19 - Playdar [T1] (Patreon)

GUYS I FINISHED BOOK 3 and the Club Legends are letting me have a day off. You get this today (whoo) but this Friday there won't be a chapter (to bring schedules back into balance). People loved the end of b3 so I hope you'll agree it's worth the wait!

...

19.

Another sleepless night, but this time it wasn't caused by the pain of an injury or worrying that I'd made a fool of myself. This was pure excitement. Emma sensed that I was hyper and did her best to take my mind off things. That helped. For a few hours.

While she slept, I crept down to the crabapple and made some notes. I had so many thoughts, tumbling and spinning, colliding, blocking each other. I needed to organise them. See if they meant anything.

The first note simply read: EVANS OUT

MD was unhappy. For the first time, he was thinking about sacking Ian Evans. Without me, he would have thought Evans was doing a good job in hard times. My ability to 'see' the future left Evans no wriggle room. I was sure that if he ever again used a player I'd flagged as fragile, he'd be toast, and if he and Vimsy didn't put some effort into training, they would be at risk. The more I pointed out Evans's mistakes, the faster MD would pull the trigger.

Any hint that Evans had tried to shaft the club with overpriced loan deals would also end his nasty, brutish and short stint. Even if I couldn't prove financial misdeeds, if I was clever, there were many ways I could really land Evans in the shit.

Then again, wasn't I supposed to be using this time to learn how to deal with difficult people? It's fair to say I hadn't made much effort to get to know Evans, to find a way to work with him. And I probably never would. Sending Aff 'over the top' didn't just maim our player's hamstring, it killed our relationship.

Long story short, he was a shit manager and he was in my way. Get rid.

The second note read: JACKIE IN

With Jackie as manager, we'd get fantastic training. He'd use young players. The pathway from the youth system to the first team would open and the entire club would be energised. And I could get on with creating the women's team and attracting young players to the club.

My last note on that topic said: MAX IN?

But what if, right, what if... What if I put myself in a position where MD would consider me for the top job? Maybe until the end of the season. Interim until Jackie could get out of his contract at FC United. That said, let's be honest, if I got the job I'd keep it. We'd win most of our games.

There were costs, though. For a start, we'd lose the chance to get next-level coaching. Would Jackie move from FC United to be my assistant? Doubtful!

And being the manager would massively limit how much I could scout. The women's team would get filled with randos and they would probably not win enough matches to get accepted into the women's pyramid next year.

No, the best division of labour was me continuing as DoF, with Jackie as first team manager.

I wanted to sit in the hot seat, though, I can't lie, so I decided I should at least give MD something to think about. And that meant reminding him what an amazing in-game manager I was. I would take control of the youth teams and rack up a few stupendous victories. I'd get the women's team assembled and start crushing those friendlies Inga had arranged.

Less importantly, I needed to arrange some matches to get my discount codes from the January perk. Would those glorified friendlies impress MD? I doubted it.

Getting my coaching badges would. I hadn't neglected my courses, exactly, but I was falling behind with the supervised, assessed sessions. The fastest way would be to use the kids in Darlington, since that's where my course was located. I'd have to check with Cutter if it was still okay with him.

New topic. I wrote: TO LOAN OR NOT TO LOAN

If I wanted to be Machiavellian, I wouldn't bring in a left-back in the January transfer window. Evans would keep having to play players out of position. Would it be worth losing the next five games to get rid of him? Absolutely. But then we wouldn't have much left-sided cover for the rest of the season. Jackie or I could deal with that, but it would limit us, and any limitation would increase the risk of relegation.

This whole line of thinking was tempting but dangerous. I couldn't rely on MD to fire Evans, and if the fossil didn't have the tools he needed, we'd get relegated. The club needed a left-sided body. I emailed the left-back's agent and felt better about it. I'd have to get Magnus Evergreen to test my aura. Must have gained a few light side points with that decision!

Next. PLAYDAR

I had 7,735 experience points, and needed 265. I was absolutely determined to get them that day. The big Sunday Premier League match involved Leeds United. Leeds wasn't all that far from Darlington. About an hour in the car, which used to feel like a trek but was now a jolly little jaunt.

If I managed the twelves and the fourteens, though, I'd get 2 XP per minute while showing my suitability for the big job.

265 divided by two is 133. I needed to manage 133 minutes to unlock Playdar. The twelves played sixty-minute matches. The fourteens played seventy minutes. Sixty plus seventy is one hundred and thirty. Three minutes short.

I threw the pen across the garden with an annoyed laugh.

I could easily finish the day on 7,995 XP. Absurd! The only way to be sure of getting the XP was to go and watch Leeds. I noped the thought away - I'd found Dani because Henri had reminded me of the community spirit the club was founded on. The viral video resonated with MD because it was so community-minded. The community option wasn't watching a big club with millionaire players, it was managing Chester's kids. I'd do that and find some other match in the afternoon. I would have Playdar by the end of the day.

I went to pick up the pen and couldn't find it. Bad omen! But then it was under my foot and when I picked it up I also found a twenty pence piece. Yes, mate! Let the day begin!

***

Both the 12s and 14s were playing Hope Farm Juniors. I'd punted our best kids from the 12s to the 14s, so we didn't have a ton of quality at the younger age, and neither did the other team. We won 7-4 playing a simple, pass-minded 4-4-2 with no flourishes. I found it boring, Spectrum found it boring, Emma loved every second. She kept making ooh and aww sounds as though she wasn't watching overly competitive little brats, but cuddly kittens.

When one of our kids took a whack on the shin, I delayed the match by a minute while I fussed over him and told him to stay still and asked him to wiggle his toes one by one. But the referee didn't add the time to the end of the half, so it had been a wasted effort. I got a nice hug from Emma, though.

The 14s had a lot more quality. They had the three best players from the 12s, Future (PA 99), and two half-decent guys with PA 25 and 22. Then there was Tyson (58), Benny (40), Sevenoaks (35), Captain (32), and Bomber (30).

I asked Spectrum to set up a 4-1-4-1, pretending it was so I could talk to Future's gran. But obviously it was because I didn't have any formations with a DM and I wanted Future to play there. I set him as playmaker, reminded Tyson he wasn't allowed to shoot, ever, and let them get on with it.

Hope Farm Juniors were pretty dreadful, but they had two guys that caught my eye. One was a left-mid with PA 25. Not great, but we were short a left-sided player. I saw no reason not to bring him over. And the other guy was a PA 29 striker. Neither would ever break into the Chester first team, but they would improve the fourteens squad. And maybe bringing in another striker would be motivational. Not that Benny really needed it. I subbed him off anyway.

"Benny, mate. See their number 9? Good, isn't he? Do you think we should sign him?"

"Him?" said Benny, appalled. "He's rank."

"What does that mean? Rank one? Yeah, I think so, too. He'd give us some options up top. Yeah. Good call, Benny. Back on you go."

Talk about lighting a fire under someone's arse. Benny went on, supercharged, legs pounding, chasing lost causes, defending, getting into position for link-ups.

"That was good," said Spectrum.

"You mean my man-management skills?"

"Yeah."

"That's just to keep it interesting for me. They don't really need it. They're weirdly fired up. Is this a local rivalry or something?"

"No, it's the last game before Das Tournament."

"What?"

"Das Tournament. It's what everyone calls it. All the best teams from the region go to Crewe, play a mini league, then a knockout cup. Matches are pretty short but it's still a long weekend. Brutal. And the standard is high. We always get savaged."

My face lit up. "There's a tournament next weekend? Where we normally lose?" I couldn't believe my luck. The more I thought about it, the more excited I got. "And all the best young players from the region will be there? Holy shit that's perfect."

He pulled a face. "You'll be coming to Das Tournament?"

"Where else would I be? Sounds like heaven."

"It starts on Saturday. What about the first team?"

"What about them?"

He shrugged. Disappointed he wouldn't get to practise his management skills, I supposed. I didn't give a shit. If I could find, like, five talented players and persuade them to join us... I mean, they'd already have clubs, maybe better clubs than Chester. But if they ever got cut, they'd remember how interested I was. Yes, this might not pay off short-term, but with a slightly longer time horizon, going to these kinds of tournaments and saying hello to some of the prospects could really pay off.

And maybe I could persuade some to pop down to Chester for a one-off match. What did the January perk say?

Disruptors Assemble!

Build a team of newly-scouted talents (minimum eleven players), arrange a friendly match, and lead the prospects to victory over their age-appropriate Chester FC counterparts.

Build a team. Not 'register' a team or 'sign' a team. I could get the best eleven kids from the tournament to come to Chester and smash my lot. It would be painful, maybe, for the kids. But they'd get over it and I'd get a 20% coupon code.

God, I love a discount.

With the match still in full flow, I wandered over to the Hope Farm Juniors manager. He wasn't pleased to see me. "What?" he snapped. Most people striding towards him mid-match would be spreading aggro.

I smiled at him. "Are you going to the Crewe thing?"

"Crewe thing?"

"Der Tournament."

"Oh. No. We're much too small for that."

I pointed to his best player. "I'm going to ask your lad there if he wants to come and help us out. It'd be good experience for him."

"Oh!" The guy went through a gamut of emotions. Obviously he wasn't keen for me to steal his players, but I hadn't said I'd be offering him a permanent spot in the squad. I'd only said it was for one weekend, and it was a good opportunity for the kid. "Well," he said, still going through the wringer. I tried to stifle a grin when Benny noticed me talking to the rival boss. He knew what the topic was. He went mental, storming after the left-back and hurling himself in front of their long clearance. He blocked the ball and it went out for a goal kick. Delightful waste of energy. "Just for the day, is it?" said the manager.

"Obviously, if he can make that kind of step up in quality, we'd talk to his parents about what was best for him. I just wanted to let you know what we were thinking. You've done a good job with him. And the left-mid. Yeah, they'll love it. Is it all right if they train with us this week?"

It wasn't lost on him that I'd added another player and two training sessions to my wish list. But what could he do? I could have taken the players without talking to him, and from a sporting perspective, he couldn't stand in their way. Hope Farm wasn't a pathway to anywhere except tractor school. He didn't have a leg to stand on. "Sure, I guess."

Spectrum had come closer to hear what I was up to. I asked him if he'd talk to the kids, since I had to rush off after the match.

I went back to my spot and rubbed my assistant manager's back. She smiled. "What was that all about?"

"Taking that guy's best players."

"That's not very nice."

I didn’t tell her my impulse to recruit more aggressively came from her father. "It's actually good for him," I said. "His team just became a place talented young players can go to get noticed by Max Best. He'll have loads of kids signing up in the next few weeks."

"Oh!" said Emma, smiling. A moment later she said, "Is that true?"

"No," I laughed. "I've absolutely dicked him."

***

We 'only' won four-nil, which wouldn't impress MD, but we were completely dominant and had eighteen shots. Presumably, some parents would message MD letting him know how pleased they were with the change since the Broughton match. A minor step forward, I thought.

Benny had driven himself nuts trying to show we didn't need another striker. The harder he worked, the more chances he ruined. He snatched at shots, hit them too hard, tried to be too accurate, tried hitting them early, late, high, low. At one point he was so far in his head that he cocked his leg to shoot, hesitated, and stayed like that for four seconds.

While the kids drank or ate bananas or chatted with each other about highlights from the game, I took a moment to double and triple check that yes, I really had 7,991 XP in the bank. I'd lost bits of time somewhere along the way. Nine minutes of football to find! I wanted to rush off, but I had to debrief the kids.

"Lads, good game. Totally on top from start to finish. Man of the match award goes to..." I looked around. Every face turned to mine. This was absolutely meaningless but they wanted it! "Goes to me. I think I did a ten out of ten job managing you. Thoughts?" Lots of eye rolls. Lots of smiles. They knew I was only joshing. "Fine. It's hard to choose between Future and Seven. You guys were quality from start to finish. But I'm giving it to the goalie. You had nothing to do for so long, but when they countered you made two good saves. Great concentration. Love that. We're going to need you all to hit these levels again, next week in Die Tournament. Right? From what I've heard, the other teams will get a lot more shots! I'm going to come and help out, and we're not going there to make up the numbers. I want to win. To that end, there will be a couple of new lads at training. They'll help us out in the tournament. New players. You know what I expect from you when it comes to new players. All right? Benny," I said, summoning him with a head flick.

He came over, shoulders slumped. "Yes, Max?"

"Mate," I said. And waited.

"Sorry," he said.

"What are you sorry for?"

"For playing shit."

I laughed. "You're such a nutjob. You want to see shit, try playing with Chumpy and Tim."

"Who?"

"Yeah, exactly. Look, you're an emotional player, and that can be awesome. You can get fired up and play out of your skin. We'll need that next week. But if you're seeing red, you can't see the goal."

"You want me to calm down?"

"Did you ever see Wayne Rooney?"

"Not much."

"He would get angry, storm around, do all the jobs. The crowd fucking loved it. Managers loved it. But he scored loads of goals. He wasn't angry in the penalty box. He was a killer. It was like... he had a radar telling him where he was. Everywhere else on the pitch he was fiery, but in front of goal he was ice cold."

Benny was absorbing all this. I expected he'd go home and watch loads of Wayne Rooney clips. There were worse ways he could spend his time. "So you're not mad at me?"

"Jesus Fuck! No-one's ever going to be mad at you for working too hard. What the fff..." I walked off, shaking my head. A bit hammy, but I'd found subtlety wasn't the best choice with footballers. I paused and looked at Tyson. He'd been watching, and now he looked away. What did he need? Time, probably. His teamwork was on the up, again. I got the feeling the tournament would be as important for him as it was for me. He could either commit to the ethos or put himself on display for the other clubs.

***

We got into my car and I checked the map. How could I explain what I was about to do? "Babes. I'm hoping to get a tip about a player. I'm going to drive from pitch to pitch and see what's up. Will be boring. I can drop you home if you want."

"No, it's okay. If I get bored, I'll read. I just read a review of a vegan restaurant in Chester. Will you take me?"

"Absolutely." I pulled out of the car park and started my hunt.

"That's it? No hesitation?"

"You've read a review and you want to go. Must be compelling."

"You're interesting."

"No, I'm not."

"Most men are scared of the word vegan. One of my friends uses it as a sort of filter. If a guy asks her out, she says sure, I know a great vegan place. If they make stupid jokes, date's off."

"And if they're into it?"

"They go to Nando's. She's not vegan. Just doesn't want to deal with guys with no imagination."

"I wish you'd brought her to the double date. What are you reading?"

"There's an article about vending machines. I always wanted to own one. Or one of those little robot horses you get outside supermarkets. You're not even awake and people put money in. Yes, please! And MD sent a link. Apparently you did an interview about the Harry video. Some local journalist?"

"Yeah. MD begged me. It was pretty short. Hard to talk about the video without the video and the reporter was no Bingo."

"Well, there's an article."

"Why didn't he send it to me?"

"He did. In the Cliff Daps group."

"Oh, I muted that. You should rename it 'Succession Spoilers'. Jesus."

The first two football pitches I drove to didn't have any matches on. It was too late for Sunday League. There was nothing on the Footy Addicts app. I was driving in the general direction of a five-a-side place. They would definitely have some matches in the evening. Probably. Right? Surely.

And then the morning's excitement came rushing back - a bunch of players in bibs. I parked in front of someone's garage door - an act so obnoxious Emma berated me - and I rushed towards the pitch. Round and round I went, looking for the gate part of the fence. I found it, and clicking the handle open was like busting out of prison. I darted to the touchline and felt the XP stream into me.

Even better, it was a women's match and they had some okay players. A PA 17 midfielder, a PA 14 goalie, and a PA 12 centre-back. Really miles away from the standard I wanted, but they were better than nothing, and nothing was all I had. I would invite them to come to training. After a season or two they would be eased out of the situation, but they would definitely leave with their potential maxed out.

But a few minutes later, I almost forgot about them. My XP stash ticked over to 8,000. How long had it taken me to get from zero to here? Ages. It had been a slog and a half, and that was just the World Cup. I started to retrace my steps. Did I want this? Was Playdar really the best use of my resources? If I got the Contracts perks and found that Ian Evans was trying to cheat the club, that would be the end of him. And I needed to unlock attributes. Formations.

I shook my head. This decision had been made many times over. I bought Playdar.

Playdar. 8,000 XP. This perk directs you to the most talented footballer not in your database who is currently playing football within a certain radius. Can be upgraded.

One small pang of headache later, I had a new icon in my vision. As always, I checked I could hide it and bring it back, and once I was satisfied it would obey me, I took a proper look at it.

It was on the bottom-left of my awareness. A circle. Inside the circle was a piece of clipart representing a radar screen. Concentrating on it made it bigger, and when it was bigger there were three side icons - a number one, a two, and a three.

The whole setup seemed very familiar, and it didn't take long to work out why.

It looked like a quick actions toolbar from video games! So that's how I'd activate the ability. Press this shortcut. And then what would happen? There was only one way to find out...

Although I was almost uncontrollably giddy, I forced myself to calm down. Playdar could wait sixty seconds. I interrupted the match, charmed the players, and got the phone numbers of the three women who had some PA. Emma very slightly fucked things up by getting giddy and saying they should be proud of being my first signings for the women's team. 'Signing' them wasn't really my intention, but I went with it. They would flesh out the squad and there would be other benefits, too. Emma took some photos of me with the three ladies, but I asked them to go to the Deva tomorrow so we could give them Chester kits and retake the pics wearing the right clobber.

"I think we need to talk about you picking up girls right in front of me," joked Emma as we walked back to the car.

"Three nice-looking local girls," I said. "That's a good counterpoint to the whole diversity thing. You know what people are like. I've already seen comments calling us Snowflake FC. As Michael Jordan said, gammons buy replica kits, too. We'll plaster these pics on the website, the socials. Me and three blonde girls-next-door will reassure local bigots." Emma was giving me a strange look. "What?"

"You're being cynical. Realistic. You're normally a bit my-way-or-the-highway."

"You think I shouldn't care about the bigots?"

"Do you?"

"Not really. I don't need more enemies, though." Again I struggled to understand the expression she was showing me. "You're not happy."

"I am, actually. It's nice to see you being sensible. Sometimes I worry... Is that the only reason you chose them? Because they'll look good in the photo?"

"No, they will do a job for us on the pitch. I'd like better players but will I find twenty like Dani? I doubt it. Also, we've got games coming up. We need bodies."

"Bodies."

"Football term. Numbers. Substitutes. Enough guys for all the drills. Bodies. But that wasn't the main event! Let's get back to the car. My tip is about to come."

"Phrasing," she mumbled.

Back in the car - no parking ticket, no aggro, in Manchester it might have been towed already - I wondered what was going to happen. There would be some kind of radar effect leading me to a person who was currently playing football. Would it keep radarring until I found the player? Or would there be a time limit? What could I do to prepare?

First, I turned the ignition. Then I got my phone ready with the map open.

Then... and I couldn't believe how much time and effort had gone into this moment, I prepared to smash the Playdar button.

And as my finger figuratively hovered over the icon, I thought. "This would be a nice time for a cliffhanger."

***

"Do you like cliffhangers?" I asked.

Emma shrugged. "Sometimes."

"Me, too," I said.

I smashed the button and heard a distinctive ping noise. It sounded exactly like the reverberating submarine ping from The Hunt for Red October, one of my favourite movies. The hairs on my neck stood on end.

At the same time as the ping, three more things happened.

First, the Playdar icon greyed out. I didn't like that.

Second, a huge column of yellow light became visible in the distance.

Third, in my 'screen' vision I saw a bright slice of curved yellow light that was angled towards the pillar. When I turned my head, the light moved. When I looked up or down, it disappeared. It was something like a compass pointing towards my destination. It wasn't very obtrusive, and I was able to hide it. Hiding it made no sense, of course.

I got the map, pinched the screen, and looked for football pitches in the approximate direction of the pillar.

"Got it," I said. "Buckle up, we're going in."

Emma was already in her seatbelt, still reading. "Mmm," she said.

Why wasn't she bouncing like I was? This was huge. "Can you be excited, please?"

Without looking away from her phone, she clenched her hand into a fist and made a pulling-down motion. "Whoo whoo," she said, absolutely flat.

I laughed. "I like you sometimes." And I pulled away.

The column of light faded away after about a minute, as did the compass thing. A few minutes later, I pulled into the car park closest to the pitch I felt had to be the right one. I concentrated on the Playdar icon. It was completely greyed out, but the numbers one, two, and three looked just as shiny. They wanted to be pressed!

I hit the number one and with another ping, the column came back. My guess as to which pitch the column was directing me to had been spot on. I needed to get out onto the pitch right away before it faded, if only to see the graphical effect in its full glory. But pressing the button had cost me one experience point, taking me down to precisely zero XP. Did it cost one XP to re-trigger the effect, or did it use whatever I had in the bank? That seemed absurd. Since I had nothing to risk, I tried pressing the number two.

You lack the resources required to process this request (100 XP).

Okay! So I could re-trigger the search once for one XP - very considerate - a second time for 100, and a third for, presumably, a thousand. Or ten thousand. Would it always ping the same player? If a match kicked off between pings, would the pillar switch to a better player if one was around? And why would I ever spend a thousand XP locating a single player? Maybe when I'd bought everything there was to buy in the perk shop, when the curse was fully upgraded, I'd have loads of XP to spend on that kind of indulgence. Yes, that made a certain kind of sense. Old Nick wanted me to keep grinding. Keep watching matches, keep earning. Disposable items would lock me into the grind cycle for a good while to come.

By now I was within sight of the pitch, and sure enough, once I could see the players, the column of light disappeared and the player in question was highlighted in Playdar yellow.

A left-back! The curse had blessed me with a left-back!

"Hallelujah," I said, smiling.

"Who?" said Emma. "Which one?"

"That one," I said, pointing. "The short one."

"They're all short."

Mark Nelson         Scottish/English

• Acceleration 4
• Bravery 8
• Dribbling 2
• Finishing 2
• Handling 1
• Heading 6
• Jumping 3
• Stamina 1
• Strength 1
• Tackling 3
• Teamwork 12
• Technique 4
• Pace 3
• Passing 4
• preferred foot R
• CA 1 PA 70
• D (RLC)

Terrible attributes, for sure, but there was that sweet, sweet, PA 70. Plenty of room for growth. And plenty of time, too. You might have noticed that I withheld the guy's age. Let's complete the profile.

Born 30.12.2014.

Age 9.

Nine! The curse had stitched me up, and it had gone out of its way to do so. This wasn't even a proper match. It was just some kids having a kickabout. I normally didn't see profiles unless the match was a lot more serious. This wasn't even a match!

There were eight little kids crowded around one set of goalposts. There was no net. I walked towards the players. They briefly stopped their game and looked at me. "Are you playing Wembley Doubles? Sixty Seconds?"

"Three And You're In," said one. Ah. A classic variant. You needed to score three goals to win, but if you did you had to go in goal. Kind of a perverse incentive, but I'd never met a kid who didn't try their best.

"Little kid," I said, pointing to Mark Nelson. Was he really going to become a professional athlete? I'd seen taller glasses of beer. "Do you live round here? Yeah? Let's go talk to your parents."

"Is he in trouble?" asked an older boy who also had the surname Nelson.

"You his brother? No, he's not in trouble. He just got scouted."

***

Once I'd dealt with the parents, I switched from full-on manic mode to chilled out, solicitous boyfriend. Emma wanted to go to a hipster cafe Gemma had told her about. I asked if there was a vegan menu, a request the waitress took much more seriously than I wanted. She pointed out the items that were safe for vegans.

When the waitress had gone, Emma's lip curled up. "You have to eat something vegan now, or she'll know you were wasting her time."

"I'm a professional athlete," I whinged. "I need protein."

"Vegan is all protein."

"Fine. I need protein that tastes of something."

"Can you be a vegan footballer?" she asked.

"Don't know. Probably. That tennis nutjob is vegan. I don't like him but he's absolutely incredible. Four-hour matches day after day. I don't see why it wouldn't work in football. Fuck it. Fine. I'll have the sweet potato wedges and the chickpea burger. If it's garbage we'll go to Henri's and ask if he's got any leftover pig's cheek or sheep's ears or whatever mental part of the body he ate last night."

While we ate a very late, acceptably tasty lunch, I reviewed what my massive investment had brought me.

Mark Nelson's attributes were trash, but he was nine. I'd get to watch them progress over the years. Presumably by the time he was sixteen the 'mental' ones would be more or less set and we'd have a very clear picture of his physical ones. His father was relatively short, so if that was about the height Mark would grow to, he would likely end up being a right-back. Right now he was the jewel in the crown of the under twelves. A step in the right direction, very nice to have him on board, but I'd have liked to have found someone who could hit the first team within the next ten years.

So, then. What about this greyed-out icon issue? Would I have to spend increasing amounts of XP to activate it again?

I made the icon bigger and saw that the top sliver of the grey circle had been coloured in. Ah! It was on cooldown! I focused and a countdown timer appeared. 22:43.

If that meant what I thought it did, I'd be able to use Playdar once per day. Which was a hassle. If I used it on Monday at 6, I'd have to wait until Tuesday at slightly after six to rescan. If I wanted it available at a certain time, like 10:00 on Sunday morning to catch a Sunday League player, then I'd have to leave it idle the day before. Just annoying!

The perk could be upgraded though.

It came with two 'slots’. Playdar 2 (1,500 XP) increased the number of slots from two to three. I could slip so-called Tokens into those slots. For example, one token reduced the cooldown by half, but it cost 5,000 XP. Another token doubled the Playdar range and the length of time the ping lasted. That was also 5,000. There were ones I almost instantly dismissed that did things like filter for goalkeepers. It seemed an obvious way of rounding out a squad, but I knew I'd always want the top talent going, whatever position. Yeah, right now I really needed a first team left-back. But if I did my job properly that would not be a problem in the future. No, my mantra was talent, talent, talent. No filters! Incidentally, the curse promised that other tokens would become available if I unlocked certain achievements.

But the token I really, really craved would let Playdar find players who weren't currently playing. That was exceptionally useful, and exceptionally expensive. Another 8,000. Ugh! I wanted it, though.

"What?" said Emma.

"Huh?"

"You said something."

"No, I didn't."

She narrowed her eyes, then got back to reading. Then she looked at me. "Are you in the room?"

"What?"

"You've been spaced out. The waitress asked if the burger was okay and you didn't blink. Are you ready to hear the article?"

"Oh, sure." I'd forgotten which article she meant but it was always nice when she read to me. I only wished I could lie down and fall asleep to her voice.

"Chester Needs You, is the headline. They've got a little drawing of a seal in a hat pointing at us. Bit weird." She showed me. It was a reference to Lord Kitchener from the First World War. I supposed Emma’s school did the Suffragettes. "Chester's new Director of Football, Max Best, 22 - why do they always put ages?"

I shrugged. "Old people like to know how old everyone is."

"Er... 22, has put out an unusual rallying cry alongside a viral video. In the video, Best performs 'tekkers', meaning football skills, and invites talented players to join the club."

"Just so you know, the guy hadn't seen the video when he wrote that. You know what? Don't read it out. I think it's only going to annoy me. How can you write an article about a video you haven't seen? It's moronic. Is it broadly positive or what?"

Emma scanned it. "Yeah, I'd say so. The video's there on the page, too. You'd think he'd update the article but he's probably busy reviewing the new Taylor Swift album."

"That's not out yet."

"Exactly. You've got some good lines. 'At Chester, the only barrier is talent.' Then the article pivots from being about the video to a general update on the state of the team. It's all a bit 'by the way, the club is plummeting towards the bottom of the table.' First comment, nice video, two likes. Next one, woke crap, get off your arse and sign someone. Twenty-two likes. Stop dancing, start doing your job. Thirty likes, spelled 'your' wrong. It's all very charming."

I tutted and shook my head. "Yeah."

"Don't worry. Kids don't read newspapers. The video will work. It's a banger."

"It's a banger? Where have you been learning footyspeak?"

"Bark and Benzo."

"Right."

"Come on. Tell me."

I blinked. "What?"

"You've got something on your mind. Something big. Fess up."

"There's a tournament next Saturday for the under 14s. I want to win it."

"Is that all? I thought it might be something hard."

***

Monday, 23rd January.

I went to ask Cutter if I could still use the Scholarship kids for my coaching badges. He was extremely gracious. He even said he was curious about my style and might come to watch. Then he gave me a friendly warning about Bradley Rymarquis. Apparently Brad blew his top when he heard I was blaming him for my false registration. "I don't remember ever seeing him that angry. Tread with care, Max Best. Tread with care."

Over lunch, I went to watch a Footy Addicts match, just so I'd have some XP in the bank for when I triggered Playdar. I drove to Chester, monitored the youth team sessions, and went to the Deva stadium to take some photos of me and the three women from Sunday, plus our major new signing. Inside, the fake contracts were in place for the staged photos. Out on the pitch, our new left-back was chatting to MD and Ian Evans, alongside his agent. Evans seemed chuffed and slightly surprised that I'd come through. I couldn't really take the credit. This deal had been handed to us on a plate.

"Hi, I'm Max," I said.

"Richi." This was Richard Carling, the agent who'd recommended his player to us. I knew a few things about him. He'd never played pro football and had become an agent thinking it was easy money and a way to become an insider. A lot of people thought the same, but most dropped out. It wasn't as easy as it seemed. The fact he was still going, still hustling, meant he needed to be taken seriously. He slapped his client on the shoulder. "You know Jack."

"Yep." I shook our new left-back's hand. Jack Litherland was 26 with CA 28, decent attributes, and he was versatile enough to play midfield. I didn't like loaning players but now that I'd made the decision I was getting more certain we'd done well. At 500 quid a week, he was much cheaper than the guy Ian Evans had recommended. "Good speed, doesn't tire, can win a header. I'm made up."

"Me too," said Jack. "Long as I don't have to play against you. Was watching your highlights. You're boss, man. Boss."

I stared in horror. The guy was from Liverpool! No-one had told me that. "I'm bosch?"

"Boss," he said, with just as much guttural vibration on the last syllable as before.

"Oh, boss." I smiled; he was extremely likeable. That was a relief - I'd had to take a leap of faith when it came to his character. But already I knew he'd be good around the training ground. A bit of Scouse humour and positivity would liven the place up no end. "Yeah, I'm massive. But Ian is your boss." I mentally added: for now, lol. "You listen to him, train hard, and we'll get your career back on track. Yeah? You're too good to be playing in the reserves. Welcome to Chester. All right?"

"Yeah, boss," he said. "You've got a lot going on round here?"

He was reacting to me being slightly distracted. "Guy from the paper is here to do some photos. Have you seen three women walking around in Chester tops? They're going to be my first signings. We'll announce you tomorrow. Hold off posting on your socials, please."

Jack stuck a thumb out. "Richi does that kind of thing."

Richi heard his name and turned away from his chat with MD and Ian. "Oh, the announcement? Don't worry, MD explained it. You're announcing something every day this week."

"Right. Get some positive vibes going. Bit of buzz to improve the mood. Lift the fans. Sell some tickets."

"Belter," said Jack. "It's good fans, here. It's a big club for the level. I'm stoked."

"What do you think of vegan food?" I asked.

His face switched in an instant. Got serious. Exactly the same as Jackie Reaper. It was uncanny. "Yeah, good, good. Proteins. Anti-inflammatories. Had a mate who tried it. He swore by it, but he was in the kitchen all day. It's not for me, like, but sometimes I'll remember what he taught me and I'll fill up on veggies and that. I could do vegetarian, I think, but not vegan. Not for long, anyway. Why? Are you vegan? Thinking about it?"

"I think it's interesting how people respond to it."

"Max," said Richi, putting a hand on my shoulder and easing me away from the others. "I heard some juicy gossip involving you. Something about you having a feud with Rymarquis." He said the name in a way that made it clear they were not on friendly terms. "Go on. I've sorted your left-back crisis. Fill me in."

I shrugged. "Something weird happened. The only person who could possibly have done it is Brad. That's all there is to it, really. He's not my favourite person but all's well that end's well. If things had gone different, I wouldn't have had time to scout Jack, and he'd still be stuck."

"Max," complained Richi. "That's the opposite of juicy."

"When's Jack's contract up?"

Richi's eyes widened. "How about we see how he fits in and then we'll talk about that?"

"Fine, but he's going to fit in like a dream. Ah, there are the ladies. Could you excuse me? I have to reassure some gammons."

When we finalised the forms and sent them to the FA, Jack was added to the Chester Squad screen. His name was in blue, the same as Henri's, to show he was on loan. His name slipped into the left-back slot on the tactics screen - clearly Evans intended to throw him straight into the first team. Fine by me.

And once we'd registered the three women (they were on minimum wage for training and matches, would barely cost anything) an entirely new screen appeared - Chester Women Squad. There were, you guessed it, three names there. But I had full control of the tactics screen! I switched the formation a few times, just for fun, then realised the women and the newspaper guy were staring at me. I knew exactly how to get out of that kind of awkwardness. "When's the last time you bought anything from a vending machine?"

Chester FC are delighted to announce the signing of Gracie Davies (19, LM), Robyn Wright (18, GK), and Erin Barnes (18, CB). The local trio were spotted by DoF Max Best and will begin training immediately.

It was way past Playdar time. As soon as the cooldown ended I was distracted and edgy. When I was finally free to leave, I zipped down to the five-a-side place and scouted every single player there. I'd already seen most of them, but the idea was that if I triggered Playdar it would only show me players not in my database. I didn't want it showing me guys who were right under my nose.

When I was satisfied it wouldn't ping anyone on those pitches, I went out to my car and smashed the radar icon.

And yeah. Smashed it is a very suitable phrase.

The radar took me to a light industrial estate I'd never been to. I didn't see any pitches on the map, and couldn't conceive of where a match could be happening. I hit the first re-ping and the column of light pierced a nondescript building. Bit strange, but I soon heard some distinctive thumps and shouts of 'man on!' 'yes!' and 'get back!' Inside an unlocked door was a large indoor sports hall for the employees of whatever company owned the building.

The workers were playing six-a-side and the standard was pretty high. A lot of that was down to one player.

Pippa Hoole     Born 03.09.1992 (Age 31) English

• Acceleration 5
• Bravery 5
• Dribbling 5
• Finishing 3
• Handling 1
• Heading 2
• Jumping 7
• Pace 5
• Passing 5
• Stamina 8
• Strength 8
• Tackling 6
• Teamwork 8
• Technique 5
• preferred foot R
• CA 1 PA 111
• MC

I felt like the curse was teasing me. Showing me these talented but flawed players. Too young, too old. Pippa was a good player but she was ancient. I looked her up - as far as I could tell she'd never played football at a high level. She barely existed online, though she did have a LinkedIn profile. She had that frankly gorgeous PA, though. What would happen if we started training her? Would she learn really fast because of her vast life experience? Or would it go slowly because her neurons had zimmer frames?

There was only one way to find out. I had my coaching whistle in my pocket and at a break in play, gave it a quiet peep.

"Guys, sorry to interrupt. Actually, I'm not sorry. I'm hyper and I can't wait." Their faces were mostly friendly. I didn't think anyone recognised me. "I'm from Chester FC. We heard there was a talented player here. Yeah, dude, this is real; I’ve got a whistle and everything. Here's what I want to happen if that's all right. You," I pointed to the guy who was currently playing in goal for Pippa's team. "You switch teams. I'll go in goal. Seven on six, let's see if you can make the extra man count. All right? Spoiler alert - you can't."

The guy was more than happy to be released from goalie duty, and the match continued. At first there was a lot of intrigue about who I was interested in, but it became obvious to everyone that I only had eyes for Pippa. I didn't coach her the way I'd done with Dani, but I almost always passed to her. Once, she had a chance to play a forward pass, but she turned and gave it to me.

"You could have made that," I said, pointing.

"Too risky," she said. "Low percentage."

"Huh," I said.

Next time I got the ball I faked a pass to Pippa, then hit a low diagonal pass that split the defence. It was pretty outstanding, to be honest, and left our striker with an easy finish. I gestured. See? Pippa put her hands on her hips. "I can't do that."

"Yeah, you can."

"What if I mess it up? They'll get a break."

I shrugged. "That's what goalies are for."

She raised an eyebrow. Next time the opportunity arose, she tried the difficult pass. Naturally, she messed it up and the other team got a chance to shoot, and because I'd said that about goalies I was forced to go God-mode on the save. But that gave her the confidence to try again, and she very nearly made it - her pass beat the defenders but was slightly too powerful for the striker to collect. Pippa didn't look at me. Didn't want to show how pleased she was, I think. The incident unleashed a tiny but potent burst of sentimentality somewhere in my chest.

Afterwards I invited her for a drink, and a few of her colleagues came, too. This was a big story for them.

Pippa was tall and thin and like lots of tall people walked with a hunch so as not to stand out. But she was lively and funny. She confirmed she'd never played, and fretted that there was no point in starting.

"How old are you?" I asked.

"28," she said. I did my best not to laugh, but she knew I knew she was lying. She blushed. "Too old for this."

"I'm pretty sure you're wrong," I said. "But if you commit to us we'll commit to you. We'll give you everything we've got until the summer even if it's clear I've made a mistake. We'll push you, get you fitter, work on your skills and positioning. Come train with us till the end of the season. We've got a few matches booked, too. There's going to be a massive photo in the new training centre with the first ever women's team. You could be in that photo. Yeah, come to training. And just think," I added, eyes unfocused, "when you're, to choose a number at random, 31, you'll still have five or six good years left in you. With a fair wind, you could play a hundred matches."

That clinched it. It wouldn't just be a one-year adventure. She had a future; she was in.

***

Tuesday 24

Chester are thrilled to announce the signing of Jack Litherland on loan from Solihull Moors. DoF Max Best says, "Jack's versatility will be a valuable asset for us in the months ahead."

The two new kids settled right into the under 14s training. After ten minutes of drills, we got them to line up in different formations and Spectrum and I discussed which players should go where. This was all a bit of a scam to explain why the players would suddenly, instantly switch formations during the tournament. I also picked Spectrum's brains about the likely opposition and what formations to expect. Long story short, not much 4-4-2. The youth coaches tended to be much more progressive. Then I fucked off so Spectrum could do a normal session with the rest of the time. Normal, skewed towards fun. The session was an advert for recruiting the new boys. I didn't have to explain it to Spectrum twice.

Then it was Playdar time, and my first negative experience with it. I pinged, followed the light, pinged again when I was closer, and found a women's match happening on a school field. The girls were around sixteen, which was probably the optimal age for my purposes, really. There were a lot more PA 2 players than normal, which was odd. A higher base suggests a higher ceiling, but the best player was 'only' PA 53.

She was way better than what I had or was likely to find playing five-a-side. I watched her movement, her skills. Yep. She'd do.

While I watched, a few men my age nudged each other and pointed at me. "There's the greatest living Englishman, Max Best," I imagined them saying. "Let's pluck up the courage to ask for a selfie." I ignored them for now. I had a mission.

At half-time, I went over to talk to the talent. I was annoyed as shit when the men decided that was the right time to make their move. The first wore a blue shirt and had a cross tattooed right in the middle of his forehead. The other's face was bent in a permanent snarl. Both looked more ready and willing to throw a punch than anyone I'd ever come across. I kept them in view while I introduced myself to the girl. She wasn't the one who replied.

"We know who you are," said blue-shirt. "You're the twat turning our club into Snowflake FC."

They waited for me to reply. I didn't.

Snarl-face nodded. "Get that Marxist shit out of our city."

I blinked. Anything in the direction of 'let's try to be nice to each other' was relabelled Marxism by the Daily Heil, Britain's best-selling newspaper, and guys like these lapped it up. They were proto-gammons. Baby gammons. Gammon-in-training.

I had a choice to make - invite them for a coffee where we would talk about the intersection of historical materialism and footballers wearing rainbow-coloured shoelaces, or pretend they weren't there.

"As I was saying," I said, to the girl and the girl alone, "I'm Max. You're really good! Would you like to - "

"Oi," said blue shirt. "That's my girlfriend. You want to talk to her, talk to me."

Bro must have been 24. "Is he really your boyfriend?"

The girl nodded.

I calculated. Even if the girl was really nice, this guy was all kinds of toxic. He couldn't come anywhere near the squad. No chance. So she was out. Good player, but nah.

I decided to leave. "Just so you know, guys," I said. "I'm not just turning Chester into a Marxist stronghold. No. I'm much more radical than that. We're going to be vegan Marxist. All right? Seeya."

***

Wednesday 25

BREAKING! Chester are delighted to announce the signing of James "Youngster" Yalley on Scholarship terms. DoF Max Best says, "Youngster is a talented defensive midfielder who will bring energy and bad jokes to the dressing room. Chester can be proud to win the race to nab the highly-sought-after starlet."

This made me fire off a text to Spectrum.

Me: Use the word breaking again and I'll put your phone in my blender.

Spectrum: Everyone else does it.

Me: Breaking: your phone.

Spectrum: Ok.

It was after 9pm by the time I could activate Playdar. Still plenty of football being played in the area near the stadium, but I had a strange certainty it wouldn't lead to anything. So I drove a bit further, to the east of the city, and jabbed the icon.

I found the pitch easily. It was a simple playing field in a run-down housing estate. The pitch was soggy, the lines hadn't been painted in years, and there were sinking, sagging goalposts. Most of the pitch was dark, but one goalmouth was illuminated by yellow streetlights. One was flickering in a way that would have driven me mad.

But there were a bunch of teenage girls there having a kickabout. I watched for a minute. It wasn't some casual game - they were really training. Playdar had led me to one girl in particular - a PA 36 striker, but four of them were decent.

"Ladies," I said. The game barely paused, which made sense. I was some rando approaching them in the dark. "What you doing? Three And In?"

"Nah," said the striker. "Movement drills."

"It's pitch black," I said. "How can you see the ball?"

"Dun't matter. We're training."

"Do you play for a team?"

"Yeah. The Colts. But we're going for Chester Women."

"Right."

"Gonna play for Max Best."

I made a noise. "That guy? I heard he's a prick. Snowflake FC. Sleeps on a tofu bed."

"I don't care," said the girl. "He's fit. Who are you, anyway?"

"Cliff Daps," I said. "Famous scout. I heard there were some good players here. Looks like I heard right."

***

Thursday 26

Chester are delighted to announce the signing of Pascal Bochum on a long-term contract. The talented German is highly-regarded by DoF Max Best. "Pascal is fast and has outstanding technical qualities. His signing is a real coup and demonstrates the scope of our ambition."

I slept in the stadium so I could check out the first team training. When I rolled up, they were doing a drill I hadn't seen before. Progress! And Jack Litherland's CA was green. Henri’s was green. There was a lot of green. I was pleased enough to initiate a conversation with Ian Evans.

"New lad training well, is he?"

"He's a trier," said the planet's youngest fossil. "Got leadership. Sets standards."

"Top," I said, trying to play it cool. Fresh face, fresh energy, new drills, change, competition, wanting to impress the new guy. I fucking loved Jack Litherland!

Vimsy jogged back. "Max," he said, slightly out of breath. "I talked to Carl." It took me a second to remember what he was on about. Carl Carlile had been in a funk for some time, and Vimsy had finally decided to have a chat with the half-American right-back. "He says he's fine. I mean, he obviously isn't, but I don't like to push. Some guys, you push too hard, you put their backs up."

I sucked some air in through compressed lips. "All right. Thanks for trying. Maybe he'll come talk to someone in his own time." I had a think about that, and realised I hadn't wandered away as soon as the conversation was over. In fact, the three of us remained there in a fairly companionable way. It was Jack! He'd lifted us. He had lifted the whole club. For the first time, I really started to understand why people were so obsessed with transfers. You weren’t just registering a new player, you were ushering hope into the building. I noticed Dean and Livia had brought coffees outside to watch training.

A new first team signing was like a drug, and there wasn’t long left if we wanted another hit. Seemed I was the club’s dealer. "Not long left in the window, but if we could bring in another player, what would you want?"

"Another player?" said Vimsy. He exchanged a look with Evans. They communicated non-verbally before Vimsy said, "Midfield. Centre."

It was a bit of a surprise because I thought they were happy with Raffi as the backup for that position. He was still too raw to start matches, though. Chad Flintoff had been playing MC recently, and he was CA 32. In theory, we could easily upgrade a key position. "Get another MC," I mused. "Flintoff and Anka compete for RM. D-Day drops into LM. Three strikers for two spots. That works."

"Less minutes for your player," said Vimsy.

"They're all my players," I said, meaning I didn't have favourites. "I'm happy with Raffi's minutes. You're developing him perfectly. Anything that stops him being dumped on the left is good all round. Maybe a left-footed CM so he can cover left until Aff's back. Yeah, I'll have a look."

"James Wise," said Evans.

I waited for an explanation, but none came. "What's that?"

"James Wise. Plays for Eastleigh. I've worked with him before. He's fell out with his gaffer. He'd come and help us out."

I whipped out my phone. "Eastleigh are at home on Saturday. Where is it? Shit! It's on the south coast, practically in France. No, thanks. They've got snakes and shit. Jellyfish."

"You've got something more important to do?"

"Yep."

I stared at him, but he turned away pretty quickly. Our moment of bonhomie was gone. I was certain that Evans had tried to get me to take a four-hour trip to the arse end of nowhere. But why? To get me out of his hair for Saturday's match? Or to stop me from going to Das Tournament?

I pondered the last option as I traipsed away. Was it possible, I thought, that Ian Evans knew I would crush the tournament and put myself in pole position to take over?

Vimsy came jogging and fell into step with me. "Max. What if Wise comes here? Will you look at him?"

"If he comes here? Of course I will. You think he'll drive four hours to come for a trial?"

Vimsy pulled a face. "Best not call it a trial. He's an experienced pro. But if you need to see him live, yes, he'll come. Ian will sort it."

There was no downside that I could find. "Sure. Let me know when so I can be here."

"I got the impression it would be tomorrow."

"Huh. Keen. What's the catch? Let me guess. He's a dick."

"According to you, everyone's a dick."

I smiled and slapped him on the arm. "Everyone apart from you, Vimsy mate. You're my favourite. Hey, have you ever been to a vegan restaurant?"

He stopped. The v-word made him uncomfortable. "No... That's not really on my radar." He brightened. "If you're paying, though..."

I gave him a little wave as I strode away.

Threatening people with vegan food seemed to be a decent personality test, and was funny. But why was I bothering with that? I had a psychic dog. I wondered if I could borrow Solly for a day. If I could take him on Playdar trips, that'd be amazing.

And that was the thing. Playdar was great. Top addition to my powers. And once I'd used it to scour Chester, I'd upgrade it and search even further afield. But it only found me players with high PA. It said nothing about a player's character.

Checking people out seemed like something that could be outsourced. Who did I know who was a good judge of character? Something to think about.

***

Friday 27

Chester are pleased to announce that veteran Pippa Hoole has joined the women's squad. Pippa is a hard-working midfielder with a great engine. Welcome, Pippa!

James Wise was at training at 9am on the dot. I talked to him and he had indeed driven four hours to be there. Woken up at four for the chance to become a Chester player. I couldn't fault his determination, or his ability. He was CA 40 with every reason to suggest that regular football would bring him closer to his PA of 60. He was right-footed, which was mildly annoying. Evans could have mentioned that when I said I wanted a leftie.

The guy was a hard case. Typical midfielder at this level. He wasn't charming like Jack, and he quickly struck up a friendship - kinship maybe - with Sam Topps. Not a good sign in terms of culture, but he could help us avoid the drop.

But there it was again. The buzz. The increase in standards. Raffi, in particular, had stepped up. Everyone was sharper. Everyone was on it.

"What do you think, Max?" MD had also come to watch.

"Good player. Experienced. You'd expect him and Sam to win the midfield battle in most games."

"He didn't like it when you offered to get him a vegan breakfast."

"No, he didn't. But if we can afford him, let's do it." I paused. If the team played as well as they were training, they’d win a few matches and there wouldn’t be any reason to sack Evans. No reason not to plant some seeds of doubt, though. "Two loans plus Pascal. That’s the budget gone. Most of it spent fixing Ian’s mess. Giving him the tools he wants. If he fucks it up from here…" Had I overegged the pudding?

It seemed like it, because eggs were on MD's mind. "What's a vegan breakfast anyway? Can't have sausage. Can't have eggs. No cheese. What's left?"

I shrugged. A cheeseless brek didn't really bear thinking about. "I'm going to Crewe tomorrow. You know the way we've never won that tournament or even come close to it?"

"Yep."

When I didn't say anything else, MD turned to me. "Max! What are you up to?"

I smirked. "You'll see. By the way, I bumped into some fans who didn't like the video. I joked that I was taking the club vegan. It's probably all over their shitty fascist chat groups."

"Max! Stop calling everyone a fascist. Not everyone who buys a season ticket is someone you'll like."

"I know. Anyway, you've got the Twitter password, too, right? Maybe you can mention something about Das Tournament and make it kinda meaty? I dunno. Let's just mention meat a few times. Announce we're in sponsorship talks with a burger chain, something like that."

"I'll try to negotiate terms with James Wise's club, first, if that's okay with you. If we do it right now, he could play tomorrow."

"Go for it." I clicked my fingers. "Muesli. They eat muesli. And porridge."

"Milk, Max. Those have milk.” He grimaced. “If I was vegan, I'd skip breakfast."

***

Chester are pleased to announce that tough-tackling midfield general James Wise has joined on loan until the end of the season. Manager Ian Evans says, "Wise is a good lad, proper old-fashioned player who knows his position inside out. I worked with him before which is why I pushed for him to join. He'll be in the squad for tomorrow."

***

Chester boys under 14s travel to Crewe tomorrow for the annual D.A.S. Trophy. Competition is fierce but with our DoF Max Best helping out, we hope this time they can bring home the bacon!

Next Chapter: Das Tournament

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