2 - Seals Live [T1] (Patreon)

2.

Boggy was in his 40s, average height, slim, tidy beard, glasses. My sense of him was that he'd had some media training in his youth, or had studied journalism, but it hadn't quite worked out for him as a career. So volunteering to narrate the Chester matches kept the old flame alive and gave him some status in the fanbase. I listened to him for a few minutes before I invaded his space. He was biased in the sense that he wanted Chester to win, but not to the extent that he'd refuse to believe the evidence of his own eyes, like many fans did. He'd call out Chester's bad fouls and mistakes and he very clearly longed to see some good football.

His home for this occasion was at the back of the small media area in the main stand. Those seats had very slightly more space than average, and an incredible luxury - working plug sockets. Boggy was squashed up behind a big laptop that had dozens of tabs open and many things sticking out of holes, including two USB microphones that we were holding to our mouths. At some point he'd dropped a pen, but bending to get it would have risked part of his setup popping out.

Me being there was incredibly stressful for him, but also exciting. A lot more exciting than the match, that was for sure. Boggy was wise enough to hear me out. This was radio gold. A big ON AIR icon showed that the listeners could hear us. "Mr Best, I'm confused. Chester doesn't have a Director of Football."

"Call me Max, Boggy. You're right, but I hope to -"

He cut across me to describe what was happening on the pitch. "Aff passes back inside. Topps powers forward! He's got options left and right." Slight pause. "He doesn't like either. He turns and plays it to Carlile in the right-back slot. Er... this is great possession for Chester."

I laughed down the mic - a much more charming and rounded laugh than normal. Of the listeners, only Emma would know it was fake. "Boggy, be serious. They're playing for a draw. Almost nothing's going to happen in this half. Let's have a chat."

"I've got to describe the match for the people listening at home."

"Of course you don't. It's just throw-ins. Tell you what, if anything interesting happens I'll point it out. I promise. Now, you're right. There isn't a Director of Football position. There are discussions about creating one so that I can come to Chester and use my talents."

"Your talents as a player? You want to be player-Doffer? It doesn't roll off the tongue."

"Neither does ice-cream but it's still delicious. How about I describe what I see myself doing? Give you the five-minute pitch. Oh, and I see there are 800 people listening online. Listeners, go ahead and leave your questions in the chat and I'll answer the best ones later."

"But Max," said Boggy. "Why turn up unannounced like this? We could have arranged it. Promoted it. I'm sure people would be really interested."

"Yes, I agree. That would have been better. To be honest, I'm only here to cut through some red tape. The Fan Representative Board, seven people, want to meet me and hear my ideas. One at a time. That's seven meetings, Boggy. Now, I'm willing to have seven meetings, if only to prove how determined I am to do this job. But I don't want to have to say the same thing over and over again. I hate saying the same thing over and over again. Boggy. Do you know what I hate?"

He smiled. "Saying the same thing over and over again."

"Right. So, live on your show, I'll tell everyone what I'm about. And then I'll meet the Board and we can skip to the bits they don't like or address their particular interests."

"They might not like you blurting it out like this."

"Why? Is it a secret? This isn't just about respecting the Board and their right to set up the process however they want. I'm in the process, too, and thanks to the process I'm in limbo."

"Limbo? Is that why you're not playing for Darlington right now?"

"Yes. I told my manager, David Cutter, that I wanted to interview for a position elsewhere and he said he only wanted to pick players who were committed to Darlington. Fair enough, some of you might think, although it goes without saying I would be absolutely crushing Scarborough right now. They're a good team but they concede a lot of goals. I'm paid by the match, and most of my income is from goal bonuses. Being here has cost me a luxury sofa." I did that laugh again. "Manchester luxury, not London luxury."

"One of those where you lean back and...?" He mimed kicking his legs, which I'm not sure was great radio.

"Yeah. But you know what? Thinking about putting my feet up has given me an idea. Why don't I do co-comms with you for the rest of the half? Then I'll go buy a burger and a space heater, and at the start of the second half I'll lay out my pitch. So everyone at home, call your friends, text them, post this link to all your socials. Let's get thousands of Chester fans listening in. In the meantime, you can get to know me as a player. Go to your favourite video app and type 'Max Best Player of the Season' or 'Max Best scores from a corner' or 'Max Best scores four goals in 45 minutes so he can spend the second half watching the World Cup'."

"No, really? I watched that game! It was almost the only football in the country that day. I thought you'd picked up a knock."

"Boggy, it was bloody freezing. Four goals, pay the mortgage, three points, top of the league, job done, hot shower, let someone else freeze his er... knees off in the second half. Can I swear?"

"No, thanks."

"All right. Boggy? We've got a plan. Still nil-nil here with no shots. Let's talk about Chester's rest defence."

"Rest defence? What's that?"

"You've got 10 outfield players. You attack with 6, leaving 4 in a defensive zone for counter-attacks. That 4 is your rest defence. It's literally the 'rest' of the team."

"I've never heard that one."

"It's common sense but giving it a name helps players remember their jobs. You know. Ian Evans can go up to Sam Topps and say 'if Aff has the ball you're part of the rest defence'. For the managers, it's not just about the number of defenders. It's about how you use them. I'm actually confused by what's happening right now. We just saw Aff progress down the left, and he saw three players were forward with him, but he turned back. I think they've been told not to attack with only six in the rest defence. Evans wants seven defenders! Against Telford." I sighed, then remembered I wasn't supposed to slag Evans off in public. "He's probably going to get more adventurous in the second half."

"There's a first time for everything," said Boggy, and he, too, remembered he wasn't supposed to say such things.

I smiled at him. I liked Boggy!

He grinned back, then resumed commentary.

A while later, I got a text.

Emma: So far so good! You are definitely intriguing. The serial killer laugh is okay I guess? Stay positive. Don't swear. Say something nice about Mike Dean. He's wandering around with a face like thunder. Quite sexy.

Me: How's Crackers?

Emma: Cracking.

***

Doing co-comms was fun. A few times I got too specific and too into the weeds, but Boggy asked me what I was talking about and I explained it more clearly. Turning a wild jumble of movements and numbers into coherent, easily understandable sentences was hard. The guys from Match of the Day or Monday Night Football make it look easy. It's not.

Boggy pressed a button to turn off the ON AIR sign. He took off his headphones and exhaled. "Max! That was mustard! I don't know about DoF but you can do co-comms with me anytime!"

"Sure! You'll have to pay for my petrol. I might be unemployed again soon. I'm off to check on my girlfriend. If Mike Dean comes to stop you interviewing me, stand up for yourself. Press freedom!"

Boggy boggled. "Would he do that?"

"Not if I was here. So if he starts, say 'Oh hi Max'. MD will turn around in shock, at which point you laugh at him and tell him to get fucked."

"Are you sure you want this job? You don't seem to get on with any of the senior figures."

"Not get on with Mike? What makes you think that? We get on great. He's a top guy. And I like Ian Evans a surprising amount. All right, see you in 15."

I went to find Emma, without success. I called her. She was up in a corporate hospitality box with some business randos who were very happy to have her there. She slipped out of the warmth of the box to talk to me. "I did a Max," she said.

"What does that mean?"

"I thought about what I wanted - to be warm and to be not cold - and went the most direct route, regardless of the consequences. See that guy with the sweaty armpits? I'm engaged to him now. Can you find out his name, please? What are you smiling at?"

I was smiling because I'd earned 90 XP and had turned the worst football match in history into solid gold entertainment. "Boggy's going to get an award for this broadcast. I'm thinking a quick five-minute sermon, then answer questions. What do you reckon?"

"What's in the sermon?"

I stuck my bottom lip out. "Basically tell people about me and what I can do."

Emma shook her head. "That's not when you're at your best. Tell them about them."

"Story time?"

"Exactly. Don't make rash promises."

"Got it. Can I get a kiss?"

"No. My fiancé might kick me out. Max, it's warm in there. They said they paid extra for the heating to be turned on. I like you but I would absolutely dump you on the spot if it meant I didn't have to stay out here."

I laughed. "Fair. Can you send me a kiss emoji?"

She thought about it. "I can send you a lowercase X."

"Yes, please."

"Okay. Bye. Enjoy your burger."

"But there's loads of food in there! Get me a butty."

She gave me a sorry look as she pushed me away. "You haven't been invited, Max. You can't just barge in everywhere. Bye."

***

I queued like a normo and ordered extra onions and triple cheese. The add-ons ruined the burger, which I ate alone in a corridor with people shuffling past me all the time. The universe was punishing me. I didn't care; by the end of the match I'd know where I stood.

***

"No changes to the teams for the second half," said Boggy, back On Air. "Let's hope things liven up on the pitch. Here in the media centre we've got our special guest Max Best. Max, we've got 3,000 people tuned in! That's huge."

"I think some of those are the Telford fans who have let my girlfriend into their warm and cosy executive box." I chuckled. "Hi guys! Everyone else, if you need a full-service marketing solution, I can hook you up."

"Early signs in the second half are that the 'action' will be much the same as the first."

"This will be the first match in the history of English football where the highlights package includes a man trying to plug a second microphone into his laptop."

Boggy laughed. "I hope I'm not on the feed. I've got a face for radio. So. Max Best. For those just tuning in, tell us what's going on."

"Sure. I'm Max Best. I want to be Chester's Director of Football. I'll tell you what that means in a minute. A bit more about me. Hopefully most people listening have watched some footage of me playing right-mid for Darlington, but if not, the local press there call me a mystery winger. Imagine if Mbappé played in the National League North. Er... oh."

"What?"

"I was expecting you to laugh. So that the listeners would know it was a joke."

"Sorry, Max! It's hard to tell when you're joking and when you're being Mancunian. The Mbappé comparison is not that far off, though, is it? The pace. The power. The skill. It's only been five games so whether you can keep it up is another thing."

"Let's keep this family-friendly, Boggy. Let's just say I'm pretty good and an asset to any team at this level. But I see myself having more impact off the pitch. I've got an eye for a player. I'm good tactically. I know the business side of a club is the foundation for the sporting side. Buy low, sell high. I want to flood the club with talent at all levels and turn it into something like Benfica."

"Benfica? From Portugal?"

"Right. They've made a transfer profit of a billion pounds since 2000."

"A billion? Am I hearing that right?"

"A billion pounds, Boggy. Now you're thinking, we can't do that at Chester. But would you take ten million?"

A haunted look crossed his face. "I'd do a lot for ten million. A lot."

"Boggy, come into my time machine. Let me take you into the future. How far do you want to go?"

"Ten million years."

"Let's start with 5. The year is 2027. You're controlling a drone, flying it around Cheshire."

"Strange way to use this time machine, but okay."

"You hover around some random football pitch. There's a Sunday League game underway. Who's that handsome chap on the sideline? Why, it's Chester's Director of Football Max Best! You fly the drone to a five-a-side match. There's Max again! There's a school match going on. Max is watching that, too!"

"A quick reminder that nothing is happening in Telford versus Chester."

"That's right. Telford are picking up some yellow cards. That might pay off for us in the latter stages. So now let's fly to the Deva stadium. There's a little queue of people buying tickets. They look excited and happy. There's a cup game coming up this weekend! The website says it's sold out but they're hoping if they turn up in person... Now, go through that little window. We're in the medical room. Dean and Livia are there with a couple of injured players. We've bought our own X-ray machine so we can get results faster and save money. That's how we think now. Long-term."

"Sorry, Max. Are Dean and Livia real people?"

"Yeah. Dean's the head physio."

"So you know people at the club already. That's handy."

"Everyone in this little story is real. Go through the double doors into the gym. It used to be small and useless, but we knocked through some walls and now it's huge and fully-equipped. Magnus Evergreen is there showing a new signing the best technique for lifting weights. He's our top expert on the subject. No more letting people find their own way. Every aspect of a player's development is monitored. They're always pushed. Always challenged.

"Into the new IT room. The goalkeepers are with Spectrum, one of our long-serving coaches, watching clips of next week's opponents. Where do they take free kicks? Penalties? It's fun in there, but they take it seriously because if Max asks them a question and they don't know the answer, something bad will happen. You know, to their careers.

"Heads up. Chester have a corner."

"Oh, what drama!" said Boggy. "Chester with a wonderful chance to open the scoring here. They've sent the big centre-backs up but there are four in the rest defence." He glanced at me to check he'd said it right. "Aff with the outswinger. To the far post. Ryder heads it in and up... but the keeper claims it. Will he launch the ball forward? No, he collapses to the ground. Waits for everyone to retake their positions. Ahhh." That last noise was an angry exhalation. He ripped his headphones off.

"Our little drone continues its tour of the stadium. It goes into the dressing room. The new manager pushes it back out. It doesn't go in there."

"The new manager? Do you mean - "

"I don't mean anything. This is five years in the future, right? Ian Evans won't be the manager, then. But the point still stands. The Director of Football doesn't pick the team, set the tactics, call the substitutions. It's my job to give Ian Evans and the next manager good players that he can use. You can say 'oh you're too young' and all that, but Evans is 72. I offered him Henri Lyons and Raffi Brown and he bit my hand off. We agree on a lot. We both want quality players here. It's not complicated.

"Let's take the drone out to the training ground. This is new. We've bought the land and laid an all-weather pitch. There's an indoor pitch, too. Chester's men's team, women's, all the age groups, can train 365 days a year. The new women's team that Max Best set up are going through some drills. One more promotion and they'll be playing with the big dogs.

"Now back to the stadium. Game's about to kick off. Stadium's full, and it's bouncing. Special round of applause here for Zoe from our pan-disability team - she's just played her first match as an England international. Big cheers as she waves her England cap around. We're all made up for her. Terry, her coach for many years, wipes a tear from his eye. It's not the first international he's brought through, and it won't be the last. Now hover that drone in front of Crackers. He's a lifelong Chester fan, goes to as many games as he can. He's blind, so for him the atmosphere is important. Now, I'm not going to pretend I know what it's like because I don't. But that sound before and after a goal - that has to be the best part. So we need more goals. I'll tell you what, though. You know what my favourite is? It's that noise when I'm running through at the keeper and I can hear everyone in the stadium standing up. What's he gonna do? I live for the excitement. When's the last time you had that on the regular? Smasho and Nice One? I want to bring that back.

"Now pan to the dugout. The manager's making a change."

"This is in Max Best's fantasy world, by the way," said Boggy. "Not in the actual match."

"That's right, though I'm sure we'll see some like-for-like changes around the 70 minute mark. So who's this waiting on the touchline? It's a sixteen-year-old, yet another product of the famous Chester academy. Hey, Boggy."

"Yes?"

"Have you heard of the Lisbon Lions?"

"Yes. Isn't that the Celtic team who won the European Cup?"

"Yeah. I keep going back to the Wikipedia page. 1967. They were all born within 30 miles of Celtic's stadium. Imagine that! It was different back then, but if I can get 11 academy kids on the pitch at the same time, I'll die of pride. I'm not here to make rash promises - all I can promise is hard graft - but I'll scour Cheshire for talent and if it's there, I'll do everything I can to get it into the first team."

"Is the drone tour finished?"

"I think so. I could go on for hours. I think people would get bored."

"I'm not so sure about that. It's a long time since I heard anyone mention Chester and the European Cup in the same sentence. On that note, message from the chat: Love the positivity!"

The message was on the screen in front of me, including the part Boggy had left out. "Read the rest of it."

"I don't..."

"Go on."

"Love the positivity even if he's an obvious charlatan."

I laughed. "Yeah. Let's start taking questions from the fans. How about that one? Am I a charlatan? No. I'm told I'll be the National League North Player of the Month for December. I'm the eighth top scorer in the division and number one in goals per minute. I'm racing through my coaching certificates. I know everything about football except how to lose." I chuckled again. "That's a terrible line. Cut that."

"We're live."

"Okay, let's keep it then. Give me the job and I'll work on my jokes. That's a promise. Next question, hit me."

"From Trev in Austria. You say your USB is scouting. I think he means USP. How do you find players? Watch a lot of clips? Data?"

"All that stuff is good. I'm comfortable with data. But I need to see players play. In the flesh. Which means watching a lot of dreary football."

"Like today."

"I didn't say that. I'm sure a thrilling final five minutes will make the rest worth it. My opinion is you can only really assess a player by seeing him live. Now, what I can promise is that I'll find loads of unpolished gems. What I can't promise is that they'll make it. I've seen incredible players who haven't lived up to their talent. I don't want to be cruel by naming names but when I brought my client Ziggy to FC United - that's where I met Jackie Reaper, by the way - there was a player there who was incredible. An absolute wizard. And so far it hasn't clicked. So, you know, there's no guarantees. But I think if you have ten talented 18-year-olds, five of them will have good careers. Right?"

"You've brought up two interesting points there. You're an agent."

"Yes. If I have this talent for finding good players it'd be mad not to use it, right?"

"I think people will have a lot of questions about that side of things."

"Really? It's quite dull."

"Things like conflict of interest. If you're in charge of football matters, you'll look after your clients's interests above everyone else's."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because they are your clients."

"But what could I possibly do? You know Henri Lyons is my client? He's here till the end of the season. If I go to Ian Evans and say 'put Henri in the team' he'll say yeah, duh, I was planning to. Then Raffi Brown. He's going to be a great player. Ian, put Raffi in the team! No. Oh. Okay, then." I laughed. "Evans likes those players. Everyone does. I didn't turn up one day and sneak two adult men into the dressing room." I fake laughed at the thought. "If you mean I might give them contracts they don't deserve, that's not in my interest financially. Henri should be playing League One. Raffi will catch the eye of a big team and move on. You'll be sorry to see both guys go. If you think I'm up to something dodgy you can fire me. My contract will make that very, very easy."

"Won't it be weird if you're playing right-wing on Saturday and on Monday you have to discuss the right-back's contract extension?"

"No. Football's hard. Tough business. It's emotional on match day and clinical the rest of the time. If I offer a guy a contract and he doesn't sign it, that's his decision. He has to do what's best for him and his family. Same's true in reverse. Most players understand they're part of a business and sometimes that means they get cut. Sometimes the club can't afford them any more. Or they've had too many injuries and they have to be released at the end of their contract. Can I tell a guy that and then line up with him at the weekend? Think what you want but when the tackles start flying in you get lost in the action. It's band of brothers stuff. Fans might not be able to wrap their heads around it, but players will. I wouldn't worry about it this season, anyway. I won't be playing much, or at all."

"You won't play much?"

"There's no point, is there? We can't make the playoffs. My time's better spent improving things behind the scenes."

"Playoffs? We're battling relegation."

"The league table doesn't look good now. But Henri Lyons will be available for the next game. You won't be worried for long. You wait and see."

"But, I mean. You're a top player. You'd come to Chester and not play? It makes no sense."

"I can only be in one place at a time. Trust me, if it looks like the team need a points injection, I'll play a few matches. I'll tell you what, me, Raffi, and Henri are a phenomenal combo. But look, I'm getting carried away. I don't pick the team. But if things get really desperate, that's the cure right there. This eleven on the pitch here in Telford is not a relegation team. You add Henri and it's one of the best in the league. Give me the job, let me get stuck into the scouting and the whatnot, and sleep easy. I'm not worried about this season. I want us to have a proper fling at the title next year."

"The title?"

"Absolutely. I'm in a title-winning team right now. Darlington. I know what one looks like."

"You mentioned Jackie Reaper. How well do you know him?"

"Friends, I hope. Bit of a friendly rivalry between us to see who can grow the most hair. He's winning."

"He's bald."

"I know. But have you seen his back?" I made a shuddering noise that I was exceedingly pleased with.

"Question from Andrew. Why Chester?"

I'd been expecting this one. "I don't want to play for a big club with a rich owner. You know who Darlington are playing today? Scarborough. Before every game I research the opposition. Not the team - I do that as well, of course. I mean the club. I want to get a sense of who they are and what they are. Scarborough are a phoenix club. Bad owners crash the club, boom, 125 years of history down the drain. Why does this sound so familiar? Because it's the same every week. Telford. Hereford, Bury, Accrington. And of course, Darlington. And Chester. I'll be honest, ownership models weren't something that used to get me out of bed in the morning. But now they do. The idea of taking one of these fan-owned clubs and bringing it up the divisions is highly, highly, motivational for me.

"So why Chester out of so many? Because of Jackie Reaper."

"Jackie Reaper?"

"Yeah. He saw I was a good player before anyone and he wanted me to sign for Chester. He brought me when I was injured and got me checked out by the medical staff. You always think better of a place when you get a bit of attention there, right? They made a bit of a fuss about me and you know what? I liked it. Then I signed on to do some scouting work and that was my first income from football. I did great reports, by the way. Used different colour pens and everything.

"Then I had a morning where I coached the Chester Knights. That's your pan-disability youth team, in case you didn't know. That was wild. So much fun. I was seriously impressed that a club of Chester's size was investing in all kinds of football. After that I had a go at coaching a boy's youth team. I've been on either side of the fence on that one - I was in charge of their opposition last Sunday. I know the kids. I know how well they're coached and I know some things that need to be improved. I could get the Telford job today but I wouldn't know anybody. Fixing things, improving things, it wouldn't mean as much."

"You could get the Telford job?"

"Yeah. Player-manager. I'm interested. Look at this stadium. It's mint. Imagine it full, noisy, roaring on a fast, dynamic team! But I don't know anybody here. I know loads of people at Chester. I've got friends right there in the dugout. But there's a deadline. Or I should say: there needs to be a deadline. I've got three choices. I can stay at Darlington and win the league and be well-paid. Oh! And the cup! We're still in the cup. We could get to Wembley. Imagine that! The Max Best final! But I don't get to build anything there. I could come to Telford and save them from relegation. They aren't going to have an open position forever. A few more days at most? So if Chester really want me, they need to get a move on. If you don't, fine, no hard feelings."

"You have a fourth option. Go to a bigger club. I heard you had offers already."

"Oh, yeah. I suppose. But that's another thing in favour of Chester. The three clubs I just mentioned are fan-owned. It's not like I wouldn't play for a megaclub for 300,000 pounds a week. I probably would! I'm not quite at that level as a player. No, my first choice is Chester. I'll do it for cheap and hope to boost my income on the side. Boggy, how am I doing?"

"Personally I love the sound of it. But it's quite odd and unexpected."

"Odd and unexpected? Those are my middle names. I'll answer a few questions and then leave you alone. The last twenty minutes of the match might be worth commentating on!"

"Right. Quickfire round from the chatbox. How do you take those free kicks?"

"Hit the ball really hard and have perfect technique."

"I'll try that next time I'm playing a journos vs ex-pros match. Next. Question from Derek. Is anything happening in the bloody match?"

We both said, "No!"

"Question. What about buying the stadium?"

"What about it?"

"You know we lease the Deva from the council?"

"I did know that."

"A lot of fans dream of owning it one day. That would be a sign we were well and truly risen from the ashes. If you think you can make millions from transfer wheeler-dealing..."

"Yeah. I don't think I want to own the stadium."

"Whyever not?"

I clicked the corner of my mouth. "The common theme on all these phoenix clubs and clubs that nearly go bankrupt - almost all, anyway - is the stadium. You've got prime land in the city centre. Some guy buys the club for half a million, sells the land for ten million, does a runner. That's how it goes, right? A hundred years from now, Chester should still be going. And to make sure of that, you need to still be fan-owned. You know what depresses me? Portsmouth. They were fan-owned but they sold the club to the guy who runs Disney. Now he might be the best owner ever, but what about the next guy? Or the next? Eventually, you're going to get one who asset strips the club or - almost as bad, spends beyond its means shooting for the moon. The inevitability of bad owners is a historical fact.

"Obviously if you own the stadium you can expand it, make it more profitable, all that good stuff. But you're putting a big target on your back. Come and rip me off! I don't know. It's not my club. It's your club. I don't get a say. My instinct says don't do it. Don't even think about it. When it comes to expanding the stadium and whatnot, we'll have to talk to the council. Work hand-in-hand. Would they split the cost of undersoil heating with us? Let's start there." With that in place, we wouldn't get many matches postponed.

"Lots of questions about the current players and who you'd bring in and so on."

"I can't answer questions like that."

"Question from Emma. What do you think of Mike Dean?"

"Top guy. Great guy. He's got the skills and experience to take the club forward. But what I love about him is that he won't do anything that puts the club at risk. If I find a million-pound player we can buy for fifty grand, if we don't have it he'll say no. It's that simple."

"Sounds like it'd be frustrating."

"Only if he's being overly conservative. If we really don't have the money, fine! No point going broke over a player. There's loads of players! Move onto the next one. No, Mike will keep things stable. You're in good hands."

"Okay the chat now is mostly a discussion about the stadium. Some people agree with you, some don't. For a lot of people buying the stadium really would be the day the club was fully, fully back."

I sat upright. Something I'd wanted to mention at the start. "Boggy! You reminded me. One last reason why Chester. I had some time off in the last week and I took my girlfriend to your fair city and we walked around and it was lovely. It's really nice there and we had great pies. We loved that indoor food court near the town hall and the Christmas market was fun. Expensive! But the whole time I had a bit of a sour taste in my mouth. Because one of the first things I saw there on the high street was a club shop. Selling replica kits and mugs and scarves and all the rest of it. Right there on the high street in the centre of Chester."

Boggy shook his head. "Liverpool FC."

"Right. Liverpool. Why is there a Liverpool club shop in a prime location in your city? Nah. Nah, mate. That has to go. My goal will be to make Chester so dynamic, so fun, so exciting, that every kid in the county wants to be a Chester fan and that godawful shop gets shut down. And when it does, I'll hire an open-top bus with my own money and drive it around the city. I'm not even joking. Yeah we'll win leagues and cups and break records. No doubt. For sure. No promises but come on! I'm really good at this. Cups are for the fans. But the day we purify the high street will be the day I know I've achieved something. Ugh! A Liverpool shop. I really want to swear Boggy. I haven't gone this long without swearing in years."

"I know. I can hear the frustration in your voice."

"Liverpool, though! Come on. Vote for me and I'll make Chester the biggest club in Chester. That, Boggy, Seals Live listeners, Crackers, Mike, and the rest of the fucking world, is a fucking promise."