7.5 - Deva Station [T1] (Patreon)

5.

Saturday, February 17

Match 31 of 46: Farsley Celtic versus Chester

From the Leeds Star online edition

Farsley Celtic Relegation Bound After 8-0 Defeat

Farsley Celtic suffered one of the most devastating defeats in National League history on Saturday, losing to a rampant Chester side at The Citadel.

Despite their poor start to the calendar year, in which they have failed to secure a win, the manner of this defeat was wholly unexpected. Celtic's previous losses were all by a single goal. After losing a tight contest to Brackley, they were unlucky in a good showing against Darlington, falling to a late winner in that 2-1 loss, which was followed by narrow 1-0 losses to Gloucester and Buxton.

All semblance of defensive cohesion and team unity was obliterated in the first fifteen minutes, when Chester player-manager Max Best defied the muddy conditions to dribble into shooting range before unleashing a piledriver past Celtic's unfortunate goalkeeper, Paddy Dunstable.

Dunstable was not at fault for the second - a mighty header from Chester's powerful striker Chris Beaumont, nor the third, a smart cut-back from right midfielder Joe Anka that was tucked away by French star Henri Lyons. At three-nil up, Chester seemed content to conserve energy and the rest of the half passed without incident.

The moment defeat turned to humiliation can be traced to the seventieth minute when Chester replaced Anka - returning from injury - with Pascal Bochum, a baby-faced German teenager. Celtic's left back Frank Saltney decided to teach the youngster a lesson by launching into a two-footed tackle that could have had serious repercussions for the youngster's career. The melee that ensued did not end in so much as a yellow card for Saltney, and thus began an extraordinary passage of play.

First, Chester's left-midfielder Dorigo swapped flanks with Bochum and was soon booked for a hard foul on Saltney. Next Alton was booked for a hard foul on Saltney. Lyons was booked for a hard foul on Saltney. Topps was next, then there was the utterly bizarre sight of Max Best dropping into the centre back position so that his captain, Glenn Ryder, could take his turn fouling you-know-who. Bochum was switched back to right-mid, where he was almost immediately booked for a late tackle on Saltney.

Any team thinking this Chester side are shrinking violets who can be got at through physical play must reconsider their strategy.

When Best wasn't chipping high passes for his players to launch themselves at Saltney, he was orchestrating a furious, unrelenting assault on poor Dunstable. The goals came from all angles. Dorigo fired crosses into the corridor of uncertainty. Bochum and Alton combined for overlaps on the right.

Best himself launched long shots, took accurate free kicks and corners, tried chips and through balls, and celebrated his team's goals very much in the vicinity of Frank Saltney - this obvious and unpleasant gamesmanship was the trigger for three more melees - and for once the Chester manager was not content to do his talking on the pitch.

"This result is a message to the managers of the National League North. I will be using the remaining games of this season to give opportunities to young players. If you think your best tactic is to kick them off the pitch, we'll punish you even if the referee doesn't. Referees might allow you to endanger my players, but I won't.

"When you go to your next job interview - and it will be much sooner than you'd like - the first question will be, why did you lose eight-nil? Nine-nil? Ten-nil? And you'll say it's because we tried to bully a Chester player learning his trade. Next question. Can you explain this gap in your CV? Yeah. Chester [expletive] us up and I'm [expletive] unemployable now. So did you learn your lesson? No, I'd do it again. I regret nothing. Okay, thanks for coming. Don't call us, we'll call you."

***

Monday, February 19

Minutes of Chester FC Strategic Development Meeting

For Internal Use Only

Present: MD; Max Best; Brooke Star

Item 1 - Call to Order

Point of Order - Mr. Best suggests Miss Star document her activities so a 'theoretical-strictly-hypothetical-you-understand' replacement can quickly carry on her work. MD complains. Miss Star agrees, though clarifies that she is not working but merely shadowing MD until such time as her work permit is granted. Miss Star acknowledges Mr. Best's idea to add a winky face emoji to the minutes and will take it under advisement.

Action: Miss Star will document her activities.

Item 2 - Deva Station

Miss Star asks Mr. Best to confirm his ambitions to expand the Deva Stadium and its environs. Mr. Best assures the meeting that he is a humble functionary carrying out the wishes of the Board and wider fandom but could certainly see a need for expansion sooner rather than later.

Miss Star shares research showing a modern high-speed rail connection will be extended from London to Crewe, putting Chester within easy reach of the capital. Mr. Best recommends Miss Star do supplementary research because the outgoing government has 'decided to salt the earth and has not only canceled the project but ensured it can never be recommenced because the modern Briton prefers to elect arsonists, not builders'.

Miss Star advises Mr. Best of proposals to connect the Manchester Metrolink tram system to Chester via light rail. Mr. Best professes the topness of such a plan.

Miss Star suggests MD use his contacts, experience, and considerable charm to discuss these plans with local politicians, with special emphasis on making sure any tram line extends to the stadium and adjoining sporting campus.

Action 1: Preliminary talks will be held with political figures aiming at ensuring any tram network in Chester extends to the stadium.

Action 2: Miss Star will refrain from mentioning social demolitionists in the presence of people who are trying to enjoy their day.

Action 3: MD and Miss Star will propose facility names other than 'campus' because 'that's totes played out I need a fresh new sound yo'

Emergency Point of Order

Mr. Best wishes to inform the meeting that the 'Farsley Twat' has been sacked and requires that Miss Star charter an AirAds plane to fly a banner with the word 'lolz' in big letters at the next Farsley game. Miss Star agrees to consider the request with utmost seriousness.

Item 3 - Cup Final Marketing

MD suggests using club funds (transfer budget) to book coaches to bring fans to Crewe for the Cheshire Seniors Cup final. Miss Star asks why fans need a coach since they won't be playing. Mr. Best makes very mature and masculine noises before MD explains that a coach is what Brits call a bus when it travels from city to city. MD agrees with Miss Star that it is confusing. Mr. Best wishes it to be placed on record that he does not find it confusing.

Action: Mr. Best agrees to release transfer funds for this proposal. Miss Star will shadow MD as he makes the arrangements.

Item 4 - Kitchen Equipment and Staff

Miss Star has made progress in sourcing a kitchen trailer that can be fixed into place for short periods and moved. Planning permission is not needed for our use case. MD has permission from BoshCard to park the trailer on their grounds provided it offers lunchtime food to its workers and nearby residents. Miss Star has calculated the expense of starting immediately versus starting in the new season. Mr. Best agrees the arguments for the latter are compelling.

Action: Kitchen facilities and new staff will be in place for pre-season training, July 2024.

***

Match 32 of 46: Hereford versus Chester

We switched to 3-5-2 to give Eddie Moore a match off, and had Lucas Friend on the bench so we could switch to a back four while giving him a debut. The central three was Sam Topps, me, and Pascal. It seemed like a good mix of skills - we could pass a bit, press a bit, and slap a bit.

Pascal's morale had remained fairly high after his big Valentine's Day move, but when almost the entire team had taken it in turns to smash the left back who had tried to end his career, he'd gone from okay morale to superb.

I'd been keeping an eye on Henri's morale, to see the exact moment Luisa shot him down or agreed to whatever she might agree to - but Henri's morale didn't waver the whole of Valentine's Day, and like the rest of the team had gone up because of our demolition of Farsley.

Now we were playing the Bulls of Hereford, near Wales, and I wasn't in the mood for any bull. We were the best team in the league, the fittest team, and we could score goals from all sides. Crush, kill, destroy. Leave a trail of destruction and devastation. Demotivate and demoralise. Two bullets to the head followed by two dozen more. Make my upcoming ban utterly meaningless and irrelevant.

We picked a strong team, leaving out only Henri from our stars, and raced into a two-goal lead, and when I dropped into the DM slot - which was supposed to be the signal that we should calm the eff down and save energy - my players for once refused the option of taking it easy. It was four-nil at half time, mostly because Pascal was being a dick, teasing the other team, putting himself in position to be kicked, and from the free kicks I'd find one of our tall boys. We were racking up all kinds of goals from set pieces now.

I think two things happened.

One. When he'd been fouled and got up and played amazingly well, Sandra or Livia or someone told Pascal it was 'hot' or 'sexy'. That made him seek out fouls instead of avoiding them. Bonkers, I know, but the kid was horny. What can you say?

Two, the way the entire team had turned into big brothers, smashing into the shitty left back whenever there was the chance, had boosted his confidence. (I, by the way, had been told not to get involved. Glenn had said 'leave it to us' and apart from shifting different players into the right-mid slot, I had.)

Back to Hereford. While Pascal was putting himself in harm's way I used Cupid's Arrow to connect Chris Beaumont to Tony Hetherington. For fifteen minutes, their headers and flick-ons would have a higher chance of going to one another. I thought, given how often we were sending crosses into the danger zone, that would be an interesting experiment. I think it went quite well, just as the Eddie Moore to Aff link had gone well in the previous match.

Four-nil at half time, then, and as I walked to the dressing rooms, I noticed, again, the two Grimsby Town scouts. They had been there at Farsley, too. I wondered which player they were scouting. Grimsby would be a good move for most of my players - if they stayed in League Two, which was more and more uncertain. They were two places above the danger zone but it wouldn't take much for their rivals to overhaul them.

At half time I subbed Pascal off - I didn't want him breaking a leg and missing his big date - and threw Dan Badford on. He was only 15, much too young and slight for a match against a good team, but I knew Sam liked him and would look after him. It was an odd relationship, that. Dan was not the type of person Sam Topps would normally get on with. Dan dressed flash, didn't seem to be serious, said weird things. But while Sam snapped and barked at the other youngsters, who seemed to be trying harder to impress, he accepted Dan's weirdness with all the good-natured indulgence of a doting uncle.

With Dan on the pitch and efficiency the name of our game, the second half was much more closely contested. Hereford had a big crowd for a Tuesday evening fixture, almost 3,000, and were determined to put on a better second half show. We kept them at bay, albeit with a few hairy moments.

With twenty minutes to go, I chucked Lucas Friend on for his debut and switched to a back four.

Immediately, Hereford scented blood. Yes, we had some of our big names on the pitch, but we also had two absolute toddlers. When we had the ball we were fine, but when defending we essentially had nine players.

Hereford's manager targeted our right-hand side. Not with brutal aggression - that wouldn't have gone well for him, but by setting his team's attacking tendency to that side.

Friend did his best and even won a few duels. He was solid in possession, but was caught sleepwalking once - he played the Bulls onside when the rest of the defence had pushed out - and was again badly out of position a few minutes later.

We 'only' won 4-2, then, and the goalie and defenders weren't too happy at losing their clean sheet. I gave them a friendly reminder that we were a team and there were more important things, and we all moved on.

***

Extract from Deva Victrix, the unofficial Chester FC podcast by fans for fans. Deva Victrix is now on YouTube! Remember to like and subscribe and please don't complain about the sound quality. Recording in the open air is not a problem that has been solved in countless affordable ways.

Huey: Just doing a quick video outside Edgar Street here in Hereford. Good ground that, innit?

J: Yeah, proper football ground. You don't get a circular terrace much these days. Good atmosphere.

Dewey: Yeah for about five minutes, then Max shut them up.

Huey: Lot of locals were wishing us well against Kidderminster. Hereford's big rivals, of course.

J: It'd be nice to beat Kiddies but the league's over, innit? We just keep pulling away and the way we're playing no-one's gonna catch us.

Huey: I don't know. I can't help feeling there's a twist in the tale.

J: No chance. We're far too good. Look at the end, there. We've brought on two little 'uns again. The way he's going, it's gonna be Best and the Seven Dwarves against Darlington and we'll still win.

Dewey: Trying to think of a Snow White joke.

Huey: Don't show your thinking face on camera or you'll get the channel demonetised.

Dewey: You cheeky get.

Huey: Conceded two late goals, there. The only blot on the copybook, really. I get he wants to put the kids in, but one a time, I reckon. Two's too many. Specially if you've got Anka, not fully match sharp, or Bochum.

J: Good to see him back in the action, isn't it? He was cocky today. Not seen that side of him before.

Huey: If he's gonna play like that and draw those fouls, with Best firing free kicks to Goliath, I mean, yeah. It doesn't say much for the intelligence of the defenders in this league that they keep giving those fouls away.

Dewey: Superwhite and the Seven Dwarves.

[silence]

Dewey: Because he played for Tranmere!

Others: [mocking laughter]

Huey: Speaking of intelligence, that were fucking shit, that. Superwhite? Who calls them that? No-one. Unless you're maybe a closet Tranmere fan, mate?

Dewey: You think of a pun, then.

Huey: We're not doing puns! We're doing a podcast on YouTube! Full spectrum match reactions like those Arsenal idiots.

J: We haven't talked about Tranmere.

Huey: Oh, are you one an' all? Jesus wept.

J: Best said he wanted to go and get his head right so he could get back to his best. Get his head straight. We were all fuming, weren't we? Thought he was taking the piss. Got a bit heated. And now look. He's crushing this league. There's like, a trail of devastation everywhere we go. Teams can't defend against us and that's what he said. He said he'd come back better and he's doing it and he said we'd win the league and we're doing it.

Huey: Here we go. J's Road to Damascus moment. He's got a fucking Max Best 77 tattoo on his fucking chest. Biggest fan. Ever since he chose you to do the solo podcast with.

J: It's not like that. I mean, it was mad seeing him up close. He talks a load of shit and thinks you're stupid for not getting it, but then what he says turns out right! And he's funny. You don't get that from a distance.

Dewey: Most of the players like him and they work with him every day. That says a lot. Like that video that got leaked where he's with Magnus Evergreen and he's sick and does that presentation about the ten stages of 4-4-2. He was off his head and he still made more sense than most.

J: But that's what I'm saying. Everyone online was laughing at that but then - did you see that clip with that Crawley manager?

Huey: No.

J: Timo something. No-one can pronounce his surname so they call him TJ. Seems like a good manager, saved them from relegation. He got manager of the month and Crawley's media guys did a sit down with him and showed him that video. At first he was laughing because Best is basically drunk, right, he's sweaty, he's making weird jokes, then he goes into his thing and TJ stops laughing and he's listening and the media guys try to talk to him but he just rewinds and watches it again and then he walks off with the media guy's phone.

Huey: Great. He's found someone who can understand him. But we're here to talk about this game we've just seen. We should be talking about Hereford's goals and the discontent in the team.

J: What discontent?

Huey: Robbo, Glenn, Gerald May, having a pop at the kid for costing them goals and Best turning on them. Don't tell me you didn't see it.

J: I saw it but it was nothing. They don't like letting goals in. Best laughed at them and they had a row and they were all friends again. Ryder walked off with his arm around the Lucas kid's shoulder! Don't make shit up!

Huey: He mimed like he was going to strangle him.

J: You wilfully misinterpreting a thing is bad content. We are Chester. We just demolished yet another team. Saturday's Spennymoor; they'll get the same treatment. We are going up. Max knows best. Come on you Seals, fuck you two twats.

[harsh static, scraping, dull thud]

Huey: And there we have it. J has officially quit the pod and taken his goldfish memory with him. Here at Deva Victrix we still remember that our manager fucking walked out on us mid-season and no number of wins can erase that. We remain hashtag Best Out.

Dewey: Not me. I'm with J. I don't like Best the person but Best the manager is a legend.

Huey: Right give me that fucking mic. I'm serious. Make your own way home. And turn that fucking camera off, you!

***

Match 33 of 46: Chester versus Spennymoor

Eat, sleep, win. Eat, sleep win.

There are worse doom loops to get stuck in, but it was still a loop. Spennymoor, the ninth best team in our league, were not in our league; I didn't need to do anything clever or interesting to beat them. They were stuck on CA 44, while our players continued to get stronger, bronzes turning silver, silvers turning gold, and our cute little puppies turning into cute medium-sized puppies.

There had been movement on the topic of puppies. After conceding the two goals against Hereford, Sandra had negotiated a new policy. We could give minutes to two young players, but not at the same time. That was fine - the goals meant nothing in the wider picture of our season and Sandra agreed that developing the youth players was important, but our keepers and defenders were professionals and we had to respect their determination to keep goals out. In the end, there was a solution that fit all parties. Done. Easy.

As ever, we rotated the team, this time leaving out Sam and Chris, surprising Spenny by returning to our old 4-1-4-1. For once, it took us a while to break down their defences, but we got a goal after half an hour and then, frankly, toyed with them.

Pascal wasn't on the bench - he was in the stands with Brooke, some old people she'd found, and Clive O'Keefe. I ambled over there at half time and gave him a wave. It was good to see him out in the fresh air. Maybe one day I'd get to see him on the training pitch and I'd discover his attributes, but there was no rush.

This season was gliding to a not very thrilling conclusion, and seeking out every little marginal gain had lost its appeal. In the summer, our CA ceiling would increase from 60-ish to 70 or 80 - the exact number remained to be seen. The kitchen would come online and we'd get a nutritionist which would hopefully nudge the ceiling up another 5 or 10 points. It would be a while before we were desperate for another top coach.

When exactly would the ceiling change? Five seconds after we mathematically won the league? When the new fixtures were released? Or perhaps when the curse did its yearly update thing? That had been in June, hadn't it?

I slouched off the pitch, thoughts being pulled in six different directions, when I saw them again. The Grimsby mob. Who on earth were they scouting so hard? It made absolutely zero sense to me. With a grin, I decided I'd get to the bottom of it in true Max Best fashion. I clambered over the adverts and into the main stand, past a lot of shocked but happy Chester fans.

I left my smile on to show I meant the scouts no ill will. "All right, what's your game?"

The more senior one smiled back. "Sorry, lad?"

"You're Grimsby."

The smile wavered. "How on earth do you know that?"

"This is my gaff. I know what goes on here. Who are you looking at?"

"Couldn't possibly say," said the first one.

"Who should we be looking at?" said the second.

"Well everyone on the pitch would do a job for you in the National League, which is where you're headed."

"That's a low blow," said the first. He was amused and clearly felt his job was not under threat whatever happened to the club in the short term.

I shrugged. "You could do worse than sign Chris Beaumont. There's nothing to Grimsby. You've got nothing special anywhere on the pitch. But you're not looking at him. So who?"

The second guy fell into a leer. "I've only got eyes for your physio there. No wonder your lads are always going down."

"I think I've got a bit of a groin strain meself."

"Think she'd like some of my magic spray?"

As always, I was stunned to hear people talk to me like I was in their disgusting little clique, but I wasn't some minor drone working for a bank. The sick rules of football meant I had to take some amount of abuse from paying fans, but these pricks were guests.

I went down the steps, turned into the tunnel, and went into the dressing room. "Brig," I said, and my tone got his attention. Got everyone's attention. "Livia, got my phone?" At some point, I'd started leaving my phone with her during matches. She handed it over and I led the Brig back out and to the scouts.

While in front of them, I called Chris Hale, who owned their football team.

"Chris? Max. You've sent two fucking pigs to my stadium. I'm kicking them out now. They're banned. And I don't want to see more of your guys here because if I do you'll be getting them back with no teeth. No, it's not a discussion."

I hung up and nodded at the Brig. He twisted his neck slightly and it clicked like in a cool action movie. The scouts were shit scared, now, and left their seats like a couple of meek little lambs.

I had to count to five to stop myself screaming in the middle of loads of randos. Instead, I paced back to the dressing room.

"Fuck efficiency!" I yelled, startling everyone. "I want goals. Sandra, I'm in a mood. Chris up front, please."

***

Chester Chatters Feedback Summary

Interviews carried out by Brooke Star, 24 Feb

Doris Smith

It was very nice I had a wonderful time. It was very noisy and exciting and not at all what I'm used to. Pascal was sweet and said my German was very good which isn't true because I haven't practiced for so long but my accent was always my strong suit. I didn't expect to practice my language skills at a football match. It made me proud to see the boys in their Chester kits and they were very good, weren't they? The plastic chairs were too hard and there was too much swearing but I would come again. Yes, please do invite me.

Greta Fitzgerald

So nice to get out of the house and I'm glad you made me go back for my warm coat and gloves. The tea was bad and overall it was a rather odd experience. I can't remember the last time I went to a football match. That Max Best that everyone talks about is terribly arrogant and the way he kept running to us and pointing to his name?

That isn't my type of young man at all but I suppose that's what they are like these days but I will say he has a nice smile and the German boy thinks the world of him so's maybe it's all an act like with the wrestling they used to have on the telly on Saturday mornings. Big Daddy was one. Oh I forgot the rest. My memory's not what it used to be. You're very pretty. Do you like one of the footballers? Come back? I'm not sure. I should have to decide spontaneously.

Agnetha Saunders

I like to watch the snooker because that's very soothing and you can fall asleep to it but you couldn't fall asleep to the football because there are too many goals and it's so noisy when they score the goals. And the fans get terribly angry, don't they?

The German boy said they were angry at the referee but I don't like that. He's only doing his best. He laughed and said I sounded like Max Best and that was nice of him. I don't know who Max Best is but I didn't tell him that. He's a good boy. Pascal, wasn't it? And his father was very nice, too. Very friendly. Always smiling. He made me feel safe. Yes, I'd come again.

Clive O'Keefe

That was something else, that. You don't know much about football, do you? Oh, college football! Ha! Not sure you've got many boys who are the best quarterback, receiver, kicker, and who call the plays. I've seen some good players and mind you, it's only non-league and the opposition folded like a pack of cards, but still. It's not just the power and the skill, it's the imagination.

Take his third goal. He shoots to the top-left. Goalie tips it over. He shoots top-left again. Goalie paws it away. Next shot? Top-left. I was telling Pascal I knew what was coming next but when it did, it still got me off my seat. Rolls it bottom-right, keeper doesn't even move. Best got in his head. And then he's over here blowing kisses at you. Not you? The old women? No! Why? But he said it was your idea. Come back? Try and stop me!

***

Monday, 26 February

Emma and I had spent a nice weekend together and I didn't want it to end, so I took her to Boshcard to check what Sandra was planning for the upcoming week. Sandra liked to have a clear outline and while she didn't seem to mind that I kept changing our plans based on a hard tackle or becoming enraged by a scout, I didn't want to push my luck. She was a huge part of our future and I didn't want to piss her off. I tried to keep in mind that she only had adaptability 4 and might snap if I didn't stick to our agreements most of the time.

"Hi, Emma!"

"Hi, boss." Emma called her boss, which I know Sandra secretly liked. Who wouldn't?

"If you're here, I'm guessing Max won't be training with us today."

"He says he can't. He's got a sore weenus."

Sandra laughed. "Is that what they call it in Newcastle?"

"It's the flap of skin on the elbow. Show her, Max."

"I will not be showing my weenus until my wedding night."

"We're going to Tatton Park," said Emma. That was a massive stately home with gardens, frolicking deer, and a mound shaped like Mount Fuji. Rich people are officially bonkers. "It's not the best time of year but there's less chance of us being recognised and bothered, Max says."

"You're going on a nice day trip while the rest of us work hard. Is that it?"

"That's pretty much it, yes," I said. "Is that all right with you?"

Sandra's faux-frown melted and she rubbed her hands. "Anything that stops you practicing the Sweeper formation is good news." She spotted Emma's confused look. "Max wanted to play Sweeper against Kidderminster on Saturday but Henri staged an intervention. We sat Max down and one by one we told him why we didn't want to do it."

"And he agreed?" said Emma, reaching up to 'check my temperature'.

"He's crazy, but not stupid. He knows we're right."

"So why did he want to do something wrong?"

Sandra pursed her lips. "Because he's Max. Okay, boss. What's the plan for the week?"

"Tomorrow we're away at Peterborough Sports. We need to put out a team that can win that. They're about as good as Spennymoor. With us on this rampage they'll probably try to low block us. I'm almost tempted to let it stay nil-nil for the first half. Save energy, quick blitz when we come out, don't give them a sniff."

"It's risky."

"Yeah but if we get an early goal they might come at us."

"So?" said Emma. "Where's my fearless football?"

Sandra explained. "We're not afraid. We want to give ourselves the best shot at Kidderminster on Saturday. Everything we've been doing has been with that in mind. We play a lot of 4-4-2 but against Spenny we changed it. We've been rotating the team but Horseman - the Kiddies manager - will be expecting our strongest line-up. But does that mean Max at CM or right-mid? Will we use Chris against them? They can't be sure. But they're smart and capable and it'll be a massive match. So ideally we'd take it easy tomorrow."

"But three points against Peterborough is worth the same as three points against Kidderminster," I said. "If we win tomorrow, we'll be so far ahead of Kiddies that they might not waste energy trying to compete with us."

"Do you want to put our strongest eleven out in both games?"

"No. Let's stick to our principles. Rest Glenn and Henri tomorrow. No kids this week. Normal training today and tomorrow. Then dial it down the rest of the week. I don't want injuries. Saturday's everything."

"Henri will be annoyed. He's scoring at a rate of knots. Who's going to tell him?"

"I'll do it," said Emma.

I laughed. "That's actually perfect. Go on, bebs."

Sandra and I watched as Emma walked over to the squad, saying hi to everyone. She said something to Henri, who smiled and nodded. Emma turned to Glenn and although it was inaudible, she very clearly said, "You too." She'd told them they were being left out of the team in such a way she'd left them both smiling.

"She's fantastic. Can she come every week?"

"Ha, no," I said. "We have to try to get to that level of charm. Life goals."

"Have a nice day off," she said, walking off to start the first proper drill.

"Be nice to have a little break from thinking about football," I said, but it took about five seconds to realise my wish wasn't going to come true.

Looking a bit lost but following the sound of the whistles and the shouts, was Chris Hale, the multi-multi-millionaire owner of Grimsby Town.

We didn't get to Tatton Park that day, but when she heard what Chris had to say, Emma was far from devastated.

***

Tuesday, 27 February

Training the morning before a match is supposed to be light. It's to get the juices flowing and the limbs loose. To go over tactical messages and make sure the plan is understood.

So when everyone suddenly perked up and started running hard and adding a little bite to their tackles, I instantly scanned to see who the offender was.

Surprise, surprise, it was Brooke. She had texted that she had a couple of questions for me.

I sighed and went over, hands on my hips. "Mate."

"Am I disturbing practice? You said it was okay for me to watch y'all."

"Yes, I did say that." I relaxed my stance. "Okay, what've you got? Fast as poss."

She nodded. "One. There's a new Chester podcast. The other one split. I was thinking we could help them with some good microphones and a little training with Boggy on how to use them. Start the relationship on a good note."

"How much do you want to spend?"

"I had a look and six, seven hundred pounds would go a long way."

Money was oozing out of my account in dribs and drabs, but all of it was justified. Believe me, I was keeping a close eye on the total. "Done." Sandra brought my phone over. It was Secretary Joe. "Joe. Let me guess. You've got some bad news for me."

He did. I listened, said thanks, and hung up.

"The Football Association have given me a seven-match ban."

"Starting when?" said Sandra.

"Brackley."

"So you can play against Kidderminster."

"Yep."

She closed her eyes. "So we can cope."

I nodded. "We can cope." I bit my nail while I calculated everything. Six points against Peterborough Sports and Kidderminster would put us in an impregnable position. "Let's have Henri and Glenn on the bench tonight, just in case."

She agreed and went off.

Brooke's eyes were darting around while she tried to understand what she had just heard. "You'll miss seven matches? Is that a lot?"

"Oh, that's huge. That's pretty vicious. They really don't like me. This is just for playing, by the way. I can still manage. What they don't know is that there are only three matches I'm really bothered about and I'll get to play in all three. So fuck 'em. They thought they'd landed some sort of devastating uppercut but it passed right through me. Right. Hey! Don't worry about it! I'm serious. There's a good chance we'll win all seven of those matches. We've got the best team regardless of whether I play. Right. What was the other thing?"

"Sorry, Max, I don't know a whole lot about this game but I know sports and when a team loses its best player, it's not something you brush off like it's nothing."

"It is, though. It might even be an advantage. The season is drifting. We could use this to motivate the lads. Make it an us against the world kinda thing. Seriously, though. We're fine. If this ban hadn't been looming I would have played ten, twenty minutes a match. I really don't need to be on the pitch getting kicked to bits. Next thing, please."

"Okay. I met with Ryan Jack and he has agreed to come along to the Chester Chatters for the next few home games."

"Did he agree?" She didn't pick up my overly sarcastic tone.

"He was keen."

"Was he keen to sit next to you for two hours, Brooke? And mansplain soccer to you? Was he keen, though? Gosh."

She looked down, doing a pretty good impression of a demure Jane Austen character. "I think he liked the social aspect, Max."

"Oh, that's just the cherry on top. But great. I've got to say, I love this. I'm glad we're doing it. Try to get some randos involved because it won't always be poss to lend you a player."

"On it. I'm talking to local age concern charities and social housing and the like. I was talking to Inga and she said you had a mania for going to schools to watch the young players but it became unmanageable. Would you like me to pick that up?"

"You're going to do some scouting, Brooke?"

She did something with her face - pushing down some witty comeback, I think. "I mean I can call schools in the area to find out when they are playing matches and add those dates to your calendar. And if they don't have any fixtures, I can support them in organising some."

She was asking for more work? What was that angle? "Yes. That's obviously great. But not at the expense of - "

"I'm on top of everything we've discussed. Or at least, I will be when my work permit clears. WINK."

"Yeah. Wink."

"Inga was also helping you find equipment that other clubs and gyms were selling off or throwing out. Would you like me to - ?"

"Yes, please," I said, walking away. I could run around for forty-five minutes. Brooke could sprint for days; she was exhausting. Ten steps away, I turned round. "See if you can find one of those mechanical bulls, Brooke. We could buy one. Make you feel at home." I kept walking away, backwards, facing her. "I'm waiting for you to say you'd never been on one and it was a cliche."

"I'm a simple Texas girl. I'm all cliche, all the time. But you don't needa take me to the honky tonk to know I know how to break a bronc." With that, she turned and wiggled away.

***

Extract from Deva Station, the newest and Blueist Chester fan media channel. By real fans, for real fans, with no swearing.

[Epic theme music plays, interspersed with commentary of memorable moments from Boggy and the BBC]

J: Yes! Welcome to Deva Station, I'm your host, J.

Smakk: And I'm your other host, Smakk.

J: That's Chester firm legend, bad boy turned good, Smakk with two Ks if you want to follow him on the socials. We're on all the usual places with the username Devastation. Love that. Hey, we've got a nice setup here. Good equipment.

Smakk: Where's it all come from? You rob a bank?

J: The new PR lady from the club helped us out. Heard what we were doing, asked if they could help.

Smakk: So have we got to say nice things or can we slag them off? Is that why we can't swear?

J: Say what you want. Er... nothing that'll get me in trouble with Max Best's bird. She's watching like a hawk. I think I'd rather not talk about his ban. We all know what happened there and there's nothing more to say about it. Anything else is fair game. No swearing's because we can't run adverts on videos with F bombs. Not sure there will be much call for bad language tonight. We're outside Lincoln Road about to hit the pub before a long drive home. We've just seen another absolutely dominant Chester performance. Only two-nil, but one of the most one-sided two-nils you'll ever see. That looked like 4-2-4 to me, which we've not seen in a good while. What did you make of that lineup and those tactics?

[Fans walking past]: We! Are! Top of the league! Said we are top of the league!

Smakk: I was worried when it was goalless at half time but for me you can tell how well we're playing by watching Sandy Lane. She was all smiles going to the dressing room. She and Best were laughing it up. What was the question? Tactics? Honestly, to me it's like we can do what we want in almost every game. I did some maths near the end when the lads were passing it around in that horseshoe.

J: Go on.

Smakk: Since Best came back from his holiday, we've played eight, won eight, scored thirty, conceded two.

J: Madness.

Smakk: That second goal was our ninety-eighth this season. The record is Fylde with a hundred and nine. There's twelve matches left; we're going to obliterate that. And we're going to beat the record we set for biggest positive goal difference.

J: When did we do that?

Smakk: 2012-13 when no-one could beat us. We're so far ahead of the rest of this league we can win with our best striker and best defender on the bench in their pyjamas playing cards. Have you seen the latest league table? We're eleven points clear, mate.

[Fans walking past]: We shall not, we shall not be moved! Weee shall not be moved!

Smakk: No kids today was the only downside for me. But no, I get it. You want those three points going into the Kiddies game. Don't even give them a sniff. Break their spirit.

J: He won't play the kiddies against Kiddies.

Smakk: No chance. I've got mates at the club as you know and they all say he's obsessed with this match. Everything's been about this for weeks.

J: They're the only team who's outplayed us. We should thank them, though, because then we went and got Chris Beaumont and since then it's been goals goals goals. Money well spent for you?

Smakk: Oh, yeah. In hindsight, anyway. Not gonna lie, at the time I was livid. Shows what I know. Sorry, I'm just... Getting loads of texts, here.

J: Er... me too.

[unprofessionally long pause]

J: Right, okay. Max Best's called a Zoom meeting for all the Chester members. Tomorrow at 8.

Smakk: Won't say what the topic is. Well, that's ominous.

J: Just thinking out loud, here. You don't think...

Smakk: What?

J: I mean, Grimsby sacked their manager yesterday. We know Best is mates with the owner. You don't think...

Smakk: No. No way. The first time he gets on a Zoom with the fans it's to quit? No way. It'll be about the stadium or a new signing or something. It'll be good news.

J: But...

Smakk: Fuck this podcast shit! I need a fucking drink, mate.

[Epic music fades in, fades out. A child's voice says: Come on you Seals!]

...

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