is in London? Shit! Is Sarah Greene gonna move, too?
QUEENIE
It's more air time for you if she's gone. She stole the show last season.
ANGEL
I'm fine with that.
QUEENIE
Oh, you're fine with that.
ANGEL
Yes, in fact. I want to play with good players. A rising tide lifts all boats and Sarah's, er, a flood. But in a good way. Shit. Cut that! Where is Sarah anyway?
FEMI
Manchester. The Yalleys are hosting a watch party. Kisi, Meghan, and Sarah are there, plus the Triplets, Vivek, Jay Cope, and many from the club Max owns.
DYLAN
The club Max doesn't own.
FEMI
Right.
CHARLOTTE
Sarah's replied in the group chat. She isn't moving to London, she says. It was bad enough leaving Manchester.
QUEENIE
Why are you asking about her? There's no way she would leave Chester. This is where it's at. Ask about Wibbers!
CHARLOTTE
You're in the group. You ask.
QUEENIE
She won't reply to a backup goalie. She'll reply to one of the Fumans.
CHARLOTTE
Call me that again and I'll dropkick you.
AMY
What's... one of those?
QUEENIE
Future managers. Max tricked like six of the squad into doing their coaching badges.
CHARLOTTE
He didn't trick me.
QUEENIE
He did! He said he wanted to create a captaincy group like at elite clubs. But he doesn't believe in that shit. We all heard him laughing at Bradford City when they had a captain of the defence, captain of the midfield.
CHARLOTTE
They won the league, though, didn't they? So he wants to try it.
QUEENIE
He doesn't. He thinks you'd be a good manager and he wants you to get started so he came at it from an angle you couldn't resist. Their captaincy group had all done their badges, he said, which I'm pretty sure was a blatant lie. Only three of the Bradford players can read or write.
DIANE
What are you even complaining about?
QUEENIE
I'm not! It's good and Charl will smash it. I just want her to admit she got scammed good and proper.
AMY
Is eight million a good price?
BONNIE
It's a good price for someone who scored, what, one goal in League Two last season. It's not a good price for the best English player of his age group.
CHARLOTTE
Sarah's saying Spurs have pissed Max off. Their negotiator guy is rude and dismissive and talks Chester down. Thinks he can bully Max because Wibbers will agitate for a move to such a big club. Hey, this is weird. Four-four-two, Max playing central midfield.
DYLAN
What does it mean?
CHARLOTTE
Max and his roving band of misfits are out in Gib spending loads of evenings in restaurants and bars and Max is cooking up new nicknames and doing the default formation in matches. It means he's relaxed and silly. He's toying with the analysts, right? Whoever we play next will think oh maybe it'll be four-four-two against us. If they even spend one training session planning for that, Max is laughing.
BONNIE
Oh, shit!
FEMI
That was quite a tackle.
DYLAN
Oh my God, what's happening? Why's he flying around midfield? He said he expected to lose two-nil. He said it like ten times.
BONNIE
Dylan, have you been gambling again?
DYLAN
Just twenty quid, Bonnie! He gave us the score! It's free money.
ANGEL
Sorry, Dyl, but you've got the wrong end of the stick on that one. Four-four-two means - [she switches to a Mancunian accent] - we'll win no matter what formation I do so I'll do one we won't use in the next game. Innit. Our kid. Sorted.
CHARLOTTE
Twenty quid he switches to four-two-four in the second half.
ANGEL
Dyl, don't take that bet. Look, Max is talking to the Gib players the whole time. Telling them what he wants. This half is just a glorified coaching session.
CHARLOTTE
Second half he'll unleash The Bagsman. He's probably wearing a Fuck Tottenham t-shirt under his kit that he'll show every time he scores.
DYLAN
Oh my God.
***
Red Army is a hard-hitting Wrexham AFC podcast, unique in that club's media ecosystem since criticism of Ryan Reynolds is rife. The podcast has a Discord server open to its Patreon supporters. One of the channels on the server is called Always Bet on Best.
BrokenGround
Guys! Emergency! It's not going to be two-nil!
DubaiGuy
We know, Dylan. We tried to tell you.
BrokenGround
But he said! He gave us the exact score! I put two hundred quid on. This is a disaster.
DubaiGuy
What has finally made you see sense? Because God knows it wasn't this Discord.
BrokenGround
I'm with some of the Chester ladies and they're next level at reading the runes. They're talking about a second-half goal frenzy!
DubaiGuy
Interesting. What makes them say that?
BrokenGround
Best is out in Gibraltar making everyone wear ponchos and changing nicknames, which apparently means he's not worried about the football. He's using four-four-two which he normally only does if the result's in the bag. Now they're saying he has invited Sandra Lane to come and do a week of coaching.
DubaiGuy
What about Chester's pre-season friendlies? The preparations? Those have started, have they not?
BrokenGround
Good question. Let me ask.
DubaiGuy
This has goalless at half-time written all over it. I will look at the markets for over three goals in the second half.
BrokenGround
Bonnie says Max says Peter Bauer and Colin Beckton can run training for a week and manage a friendly against Saltney Town. Says it's not that hard. Lane must agree because she's flying out tomorrow morning. Doesn't seem like a move Best would make if he thought the opposition would win, does it? If they can win two-nil, they can win four-nil. Now Charlotte is saying nobody else is sprinting because Best thinks it's too hot so they're being efficient and they will up the tempo towards the end of the ninety when it's cooler.
DubaiGuy
Pray for no first half goals, Dylan, and we may be able to claw you out of this hole.
***
EXTERIOR SHOT: FOUNTAINS ROUNDABOUT
[The official billboard of Chester FC is showing a short comic strip in the Pop art style.]
Panel 1: A woman is on an old-style telephone. She's crying out, 'He's done WHAT?!'
Panel 2: The woman has a neutral expression. 'He's gone to College?'
Panel 3: The woman is smiling. 'Education is very important.'
INTERIOR: THE DIGS
NARRATOR
At half time the party moves into the kitchen.
DIANE
Who wants a mocktail?
CHARLOTTE
Me, please.
ANGEL
They want us to talk about the billboards.
AMY
Aren't we supposed to do it naturally? Like, not actually say that out loud?
ANGEL
Henri and Sophie like to get meta. It's a fly-on-the-wall show but we're allowed to talk about the fly. It breaks down the barrier between us and the viewers because we're not trying to pretend there isn't a massive great camera right there. Dylan, did you know - Where's Dylan? Hey! We need you for this scene.
DYLAN
Coming.
ANGEL
You're worse than the tweenies with that phone. Did you know you were going to be on that billboard?
DYLAN
No. I mean, when Max saw the photo he said hey that's a good one, can I use it? I didn't think he meant to blow it up to thirty feet high and have the whole city talk about it!
AMY
I've been on summer hols and missed it. What was the photo?
DYLAN
It was taken at the end of our cup final. I'm in the army, see, and Max was our manager for the year. We lost but one of our lads, Charlie, was named Player of the Tournament. The photo is me on the left, smiling at Charlie. Charlie's in the middle holding his trophy but he's looking at Max. Max is smiling at the trophy.
ANGEL
It’s a great photo. Makes you smile to see them so happy. At the top it's got big letters. Hope Not Hate.
AMY
What? What's that got to do with the photo?
ANGEL
Over Dylan it says Corporal Dylan, FC Wrexham fan. Over Charlie it says Private Thomas, Max Best fan. Over Max it says Max Best, football fan.
BONNIE
It prompted a lot of chat in the groups and podcasts. Some fans don't want anything to do with Wrexham but there were a lot more voices saying this is how it should be. Friendly rivals. Things get too toxic too quickly.
DYLAN
Even with this message of positivity, he got a couple of sly digs in. In the top corner he had the Chester badge with the Wrexham one under it. Under it, mind. Football fans notice that sort of thing. Then he called us FC Wrexham. He knows we hate that.
AMY
What's the... What?
DYLAN
We're AFC Wrexham.
AMY
It upsets you not to hear the letter A, does it?
ANGEL
Oh, Dylan! Burned! You got roasted! Amy the Dragon Slayer!
DYLAN
[Laughing.] Max knows our buttons and he loves pressing them. But that's why the message got through. He's on the outside enough to say come on, this hatred is stupid, but he's on the inside enough to poke fun at us the right way.
FEMI
It's back on.
DYLAN
Oh, Christ.
[He races back to the sofa. The others join him in a more leisurely way.]
CHARLOTTE
Four-two-four. Wibbers is up top with Henri. Here we go.
DYLAN
Shit shit shit.
[He fumbles with his phone before giving Bonnie a guilty look.]
BONNIE
Did you see Henri's blender? He's always boasting about how powerful it is. I wonder if it could shred a phone?
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit novelhall for the authentic version.
***
BrokenGround
Quick! Bonnie's in the bathroom. What do I do?
DubaiGuy
Follow
BrokenGround
Done.
Thanks. What did I just bet on?
DubaiGuy
Chester to score at least three.
BrokenGround
You mean College.
DubaiGuy
Tomayto, tomahto.
***
ANGEL
What are you seeing, Charlotte?
CHARLOTTE
Same as you. They're just dominating, aren't they? How does he get that level of control? I'm trying to see what it is about the spacing and the structure and the way they're defending but it looks normal to me. I don't know that I can do this. I should be able to work it out, right? I don't see it like he does.
ANGEL
You don't need to understand it all in one go.
BONNIE
She's right, Charl. You learn the bits one by one. You do the coaching course to get the framework and when you've got questions you've got a boatload of coaches to ask. You already know way more than most players. What Max is doing on the pitch now is what you do. You boss games like this. Now imagine you want two wingers to ping balls to and you click your fingers and make it happen. Or you feel we're losing control so you pull them back. That'd be sweet, wouldn't it?
QUEENIE
Watch the back post!
[They squeal and throw crisps everywhere.]
QUEENIE
Called it!
DYLAN
I missed it. What happened?
ANGEL
Get off your phone, boomer!
FEMI
Magnus, Lee, and Wes played the ball around on the right. When the pressure came they bounced it to Glenn, who hit it first time to Max. He pinged it through the lines to Wibbers, who nudged it wide left. Pascal skinned the defender. Henri made a near post run but Pascal picked out Wibbers, who rolled it right for Wes, who made up the ground and hammered home. Every defender was more or less in the right position but they got torn apart.
AMY
[Holding her phone to her ear.] To shreds, you say? And what about the right back? To shreds, you say?
ANGEL
[Wrapping her arms around Amy.] Amy's a ledge! Meme champion! I love her! [To camera.] Max, can we keep her? Please?
[The replays show the move again. Almost every component is simple.]
CHARLOTTE
That's it. That's the special sauce. It's not just the way they move the oppo out of position and then hurt them, it's before that. It's on the training ground. All the rough edges get sanded off and players don't do things they can't do. Glenn wins headers, holds the line, and plays simple passes. Sharky keeps things simple and gets on the far post to finish moves off. He doesn't try to dribble or do cool passes. There are big egos out there but there is very little ego on the pitch.
DYLAN
That's how it was with me. Max and Pascal tried to strip me back so that I could do one thing really well.
ANGEL
But he's always trying to get me to add things to my game. Holding the ball up and things like that.
DYLAN
That's because you're good.
QUEENIE
This match is done. We should switch to Sabah FC versus Larnaca to see who they play in the next round. Azerbaijan versus Greek Cypriots. Christ, can you imagine Max and Wibbers rampaging against a team from Azerbaijan? Is that very Brexity of me?
CHARLOTTE
We're not switching.
***
NARRATOR
As the evening cools, the onslaught hots up with goals from Henri, William, Pascal, and a thumping header from Tavares.
With a nine-nil aggregate lead, Best subs himself off, followed ten minutes later by three of his special guests.
The camera lingers on an image of Max, Pascal, and Henri laughing and joking.
BONNIE
The good, the bad, and the ugly.
DIANE
What?
BONNIE
You heard the lads were walking around in ponchos, holding cigars in their mouths, all that western stuff?
DIANE
Oh, right. Who's the bad?
CHARLOTTE
Has to be Pascal. He had his bad boy phase, remember?
AMY
Who's the ugly?
ANGEL
No-one answer that or this whole scene will get cut!
DYLAN
Is no-one going to comment on the fact a team that never played in Europe before just won four-nil and five-nil? Without breaking a sweat?
ANGEL
[Sighing.] No, Dylan. We don't spoon-feed the audience. This scene's obviously supposed to draw some parallels between what Max is doing in Gibraltar and what it means for the women's team this season.
BONNIE
Did you lose your twenty pounds, mush?
DYLAN
What? Oh, yeah. It's gone. Poof. Lesson learned.
BONNIE
It's just you got a bit excited when the third goal went in.
DYLAN
Just happy to see the lads do well, yeah? It's easier to wish them well when they're in green and white, you know?
BONNIE
Hmm.
***
BrokenGround
Oh my God I broke even thank you thank you thank you I'll never go rogue again!
***
Friday, July 17
Your boy Maxy Two-UEFA-Coefficient-Points Best woke up feeling pretty great. Literally the most desirable woman in the universe was in bed next to me - whut - and my World Reputation had increased from Unknown to Very Poor. I had earned two years of access to the flat in the renovated Victoria Stadium, all of my forwards had scored, the Maxnificent Seven were spending their days together in relative harmony, and Sandra Lane was coming to give us a training boost.
"What are you smiling at?" said Ems.
"You're facing away from me and you don't have eyes in the back of your head. You have no clue what's happening on my face."
"You're smiling."
"That's creepy. IS IT POSSIBLE TO LEARN THIS POWER?"
"Yes. Hug me tighter and I'll teach you."
Not long after, she was back asleep.
I did a quick review of everything, then remembered it didn't have to be so quick. The days were long and my only action item was to continue to leave Tottenham hanging. I opened the page that showed how many experience points I had.
XP balance: 5,005
Being able to leave the pitch early in the second leg was helpful in terms of XP. The Conference League seemed to have a baseline of 5 XP per minute because as a manager I got 10 XP per minute. Being off the pitch for 20 minutes gave me more XP than the previous 160 minutes combined. I had halved my Secret Sandra investment into Baggers because my instinct was that the low quality of the facilities were turning that into a waste. The Maxnificent Seven and I had trained at least an hour a day, doing some general drills and a bit of Relationism under Pascal's beady eye.
Pascal BochumAdaptability16Coaching Goalkeepers3Coaching Outfield Players13Determination18Judging Player Ability16Judging Player Potential15Level of Discipline8Man Management7Motivating9Tactical Knowledge17Working with Youngsters10Coaching StyleFlair-basedPreferred FormationBestballPreferred StyleUnconventionalOtherLikes his players to take high-percentage shots
Pascal's soft skills could use a little work, but the guy wasn't even 21 yet. He was already a decent coach, an excellent scout, and had great tactical ideas. My plan was to use his playing career as an excuse to make him work closely with guys like Clive O'Keefe who would do the day-to-day coaching while Pascal did the fearless tactical tweaks needed to win.
Pascal was good enough to give the Maxnificent Seven a few boosts. In the days under his enlightened rule, there were pops for Baggers, Magnus, Sharky, and my new favourite Jesse Picardo. Pascal himself didn't get an increase, which was one of the many reasons I'd asked Sandra if she would pop over.
I closed my eyes and wondered if there was any point going out for a little jog while the temperature was still tolerable. Sandra would arrive around lunchtime and we would do a session this evening. No real point overexerting myself, was there? I could go and hit some free kicks but based on what I knew from the curse, the time would be much more efficient when Sandra was monitoring.
So what, then? Ah! I would get stuck into footage of our next opponents, a team from Cyprus called AEK Larnaca. Some quick research told me they had a fairly poor European pedigree. They tended to win the first and second qualifiers before being knocked out in the third or fourth.
I snuggled into Emma and fell back asleep.
***
I picked Sandra up from the airport and took her to Poncho Villa. Henri was being typically generous in allowing her to stay in his Airbnb's spare room. Then we went for lunch.
I'd invited Pascal, too. My assistant manager plus the manager of the women's team. Our first brains trust meeting together!
"How was AFC Liverpool?" I mused, after we had all ordered. AFC Liverpool was a tier nine club we had a great relationship with, and they had been our first pre-season friendly for the past couple of years.
"Good," said Sandra. "The lads were pretty leggy from the boot camp and the Brig's running days, so I changed the whole eleven at half time. We won 5-3 but it was just a laugh, really. Blowing off some cobwebs."
I nodded. One of the reasons I was chill about being in Gibraltar for pre-season was that I could monitor Chester's first teams from anywhere on the planet. I was keeping an eye on everyone's Condition, Morale, and the Future section of their player profiles. That was the section where they whinged about the Brig's fitness days, but the complaints tended to vanish after three or four days. Morale was pretty good. "My spies tell me Cole Adams is happier than ever."
Sandra picked up a croissant and mashed it. "Yeah. You gave him shirt number 3 and he knows he's the main man. Starting left back."
"You seem perturbed."
"No," she said. "Maybe he's not quite at the same level as the rest? Matt Rush is different gravy."
"True," I said. Rush was CA 95; Cole was CA 84. "Cole's got a lot more real match experience, though. I'm pretty sure he'll kick on this season. Is there anyone else you're worried about?"
Sandra munched for a while. Her eyes flicked towards Pascal, who was smothering some pumpernickel with marmalade like an absolute savage. "I worry we're overrating PB."
"Problem Boy?" I said.
"Yeah. He's not as good as he thinks he is. You should accept bids for him. Invite them, even."
We stared at Pascal. He blinked as he realised we were teasing him. "PB's an all-time Chester legend, I heard." He munched on his grotesque creation.
I leaned back. "Are you enjoying yourself?"
He chomped rapidly as he tried to unclog his mouth. "It's top. I'm at the table. The room where it happens. Makes me feel alive."
"Yeah," I said. "It's ace until the discussions lead you to cutting people. Sandra, I think I'm happy with the squad."
She said, "Any problems you can see?"
"We're light in central midfield. There isn't a proper boss guy and I still don't have my box-to-box. Ryan will be good when we're playing low blocks and teams that are reckless. Lee and Andrew are solid scrappers. It should be all right for most games, plus there's Magnus, Youngster, and myself who can fill in if needed. I mean, Duggers can play CM at a pinch. It's not that we're short on bodies, it's about coming up against a team with top class full backs who block up the wings and us not having a third way of attacking. Now that you're here we can try to kickstart Baggers so that he can kick some arse from CAM."
"Baggers?" said Sandra. "What's that?"
"That's Wibbers."
"He's got a name. He's Wibbers. What's Baggers?"
"That's his new name. Okay so the only real dilemma is who do we keep - Omari or Alfie - and who do we loan out?" Omari Naysmith was 20 years old, CA 60, PA 103. Alfie Clitheroe was a former Man United midfielder which meant the fans got really excited about him. He was CA 49, PA 133. "Omari's about half a season ahead but is two years older. Omari takes great set pieces which was amazing until we got Duggers. Alfie's dynamic and crafty. Neither is really close to League One level but if we work hard to develop one, they could help out in the second half of the season."
Sandra wiped her lips with a napkin. "They're both great kids. Alfie has more spark but I've learned not to get suckered in by extroverts. Erm..." She thought about it. "Honestly if they were my only options I'd play 4-2-3-1 or something that didn't need CMs. Neither lad is going to help much this season. I'd probably loan them both out but I know they develop faster when they're at Bumpers."
"It's hard, isn't it?" I drank some orange juice. "We'll kick that can down the road. See how they get on in pre-season. Give them both minutes, yeah? Bit of old-school competition. Let's see who responds best."
"Alfie," said Pascal. "It'll be Alfie. He's a snide little fucker."
"What?" I said. "You don't like him?"
"Course I like him," said Pascal. I glanced at Sandra; we smiled. "He's short but he’s very intelligent," added Pascal.
"Big football brain in there," I mused.
Sandra said, "How are you feeling about managing the women?"
"Very nervous. I learned a new phrase. I am bricking it."
"Ha," said Sandra. "You'll be all right. The squad's great, isn't it?"
She was asking me. "Yes," I said. I tore the end off a croissant and kept tearing it. "I've been thinking... It's very complicated, managing a whole squad, but we can learn a lot from the way you handle the strikers."
"Oh?" said Pascal.
"Yeah. So you've got Kit Hodges. She's by far the best one right now. There you go, right? She's first name on the team sheet. But then you've got Angel. She's what the Americans might call a franchise player. If we keep her motivated and keep her happy, she'll make us all rich. But - and here's the rub - she's nowhere near as good as Kit right now. No shade in that - there's four years between them - but if you picked Angel ahead of Kit there would be serious questions. Not from me, you understand, I'm speaking hypothetically."
"Of course," said Pascal.
"But then there's Meredith Ann. She'll start way behind Angel but if she gets minutes her progress will be spectacular. She would be a different sort of franchise player. If you knew her end level you'd make it your life's goal to help her along her path."
"She's that good?" said Sandra.
"She's that good. But if you prioritise her development and we lose two matches as a result, we won't get promoted and you'll get sacked. Isn't it great?"
"Yeah, great," mumbled Pascal.
"You've got to get promoted. That's why I bought Kit. Angel and Meredith Ann won't develop as fast in the third tier as in the second, right? Stands to reason. You have to give them minutes this season but minutes this season are nothing compared to minutes next season."
"I'm getting a headache," said Pascal.
"But wait!" I said. "What about Alwen? She's talented, too. Giving her no minutes would be a sackable offence just from a human level."
"Max," complained Sandra. "Can you stop threatening to sack Pascal? If you feel strongly about it, tell him who to pick."
"No," I said, batting the suggestion away. "I'd never do that. Almost never," I added. "Pascal’s cool with me taking a few of the women’s matches so I can, you know, walk a mile in his shoes. See how they’re developing up close.” Also so that I could use Bench Boost, lol. “But these are the dilemmas of working at Chester Football Club. At any other club it's just pick Kit every week. At Chester, that's the most sackable of all the sackable offences."
Pascal was quiet for a while. "I understand the principles but on a match to match basis I think I will struggle. Will you help me?"
"Course I will," I said. "We can't afford any slip-ups this season; the league is stacked. Durham, Sheffield United, Middlesbrough, Stoke City, Leeds, Derby, WBA."
"Jesus," said Sandra.
"Right? Big names. In a way that makes it easier. We name our best team in the first five matches, make sure we win at least four of those. Alwen doesn't need to play those, right? She'll be benefitting from the upgrades at Bumpers, same as everyone. It's a bit later in the season when she'll need that shock that comes with serious first-team minutes." I swirled my orange juice around. "Remember when you were breaking into the team, mate? Your first match on the bench. Getting changed with the starters, warming up on the real pitches. Seeing the levels. Noticing the higher tempo in the days after new signings joined because everyone was suddenly thinking, this shit just got real."
"Yes," smiled Pascal. His tension had gone.
"That's how we do it. It doesn't matter too much if those steps are a couple of weeks earlier or later than is mathematically perfect. Just make sure you're thinking about them and when the team are four-nil up, don't waste the chance to chuck someone on! The next three matches might be one-nil nailbiters, right?"
"Er... no," said Pascal. "We won't be doing that. We'll be shredding defences up and down the league. Stoke, Leeds, Derby. Pah! The bigger they are, the harder they fall. Once we crush Leeds, the rest of the division will fear us. It will be easy to share the minutes around."
"Oh," I said. "I hadn't thought of that. Blast a team with a minigun in the first match and the rest just fall over when you so much as look at them? Genius! Why didn't I think of it?"
"I don't know," said Pascal. "Probably too busy trying to be clever."
I laughed. "Little shit. I knew this was a mistake."
"Appointing me was your second best ever move."
"What was first?"
"Appointing Sandra Lane," he said.
"Brown-nosing little shit!" I said.
"He's got a point," said Sandra, smugly. "I’m the reigning Manager of the Month in League Two, don’t forget. What I'm hearing is that Chester is in rude health. Pascal, if you need help, don't hesitate to ask. Jackie was fantastic but he wanted to keep the men's and women's teams separate. He was probably right to do that but I've got four of my girls there. Meghan, Sarah, Charlotte, and Kisi. And I've grown to love the rest so if you need tips, please ask."
"I'd love that!"
"Chester Men tick, Chester Women, tick. Let's talk about College and your plan to conquer Europe. You've got this team from Cyprus in the next round. Aren't you massive in Cyprus?"
I shook my head. "No, I'm massive in Malta."
"Oh. Have you scouted Lanaca much?"
"Larnaca. Yeah, I did a few hours this morning while I was waiting for you. Their mascot’s a big Spartan warrior thing. I can’t tell if it’s cool or cringe. Their slogan is Even In Death, Victory. I have thoughts about that as a football club motto.”
“Max! What about the team?”
“They're competent but a bit powderpuff. In the Cypricot league... Cypriot?"
"Cypriot," confirmed Pascal.
"In their league they dominate the ball and have twenty to thirty shots a match. They win one-nil, two-nil. Against us they'll get like seven shots so if they score two they'll count themselves mad lucky, right? I'm thinking - "
"What?" said Pascal, pausing in the act of re-spacing his food so the different categories weren’t touching.
"Just... I'm not sure I should even say it. Feels a bit Brexity, you know? But they seem very stereotypical. They exaggerate fouls. Loads of rolling around and you'd think they got seven broken ankles a game. Ten head injuries. Pisses me off a bit, to be honest. I had a real head injury, Pascal had a real break. That kind of cheating can delay us getting treatment when we need it, right? Fucking winds me up. They're aggressive, too. Lots of snide, late challenges. Off the ball crap. If I was just a player - like at Darlington - I'd bring out the momma card."
"What's that?" said Sandra.
"You know," I said. "Sort of... Saying something about their mothers. They go thermonuclear, don't they? Anyway, yeah. Maybe that's just the stereotype, I don't know. I know it won't be an enjoyable match with all that crap going on. It'll be like playing Newcastle United if Alan Turner had a chip on his shoulder for being short and having the same name as everyone else in the city."
Pascal snorted. "Sorry."
Sandra looked at some point on the wall for a while. "Do guys do that to you? Talk about your mother to get a rise out of you?"
"Yeah," I said. "But not that way. It's just general. Yo momma! They don't know the story, do you know what I mean? If they knew and they said something specific, I don't think I'd lash out. I'd raise my game and my concentration, destroy his team and fuck him up in the media afterwards. Call him out. Um... can we not talk about that? I don't think it's going to happen."
Sandra was, in her own way, as nimble as Amy Shone, the willowy, line-breaking defender I'd sent to train with the women's first team. "What formation do they play?" she asked.
Emma joined us; I smiled and took her hand. "4-2-3-1. Seems to be the thing. Based on what's going on in the game it can look just like a narrow 4-3-3. Attacking down the middle with me and Magnus patrolling is dumb as shit, to be honest. You'd better be a Championship team if you think you can get away with that. Anyway, we'll shut them down and then it's a question of how well they cope with our attacks."
"Hmm," said Sandra. "Is that why I'm here?"
"Yeah, we need some fine tuning. Actually, I'd love you next week after someone less premium has whipped us into shape but I can't in good conscience disrupt Chester's pre-season that much."
"What do you want from me, exactly?"
"Some skills stuff. General things. We've lost some of that muscle memory, right, and in my case my ball striking's gone to shit. I need you to say things while I'm taking corners, free kicks, penalties."
"What things? You know how to do that better than me."
I shook my head. "It doesn't matter. It comes back faster if a top coach is watching me. It's not as crazy as it sounds. Actually, am I mental or does it sound completely normal? I'm a player and I need a coach."
"Oh, I'm happy to do it," said Sandra. "Love a free holiday. Just wish Aiden and Jamie could come."
Emma had been quietly ordering and now she turned to the table. "I learned in Canada that to get the most out of Max you pat him on the cheeks like this..." She demonstrated. "And in your huskiest voice you say, good boy."
I didn't react in any way.
"Max!" laughed Sandra. "Are you blushing?"
Pascal nearly choked on some omelette.
"Emma is taking one tiny thing that barely happened completely out of context," I said, but no-one was listening. "This is all very rude."
Sandra got a grip of herself. "I forgot to ask. Are we selling Wibbers? People are saying that we didn't reject the bid so that means you're thinking about it."
"I've developed a new way of dealing with unsolicited transfer bids. You just don't reply! There's no rule that says you have to reply. Secretary Joe is freaking out, though, so while he spends the rest of the summer growing a backbone, Emma and I are going to sort it out."
“Oh, boy,” said Sandra.
***
Later that day, the following video was released on Chester FC's socials.
[The camera is following Max along a corridor.]
MAX
Here at Chester Football Club we're moving up in the world and that's why at our new training centre we've created a special b-room. That's football jargon for business room. It's where we do business. [With pep.] Come and I'll show you!
[The camera watches as Max strolls ahead, then it turns to show the logo on the wall. It says 'Hilton Hotel Gibraltar'. Emma points the camera at herself and looks confused.]
[Cut to: Max in a small wood-panelled room. There is a coffee maker to the left and a couple of bulky machines are to the right.]
MAX
This is the b-room. I know a lot of you watching are crazy about transfers and on transfer deadline day you'll find me and my team huddled up in here waiting for the fax machine to spit out some bids. Oh, look! There's one on there now. That's weird because I'm happy with my squad and don't need to sell. What have we got here?
[He picks up an A4 sheet.]
Huh. You know what? You might be interested in this. Not the sort of thing you get to see every day, is it? Looks like we've had a bid from Tottenham Hotspur. Let me hold this up and I'll talk you through all the components. Top right corner it's the logo and details of the bidding club. Not sure if this is called the mast or something like that. It's Tottenham and famously their logo is a cock.
[The logo is digitally blurred out but doesn't really look much like a cockerel. The words 'Tottenham Hotspur' are spelled wrong and have been written in childish block caps.]
Then we've got the wording of the bid. This has to be very precise, very legalistic, you understand, in order to make it all official.
[In the same childish handwriting are the words: Dear Chester City, may I please have your player BAGGERS? He is worth EIGHTY MILLION POUNDS so my offer is EIGHT POUNDS AND ONE WHEEL OF CHEESE WRAPPED IN WAX, YOU KNOW, THE GOOD STUFF. By reading this offer you have accepted said offer. Nice doing business with you. Never look me in the eyes. Regards, Daniel Outt.]
Hmm. This must be a duplicate because I haven't replied to their first bid. There should be a - ah, there it is. So what you do with these bids is you hold the paper here like this.
[Max dangles the transfer bid above a shredder.]
Is there a button you press or something? Oh, look at that! It's automatic. Wow! Look at the power. How did this fall out of fashion? I think I just got a new hobby. Babes, give me something else to shred.
[She turns the camera to a side table where there are three folders.]
EMMA
Let's see what we've got. There's your new contract with your big pay rise.
MAX
Nah we'll leave that.
EMMA
Next one's a list of the trophies Tottenham have won this century.
[She opens the folder. A tiny slip of paper falls out.]
Hang on, has this already been shredded?
MAX
What's the last one?
EMMA
Pictures of Ryan Reynolds when oily.
[Max's hand slaps down on the folder.]
MAX
I'll do those later.
***
We trained on the pitch in the national stadium while some players from Gibraltar's other clubs watched. It must have been pretty eye-opening for them; Sandra had a new drill.
It was about control and varying your style from phase to phase. Team One had to play fifteen passes before they were allowed to break and score. Team Two were the defenders, pressing hard, and when they turned the ball over they had to play five passes before they could break. The idea was, even in the maelstrom of the transitional moments, to have control of the ball, have control of your intentions, and most of all, to sucker Team One into overcommitting bodies in pursuit of the ball.
What fascinated me most was that Baggers, Pascal, Henri, and I were far better at the drill than the rest, whether we were on Team One or Two. I suspected it was because we had the most practice at Relationism and our brains were better wired for these moments of intense jeopardy, better able to think of those transitional problems as opportunities.
Anyway, amazing session and we got some pops. Baggers, Pascal, and Magnus got a point in CA. After a quick break, Sandra supervised as Baggers and I whipped in corners and free kicks, took penalties, and blasted long shots. I was just starting to feel good when Sandra ended the sesh.
***
MD: Max, can we please not antagonise other clubs? We don't want people to worry that their perfectly reasonable bids will be mocked in public.
Max: Okay. On an unrelated topic, I need a thousand pounds to buy a webcam that I point at our shredder on transfer deadline day.
MD: Please be more professional. Also, congratulations and good luck in Cyprus.
***
Sunday, July 19
The lads from College and their partners, the Maxnificent Seven, Emma, Luisa, and Sandra colonised most of a bar to watch the World Cup final, hosted in an NFL stadium in New Jersey. It became clear that the producers were going to spend as little time showing the match as possible, instead cutting to a literal murderer's row of dictators and psychopaths, elected and unelected.
Keep politics out of sport. How does that only go in one direction? Liberal values and decency? No, thanks. Terror and cruelty? Love it, mate. Hate not hope, that's the message we want. Get that shitty soccer off the screen and watch as the famous, beautiful World Cup trophy is passed from blood-soaked hand to blood-soaked hand.
"Fuck this," I said.
I went to get a bag of footballs and let myself into the national stadium. I did tekkers, twisted and turned through imaginary defenders, and slapped angry shots, left and right-footed, imagining I was fixing the world's problems with every kick.
When I was dripping with sweat, I took my phone out and sent MD a message.
Me: Spurs tried to destroy English football. They are in my firing line along with the other Super League clubs. They're fair game. If they want my players they can come correct and they can pay the Super League tax.
MD: What's that?
Me: A million pounds per player on top of the fair market value. Eight million becomes nine. Ongoing, permanent punishment for their crimes.
MD: I don't want to be in a war against the Big Six.
Me: You're in one.
MD: Are you watching the final?
Me: No. I'm training.
I turned my phone off and enjoyed the first hints of a burning sensation in my muscles. Someone was approaching.
Sandra was strolling towards me while talking on the phone. "Yeah, he just stormed out. He's here outside the D. Been taking free kicks, I reckon. Yeah, he is! Love you, bye." She put her device away and gave me a quizzical look. "All good, boss?"
"No. No, it's not." I bent over and felt the hot sweat trickle down one particular strand of hair. "It's the pinnacle of the sport. It should be romantic and exciting but it's not. It's disgusting. The 2034 World Cup's in Saudi Arabia. I won't be going there. 2030 is Spain, Portugal, and Morocco. That's my best chance to make a stand. There needs to be a voice that lets these twats know they aren't welcome, that it isn't their game. It's ours. I need to be there."
"You don't mean as an analyst."
"Analysts can be kicked out. You can't kick out the captain of the finalists. You can't kick out the manager of the winners."
"England have a good manager."
"Wales don't. Gibraltar don't. I've got some Irish ancestry. If I marry a Dutch woman, doesn't that make me Dutch?"
Sandra smiled. "I thought we were at war with Spurs?"
I swirled my finger around in a circle. "We're at war with everyone who's using this sport to divide us, to keep us stupid, everyone who's willing to kill what we built so they can add ten percent to their bottom line, everyone who uses it for sportswashing, for propaganda, everyone servile and greedy who enable monsters to keep monstering. We're at war with every club who joined the Super League, with the FA, with FIFA. I mean," I said, looking down. "I am."
Sandra came closer. "Say it properly."
"Um..." Her eyes were blazing, suddenly. What was she thinking? It clicked; I met her gaze. "We're at war with everyone."
She patted me on the cheek. "Good boy."
The tension broke; I laughed. "Why did you come?"
She pulled a whistle out of her pocket. "You aren't paying me to come and watch shit telly. We're at war, soldier! Laps! Let's go! Hut hut hut!"
***
Thursday, July 23
UEFA Conference League Qualifiers Second Round First Leg: AEK Larnaca versus College 1975
"Right, shut the fuck up," I said, storming into the away dressing room. "It's fucking boiling again!"
"It's Cyprus in July," said Henri.
"I know! I was wondering why three of the stands don't have roofs. Zero rainfall in July is a fucking clue. Why are we playing a sport that involves running? We should go in a darkened room with an ice cube and the guy whose cube lasts longest is the winner. Okay, I've had a look at this lot and they're good. A step up from the Luxembourg lads, that's for sure."
Larnaca had an average CA of 101, making them about as good as Blackpool, one of Chester's League One rivals.
"They're an old team, pretty good defence, solid midfield, and technical strikers who don't score loads of goals. They're quite strange in that they'll work the ball to the final third pretty well and then if we hold them up they’re happy to spam crosses. I mean, if we could choose, that's what we'd want them to do, right? Our defenders can deal with crosses all day long. They'll have most of the ball, though, and we'll have to keep our shape so it'll be a tough game and they will have their gamesmanship turned up to the max. Faking injuries, slow goal kicks, all the hits. That will work in our favour because every break in the game is even better for us than it is for them."
Henri said, "If you were them, would you blitz us in the first half?"
"Probably. Get three quick goals while the oppo is adapting to the heat and the tie's over. That won't happen with us. Okay, reminder of the teams. We're doing four-one-four-one. Normal back four, me patrolling in front. Pascal left, Sharky right, Magnus and Zafari in the middle." Zafari was one of the College guys. His PA was only 55 but he had responded incredibly well to the training and the few minutes he'd gotten against Niederkorn. He would do a half-decent job, I was sure. "Henri up top, Baggers waiting in the wings." I hadn't liked starting the first Niederkorn match with no options on the bench. Being able to send on Baggers and his fresh legs in the second half was very appealing to me. "Chester guys, you know this drill. Four-one-four-one, wrestle control of the match, slap down the sides. Jack the Lad, you feeling frisky?"
"Always."
"Yeah, you horny devil."
Jesse Picardo - miraculously recovered from what looked to the outside world like a grade one hamstring tear - said, "All devils are horny, boss."
"That's a good point. Someone write that down." I checked if there was anything else I needed to say. There wasn't much - we were super well prepared. "They're a vibes team. If they get a goal up, the crowd will roar them home. If we frustrate the fans it'll feed into the players. Remember, it'll be tough and we'll have to suffer but it's two legs so stay calm, keep the ball moving, and we'll get chances, too. I'll tell you one thing, we're a lot more lethal than them. Baggers, have you got your book?"
"Yes, boss."
"Any questions from anyone?"
Tavares, our centre back, had a question. "Is Miss Lane going to be your assistant manager? Where is she?"
"Where is she? She flew home today. She said goodbye!"
The guy had the memory of a goldfish. "Oh. That's a pity; I enjoyed her sessions."
"I've got someone else coming tomorrow, okay? A handsome Welshman. We're going to have guest coaches every week that we're in this thing so if you're having fun, put in a shift. Okay?"
"Okay, sir!"
***
AEK surprised me by coming out of the blocks fast. They also surprised me by setting a playmaker - a reminder for me to check every part of every screen!
Giorgios Andreou had played a defensive role in every match I had seen but while his starting position was DM, he was the fulcrum of AEK's attacks.
Meanwhile, Andreas Georgiou, a twenty-year-old forward with great technique, clearly had his gamesmanship turned up to the max. In the first three minutes he dived to get Magnus booked, went late on the back of Lee Hudson's achilles, and was trying to get into verbals with everyone on the pitch. He was also telling the referee how to do his job.
While AEK lined up a free kick in a delicious position, I made a couple of quick decisions. I swapped myself and Magnus, tucked Pascal into the centre of midfield, told Jack the Lad not to make forward runs, and set our attacking tendency to the right.
Oh, and I slid the gamesmanship slider to the maximum. After all, turnabout is fair play.
***
INTERIOR: THE DIGS
[It's crowded, with plenty of men and women watching and spilling out into the garden. Non-alcoholic drinks are being swigged and half the players are holding pizza boxes.]
JOSH OWENS
Don't like the look of this. This guy looks handy. Looks like he can hit 'em.
FITZROY
Have we got free kick takers? We Chester, not we College.
JOSH OWENS
A few, yeah. The gaffer's the best but Ryan Jack's decent. Omari's very good. Wibbers is putting the extra work in. Rainman, what do you think?
RAINMAN
Wibbers is mint, yeah. He's getting there. You forgot Duggers, though. Him and the gaffer standing over the ball, left foot right foot, you don't know what's coming. That's horrible.
[On screen, Giorgios Andreou strokes the ball over the wall and into the net. Someone unmutes the broadcast so they can hear the home fans go crazy.]
FEMI
Tremendous noise. I would love to play somewhere like that.
BARK
You might do. The women have UEFA matches too, right?
FEMI
The stadiums will be empty.
BARK
Not the Deva. Isn't that right, Brooke?
BROOKE
I hope not! Especially if Max comes back from his little adventure early and spends some time going into schools to tell them about the season. MD doesn't like his antics but they sell tickets.
FEMI
Is Max in trouble for the shredder thing?
BROOKE
He's always in trouble for something! But not really. MD's worried Max will burn bridges but I heard from a few directors that as far as they're concerned it was the Big Six who burned the bridges when they tried to set up a new league. I asked how far Max would have to go for a club like Spurs not to want to deal with us but they all said the same thing. If we have a player they want, they'll talk. When he gets back I might have a quiet word with him. See if I can ask him to dial the sarcasm down a little.
BARK
Too late!
[On screen, the cameras home in on the College subs bench. William B. Roberts is reading an oversized book called The History of the Tottenham by G. Chiellini.]
[Adam Summerhays whoops and makes cracking noises by flicking his wrist.]
[Charlotte and Angel film each other laughing.]
BROOKE
What's funny? It looks like Will is angling for a move.
BARK
Max has done them again! It's not a real book, in case that wasn't... you know. There was this Italian player. Er, his team played Spurs and they were struggling but scored two goals and won. In the post-match interview he said his team knew Spurs would fold because that's what Spurs do. He said it was 'the history of the Tottenham' and a meme was born.
BROOKE
This is going to hit hard on social media, is it?
BARK
Big time. For someone who hates social media he's a bit of a content wizard. It'll get picked up by Arsenal fans and spread from there.
BROOKE
Should I order some Chester slash Arsenal half-and-half scarves?
BARK
Er, no. Sorry to bug you because I know you're grinding really hard but when will the showers be ready? And the gym?
BROOKE
The goal is to have them fully operational for the first week of the season. You'll be able to go in and out pretty seamlessly, we hope, but there will still be disruption while they put the finishing touches to some of the rooms.
BARK
That's good. I mean, it's super cool-looking. I really like it. At first I wasn't sure about the colour but nah, it's growing on me. How's the stadium coming along?
BROOKE
Fine. Little bit behind schedule, little bit over cost. The stand is modular so when they start, it'll fly up. The shell will go up in August and then September will be the wiring and the glass and the seats and a mad rush to get the shops and bars and sky boxes fitted out. The first match, it'll probably reek of paint.
BARK
I've been in the McNally on a match day. Smelling of fresh paint will be a big improvement. Oh, miss, have you met Fitz?
BROOKE
I have. How are you settling in, Fitzroy?
FITZROY
Um, yeah, it's all right. It's a bit mad sometimes. My mates can't understand why the gaffer's beefing with Spurs. It's dead funny but it's mad, innit? We won't be able to keep the lad if a big Prem team want him. And me mates are saying we'll be dead last by the time he comes back from his holiday.
BROOKE
Because there are so many away games at the start of the season?
FITZROY
Yeah. With the cups it could be fifteen matches away! It's daunting, you know? So much travelling will be exhausting, mentally and physically.
BARK
Nah, Fitz. Max'll rotate us. You'll get days off. He's probably got the first ten lineups worked out already and he loves playing away because when the home fans turn on their team or the manager, they crack open like nuts.
***
NARRATOR
The match is tense and bad-tempered. Every coming together leaves one - sometimes two - players writhing in fake agony. The number of flowing passing moves can be counted on one hand.
JOSH OWENS
If this is European football, you can keep it.
COLE ADAMS
It's pretty grim, yeah.
BROOKE
Is this what Max wants?
CHARLOTTE
He'll be quite happy. He's marking the player who scored the free kick. Since then the guy has barely touched the ball. Max has pocketed him and the rest of the side don't quite seem to know what to do. They've sent in a few crosses but their striker isn't even good in the air.
BARK
And because the playmaker isn't getting on the ball, they're struggling to move it to that annoying little piece of shit and he's getting frustrated. The referee's sick of him, too, and he's letting a few tackles go. Lee Hudson clattered him before and Pascal has been chirping at him.
COLE
The guy's been chirping back at Pascal.
BARK
You can't get at Pascal like that. Not on the pitch, anyway. He's a killer. That's something the women will get to see when he’s on the touchline. Pascal will wind up the other bench if he needs to but he'll only be pretending to be upset. He'll have a clear mind.
CHARLOTTE
Just like Max, you mean.
BARK
Yeah. He's Mini-Max. No! I didn't mean it like that. Cut that!
JOSH OWENS
Oh, shit! Guys! Guys! Breaking. The England manager quit!
COLE
Got fired you mean.
[On screen, AEK Larnaca lose the ball just inside their half. Max Best latches onto it and hits a first-time chip from 40 yards out.]
[The watchers scream as the ball sails, serenely, towards goal. The retreating goalie loses the flight of the ball, regains it, leaps, and flicks out a hand. He gets just enough of a touch on it to tip it onto the top of the net. The goalie ends up in the side-netting, breathing raggedly.]
[The camera cuts to Larnaca's manager. His eyes are wide.]
JOSH OWENS
Max Best for England! Player-manager!
BROOKE
He already has six jobs. Maybe don't give him ideas.
***
At half-time the score was one-nil to Larnaca but I was pretty happy. I had expected us to have something like 30% possession but we'd actually had 40. Their playmaker's match rating had touched 10 when he scored but once I marked him it dropped and dropped. He was on 7 out of 10 now but the curse tended to add at least half a point for players who scored. With him struggling, so were the rest of the side.
The match ratings for College were quite bad but that didn't bother me - we were in energy saving mode, trying to avoid exerting ourselves too much. The day had been 30 degrees (86 Fahrenheit) and even closing in on nine p.m. the temperature on the pitch was still 26 (79 F). There was a strong case to be made for turtling up and taking the narrow L despite what it would mean for coefficients and cheap flats, and going full-pelt at the second leg with another week of quality training behind us.
I was about to open it up to debate when I noticed the Cypriot team's tactics going crazy. Their formation was bouncing around. 4-2-3-1 became 3-5-2 which became 4-3-3.
The manager was worried and didn't know what to do.
Well, well, well.
After an entertaining few minutes, he made his decision.
"Lads!" I said, clapping my hands. "Guess who's going to turtle up?"
"Us," said Henri.
Pascal nodded. "It makes sense."
Baggers said, "Do I get some minutes?"
"Sure. Pick a number between 1 and 45."
"45."
"All right. Zafari, good half, thanks. We're doing our attacking 4-2-3-1 but I don't want any goals. No goals."
Henri had been trying to get his shoelaces more symmetrical; he looked up. "What?"
"I'm doing reverse psychology," I said. "You're all silly and disobedient, right? Last day of school vibes."
"What about me?" said Jack the Lad. "Should I go forward?"
"I'll give you two guesses."
***
CHARLOTTE
Ee arr! Something's up!
JOSH OWENS
What the hell is 'ee arr'?
CHARLOTTE
It means shut the fuck up and listen.
JOSH OWENS
Sorry, Charl.
RAINMAN
Handbrake off!
BARK
Come on, Chester! I mean, College.
BROOKE
Someone tell me what's happening?
CHARLOTTE
Max is going full Max. Erm... the Greek lot are doing 4-5-1. Quite defensive and their striker's isolated.
FEMI
They're not Greek.
BROOKE
Let's not start that.
CHARLOTTE
So we're doing 4-2-3-1, Wibbers, Pascal, Sharky, Henri. Um... Max is marauding while Magnus stays put. Full backs are pushing on.
RAINMAN
Both at the same time!
BROOKE
Is this what you call all out attack?
JOSH OWENS
Pretty close, yes, miss.
BROOKE
Someone told me that wouldn't happen tonight.
BARK
Tell Zach he hasn't been paying attention.
BROOKE
[Stares impassively at Bark.]
BARK
Sorry, miss.
RAINMAN
Go on, Sharky! Ah, good tackle, that. Oh my God, the defender's gone down with cramp! We've only had four minutes of the half! Are they going to do this for another forty minutes?
[On screen, Pascal Bochum flops to the turf near the stricken player and also pretends to have cramp. Sharky pushes his leg back. Andreas Georgiou, the talented young forward, comes to offer his opinion on the state of affairs.]
JOSH OWENS
Haha! Pascal, you legend!
BROOKE
What has happened to the fellas on that trip? It's like they're ten years younger.
CHARLOTTE
Boys on holiday, Brooke. Inhibitions are lower. Have you seen The Hangover? That's basically a documentary. Oh, Max, no.
BROOKE
What? Nothing's happening.
CHARLOTTE
I liked the setup but he has gone to man-mark that little slimeball. What's his name? Georgiou. [She sighs.] There's a red card waiting to happen.
BROOKE
You know, everyone's a lot more invested than I would have expected. We don't really care if College get through, do we?
CHARLOTTE
Yes because if they get to the league stage Max will get a shedload of money and he'll marry Emma and we'll get invited to the wedding. And if he's got money to look after his mum he won't sell Youngster. And if he gets money he'll stop riding that stupid little scooter.
BROOKE
I hate that thing, too. As a Cowboys fan, I can't cheer for the Dolphins, though. Not unless they're playing the Eagles or Giants.
***
NARRATOR
As the clock ticks down, everyone's nerves are shredded. The game remains disjointed and the home team cling onto their lead by fair means or foul. One thing remains constant - wherever Andreas Georgiou goes, so too does Max Best.
ANGEL
Oh! Oh! Turn the sound on!
[The commentator is describing some neat build up play from Larnaca.]
CHARLOTTE
What, Angel?
ANGEL
James Gladfelter's pushing up, see? Why would Max move him up when we're out of possession?
[Max, distracted, appears to have lost Georgiou. The young man receives a pass and looks up. Perhaps he might take a rare shot?]
RAINMAN
Get in!
JOSH OWENS
Fucking yes!
[Max hadn't lost his marker at all, but simply gave him enough rope to hang himself. As Georgiou lined up a shot, Max nipped the ball away and dribbled left.]
COLE
Overlap!
JOSH OWENS
Overload first.
[Max, Jack the Lad, and Pascal combine with a series of slick passes. Baggers drifts across to offer another angle. Max shapes to find him but side-heel-flicks the ball down the line. Jack the Lad rushes onto it; the others leg it towards the box. Jack gets to the byline, cuts the ball back, and it's deflected into the path of Baggers. He sorts his feet out and gives a simple left-footed pass to Henri. He scuffs his shot over the diving keeper.]
[The watch party erupts.]
[As they finish hugging each other, so the College celebrations come to an end. The happy players walk back to their half but a short distance from the centre spot, Pascal Bochum comes down with cramp. Scuffles ensue and a yellow card is shown to an AEK player.]
[AEK change shape to a variant of 4-3-3. They push the ball around with much more urgency and Andreas Georgiou drifts out to the wing to get some space. The ball to his feet is slow and Max tackles Georgiou, hooking the ball back to Lee Hudson. Max loses his balance and finds himself sitting on Georgiou. Scuffles ensue and a yellow card is shown to the Cypriot.]
CHARLOTTE
I told you there was a red card waiting to happen!
ANGEL
You meant Max!
CHARLOTTE
Prove it.
[AEK's manager has seen enough. He signals for Georgiou to leave the pitch at the next break. As he departs, frustrated, Pascal jogs over and says something while covering his mouth. Georgiou's eyes widen and he throws a punch at the German. There's absolute chaos.]
RAINMAN
Holy fucking shit what is going on? Haha what did Bad Boy say to that prick?
JOSH OWENS
That's got to be a red card, right? Wait, what happens if you get a red card as you're being subbed off?
CHARLOTTE
He's still on the pitch, isn't he? He hasn't been replaced yet. It's just a normal red. You're off and your team's down to ten.
JOSH OWENS
There it is! He's gone! Booo! Off off off!
BARK
Pascal, man. He's a killer.
***
I forgot I had moved the Gamesmanship slider all the way to the top. Oops. I undid my mistake, reversing it to the opposite extreme and while I was there, flicked the Game Speed slider to maximum.
Larnaca fell into a 4-4-1 low block but I learned how to deal with those fairly early in my management career. You either unleash a huge great Goliath figure or you spam long shots.
"Baggers," I said. "You're up. Shoot on sight. Actually..."
"What?"
"I've got more tricks up my sleeve these days, haven't I?"
***
ANGEL
Whoa! They're doing Bestball!
COLE
[Rushing back from the kitchen.] No way! What!
ANGEL
Look.
[Baggers, Pascal, Henri, and Max are working the ball in a small blob outside the penalty area. On the right, Sharky is making runs behind the defence to keep them from moving to the centre. Jack the Lad is doing something similar on the left.]
CHARLOTTE
Why is Glenn Ryder trundling forward? Is he going to play striker?
[Max fizzes a pass to Pascal. He lets it go through his legs to Henri. He deflects it to Baggers, who does a stepover to create room for a shot. A defender throws himself in the way so Baggers turns and finds Max. He plays it first time to Henri, who plays it through Pascal's legs to Baggers. He backheels the ball towards the edge of the D where Max continued his sprint. Max tries to shoot but again there's a body in the way so he flicks the ball diagonally up and to the right, apparently with no purpose.]
BARK
Sharky, go! Go, Sharky!
FEMI
Come on, Wes!
[Sharky gets to the ball and is about to shoot when he's fouled.]
FEMI
Penalty! Pen, ref!
[Max spots the ball's in a tasty spot and rushes to get there. He's about to shoot when he's fouled.]
BARK
That's two penalties!
[While on the ground, Max flicks at the ball. He pushes it two yards to the left where Baggers is the nearest player on his feet. He clips the ball past the goalie and wheels off. He’s hesitant to celebrate because he doesn’t know what the referee plans to do.]
JOSH OWENS
If the ref gives a pen I'm going to lose my mind.
[There's a moment of quiet while the viewers wait to see what the ref decides. He blows his whistle as he points to the centre circle.]
[The watch party turns down the watch slider and turns up the party slider.]
[On the screen, the volume buttons appear. The volume goes from 5 to 10 to 30.]
CHARLOTTE
[Chanting.] Can you hear the Cyprus sing?
ALMOST EVERYONE
No-oh! No-oh! Can you hear the Cyprus sing? I can't hear a fucking thing! Whoa-oh whoa-ohhh oh whoa!
[The commentator's voice is suddenly super loud. He's getting excited. Best is dribbling down the right wing. He gets past one, two, three players. He exchanges passes with Sharky and when level with the penalty spot he fires a cross. Glenn Ryder gets his magnificent forehead on it. Three-one!]
[Roars, whoops, cheers. Crisps go flying. Women who should know better jump on Henri's sofa.]
BARK
How is he the best DM and the best winger? [He clicks his tongue, happily.] He's making us look bad, man.
[Brooke hears this and frowns. She wanders off to the side of the room, bringing Angel with her.]
BROOKE
[Whispering, but just about caught by Angel's mic.] You know the working title for Chesterness series three, doncha?
ANGEL
[Whispering louder.] Yes. I found out by accident and I'm not allowed to tell anyone. The Best Player in the World. It's about Meredith Ann.
BROOKE
What if it isn't? You know Max loves his double meanings and his red herrings.
ANGEL
But -
[The commentator gets excited again. He's describing another lightning fast dribble. Best lifts the ball between two centre backs, powers through the gap, eases the ball to the right and when the goalie dives at his feet, he backheels the ball square, giving Henri an open goal. Four-one!]
[Most of the watchers dance around. Charlotte tries to start a chant of 'Best will shred you apart' which doesn't take.]
[Brooke raises her eyebrows and points them at the screen. Angel nods slowly.]
ANGEL
Food for thought.
[They rejoin the others. One camera tracks Angel as she crosses in front of the projector screen. While she does, unnoticed by anyone in the watch party, the in-stadium camera lingers on a supremely well-dressed older gentleman in the stands. He has his match ticket in his hands and though he looks absolutely furious, his hands are steady as he tears it into perfect strips.]