25 - Copa Mundial [T1] (Patreon)

25.

I read through the perk - twice - then looked at James. "Would you like to help me with a project?"

"Oh. Yes. Probably. What is it?"

"Two things. One. You're a big movie buff and you like Bible stuff. I've often thought of writing a screenplay. Maybe one where there's a guy who's made enemies with a demon. Maybe you could find out what the Bible says about killing demons. Silver bullets, holy water, garlic, whatever."

"Well -"

"And the most important. Watch Qatar versus Ecuador with me later today. It starts at 4pm."

"Oh. Is this part of my training? You will teach me about football?"

"No. It's... my training. This is for me. You can say no quite freely."

"But I would like to watch football with you."

"Great. Go back to church. I need to go somewhere warm and get a tea. Slice of toast."

James reached into his pocket and handed over his house key. "We have tea. And bread. The house is warm."

I hesitated. "You should check with your mum."

"There is no chance she will refuse. She might even be upset if I check with her. She might think I was not sufficiently forceful with my hospitality."

"I feel like I should ask if you're sure three times or something, but fuck it. I need a tea. Thanks. See you in a bit. Don't forget to boo when your pastor finishes."

***

I drove to their house, let myself in, made a tea, and pottered around while drinking it. On the side table where the red-eyed photo of young James was, there were two copies of the contract between me and him. Both signed. I was briefly emotional. The family believed in me so much! I had to repay their faith.

I moved away and sat on the sofa, but then my brain finally processed something it had seen a few moments earlier. I stood again and wandered over to the coffee table in front of the TV. There was a printout - an unformatted printout of some website. It had the word Darlington on it - that's what caught my eye. The publication was the Northern Echo.

DARLINGTON 4 ALFRETON 1 : MYSTERY WINGER THRILLS IN CUP

A sensational 45-minute performance by previously unknown winger Max Best secured Quakers progress to the third round of the FA Trophy. The 22-year-old debutant, who was not only playing his first match for Darlington but for anyone, scored with an 80-yard solo dribble, a 35-yard free kick, assisted, and caused havoc every time he surged forward.

Quakers manager David Cutter said, "The lad's done well. He takes free kicks like that in training, but you sometimes never see players do it in a match. We're made up for the boy. He's put us in the next round and given the club a boost and no mistake. But we're fuming about their goal. It was miles offside and I've said that to the ref."

There followed a surprisingly biased match report that at least got all the basic facts right. It was interesting to find out what happened in the second half. I had heard the score on TalkSport but didn't know more than that. And didn't care much, either.

I went to make another cup of tea. Mystery winger! That was fun. Good for my reputation and storytelling project. Not so good in terms of pissing off demons or whatever. But I didn't need to worry about that until our next game, which would be on Saturday.

I sat back down on the sofa and sighed. I re-opened the message that introduced the new perk. It was bonkers.

Quadrennial Assigned TINO Accumulator/Reducer

VERSION COPA MUNDIAL

Cost to enter: Free. However, your existing stock of XP (1606) has been converted into TINOs.

Effects: Chance to win/lose/retain TINOs by answering World Cup-themed questions.

Stipulation: To participate, you must watch every match in the Qatar 2022 World Cup. Failure to heed this rule will result in irrevocable XP loss.

Bonus! At 3:59pm you will have a chance to greatly increase your starting pool of TINOs.

The sofa was really quite cozy, so I took my shoes off and stretched out.

I'd waited for ages for this perk, and it turned out to be not just bizarre and aggravating, but actively destructive. It had literally stolen my XP! The curse shop was still open, but I had no cash. It felt really strange. Being broke in real life was one thing, but losing my XP left me feeling like I'd been mugged.

Only a bit, though, because if stealing 1600 XP from me was the full extent of Old Nick's revenge, I'd probably take that. It was a couple of Premier League matches, and I was going to have some disposable income very soon. And obviously there was no way that this tiny sacrifice would satisfy him. 1600 XP to placate a guy who wore two scarves? No chance.

Which led me to wonder if this stolen XP thing was perhaps not a punishment. I had 1606 TINOs, whatever they were. I knew this because I had a new tab on my interface called MUNDIAL. It was pretty sparse for now - just a record of my holdings. And maybe after the World Cup I'd be able to convert the TINOs back into XP.

So yeah. Crazy. I supposed I'd find out soon enough what it all meant. For now, it was clear that I had to try to watch every match. There was no way to watch absolutely every one - for a start, the final group games were played simultaneously! So I'd miss 8 of the 64 games at least. And non-league football wasn't taking a break for the World Cup, so I'd probably have to play for Darlo during some of the fixtures. Maybe I could avoid the result and watch on catch-up?

I had a bit of a think of what it all meant.

And then I was shaken awake by James Yalley.

***

They had let me sleep, cooked their Sunday feast in near silence, and taken their meals into the master bedroom so they wouldn't disturb me.

Mr Yalley had wanted to rouse me because my neck was in a bad position, but Kisi had flipped out and insisted I be allowed to rest. James had agreed with both of them, but eventually decided I wouldn't want to miss the match. He'd done so with ten minutes to spare!

Groggy, feeling weird, and in a slight panic, I grabbed James, staged a photo of him signing his contract, then virtually dragged him towards the nearest pub.

"I'll explain in a bit," I said. "But the next few minutes are key. Just go along with me, okay?"

He was following like a toddler, drifting behind then rushing to catch up. "Okay, but Mr Best, we could have watched the match at home. It's on BBC1, not on Sky."

"Oh," I said. "Good point. Well you wanted to meet some degenerates. You're welcome."

"Why are we rushing? Are you so excited by the World Cup you wouldn't want to miss a single second?"

That was a good question. Was I excited? "I'm not into it right at this very moment in time. I've been too busy. Too much going on. But I'm ready to be into it. Do you know what I mean? Once it starts, once England play, I'll probably be excited, yeah."

"Oh." His tone put me on alert. He wasn't excited. I didn't think I could say anything that would make him go home and rip up the contract, but why take the risk?

"You're dubious."

"Mr Best. Please tell me what you really think about it."

"About it being in Qatar? That's what you mean, right?" I grabbed his wrist and checked the time. We had ages and the pub was in sight. This would be a good use of my time. "It's obviously problematic. There was corruption right from the off. Every time anyone's mentioned Qatar for the past ten years, I've thought about bribes. So that's kind of hilarious if they were trying to promote a positive image. Then there's the fact that football isn't normally played in a desert. So they had to move it to the winter, and that has messed up the football season. FIFA and UEFA really seem to be trying to destroy the sport. They'll do literally anything for a sneaky dollar. They're abysmal."

"Why do I feel like there's a 'but' coming?"

I laughed. "Yeah! I was planning a but ages ago but I kept remembering more godawful shit. Here we go: but. But the World Cup is the pinnacle of the sport. It's top. Yeah, the Champions League is the most elite in terms of actual matches, actual quality, but nothing beats the colour and sound and surprise of the World Cup. I told my... uh, I told this girl that surprise was important in sport, and you don't get much surprise in the Champions League. We know all the teams and managers and players. But the World Cup! There's always some rando who turns up and is amazing. Roger Milla. Goycochea. Man City, the pricks, have two great players in every position, but national teams are more flawed. It’s kind of random who is born in a certain geographical location at a certain point in time. There's probably a country with three amazing strikers but no goalies. There's definitely a team with two elite left-backs and nothing else. That's Scotland, and that's why they didn't make it to the finals. And unlike the Premier League and Champions League which are annual, the World Cup is every four years, so like the Olympics great players might only get one chance to take part. The rarity makes it special. I’m 22. If I turn out to be the GOAT, I’ll still only have two World Cups in me. And chances are I’ll be injured for one. That’s the stakes for the players. For the rest of us, the whole thing is great fun. Shakespeare on Ice. And listen. The World Cup should never be in the winter, that's obvious. But once in a thousand years, it's interesting! Take the English players. They normally play 9 months with more games at a higher intensity than in any other country and then they get two weeks off and fly to the World Cup shattered and lose to Iceland because their legs are made of wasp honey.”

“Er…”

“But this time anyone who isn't injured is in peak condition. Peak condition! There's never been a World Cup where everyone's at absolutely full fitness. The quality should be really high."

I looked at James. He was deep in thought, looking at the ground in front of his feet. I got the feeling he wasn't very happy with what I'd said. I mentally sighed. He'd probably read about all the bad news coming out of Qatar. I had tried to skip it as much as poss. It was depressing.

I realised I’d been waving my hands around in an excited way, so I tried to match James’s subdued energy. "Well, we're here now. Let's find a good spot."

The pub was an absolute hellhole, but it had nice, big screens. It was only a quarter-full, but people were starting to file in, wanting to watch the match in public. Shared experience. Covid lockdowns had made people crazy for contact. I understood it.

We got a good table with a view of multiple screens. A guy was going round taking orders. With my hundred million pound midfielder next to me, I decided I could risk a splurge, and ordered two big cokes and some cheesy chips. I also asked why the sound was off on the telly.

"Gary Lineker is telling us why the World Cup shouldn't be in Qatar," he said. "Woke snowflake tripe. Stick to the football. We'll put the sound on when the actual match starts."

"Cool," I said, and he fucked off.

"Mr Best," said James. "Do you share his views? That caring about human rights is woke snowflake tripe?"

I shrugged. "James, maybe on balance it shouldn't be there, but it is. What do you want me to do about it?"

He shook his head. "Nothing, I suppose. Although..."

"What?"

"I suppose I would like you to say something to that man."

"He wouldn't listen. What's the point?"

He did that unhappy face again, and rubbed a knuckle. "If I am to be a professional, I should watch the matches. And learn."

"Good," I said, and something about the way it came out kind of sickened me. "Look, James. Nobody gives a shit what we think. But when I'm a top manager and you're the best midfielder in the league, people will listen. That's what I'm working towards. Until then, I'm not going to beat myself up about it. No-one listened to Jesus until he started going to parties making wine appear out of thin air. Then people really started to take notice."

He nodded a few times. "Not accurate but yes. I take the point."

I kept an eye on him for a while. I felt - as usual with him - that I'd done a bad job with that conversation. "James, I'm going to need your help. You ready?"

It was 3:58 and some number of seconds. I bit my nails. The next time the clock changed, something big would happen. I could feel it.

Time pushed forward one digit with a huge GONG that only I could hear.

TINO Accelerator Round Begins!

Task: Choose one box.

The number contained in the box will be added to your store of TINOs.

Once all boxes are revealed, you will have fifteen seconds to make your choice. If you do not choose, a box will be chosen randomly. The box with the highest number will not be included in the randomisation process.

GET READY

This was going to look absolutely insane to James. I had a sudden inspiration and grabbed my earphone case. I opened it, shoved one bud into my right ear, and tapped on my phone. The shitty earphones I had didn't even work if you only had one in, but James didn't know that.

"James, I might ask you some questions. Get ready. Oh, shit."

It was happening.

There were five squares on the screen. Each had a padlock-style five-digit number inside, but every digit was spinning round. The intention was clear - the number would be revealed at the end of the mini game. The numbers faded away, still spinning.

The first box turned red and text in a white font appeared. This particular palette seemed incredibly familiar and comforting to me, but I couldn't think why. The text said:

Number of billions of dollars spent by Qatar in preparation for the World Cup.

I turned that into a question for James.

"Oh," he said. "Lots, I would think. They had to build 8 stadiums. Perhaps 8 or 9 billion?"

They had to build 8 stadiums? What?

The next square filled up - it had the same red-and-white colour scheme so there were no clues there.

Qatar's FIFA world ranking when they named as hosts of the 2022 World Cup.

"Oh!" said James again. "These questions are hard. What is this for?"

Do you fucking know or not, I nearly hissed. "Guess."

"Not in the top 20. Perhaps 40? I do not know."

So if James was right, choosing box 1 would get me 9 TINOs and box 2 would get me 40. Barely seemed worth the stress of playing this mini-game, and believe me, it was stressful. And it only got worse.

The next square:

Number of workers who have died building World Cup-related infrastructure.

Holy fuck, that was dark. I didn't have time to think it through.

"James, how many workers died building these stadiums and stuff?"

He frowned and whipped out his elderly smartphone. He tapped away with a maddening lack of urgency.

The next square filled in.

Number of FIFA Executive Committee members who were arrested in 2015.

multiplied by

Maximum penalty for same-sex relationships in Qatar, as measured in years in prison.

multiplied by

Amount of carbon set to be emitted during the World Cup, as measured in millions of tonnes.

Oh my God. I broke out into a cold sweat as realisation set in.

This was Old Nick's doing, I was sure. He'd written all this stuff to make me feel like shit. Presumably, if I'd told James I was against Qatar hosting the tournament, all these options would be positive things. Number of jobs created, number of solar panels installed, whatever. Nick just wanted to provoke me. To stop me enjoying the best tournament in the world!

The last box:

Number of litres of water needed per day to maintain one grass pitch in one stadium in Qatar, a desert country.

"I don't fucking care!" I said. James looked startled and appalled, but I got my act together and gave him a placating arm-touch and pointed to my earbud. "Soz," I mouthed.

This was beyond frustrating. I just wanted my XP so I could buy perks. I rubbed my face like a maniac, until I noticed that the 15 second timer had started.

I froze. There was too much information provoking too many feelings, and too little time.

"The official line from the Supreme Committee," said James, looking at some website, "is that there have been 37 deaths at World Cup stadiums, 3 of which were work-related."

That snapped me out of it. "37 died but only 3 were because they were toiling in the fucking desert sun? Is that a joke?"

He didn't react well to me haranguing him. He spoke like a schoolboy addressing a fierce teacher. "Was that the wrong answer?"

I didn't reply. The brazen lie had me fuming. I turned the heat into steam to get the cogs in my brain whirring.

Options one and two, the billions spent on infrastructure and the world rankings seemed like they'd be relatively low numbers, so even getting them right wouldn't make all that much of a difference to how many TINOs I had. I wasn't going to touch the multiplication one in case any of the three numbers were 0. Seemed like it might be a trick question. The water one - who knew?

So I slammed the 'worker deaths' option, and with the shittest animation yet, the five red backgrounds melted away to reveal the padlock combination behind. 200 billion spent. World ranking 112. 6522 migrant deaths. The multiplication added up to 560, but I'm not reckless enough to show the workings. And each pitch needed ten thousand litres of water a day.

I'd chosen the second best option, then!

Great news.

I relaxed. Hopefully that would be the end of the unwanted social commentary and I could focus on the football.

On the TV screens, the referee was getting ready to blow his whistle to start the tournament. In my vision, I had cursemail. I opened it.

DIVIDE AND CONQUER

Your TINOs will now be evenly split across all World Cup matches.

You have accumulated 8128 TINOs.

There are 64 matches in the World Cup.

Therefore, each match you will have 127 TINOs to stake.

Stake? Did it mean gambling?

I didn't need to wait long to find out. Almost as soon as Qatar vs Ecuador started, I got two notifications.

QAT-ECU QUESTION 1

Stake: 12.7 TINOs

Which Qatar player in the starting eleven has the highest acceleration?

Time limit: end of first half.

QAT-ECU QUESTION 2

Stake: 12.7 TINOs

Which Ecuador player in the starting eleven has the highest stamina?

Time limit: end of match.

Ah! Finally! Some football stuff!

I let some air into my lungs and took a few seconds to calm down. That half a minute had been incredibly intense. I gave James a bump on the arm and a thumbs up. I popped the earbud out, fussed my slightly clammy hair, and thought about how to explain what the fuck was going on.