25 - The Ninety-Minute Work Week [T1] (Patreon)

25.

Saturday 25th February

I met Emma at Bradford Interchange and we drove to Horsfall Stadium, home of Bradford (Park Avenue), my favourite team that includes brackets in their name. I asked for help, and Emma used some brackets of her own in the form of a mumbled disclaimer.

"Absolutely. Of course. (My advice is for informational and entertainment purposes only and I cannot be held liable for damages arising from its use.) What's up?"

"I don't know if I'm doing the right things. I'm not sure I'm using my time the best way. I've got loads to do but none of it's urgent. I think I'd like a second opinion."

"Opinions are like a favourite lipstick; everyone's got one."

***

Minute 1

It was a pretty big match. Jackie's first away game, and against a relegation rival, too. We were four points ahead of them, so a win would take us seven clear - a gap that would start to get insurmountable as matches ran out. A draw would be okay, depending on what the other teams around us did, while a defeat would put us right back in the shit. Our fantastic away support was as loud as ever - they ate up Jackie's sudden reappearance like manna from heaven.

Emma's work week had been unusually busy, and we hadn't spoken much. She looked tired and vaguely unhappy. Me being me, I leapt straight to the conclusion that she was done with going to tiny stadiums to watch awful football.

"Do you want to go somewhere else?"

"What?"

"There'a an alpaca farm nearby. They've got alpacas."

"How do you know?"

"I always look for things to do if you get sick of the match. Alpacas, then al-pack-ya home and you can go clubbing. I know you miss it."

She smiled, and my heart lifted an absurd amount. "I like that I can come to your job. Being bored by your job is way better than being bored by mine."

"Tell me what you've been up to."

She told me about her week and her shitty clients and all the mad hoops they made her jump through. When the players came out for the start of the match - BPA in green shirts, white shorts, Chester in their striped blue kit - she decided she'd vented enough. "Right. Tell me what's happening here, then tell me about your week."

"Bradford brackets Park Avenue more brackets are 22nd. We're 19th. This is called a relegation six-pointer."

"Because you get six points if you win."

"No, it's the swing. They go into the match hoping for those three points, so when you beat them, it's like you've taken their three and added three of your own."

"Sports logic is my favourite logic."

"Jackie's been slightly unlucky with the postponements. He's got three away games in a row. Then a home game, then two more away games. Tough run. But the training's so good. As Pep Guardiola says, it's so, so good. So so good."

"So so good."

"I'll tell you about training in a second. First, you need to hear about rugby."

"About what?"

"Rugby."

"What?" So it was going to be like that. She'd gone ape when I told her I was doing rugby. She sent me links to stats that showed how dangerous rugby was, and got even more upset when I pointed out that football was rated as more dangerous on those lists. She found a brutal video of rugby dudes wandering around, dazed, with blood pouring from head wounds, being lifted onto stretchers, and some really, really nasty cheap shots and clotheslines. She thought I was going to break my neck in a scrum, or at least have half my teeth knocked out when a dozen men jumped on my back. I'd tried to assure her it wouldn't happen to me, but it was like reasoning with a brick wall.

"Rugby. It's a sport. I'm one of the world's best players."

"Hmm," she said, peeling herself away from me, taking out her phone, and loading Hedge of Reason, the maze-based puzzle game.

"So I scored about a hundred points." It was actually thirty-seven, not that I was counting. "And I got a standing ovation. Veni, vidi, vici."

Not even a hmm, this time.

And her entire demeanour confirmed something I was almost sure of - she had instructed all my friends NOT to mention rugby, ask about my match, or show any interest in what I'd done against Hartlepool. The idea, I'm sure, was to dissuade me from playing for Darlington ever again by starving me of the praise and attention I 'needed'. The texts I got after my heroics were all about Jackie. Oh, and one from Henri, who I knew would have loved to see me scrapping and fighting. But his message simply reminded me that someone was coming to service the gas boiler.

I sighed. "So you remember last week, Jackie played 3-5-2." Emma put her phone away and gave me an intoxicating blast of attention. "Chester controlled the match from start to finish. 70% possession. Good substitutions. He went defensive a bit early for my liking, but three-nil, take the points, let's go. Jackie Reaper blue and white army! It's an identical setup today. Only change is that Pascal isn't on the bench. Magnus is there instead."

"Oh, no."

"It's fine. Pascal's a long-term project, not quite ready for the first team, and Magnus is really interesting. Could be a valuable squad player. I'm surprised Youngster is still there, to be honest. Jackie must have liked what he saw in training."

"You were excited to take part in Jackie's training, right? Was it as good as you hoped?"

***

Monday 20th, Five Days Earlier, 9.a.m.

Jackie's first training sessions as Chester FC manager.

I drove to Chester to watch, and maybe even join in. Why not? I knew I'd love it. But MD intercepted me. Suggested that I might want to let Jackie get stuck in without my unique brand of distraction. He asked me to be 'undramatic' for 'a couple of weeks'. Annoying, but probably right. MD said he was off to do a conf call for his pharma consultancy but he'd be back for our big first meeting with JR. "The Three Amigos," he said, and he looked genuinely excited about it.

I was happy for MD - he deserved some good news, some good times - but couldn't quite share his excitement. Maybe it'd come. Maybe I just needed to find my place in the new dynamic.

I found the spot furthest away from the training pitch that would show me the player profiles, and I sat there, analysing.

It almost goes without saying that the training was stupendous. Maybe they did it better at Man City, maybe for really elite sessions you needed a team of six coaches in super perfect surroundings. But for what one man could do with these pitches - wow. The body language of the players was better from the first minute. It wasn't just the so-called 'new manager bounce'. It was the drills, too. They were challenging. Often, they were fun - drills would descend into farce and there would be a big laugh. Jackie would explain it again - to Vimsy, too, who had to learn all this stuff, same as the players - and then the drill would restart, a little slower, then would catch up and finally turn into a dizzying whir of bodies and balls. For unlike Ian Evans's drills, everything was done with a football.

I knew about Jackie's coaching. I knew he'd improve the players. But what I didn't know was just how good he was at man management. He took Pascal and Youngster aside a few times, giving them individual tips. During another break, he took Carl Carlile aside and put his arm around his shoulder. They had a big old chat, and when Carlile returned to the main group, he seemed ten percent faster.

But he had a totally different approach for Henri. At first, Jackie ignored him completely. Then he laughed when Henri failed to control a pass. Finally, he got in Henri's face, calling him shit, calling him a waste of money.

Henri reacted to being ignored with apparent indifference; to being mocked by striding around with his chin in the air; to being attacked by storming through the drills.

Henri gained a point in CA after mere minutes and a second one near the end. Youngster saw similar improvement. Pascal, Raffi, and six others added one point during the session. Green green green! The squad left the pitch in moods ranging from boyish excitement - almost everyone, including Youngster and Pascal, who had become friends - to rapture. That was Henri, who I couldn't remember being so... so open. It was mind-blowing. Jackie was a wizard! I didn't need to buy the Morale perk!

Jackie checked his watch and wandered over to the goalkeepers. They'd started a bit late because Jackie wanted to get a proper look at them, too.

Livia appeared next to me. "Morning, Max."

"Good morning."

"Someone saw a homeless guy sitting out here. Wanted to call social services. I said it's probably our Director of Football." She smiled at me. "Do you still use my Disney?"

"Oh, yeah, sometimes. Sorry, is that rude? Yeah, I should have checked. I'll stop."

She waved about my worry. "It's just when I log in it asks if I want to continue watching The Mighty Ducks or Bud Air. I thought Jackie had done it as a joke."

"No it was me. I'm having a cheesy sports movie phase. How's he taking this?"

She looked shifty, which was jarring. I don't think she had much practice at deception. "He's very excited."

I grinned. "He should be. It's huge."

She pulled at her earlobes. "Yeah. Huge. But... you're going to help him, right?"

Something was up, here. This was weird. "Of course I am. That's my job. But listen, he's a natural. Three-nil. 70% possession. Couple of in-game tweaks. It was flawless. He's gonna be fine." She bit her nails and looked away. She dropped her hand with an annoyed look. An old habit she'd worked hard to break. "Look," I said. "He wants to do it his own way. And that's right. But if he's struggling, tell me. We'll cook up some scheme together. Help him without making it obvious."

"All right." She sighed. She was disproportionately worried! "How did your rugby go?"

"Top. I'm an all-time legend already. Statue-worthy."

She rolled her eyes. "You didn't break anything?"

"Broke some hearts. Broke some records. Broke rugby TikTok."

"Really?" she said, and took out her phone. On the TikTok app she typed 'rugby'. She gave me a disapproving look.

"Try, rugby Darlo."

"Ah, there you are. First hit." I guessed she was watching the clip of me chasing the high ball and scoring my try. "Is this sped up?"

"No clue. I haven't seen it." She handed me the phone and I replayed the 14 second clip. The hits looked worse on camera than they actually felt. I winced as the main one came in, but then I was off, sprinting away to the other side of the pitch in two seconds flat. The video ended with two seconds from a different video - an American church lady going 'whuuut?'

"Yeah, it's sped up," I lied.

She shook her head. "Those impacts looked pretty bad. Let's take a look at you."

I shrugged. I wasn't in pain but the training session would go on for another quarter of an hour at least. "Fine."

***

Minute 5

Emma was interested in Livia's strange comments about Jackie, and was pleased that she wanted to take care of me, but she had heard the word 'rugby' so had to express massive disapproval somehow. She did it by saying, "Oh, so when Livia shows you a TikTok, you're interested."

"If I'm in it, yes." Chester were dominating possession, much as they had done in the previous match. They looked sharp.

"What do you think she's worried about?"

"No clue. He's walking around like he owns the place. Super confident."

"Huh," said Emma.

"What?"

"Sometimes guys do that but you can tell they're trembling inside."

"He's not some rando trying to chat you up at a bar. He's a former pro, great defender, great thinker. He's been preparing for this moment since his injury. He's ready."

Emma's face stiffened into an angry sort of pout. "So what did Livia say? Were you all right?"

It took me a half a second to remember what she was talking about.

***

Monday, 10:45 a.m.

The first thing I noticed in the medical room was the smell, or lack of it. The diffuser in the corner of the room was off. That was weirdly depressing. Filled me with doubts. I tried to let the feeling slide off me.

Livia asked me to take my top off while she put medical gloves on. She turned and gasped. It's not good when a medical professional loses control of their reactions.

"The fuck?"

"What?" I said.

"The bruising, Max!"

I went to one of the full-length mirrors. The left-hand side of my torso looked like a banana that was an hour away from being home to four thousand tiny flies. "That's the lighting in here. It's not that bad."

"Turn this way," she said, holding her camera up.

"Whoa, no way," I said. "Jackie will kill me when he checks your phone and sees you've got nudie pics of me."

"It's for the insurance. If you've got a smashed spleen we're not paying for it. Your rugby team is on the hook for this."

"Are you serious, now?"

"Yes. Stand still. Oh, my days." She took the photo. "And it doesn't hurt? You can lift your arm and everything?"

"I mean, I'm aware that I took a hit. But it's fine."

"Are you coming back tomorrow?"

"I think I'll be around almost every day, now."

"I want to keep an eye on this. Let me know right away if anything weird happens."

"Weird like what?"

"Like you drop dead."

"You'll be the first call I make."

***

Minute 10

On the pitch, across the running track that separated the fans from the action, Chester continued to zip the ball around. Raffi was on seven out of ten. His CA had been steadily improving and was now 27. He'd overtaken Angles, Trick Williams, and Magnus. Under Jackie, he'd kick on even more. Could he finish the season on CA 40? Next season he'd turn into the most dominant central midfielder in the league.

In the stands next to me, Emma had placed one finger in the space between her eyebrows. Like almost everyone else, she was way better at controlling her emotions than me.

"I want to see," she said, meaning the photo of me disguised as an overripe fruit.

"I don't have the photo," I said.

"I want to see it now," she said.

I knew this was a bad idea and would bite me on all my asses. "Oh, good pass, Carl!" I yelled, applauding massively. Carl was also on 7 out of ten. Much improved. The Jackie Effect.

"Max," she warned.

"Babes?" I said.

"Max," she warned.

"Bebs?" Now it seemed I'd do more damage if I didn't show her. I experienced the all-too familiar sensation of my insides turning outside-in. I swiped through my recent photos and showed it to her. Her face crumpled. "Emma," I said, trying to bring her into a hug. "It's fine. It looked bad but I promise it wasn't."

She was refusing to look at me, sort of crying and stuff. Her fears realised. Well, shit.

"Emma, I swear on all the hedgehogs. The bruising is gone. I promise. I'll show you." I started to take my hoodie off, then thought about the optics. "Okay I can't do it right now because I promised MD I'd stop doing weird shit for a couple of weeks. I'll show you later. I promise, it's all gone. There's one little yellow patch about here, but I don't know if that's the last bit of bruise or some tea I spilled."

"How can it be gone?"

"Because it wasn't that bad. Honestly. I know you don't like the thought of it but rugby's safer than football. There was no-one within twenty yards of me almost the whole game. On Wednesday, Livia checked me again and said she'd overreacted. Okay? Babes, come here." She allowed me to hug her.

"I don't want you to get hurt."

"I also don't want me to get hurt." I held her for a while, until I sensed an opportunity to change the mood. "Do you want to hear about the podcast that's been slandering me?"

"What?" she said, sitting up, liquid eyes blazing.

"Jackie tore them a new one for me."

***

Monday, 11 a.m.

I wandered up to Jackie's office, which until a couple of days prior had been home to Ian Evans. It seemed like the pensioner had been in to collect his belongings. The photo of him with that kid was gone and the drawers were empty, but otherwise, it was much as I'd last seen it. The flipchart was there with a 4-4-2 formation displaying the names of fit and unfit players. I noted that Magnus Evergreen's name had slipped off the radar. I hoped Jackie would take me more seriously.

Through the big windows, I checked out the goalies. It looked like Jackie had taken over the session. Tracksuit manager. Getting his hands dirty. Whatever he was doing now, it looked fun.

Fun? I glanced at the chair that Evans had spent so much time in. I did a quick search for 'how to do an exorcism' but while I had my phone out, went to the podcasts app.

After Saturday's win, Jackie had given a long interview to the unofficial Chester podcast.

There were two podcasts about the club. Boggy produced The Seals Podcast, which came out once a month and was fine, if a bit corporate. For the really rabid fans there was Deva Victrix, by the fans for the fans. That came out after every game and was based on the Arsenal Fans TV model - hot takes and anger with a generous helping of stupidity. Pure dickbait.

I'd tried to listen a few times and always quit two minutes in, but for this special episode they were much better about knocking their microphones and not talking over each other. That was probably because they were in awe of the new manager.

The start was a load of 'oh Jackie you're so great' simpering. Then there was five minutes of 'yay we won three-nil' followed by about an hour of 'Jackie you're so amazing why are you so amazing?' They read out texts and emails from listeners who described what it meant to them that Jackie was back.

I skipped forward to the good bit. It was the part where Jackie started saying 'he won't mind me saying that' before insulting me.

There were three hosts, and I have chosen to use their real names.

"The other thing that was exciting," said Huey, "was seeing some young players on the bench!"

"Well," said Dewey, "I'd agree if they weren't Max Best signings."

"What do you mean?" said Jackie.

"It's just weird, innit?" said Louie. "An eight-year contract for that little tiny one. He's too short. Eight years for him is the most bizarre thing I've ever heard of, and I've taken ritual peyote in a shaman hut in Blackpool. The other one's his client. Just non-stop weirdness with that guy. You're back, now, so we can bin him off, right?"

"Bin Max off?" said Jackie.

"Yes, please," said Dewey.

"I think you might have the wrong end of the stick there," said Jackie. "I'm the one who fought to get him to Chester."

"You did?"

"Yeah. He won't mind me saying this, but he's an annoying guy. He's completely normal, good lad, good hang, but put him in front of a football pitch he turns into a maniac. He won't mind me saying that. I've seen him do mad things. Twice that I know of, he's taken control of a reserve team and slapped the first eleven."

"What?"

"I know," laughed Jackie. "He's a one-off. At least, I hope he is!" Big laugh. "But seriously, now. When it comes to football, he's the biz. Him being here was a weight off my mind, when it came to taking this job. You're worried about the players he's brought in? I'm not. I worked with Ziggy at FC United and saw his growth. I've been watching Raffi progress for a while. And I was actually there when Max discovered Youngster. He was doing cartwheels."

"Youngster?"

"Max. I thought Youngster was some kid who'd walked in off the street, which is basically what he was. Seeing him now, he looks like a proper player already. I need to see him in training, obviously. Have a good look at him to see how he fits in my system. But he was at Altrincham and they wanted to sign him. If he's good enough for the division above, you'd think he might do all right down here. I don't know Pascal so well, but he's another kid who's dropped down the pyramid to come to Chester because of Max. I don't see how you spin that into a bad thing."

"Well, yeah, that's one perspective, but it's all about the grift, isn't it?"

"What did you just say?"

"What Louie is suggesting is that Best is getting fees on these deals."

There was a pause. I could only imagine Jackie's face going dead, the way it did when I displeased him. But he sounded pretty jolly when he replied to that. "Right, yeah. Max Best, criminal mastermind. Because the way you get lots of money, fast, is to be a brilliant footballer and not tell anyone. Get a contract where you play for cheap but with a big goal and assist bonus. Score and set up, like, fifteen goals in a month. And just as you start getting five-figure a week offers to play for huge clubs, you take a massive pay cut to go and help out a skint team at the bottom of the league. Before you've even got your first wages through, you hear the disabled team can't afford to go to its tournament, so you pay that anonymously, in cash."

"He did that?"

"How do you know if it's anonymous?"

"There were only four people who knew. But back to our criminal mastermind. Half the youth team leave, so while they're at their new club, he pays for a coach to give them some proper sessions so they don't fall behind. Then he takes over and those players come back. But he still pays the coach. So now there's a random team in Cheshire getting professional sessions twice a week. And he does all this to lull us into a false sense of security so he can take a sweet, sweet slice of Youngster's 95 pound a week Scholarship contract. Mmm. I love the smell of passive income in the morning."

There was a long silence that a normal podcast would have cut.

"Right," said one of the three twats. Don't care which.

"I'd suggest you stop slandering the guy. His girlfriend's a lawyer. Nice girl but she'll ruin you. How did all this happen? He's a top lad. Why don't you invite him on your show?"

"We did, when he first came to the club. He said he'd do it for six thousand pounds."

Jackie laughed hard at that, then remembered he was trying to have a good relationship with these idiots. "Do you think it's possible he was joking?"

"Yeah, at first, but then we started hearing all these rumours."

"You're better than that, Huey. Remember all the fuss about Tony Woodston in the old days? You knew him and you were always defending him. And you were right. Now look at you on the other side of the fence. Max is no angel, but he's better than most. And believe me, you don't pay him to talk about football. You pay him to stop."

***

Minute 15

Emma listened to me retell the tale, almost expressionless. When I finished, she blinked and whispered, "I'll fuck them up. Nice girl but she'll ruin you. You better believe it."

"It's okay. I like the way Jackie handled it. It's better like that. They'll stop now."

"Tell me the name of the podcast again."

"It's called This American Life." Emma tutted, but enjoyed my joke. There was a brief lull in our conversation as Henri made a run to the back post, but the cross was slightly too high - he applauded the intention. He was on six out of ten, but giving the kind of all-action performance that would lead to goals.

Emma tried to look innocent. "Tell me the real name. All I'll do is send a threatening letter. Me and dad will do it together. Do you know how much fun it is writing a cease and desist? Choosing the right word is better than twisting a knife."

"I really don't want you to do anything. For now. I think it was Ian Evans who started the whole grifter thing. And he's gone."

"Why did he quit? Do we know?"

"Still no more info. I mean, I have ideas. There's the obvious - his methods stopped working and there's this tough run of games. There's private life stuff. He's sick. His wife's sick. Who knows? For once, the gammons aren't blaming me. It was only a few days earlier that I was chanting for Ian at the Forum. But..."

"Go on."

"It was weird, though. At the Forum, someone said I should be the next manager and Ian didn't like that. He sat there all grumpy. I was thinking that maybe he spent a couple of days thinking back through all the things I'd done, wondering if I was trying to get him to quit so I could take over."

"I don't think people think about you as much as you hope."

"Like, the left-back thing. I ignore the one he suggested. The other player he recommends is doing great. Fits right in! But I got with my own guy, then with all the transfer deadline day drama, we end up with no fit left-backs. And Ian thinks... huh. He thinks I'm publicly supporting him, but privately I'm doing everything I can to undermine him. It's mad, but I could imagine that."

"You overcomplicate everything."

"Maybe. I did tell him how to run the team just after finding out how personally he took the idea he wasn't fully in charge. I might have blown him up by accident." I sighed. If that was true, I wished I'd done it consciously, not by blundering around. "Do you want to hear about the first meeting of The Three Amigos?"

***

Monday, 11:15

Jackie and MD turned up. I pressed pause. "Come in, guys." I wanted to reference the podcast, make a joke about Jackie calling me names. But acknowledging that he'd defended me might have made us both uncomfortable. I decided to pretend it had never happened. I sat in Jackie's chair. Show of dominance. Roar! "Have a seat."

Annoyingly, neither guy seemed to realise I was dominating them, which only added to my vague sense of unease. I realised Jackie had never even been in this room. He probably thought it was my office, not his.

MD looked at his watch. "We've got a lot to discuss, but I've got a hard out in about fifteen. Sorry, guys. But we'll be spending a lot of time with each other over the coming months!"

"Max, do you want to start us off?" said Jackie.

Again, I felt weird. Out of place. The only reason for Jackie to ask me to start was to throw me a bone. Good Max! Who's a good Max? "Sure," I said. "Item one. Undisclosed relationships between members of staff."

Jackie shook his head and grinned. "I'm dating Livia. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"I need a written description of how she asked you out."

"I'll get right on it," he said.

He was on such a high my weird banter was only going to gently bounce off him. I got serious. "Great. The real item one. I want Magnus in full training. I want him on the bench and - at your discretion, of course - used as much as poss. If he isn't working out for you, let's talk about it. But I think he's got something and I want him given the chance to show it."

Jackie frowned, just a fraction. "Okay."

"What did you make of the kids?"

The smile was back. "Youngster's unrecognisable. We need to teach him the position, but yeah. Max Best, Super Scout. What do you think? Getting minutes by the end of the season?"

"Works for me. I'd like 80% DM, 20% CM. He's a DM, is what I'm saying. Teach him that. Pascal?"

He squirmed. "Great lad. Fighter. Fast. Everything you said."

"But?"

He spread his hands. "Max. In this division..."

I was sick of the 'he's too short' discussion. "Do you think you can give him ten minutes here and there through the rest of the season?"

"A couple of times. When we're safe, all bets are on."

It was frustrating, but I knew things would start slowly for Pascal. It's not like he was CA 50 and bursting to start. "Good enough." We could revisit this topic based on how their CA developed. Now for something more personal. "I'm guessing you don't want me at training." I glanced at MD, who had the sense to look away.

"I'd love you in the team, Max. But you can't play. So... You're a distraction. A good distraction, normally. But this is my first manager's job. I don't know that I can let you dick around and keep the rest of the players happy. If you're not there, I can do what I know I can do."

"Okay."

"You don't like it."

"Your sessions are amazing, Jackie. That's like fantasy football to me. I want to do that. I want to learn. But it's fine. I can wait till the summer."

"I'd like to talk about contracts," he said.

"Yeah?"

"When do you plan to start talking to the lads about it?"

He included MD in his question, but I spoke a little louder to show I was, like, the guy to talk to. "Almost everyone who is out of contract is a dick. They can, and I believe this is the technical business term, get stuffed."

Jackie laughed two hearty laughs. "Max, they've got mortgages and stuff. They need to know."

"The idea of banks repossessing their homes makes me tumescent, Jackie."

"Maaax," said MD.

"How about we make a list of players we trust to be left alone with one of the women's team? How about we make that list and we start from there? Yeah? What do you think, MD? How about people who make obscene jokes while I'm telling them I want obscene jokes to stop don't get fucking invited to stick around? Can we agree on that at least?"

Jackie raised his palms. "Whoa! Whoa... Okay, I've missed some stuff."

"This isn't an 'everyone starts with a clean slate' thing, Jackie. This is a 'me and player X go into a room to negotiate a contract, only one of us leaves' kind of scenario. I am fucking sick of neanderthals. I don't want them here. Shit players, shit people. What's the point?"

"So," said Jackie, carefully. "There's the possibility of having some shit people around if they're good enough."

"Yes. The possibility exists. Would you like a list of players not good enough to have a shit personality?"

I pointed to the flipchart.

Jackie bit back a smile. "That's... everyone."

"Yep."

"What about Aff?"

"What about him?"

"He's a great guy."

"He played injured."

"He tried to help the team."

"How much help was he on Saturday, Jackie?"

Jackie rubbed his head. "Yeah, okay. Good point. But you can't punish players for trying to do the right thing."

"The right thing is doing what I tell them to do. If I see a guy running funny, tell him to get checked out, and next thing is he's getting stretchered off and he's out for two months, he doesn't get a new contract."

"Left-wingers who can defend aren't ten-a-penny."

"If you're telling me there isn't a single left-footed human being who has the basic common sense to put the oxygen mask on himself first so that he can help the people around him, then yeah, Aff can have a new deal. No problem. If, by some fucking enormous miracle, we can somehow find a guy who can kick a ball who can also manage to understand fucking basic principles, then soz, he's out. And by the way, if it comes to it, I'll play left-mid next season."

"You?"

"If me playing there is what it takes to make people understand that I'm serious when I say things, then yeah. I'll do it."

I was getting worked up, which was the last thing I wanted. But Jackie diffused the situation like a grown-up. "You've thought about this a lot more than me, Max. Let's get through the next week or so and maybe I'll see what you mean. Okay?"

"Okay."

MD looked at us like a proud father, then said, "Shit. I have to run. Don't talk about football when I'm not here. Ian never let me hear this stuff. I'm in absolute heaven."

Jackie and I smiled at each other as he sped away. We were left alone.

"Are you going to be difficult, Max?"

"No. I'm cutting out the rot. There's a lot of bad apples."

He nodded a few times. "I trust you. Mostly. I don't think we can afford to be too... idealistic."

"I don't think we can afford not to be."

He grinned. "Max Best."

I had to grin, too. But then I got serious. "Jackie. You've got three away games in a row. It's not going to be an easy run. I want to get out of your way, if that's what helps you. If you want me on the bench next to you, I'll do that. You just tell me what you need and I'll do it. Everything else can wait a minute. Tell me what you want from me."

He rubbed his hands together like he was washing them. "I need to do this on me own. The training, the tactics, the matches. It's got to be my team out there. I've worked hard to get here. It's my time. Stand on my own two feet. D'ya know what I mean?"

Of course I did. But one of the next matches was against Gloucester, and I'd played against them not that long ago. Torn them a new one, too. It was kind of moronic that Jackie wouldn't ask for tips. But I had to let him do it his way. The first team was his realm.

***

Minute 30

His realm had its first earthquake, just about then. A rare Bradford attack led to a simple goal being scored. One of those where no-one's to blame and you can't work out why it's happened. But the guys continued to play as they had - they weren't letting this one little hiccup derail them.

"I can't tell if you're going to be a good match," said Emma, thinking about how I'd described working with Jackie. "Or if you're going to be like Kendall and Roman Roy."

"Is that from Succession? I'm guessing those guys don't get on? No, I think we're going to work. I find rough diamonds, he smooths them out. That's 97% of it. We're not going to fall out over some low-life scum. And even the good players, I mean, I can't make him see what I see in Pascal. Pascal has to do that. And I really liked how he handled Henri. He challenged him. If he ignores Pascal for six months, maybe that's what he needs. I'm... optimistic."

Just then, a cross came in from the right, and like before, it was slightly too high for Henri to head at goal. But he leapt, a huge effort, and nodded the ball square, back into the danger area. Tony, the second striker, was there for an easy finish. One-all!

We stood and applauded, then fell into gossiping about Henri and Gemma, speculating about what Jackie said to Carl Carlile, and wondering how Youngster would cope if he came onto the pitch.

At half-time we retreated into our hospitality box and made friends with the directors of Bradford. Bradford's a big rugby town, and they had seen clips from my debut. Emma kept trying to bring the subject back to football, but in the end she gave up and let me have my moment in the sun.

The guys were huge fans of Max Best brackets rugby close brackets. One guy raved about my kicking accuracy - ten out of twelve hits!

"Whoa," I said, with a little laugh. "You can't count those other two as misses. The ball was flat. The kicks were perfect."

They took this as good-natured banter instead of what it was: factual truth.

There was a lot of talk about Jackie, then. How young our setup was - young manager, even younger DoF. How dynamic and exciting. They wanted us to go down, obviously, while they stayed up. But they were big Jackie fans. Who wasn't? They wished him well.

Near the end of the break, one of the guys said he was also on the board at Bradford Bulls, the rugby league team. I think that was the first time Emma heard there were two kinds of rugby. The guy said if I ever wanted to go for a tryout there, I should give him a call. I looked at Emma, remembered how stressed she'd been. "I should stick to safe things like being the most-fouled player in the National League," I said.

Back in our seats, Emma gave me a kiss. "Is there a sport you'd be good at where you wouldn't get hurt? What about cricket?"

I gave her an 'are you crazy?' look. "Cricket's way more dangerous than rugby. Next time we're shopping, let's get a cricket ball in your hand. No, not cricket. Swimming? Nah. Has to involve kicking and a ball. I'll just... Listen, I've been thinking. What are we going to do?"

"About what?"

"My job's in Chester. You're in Newcastle. How are we going to...?"

She sighed. "I see. This is what this whole conversation's about. Transfer window's closed. There's no need for you to storm around demanding change, because Jackie's there now and it'll come naturally. You can't train. You can scout but it's not urgent and you don't know what division you'll be in next season. What else? The youth teams are in good shape. You've got nothing to work on, so you want to do your little progression fantasies on our relationship. How'm I doing?"

"Sometimes I like to think about the future."

"Sometimes it's nice to be in a place and enjoy being in that place."

***

Monday to Thursday

After the meeting, I trudged to my car. Not sad, exactly, but not happy either. I seemed to be the only person in Chester who wasn't jumping for joy.

Jackie had his job. I had mine. Turning the women's team into a powerhouse. Grinding for XP.

XP Balance: 2777

Debt repaid: 862/3000

I had a healthy chunk of XP, then. But what did I want to spend it on? What did Jackie need? What did Chester need?

The Scouser seemed to have his own ways of dealing with morale. And he didn't seem to think players playing hurt was a bad thing - just the opposite. So Staff Search shot up my wish list, and I also started to think more about working on myself. Unlocking another formation was extremely attractive, especially because 4-5-1 was next, was only 400 XP, and would be an ideal formation for my women's team in its current composition. I only had one striker!

And if I was being truly selfish, there was the monthly perk. After I'd told Old Nick's imp that I wouldn't be doing football any more, but before I'd taken control of the match against Puddington, it had dropped into my inbox. It was priced - moronically - at my XP balance at the time PLUS five XP. Nick was THAT desperate to get me back to grinding.

So for 2,458 XP I could buy Fantasy February.

UNIQUE SPECIAL OFFER!

New perk available until the end of February: Fantasy February.

Cost: 2,458 XP (KERRAZZZY VALUE)

Effects: Extends the reach of the Fantasy Football perk beyond one game per season. When you buy this attractively-priced perk, the Fantasy Football suite will become available for one match in every competition. Random example: if you are the manager of CHESTER FOOTBALL CLUB, the Triple Captain and Bench Boost abilities can be triggered in one league match, one FA trophy match, one FA cup match (including qualifiers), one Cheshire Cup match, one friendly, and one match in any other competition the team qualifies for.

Okay, so I was pretty sure Old Nick had made a mistake here, and that this perk was massively underpriced. It reconfirmed my suspicion that he really, really needed me to grind for his own benefit. Buying the original Fantasy Football perk had been one of my best ever decisions. Because I'd been bouncing around all sorts of teams and clubs and age groups, I'd been able to use Triple Captain and Bench Boost quite frequently, to great effect. If I bought this, I'd be able to use it even more. Old Nick was lazy, but he wasn't stupid. He'd chosen wisely with this perk; I wanted it.

So grabbing it was a no-brainer, and adding 4-5-1 wouldn't take more than one evening's grinding.

I texted Spectrum and Jill.

Me: Please prepare the women to do 4-5-1 on Friday.

But what next? Morale seemed less important than a couple of weeks earlier. Injuries seemed less important. The Contracts perk wouldn't help me get rid of Ian Evans. Woot woot!. More attributes, then? Maybe a big push to unlock the complete staff profiles.

I called Inga and asked her to get me tickets to any women's game she could find, and that I'd take tickets for any match of any kind any evening that the men's and women's first teams weren't playing. That sounds a lot more complicated than it was. Put simply, her mission was to get me into as many matches as poss.

Monday night I spent in a five-a-side joint, watching crap players while listening to podcasts I normally liked but suddenly found aggravating. Inga came through, and I found my schedule filling with a smorgasbord of matches. Tuesday was Rochdale versus Stockport County (League Two, mens). Wednesday was Burnley versus Fylde in the Women's National League Northern Premier Division (tier 3). Thursday was another women's match, but it was in Cheltenham - four hours one way. I treated myself to a night in, instead, and powered through my coaching coursework.

Regardless, it was some good grinding, and going to higher level matches really pushed my debt repayments along. Fylde were not impressive - it was more proof that once we got a few more good players, Chester Women would have nothing to fear.

Going to all these matches meant no evening Playdar, because I couldn't do both. Daytime Playdar mostly brought me to schools - where it was weird for me to wander in and stare at the children - while evening Playdar tended to bring me to teenagers and adults, which was more of what I wanted. I noted the schools that seemed to have good players, and emailed them asking if they'd let me watch their Sports Days or let me know when they played matches against other schools or whatever. I wasn't stressed about it - I had years to find those kids.

Yeah, all in all it felt right to put my needs first. Every power-up helped Chester as much as it helped me. I wouldn't think twice about putting my oxygen mask on first. Because I wasn't a fucking moron.

***

Minute 55

"So you've been studying a new formation," said Emma, after I'd explained this thought process to her. "Studying the competition. And you're working hard on your coaching badges. That's all great. Sharpening the axe, but taking days off, too. It seems perfect? What are you worried about?" She waved at the pitch. "But... am I crazy or are we getting a bit overrun, here?"

"You're not crazy," I said. Since half-time, Bradford had been on top. "They switched to 3-5-2, mostly matching us, but they've dropped one of their CMs to be a DM. Raffi's a bit lost, now. It's a bit too busy for him in there. They've got a grip of the centre and our wide players aren't really good enough to hurt them. Like, if we had Aff, I don't think they'd have made that switch. He'd have all that space to attack. But D-Day's nowhere near Aff's level."

"What would you do if you were in charge?"

"Bradford aren't very threatening. I'd push Carl from centre-back to DM. See how that went."

"2-6-2?"

"Basically, yeah. It's not as wild as it sounds. Next I'll be studying 4-2-4." The curse's demented pricing model had doubled the cost of the next formation. 4-2-4 would cost 800 XP. "The problem with formations and tactics is that you need players to make them work. I can say 4-2-4 would work today, but if you don't have two fast wingers, it's empty words." I paused and had a think. "Next season we could do Pascal and me as the wingers. That'd be the fastest attack in the division."

"You're talking about 4-2-4 a lot. I thought this was the week of 4-5-1."

"Yeah, it's not my favourite."

"Tell me about last night."

***

Friday, 6 p.m. Elton Joans versus Chester Women

Friday's friendly was away to the Elton Joans in the small town of Elton. I worried Ruth would have upgraded the cheap minivans I'd hired to some kind of super premium battle bus, eating even further into the budget she'd given me, but that proved unfounded. The players were nervous after their big defeat the week before, but excited to try what they'd learned during the week. The banter was a lot different than on a men's bus. There was a lot more singing Beyonce songs, for a start.

We arrived and Jill and Spectrum took over, giving me the chance to frolic around. I smacked a few free kicks into one net, just to blow off steam, and found the referee and linesmen had come to watch.

"I'd hate to be on the wrong end of that," said the ref. She reminded me of the one we'd had in the Beth Head matches - short, young, knew the game, wouldn't take any shit.

"Oh, I don't hit it that hard when there's a goalie," I said. "It wouldn't be fair."

The ref didn't know how to respond, until she realised her linos were sniggering. "Right. You're Max Best. I saw that video you made. Loved it."

"Great! My IT guy said barely anyone watched it after the first few days."

"It's going around."

"Top. Listen, we've got a deaf player."

She briefly looked horrified, but not for the reason I initially feared. "I'm not going to carry a flag if that's what you're asking. This match uses IFAB rules." She meant 'this isn't disability football'.

"I know. I'm just letting you know she can't hear the whistle and if you tell her off, she won't know what you said until we explain it to her at half-time. She's good as gold, though. Won't give you any trouble."

"She'd better not. I'm behind on my yellow card quota."

Now it was my turn to not realise someone was joking. It clicked eventually. I smiled at the ref and gave her a friendly finger wag. You got me!

When the Elton Joans started warming up, I relaxed even further. They were going to play 4-4-2, and their average CA was 5. Ours had climbed to 3.5 - it seemed we'd add a point per player per week for a while. We still didn't have a left-back so that was one major flaw. Overall, though, I thought it'd be a close match, but that Dani and Pippa would create lots of chances for Bea Pea.

Spectrum came up to me. "Max, can I have a quick word?"

"Yeah, one sec. I just saw Tyson and his dad. Let's talk to them first." Spectrum followed me over to the side of the pitch. "Guys! You're our first away fans."

"Suppose we are!" said Bulldog. He was in a good mood.

I looked at Tyson. "Just saying, I appreciate the support and everything, but you don't have to do extra. You're in. Proper in."

"We want to come," said Tyson. "Well, I do, anyway. You're starting a whole new team. We get to see what you do. How it changes from week to week. That's really interesting."

I stuck my bottom lip out. "Yeah, okay. It's going to be slow going, though. Small steps. Incremental progress."

Tyson's face said: duh, that's what I like. "But Dani will get better faster than the others, right? That's what you think, isn't it?"

I rubbed my chin. "Great question. I did, but now I'm not so sure. I'd say she's improving at the same rate as the others, but where they stop, she'll keep going."

"I think she doesn't really believe in herself."

"Yeah, well," I said. "The ball doesn't know that. How are you doing in the 16s?"

"It's hard. They're all bigger and faster than me."

"Right. Which is the point. But every day you get a bit bigger and a bit faster, but they don't get any less shit."

"Max!" said Spectrum. He pointed at Tyson. "Don't repeat that."

"Okay," said Tyson, with a laugh.

"Obviously I mis-spoke," I said. "I meant to say that Tyson will soon be pissing all over them from a great height. Better?"

"Not really," said Spectrum, and he pulled me away. Assertive! As we crossed the pitch again, he sighed. "This is a bad time, I know, but I need to get this out. I would like to stay at the club."

I nodded. Jackie's return had fixed a lot of problems. "I'd want to work under a coach like him, too."

"It's not Jackie," said Spectrum. "Of course he's amazing and I'll learn a lot. No, it was Das Tournament, and especially Beth's article."

"Ah. You want to be the Sorcerer's Apprentice."

He laughed. "No, Max. It's more... the things you do actually make sense. To you, anyway. And to Beth. I guess she knows you quite well. So I stopped thinking 'what's he up to?', you know, negative, and now it's more like 'what's he up to?'" He said that last phrase in a cheeky, playful way. "I've still got doubts. But I don't doubt you're trying to do something good for the club and the community. So... I want to be part of it. If you'll have me."

I stopped about fifteen yards from the edge of the pitch. "Yeah, let's finish the season." I looked at the guy. He hadn't dealt with the Tyson situation well, but he had showed signs of getting a bit tougher. I wanted to tell him he needed to keep improving without being a dick about it. "Everyone who wants to stay here needs to step up. The players, me, you. I'll try to be better at explaining my long-term plans and how you fit into them. And you... can improve the areas where you're only scoring 6 out of 10."

I think we both thought my framing was pretty lame, but he appreciated that I'd made an effort. "You're going to tell me what those are, right?"

"I think the scam is that I get you to say it first."

***

Minute 65

"That's good, isn't it?" said Emma. "I know you complain about him, but you like him. I can tell."

"Yeah, he's great. He just really wants to be a football insider. You know, be one of the blokes. Did you know bloke was a bad word?"

"Bloke? Yeah. It's as bad as lad, but better than bro."

"Wow. I'm trying to get rid of blokes, and Spectrum is bloke-curious."

"Go bloke, go broke."

"Jackie does that blokey banter stuff, always has a one-word response to everything ready to fire. But he's got emotional intelligence and makes people feel included. I can't believe Spectrum would want to be like Vimsy or Sam Topps instead of him. It's probably going to work out fine. Ah, this is not good." Bradford had slowly pushed the match up the pitch, and the game was now being played almost exclusively in Chester's half. The dugouts looked transparent, but somehow weren't. I couldn't see Jackie, except for the top of his head sometimes. Gerald May, our overpaid centre-back, got the ball and kicked it miles down the pitch. Bradford worked it forward again, and the pressure was back. Booting it away with half an hour left to go? Mate. "How have we got a possession-based system and no possession?"

"What about the actual match, though?" said Emma. "I still don't know if you won or lost."

***

Elton Joans, First Half

We lined up in our shiny new 4-5-1 formation. I put Dani in the middle so she'd get on the ball more, but I had the option of moving her back to the right-mid slot, with Pippa next to her in either scenario.

4-5-1 is a decent formation, if a little dour. You have the flat back four which almost all players are familiar with, plus five across midfield. That gives the defence lots of cover, and there's always someone to pass to. You can get high possession stats and stop your opponent from creating too many chances.

The downside is the lone striker. She has to do a lot of work. A lot of running into 'the channels' - the sides of the pitch. A lot of 'hold up' play - getting to a forward pass and bullying the defenders long enough for midfielders to get forward and support her. You need to be strong, you need stamina, and you need to be unbothered by the fact you're not going to score many goals.

You're probably thinking - ah! Max Best is a genius. He knew that Bea Pea was perfect for such a role.

Nope! She was more the Ziggy type - a dynamic, never-give-up fox-in-the-box. Just as delighted by scoring from a scuffed tap-in than from a 30-yard screamer. I knew she'd be frustrated in the role, but that she'd do her best. I tasked Jill with giving her pep talks through the match. Keep her spirits up.

I declined to use Bench Boost or Triple Captain because even with the upgraded Fantasy Football perk, it would only work in one friendly, and all the matches on the horizon were friendlies.

The first ten minutes were pretty sedate. We were far superior in terms of technique and passing, and we let the ball do our running. Elton chased and pressed. I was sure they'd tire towards the end, but their manager saw it wasn't working and put a stop to it. No late-match advantage in fitness, then. We had a fairly cagey first half. I used Free Hit on a corner, but it didn't lead to a shot. We didn't have a lot of players with good heading.

"I'd like a bit more threat from dead balls," I said.

"I'd like my husband to leave the bathroom window open," said Jill.

"You love a technical midfielder, Max," said Spectrum. "You go all googly-eyed when you see a tiny playmaker with a low centre of gravity."

"I do not."

"You do. You're like Arsene Wenger. Remember that kid from Notts?"

I broke into a huge grin. "Oh! That guy. He was like a tiny baby Tielemans."

"See? Maybe you could try looking at some other types of players. Just saying."

"I look at the cavemen. I do. The problem with cavemen, mate, is that they live in caves."

The ref blew for half time. Dani kept running around for a few more seconds before spotting that the others were walking away.

"Someone could use that against her," I said.

"What?"

"Did you ever see that old clip where a player was through on goal and the Man United goalie didn't try to save it? He just pointed to the linesman, hoping the guy would go 'duh, I'm offside? Okay.' But the player didn't buy it, and scored. Defenders could stop defending and start walking away, trying to trick Dani into stopping, too."

Spectrum laughed. "Only you'd come up with that, Max."

"We'll make sure she keeps playing," said Jill. "She only stops when she sees Bea Pea stop."

"Top," I said, and went to give my half-time speech.

***

Bradford, Minute 70

"I think I spaced out when you were talking about old clips," said Emma. "That was nil-nil at half-time?"

"Yeah."

"I don't get it. Why's it so easy when you've got the under 14s and so hard with the women?"

I smiled. "It's not easy with the boys. But that team has decisive players. The centre-backs win headers. Future is a passing machine. Seven can dribble and makes great decisions. Tyson's got the X-factor, Benny has great movement. So far, the women's team are just learning the basics. There's no-one who's like, really tall, or super fast or who locks down one part of the pitch. Do you know what I mean? You need players to sort of, dominate their area so you can plan around that."

"Oh." Emma wasn't impressed.

"It's coming. Dani will be that player. Then she'll start getting double-marked and that'll make it easier for the others. Right? But for now, it's a bit of a slog."

"That's why you're doubting yourself? Because you can't do tactical masterpieces."

"Maybe."

***

Elton Joans, Second Half

At half-time, I switched to 4-4-2 and put on a CA 1 rando as a second striker. It worked - we scored, then I urged the women to keep attacking. We scored another. Nice, easy 2-0 win on the horizon! The match ratings were hugely in our favour. Pippa was on seven, as was Bea Pea. Dani was on six, but flitting with a five. It wasn't quite working for her, but she showed nice flashes of skill.

Things started to go wrong when Elton got a lucky break that led to a shot that our goalie dived towards. The ball deflected off a defender and span to the unprotected side of the goal. Two-one!

But it wasn't an issue. We were still playing much better, and the match ratings barely changed. Then Dani combined with Pippa and was in a lot of space on the right. She squared to Bea Pea, who played a nice return pass into Dani's path. She was through against the keeper! Dani shifted onto her left foot and curled it into the corner. Really, really, nice finish. Dani turned to celebrate and found no-one near her.

The ref had blown for offside, so the goalie's attempt to save had been half-hearted and the defenders had given up. Bea Pea gave Dani a big clap - great job! But the ref was moving towards Dani, hand reaching to her pocket. She was going to give a yellow card for kicking the ball away after the whistle had gone! I went mental, and scampered down the touchline.

"No! No! What the fuck?"

The ref heard and looked at me. She glanced at Dani, moved her hand away from her pocket, and simply showed Dani her whistle. Dani looked to her left and saw the lineswoman's flag was up. She realised the ref had been about to book her for something she couldn't help.

I calmed some of the way back down, gave the ref a stern nod, and walked back to my spot.

Dani was shot, though. The incident had unnerved her. Her match rating started to plummet. I called her over and showed her what I'd typed on my phone.

Me: I'll sub you off now. Thumbs down if you really, really want to stay on the pitch.

Not even a thumb. She walked off the pitch and threw herself to the ground among our gear, pulling her coat over her head. I made the sub. Tyson ran around to talk to her, to gee her up. His dad didn't know whether to stick to his spot or come round, too. I waved him over and talked him through the disatrous end to the game.

The unlucky goal and the weirdness with Dani affected the team in a truly astonishing way. Their heads went. Elton scored another. I demanded we attack. Did my chant and everything, but I couldn't get through to them. I switched back to 4-5-1, just to check they were still obeying me. They were. They just couldn't get a grip.

We lost three-two, and I couldn't really understand why.

***

Bradford, Minute 75

Emma had gone from mild interest to barely-contained fury as I'd described the incident.

"But you told the ref she was deaf! What's she supposed to do?"

"I know. Nothing actually happened, but it was a close call. Next time I'll point to Dani or give them a picture or something so that's there absolutely zero possible risk of this happening."

"Can I sue the ref if she books Dani?"

"No."

"Can I write a strongly worded letter?"

"As long as you never send it, yeah."

"Max, it pisses me off. I'm livid."

"I know. I went a bit apeshit, myself. When I was complaining to Jill on the way home, she whispered that maybe it had turned out well. Like, she thought I was a bit overly distant - she said mathematical - on the touchline, maybe, and sometimes players like to know that their manager really, really cares."

"Huh. I can see that. I think."

"We just... weren't there in the last ten minutes, though. That hasn't happened to me before. I've always been able to sort of communicate with my team. It's almost like telepathy," I said, carefully. "I get emotional, I get determined, and so do they. We can summon up some energy to put into our legs."

"You've been overworking, recently. It's normal you don't have much in the tank."

"That's not it. I was up for it. I was, like, crackling with energy and all that. It just wasn't getting to the players."

"What... what do you do about it?"

"No clue. Maybe it's just one of those things."

"Max," said Emma, turning to get a proper look at me. "I sort of think... Okay, if you ask me, you've had a good week. Not outstanding, maybe a bit weird. But things always seem a bit worse if there's a bad ending. Like that meal we had in Darlo. Great soup, great main, crap dessert. But overall, it was a good meal, right?"

"But that's just it. This morning was totally awesome."

"This morning? What did you do this morning?"

***

Saturday, 10:00 a.m.

The stars were finally aligned for our goalkeepers to join me at the local goalkeeping school, something we'd been trying to arrange since my first training session with them.

The JM Academy, motto 'All You Need Is Glove', was run by a former pro called Jay-Mo. He welcomed us with great enthusiasm but then got back to work. We pottered around while two different age groups got on with drills, supervised by Jay-Mo and an older keeper who was helping out in return for some private lessons.

Handling, positioning, fitness was being improved on one side of the hall. On the other, working with the ball at your feet, drop kicks, agility.

Angles, Ben, and Robbo were fascinated, and extremely enthusiastic about the sessions they were seeing. They all agreed it was much better than anything they'd experienced when they were young. The arrival of the three pro goalies from the local club was a big deal; lots of selfies were taken. I was the fourth most requested selfie, a fact that I barely noticed.

While there, I triggered Playdar, which was a neat trick because it showed me most of the player profiles in the area as well as telling me which kid had the highest PA.

I tried to keep the glee off my face as I went on a goalkeeper signing spree. The most talented was nine years old - he was an agile little dude with PA 130. I nicknamed him Tadpole. There was an eleven-year-old with PA 61 who already had a nickname - Big Sam.

Then there was a good goalie for the women's team - PA 72. Amazing! The only problem was she was eleven. Another long-term project.

Finally, the most unexpected thing of all - a left-back. I'd found so few left-backs, and no wonder. They were in goalkeeping classes. Lucas was 15 and had PA 62. I only needed to persuade him to play outfield...

***

Minute 80

"Wait wait wait," said Emma, using both hands to keep her brain from exploding. "Let me see. You've seen that all your players are getting proper training and are improving. You've worked on your coaching badges. You've had your second game with the women's team and you were unlucky to lose. Some rugby blokes said you were good at rugging. And you found a bunch of players so talented you can't stop beaming when you talk about them." She paused, and allowed a cute little frown to scrunch up her features. "What's the problem?"

"I don't know," I said. "Time... Not enough time. But so much time! But it's something else. Something... Or... it's sort of..." My voice trailed away.

Emma saw why - Bradford's constant pressure resulted in an overload on the left. A fast guy with a big fluffy afro got to the byline, pulled the ball back, and a striker had a tap-in. Two-one Bradford.

We sat in silence for the next five minutes. Bradford were happy to sit back, now, but Jackie didn't do anything. Finally, he subbed Raffi off and put Magnus on as the left-back in a 4-4-2. "Yes!" I said, punching the air.

The momentum gradually swung our way, but just as we were piling on the pressure, the ref blew his whistle. Game over.

The home fans went nuts. They were only one point behind us now. I didn't have the Live Tables or Live Scores perks, but we were unlikely to have actually slipped into the relegation zone. We'd be there, out of danger by the skin of our teeth.

Jackie led the team over to the extremely noisy away fans, acknowledging their superb support. They got a generous round of applause. No-one could doubt they'd put a shift in.

I watched for a while, my mind churning. The tactics, the players, the substitutions. What could have been done better? What could have been done sooner?

"Max," said Emma. She took my hand. I looked at her and some of the mental turmoil subsided. "You've got to let it go. That's not your fight. Leave it to Jackie. You had a good week. Have more weeks like this one."

I smiled. I'd planned to go to London to watch Crystal Palace Women, but six days of football was enough for one week. "This one's not over. It could end on a high."

"Oh, could it?" she said, with a very provocative smile. "Why don't you check if the alpaca farm is still open?"

"It's not."

"So what do you think? Quiet night in?"

I looked around the ground. Two hundred away fans. Eleven players, five subs, one manager. Jackie had fought for me. I had to fight for him - by staying out of his way. "Quiet night in. Yeah. Or... I just got a big burst of energy. How about... we go clubbing?"

"You hate clubbing."

"I like you."

Emma bit her bottom lip. "Let's go home and check out your bruises… (and we'll see if there’s time for anything else.)"

...

Thanks for your support!