1.19 - Demba Ba (Patreon)

19.

After the match, I'd hung around the stands for a while, but with the stadium eerily deserted I'd decamped out to the car. For a while, I'd thought maybe Ziggy had found his own way home. It took so long that I started to get a bad feeling. A premonition of doom. But he eventually emerged and we set off home. He suggested we stop off somewhere to get some food - his treat - so I was heading towards Didsbury Village, where the women were 2% hotter than average.

It was a quiet journey. Ziggy was exhausted and introspective, and I was happy to concentrate on my driving. At red lights I thought about the achievements I'd gotten. At full time, I'd been able to exit the match screen. There were messages waiting for me.

New Achievements: Movin' On Up 1; Free Spirit 1; Coaching 1; They've Rebadged It You Fool; Tommy Tactics 1; Tommy Tactics 2; Tinkerman 1; It's the Taking Part That Counts

I was getting better at reading the messages while driving safely, plus as a driver I always erred on the side of caution. (First, because I'd been in one crash already and didn't care to repeat the experience. Second, because if my car got damaged it was going to stay damaged.)

So by the time we got to Didsbury and started driving around its side streets looking for a place to park, I'd learned what these achievements had been awarded for.

Movin' On Up 1 was because I'd managed at a new high level - going from an amateur team to a semi-pro one. That was interesting - if I was the Man City manager and got a job at Man United, would the curse think that was an upward move? The achievement would tell me. And ditto going from one of the big Premier League teams to Bayern Munich. The biggest team in Germany, sure, but the league was a step down in terms of finance and worldwide popularity. And what about the England national team job? Was that the pinnacle? For an English guy, I mean.

Free Spirit 1 came from setting Gribbin as my playmaker. I supposed if I used playmakers in 5 games, or 10, I'd get the second ranking.

Coaching 1 was simply for being a coach, i.e. the guy in charge of a team (as opposed to the kind of coaching Jackie did). I'd been the 'coach' for Beth and the women but this award, like a few others, was only for 11-a-side matches.

They've Rebadged It You Fool was because I'd changed my team's name.

The Tommy Tactics ones were a bit annoying, because in the descriptions it said 'formerly Tactics Mastery 1'. So the curse had heard Jackie call me Tommy Tactics, a totally made-up phrase designed to provoke me, and decided to take it and use it. Anyway, I got the first one when I made my initial team tweak (moving Ziggy to left-mid), and the second when I'd gone long-ball for a couple of minutes.

Oh, and Tinkerman was awarded because I made so many changes in such a short time, and 'Taking Part That Counts' was because my team had lost.

A bit harsh. We'd won the half that I had managed!

These achievements were all very interesting, and sort of a fun way of reminding myself what I'd done to earn them (not that I needed reminding. The moments were circling through my memory like dishes on a sushi conveyor belt). They all came with a reward of 1 experience point, except for Tactics 2, which came with, can you guess?, two XP, and Taking Part, which earned me zero.

In other words, achievements were almost worthless.

But I didn't dismiss them - not completely. There was something strange about the whole achievements thing. I had a suspicion that they might prove useful, somewhere down the line. They weren't a good source of XP but if there were some that were easy to get, then I'd go for it. For example, if I was a real manager, I would set someone as a playmaker every match, even if it was just for 30 seconds. I'd collect the Free Spirit achievements without risking anything. But I wouldn't actively seek out the Tinkerman ones, since that could destabilise my teams.

And for the hundredth time I reminded myself that I was not a football manager...

***

Ziggy went to the counter to buy 'some scran'. Scran is Manchester-speak for food. My job was to find a table.

It was a cute little Deli, somehow set further back from the main road than the other shops and restaurants nearby, giving it a tucked in feel. Good feng shui. It was overpriced but it was a great place to bring a date. It was busy, and I was forced to ask to join the end of a six-seater table. It seemed like the two women in the middle seats didn't know the ones at the end, so we weren't crashing anyone's party.

I sat and gathered my thoughts. Exhaustion was creeping down my forehead towards my eyes, like a dribble of soothing botox. But then something in my brain went 'twang' and I let out a little noise. I was worried I'd get a massive headache, but rubbing the area sort of pushed the problem away. Weird.

Ziggy came over and pushed a cheesecake and a cup of tea to my side of the table. He had a little salad and a big sandwich. Looked nice. He tucked in and I let him take a few bites undisturbed - he needed it.

After a few bites, he closed his eyes. What a time it was to be alive, but to munch on a roast beef sandwich was very heaven!

He leaned towards me and spoke softly. "Are you disappointed?"

"What?"

"I didn't score."

"So? We talked about this. It's a process. And by the end you were really starting to look the part. We'll get you a few more trials and, I don't know, maybe some private coaching or something? Pay that Jackie guy to give you some one-on-one time." I was almost certain that Jackie had directly added one point to my boy's CA just from a brief bit of hand-waving. Ten more sessions like that... Ziggy had taken a big mouthful, so he couldn't speak. But there was kind of a mad, panicked bulge to his eyes. I continued. "You think he's too Scouse? Well, he is, but he's a great coach. I've decided that I love him." Ziggy relaxed a bit, but still looked vaguely worried. It wasn't new information, but I was reminded that I barely knew the guy. In the car, I had resolved to remedy that. "All right, I need to get to know you a bit more. Rapid fire questions. Ready? I'm driving you to a match. I need to put on some hype music. Get your blood pumping. What's the song? Song or band."

He finished chewing with a distant look, then nodded. "Watashi Kojo."

"Er... gesundheit."

He grinned. "No, it's a guy. A musician. He's on TikTok."

"Oh."

"He does EDM, but with an African flavour. It's awesome. You should listen."

"I will do that as soon as I get home," I lied. I coughed. "K. Who do you support?"

"City."

This was going terribly. But whatever. I didn't need to marry the guy. "Favourite player?"

"David Silva." Tiny little midfield wizard. I didn't like that answer, but we'll get to that.

"What's your favourite football chant?" Ziggy did something strange at this point. He sort of bowed his head a fraction, but in doing so, lost 30% of his body mass. "What?" I said. My mind was racing. Had the word chant triggered him? Had his father been murdered by a Gregorian choir?

He jabbed his head to his right, my left. With a sheepish grin, he said, "They're laughing at us."

Very, very slowly, I turned to look at the woman who was next to Ziggy. She had long straight hair that fell into expensive-looking curls at the ends, wide Julia Roberts lips, big black eyes. Not my type. It was highly obvious she was Ziggy's type. He'd gone full puppy dog. "Is everything okay?" I asked her.

She tried to button up her smile, but that just made it pop out even harder. She giggled, then made a big effort to stop. "Sorry. It's just you said you wanted to get to know him and then only asked questions about football. You're such boys." She had a Geordie accent. Geordies are people from Newcastle. It's not the sexiest accent in the world, but it's also weirdly exotic. You don't hear it that often.

"Yes," I said, nodding slowly. "We are boys," I said, my voice full of encouragement. "That's very good." Ziggy had de-shrunk, but seemed reluctant to eat his sandwich now that there was an audience. Fucking hell. "Okay, onto the next round of questions, Barrett," I said. Using his real name got his attention. "Do you prefer Proust or Wittgenstein?"

He froze, just for a microsecond, but said, "Proust."

"Sun Tzu or Clausewitz?"

"Oh, Clausewitz," he said, with a kind of relieved laugh. He'd caught on fast!

But then the woman next to me joined in. As she spoke, I turned my head and got a proper look at her for the first time. Blonde, cute, steady eyes, a slightly off-centre nose which I, personally, was into, a seemingly great body. But mostly it was her lips - they seemed ready to curl into a little smile like she was seeing straight through your little plans and schemes. She, like her friend, had a Newcastle accent. "What's your favourite painting by Clausewitz, Barrett?"

Busted.

Ziggy pretended to chew a few times, to buy himself time to think. But it was futile. "Just the famous one, probably."

"Which one is that?"

"The one with the... ah... fish?"

Blondie's lips curled, just a fraction. It was delicious. Talking of which, I still hadn't touched my cheesecake.

"Okay, you win," I said, chunking off the end of the triangle. "We shall now retreat from the battlefield and talk about football. Like the boys we are." I plopped the cake into my mouth and man, it was incredible. Soft, creamy, smooth. The base was solid, but crumbly. I nodded a few times. Overpriced? No way. It was a moment of luxury. Worth every penny. Especially when it was Ziggy's pennies. I pointed my spoon at him. "Right. Let's plan. We need to get you playing 11-a-side." My voice trailed off, though, because the woman had put her hand on my arm. I stared at it, dumbly.

"What's your name?"

"Max."

"I'm Emma. I have a complaint." She took her hand away.

"Oh?"

"You asked him about his favourite chant."

We both looked at Ziggy. He shrunk. Spoke softly. "I don't really have one?" No surprise. City fans sang 'Blue Moon' all the time. Abysmal.

Emma said, "What about you, Max?"

"Man United have good ones. I thought they were the best but it's probably Newcastle."

"We're from Newcastle!" said the other one.

"He knows," said Emma. "He's just trying to flirt."

"I don't try to flirt," I said. "I flirt. But really. Newcastle have the two best chants ever. A few years ago they signed a player called Demba Ba. I'd never heard the name Demba. Then they signed another one. I think he was called Demba Cisse. So the fans started singing, 'Demba one, Demba two, we've got more Dembas than you!'"

Emma wasn't as impressed as she should have been. "Okay."

"Then they got a player called Habib Beye."

"Hab..."

"Habib. Beye. Now, I'm going to do the chant, and you're going to say Habib Baye. You ready?" She was. "Sunday, Monday," I said, then pointed at her.

She looked uncertain. "Habib Beye?"

"Tuesday, Wednesday," I said.

"Habib Baye?"

"Thursday, Friday."

"Habib Baye."

"Saturday, what a day - " Now Emma's friend and Ziggy joined in. Not super loud like in a movie. But they joined in. "Been working all week for you!"

Emma laughed, but didn't really know why.

"Okay," I said. "I want to talk about sports with my buddy now. Is that all right?"

"No," she said. "Explain it to me."

"The chant? It's the theme song from Happy Days."

"No," she said, pouting deliciously. Oh my god, this woman! "Explain sports."

Crazy. Emma was sexy, intelligent, and didn't live within hundreds of miles of me. An absolutely stellar combination. But I didn't feel like 'explaining sports' to her. I'd already lost focus on Ziggy during the training session. I wasn't going to make the same mistake twice in one day. I was about to refuse when some impulse made me look at him. He was glaring at me with prisoner-of-war eyes - huge, trying to convey reams of text with every blink. What? I kept watching. He darted his eyes towards the woman next to him. Trying to say something. "Barrett, would you mind if I talked to Emma for a bit?"

His eyeballs lost their manic energy. Relief. I'd done the right thing. He gave Emma's friend a cautious smile. "I don't mind if..."

"Gemma."

"If Gemma doesn't mind."

"Gemma," said Gemma, "doesn't mind."