3.

Sunday, October 25

Inside Man is a heist movie.

It's about a handsome Englishman who wants to rob a bank so he robs a bank. I watched it in bed with Emma, her laptop turned sideways so we could spoon, but I annoyed her by pausing it every three minutes because a new idea had occurred to me.

"It's so interesting," I said, halfway through. "I remember this being one of those heists that's full of finesse, but it isn't. I mean, the plan is pure megabrain but the scene-by-scene interactions with the hostages are all brute force and half the movie is the robbers cracking open a great big, inexplicable hole, you know? Brute force. It's like heist movies exist on a spectrum from Inside Man on the brute force end - guns, hammers, threats - to Ocean's Eleven - no weapons, no fights - on the finesse end."

"That is interesting, babes. Press play."

"I've got it in my head that I can do some kind of Ocean's Eleven, smooth as silk rapier thrust of a heist but my skill level is cudgels in a dark alley."

"The button is right there."

"If I was in a heist movie I'd be the guy saying 'If we do it my way, no-one needs to get hurt!' But when it comes to football I'm just a brute. People piss me off and I square up to them. I want to do elegant three-year revenge plots. I want to be a finesse guy like Danny Ocean slash George Clooney."

"You are a finesse guy, babes. Finesse that button."

"I'm not. You know what I was thinking of doing against Sutton United? Bombing them back to the stone age."

"What's wrong with that?"

"I would pick Peter Bauer as one of the three centre backs and instruct him to loft high balls to our three strikers. Real 1980s shit."

"So? If that's the plan, that's the plan. You never used to second-guess yourself like this."

"Asking Peter Bauer to kick long is like putting a thoroughbred horse on a carriage and asking it to drag tourists around."

"Not everything has to be beautiful." Emma turned around and pushed her blonde hair out of her eyes. "Three defenders, three strikers. You're going to do three-four-three? Is that because you're mad at Matt?"

"I'm redirecting the club's scarce resources towards its greatest assets - its forwards."

"Oh, really? That's the reason. Okay. What about Lee? And Colin?"

"Colin's fine," I said. "Maybe it was one of those days, maybe it's just what happens when you get older, but when things got going, he got going. I can accept some lethargy as long as it isn't a regular theme."

"And Lee?"

"Lee blew it. He can do one. I was hoping to get four hundred grand for him, now I'd take a hundred. Scrap that - he can go for free and I'll pay for his taxi."

"What about Matt?"

"He thinks he's too good for Chester FC; I'm gonna send him packing."

A shadow crossed her face. "This is finesse, is it?"

"I said I'm a brute." I brushed my fingertip across her eyebrow the way she liked; it did nothing.

"Danny Ocean didn't start life as an elegant gentleman thief, did he? He practised and he got better." She eased my hand away as a form of rebuke. "Danny Ocean would get four hundred thousand for Lee Contreras. That's your mission."

"That will be quite an achievement when he can't even get in my team."

She gave me a blank look that sent danger signals rushing around my entire body. "The scene in Ocean's Eleven where the caper is described and Brad Pitt follows every bullet point by saying 'which is impossible' - that's charming. The scene where George Clooney bitches about the team he assembled? That's not in the movie, is it? Because that wouldn't be charming. It would fucking suck to have to sit through that."

"Yes," I said. "It would be like a Jose Mourinho press conference." I tugged on my bottom lip; I had to choose my next words carefully. "I know exactly what to do."

"What?"

"I'm going to shut my gob and press play."

The life returned to her face; what a payoff! "I like that you know your weaknesses and I like that you want to be better. I don't like when you talk about binning people off, especially someone like Lee who hero worships you. Maybe he doesn't know what he did wrong, babes."

The frustration burst out of me. "He - " I counted to five. "He does know."

"Is Lee Contreras the enemy of football?"

"No."

"Is Matt Rush?"

"A bit."

"Can we go back to the movie?"

"Yes."

"Why's it called Inside Man?"

"Because like in any good heist they've got someone on the inside and because being inside means being in prison and the first scene is him in what looks like a prison cell. Huh."

"Did you just have an idea?"

"The team's in a good place but there were a couple of things that surfaced in yesterday's match that seemed to come out of nowhere. Maybe I'll join in training this week and get a feel for what's bubbling under, you know?"

Emma smiled and put my fingertip against her eyebrow. "You have unlocked Finesse Level Two."

***

Monday, October 26

With Sandra unwell, Peter Bauer took the first half of the session and Colin Beckton the second. Defensive awareness and positioning followed by skills and finishing. I enjoyed it and by the end felt tired but undeniably better at football.

After the final sprint that wrapped up the session, I put my hands behind my head and sucked in air. My expert analysis was that training was mint, the culture was positive and morale was high. The coaches had great curse numbers, most of our matches were against opponents who could stretch us, and the balance of in-game minutes and rest seemed optimal. If players weren't improving, what did that leave?

Three options, as far as I could tell.

One, Bumpers Bank had too many crappy cabins.

Two, while we had great coaches, we didn't have enough coaches.

Three, we had too many players in the squad and they weren't getting enough individual attention. I really wasn't convinced by this one. We had four goalkeepers, which seemed like the proper number. We had eight defenders, nine midfielders, and six forwards, though there was plenty of flexibility in those roles. Pascal, for example, got most of his minutes not as a forward, but in midfield.

27 players was too many, but that number included me - I didn't normally take part - and it included Peter and Colin, who were often on the sidelines barking instructions. It also included three players who were on loan at Saltney Town. Normally, players who were on loan left the host club and acted like they belonged to their new club for the duration of the loan. I, of course, did things differently. The trio trained with Chester, taking advantage of our better facilities and coaches, but they also trained at Saltney, where they got to know their teammates. It was unusual slash flat out weird for players to train with two teams but I had tested it and it worked great so long as we monitored their work loads. If Chester needed a few lads to drop out of a certain drill, we could cut those three with no grumbling.

As for players not getting enough personalised attention, we had a handful of awesome part-time coaches who came in a few times a week to give extra sessions to individuals or small groups.

From the inside, our training setup seemed to be in good order but I personally wasn't bothered about there being too many players or having to wait my turn to do a drill. Maybe elite players were more sensitive to such things, and that was part of why elite coaches tended to want relatively small squads. Well, if our squad was too big that problem would be solved by selling some of the players, which in turn would raise the finances to improve Bumpers Bank and pay for more coaches.

It was a solution full of finesse, worthy of the megabrain scheme hatched by the protagonist of Inside Man, though he wanted to take money out of a bank and I wanted to put money into one.

"All right," I said, as I took my position at the front of the group. "Quick team meeting. I've been fretting about what happened on Saturday."

Our resident data nerd, Spectrum, interrupted me, because he knew this was coming. "We did

break the record for the best-ever start to a season in League One. The previous best after 14 matches was Leyton Orient in 2013 with 35 points. We've got 37."

I didn't shoot my mouth off even though his words triggered me. With awe-inspiring patience, I said, "Who gives a fucking shit? In 1985, Man United won the first ten matches of the season but finished fourth and the manager was sacked soon after. In 2023 Big Ange made the best start in Premier League history, Tottenham finished fifth, he was sacked... actually quite a long time after. If we finish fourth or fifth I won't hang around waiting for the sack; I'll walk."

Spectrum had gone into battle with me and against me many times and wasn't afraid to stand up for himself. "We have won eleven league games in a row. The best in the League One era is 12. The all-time third tier record is 13. We're on a historically good run."

"We're on a run of one match where we played abysmally. That's the only run I care about. What did the stats say about Saturday? How did the first half compare to what we normally produce? How were our Expected Goals? The Expected Threat charts?" I knew how they looked because I had seen them; it wasn't just the eye test we had failed.

"We won," said Spectrum. "It's good to have high standards but you're acting as though we lost."

"There's an ancient Japanese saying," I informed the group. "If you shoot for the target you will win the prize. If you shoot for the prize you will win fuck all."

Peter said, "So eloquent, those Japanese."

I said, "I don't want to hear about points or records or win streaks, okay? I just don't. We look at our oppo and we form a plan and we train and implement the plan. Every week is a heist movie. The goal is to go and grab three points not through luck or brute force but through skill. That's what I'm here for. If there's someone who's happy to be dogshit and get rewards we haven't earned, this isn't the right place for you." With the diplomatic skills I was famous for, I didn't use that opportunity to take a jab at Matt Rush. "A lot of things went through my head over the weekend but while we don't need to overcorrect, we do need to make sure we're all aligned. I didn't present a Maxterplan this season because I was out in Gibraltar, so here it is now. You ready?" I looked around the goalies, defenders, midfielders, and forwards I had assembled. "The goal is to win the league. Not in some abstract, wishy-washy Ted Lasso yeah if we believe maybe we'll get close kind of way. I'm talking start to finish domination. Zach, say hoo-rah in an American accent."

"HOO-rah!"

"There we go. It might surprise you to learn that we're not actually the best team on paper but matches aren't played on paper. Sandra and I are setting you up so we nullify the oppo's strong points while making sure we have enough going forward to get results. The Brig's got you fit. Peter's defensive coaching is really evident in our defensive record, isn't it? We're really hard to play against and when the oppo do create chances our goalies are coming up with big saves. It's a well-oiled machine but lads, we need to make the most of it because in January everything could change. Okay, Magnus is coming back from Gibraltar so that's another body."

Magnus Evergreen was a player-physio who was extremely versatile and while most players had a Potential Ability between 1 (randos on the street) and 200 (Messi), Magnus's was minus 2. His CA kept rising along with the rest of the squad, so I had concluded that players with minus PA were broken but in a good way. It was a glitch that was beneficial. Maybe we would be able to train him past CA 200! That would be something. A former champion bodybuilder slowly turning into the best football player in the world.

"We're also getting the two lads from Brazil. They're undercooked but we'll ease them in. What it means is the squad will be bloated so if we get good offers for players, we have to take them. We need the cash and we need the squad space and the money will let me bring in another coach who can maybe focus on individual sessions. There has been no movement on selling anyone but we need to be mentally ready for the likelihood that we'll be weaker when the January window closes than when it opens. Okay? That's why we need to be putting points on the board right now when we've got an amazing balance and we can hit teams from all angles. Spectrum thinks I'm psychotic but to me it's rational to be very, very alarmed by any drops in standards.

"Now, this week's matches could very possibly be a microcosm of our season. It's Doncaster Rovers on Wednesday, at home, on our beautiful pitch in front of our adoring fans. I'm thinking three-four-three with Pascal and Wibbers as forwards, one of them dropping to be a link option, loads of rotations, movement, beautiful, intricate passing moves. Mwah!" I did a chef's kiss. "Saturday's the FA Cup down in London against Sutton United. Why should those fucks get to see our beautiful moves? We're going there with a three-four-three but three proper strikers and we're going to hoof high balls up to them. Finesse on Wednesday, brute force on Saturday. Finesse until January, brute force for the rest of the season. It could very well go like that so enjoy this time, right? Is everyone really clear on what the plan for the season is?"

Dazza said, "What about cups?"

"Excellent question. We're out of the AOK Cup. We will always go for the Cheshire Cup - we should be able to win that even with our reserve players. You know I'm romantic about the FA Cup and there's a strong financial incentive to progress in that competition. Last year we played Manchester United and got a million pounds. Lads, a million quid would come in very handy right now, let me tell you. I'd love to get to the fourth or fifth round but it depends who we draw. Sutton United away in the first round is a pretty good start, to be honest. But the really interesting cup this season is the Vans Trophy. It's only open to third and fourth-tier clubs so it's the last time we will be in the competition. Last chance to win it! Also, the final is played at Wembley. Do you want to play at the home of football?

"What I see in front of me is a squad that can very easily cope with most opponents in the league while blasting its way through the Vans. We take what we get in the FA Cup. I'll hammer the point home. If we're ten points clear by January and we've got a league match just before we face a Premier League team in the FA Cup, we can rest players in the league match and really have a go in the cup game. Do you get me? All the work we put in now will pay off later. If we're only third in the league we will have to bin off the FA Cup match. A heavy defeat live on BBC 1, the only match some of your friends and family watch this season. That doesn't appeal to me and I'm sure it doesn't appeal to you, either."

Youngster put his hand up. "You normally tell us who our main challengers will be."

"Er, yeah, no-one. Honestly, we're in a battle against ourselves. I mean, there are clubs with starting elevens around our level but I think we're going to have more depth and much more tactical flexibility than everyone else, for a while, at least. I mean, when has a League One club ever had a sixth choice centre back as good as Peter Bauer?"

"Sixth?" he said, laughing. "I'll accept fourth."

I lifted my hand and brought it down in little steps. "Me, Christian, Zach, Fitzo, Magnus, you."

"You?" said Peter.

"Christian," I said. "Who's the best centre back at this club?"

My captain looked from me to Peter and back again. "Meghan."

"Fair," I said. "I'm going to talk to the women tonight. If I remember, I'll ask if they have any tips for us."

"For us?" said Peter.

I nodded. "They've been front-runners in every season they've played, right? The men got in pole position once, years ago, but there's basically no-one left from that group. It's a different mindset when you're chasing a team down."

Pascal piped up. "The women have to win every week or their chance of promotion is gone and their season is over. I agree with your analysis, Max, but you are trying to create a sense of urgency whereas for the women, it is baked into the nature of their calendar."

He was right. The women only played 22 league games compared to 46 for the men. They had virtually no room for mistakes, whereas we could lose five or six matches and still win the league by miles. "It's true that the mindset might not really be something we can learn from. Tell you what, when you're in the canteen with them, or up on the roof terrace, why don't you talk to them about what it's like? I also want to get tips on how to handle difficult men. Who better to ask, right?"

I looked up at the gym. Someone was in there, using one of the static bikes. Meghan, maybe, since she hadn't played yesterday. She was easy to manage. She was self-motivating, loved training, had a burning hunger to improve. I had lost faith that Matt Rush had any of those attributes, but surely the Munich guys would, otherwise how would they have ended up at such a big club? If they were like Meghan, managing them would be easy. I found myself smiling. I knew it wouldn't be easy. Not in the slightest.

"I need to work on my man-management skills," I mused, which might have seemed like a non-sequitur to the lads. "I want to have quick chats with a few of you. First, though. Zach, please step forward."

He navigated through the legs of the guys who had flopped down at the front. "Zach, I am stripping you - "

I paused to check if Brooke was in the area, which got some sniggers.

"I am stripping you of the title of vice-vice-captain. Please return the armband."

"You never gave me one."

"You mean you lost it? Christian, fine him for that." More quiet laughs. "Zach, we have come a long way from you breaking my arm during a goal celebration. You've slid across what I call the heist-o-meter, away from pure brute force towards finesse. You've got an awesome balance these days and when we were struggling on Saturday, you stepped up. You brought the energy and the will to win that was missing. You led by example, you got your mates going, you got the crowd going. Therefore," I said, as I pulled an armband out of my pocket. It said VC on it. "You're the new vice-captain of Chester Football Club." This announcement got cheers and applause while Zach took some hefty thwacks to the back. "This club is being run along Brooke Star's ultra-capitalist principles so this promotion comes with extra work and responsibility but no extra pay. If you have a problem with that, you know who to talk to." This got some friendly jeers.

As Zach admired his trophy, he said, "Should I give a speech, boss?"

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"I don't know what you do in bed, do I? All right," I said, clapping my hands. "That'll do for today. Why don't you play a mini-match? Oh, shit, that's what I wanted to say. Guys, listen up one more second. Important. Thank you. Okay, basically I want to increase the amount of Relationism training we're doing and I want to use it in real matches a few times." There was a buzz, especially from the younger players. It was going to be hard to explain Relationism to Briggy, so instead of using words I had asked her to come to watch the women train later on. "If we've lost players in key positions, let's do something that doesn't need positions. Yeah? It could be a solution to losing key players in January, couldn't it? Okay, off you go. Ryan, quick word?"

While most of the group rushed onto the pitch, Ryan Jack came over. He was a midfielder, 38 years old, basically a fossil, but he still had a role to play. He was one of our players with the highest capacity for finesse and he was a great role model for the youngsters. He was also super interesting as a case study in how CA decayed over time. For as long as I could remember, his CA had been virtually static, flitting between 76 and 77. If he played more than about twenty minutes his stamina would turn red, fall by one point, and he would lose a point in CA. He wasn't actually injured, he was just old. He would spend the week getting back into the groove until he was 77 again a week later but that had been a hard cap for ages.

During the morning's session, though, he had popped to 78, which was a number I hadn't expected to see next to his name until the year 2066. "What's up, bosh?" he said, in his Scouse accent.

"I feel you've, ah, been looking fitter and fresher recently."

He did something almost unbelievable - he smiled broadly. "You noticed? I thought maybe it was all in me head." He nodded towards the new gym building. "It's dat. It's dead nice, bosh, the whole thing, but it's the flywheel."

"Oh," I said. The flywheel trainer was a new piece of kit we'd bought. It was a low platform that had a harness attached to a wheel. When you pulled, it pulled back, giving you the benefits of strength training in a smoother, safer way than lifting weights. Some of the lads loved it, some hated it, but so far I had only given it a few experimental tugs - my Attributes distribution was quite malleable and after being super-fit in the early weeks of the season, I was transitioning to a more skills-based character sheet.

"I can work on meself without pulling a hammy or having my hip pop out. It's great for flexibility. It's taken years off me!"

I smiled. It was great to hear the dour old bastard be so positive but he was maybe exaggerating. "It has taken 20 years off you and now you feel 40."

"Sure, boss, sure. I love the steam room, too. Melt away the aches, then a glass of lemon tea on the roof terrace. What? What are you grinning at?"

I shook my head. "I've just been focused on what's wrong, you know. What's left to do, what's unfinished. The bits that are done are great, though, aren't they? You've cheered me up, Ryan. You're not gonna join in this scrum now, are you?"

He raised his eyebrows and whipped his training top off. "I'm fit as a fiddle, me. Gonna show these young 'uns how football's supposed to be played."

I watched him jog away - I've seen faster wheelbarrows - and called Cole Adams and Fitzroy Hall over. Cole was a CA 96 PA 147 left back who was in the Irish under 20 squad. Fitzroy was a 98/118 centre back I had signed for free when his contract expired at his previous club. He was the third choice centre back and probably hadn't played as much as he expected - I had agreed his deal before I knew Peter Bauer would join us - but Fitzroy's steady rise in CA towards triple digits showed his professionalism.

"Lads," I said. "We're going to be playing a lot of three-at-the-back in the coming weeks. Fitzo, that's good for you, obvs. You'll get more action and you'll start both matches this week. Using a back three will help me give Peter minutes, too." Peter was the poster boy for footballing finesse but he hadn't played for years and wasn't yet up to the physical challenge of League One football, which was fast and furious. Having three centre backs meant there would always be two teammates near him who could take up the physical mantle and leave Peter to astound and delight with his glorious passes and nerveless skills.

"Peter's incredible," said Fitzroy. "Top-tier technique."

"True dat," I said. "Cole, it's less good for you, but I've seen you do well as a left-sided centre back so we'll keep you involved, and obviously we'll switch to a back four in phases. I want to give Jamie minutes, for one thing."

Jamie Brotherhood was a youth team right back with CA 48, PA 95. Giving him more exposure to the first team would speed his development and put him in the shop window.

Cole said, "Is this because Matt Rush played like shit?"

"Erm," I said. What would a good manager do? Tell the truth? That didn't seem right. "My AI computer told me to make this change."

"You chucked it in a skip and crushed it."

"Right. Erm... its dying wish was for us to play three at the back for a while. Okay? Hey, Cole, do you want to be a professional footballer?"

"Er, yeah?"

"Good. Because this is what it's like. Shit happens you have no control over. A manager loves you, buys you, gets sacked the same day you arrive. It's amazing how many players have that exact same story. You can't control that, right, you can only control how you train. If your managers aren't looking at you, someone is. Fuck, it could be that ignoring your incredible levels in training is what gets a manager sacked. Do you know what I mean? And as for me, I expect you to keep working hard in training so that when we go to a back four we slap harder than ever."

"Yes, boss. I'll work harder."

"I don't want you to work harder. I want you to keep doing exactly what you're doing because that is mint. All clear? That's it."

They sped off and I took a pause to enjoy the sounds of the game. It was frantic, with too many players in too small a space. That made things frustrating and there was lots of jeering and gentle mockery but when you did something good the degree of difficulty made it so rewarding. Judging by this noise, anyone would think Bumpers was a fun place to work. Would Munich sound like this? My subconscious mind decided that German training sessions would be quiet, punctuated only by the sound of the ball being struck and some short, sharp commands from the coaches.

I turned away from the group and laughed at myself. The protagonist in Inside Man

was ice cool. He didn't worry about whether he was using the right mix of finesse and brute force. He didn't worry about his man management skills. He just did the mission. Why couldn't I do that instead of driving myself crazy?

I turned back. "Lee," I called.

Lee Contreras jogged over. He had trained well but had steered clear of me. "Boss?"

I had gamed this out in my head and had a decent idea of how to approach it. "Ah, yeah. How you feeling?"

"Good," he lied. "Top of the league." He scratched his face. "Wins in a row. Records. Like Spectrum said."

"Mmm," I said, and left a long gap in which Lee would be generating hundreds of nightmare scenarios the way I was doing to myself about Germany. "Yeah," I added, thoughtfully.

"I was - " he started, which I took as my cue to begin.

"So the thing is, my tolerance for selfish play is virtually zero. I think it might be an actual medical condition but we haven't hired a club doctor yet so there's no way to find out. What you did on Saturday infuriated me but as you can see, I'm totes calm. My eyes aren't even twitching, look. See?

"I want you to talk to Spectrum today. I asked him to get all the data together to show you the graphs and charts that other teams are going to be looking at. You'll see that your baseline has been slowly rising through the season, right, which is awesome. If you're the sporting director of Wigan or Salford you might look at that growth and project it into the future and think you could buy a guy who is on the up. You'll see one spectacular match where the numbers leap off the page like a pop-up book. That match was my gift to you, mate. I took the spare capacity the team had and instead of going for more goals I gave your career lift-off. Sent you to the moon.

"Then you'll see the numbers for Saturday and you'll see that what you did didn't even make sense. You normally have a low expected threat, which is fine because no-one expects you to ping big diagonals or go on mazy dribbles, but you do contribute to the team's attacks. You get control in the middle and move it wide so Duggers can do his thing. You make runs that draw the oppo to you and you create space for your teammates to bomb into. That stuff shows on the data, but on Saturday all of that was a big fat zero. What's the point getting your passing stats up while everything else craters? No, that was rhetorical. There is no point. You blew your shot at a big move."

I zipped my hoodie tighter - I was getting cold.

"Obviously I'm pissed off and don't want to use you for a while but we could spin it. We'll say you picked up a little calf strain in the early stages against Barnsley and you battled on but all you could do was, you know, play crap. Brave crap. You'll have a couple of weeks out of the matchday squads, you know, as cover for that story. If you get another shot back in the team and your data goes back to how it was, the sporting director who's keeping an eye on you might think, ah we can discount that one strange performance. Yeah," I said, wishing Emma had been here to see this virtuoso display of brutal finesse, "there might be a way back from the brink."

It was a lot to take in, but one phrase was rattling around his mind louder than the others. "If I get another shot..."

"Right now the idea of writing your name on a teamsheet makes me, you know." He didn't know, but I had no intention of clarifying. "The good news for you is that Sandra wasn't there to see it first hand and I've got director of football things to do in the near future. There's one of those Transfer Rooms in Paris soon and I want to be there so I'll miss at least one match. If you train well Sandra might pick you for that and if the data shows the good Lee, the team player Lee, maybe we'll be able to write this off as a blip."

Okay so he was in the doghouse but there was a route back in the near future - he could live with that. "Yes, boss."

"That's it," I said. Lee moved back towards the maelstrom of players. "Where are you going?"

"To play," he said, confused.

"You're injured."

"Oh," he said, remembering that detail of my proposed scam. "Wait, you said I had to train well to get back in the team."

I sighed and put my left hand on my hips while rubbing my forehead. "Lee, I'm mad at you and I don't want you to have fun in front of me, okay? I shouldn't have to spell that out. Go find Spectrum and look at your data. If you still feel like having fun after that, ask him to explain it again."

He hesitated. I made my eyes go wide. He scarpered in the direction of the Sin Bin.

That had gone fairly well, I reckoned. Next up was Matt Rush. Being brutally honest I wasn't motivated to try to 'fix' him. He wasn't our player - he was registered to Manchester United - which meant Chester didn't stand to benefit by increasing his transfer value. He wasn't one of the lads who had been jettisoned by other clubs. Chester was an amazing place for misfits and rejects, but maybe not so much for those on the fast track. Not the ones with bad attitudes, anyway.

We were getting an amazing deal in that Matt was a high-potential player whose wages we didn't have to pay, but if he played shit there was literally no point having him around. What I really wanted was to send him straight back to United but I also needed to be able to look Emma in the eye and tell her I'd made some kind of effort.

"Matt," I called, and I found myself getting tense just by looking at his face. What would George Clooney do? He would smile.

I didn't smile.

"Yes, gaffer?"

"Yeah, just a quick one. I've been looking at the data from Saturday and you didn't play better in the second half than in the first. It seems obvious that I don't know how to motivate you and more matches like that are going to be a net negative for your career. You've played eleven matches, haven't you? That's a decent start to life. I'm gonna suggest you get the United guys to start looking for a different club for you to join in January."

"A different club?" he said. It might have been wishful thinking but he seemed shaken.

"Yeah, one that suits a player of your calibre, or with a manager you respect or whatever it is that's holding you back."

"I respect you."

"Mmm, yeah but you don't. It's fine. I don't take that stuff personally, you know? It's just numbers, like in Soccer Supremo. You're ambition 12, we're facilities 6. You're ego 20, I'm Matt Management 1. You're allowed to think you could do better elsewhere but as the expert I'm saying this would be a good time for you to pursue that and get yourself something lined up for January. For now you're popular here and if you leave the fans are going to follow your career with enthusiasm, you know. It'll be like oh, there's that Matt Rush what played for us! Look at him playing for England! Yay! What I can't allow is for players to act like they're doing us a favour by being here because when everyone else realises what's going on it's going to get very toxic very quickly."

"I don't know what you're saying. I've been working hard. I've got a goal and four assists. United's loan manager is buzzing off me."

"Have you talked to him since Saturday?"

"No. How could I?"

"Talk to him. Ask him to crunch the numbers. Maybe he'll agree with you that I'm a total psycho but I know what I saw. There's a way through this that keeps your rep intact, right, so talk to the loans manager, get him to call me and we'll work out the next steps."

"This isn't fair. This is fucking weird. I'm your only right back! What are you doing?"

I felt my face hardening. George Clooney would have been very disappointed in me. "Thanks for taking the time to talk to me, Matt. I appreciate it."

***

I ate lunch alone in my office and reflected on the ways I was unsuited to football management. I was a tactics hack compared to Evaristo but most tragically I just wasn't good with people. Bayern Munich was going to be a circus where I would arrive as the ringmaster and leave as a clown.

I granted that I was exceptional at one thing - grinding for experience points. Yesterday I had surged past 9,000 XP by watching the women's team play a home match in the Women's FA Cup against the amazingly-named tier five club Long Itchington Ladies. I had thought about taking control of the match just to get double the XP but it felt wrong to deny Pascal an easy win; I satisfied myself by picking the starting eleven for him.

I presented the line up to him on slips of paper and watched him assemble them into a coherent team within seconds. He tried to push them into a more radical setup but always reverted to his first instinct, which was the 3-5-2 formation I had in my head.

It was almost the youngest possible team we could have named, with eight players under the age of 20. Our opponents had an average CA of 25. Our ladies averaged just short of CA 50.

Pascal was a more natural head coach than I was, and unlike experienced managers he relished the challenge of using the team I forced on him. After we raced into a three-nil lead he spent most of the rest of the match coaching his players through the game. Over a thousand fans enjoyed the 7-2 win and our Colombian/Welsh forward Meredith Ann scored her first ever hat trick in the UK. There would be many more, I was sure. Good times all round.

My phone buzzed.

Emma: I fell asleep before the end of the movie again.

Me: I know. If Hollywood knew how often you started snoring just as act three started, heads would roll.

Emma: Did the baddie get away with the money?

Me: Yeah he just carried it out of the bank like an absolute boss and no-one tried to stop him.

Emma: How?

Me: That's the twist, babes. That's the whole thing. Brute force buys you the space to do some finesse.

Emma: You're going to make me watch the end, right?

Me: Right.

Emma: How did it go with Lee and Matt?

Me: I didn't reach George Clooney levels of charm but I didn't go full Inside Man, either. I decided to stick to my original plan and play pretty football against Doncaster then batter Sutton. It'll make analysts pull their hair out, for one thing. How can one team go from one extreme to the other? And no-one back home will care that Peter is being used to do long ball tactics. They'll say oh that's just how it is in England.

Emma: None of the sponsors are going to the match this Wednesday. Did you know? Whose party am I going to crash?

Me: Text your mates at Glendale and say I'm going to be mad if they aren't there. The Vans Trophy is the road to Wembley, babes. Chester have never played at Wembley Stadium. The Glendale lot are proper Chester fans. I'm doing it for them, you know?

Emma: I'll talk to them.

I went to fill my water bottle and strolled back to my office. Different trophies carried different levels of prestige and the attendance for Wednesday was likely to just break a thousand. Pretty abysmal but while I was building the playing squad, Brooke and her team were building the fan base. Chester had about a hundred thousand inhabitants, while the wider Cheshire West borough had over three hundred and fifty thousand. It would take time for the club to overtake Liverpool and Manchester United in their hearts and minds but one day we would sell out almost every week.

What had I been thinking about before Emma's texts?

Experience points.

I bought the perk I had been saving up for: Bench Boost Deluxe.

The original Bench Boost did one simple thing. In one match per season, it made my substitutes more effective. That was extremely useful and easy to hack. I had used it in a match with rolling subs, where players could leave the pitch and return to the action. In doing so, all my players counted as being substitutes and that had helped me beat a Manchester City youth side with a bunch of randos, a feat that had been the catalyst for almost everything else I had achieved.

To my surprise and delight, I had found that I was able to use Bench Boost more than once per season simply by managing different teams. I could manage in a local league in Manchester and trigger the boost, then head to Chester to manage a professional match. So long as it was different teams in different competitions, the option was there.

An upgrade had offered me the chance to improve the perk in a seriously cool way. I was no longer restricted to one match per season, but one match per competition per season. Chester's men's team played in five different competitions, which meant five Bench Boosts - buying that upgrade had been a no-brainer. It had proven its worth many times over.

The Deluxe version, the latest offer, allowed me to extend its use in very interesting and attractive ways.

New perk available this month: Bench Boost Deluxe (plus Half-Assed)

Cost: 9,000 XP

Effects: Nominate an ally and boost their bench! Once chosen, the ally cannot be changed during the season, but you may choose one match per competition in which your ally's bench is boosted. The effect can be triggered remotely. Example! Make the manager of West Didsbury your ally and boost his subs bench in one league, one FA Trophy, one FA Cup, one Lancashire Challenge Trophy, and one friendly fixture.

Buying this perk also unlocks Half-Assed. If your ally acts as an assistant manager, you may boost his or her bench to half the usual Bench Boost effect.

Effects do not stack. Perks may not be used against teams you have a stake in.

I had already decided that my ally would be Llewellyn (known as Well In), the manager of Saltney Town. In simple terms, the difference between Saltney finishing first and second was the difference between eighteen million pounds and three million. Anything I could do to help Saltney win the league was a priority, even at the expense of my German adventure. I was nervous about how I would fare in another country, but not to the tune of fifteen million quid.

Well In was the assistant manager for the Welsh national team and I desperately wanted Wales to qualify for the 2028 European Championships. Their group was tough but by buying this perk I would, in a small way, be able to lend a hand.

XP balance: 421

After splashing the cash I went through the process of making Well In my official ally. Nothing spectacular happened but the payoff on all that effort would come over time. If I stuck to managing for a while I would be able to buy perks with more immediate gratification.

If I unlocked enough perks I might start to feel like Danny Ocean slash George Clooney. Wouldn't it be amazing to go a week without pissing anyone off?

***

Briggy stood by me as we watched the women train. "The gig's better than I thought."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," she said. "You're really talented but you have no clue what you're doing. That's fun."

"Thanks."

"I've been trying to catch up. There's a Soccer Supremo forum thread called 'Who's This Clown?' Guess who it's about?"

"Tim Curry."

"It's about you. Basically a long discussion about why you were chosen to be the face of the game."

"That sounds fucking mint. Send it to me."

"Maybe I should finish reading it first."

"Finish?"

"It's 61 pages."

"You know what? Forget it."

"Did you really kick a football into a journalist's face because they were perving over your girlfriend?"

"For legal reasons I have no comment."

"Did you beat Sutton United seven-nil because they tried to get Chester banned from making transfers?"

"I plead the fifth amendment but wryly note that the fucks got relegated. Fucking chumps. Come at the Best you best not miss. Kin hell."

"You have a match against them this weekend, is that not right?"

"Yeah," I said, vaguely. There was a very interesting dynamic going on. Normally, Pascal would have chosen eight or nine of our best eleven for the Sunday match and Monday's session would have been all about their recovery. But because I had picked a team of backups, the starters had been forced to sit on the sidelines and watch. Now the reserves were strutting around, flushed with victory while the starters were the quiet ones, the uncertain ones. I had taken the globe, given it a good shake, and now the snow was falling in a new pattern.

Briggy said, "That's Angel. There's Meghan. Femi."

"Have you been studying the website?"

"No," she said, eyes darting around the pitch, trying to understand the drills. "I've been watching your documentary series. Chesterness. I have to say it's very good. Daring. Surprising. It's almost experimental at times. I found myself wanting to learn more about football and that is something I never expected to say."

"It's a brilliant production. My mate Henri is one of the producers and he's really creative. Bit of a dreamer. His co-producer, Sophie, we found doing a media course at the local Uni. She's great but she's completely ruthless. Someone told her you have to be honest as a storyteller and she took it to a bit of an extreme. The two of them dovetail and smooth over each other's faults. I don't want to overstate my role but I see what they're up to and I veto some parts and encourage them to go harder at others and they accept my input because they know I'm not trying to whitewash Chester's reputation but I want to do something as awesome as possible." My attention briefly drifted from the session to Briggy. She looked the same as always, professional, aloof, menacing, but there was something else there. "You're more engaged."

"I am getting to know the characters. In that show you chew up the scenery, don't you? The joke is that Angel wants to be on camera all the time but you are the ham actor in the production. Do not be offended. It is entertaining."

I wasn't offended in the slightest, but I sensed she wasn't being quite honest with me. No problem; her business was her business. "I hope it came across that we aren't just a football club. We have a purpose. We're trying to do things."

Briggy's eyebrows knitted and she turned away from the pitch to look at me. "What's your purpose with Bayern Munich?"

I shoved my hands in my hoodie's pockets and looked down. "To survive."

"And then?"

I tried to stay blank but couldn't contain a grin that quickly grew to massive proportions. "Nuffin."

"Nothing? Really?" Briggy bit her lip and scoffed. She pointed. "Everything I read says what you have done with these women is impressive. To do it at the same time as promoting the men is considered supernatural."

"That's just brute force."

"What do you mean?"

"I swamp the pitch with talent. Bury the oppo in skills. I'm working on getting more refined but maybe I'm just not a very refined person, you know? Henri, the guy I told you about, he's all about using the right knife and fork and pairing wines with cheeses and whatever. Me? I'm like hey this wine was twenty percent off, pile in."

Briggy covered her mouth with her hand. When she took it away, she said, "I'm with you on that one."

I snorted. "This is fun, look."

I felt that Briggy was standing a fraction closer to me. "What should I see?"

"This drill is one of Jackie Reaper's. He was the last manager for the women. Pascal has picked it up from somewhere and now he's presenting it to the women as though it's new to them. They're playing along because they like him." I shook my head. "Not being funny but this is why we win."

"You just said it was brute force. You win on sheer weight of talent."

I raised a finger. "I don't like when people remember things I say. Write that down." I watched as Angel earnestly asked a question about the drill she knew the answer to. Scandalously currying favour with the new manager. Briggy was watching the scene, not following the way I was. "Briggy, are there any countries in Europe you wouldn't go to?"

"In Europe?" she said, amazed. "Like, refuse to go? No."

"Okay," I said.

She seemed to get my meaning and smiled. "If you want to take me on a holiday, I'm game. Somewhere hot? Oh, that reminds me. Do you know a Greek player called Nikos Iliades?"

"Yes. I played for a team in Gibraltar and we knocked Nikos's team out of a tournament. Do you know him? He's brilliant. I'd love to sign him."

Briggy showed her teeth. "That might not be an option. There was a quote on page forty-something of the Soccer Supremo thread. A journalist asked him about you. His reply... I need my phone. Here we go." She cleared her throat. "Here's what Nikos had to say. Of all my opponents, Max Best is the most complete. He is a complete footballer and he is also a complete prick."

I laughed hard and scratched the back of my head. "Okay. Guess he's not coming to Chester." I chuckled a few more times and decided it was a fitting codicil to my Gibraltar story. I had stirred up a lot of trouble but created some unbelievable moments in footballing history. Oh, and bagged a million pounds along the way. "Nikos couldn't hack it in England. The first time he saw mushy peas he'd run straight to the airport."

"What's mushy peas?"

I raised my eyebrows. "For my sake, I hope you never find out."