3.

Wednesday, July 7 - The Morning After the Champions League First Leg

Me: Victory, mon petit champignon! You did it! I had Noah clue you were so good at this! Ar mean, ya played so well! (Armenia.)

Henri: Thank you for explaining the witticism. It might otherwise have passed me by. Where are you?

Me: Belfast hotel having breakfast with the Saltney lads and MD and the Saltney fan. You?

Henri: A café my fellow Collegiates and I like on the main street. It is good to have Germans with us for breakfast because they eat sensibly. Till Rehder is a fantastic professional.

Me: Why are you so flat? We both won in the Champions League, mate! You know what this means, right? We're one good result away from setting up the Match of the Century. Max versus Henri. Mentor versus Mental. Winger versus Whinger. Silky steel sex appeal versus man who eats eels. Think of the headlines! Max Tames the Lyons. Red Card for Former Chester Striker Proves You Can't Run a College With Ten Men. I'm thinking of playing centre back. Do you know any shops that sell big pockets? (I'm going to put you in my pocket.)

Henri: Once again, my thanks for the explanation.

***

Thursday, July 8 - The Morning of Bruno's Magpies versus Daugavpils

Me: Coming soon to a football pitch near you... The immovable object meets the irresistible farce.

Henri: I like that one. First, it is tolerably clever. Second, you are right. I am irresistible.

Me: Are you in your fave breakfast spot again?

Henri: Yes. They do a great Eggs Benedict; you would love it. You?

Me: I'm in Best's Breakfast Bar at Bumpers. Chester have two friendlies this weekend and we're just chatting about lineups and so on. Sandra's complaining she doesn't have enough of the first team squad around. I keep telling her she should relax. It's just a game! A game I'm going to beat you at.

Henri: Mon dieu.

Henri: Gemma informed me that Emma is coming to watch the Magpies tonight.

Me: Yeah, her dad's super excited about it. He's like a little boy waiting to open his Christmas presents. Rachel's going, too, so if you want to scribble some poetry on your palm that you can read out to make yourself seem more urbane...

Henri: I do not need to write on my PALM to remember lines. That is the most annoying thing you have ever said.

Me: Did it get under your skin? Hahahaha.

***

Friday, July 9

I woke up with more energy than normal and decided to make the most of it. I jumped out of bed, started a tea brewing, and got my gardening gloves on.

Twenty minutes of aggressive weeding and tidying later, I poured that forgotten tea down the sink and started a new one. My phone rang and I found myself on a video call with Emma.

"Morning!"

Emma peered at me. "Are you naked?"

"I'm wearing gloves. Just did a sesh out the back, babes. Twenty minutes to work up an appetite."

"Wow, twenty minutes? What did you do, five weeds? I'm here at breakfast with my parents. Why don't you throw a top on and I'll call back?"

"Don't be a baby," I said, as I set the phone on a special stand I'd had to buy because I did so many calls these days. I found the nearest t-shirt, pulled it on, and picked up the phone again. "How was it last night?"

Emma had flown to Gibraltar to watch her dad's slash her mum's football team play their first Conference League qualifier. "Amazing! It was a fun game and we won, so that made it perfect. Loads of good passing from both sides. Daugavpils were decent, like you said, and you could see that our boys hadn't played together much."

"Or at all."

Sebastian Weaver, lawyer-turned-club owner, said, "They were canny, Max! Some reet good lads you picked up. That striker is a handful in the penalty box."

"Yeah," I said, remembering back to the day I had turned up at the PFA pre-season trials. "He's a handful in the executive box, too. Tough negotiator! He rinsed us on his wages but I just thought there was no point playing lots of pretty football and not scoring. That guy's a killer."

Rachel said, "How come his contract wasn't renewed at his previous club?"

"Who knows?" I said. "Injuries, bad form, falling out with the manager. If I had to guess based on his goalscoring streaks I'd say he's one of those players who shines when his contract is running out and he needs a new one. He goes on a run of great performances, goals for days, the fans demand the club break the bank to extend..."

"And when he gets his new deal, he relaxes," said Seb.

"That's my guess," I said. "But this time the manager didn't let him back in the team to give him that chance, if you get me."

"Doesn't seem like a great character trait, tbh," said Emma.

I shrugged. "It's a very efficient way of managing your career, right? If you can get away with it. You only need to play well for a month every couple of years. This time it blew up in his face but that negative trait - if that's what it is - is perfect for us because he's got a very limited number of games to put on a show and get clubs interested in him. Two goals on debut is a hell of a start. How did Stefan Clown do?"

I had asked the Magpies manager to use at least one DM, even though I hadn't given him one. I had suggested he try Stefan there and from the crappy feed that I had watched, that's exactly where he had played.

Seb said, "He ran the game. Best player on the pitch, if you ask me."

Scouting points for Seb! Stefan certainly had the highest CA. "Okay, that's good. What were people saying about their goal?"

In the second half, the Latvians had put together a nice passing move that ended with a crisp one-two and a shot low into the corner that Banksy probably should have saved. Banksy had CA 69, which was higher than the three local players who were in the starting eleven, but was much lower than the other ringers I had sent. Stefan Clown was on CA 102, Wes 'Sharky' Hayward was still on his max of 86, and the five PFA randos averaged 90. If they didn't trust the goalie, didn't understand why he was there, it could eat away at team spirit.

"We watched with Henri and the guys from College," said Emma. "Andrew Harrison, Fitzroy Hall, and the boys from Bayern. Plus our mates at the Gibraltarian FA. Gemma was here for the Tuesday match but had to fly back yesterday morning so we missed her. It's mad busy out here! Like Piccadilly Circus! Yeah, anyway, people were trying to be nice saying like oh, maybe Banksy didn't expect the shot to come so early, maybe his weight was going the wrong way. But Henri said, no, it was poor."

"That's good," I said. "Players need honest feedback."

"I suppose. Henri said that all goalies make mistakes like that from time to time but the best ones react well. He said Banksy reacted well, but I didn't notice him doing anything different."

"That is him reacting well," I said. "Not trying to overcompensate for the mistake. Just keep playing. It's hard but that's the champion mentality."

"Your favourite Australian goalkeeper said he would do some extra sessions with Banksy while they're both here."

She was talking about a guy called Peter Schnakenberg, who had been one of the backup goalies when I was at Bayern. His CA of 111 made him perfect for College's road through the qualifiers, but his ceiling of PA 128 meant he would probably never play for the German giants. He was only 21 so he would have a long career, and if he was being that awesome around camp, he would be my first choice for the Gibraltar Conspiracy gig every season. "Oh, did he? That's really cool. I love Australians unreservedly."

Emma twisted her lips. "Is that right?"

"Or," I said, getting suspicious, "maybe he only suggested it because you were there because he knew you'd love it. Maybe this is the start of him making a move."

Emma said, "I wasn't even on The Rock when Petey suggested it."

"Petey?" I said.

Seb said, "Max, we won 2-1 at home. In a week we play the second leg in Latvia, at their place, in front of their fans. I don't want to crash out in the first round; I'm loving this! The travel, the hotels, the UEFA logo, the VIP boxes. I want more. How worried should we be?"

I stuck my bottom lip out. "One thing I can tell you right away is that it won't be at their place. It'll be in the nearest high-category stadium, which is in Riga. Some of the home fans will travel there but it won't be a bear pit by any means."

"Oh!" said Seb, cheering up.

I continued. "2-0 would have been about fifty times better than 2-1. If there's only a goal in it, anything can happen. I'd need to see Daugavpils in the flesh to know for sure but they don't look better than Linfield." The Latvians were probably under CA 70, whereas the team I had assembled came in at just under 80. "Daugavpils are more technical than Linfield, but much less physical. If it was October I'd back our Magnificent Magpies to overwhelm them, but without a pre-season in their legs, our fitness advantages are lessened, and if it's hot out there, that won't suit our English guys.

"But based on what I saw last night, I'm optimistic. I mean, Daugavpils win their league matches by creating loads of space in the middle but Stefan Clown's really smart and he was shutting it down. Our main thing is that we've got a good starting eleven but no depth. If one of the key players picks up a knock..."

"Don't doomshadow all over dad's breakfast, babes."

"How are the College boys?"

"Great," said Emma. "Andrew and Fitzroy can't stop smiling. They never thought they would be in the Champions League! Henri was saying you had made a mistake in making College so strong and he couldn't wait to dump you out of the competition just to see the look on your face as your creation turned against you. He was getting all pompous about it so we said, yeah but Max, Wibbers, and Gabby. Cue the next speech, followed by us going, yeah but Max, Wibbers, and Gabby. He was getting really worked up! It was so funny."

"Ha," I said. "I've been teasing him via text but he has been pretending to rise above it. I'm glad to hear he's into it."

"I think he doesn't want to jinx it. Got to finish the job, right? Then he can join in the teasing."

"Fair enough," I said. "But I plan to keep winding him up because if we have to play them, I want it to be a proper game, blood and thunder, so that UEFA don't investigate us for match-fixing or whatever. And it won't help Fitzroy, Andrew, Henri, or anyone if they're seen to be too matey with the opposition during a match that has millions of pounds in prize money on the line."

Rachel said, "Henri wondered if you had started to think about who you wanted to be your best man."

"Ha!" I said. "I can use that!"

Rachel gave me a vaguely disappointed look. "I didn't say it to give you ideas for how to wind him up. He dropped it into the conversation so subtly I barely realised he had done it."

"He wants me to wind him up. He'll enjoy the experience more if he can tell himself we're actually fighting to the death."

"Are you sure about this, babes?" said Emma.

"Dead sure. Billion percent sure. So he was asking who I wanted to be my best man? I wonder who he thinks the other options are. Jackie Reaper? MD? Mateo? Sandra Lane?" Inspiration struck me. An idea so perfect I nearly started cackling but as much as poss, I didn't cackle in front of the Weavers. I rubbed my lips. "Tell him I'm going hard after Timothée Chalamet."

Rachel blinked. "The actor?"

"Yeah. He's my first choice. I read a magazine article about how Timothée Chalamet did a gracious, charming, and moving best man speech at his brother's wedding and everyone who was there said it was the best speech they'd ever heard. Emma's the best and she deserves the best and that's Timothée Chalamet."

"Max," said Rachel, slowly. "Does Timothée Chalamet have a brother?"

"As far as I know, yes, based on the article that I definitely read. If you bump into Henri before you fly home, tell him not to worry about anything because I'm going right to the top of the A-list."

"Max," said Emma, worried.

"Trust me," I said. "We aggravate Henri today for extra happiness tomorrow. Hey, how's the new stadium looking?"

"Really impressive," said Seb. "Clever the way it curves upwards away from the runway. It's safer and it leads the eye towards The Rock. It's well done."

Rachel said, "We went to your flat; it's going to be lovely." This time last year, the Gib FA had promised to give me a discount on one of the flats in the stadium depending on how many matches I won as College's player-manager. I had overdelivered and was now repeating the trick without even being in the same timezone. "It's just a shell for now but they let us in to see one that's closer to being finished. They're lovely."

"Amazing address, too," said Seb. "Winston Churchill Avenue!"

Emma said, "Mum was wondering if you'd let them stay? On nights when you're not using it."

"Course," I said, instantly. Because I was suddenly desperate for cash I had been thinking about sub-letting the place to get some extra income, but the Weavers had bought my mum a bungalow. If they wanted to crash in my place a few nights a year, they'd earned the right. "Mi casa is su casa. Really glad you saw a positive result last night! Fingers crossed the lads do us proud in the second leg. Are you going?"

"We all are," said Emma.

"Oh," I said. "If I'd known that the Magpies progressing in the competition was going to deprive me of my betrothed, I might have picked a different squad."

"What does it say on the Doomsday Clock, babes?"

I turned and looked at the wedding countdown Ruth had bought for us. "323 days to go."

"You need to rip off the last number."

"I already did," I said. "It's the first thing I do when I get up."

"Aw," said Rachel. "He's excited really."

"Course I am," I said. "I've never been to a castle. All right, I need to go to Bumpers for training."

"Which training?" said Emma. "Chester or Saltney?"

"Both."

***

I drove the Mini to Bumpers and parked in my special exclusive space. It used to say 'manager' to stop other people from using it, but I had ordered the builders to come back and repaint it to say 'SUPREMO'.

Ah, not really, but I was tempted.

I waved at Jojo in the reception block, who smiled and waved back. Our new canteen was already busy, filled with players from Chester, Saltney, and some of the women's team even though their pre-season hadn't started yet. There was the sound of scraping chairs, cutlery on plates, sizzling fryers, vents. Smiles, laughs, a couple of people in headphones, some of the coaches scribbling in notebooks while munching on toast.

I saw Wibbers and made a beeline for him. As usual, Sarah Greene was by his side. "Dude," I said. "Can I have a quick chat?"

"Course, boss."

"There's good news and bad news. Do you want Sarah here?"

"Always," he said, without embarrassment, because he was so besotted with her he didn't realise how dippy he sounded. "Start with the good news."

"It's not good news for you, bro."

"Oh."

Sarah shook her head. "Jesus, Max."

I laughed and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. "I've been thinking about the line up against Linfield next week. I think I have a rare chance to be a good person and I'm hoping you can help me out. Here's Saltney's squad."

Sticky

GK

33

Kobi Ellis

GK

32

Cody Williams

GK

16

Lucas Hussain

D LC

19

Danny Prince

DL

24

Billy Webb

CB

22

Cam Mason

CB

21

Henry Dunston

CB

31

Carl Carlile

DCR

29

Otis Burke

RB

21

Cheb Alloula

DM AM LR

22

Magnus Evergreen

D,DM,M

30

Vincent Addo

DM RC

20

Ash Bradley

AM/F L

32

Toquinho

AM LR

20

Aff

ML

31

Davey Barnes

MLC

27

Sam Topps

MC

32

Charlie Cullen

MC

16

Omari Naysmith

MC

21

Max Best

Omni

27

Wibbers

F RLC

20

Tom Westwood

S

21

Gabriel

S

23

Almost before I had put it on the table, Sarah pointed to a mistake. "William is 19."

I gave her a thin smile. "20 is his spreadsheet age. He will be 20 this season, won't he? I just update the numbers at the start of the year and never have to think about them again. Okay, so we're gonna do 4-4-2 on Tuesday. Sticky in goal, of course." I circled his name. "The other two goalies know they won't be playing unless something terrible happens." Kobi was a half-decent backup with CA 50, PA 59, while Cody Williams was 24/136, one of the brightest goalkeeping prospects in Wales. I crossed both guys out.

The next name was Lucas Hussein. He was a guy I had found shortly after acquiring my beefed-up new Playdar powers. At PA 74, Lucas could be a good player for Saltney in the Welsh league, but he was only CA 10 so involving him in competitive fixtures would have to wait a couple of years.

That said, I had found him while the Feedback Loop token was active and I was sure I would get an XP bonus if he played in a European match. Discovering the size of those bonuses was very appealing because if they were pitiful I could swap out that token and put something more useful into my limited slots. Adding another slot would cost 1,500 XP, so in a way, putting Lucas on the pitch would be like gaining that much. "I'd like to get Lucas on the pitch for a few minutes one of these days because it'll give him a big burst of motivation... but that's my lowest priority."

I crossed his name out. The XP boosts were nothing compared to the prize money for progressing in this competition, and Lucas could be an option to start a match in which I made some early subs to activate Bench Boost.

"Okay, we're gonna keep the same back four." I circled the names of Danny Prince, Henry Dunston, Magnus Evergreen, and Cheb Alloula. "No explanation needed there. In midfield I've got two players who have come from warm, beautiful lands to live in the cold, wet north-west of England, and they came in part because I promised them Champions League football. With Linfield more or less wrapped up, I can't leave them out, can I? So Vincent Addo and Tockers need to start. Davey Barnes needs minutes. You saw how good he is, right?"

Wibbers nodded. "Great left foot."

"He needs minutes to get match sharp so he can help us in the later rounds. On the left, I want to start Ash Bradley." I looked around and didn't see Ash, but leaned closer and lowered my voice anyway. "He's old and he's injury-prone. Yeah, we're gonna have two more games and he might feature in one, but what if his hamstring pops next Wednesday? If we start him on Tuesday, he gets to say he played in the Champions League. I want to give that to him while I can, and he's actually got quite a bit of room for improvement so if we give him minutes and he stays fit, he could be an important player later in this process, so...

"Then up front I want to start Gabby and Tom." I looked around again, leaned forward again. "You saw Tom in Belfast. Really useful at this level against certain teams. I'm sure we'll use him in the later rounds but he's not guaranteed to start. So this might be his last chance. Oh, and it's the whole reason he agreed to sign for Saltney, right? If I promise him action and don't give it to him, he's going to tell people I'm full of shit, and that's going to hurt me when signing players in future. The idea is that we get into one of the league stages, and you, me, and Gabby will be back at Chester, so Tom will have the gaff all to himself, right? But that's not written in stone so for now I want to give him this match.

"Then, the subs. There are five I want to use and will use unless something goes terribly wrong. Billy and Otis played in the first leg, so Cam gets a go this time." Those three were the players I had bought with Henri's syndicate money. I crossed out or circled the names as appropriate.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

"Then, and this part is very selfish of me, I want to give minutes to my boys. Aff, Carl Carlile, Sam Topps. They were at Chester when I got here, when we trained in BoshCard's back garden and had cold showers at the stadium. Can you imagine what my arrival must have been like for them? Ian Evans was the manager. Proper football man. Get stuck in, keep your shape, win the second balls. Basic but not wrong, if you get me. Not mentally difficult or conceptually challenging.

"I remember the first training session I did on my own. I played this song, Let It Happen, and danced around like a clown trying to explain how the way the music changed from scene to scene reminded me of how a good team played football. And they were like, okay, this is mental but let's try it. I think Sam maybe thought, hey let's go along with it because this kid could score 50 goals next season, who cares if he's a nutjob?" Wibbers smiled. "And Aff, I don't know, maybe he kind of saw what I meant. Kind of agreed with me in a way he couldn't verbalise. I don't know, right, but I know that they gave me everything, over and over again."

"It'd be the other way round, I think," said Wibbers. "Aff would be the one who didn't care you're a nutjob, Sam the one who was into it."

"You think? Okay! But whether I'm actually a nutjob or not, one thing's true, which is that I'm ruthless when I have to be ruthless. Those three weren't going to come with us to League One, to the Championship, so I let them go. I moved them on so I could replace them with better players. Guys like you, mate. Fast forward a couple of years and because of your goals, I have the chance to give them something really special. For one day and one day only, I'm the manager who can make dreams come true. I can be the guy who took them all the way from the dregs of tier 6 to the Champions League. Even if it's just twenty minutes, you know? It's magical. To me, anyway.

"And then the last sub. I know you'd love to bag another double against Linfield but I want to use Charlie Cullen again. Almost certainly for the last time in the qualifiers, by the way. It surprised everyone that he played the first leg but this time his parents will be here to watch and... Well, I probably shouldn't think like this but what if they just die in the next 365 days and they never get to see him play at the level of football he was born to play? I mean, just... I just want to stick him in the team, that's all."

After a pause, Sarah pointed. "What about Omari?"

Omari was one of three names I hadn't yet circled or crossed out. Wibbers said, "He played in the first leg. If we do this, everyone except Lucas has had minutes in the first round."

"Ah, right," said Sarah. "That's actually cool."

"It is cool," I agreed, as I crossed out Omari's name. "But in the normal scheme of things, if a striker scores two goals in the first match, he plays the next one." I put my pen over the name Wibbers and eyed the man himself. "Before I tell Well In that this is the plan, I wanted to explain it to you. Vinni, Tockers, and Davey need the minutes so they can help us later. But Aff, Carl, Sam... that's pure sentiment. I shouldn't do it, really."

"What about you?" said Wibbers, jabbing his finger towards my name.

"We're 4-0 up and even with these changes, we'll win again. I don't need to play and I'd rather give my minutes to the others." I crossed my name out.

Wibbers used his fork to push his food to the side. "When I got to Chester, Sam never said much but when he did it was always spot-on. When he went 'well in!' during training, that was top because he was hard to please. Carl and Aff were sound. Really helped me out. Showed me the ropes. Is that all they get? 15 minutes?"

"Depends how the game goes. Could be more. The whole second half, maybe, but after that, who knows? Probably just scraps."

"But I'm gonna play the other games? Gonna start?"

"99% yes. I mean..." I remembered I had two Bench Boosts. "If you don't start it's a tactical thing. Surprise them with a few subs after twenty minutes, that kind of thing. You know how I work."

Sarah said, "What if William kicks up a fuss? Demands to play?"

I shrugged. "I'd probably bin someone off. Aff probably, since I've got loads of cover in his position. I can't afford to have my star players unhappy."

Wibbers pushed his food some more - I realised he was creating a moat. He scooped part of a trench onto his fork and lifted into his mouth. "Ah ah-ee," he said.

I gawped at him. "What?"

His girlfriend translated. "He said he's happy." She gave his arm a squeeze. "I am, too."

I crossed his name out and felt a warm, fuzzy feeling coming up inside me but suddenly the back of my neck started tingling. I pointed at them, harshly. "No getting engaged at my wedding! It's in your contract, bro! Yours, too, missy!" I stood up to leave but remembered one more thing. "Oh, by the way, Will. I'm booking you regular training with a coach and some goalies. Penalty practice. You're taking all the pennos from now on."

"For Saltney?"

"For Saltney, Chester, England. Should bag you 30 more goals over your career. Bosh. You have ascended, etcetera. Good chat."

Wibbers looked at Sarah and his Morale smashed through the roof. "Ah-ay-in," he said, his mouth still full.

"I know," she said.

What a couple. Another couple of things popped into my head. "Just to be clear, if Linfield are 2-0 up after quarter of an hour, you and I are going on and we're going to nuke them from orbit, you know what I mean? Oh, and this isn't even close to being the most annoying thing I'm going to do with lineups and substitutes this season, so it's good you're taking it well."

Wibbers looked from me to his girlfriend. "Fuh-in oom-a-doh!"

"I know," she said. She eyed me warily. "I know."

***

Saturday, July 10

Henri: Andrew just told me something that nearly made me spit out my smashed avocado. WHAT is this thing you are doing with two friendlies in two days?

Me: Smashed avocado again?

Henri: What are you eating? Eggs Benedict?

Me: No.

Henri: Take a photo of your plate right now.

Me: Can't. The camera lens has egg all over it. Okay, why two friendlies in two days? The idea presented itself to the celestial clockmaker when he was talking to Bayern Zwei about coming over. You know Bayern. They send like six support staff per player and that's a LOT of effort and waste and carbon footprint to play ONE match, right? So I thought, let's play them twice. It's not like we're short of players, and neither are they. So in the second match we get annihilated? So what? It's all about building fitness and blowing off the pre-season cobwebs, isn't it? Just in case, we played it behind closed doors. No cameras, no fans. Just good experience for our youngsters. Once that was penciled in, I thought, hey, this is really efficient. This is a decent way to get six friendlies without much travelling and it lets us focus on training.

Henri: Wait, you played Bayern Munich's reserves twice in two days?

Me: That's why they're called Zwei. Bosh! Nailed it. So today we're playing Oldham Athletic at their place. You know Bill, our hospitality manager? He's a Latic so I'm going to get him to sit on the bench with us. He'll love that. And after a team building day of everyone taking turns walking Solly the dog, we're going to some hipster place for dinner in Chorlton (near West's ground), and we're staying in Manchester overnight. Tomorrow we're playing Altrincham. I can tell you don't appreciate the genius of this new invention but it forces Sandra and the others to take a long, hard look at our under 18s, doesn't it?

Henri: It appears to me that you have made this decision for some stupid reason and are trying to rationalise it.

Me: You are free to have your own opinions, but just remember that we will be playing against each other soon. And you know what they say: It's the Champions League, not the Champignons League.

Henri: I am blocking you for the next two weeks.

***

Monday, July 12

Emma was in a very chatty mood and I spent half the early morning smiling at her as she told me her thoughts and described the mad dreams she'd had. Pretty great start to the week, but I had planned to spend some time alone thinking about how I wanted to spend my experience points. If I went to Bumpers Bank to have breakfast, people would be pecking my head the whole time until I got on the training pitch.

Ah, but wait. I had anticipated moments like this and discussed it with the architect who drew up the plans for the canteen. After lots of thought, we had designed a 'quiet zone'. The flooring was different from the rest of the space, the lighting was a fraction more subdued, the colours were darker, and there were six custom dining tables with space for just one chair that faced the rest of the room. A sign hung over the space saying, 'Introvert Islands'.

When I entered the canteen, it was clear that a lot of people wanted to talk to me, but when I took my loaded breakfast tray to one of the special tables, everyone left me alone. That was good! The system worked!

The general level of Morale had dipped a fraction over the weekend, probably because Chester had lost both of their friendlies. Sandra was still looking for her first win of the season, but I didn't put any stock in pre-season results. Player profiles were turning green, no-one was getting injured, and the youngsters we had signed were starting to feel at home.

There was space for new personalities to shine; on some mornings, an entire team was missing from Bumpers. There were the eight guys doing 'European Duty', plus three other players who were absent. Helge Hagen was still in Norway playing for his hometown club - he would join us in a few weeks. At the end of the previous season, Dazza had flown off to play for Australia's under 23s, so he was getting some time off. He would be slightly behind the rest of us in terms of fitness, but so what? He needed a proper break.

So did Bark, who had surprised us all by getting his first 'cap' for the Jamaican national team. Just as I had surprised everyone by throwing Charlie Cullen onto the pitch at the end of a Champions League match, so had the Jamaican head coach thrown Bark on near the end in the Gold Cup.

Calabash Barkley, my first ever full international player! Who could have imagined that on the evening long ago when I first met him in the digs at Darlington? He had been playing the FIFA football game with three of the other lads. Since that night, I had earned over two million quid from football, I had played at Wembley, and the FIFA game franchise was dead.

I dropped a message in our 'stadium management' group chat.

Let's celebrate Bark's ascension with a Jamaican theme for our first home game. Put the flag up on the McNally. Steel drums for the fan zone? Tell Joe Anka to play some Bob Marley songs on the PA etc.

I fell into an unproductive reverie until someone silently placed a fresh cup of tea on my table. I looked up and saw Patricia, our head chef. She had never really warmed to me until recently and I did wonder what had made her change her mind.

"Thanks," I said, and finally turned to my task.

XP balance: 3,772

If things went to plan tomorrow night, I would pick up another 1,260 XP at least, which would take me over 5,000. What would be the best use of those funds?

Not on the monthly perks, that was for sure. The imps must have been busy with Old Nick's latest victim because they were recycling old offers that I hadn't picked up the first time. Some were attractive but overpriced, and none were going to help me achieve this season's goal, which was to make lots of money.

Playdar was something that could help me make money in the medium-to-long term, since I could add the most talented players to the REM agency and take a cut of their future earnings and transfer fees, but my Playdar setup was pretty great. 3 uses a day, maximum age limit, and the potential to get bonus XP when players hit certain targets. I could add another Playdar token slot for 1,500 XP, and had the option to buy more tokens, but for now I was happy with my current set.

There were a few unappealing perks lying around a dusty bottom shelf in the perk shop, but at eye level with lots of arrows pointing towards it was what I hoped would be the last formation I would ever need to buy. 4-2-2-2 was 5,000 XP and when I bought it I would see a path towards total tactical flexibility. That would be an amazing step forward, of course it would, but it wouldn't help me make money this season.

I did a thought experiment. Imagine the perk that came after 'completing' the formations was even more overpowered than the skills I currently had. What would happen? Would Chester outperform to such an extent they got to the Premier League?

Unlikely, but if we did, with the squad in its current state we would spend a year getting absolutely battered. Okay, my personal salary would go up massively for that one year, but most of the financial rewards of promotion would go to Chester, not me, and my brand would be tarnished. Getting promoted would be a disaster. I didn't want it. So why hurry to unlock something that would wreck my life? In the Championship there were no bonuses for finishing, say, 8th instead of 15th.

Tactics could wait. I was still learning how to use the formations I already had.

Near the top of my shopping list was the next Attribute. I had an idea about what to do with Pradeep and his data skills, and that whole process would go easier if I could unlock every Attribute as soon as possible. I assumed it would take Pradeep months to build the model I wanted, but if we could get it built this season I could start monetising it next summer. If buying Attributes increased the accuracy of the model, then buying Attributes was a way to increase my income potential.

But nothing would have as much impact as guiding teams through to the league stage of European competition, and for that reason, I wanted to invest in the Panopticon, the perk that allowed me to creepily spy on more squads. I currently had access to five across three countries.

Squad Lists

Nat

Chester Men

ENG

Chester Women

ENG

College 1975

GIB

Bayern Munich

GER

Chester Boys 18s

ENG

I had made myself the co-manager of Saltney Town, which should have been enough to get that team added, but the curse wasn't having it. Adding Saltney to the list wasn't urgent because I was seeing the players every day, but it was strongly desirable.

If nothing else, it would immediately alert me to any big clubs that had started circling around the products of the Northern Powerhouse. I couldn't give players a contract until their 17th birthday, so until then we didn't have much protection against unscrupulous clubs. I was hoping that the fact I had accelerated his career would earn me some loyalty from Charlie Cullen, but if I knew Chelsea were looking closely at him, I could inform Gwen. Perhaps she would have a quiet word with Charlie and his dad, letting them know that if he left Saltney too soon it would hurt his chances of getting in the Wales team. Which was true, but I hoped it wouldn't come to threats and bullying.

I planned to add Saltney in the very near future, and if the Magpies got past the first round, I would add them on Thursday night. If they didn't, I would save the XP for something more useful.

I drank half the tea and wondered why I was thinking like that. I needed to add the Magpies right away, didn't I, to give them the best chance of progressing? If someone's Morale was abysmal, there was a backup option. If a player was carrying a slight knock, we could make an informed decision about whether to use him. Having the perk today would potentially make a difference to the result. Why overthink it? If the Magpies got knocked out on Thursday night, the XP wouldn't be wasted because we needed the Magpies to finish high in the league, and we would be doing all this European stuff again in a year.

I had convinced myself. Buy the Magpies now, Saltney after the Linfield second leg, and then I would do a few months of grinding for Attributes.

Solid.

Flawless.

I paid 2,000 XP to add Bruno's Magpies to my head and immediately checked on Sharky and Stefan Clown. Both were happy. I had Banksy's profile available in Chester's first-team squad but took another look at him anyway and decided it would be easy enough to give him a Morale boost.

Me: Have you seen your Wikipedia page? New section alert!

I scanned the other players for injuries and noted that one of the PFA guys was 'wanted' by Tranmere Rovers. Huh. Tranmere were in limbo while the sale was being finalised, so who at the club was making that decision? Very odd.

I texted Henri.

Me: If you bump into the Magpies today, can you say how relieved you are not to be at Tranmere for the coming shit show? I heard a rumour that one of them is on Tranmere's radar. Our boys can do better.

Henri: Yes, I can pretend to believe that if you think it will advance their career.

Me: Thanks. By the way, I was thinking that College vs Saltney was going to be a Battle Royale but then I remembered you would be involved, so it will be a Battle Royale with cheese.

Henri: Blocked.

"Sorry... Max?"

I looked up, surprised that someone had broken the sanctity of the quiet zone, and saw Davey Barnes and his wife. I recognised her from Welcome to Wrexham. Black hair dyed blonde, she liked wearing white clothes, and was upwardly mobile but essentially very sweet. "Davey, hi. Mandy, isn't it?"

"Yeah, Mandy."

I stood and moved away. "Let's leave the quiet zone."

"Oh!" she said, startled, as she took in the fact that this area looked totally different from the rest. "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"Don't stress about it," I said. "This is new for everyone. The idea is you can come here on those mornings when you just need a minute to yourself, you know what I mean? I call it Introvert Islands. Go over there for chats, come here to find the perfect phrase to wind up your best mate before you get stuck into the day."

"Oh, haha," said Mandy. She looked to see what else was hidden in plain sight, but most of the space was pretty standard. Dining tables, racks where you put your used trays, places to stand and chat while having a drink, high stools where you could sit and look out the windows. Then there was a wall, behind which was the sports bar. Outside were pub-style benches with big sun shades. "It's dead nice."

"Yeah, it's class," I said. "Have you had brek?"

"We're going to," said Davey. "With Zach. He badged us in, said it would be all right."

"Course it's all right. Why wouldn't it be?"

Mandy said, "But this is the Chester canteen, isn't it?"

"Chester, Saltney, who cares? Don't worry about it. If Don Pino comes, or Dieter Bauer, what are we gonna do, say they can't get a sausage butty? Course not, so why can't Zach invite his mate? You don't want to see the same people every day forever, do you? That's called a prison. I don't want hundreds of randos in here every day, either. We'll find a balance."

My phone buzzed and Mandy saw that I wanted to check it but was trying to be polite. Zach was coming towards us and Davey went over to meet him. Together they walked towards the food counter and I realised that Mandy wanted to say something to me in private. She eyed me and said, "What you're doing is amazing. We've been having a hard time of it and then suddenly you turn up and a couple of days later Davey's in Belfast scoring a goal and it's just amazing. It's really kind of you."

"Whoa," I said, holding my palms up, laughing. "Hold up, there. I didn't sign Davey out of kindness. That's pure self-interest. Your husband is gonna help me achieve my goals, do you know what I mean?"

She frowned slightly. "But Davey said you were upset with how he was treated."

"Yeah but I'm not giving him thousands and thousands of pounds because of that, am I? I want his talent. I'm paying for his talent; he's brilliant at this sport. Do you know what I mean? It's pure kismet that he gets the chance to stick it to Wrexham."

"Kismet? What's that?"

"I mean, like, that's the cherry on the top. No, please don't think of me as a kind person. This is a transaction. I get a good player, I make him even better, together we win loads of matches. I want the next twelve months to be the best and happiest in Davey's career because if I have even half a chance to keep him for an extra season, I need to do everything I possibly can to make that happen. That's not kindness, that's me trying to squash more talent into a club that's not big enough to contain it all. Good laughs, great training, and rare opportunities. That's the offer. Kindness not included. You watch what happens if he slacks off in training. You won't think I'm a good person then."

"Davey wouldn't slack off."

"I know but if he does I'll melt his face off. This isn't a charity. It's amazing that you're happy but I want to be really super clear so it doesn't come back to bite me on the arse."

"One thing I don't understand," said Mandy, who was mentally kicking her legs hard to keep afloat in the conversation. "Why didn't you tell him he'd be the captain? That would have made him even more likely to sign."

"Um, I didn't really think about it, to be honest. I don't think I would make promises about who gets the armband because the next day I could sign someone who's, like, the ultimate captain. Davey's the captain when it's right for him to be the captain. I mean, er... I don't know any other way to do it."

"But that's even better," she said.

"Well, I would have thought so, but if I don't know in advance I can't use it as a sales technique. My vibe is, come here and be the best player you can be. That's most of what I have to offer, tbh." I looked around. "That's what built this place. That's what I'm sticking to." Mandy reacted well to that. I sensed a chance to get some info I had thought would remain out of reach. "One thing I didn't understand when I was doing my sales pitch to Davey was that I thought it was going okay, then there was a big wobble, but then suddenly he was like, call your girlfriend to get the contract written, I'm in. I couldn't quite tell what had tipped him over the line. Did he tell you?"

"He did. It was because you said the same thing I had said, almost word for word."

"Er," I said, trying to remember. "You don't have to resent Wrexham, I'll do it for you."

She nodded and looked down, but it didn't take her long to cheer up. "You'll do everything possible to keep Davey happy? How about babysitting?"

I tipped my head back and laughed. "Soz, not that. That service is reserved for my godson. I agreed to do it sometime in the next few weeks and I'm dreading it. I'd rather take a last-minute penalty than look after a kid. Holy shit, what did I let myself in for?"

She smiled. "You'll be great."

"Yeah. I will. Because I'm not going to do it alone!"

***

Tuesday, July 13 - Morning of the Champions League Second Legs

Me: Good luck tonight, mon amigo!

Henri: Merci. You too.

Me: Saltney have basically already qualified so I'm having a bacon muffin washed down with martinis.

Henri: Breakfast of champions. I'll stick to taking on the most suitable macronutrients.

Me: It's funny that if you win tonight, for the next two weeks we will be ENEMIES.

Henri: That is, indeed, an amusing prospect.

Me: Tell you what's amusing. I asked a chatbot to write a wedding speech in the style of Timmy Chalamet and it fucking nailed it. Funny, wise, but most of all, comprehensible to the common man.

Me: Henri?

Me: ...?

Me: You're probably doing some extra training. I'll text again tomorrow morning.

***

I had breakfast with Well In and the five Welsh coaches who ran Saltney's youth teams. While we ate carefully-selected macronutrients (me) and chocolate-filled croissants (them), we went over all kinds of scenarios. What would we do if there was an early red card for Linfield? For Saltney? An injury to Sticky?

I let them do most of the talking. I listened. I challenged my own assumptions. The week of training after the match in Belfast had been nothing short of spectacular. The return from pre-season, playing immediately in the biggest club tournament, training in amazing facilities, it had led to pops almost across the board.

Davey, Tom, Vincent, Tockers, Omari, Gabby, Wibbers, the two syndicate lads, and Charlie Cullen had added two points in CA.

Almost everyone else in the squad added one point.

The only guy who didn't was Cheb, which made sense because he had by far the highest CA.

Our weak, sentimental starting eleven would have an average of 101.2.

Much as I tried to catastrophise, I just couldn't think of any reason not to go ahead with my plan.

"We're in good shape, guys. Right, who has the best mushroom jokes?"

***

Wednesday, July 14

Emma sat on the edge of the bed and watched me until I made a happy little noise to show I was sort-of awake. She said, "Babes, are you going to Bumpers today?"

I stretched, which felt amazing. "No, I'm gonna have brek here and do some gardening. I might go tonight and check out the teams who are hiring our pitches and then hit the gym." Scouting the randos who turned up at Bumpers paid for Secret Sandra, the perk that let me give a training boost to one player per day. I was still mostly using it on Nasa on the men's team and Meredith Ann on the women's, though at the moment I was being more opportunistic, giving boosts to the lads who were on tour.

"Do you want mushrooms on toast?"

"Ooh," I said, smiling. "That sounds good. Actually, you know what? Can I have a poached egg?"

Emma beamed. "You're so strange. Where do you get these ideas from?"

"From my inner pantry. It knows what's missing from its stock."

"Your pantry says poached eggs, does it?"

"That's right, babes. Did you do the Doomsday Clock?"

"I wouldn't deny you the pleasure."

Emma pulled the bedroom curtains open and went down the stairs to our little kitchen. I squirmed around in a state of great contentment for a few minutes until I heard the siren call of breakfast being assembled. I pottered down, pulled off the countdown number and sat on a stool, where I watched Emma work for a couple of minutes. She wasn't wearing much...

I got my iPad and went to the News of the Blues website. The dude who ran it was covering Saltney's Champions League run, which was of far more interest to his readers than Chester's pre-season friendlies.

Best's Brilliant Bordermen Show Belfast Boys Who Are the True Blues

Mr. 100%, known to you and me as Max Best, continued his immaculate record in the Champions League with a comfortable win over south Belfast's Linfield FC, who the Bordermen dispatched 3-0 last night.

There was an element of disappointment for the Chester fans who had crossed the border into Saltney hoping to catch a glimpse of Max Best and our star boy William Roberts. They were not in the starting line up, and given that Wibbers started the match in the front row of the stand behind the dugout (where he was canoodling with Sarah Greene), it was clear that he wasn't expecting to play. Best sat in the dugout for most of the match, emerging sometimes to look around the stadium he had built.

The Sandy Lane Stadium - please God let Best find someone willing to sponsor the thing lest we spend the next ten years of our lives having to clarify that it has nothing to do with Chester's co-manager Sandra Lane - is small but perfectly formed. With tickets available for only five pounds, there was a healthy crowd of curious Cestrians and yes, some Saltney residents. Throw in some good-natured boys from Belfast and there was actually a decent atmosphere. The stadium catches the crowd noise and sends it back across the pitch.

So without the two biggest stars, what was there to interest the bumper crowd?

How about Steve 'Sticky' Icke, our goalkeeping coach? How about Gabriel, until recently our record signing? How about long-serving Magnus Evergreen? How about former Chester player Tom Westwood? How about Vincent Addo, who Best is on record as saying he wants to bring across the river to the Deva? And Toquinho, the Brazilian wide player who is also said to be a future target?

There was no shortage of Chester interest in the first half, and no shortage of quality, either.

As in the first leg, Tom Westwood's relentless energy was a feature. His endeavour forced Linfield to kick long, and those hoofs were meat and drink to Saltney's back four. If Henry Dunston is surplus to requirements at Wrexham, one wonders how good their starting players must be! Evergreen was solid, as he always is, but the best players on the pitch looked to be the full backs.

Danny Prince, currently at Blackburn, was fast, skilful, and technical. On the other flank, Bayern Munich's Cheb Alloula was all those things but cheeky, too. He delighted the crowd. One doesn't like the idea of our boys playing at The Racecourse, but Alloula deserves a bigger audience than he got at Sandy Lane. Let's hope he finds one.

In the midfield, Toquinho was tidy, while Vincent Addo showed that he is a completely different sort of defensive midfielder to our Youngster. Addo is faster, quicker to launch into a tackle, more frantic in every way. Several times, Addo's recklessness had Best off his throne, either yelling or simply holding his hands on his head. What is this kid doing?

New signing Davey Barnes went close with a free kick and there was much danger from corners, but the goals came from open play. A crisp passing move sent Ash Bradley clear on the left, and he sent in a neat cross that Gabby headed at Linfield's goalie. Good save! The rebound was passed into the net by Tom Westwood, whose celebrations were, frankly, unhinged. You love to see it. The second came when Toquinho slipped a pass for Barnes to run onto. He turned onto his favoured left foot and floated a ball behind the defenders. Gabby had more desire to get to it, took it down, and thrashed it low and into the corner.

With his side 6-0 up on aggregate, Best rang the changes. A defender came on along with three all-time Chester FC legends. Players that were here before Best. Players who contributed to the most successful era in this club's history are now enjoying an Indian Summer in north Wales and I for one am here for it.

Beckham. Pirlo. Ronaldinho. Add to the roll call of those who have played Champions League football:

Carl Carlile.

Aff.

Sam Topps.

I half expected them to run around like wild dogs, chasing every loose ball like kids in a playground, but they played how they always played. For me, watching these True Blues, even though they were wearing an unfamiliar red-and-black kit, was like easing into a warm bath.

Aff on the left, a two-way player, solid and reliable. Carlile at right back, athletic, careful not to live beyond his means in possession, switched-on out of possession. And Sam Topps, Chester's new head of youth development. What would a young player make of this man, prowling around midfield looking for someone to break in half? A thoughtful man, an intelligent man, but push him across that white line and you unleash a bundle of barely-contained fury.

Bliss.

It would be foolish of me not to mention the final substitute. When Max Best throws on a few young tearaways in a League Two match, you know it's because he has half an eye on that season's Youth Cup. When he gives a home debut - in Europe's premier competition - to a 15-year-old midfielder and he spends the rest of the match on the touchline, eyes like saucers, you know this kid is special. Step forward Charlie Cullen. He didn't do much in this game, but I'm beyond keen to watch him develop.

Back to the action. The third and final goal was simple, but pleasing. Aff won a duel, held onto the ball for what seemed too long, then slipped a clever pass into the path of Danny Prince. He burst forward, cut into the box, cut left, left his opponent for dead, and picked out Gabby for his second of the game.

In normal times, you would say that this match was the closest Chester will ever get to the Champions League, but these aren't normal times. A man can dream...

Meanwhile, in Gibraltar, there were more past and present Blues in action. College 1975's hard-fought 1-0 win over Noah made it 2-0 on aggregate and sent them into the second round, where they will face the mighty Bordermen!

Chester fans, roll up, roll up! Book tickets early to avoid disappointment!

You will see:

Fitzroy Hall versus Gabriel.

Lee Hudson versus Wibbers.

Andrew Harrison versus Magnus Evergreen.

And, drumroll please...

Henri Lyons versus Max Best!

Absolutely fucking demented and I can't wait! I can't wait!!!!!

***

"Look at you grinning," said Emma.

"I know," I said. "I was just thinking what Brooke could do to market this match, but I'll have to hype it myself. Maybe I'll go on local radio and that sort of thing. It'd be cool to get fifteen hundred in. I've been joking with Henri that we're bound to win but it should be a fairly close couple of matches. We're only about ten percent better." It would be our CA 110 ish to College's 100 ish.

I leaned back until my spine cracked.

Pretty decent week! I had spent 2,000 XP to add Saltney to my squad list, meaning I had 7 squads in my head at all times. Two very good power-ups in one week. Nice.

A lucrative week, too. A club getting into the second round of the CL qualifiers meant just short of a million pounds in prize money, so both Saltney and College would make at least a small profit. The fact that we played each other in the next round had a big effect on the maths. The winner of that tie would be guaranteed at least 4 million pounds, while the loser, if I was doing the numbers right, was guaranteed at least 1.73 million.

Not only that, but a draw or a win for the Magpies tomorrow night would be worth an extra £400,000. It was all starting to add up.

"Babes?" I said.

"Yes?"

"The worst case scenario is pretty good."

"That's nice. Here you go."

I looked down and saw two beautiful poached eggs and a cup of tea. I cracked into the biggest smile ever and turned to the wall hanger. "318 days to go? Fuck that. Let's drive to Gretna Green right now."

Emma eyed me and twisted her lips. "No. I want a castle wedding. I want a cringeworthy best man speech. I want you stressed off your tits watching the room like a hawk in case someone dares to propose in the middle of our nuptials."

I sighed. "Yeah. I can see how that would be fun for you." I was about to stick my fork into the egg when I paused. "I'm gonna text Henri."

Emma tutted. "Leave him alone for one morning!"

"Nah, he would hate that."

I held my phone and closed my eyes while I waited for inspiration to strike. Then I sent texts in between mouthfuls of the best poached egg of my life.

Me: Congratulations! Monsieur one hundred percent!

Henri: Thank you very much. It was a gruelling encounter but our quality told in the end.

Me: Gruelling? Not for you, surely? I saw the running stats. Oh, maybe your GPS tracker needs a new battery because, you know, you were oddly static. I'll get someone to check it out.

Henri: Sigh.

Me: Listen, I've started doing research on the teams you might play in the Europa League third round.

Henri: That is time well spent, for you will be in the EL third round yourself.

Me: Sure, sure, that's possible. I just want to say, in all humility, that I'm really proud of you. You have created some football and proven my concept. A team of half-decent randos hand-picked by me, Max actual Best, CAN beat a crack Eastern European outfit. Although looking at the map, it's basically the middle-east. It's all desert there, isn't it? Did you see any camels? Pyramids? It's next to Iran. Is that Europe? Still, I'm sure that team was VERY good.

Henri: If your goal was to piss me off, mission accomplished! I am really blocking you this time, but before I go, hear this and believe. You have poked the wrong bear! You have awoken the wrong lion! I am Henri Lyons, I play in the Champions League, and I tell nothing but the truth when I say this: I EAT CHAMPIONS FOR BREAKFAST!!!!!!!

"Oh, shit," I said.

"What's wrong?"

"Henri's mad." I cackled. This next couple of matches was going to be SO much fun.

Me: You spelled champignons wrong.

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