2.11 - Soccer Supremo Part Two [T1] (Patreon)

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***

I clicked to take us to a plain black screen. "Feels like shit, doesn't it?" I smiled. "This is it. This is the job. If you're amazing at it, like me, all you do is get yourself more and more days like these that hurt more and more. Next season it'll be the semi-final. Then the final. But this is what I said to my players. One day soon we'll be winning this competition and then they'll have to prise the trophy from our cold, dead hands because once we get it, we're never letting it go."

I took a sip of water.

"All right. Brighton 2, Chester 1. Intense. But reacting to that is the challenge. This isn't boxing where you've got months to stew on it until your next fight. I was back in action within days. You need to be able to compartmentalise your feelings. It helps if you have a good process. When I'm mentally frazzled I either go back to 4-1-4-1, my comfort blanket, or I ask Sandra Lane to take over and I take a back seat while my brain gets spongey again. You can't be that emotional every match, so if you're always the underdog it might be better to bin off a few games so you can keep your sanity."

I looked around the room and sensed that everyone was still thinking about the Brighton match. Still feeling the rawness of the defeat.

"I think it's best if we move on with the calendar. The rest isn't as intense, I promise. Okay, let me try to remember what came - " I groaned. "Oh, shit! It's an advert. Sorry, guys, it's unskippable. It won't take long."

On screen, we saw a handsome young man in a black hoodie, holding a football with a whistle around his neck. He was prowling around a space that might have been a dressing room. Already, some of the audience members were laughing.

"All right you animals, listen up," said the guy, in quite a lovely accent. The words Max Best (Player-Manager) appeared. "We've got a tough game today so I need you to really dig in. Get your teeth into it, okay? What I need is for you to smell danger."

To no-one's surprise, there was a cut to a group of animals. They were weird little things that looked like skinless sausages with four nasty teeth on the front. For the first time in this series of adverts, I had persuaded the guys from the zoo that we needed to explain what the fucking things were, because even an experienced Fallout player like myself didn't recognise them. Thus, as a handful of the creatures looked at the camera, some text appeared: Naked Mole Rat.

The camera cut back to me. I threw my hands up. "Why is no-one dressed? Is it shirts vee skins?" We cut back to one of the little guys, which were cute when you got over the shock of their strangeness, then back to me, scratching my head. "Guess we're the skins."

Then it was a drone shot of Chester Zoo's 'Heart of Africa' compound as the narrator went through his usual spiel, ending with, "Chester Zoo - we're simply the best."

That was the cue for the final joke. We saw Advert Max in the room that normally only the zookeepers would enter, where the mole rats lived in a series of boxes connected by transparent tubes. It looked quite fun, actually. There was one little mammal dude scampering around his domain looking for something to nibble, and we saw a close-up of my face, delighted to get such an intimate view, mesmerised by the little guy's energy. I smiled right down the camera lens. "I love a box-to-box midfielder."

The advert ended and was met with hearty applause.

I clicked and we returned to the Soccer Supremo menu, zoomed in on the date. It changed from March 7 to March 13, and the next fixture read: Chester versus Wigan Athletic.

I said, "The men's team were back in action. Wigan are relatively weak this season. What was the main factor in how I picked the team? Well, there was a week until our next recognised fixture but a few days later we had our Cheshire Cup semi-final, which is an important match for my club but the Soccer Supremo guys refused to write special code to include it in this presentation! Scandalous. I wanted to make sure we won the cup game, which meant slightly weakening the team against Wigan. That's why we only won 2-0." Some laughs at that, then smiles when the slower guys realised I was back in a joking mood.

I clicked and the date went forward by one.

March 14.

Chester Women versus Stoke City Women.

"This game was a test our of mental fortitude, wasn't it? How do you respond to crushing disappointment?"

I clicked, showing the next slide, and there was loud applause.

"You respond by crushing Stoke City 7-0, is what you do. Spoiler alert: another week later we beat Sheffield United, and a week after that we beat Durham. That could have been a titanic match, but we worked so hard and played so hard for so long that it was just another day.

"The women have three league matches and the Cheshire Ladies Cup final left to go but as far as I'm concerned, their season is over. They have been grinding for three years and their reward is to go full-time professional in the summer. I'm not sure how many will actually want to go pro, but that's out of the scope of this talk. Long story short, we pissed the league and gave a top-tier team a fright. Next year we start to be in a position to win the big trophies and you can quote me on that."

I rubbed my forehead. The long bus ride home from Sussex had been pretty brutal for the first half an hour, but then the singing had started and I knew they would be all right. I also knew that while the team could have flaws, we couldn't win big trophies until we had an elite goalkeeper. I would break the bank to sign one, if needed. What was the world record fee for a female goalkeeper?

I sat on the armrest of 'my' cosy chair. "Okay, in the interests of fairness, we're going to spend some time with the men's team. Who are also pissing the league while easing into the Cheshire Senior Cup final. Yawn. No big deal. I mean, they're also in the Vans Trophy final at Wembley, but that's no big deal, is it? That competition probably hasn't even been coded in Soccer Supremo." I put my finger to my ear as though I was getting a message from a producer. "What? It's in? It's going to contribute a decent amount to our Club Reputation? I'll get good Manager Points for winning it? Manager Points affect my Reputation which affects the job offers I get and how eager players and staff are to work with me? Oh. Okay, then."

I crossed the stage with my index finger tapping against my lips.

"Reputation Points. Manager Points. The game, computer and real-life, is all about numbers. It's just numbers. Forget me getting emotional before, that was an aberration. Let's look at some of my system messages and think about what to do based on the fact that this entire world is just numbers."

I clicked and a picture of Neo from The Matrix appeared.

"Oh, come on," I complained. "That's a little on the nose, don't you think?" I clicked again. The image was a traditional Soccer Supremo news item, written in the terse format that was de rigueur in the old days.

Your co-manager Sandra Lane has informed you that Darren 'Dazza' Smith was late for training today.

I stared at the message for a while before turning to the audience. "Star striker. An expensive purchase by our standards. Rapidly turning into a great hold-up player. Can score headers and is working hard on other parts of his game. Being late is a breach of team discipline. What do you do? Turn to the person next to you and discuss it. If you see someone who isn't talking to anyone, it's your job to include them. Come on. You've got sixty seconds to make a decision about what to do. Go."

I gave them a minute.

"Okay, now check this out."

Your co-manager Sandra Lane has informed you that Darren 'Dazza' Smith was involved in a training ground bust-up with American defender Zach Green.

"Uh-oh. First he's late, then he's throwing punches. Does this change your previous decision? Thirty seconds to discuss it in your group."

I was pleased to see that Jacob was taking part. He was talking to an old balding dude in jeans, shirt, and jumper, a look commonly known as old man casual. If I was a casting director, I'd have chosen him to be a detective's boss in a police show, or a Scottish steel baron. Yeah, he was either murders or girders.

I got everyone's attention, then asked, "Jacob, what do you want to do?" He called out his answer and I repeated it for the guys at the back. "He wants to take a hard line but if it's a first offence, it's a verbal warning. Yeah, that's measured. Hands up everyone who wanted to give the guy a two-week fine? Ha, that's about a quarter of you. I think that's how I used to play Soccer Supremo. Punish the guilty, protect team unity at all costs. Last question. Put your hand up if you're 100% sure that your decision is the right one. Whoa, that's most of you. Hmm. So what did I actually do in this case?"

***

Bumpers Bank

I was called to a quick meeting in Brooke's office, where MD and Secretary Joe were in celebratory mood. "What's going on?" I asked. I was in all my kit except my boots, nearly ready to train. The Easter weekend double-header was approaching and if I played one of the games it would take the pressure off the rest of the squad. Plus I wanted to stay match sharp because Bradford City were on the horizon and there was a chance we could mathematically secure promotion in their stadium. I was going to dazzle.

MD smiled at me. "We're smiling because the independent regulator bashed some heads together and forced the Premier League and the EFL to agree a new funding model. More money will go from the Prem to the EFL, and we'll get our grubby hands on it! We're hitting the Championship at the best possible time!"

I loved it when he got excited. "Okay, that's worth missing the start of training for." I closed my eyes while I tried to calculate what it could mean.

When the clubs in the top division had formed a breakaway league in the early 90s, they had offered the EFL 25% of their TV revenues. The EFL, in one of the worst decisions of all time, had refused. The Premier League shrugged and turned itself into the world's most lucrative and influential entertainment product - apart from Minecraft. Missing out on 25% of the action had cost EFL clubs billions of pounds.

Over time, some money had trickled downwards but had never come close to the initial offer. Now there was movement, and even a two or three percent swing in that direction could have been worth... "I can't do the maths," I said. "What are we looking at?"

Brooke clicked her mouse once. "Joe thinks two million a year. I think it could be three."

I was ecstatic. "We get an extra three million a year just for waking up today?" I looked left and right, waiting for someone to say something like, 'well of course because of depreciation and accrued expenses we have to reserve some of it blah blah blah.' But no, they were just smiling. "How much of it will I get?"

MD's lips twitched. "All of it." He slapped me on the back. "Don't spend it on ornaments!"

I was just about to say something witty when we heard a commotion outside. I rushed to the nearest window and saw the main training pitch, where Zach and Dazza were grappling. "The fuck?" I said, before flying out of the office and down the stairs. Although I was in a mad hurry, I pulled my boots on. If there was aggro I didn't want someone standing on my unprotected metatarsals.

In the interests of haste, I didn't tie my laces, but by the time I got outside, the scene had already been contained. Christian and Peter were pulling Zach away to my left, while Joel and Andrew Harrison were struggling with Dazza. I checked their player profiles. Zach had 'dislikes Darren Smith' as a new addition to his profile. Dazza's said 'late for training recently', while his Morale had fallen to abysmal, the lowest. I checked the squad's Morale not an hour earlier and his was high.

Anger surged through me, but I took a beat to think. There was no danger, so I bent to tie my boots. When I was done, I walked past a lot of shocked players - idly noting that Youngster had gone to Sandra's side. Guard dog. What a great kid! I gestured for Joel and Andrew to step away, then put my hand on Dazza's back and applied just enough pressure to encourage him to move away from the group, but not enough to appear aggressive.

To my relief, he obeyed, and we trudged away towards the dirt path in front of the gym.

What do you say in such a situation? I did what I thought Jackie Reaper would do, and waited.

Dazza was staring ahead, furious, but as I watched, his face crumpled and his eyes turned red.

"Mate," I said, softly.

"It's Lachie," he said. Lachie was his brother, who I had first met in Chile at the Under 20 World Cup. He was so cool, so at ease with himself, and I had been jealous of how Emma had responded to him. I later learned that Lachie knew who I was and was trying to get me interested in signing his little brother. And now he was, what? Dead?

"Oh my God," I said, as the utter shitness of the situation sunk in. I wanted to ask what got him, a shark or a jellyfish, but Jackie Reaper wouldn't have blurted that out so neither did I.

Dazza looked in my direction but he wasn't seeing anything. "He's in Thailand. He collapsed. He's in hospital and they don't know what's..."

"He's alive?"

"Yes," he said, shakily.

"Why are you in training, you dick?" Okay, yeah. Jackie Reaper might not have said it like that.

"I just heard... Just before. I don't know... I can't..."

I sucked in some oxygen to help me think. "What happened with Zach?"

Dazza groaned and fell into a crouch. "He was bodying me like he always does and I threw a tantie. Lashed out. Fuck, I'm such a smegger."

"Okay, don't worry about that. Let's focus on your brother. Where are your parents?"

"Back home, like, trying to work out what... Dad's gonna fly out."

"Good. Do you wanna go?"

Dazza pushed himself upright. "Go?" He didn't seem to have even considered the idea. He did now, and immediately shook his head. "We've got... The season's not over."

I tutted. "Yours is. Wait there." I jogged towards Sandra and called out. "Can you get the Brig here asap?"

Her eyes widened but she got out her phone. At the mention of the Brig, the rest of the lads looked at each other, wondering what the fuck was transpiring. Another thing happened right there and then, too - the 'dislikes Darren Smith' message vanished from Zach's profile. He rubbed his arm. "What's going on, boss?"

"Zach, come and help. Everyone else, back to work. Go on! I'll explain it in a bit. Colin, let me know who the last player to return to training is so I can punish them. Thanks."

Zach followed me back to Dazza, with some reluctance until he saw Dazza wiping his eyes. "Dazza, what the heck?"

"Sorry, mate," said the Aussie.

I said, "You can hug it out later. It's planning time. Ah, perfect." The Brig rushed out of the gym and came jogging towards us. He was topless and sweaty and gripping his phone. "John," I said, using his real name to show we had a situation. "Dazza's brother is sick in Thailand. I want this guy on a plane asap, okay? Sec Joe is in Brooke's office - work with him to plan and book the flight. The club will pay. Zach, can you drive Dazza home, help him pack - he's not thinking straight - and co-ordinate with the Brig about which airport to bring him to and all that?"

"Sure!" said the overgrown boy scout.

"Brig, Zach, this is your mission. Forget anything else. All right? Um... that's it, I think. You know what to do?" The Brig and Zach nodded. "Actually," I said, thinking of something. "Zach will you run over and get Sec Joe? I can't have the Brig running around looking like this." Zach took a step away. "One more thing," I said, stopping him. I put my hand on Dazza's shoulder. "If you guys ever fall out for real, let's do a proper fight, okay? In a ring, with rules, smothered in oil. The club can monetise that. Okay, hurry."

Zach shook his head, smiling, but then bolted away looking serious.

With Zach gone, I could throw around some confidential numbers. "Dazza, try to take this in. You're gonna get a big pay rise if you extend your contract here another year. Seven thousand a week, okay? So if you need to spend some money out there, do it. Do you know what I mean?"

He wasn't really processing the numbers but he got the gist. "Yeah. Like, treatment, or..."

"Hotels for you and your dad. Don't skimp. Yeah, maybe you grab a specialist from another hospital, that kind of thing. And when Lachie's improving, you move him somewhere better, I don't know. All I'm saying is that you're a Championship player now; you're rich. All right, why don't you grab a quick shower, mate?"

"Yeah... Yeah," he said, a little more awake. He moved towards the shower block.

When he was gone, the Brig leaned closer. "You specifically wanted Zach to take him to the airport?"

"Yep," I said. "They had a bit of a scrap before. Zach being the one to help out turns it into a bonding moment, right? Take their little tiff and nuke it from orbit. I mean, that's the idea."

The Brig nodded. "That should work, sir. Well done." Secretary Joe arrived, flustered. The Brig put his hand on the older man's shoulder. "You can leave it with us, sir."

***

Birmingham

The audience was waiting impatiently to hear how I handled the sitch.

"My response was swift and disproportionate. I put Dazza on the next plane to an idyllic beach resort and promised him a massive pay rise." There were some eye rolls and groans. "Hands up if you think I'm joking." Most hands went up. I eyed a few of those guys. "Put your hands down. That's what I did. The real question is why. Why would I, a known psychopath, do that? Well, the answer... will be revealed in my memoirs."

One guy yelled, "No!" with such frustration it broke the tension in the room.

I laughed. "Okay, it's a good news story in the end, so fine. Dazza's brother, Lachie, got really sick in Thailand so I told Dazza to get over there. It turned out to be a really bad reaction to something he ate or drank. The doctors did a great job. It's all good. Lachie will be up and about stealing everyone's girlfriend again in no time.

"The point is you can have principles and non-negotiables and take a hard line but what happens when you get a player who's already at their lowest point and you fine them, suspend them, scream at them in front of the other players, dig them out in the media? And only then do you find out what's up?

"Nah, it's hard, dealing with people. Really hard. I know I'm shit at it so I surround myself with people who are better."

I clicked and moved the date along to March 17.

"This was the date of the Cheshire Cup semi-final, which as you know, isn't important enough to exist in the world of Soccer Supremo. Boo, by the way, boo. Okay, so we started with some good players, got a big lead, put on more and more kids. Top. One of my earliest signings was a guy called Ryan Jack. Scouser, midfielder, some people say he plays like Peter Reid from Everton and England but I never saw Reid except for that time he tried to foul Maradona in the World Cup and got nowhere near him."

I clicked us into March 18 and another news item came up.

Veteran Chester midfielder Ryan Jack has announced his intention to retire from professional football at the end of the season. He hopes to stay in the game in another capacity.

"The Cliff, guys. I obviously don't have access to Ryan's real-life CA, but if I had to guess, I would say that at the start of February it was about 77, spent a couple of weeks at 76, fell by one point a week, then just, yeah, fell off a cliff halfway through that first half. It's like going bankrupt. You do it slowly at first, then all at once."

I nodded to myself for a while.

"Make sure you speak to all your staff about what they might want to do when their playing career's over. I made Ryan our loans manager ages ago. I ask all my players to do a coaching or scouting badge. I offer to pay for any courses they might want to do, even if it's just like a cooking course or learning Spanish or something, because their career could end any day and okay, they aren't going to go work in a busy kitchen the day after they retire but when's the worst time to think about your future? When your future has just been snatched from you.

"I don't pay for French courses, by the way, only things that are at least vaguely useful."

The next news item read:

Bayern Munich have reached the quarter-finals of the Champions League after a thrilling 5-3 aggregate win over Benfica. 

"Nice to meet new people, isn't it? I want to know what happens if Bayern win the whole thing. Do I get a medal? Does Youngster, who played about five minutes? Also making a big impression in that match was Foquita, who spent a little time at little old Chester. Is it just me or are a lot of former Chester players doing really well?

"Nice to meet new people."

I clicked again and the screen went black. That was a reminder to myself about what was coming next because I had forgotten every time in rehearsal.

"Right." I cleared my throat and stared at a spot on the floor. "Erm..." I kept staring. I forced myself to move around, before clearing my throat again. "I don't want to stereotype the people in this room, but, er, remember that I was one of you. I think it's probably fair to say we tend to be introverted and we're probably happier lying on a bean bag reading a book than being at a loud nightclub. When, er..." I looked up at the ceiling lights. "When I started in football I didn't know anyone.

"I met a guy who became my first client. Because of him I met some people at FC United, including Jackie Reaper. I got to know the people at Chester, then Darlington, then when I became Chester manager that growth in my social life boomed. Add in Wales, Gibraltar, Germany... My phone is bulging with contacts now. But, er, that's not always straightforward. Being part of so many lives is not something I'm really mature enough to deal with, if I'm being totally honest."

I clicked.

March 19.

Chester FC players will wear black armbands during Saturday's home match against Stevenage in honour of a fan who passed away.

I turned away from the audience, scrunched up my face, rubbed my chin. I opened my mouth but words wouldn't come. I went to get some water. I spoke to the bottle.

"I get invited to weddings. People I've never met. And funerals." I took a swig. "Too many funerals." I shook my head. "We send flowers."

I clicked.

March 20.

Chester FC remain 8 points clear at the top of League One after a routine win over Stevenage.

"Black armbands, Dazza's brother still in a bad way at that point. Emotional day. We score and the lads go to one photographer who's looking after a Chester shirt with Lachie written on the back. They hold it up to the camera. I switch us to 5-3-2 men behind ball because I don't think we're in the right headspace for the next phase of play. Stevenage attack, we don't concede, and that's the game right there. That little phase where most managers would be too emotional to think straight. Me? I can be emotional and think straight at the same time."

My emotion at that point in the match had actually been anger. Couldn't holding up the shirt wait until full time? The club would make sure that was the photo that got used on our socials but Lachie would want us to win the match so that his brother could follow his dream of playing at the highest level possible. Why break concentration? Maddening, but expressing that to the players needed to wait until Lachie was out of danger.

I put my hands in the pouch at the front of my hoodie, and tried to add some pep to my voice.

"In less bleak news, the next week saw some white-hot transfer action."

March 22

Chester FC have agreed to sign Dominic Duckham from Altrincham for a fee of £400,000. The 16-year-old midfielder will join in the summer.

"This kid," I said, "is mint. He's what you might call slight. You see him in youth team matches and he's getting smacked around and it's no real surprise that a lot of coaches and scouts don't rate him. I do, though. I think he suffers from Charlie Dugdale syndrome, where he's got a sort of overly northern name so loads of people think he can't be talented. Bullshit. He's like another one of my midfielders, Dan Badford, in that he's elusive, has surprisingly good technique, and he's got some flair about him, too.

"If we're going to do Relationism for longer periods we need this kind of player. Alty have been shunting him out to the right and he can play there - I would list him on Soccer Supremo as M LRC - and I'll give him first team minutes on the flanks but for our youth team he'll play in the middle. Alty are in the National League and could use the money and they squeezed my pips on this one. I don't mind, in this case. I think it's a good deal all round."

Dominic was PA 139, the same as Hamish, the Scottish player I picked up for a quarter of the price. When they hit their peaks, they would be tolerable squad players in the Premier League, or would boss the Championship. Getting two players of that calibre for half a million? I was buzzing from that.

"Then a deal I had been trying to close for a while. If you're hoping I'm going to say something about Helge Hagen... Why? Chester are tiny. We can't be signing the next Haaland. That deal's dead in the water."

March 23

Chester FC have agreed to sign Wallace Wells from Stevenage for a fee of £800,000. The 17-year-old left winger will join in the summer.

"Wow. That's a hefty fee for a kid, isn't it? That matches our transfer record. As I said, I had been trying to close the deal for a while and the fact that we played Stevenage when we did was perfect. We could pin the club down - almost literally - while meeting Wallace's family and giving them the tours and the VIP treatment. This kid's going to be a menace."

He was an AM FL, so he wasn't just a winger, he could also play as a more modern forward who stayed wide and cut in on his right foot to shoot. Such players actually bored me, but Wallace was different in one key respect - he was two-footed. I would be able to coach him to mix up his game, sometimes cutting inside and shooting, sometimes pushing the ball down the line for low crosses or cut backs.

When I was done with him, he would be the ultimate terror in the Championship. He was 'only' PA 145, so his impact in the Premier League would be limited, but I saw him as Wes Hayward 2.0. Fast, thrilling, and if we could optimise him he would have much more impact than his CA would suggest. I could easily imagine him having a ten-match purple patch that would persuade a top-six Prem club to massively overpay for him.

Heh.

And in the meantime, he would be unstoppable in next season's FA Youth Cup.

"We're nearly done with my talk, by the way. Most of you seem to be pretty engaged, but maybe you're just being polite. Next news item, from the same day we announced Wallace."

Kaiserslautern have withdrawn their transfer bid for SK Brann starlet Helge Hagen.

A few in the audience turned to their mates and said something or pulled an excited face.

"Huh," I said. "How did this get in here? It doesn't affect Chester, does it?"

I swept my eyes around the sofas. It didn't seem like many of the listeners believed me.

"Yeah, this whole ordeal had been a totes mess, and I really wasn't thinking about it but when I heard about this latest development, I had to laugh. For those of you who aren't in the loop, I wanted to buy a hot young striker... and turn him into a right back. Everyone else wanted him to be a striker, because of that whole 'maybe he's the next Haaland' thing. I agreed a deal with his agent, his dad - hang on, let me rephrase that. I need to speak more precisely. I agreed terms with his dad. If Helge chose us from the many clubs interested, we would pay such and such in fees and wages.

"Okay, agreement reached in principle, so I was surprised when the dad hinted that maybe there was an auction going on and would I like to raise my numbers? Well, no, because we literally shook hands on the numbers yesterday. Now you want to change them already? I didn't want to have this issue every summer for the rest of time so I backed out completely.

"Have any of you seen Star Wars? No? It's a cult classic. This chap, Garth Marenghi or something, you know he's the villain because he makes a deal and then changes the terms. That's why the prequel trilogy is all about trade deals, right? We get hours of trade negotiation chat so that later, when Garth alters the terms of the agreement, it really hits home as a betrayal, and when he says 'pray I do not alter the promotion bonus any further' it's really shocking because, like, is there no end to his depravity?"

It was pretty funny to see the nerds react to me butchering Star Wars, but the ones with an advanced sense of humour were laughing pretty hard.

"Helge Hagen has top potential and in Soccer Supremo you just do what it takes to get the player, right? I can't actually do it in real life, though. I can't. Do I lose out on a major talent? Yeah, but I keep my sanity.

"Okay so after I dropped out, Kaiserslautern were in pole position. I stopped thinking about Helge for like the ninth time, and then it all kicks off big time. SK Brann have a fixture. Helge's a sub, he comes on with 20 minutes to go, plays right back. Kaiserslautern are like, what the fuck's this?" I tipped my head back and laughed. "Auction's over. Total number of bidders for the lad: zero.

"The dad, who is pissed at me because he thinks I had something to do with it, texts saying fine, deal's back on. I'm like no, mate. You scuppered the move when you wanted to renegotiate after we had an agreement. I sent him the Darth-Vader-altering-the-deal gif and said, this is you. He's like are you fucking kidding? You're going to reply to my offer with a clip from an obscure movie? I'm like yeah, bro, deal with it.

"I go, if Helge wants to come to Chester, hand your phone to your wife. That's not as random as it sounds, by the way. I met her and she's lovely and she's great and she laughs at my jokes. My thinking was, either the dad throws a tantie and that's the end of it, which is fine by me because I know I saved myself five years of grief, or I deal with Helge's mum and the future relationship has boundaries that are clear to everyone."

I picked out three attendees in turn and gave them strong eye contact to built the tension in the room.

"What happened next will shock you."

I left a dramatic yet insufferable pause.

"What happened next was, the mum called me and two minutes later we had a deal."

Jubilant Chester FC fans have gathered outside the Deva Stadium to rejoice at the news that the club have secured the signing of Norwegian starlet Helge Hagen from SK Brann for a club record fee of £4,000,000. The 18-year-old striker will join in the summer.

"I wrote striker there because that's where he had been playing and I thought I would come up with a joke about people being mislabeled in time for this presentation. As you can tell by the way I'm floundering, that didn't happen. Soz. But right now Helge is training as a full back and his manager has promised to give him minutes in that position. The Norwegian league keeps going when the English season ends, right, so by the time he joins us he should be pretty decent.

"By the way, I didn't want there to be any bad blood between the club and the dad, so I got my assistant to rush out to the local charity shops to find a Christmas card and I wrote a nice message and we mailed it out that same day. Christmas in March? Private joke, but I know he enjoyed it because ten days later, I got one back."

I stared at the text on the big screen and shook my head.

"Definitely the most chaotic deal I've been involved in. At least the player is Scandinavian, so calling it a transfer saga actually checks out." I looked around. "No? Nothing on that? That's a killer line, guys."

The old guy next to Jacob laughed once, loud.

"Couple more matches to tell you about."

I clicked and showed the Soccer Supremo page with the men's fixtures, with two more results filled in.

Fri Mar 26 - Stockport County (A) - 3-0

Mon Mar 29 - Leyton Orient (H) 3-2

"Big Easter weekend. I played the full 90 against Stockport, really just being a DM, patrolling, intercepting, talking our young players through the game. Okay, I scored and got two assists, but who's counting? Our right mid, Bark, got a goal, which was really pleasing. He's grafting and not getting the rewards and there's nothing anyone can say to him except keep going, you're smashing it. If he doesn't believe it himself, though, what can you do? He's got all the tools to have a great career. One thing I haven't quite mastered is convincing players like him that I'm happy with their contribution.

"Then Leyton Orient was a bonkers game because I named a strong team and we played ten amazing minutes followed by five shit ones again and again. It ended up being pretty wild but we had too much firepower for them in the end. Life really doesn't need to be this complicated, though. That should have been two or three nil, no need to put our fans through yet another wringer. Why do things like that happen? There are too many variables to know for sure. As good as I am, I'm as much in the dark as anyone.

"Right, time for a couple of April Fools messages."

April 1

Max Best and Sandra Lane have been jointly named League One Manager of the Month for March.

---

Message from The Board:

The board are generally satisfied with your performance.

I shoved my eyebrows up as far as they could go, before turning towards the screen and doing a 'what the hell are you talking about?' gesture.

I relaxed and smiled. "The second one is a joke. I remember playing Soccer Supremo and taking Carlisle United to the Prem and after a few defeats you'd get a message like this. I mean, yo! What do you fucking expect, you clowns? The mad thing is, that part of the game is ultra realistic! If you're a successful manager, all you're doing is raising expectations and hastening the day you'll get sacked. Don't overperform your xG, kids.

"In my case, I'm happy to report, my boss is beyond delighted and the fans are in complete dreamland. If we beat Bradford City tomorrow, we're guaranteed to be playing in the Championship next year. Don't let that sentence slide off you; we were in the National League North four seasons ago. You're witnessing one of the top ten achievements in the history of English football, right up there with Leicester City winning the Prem, Notts Forest winning the European Cup in back-to-back seasons, or a drunk celebrity chef taking the mic at half-time and yelling at the Norwich City fans to sing louder.

"So, the last news item."

Opposition Report

Your scout Fleur has been watching Bradford City in recent weeks. Folke Wester likes to play a patient, compact 4-4-1-1, with a heavy emphasis on set pieces. Chester should look out for the dangerous runs of box-to-box midfielder R. Brown.

I glanced at the screen and probably showed a little bit too much disgust on my face. I forced myself back to blank.

"I said earlier that I always try to think about the future, but tomorrow's game is the perfect opportunity to think about the past. About a year ago, I went on a Bradford podcast and told the host I thought we would finish the season 40 points ahead of them. If we win tomorrow, we'll have 96 points, and Bradford will have 46. So I was miles wrong... We will be fifty points ahead.

"Who cares about the team in 17th? Well, I do. Their owners tried to steal Chester so they could gut it and I nearly lost my job trying to defend against that. Bradford's new boss, who treats a famous old club like his personal toy, signed a bunch of players I was interested in and won League Two with them. At that time, how many Chester fans wished they had sold their soul after all? Loads.

"But I had to keep doing what I was doing, keep believing in myself, had to try to stay positive and upbeat knowing that a day like tomorrow would come. All the decisions I have made, accumulated across a long enough time span, inspired by what I learned playing Soccer Supremo, has led to this. 50 points clear of the team that pipped us to the post last time round."

I rolled my head around my neck.

"Tomorrow I'm going to justify having my face on the cover of this awesome computer game. Tomorrow I'm going to propel my club into the second tier of English football. Tomorrow I'm going to reflect on the hundreds of decisions I have to make every week and give myself some credit. I get far more right than wrong.

"And what about you? I've tried to give you a tiny taste of what it's like. The variety of challenges, the emotions, the rollercoaster nature of just a single month. You might be thinking, yeah, no, I couldn't do that."

I grinned. I was about to give the people what they wanted.

"I tell you what, though. If you've played a thousand hours of Soccer Supremo... you probably could."

***

Rapturous applause. Mega. Massive. There's no way Taribo West got such a reception.

Jacob came back to the stage, we bantered for a minute, then he glanced at his watch and said we had time for some rapidfire questions.

To speed things up, he would read them out. He had a bunch on flash cards, and members of his team were running around collecting more.

He riffled through the pack like hundreds of game players in the halls of the Expo. "God, there are so many amazing questions. Okay. What do you think about the plans to let broadcasters interview players after they are subbed off?"

"It's insane. Who wants that? No-one. It's fascinating to me that almost every group with any power seems to only be interested in killing this sport. FIFA want to kill it. UEFA want to kill it. The Premier League wants to eat itself. The EFL, honestly, are relatively good but even this latest abomination passed through on the nod. The EFL admins decided there wasn't enough opposition to even put it to a vote. They don't want to annoy the broadcasters. Okay, so hang on - who's in charge around here? I wouldn't say that I'm livid but I know what I'm going to do about it and you'll find that the TV companies very, very quickly stop talking to the subs at Chester games."

"Wow, that's ominous. Okay, what next? Yes, here's one. You have resisted creating an academy but if you get to the Premier League, you will be forced to start one."

"Sorry, what?"

"Those are the rules."

"Er... I've never heard that. Wait, that can't be right. Brentford don't have an academy and they're in the Prem."

"No, they do have one. They had to start it up because of this new rule. I know for a fact because we had to programme it into our game. We try to be realistic, as you know."

Being forced to start an academy? So that the big six clubs could plunder my young players with impunity? "That is... abysmal. Um... We'll have to look into that."

"Okay. What's it like having a co-manager?"

"It's great. She's fantastic and I think it's good for Sandra, too, because if she's on her own and she loses, half the people watching will think it's because I told her to rotate the goalie or whatever their particular bugbear is. But she's a good tactician, great coach, sensational person. The way it is now, I couldn't imagine being a solo manager again."

"Is there anything especially hard about managing the women's team?"

"Yeah, they see right through my bullshit." I laughed. "That's not ideal."

"Apparently one of your first ever big decisions was to install solar panels instead of using the funds for transfers. The questioner thinks you were putting your ideology above what was best for the football club. Can you talk us through that?"

"Yeah, easy. I think that was a Soccer Supremo-inspired decision, subconsciously. When we got that unexpected money, the transfer window was closed and the bottleneck in our club wasn't transfer funds but the wage budget. The solar panels increased my budget because they slashed our electric bills, but the whole thing increased our facilities score, didn't it? I used to love football management games where you could buy bigger floodlights and expand the car park and make the club shop bigger. Very satisfying to add to the physical infrastructure, isn't it? It's just as good as buying new players."

"Do you really use Soccer Supremo's database to scout players?"

"It's part of my mix, yes. How big a part is not something I would reveal on a first date."

"Whose attributes do you think vary most from our database to real life?"

"Meredith Ann."

"What was it like managing Bayern Munich?"

"Uneventful."

"You mentioned players that have left Chester. Henri Lyons is bagging goals for Tranmere every week. Do you regret letting him go?"

"In Manchester, we have a saying: je ne regrette rien. I think it's Latin."

"Another one about your academy or lack thereof. You won the FA Youth Cup last season, to general astonishment, but this season you did no better than any other club your size. Was that win a flash in the pan?"

"Try asking that one after we win it again next season."

Jacob laughed. "Okay. Ah, here's a great one. When will we see full-blown Bestball?"

"Um... Well, my goal isn't actually to do what the question implies. I think Relationism is more sympathetic to the players but in its own way it's just as dogmatic as positional play. My vision is to get to a hybrid state, but you can't get there if you don't understand the two extremes. For a long time I was worried about other clubs copying us when we start to dominate with our new style but I'm not sure it will happen. What club owner would give a manager five years to build a team capable of doing both things well enough to be able to nail the hybrid? Nah, if what I think is possible is actually possible, we'll be the only team doing it."

"And Wales."

"Right. I should have said the only club. Good point."

"Why are you so involved in the Welsh national team?"

"I'm not all that involved, really. But to the extent I am, it's because my girlfriend loves those romantasy books about dragons. I'm relatively secure when it comes to our relationship. I think I'm a pretty decent catch, though I do keep half an eye on any Australians at a party; that's only rational. But this isn't a joke now. If a dude riding a dragon swooped down onto the Deva Stadium pitch and said, 'Emma, come with me through this portal, there is no possibility of return', she'd be gone in, like, ten seconds."

Jacob cackled, but got serious. "If the England manager asks you to play for England, what would you say?"

"I'd say, shit, when Emma went through that portal things got really fucking weird around here."

Jacob cackled again. "It's Saudi Arabia, the 2034 World Cup. Alan Turner, the most successful England manager of all time, has picked Max Best to start the final in Riyadh. What are the chances of this scenario coming to pass?"

"Nearly 100% if things go the way I expect. By then the players will be, like, actual robots, and I'll be in St. George's Park with the other England players and I'll be using a PlayStation controller telling my robot where to go. Probably they'd be better off choosing someone who knows what all the buttons do, but Alan Turner wasn't picked for his expertise, was he?"

"Let's end with a question from the audience. Er... yes, you sir." The old guy in the jumper stood up. He already had a microphone. Jacob said, "What's your name?"

"Ian Masters."

On hearing that, over a third of the audience stood up to get a look at the guy. Others were turning to their mates, mouthing the O from Oh my God. That was somewhat perplexing. Why would these nerds care about a Scottish steel baron?

"Okay, Sir Ian, what's your question?"

Ian looked at me. "Why did you choose Chester?"

"I didn't," I said. "Chester chose me."

Ian - Sir Ian, I supposed - nodded and returned to his seat. Bewildering.

Jacob looked at his watch. "Okay, that's all we have time for. We have to clear the room but I hope you all enjoyed that as much as I did. Can we finish with a healthy round of applause for... Max Best!"

***

At the bar, I was pretty giddy. My talk and the format in which I had delivered it had gone down great, though I think the fans would have liked a longer Q+A. Maybe next time, if Jacob doubled my fee.

After a brief delay, the Sir Ian guy rocked up. Jacob was probably the only person out of the tens of thousands of Expo attendees who would even have suspected that I didn't know who he was.

"Max, this is Sir Ian Masters. Let me give you a quick overview of his CV."

Ian rolled his eyes. "Jacob, come on. He doesn't want to hear that."

"Oh, I really do," I said. "These guys are looking at you the way my girlfriend would look at an Australian riding a dragon."

Jacob shook his head. "Where do you get this stuff? Ian, stop me if I miss something. Okay, he started out by founding a certain games company known for its, ah, space-based military."

I looked behind me at a gigantic stand full of 10-foot-high models of space terminators and gun-toting aliens. "Um, that one?"

"Yeah," said Jacob. "That one. He wrote a series of massively popular books in the choose-your-own-adventure genre, but with extra numbers. Character sheets and dice rolls. A role playing game in the form of a book, if you can imagine such a thing. You've probably heard of these. There was Dice Dungeon, Medieval Knievel, Deadly Deeds. They were popular enough but then a mother wrote to the Daily Mail saying that her child played one of these demonic game-books and as a result he levitated. No, I'm not joking."

Ian smiled. "It was the best thing that could have happened. Millions of pounds in free publicity."

Jacob said, "How many did you sell? Five million?"

"Twenty," said Ian, cockily, as he sipped a pint of something dark.

"Fuck," I said.

Jacob continued. "Then he pivots into computer games. Guess what his first project is?"

"From what I've heard so far... either Pac-Man or Space Invaders."

Both men laughed. Jacob said, "Not quite. Soccer Supremo, Max. Ian was involved in the earliest versions."

Ian raised his glass in my general direction. "Your presentation hit all my buttons, young man. If I hadn't made a spontaneous decision to come today, I would have thought you had done it specifically to intrigue me."

I smiled. "That's cool but why would I want to do that? I mean, you had a great career, but - "

Jacob pushed his head out like a turtle. "I'm just getting started describing it!" He shook his head. "Do you know a video game franchise where a female archeologist has to, ah, raid tombs to gather treasure?"

"Yes."

Jacob pointed at Ian.

"And one where a bald assassin has to sneak around a variety of dwellings and cities, killing his targets in all kinds of creative ways?"

"Yes."

Jacob pointed at Ian.

I smiled. "I'd love that. I'd love to go into three different industries and smash them all." I sipped my orange juice. "So what made you come to this talk in the end?"

Sir Ian gave me a level stare. "You." He frowned and reached into his pocket and pulled out a pager. Talk about old school! He looked at its little screen. "I have to go." He didn't go, though. He looked into his drink, then eyed me again. "I was born in Cheshire, Max. South of Manchester. I went to school in Altrincham, and I really didn't expect to find that town mentioned tonight!

"When I was a boy, a very, very long time ago, the Cheshire Cup was hotly-contested. I went to a fair few matches, if you can believe it. It has been, I don't know, sixty years since I have even heard it mentioned." He got still, but I thought I saw his eyes lose focus. He was getting dreamy, regressing to his childhood. "One of my earliest game designs was a Cheshire Cup simulator. I can't have been much older than 7 or 8.

"You randomised the teams into a bracket, rolled one die per team per match and that was the score. 4-3! 6-2! You got the results that way. It's incredible that I'm only just remembering it now. I wonder if I still have it somewhere, in a box?"

"Did Chester ever win?"

Ian laughed. "As I remember, Chester used to roll a lot of ones."

"Yeah. That's why they're winning the league."

"Pardon me?"

"Because they rolled a one. I'm the One."

Ian stared at me, eyes burning. I thought I got a sense of why he had spent his life creating games. Yeah, he was a genius, but more than that, he had a burning, all-consuming need to win. My arrogance triggered him, but he softened. "The one manager to rule them all."

"I was thinking more like The Matrix, but I'll take Lord of the Rings." I looked left and right at all the people, all the exhibits, the incredible outpouring of creativity. "This place makes me wish I was more of a geek. It's lore heaven, isn't it?"

Sir Ian eyed me a while longer. "I do have to go, but it was a great pleasure hearing you talk and seeing those old screens again. Here, take my card. Why don't you come and visit me sometime? I'll dig out my Cheshire Cup simulator, ha! And we can play a game of something. Could be you aren't being challenged enough, young man. Pick on someone your own size, eh? I live between Chester and Manchester. It's a route you often take, yes?"

"I do and I'd like that, but you'll be disappointed if you think I'll be a challenge. While you're explaining the rules of the game I'll be thinking about the latest injury news and when I'm landing on your hotels I'll be catastrophising about our next opponent's dribbly winger. If you want to smash me up anyway, I'm pretty chill about it. Hey, though. Why don't you come to the Cheshire Cup final? You can be our guest of honour. Local boy made good. That'd be sick." I looked at his business card. His email was there. "I'll email you the details and you can decide spontaneously. I expect you're busy."

We shook hands and he bustled off.

"That was something," I said. "I get the feeling I'll look him up in my hotel room and kick myself for not asking some specific question."

Jacob's eyebrows rose half an inch. "You'd probably end up asking what everyone asks him."

"What's that?"

"Why did you make the archeologist's boobs so very triangular?"

I laughed and excused myself so I could go to the bathroom. I looked around, found the nearest option, then looked for one that had less foot traffic. I headed that way with not a care in the world. The bathrooms were round a corner, and I was practically whistling as I went. What would I spend next season's Soccer Supremo sponsorship money on? Surely I would get two hundred grand next time. I had been the Bayern Munich manager, for God's sake! I had got four promotions in four years! Time to buy a plot of land for my dream house? Or would I need the cash to go towards building the stadium in Chorlton?

As I was reaching out to push the bathroom door, a strong hand gripped my arm, turning me. I found myself looking into the wide, bulging eyes of a genuine crazy person. I regretted not having Briggy here with me. Why the hell hadn't I taken Briggy? "Max Best," said the guy, in an Indian accent. "I am so glad I have finally cornered you." He smiled, and it was genuinely disturbing. "I am Pradeep." Shit! The stalker! The nutjob! His grip intensified; I worried my bones would snap. "I'm your biggest fan."

...

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