1.18 - Playing God (Patreon)

18.

FC United 3 - AFC Phoenix 2

Second Half

Smalls 6; Wooley 11; Da Costa 20

Gribbin 38, 41

Ziggy challenges for a high ball.

Murray wins the header.

Smith can't control the ball.

Gribbin starts a dribble.

He moves past Smith.

He moves past Wooley.

He shapes to shoot. Murray slides in to block.

Gribbin pulls the ball onto his left foot and moves forward.

He's one on one with the goalkeeper.

He launches a thunderbolt! Right at the top corner!

But it's saved! Fantastic reflexes by Gordon.

Ziggy can't reach the rebound.

And it's cleared.

Playing god. It's a phrase you normally hear related to doctors. They have one organ and two patients who need it. That's a horrible choice to make, but having the power of life and death over someone is godlike indeed.

But here I was playing god in a unique and uniquely satisfying way. I just had to think it, and a grown man would jog over to the other side of the pitch. I just had to think it, and my minions would suddenly start launching long balls towards the opponent's goal, like the agricultural hard-men teams of the 1980s.

Long ball was associated with Wimbledon (the football team, not the other thing). The Crazy Gang. Vinnie Jones before he went to Hollywood. The plan was simple: stonk the ball far away from your goal and towards the other team's goal. Try to 'win the second ball', meaning pounce on any rebounds or deflections. If the chaos didn't lead to a shot on target, no problem. Just kick the shit out of the other team as they daintily passed their way back up the pitch. And then hit repeat.

Long ball was primitive football mostly consigned to the dregs of history. Why was ‘long ball’ even an option in 2022?

I put my hand under my chin to stop from laughing out loud - a bit of prehistoric football actually sounded fun. I ordered the players to kick the ball long - forget all this modern ‘rondo’ guff. Tactics? No, thanks. Let's knock it. Get rid. Go deep. "Second ball!" I shouted. I was just about able to keep a straight face.

My guys, regardless of their position, attributes, or the game state, began boofing the ball high - high and long, like they were NFL punters and every down was 4th down.

I let the bombardment continue for a couple of minutes, then changed the passing style back to mixed. The change hadn't led to any shots on goal, and we hadn't really won any second balls. But it had been effective, in a way. FC United had not been expecting the sudden change of tempo and they were now much less organised. Their tactics screen hadn't changed, but on the pitch they looked a bit ragged. A bit disjointed compared to how they'd started.

This time I couldn't keep the grin off my face. This was so much fun!

Gribbin had been quiet during the 'long ball minutes'. That wasn't his kind of football. But now he was back to being the main man, our conduit. He was zipping around, playing sensible passes, threatening to dribble, probing, keeping the defence on edge.

We got a corner, and, as always, a button appeared in my vision, offering me the chance to play my 'free hit' and boost the chance of the situation leading to a goal by 10%. I'd been saving it in case we got a penalty, but time was running out. I tapped the button; it shimmered into nothingness - an oddly satisfying effect. Gribbin went over to take the corner - I'd realised I could designate him as the set piece taker for everything except penalties - and he held both hands up. Loads of pro players did that - I wasn't sure if it just meant 'get ready' or if it indicated where he was going to hit the cross.

He leaned away from the ball as he struck it - it curved slightly, but mostly went fast as an arrow onto a tall defender's head. A Phoenix defender!

Gribbin takes the corner.

Whipped in with great pace.

Onto the head of Mendonca!

It's a great header!

But it hits the bar!

It rebounds to safety!

So if I hadn't played the free hit, the header would have gone over the bar. Or an FC United player would have got their head to the ball before my guy. Interesting. But corners were generally a low-probability chance, right? Teams scored maybe 1 in 20? I'd need to check the data. But I was pretty sure a penalty led to a goal 80 times out of 100. The free hit perk would take that to 90/100. That was certainly the best bang for your buck.

But then again, in how many matches did you get a penalty? Mostly you didn't get one, right? I'd have to check that, too.

Um, Max. You're not a football manager. Calm down.

Neil blew his whistle and called his team over for an impromptu meeting. My guys congealed into three little groups, talking excitedly. I wasn't sure if the main topic of conversation would be me or Gribbin. Another person was moving - crossing the pitch in his tracksuit, heading right for me, as menacing as Darth Vader.

It was Jackie, probably come to fire me as coach.

He nodded at me. "Tommy Tactics."

"Coach Carter," I said, referencing a Samuel L. Jackson movie.

He stood next to me for a bit, quietly looking at the pitch.

"The away team's dugout is next to ours," he said. “You don’t have to stand here like a leper.” So he wasn't here to fire me! That was a relief.

"Sunday League habits," I said. "Also, I don't want you hearing my instructions."

"Right, yeah. How's your 5-3-2 going?"

"Pretty good, I'd say."

He did a forced smile, then said, "What I'm saying is that you've got 4 at the back. 5-3-2, famously, has five at the back. See what I'm saying?"

I pretended to be unbothered, which wasn't that hard. "Gribbin is part of the 5. He's playing as a sweeper-striker. Free role."

He frowned. Ignored my bullshit. He had something else on his mind. "Gribbin. Yeah. About that. What did you say to him?"

"Say?"

"He never plays like this."

I shrugged. "I told him that we've got a new king and a new prime minister. I told him the country's going to shit and we all need to pull together. Every one of us. Give it our best, every day, and maybe we can make a go of this little nation of ours."

Jackie laughed, but he was annoyed at himself for laughing. "Seriously, though. The season hasn't started well. If we could get him playing like this we'd be top of the league."

I didn’t really know why Gribbin was playing so well. "I just put him up front and set him... made him our playmaker. He's the best player on either team. I dunno. That's it. No magic."

He looked thoughtful. Rubbed his cheek. "All right." He stood there for a while. "Why've you got Smokes at left-back?"

The guy at left-back wasn't called Smokes, so I guessed that was his nickname. "Benson? He can play left or right. Um... I don't understand the question."

Jackie gave me a much longer, harder look. "He's never played left-back in his life."

I pointed. "There he is. Doing just fine, I'd say. Hasn’t given Sandro a kick."

Another long, hard look. "Your lad isn't going to make it." He meant Ziggy.

"He is."

He shook his head. "He's not. He doesn't have what it takes. He's a nice lad, but he's not got it. You, though."

"Me?"

"Why don't you come down to the next session? You've got potential."

Potential. The word of the day. "Jackie. I mean, thanks, first of all. Really. But... How can I say this?" I held my palm out, hoping the right words would fall onto it. They didn't. "You're wrong. I'm no player. And Ziggy? He's mint. He just needs a coach..." I shot Jackie with twin finger guns and raised my eyebrows.

Charisma check: failed. Jackie shook his head again. "There's no point. We're a football club, not the boy scouts."

And, still shaking his head, he wandered off.

***

But his path back across the pitch took him close-ish to where Ziggy was bent over, hands on his knees, trying to conserve energy.

I was too far to hear anything, but I saw what happened.

Jackie sort of paused, and sagged. Then he raised his head to the sky as if to say 'why is this happening to me?' Finally, he shook his bad mood off, got Ziggy's attention, and started giving him instructions. Jackie was holding up two fingers in one hand and one finger on the other, and was waving them around a lot. Ziggy was nodding, paying close attention.

I looked over and saw that Neil had finished saying what he needed to say, and he was about to blow his whistle when he saw Jackie. Neil waited a few more seconds, then blew.

It looks like FC United will take a more cautious approach.

I opened the FC United tactics page and saw that Neil had, indeed, tweaked the team. Now they were lining up in a 4-1-4-1. So that was a standard flat back 4, with 4 in midfield exactly the same as Phoenix. But they had a guy in between those two lines. A defensive midfielder. I clicked on him and saw his individual instructions. He'd been set to man-mark Gribbin.

I felt a surge of adrenaline. Neil had been forced to react to my tactics! A real, proper manager! On the back foot, because of little old me!

Almost instantly, I was in my tactics screen, moving Gribbin to the right side of midfield. The defensive midfielder would follow him all the way over there, right? Which would mean FC United would have two defensive players in one zone, leaving a big gap in the middle of the park, and our whole defence would only have to worry about one striker. I could seize control of the midfield AND get two of our defenders to push forward. Yee-haaww!

But I paused.

I wasn't here to earn a 'Tommy Tactics' achievement.

I wasn't here to win the match.

It did me no good to show Neil up. If his changes nullified Gribbin, then fine. Good for Neil. Good for FC United.

So I left things as they were.

But things weren't as they were.

Something had changed. On the pitch, Ziggy's default position had changed - he was almost man-marking one of the two centre-backs he was up against. Had I clicked on something by mistake? No. There was nothing in my tactics page to indicate why he was doing it different. He'd taken it upon himself.

Frowning, I scanned Ziggy's profile.

The answer was there in green. His CA had increased to 3.