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3.14 - Epilogue [T1]
🕑 Added 2025-09-22 14:25:21 +0000 UTC14.
BangorOnMyDee changed the channel name to LALAC (Let's All Laugh at Cardiff).
RetiredRed
Haha that's perfect. Brilliant, mate.
BangorOnMyDee
Poland pushed me over the edge into thinking that maybe Max Best was doing what you guys have been saying. It's one thing to see unusual results at youth level but that was a massive game for us on Saturday. His mate Llewellyn on the touchline calling the shots, the Roddy Jones kid scoring that goal. Chester versus Cardiff is normally a match where you ask, can't both sides lose? But if Best's gonna mash up the Cards, we should at least try to enjoy it.
RetiredRed
That's where I'm at, too. Plus we've got a chance at being the top Welsh side for the first time in a long time. Swansea and Cardiff seem to be about our level and if we take points from Chester and the other teams don't, that could be what decides who finishes where. Can you imagine it, lads? Wrexham the top team in Wales? When was the last time that happened?
BeardedWonderwall
It was the 01-02 season. We were 10th in the third tier, Swans were relegated into the 4th, Cards got promoted from the 4th.
RetiredRed
And now we're all in the Championship! Funny how it goes.
BrokenGround
Oh, no. Oh, no. Something's up, everyone. There are rumours flying all around Bumpers Bank. Something big is going down.
Stoop
What? What?
RetiredRed
He's offline.
Stoop
Why would you come in, post that, and fuck off? That's actually rude. Next time I see Dylan, I'm gonna smack him in the chops.
BrokenGround
Right, got some clarity. Kind of.
Best is gonna give a speech to the fans before the Cardiff match. Something has happened - no-one knows what - and the rumour is that he's going to quit. Livia's in tears. All the cooks are in shock. It's the first time I've come that Jojo hasn't been smiling.
Stoop
[Mind-blown.gif.]
***
Clip posted on Dani Smith-Smithe's Instagram account.
Interviewer [in British Sign Language, captioned for fans who aren't fluent in BSL]: What do you think about the rumours that Max Best is going to leave Chester?
Dani [also in BSL]: I don't think anything. I don't listen to rumours. [She laughs herself sideways.]
Interviewer: Some fans will be worried.
Dani: We need to beat Burnley on Sunday and that's all I'm thinking about.
Interviewer: He's going to give a speech before the men play Cardiff. You don't know what it's about?
Dani: No. I think the coaches and some of the men's team have been told. Chester fans should know by now that Max is always doing random things. He's probably going to tell us that he left his passport on the moon and has to go back to get it. Something like that. [She laughs again.] It had better not be celebrity boxing because Angel will beat him up right there on the pitch, she said.
Interviewer: Thanks for your time today, Dani!
Dani: Before we go, I'd like to say something to one boy in particular. Please stop sending me postcards.
[There's a ghastly pause and the brutality of the moment sinks in.]
Dani: I prefer the letters. They're more romantic.
[She grins.]
***
Saturday, October 2
EFL Championship Match 11 of 46: Chester versus Cardiff City
It was a full sell-out with 2,000 away fans. 9,400 total attendance and the stadium was full of mad energy. Rumours of the end times swept the stands. Kids came with messages written on dark cardboard: Please, bro, don't go. Every time I went out to check the pitch, to check the warm-ups were being taken seriously, there was a buzz. Is this the announcement? No, it's too early. What's he doing? That's what we all want to know.
So I left Sandra to it and retreated to my tiny manager's office. After a few minutes, the Brig came in and sat opposite me. "Writing your speech, sir?"
"No," I said. I showed him my paper. It had two formations. I touched the first one. "Starting eleven." I touched the second. "Final shape. If this is going to be my last game, I want to go out with a win."
For that reason, I was using Bench Boost and Triple Captain. Why save them? If I went to another league, I would get those once-per-season-per-competition perks back.
"It's pretty simple but I need to think of different scenarios for getting from the start to the end. If we make three changes at half-time, for example, what's the formation then? If I make my fourth change and we get an injury, what will I have on the bench at that point?" I twirled my pen around my fingers. "Just being professional," I said.
The Brig nodded. He knew what I was about to say to the crowd and why. I got the sense that he wasn't completely happy about it. Maybe he simply thought it was strange to do the speech before the game because it would confuse and dishearten people, but my instinct was that we could generate emotion and use it to win. He said, "What's the plan?"
I tapped the pen against the paper. "Start with 4-1-4-1. Owen in goal. Cole, Christian, Zach, Helge. Youngster as DM. Midfield goes Joel Reid, Dan Badford, Andrew Harrison, Bark. Dazza's the striker. Cardiff are doing their 4-2-3-1 and they'll be a fraction stronger than this lineup."
Their starting eleven would average CA 124; ours would be 116.8.
"We've got home advantage and our Morale is a fraction higher after two wins back to back. My speech might not help with that, but it'll be all right. First half is about being solid defensively and passing the ball around, tiring them out. There was a fire alarm at Cardiff's hotel; they didn't get a good night's sleep."
That event was a result of a perk collection I had bought yonks ago; Shocktober was the collective name for a bunch of pun-related mini-perks.
The Ken Bates Motel - Opposing teams who play at your home stadium will have a restless night, causing their players to start the match with slightly reduced fitness.
This one meant that Cardiff's players would start on 98% Condition instead of the usual 100.
There were two other relevant mini-perks.
The Mummy - Wrap a player in bandages to give him/her +1 influence.
Murder on Zidane's Floor - Play a 2001 megahit from the musical temptress Sophie Ellis-Bextor to receive a team-wide morale boost.
To activate the Mummy perk, Christian Fierce was wearing a totally unnecessary head bandage. If his Influence counted as 21, then when tripled it would be 63. Surely the highest Influence score in the history of the sport. Right? How could it not be?
It was interesting with Christian because for the first time he was only my third best centre back. Zach was CA 119 and Fitzroy Hall was 118. That was Fitzroy's cap, though. Christian's was 120, so he had three more points of improvement to come, and there was no real question of Fitzroy displacing him.
There were a few other mini-perks that could come into play.
Ghoulkeeper - Goalkeepers will perform better in one-on-one situations.
That one was perfect for Owen Elmham, who was already one of the most intimidating keepers in the league. Players needed a really cool head to stay calm with the giant madman rushing towards them.
The Invisible Manager - Opposing players are slightly less likely to see or hear instructions from their managers.
Helpful, but Cardiff's manager didn't make a lot of tweaks. He generally stuck to the plan because the plan was mint.
Goblin Up Chances - Provides a random chance for a striker to gain a brief boost to finishing.
I doubted I would know which striker that one would affect, if anyone.
It's Not Over Yeti - Provides a slight chance that the referee will allow the game to continue up to 90 more seconds if you have a chance of scoring an equaliser or winner.
I really hoped this one wouldn't be needed. It would be very Chester to make this game dramatic, but it wasn't a cup final or a playoff. It was just a league game. Process not passion, please.
Frankenstein Is The Doctor And the Monster - Referees will make decisions in a fussy, pedantic manner. Activation optional.
There was no chance I would use this one except against a much, much better team who played free-flowing football. In that situation, we could manipulate the ref, take time off the clock, make the whole match horrible and bitty. For my final match in the Deva? No chance. But this mini-perk had actually been one of the reasons I bought Shocktober. When I was offered it, I knew that the curse considered our opponents to have a higher reputation than us. That meant all the other perks were in effect, reducing the amount of guesswork I needed to do.
And one day in the future, Chester would play Cardiff and the Frankenstein perk wouldn't be offered. That would mean Chester were a bigger club than Cardiff. It would mean I had achieved the unthinkable...
"Sir?" said the Brig.
I snapped out of my reverie. "I think it'll be noisy today. Really loud."
Cauldron of Noise - Your stadium is turned into a theatre of screams. The home fans will be noisier and more intimidating.
The Brig nodded. "Heightened emotions? It could get raw." He put his finger on my paper and turned it around. "We'll finish with 3-4-3?"
"That's the plan, yeah. I'd really love to throw Roddy Jones on against them, have him always play against the Welsh clubs, but it's not poss. I'm gonna act like he's the next sub, though, because all the Welsh fans know how fast he is, how deadly. They love him when he does it for Wales, but they'll be gutted if he does it against their club.
"So 3-4-3. Owen. Cole, Christian, Zach. Midfield is then Lewis, Joel Reid, Youngster, Cheb. Up top it's Colin, Wibbers, and Gabby. That's terrifying for Cardiff. That's a quality team and the five attacking players will be, er, fresh." If we avoided injuries and red cards, our final CA would be 124.5. Half a point higher than Cardiff, who would probably get weaker as they made subs. Plus half my outfielders would be boosted.
"It appears to be a powerful team."
I tapped the paper. "This is the best eleven ever to wear this badge. The pinnacle."
"A high note," said the Brig, quietly. "A fitting end."
"Or an amazing place to start. The King is dead, long live the Queen." The Brig looked vaguely sad, so I said, "I'll need someone here to make sure the lads grow up right. That doesn't stop just because I don't work here anymore." Something occurred to me and I went to the perk shop to see if I could pay to add Chester's men's and women's teams to the Panopticon, permanently. The option was tucked away, but it was there. If I was going to move on, I would spend 4,000 XP to do that so I could check on everyone's Morale and Injury status. "I'll keep an eye on them, wherever I am."
The Brig shook his head very slightly. "It sounds like you have made a decision, sir."
"No, I haven't," I said, doodling on the paper. I was making dots in neat rows, then drawing lines between the dots. When I made a square, some old memory came back. "Hey, this is a game I played in school. Do you know it?"
He smiled, almost microscopically. "We called it pigs in a pen. Complete a square and write your initial. The player with the most squares wins."
I gasped. "Who squares wins! That's like your SAS tattoo!"
"Very droll, sir. Uh... are you quite well?"
I barely heard him. I was leaning forward, head close to the table, and I was drawing neat rows of dots over my formation graphics. Something was in my brain, right at the front, a little alien ready to burst out of the centre of my forehead. I connected one of the lines, then another. I sat up, turned my head as though I was handling something nasty, and drew another line. "What's this?" I said, going back for another close look. "There's something here."
The Brig gave me a worried glance, but then took the pen and drew lines, forming squares along the midfield. "Sir? It's what you've always wanted. A box-to-box midfielder. Sir? Ha."
I smiled in near-disbelief. The Brig doing shit puns? Truly, end-of-days stuff. There came a knock at the door. Briggy poked her head in. "Max? It's time."
***
I walked down the tunnel and emerged onto the side of the pitch. Joe Anka handed me a microphone, clapped me on the back, and rushed away to the control room. The air was thick with tension and intrigue. The Cardiff fans were making a huge racket and the McNally was responding in kind. Our hardcore fans against theirs. Zulus versus Welshmen. The home fans spotted me and cheered, rising to their feet. The hairs on my neck stood up.
Sandra gathered the players and staff in a somewhat organised mass, as though we were about to take a pre-season team photo. They were ten yards on the pitch, angled towards the McNally stand. I went about ten yards away from them, closer to the McNally, to the beating heart of our fanbase.
Sophie, who co-produced our documentary along with Henri, and who was a key figure at Seal Studios, had a camera facing me. What she shot was beamed to the large screens we had recently added to the McNally and the away end. When I appeared, the cheers and applause resumed, but louder.
I put my hand up and lowered it. The home fans got quieter, but the away end got noisier.
"Who the fuck? Who the fuck? Who the fucking hell are you?!"
I pointed to Rainman and waved him over, then did the same with Wibbers, Cheb, and Gabby.
I moved the mic away from my mouth and said, "Sophie, step back and get us all in shot for a second."
She did so.
"Cardiff fans," I said, and they quietened a fraction. "Give me one second, please." Most of them stopped singing, and only a few spectacularly drunk guys kept going. I said, "Put your hand up if you're the Welsh champions."
I put my hand up, and so did Rainman and the others. They were grinning from ear to ear.
The Chester fans jeered the away end. For the first time ever, they realised the true banter potential in what I was doing in Wales.
"Wibbers," I said into the mic, "do you know how many UEFA coefficient points I got for Wales?" Wibbers shook his head. I said, "All of them."
The Deva erupted with laughter and mockery.
I sent the Saltney guys away and signalled for Roddy to come over. The away end, to their credit, cheered as he appeared on screen.
"Welsh guys," I said, with my arm around the amazing young player. "Did you enjoy beating Poland?"
They cheered.
"You're welcome," I said. "Now shut your gobs for a minute. This isn't a time for banter. This is personal."
Off-mic, I asked Roddy to do his heart celebration thing, and that produced good applause from the away end, then gave him a gentle nudge, sending him back to the rest of the squad.
Sophie got closer to me and as my face filled the big screens, the stadium fell silent.
"Hey, Chester. A couple of unexpected things have happened recently and I think you have a right to know what's going on.
"Some background. As you know, my mother is not well. Three things happened that made a big difference to her quality of life. One was that Chester FC took me in and let me make a name for myself, which gave me the resources to make sure she was being properly looked after. Like, thanks to this job I can afford to pay for a carer, which those of you unfortunate enough to be in a similar position will know is an unbelievable luxury.
"Two, my girlfriend’s parents bought a bungalow for her to live in, and that means we can control the environment and give her stability.
"Three, mum met a Polish lady and they got on like a house on fire. I'm convinced that Anna has added years to my mum's life. Years.
"I thought I had done everything I could for my mum, but I recently learned that there is more. If I have crazy amounts of money, I could do more.
"Some of you are guessing where this is going. I've had two job offers. They're both for crazy money. I have to consider them.
"And at the same time, there's something else I have to do. My mum's friend Anna has decided that it's time to go to Polish heaven. I thought Polish heaven was Manchester, but apparently not. She wants to go home and die at home and be buried with her parents in the church near her home. She won't get in a plane and she wants me to drive her there. She's old and frail and we'll have to stop ten times a day and it'll take ages but it's going to happen. I'm leaving tomorrow."
I took a few seconds to compose myself. I stared at some grass.
"I don't know what will happen to my mum without Anna there. This isn’t the worst thing that could happen to me, but it’s close. It’s pretty devastating. I tell my players they have to suffer on the pitch so they don’t have to suffer off it. Might have to stop using that line."
The stadium was quiet. Everyone was listening, respectfully. Maybe the Welsh guys were wondering what would become of the Northern Powerhouse.
"I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. I can’t imagine it’ll be less than three weeks. I've worked hard to build an incredible squad and an amazing staff. There they are, look. The most talented squad in the Championship, bar none. The team will keep growing and fighting for the badge. And I’ll still be working. We’ve got cameras on the training pitch and I can see who’s dogging it, who’s in a mood, who’s hiding an injury." I looked at the faces in the McNally. "Some of you aren’t sure if I’m joking. Look at the squad. They know."
Sophie turned the camera towards Dan Badford. Not sure why she chose him, but he nodded. Max knows things. Sophie put me back on the screens.
"I’ll be watching the oppo, thinking about tactics, taking calls about transfers. I mean, that's a lot easier than it sounds, guys." I walked to the squad and told Sophie to get behind me. I pointed at Dan. My hand and his face appeared on screen. "He's not for sale." We moved to Youngster. "He's not for sale." We moved to Zach Green. "Eh," I said. We moved to Gabriel. "He's not for sale."
Sophie treated everyone to a shot of Zach being jostled in a friendly way by those near him.
Someone in the terrace yelled something.
"Sophie," I said, and she put the camera back on me. "This guy here just yelled, so are you staying or what?" I shook my head and did a wry smile. "Mate. Have you never heard of a cliffhanger?"
There were some reluctant laughs, some good-natured boos.
"Chester, today you will see the best team who has ever worn your shirt, some of the best individual players who have ever carried your badge. When I get back from my trip, the away end will be fully built. The East Stand is happening. I've set things up so that progress and improvement is inevitable. The momentum in this football club will continue for two years at least. If today is my last ever match in charge, I know that I'll be able to look every one of you in the eye and say that I did my very, very best for this community and this football club."
I clamped my jaw shut and felt the pressure building behind my stinging eyes.
"But I also need to know that I did my best for my mum."
I was back to staring at a patch of grass. It took me at least ten seconds to shove my feelings far enough down my throat to deliver my next line. I walked towards the squad, who were reacting to my speech in different ways. Morale drops, messages in the Future section of their player profiles like 'Hopes the club can keep Max Best' and 'Doesn't want Max Best to leave the club'.
Christian Fierce was the key today. High Influence, tripled. His Future section read, 'Proud to be playing for Chester', 'Is proud of the club's league position', and 'hopes to stay at the club for a very long time'. As I looked at him, my spirits lifted. Players and managers would come and go but the club would endure.
I went next to Sandra and put my arm around her shoulder while I spoke to the Chester fans for possibly the last time.
"Nothing will change around here. It's still the same old story. A fight for love and glory." I whispered the next part of the song. "A case of do or die."
Time passed. I cleared my throat.
"I've got one little request. When I applied for this job, I told Crackers, the board member, that I would get this place rocking."
I detached from Sandra and went along the front line of players like I was doing a uniform inspection.
"So here's the deal, Chester. You make today the loudest the Deva has ever been and these men will give a performance to match." I pushed Zach. Rock solid. I pushed Dan. He didn't budge. I nodded a few times, getting myself hyped. "Get loud and we'll get good and that's a Maxy Two-Thumbs promise. So let's hear ya!" The Chester fans tried to blow the roof off, and the Cardiff mob responded to the challenge.
Christian took the microphone from me, held it up to his mouth, and growled, "All right, men, you heard the fans. Let's get to work."
The place went ballistic.
Sandra pushed a fist against my chest. "This is gonna be good."
***
In the final moments in the dressing room, the lads stood arm-in-arm while Sandra and I reminded them of the key points.
"Their goalie's mint," I said. "Don't take long shots. Don't let him warm up. The first thing he does today is pick the ball out of the net."
"Don't let them get the first goal," said Sandra. "They are a pain to play against when they're a goal up."
I nodded. "Err on the side of caution this half. We don't go behind."
"Be patient," said Sandra.
"Dan keeps the ball moving," I said.
"Youngster covers him," she said.
We were really getting into the groove when the door flew open and, to our collective astonishment, a Mancunian burst in, having burst into tears at some point in the recent past. "Sis?" said Youngster.
"Max!" yelled Kisi Yalley. She was waving a piece of paper around. It looked like a letter. "What the hell's this?"
The lads looked from the letter to me. I did a little 'don't blame me' shrug even though I didn't know what the letter was. "Did you get kicked out of my fan club?"
Kisi came at me, wielding the letter like a longsword. She thrust it at me - bye bye innards - and her eyes blazed as she said, "Why did you make my dad buy another football club?"
"What?" said Youngster.
"How many's that now?" said Livia.
"Three," I said.
"Oh, impressive," said Livia.
"He's very acquisitive, your dad," I said, which I knew was pushing my luck but Physio Dean was right there. If Kisi bashed my brains out, Dean could scoop them right back in.
"Max," hissed Kisi. "You can't dump this Tamford thing onto my family and then do a runner. That's not right. That's a dealbreaker."
Bark slapped his hands together and let out a big laugh. "The Max Best Show continues. Man, I'm gonna miss this."
I was smiling, maybe the first warm, genuine smile since Newmarket. "Kisi. It's for my mum."
That broke the mental patterns she was cycling through. "What?"
"It's for my mum."
"How?"
"I'll explain it in a minute. Okay? Is it all right if I, like, do my job?"
"Oh. Yeah."
I checked the squad list and, amazingly, Kisi's intervention had lifted our Morale. Peter Bauer was grinning. The Brazilian players loved a passionate woman. Youngster was proud of his sister. I said, "Kisi, what's your favourite movie?"
"Do you want me to say Predator or Ghostbusters or what?"
"Kisi, what's your favourite movie?"
She looked around and realised that a lot of highly-paid men and women were waiting for her answer. She flushed. "Beauty and the Beast?"
I wagged my finger at the starting eleven. "Exactly. Exactly! Remember that, lads."
"Remember what?" demanded Kisi.
"They know."
"No, they don't. Why are you so stupid?" She was fully weeping again and crashed into my arms, apparently with the aim of using my hoodie as a tissue.
I made eye contact with Christian. "Let's go, men," he said, and led them out of the door. I reckoned he would do a final huddle on the pitch and get them fully hyped outside, rather than in front of a crying colleague. Top man.
Bark stopped on his way out and said, "Beauty and the Best. That's good, that. Write that down."
When most of the players and staff were gone, I turned Kisi around and said, "Come on." I pulled her outside and towards the pitch.
"I don't want you to go," she said.
"To Poland?"
"No, you can go to Poland."
"Oh, that's very gracious of you. Thanks, Kisi."
Murder on the Dance Floor was playing as we emerged from the tunnel. It gave the players Morale boosts. Kisi was inexplicably nervous about treading a path she had trodden many times before. "Where are we going?"
"I've got a football match to manage. You're in my stadium. Not sure if maybe you didn't see the signs or whatever."
She gestured. "This is the technical area. I'm not allowed here."
I pushed her to the side of the painted white line. "We are now compliant with the rules. Yay!" She was about to complain some more, so I held up a finger. "Just let me concentrate for two minutes, all right? Then we'll talk."
***
I stood next to Sandra as the match kicked off. I hit the Seal It Up button so that we would be less likely to concede in the first quarter of an hour; Cardiff were a brilliant out-of-possession team and knew how to make things horrible for the oppo.
The crowd were up for it, all right, with bonus crackle because of my pre-match speech, the uncertainty about our future, and the Shocktober perk. I checked that everything was as expected, waiting to see if any key player match ratings dipped below 6 out of 10, made sure the weather was what the Wet Wet Wet perk promised it would be, and shared first impressions with Sandra.
"You got this?" I said.
"I got it," she said.
I went back to Kisi, who was kneeling down, pretending to be a ball girl. "Wah," I said. "Come on. Show me that letter."
She unfurled it. "It's from the Football Association. Just some procedural thing but I noticed that we got the same letter twice. Once for West and once for this."
"Tempsford FC," I said.
"What the fuck, Max..."
I put my arm around her and squeezed, while keeping my eyes on the pitch. I needed all the XP I could get because I wouldn't get much, or any, on my trip. I needed to have 4,000 XP at the end so that I would be free to add the two Chester first teams to my squad list while I still had that option. I would almost certainly have to pause my investments in the Secret Sandra training boost for a few weeks. "Here's the thing. There's a medical company based in Tempsford. They might have something that can help my mum."
"Right," she said, frowning hard, trying to understand.
"If they do come up with something, there are going to be millions of people around the world who need that treatment. How do I make sure my mum's one of the first? I could, like, get loads of money and buy my way to the front of the queue."
"Oh! That's why you're thinking about..."
"Yeah. But the other way, maybe a better way in the end, is to make friends with the boss of the company and get him to suggest it."
"How - ?"
"Shush your mouth for a minute. Think about this - " I started, but I stepped away while Dan Badford took a pass and turned into trouble.
The ball broke to a Cardiff CAM, but Youngster was on him like a flash. Youngster tracked the guy, didn't let him breathe, and then Andrew Harrison and Joel Reid converged on him, making him lose the ball. Cardiff fought to get it back, Youngster pressured them without losing position, and the ball ended up with Zach. I imagined him saying, "Play it again, Dan!" as he pinged the ball to the midfielder who had made the initial mistake. Trust in your mate and keep trusting them. Mega Chesterness, under pressure.
Dan turned smoothly into open space, and we were back in control.
The crowd responded with a feral roar of approval. I clicked my neck around and fell into a trance, rubbing my lips, eyeing the pitch hungrily. This was some team I had assembled. We were close. Very, very close.
After some more passes, Cardiff put in a good tackle - their fans brought big time noise - and broke the spell.
I returned to Kisi. "Soz. Okay, Tempsford. Not long ago it was a sleepy village, under a thousand inhabitants. But it's between Oxford and Cambridge and it's on the East Coast Main Line. The government earmarked it as a place to build a new town and I've seen projections that the population will grow to 350,000."
"Shit. What?"
"I know. So it goes from nothing to three or four times the size of Chester." I poked her. "And your dad owns the local football team."
"But I looked it up and it doesn't exist. There's only one in the millionth tier or something."
"Yeah," I said, scanning to check Dazza's movement. He was doing something interesting - Cardiff had assigned a centre back to deal with him, so he was jogging over to the other one. Just a small, subtle way to mess up the oppo's plans. I snapped out of the thought because I realised I had just been punched. "What? What was that for?"
"Don't make my dad buy millionth tier clubs, Max!"
I smiled. "It's the tenth tier."
"What were West Didsbury when you bought them?"
"Ninth."
"What the fuck?"
"It's not about the tier, is it?" I said. "It's about the progress. It's a piece of piss to take a tenth tier club to the fifth tier, and not that expensive, all things considered.
"And what's gonna happen? Everyone who moves to the new town will be strangers and they'll be slightly apprehensive but there will be this amazing story that can unite them. The local team's on a mental winning streak, promotion after promotion, and they'll become Tempsford fans.
"I'll show my face a few times a season and people will work out that it's me doing it. Those people will include the CEO of a medical company, a man who based his firm in that location for the same reason I did. Kindred spirits, right? Great minds think alike. My success will be the CEO's success, in a way. In his mind. We'll hang out, we'll bond, and one day he'll find out about my mum and he'll say, Max, you know what..."
Kisi had tears in her eyes and to hold them back, she got her phone out and started tapping. "I can't see the screen," she said.
"What are you trying to look up?"
"Their results this season."
"Eight wins and two draws," I said, watching as Helge won a header, sending the ball towards Bark. Bark leaned back, trying to make the ball sort of slide off his chest and into the path of Helge. Great imagination, perfect execution, but the left back hooked his foot around Bark and kicked the ball away. Now we had two players out of position on that side, but Andrew Harrison sprinted back to help, and I noticed Cole Adams move from left back into a third centre back slot, while Joel Reid dropped close to the left back slot. Flawless.
"How did you do that?"
"I didn't," I said. "That's Sandra, Peter, and Colin. Mostly Peter, I think."
Kisi wasn't sure how annoyed to be. "How did you make Tempsford good?"
"Oh," I said. "I spent loads of time there in the summer. Feels like a lifetime ago. I was there, then went up to Newcastle. I found all the good Sunday League players, some lads playing five-a-side, the usual. The level of the league Tempsford play in is very low."
An average CA of 5 would be enough to get a well-organised side into the top six.
"Then I took all the money I'm getting from my flats, which is about five grand a month, and I'm funneling that to Tempsford. It's basically 1,100 a week, and I'm paying a goalie and a striker 550 each to drop down a few levels and fucking blast every match. It's the Cambridgeshire County League and they will be promoted to the Spartan South Midlands League. Isn't it great? I'm learning about a part of the country I know almost nothing about.
"It won't be long before we run into stadium problems again but this time I know how to plan ahead better. I'm toying with the idea of getting the club to League Two just so I'll have another vote at EFL meetings. But the main thing's to make friends with the boss of that medical company so I can help my mum without, you know, being evil."
"Evil?"
"Without buying my way to the front of the queue. You know how I feel about queue-jumpers."
"You blasted that Bayern player who pushed in front of you. When James was in Munich everyone asked him about it. They couldn't believe you cut a guy from the team because he cut in. James was like, uhh, that doesn't surprise me, and I agree with Max, why wouldn't you go to the back of the queue like a civilised person?"
I smiled. "Yeah. It winds me up. But I think I'm allowed to be a hypocrite when it comes - " I paused because Christian Fierce jumped about 20 feet in the air in order to head the ball away. "Christ," I said, feeling the juices flowing. "I want to get out there."
She pushed me. "Don't fuck off to Chelsea or wherever, then."
I gave her a sad smile. "Would you do something you don't want to do, for your mum and dad?"
"Of course I would."
"Are you really gonna stay mad at me if I do that?"
She tutted and looked away. "Yeah." She bit her lip. "No," she added, unhappily.
I smiled and said, "Can we agree on one thing?"
"What?"
"My schemes are never, ever, going to cost your dad a single penny. He's family. You're family. And by the way, it's not like I'm using his name to apply for credit card loans. Your dad owns the Welsh champions and my new five-million-pound stadium."
"Six," she said.
"What?"
"Haven't you seen the latest mini-bond sales?"
I felt my throat tighten. It hadn't been front and centre of my mind, for some reason. "No."
"Check it."
I swallowed painfully and went to get my phone. I used my admin login and stared in amazement at what I was seeing. In two weeks, 5.1 million pounds of bonds had been sold, with many names from Chester and Manchester buying the minimum amount. Chipping in. Showing support. Some of the names were expected. Some weren't. Some of the amounts of individual investments boggled the mind.
Henri Lyons; Chester; 1,000.
Joe Anka; Chester; 1,000.
Diarmuid Dubhlainn; Flintshire; 1,000.
Katie Speed; Flintshire; 1,000.
Angela Dubhlainn; Manchester; 2,000.
Diggy Doggy; Diamond Bar, 5,000.
John Liner; Cheshire; 5,000.
Mr. and Mrs. Smith-Smithe; Crewe; 5,000.
John Smith; Chester; 20,000.
Angel; Chester; 30,000.
Sir Ian Masters; London; 100,000.
Robert Pomfret; Sale; 100,000.
Emma Weaver; Chester; 200,000.
"Emma," I mumbled. "How the hell?"
"Girl's got her head screwed on right," said Kisi, leaning over to read my screen even though that was highly illegal. "Despite your best efforts."
I was staring at the screen in mild disbelief. "What?"
"Nothing."
I closed one eye wondering if Emma's share of the profits from R.E.M. had reached 200 grand. It felt... possible? My share was currently accumulating, ready to be sent where I needed it, but it had historically been going into Saltney Town. That club didn't need it anymore, obvs, and since I was currently generating a touch over four grand a week, the pot was growing fast. Yeah, Emma could easily have saved up 200K from the agency alone. Wow. You go, girl!
I smiled as I continued down the list. There were bigger single investors, including Sebastian and Rachel Weaver, Mateo, Aurélie Fragonard, and a huge half a million splurge from Mike Dean. But the biggest single investor was the one that got the biggest laugh from me.
Malmö FF; Malmö; 1,000,000.
"What's funny?" asked Kisi.
"I need to go back to Malmö and find them a star player. What the hell..." I shook my head, amazed at how crazy the world was. "First I ask them for a loan. They say no. Then I knock them out of the Europa League and cost them loads of money. Then they say yes without being asked. How does that work?"
Kisi tried to peek at the screen again but I hid the big numbers from her. Malmö would probably release it because they were owned by their members, but I didn't want Kisi blabbing, just in case. "Maybe they don't want to get on your bad side again."
"I don't have a bad side," I mumbled, as a horrible, late tackle went in on Andrew Harrison. He had spent far too much of his life taking care of his brothers the way I wanted to take care of my mum. He walked Solly the dog. He and his brothers popped in to check on my mum. My blood threatened to boil over.
I took a few steps towards the side of the pitch and glared, but the referee was already jogging towards the miscreant, yellow card already in his fingers. Problem solved. Nothing to see here.
I ambled gracefully towards Cardiff's left back and said, "I say, old chap, would you tell your friend not to do that again, please? Thanks awfully much."
Incredibly, this led to the guy coming at me, pushing me in the chest, which led to players and staff from both teams getting involved in a brawl that wouldn't have looked out of place in Taiwan's parliament.
At the end of it all, the referee gave me a yellow card.
The actual fuck?
I raced around the technical area waving my arms, whipping up a storm of noise. I took full control of the team, making tweaks, pushing players, pulling others, perfecting our angles and spacings.
We got a corner and loaded the box with beefy boys. Our set piece specialist, Vikki, appeared in the technical area, telling the lads which of her routines she wanted them to do. Dan Badford went to take it, but he played it on the ground to Bark, who whipped it right-footed, first-time, in the direction of Cole, Zach, Christian, and Dazza. It was Helge Hagen who rose highest, and the striker-turned-full-back scored his second goal of the season.
Sandra leaped into my arms and I twirled her round.
Vikki jumped onto me and punched the air, replicating the famous photo of Pelé.
The goalscorer, the gigantic Norwegian whose dream was to strip naked in his bedroom while a storm raged on the other side of three inches of toughened glass, leaped at me and came perilously close to snapping my spine in half, like stepping on a twig.
One-nil to the mighty Chester.
That's what you get for your snide fouls.
That's what you get when you wake the beast.
When Helge got down and I was satisfied that I still had feeling in my lower body, I hurdled the advertising boards, went to the place I knew there was a spare microphone, ran back to the technical area, turned the mic on, pointed at the guy who had fouled Andrew and yelled, "Don't mess with Chesters! Don't mess with Chesters!"
The atmosphere went from an 11 to a 12.
The ref - who I think might actually have been kept back a year at school - came over and showed me another yellow card, which turned into a red.
The Chester fans took it to 13.
I still had the mic, so I brought it to my mouth and shouted, "Sandra Lane's blue-and-white army!"
Make it 14.
There was a bit of a scrum that only ended when Briggy took the mic from me and ordered me to get into the stand.
The rules meant I had to leave the area, but I still had the full powers of the curse and was still getting double XP. That was slightly surprising, until I reminded myself that you couldn't get sent off in Soccer Supremo. There was no mechanism to deal with this. To the fans behind the dugout I yelled, "Fifty quid if you give me your seat!"
Everyone stood up. One burly-looking gentleman threw his arms around me. The scene provoked a cheer from those nearby, which became a roar, which spread from that section through the Main Stand, raced around to the McNally, and over to the East Stand. While I was exulting, I spotted Brooke and MD waving at me from the executive box, inviting me to go up there. I made eye contact with Livia Stranton; she nodded. She knew what I wanted - I would call her if I had anything to say.
Under the pressure of our energised team, backed by the loudest Chester fans in modern history, Cardiff City wobbled. Being the good pros they were, they dug in, and kept us at bay until half-time.
Technically, I wasn't allowed into the dressing room, but what were the FA or the EFL going to do? Ban me? How's that gonna work if I'm in fucking Saudi Arabia, bro?
MD nudged me. "Are you gonna go down in a clothes hamper like Jose Mourinho?"
"No need," I said. "I can do it from here."
I meant that I could make tweaks through the curse if needed - though that would have been chaotic given Sandra would be trying to make her own changes happen - but I realised I could give the half-time team talk via Livia's phone.
I sent her a text and read out what I was typing so MD and Brooke could enjoy it, too.
Livs, tell everyone to shut the fuck up and read this out. Do it in a Manc accent if you want.
Men, my favourite movie is Casablanca. Not because it'll help us win this match but because it's actually my favourite movie. It has a diverse cast of misfits and weirdos, a lead actress almost as beautiful as Emma, plus teamwork, togetherness, and a fight for the greater good. It's about wanting something you can't have and having something you can't keep.
The main character - I think his name is Max - has the greatest time of his life with Emma in France. When it becomes clear they can't be together, he says, heroically, 'We'll always have Paris'.
I can't be with you right now, but one day in the near future, we're gonna get drunk in a lousy gin joint together. I'll embrace you as a brother and say, 'We'll always have Cardiff'.
(When they stop crying, remind Wibbers not to take long shots today even though he's mint at them.)
K thanks bye.
***
We dominated the second half. Sandra made the five subs I wanted step by step, keeping us in coherent formations as she went. The last twenty minutes were thunderous, monumental, and felt like a cup final.
The five Bench Boosted players played with swagger. Wibbers was a fucking pest. Cheb Alloula played at Bayern Munich first team levels. I closed my eyes and wondered how much he would sell for next summer. 20 million Euro, at least. For once, I was happy to make another club richer.
Cheb scored the second, and provided the pass that led to the foul on Colin Beckton that led to the penalty that Wibbers smashed into the corner.
Three-nil final result.
Three wins in a row for little old Chester, with three clean sheets. A record attendance at the Deva. We were up to 13th. I had come agonisingly close to leaving Chester in the top half of the Championship!
They would slide somewhat in the coming weeks - Sandra would face a very tricky run of fixtures. Chalk her up for three defeats before she started winning again. But who cared? She had shown she could handle herself and she would at least pick up points against weaker teams, which was a growing constituency.
When the clock had ticked over past 90 minutes there had been a chant of 'Sandra Lane's blue-and-white army' that wasn't as full-throated as it could have been. Some fans were worried it might seem disloyal, or it was unseemly given the fact that I was right there in the stadium.
I loved it, though. Sandra could keep this show on the road with absolutely no problem, and the fans would be behind her. For the next three weeks or so, I would be on the phone with her every day.
In the corner of the director's box, as the stadium slowly emptied of fans who didn't want to let go of that real and raw emotion they had been feeling, I had a beer with MD and Brooke. We laughed about the past, Brooke told me off for teasing Zach, and we once more laid out our vision for the future.
Just as I was starting to feel melancholic, Briggy came in with a very tipsy Emma and a very sober Beth Alban, journalist at the Daily Mail, my first ever captain back when she played for the Beth Heads. Beth was coming on the Poland trip - part of the way, at least - on condition that she talked to Polish Anna when I was in a mood. "All the time, then," Beth had said.
Beth was a late addition to the team, but a good one. And the more I thought about it, the more I was glad she was coming. In a very real way, she had kicked me off on this journey. Without her, I wouldn't have got involved in women's football, and would probably never have met Jackie Reaper after the first time.
Beth was almost as responsible for starting this whole story as Old Nick.
It felt right that she would be there when it ended.
I picked up my beer; there was a hearty swig left at the bottom. I couldn't bring the bottle to my mouth, though. I couldn't do anything except move my eyes and twist my neck to take in the scene. This executive lounge wasn't much compared to our new sky boxes, and even they were miles behind some of the places where I had watched football. As a guest of the Football Association of Wales, as Bayern Munich's manager when scouting Stuttgart, or as a VIP in the massive stadiums of Sao Paulo, I had been treated to true luxury. This room was small and dark but it was a billion times better than the others because it was mine.
Mine.
For the last time.
I tried to lift the beer and once again failed.
Brooke Star leaned forward and clinked her glass against my bottle. "We'll always have Wembley, Max."
MD copied the gesture. "We'll always have Wycombe at home."
"Random," said Briggy. She clinked my bottle. "We'll always have Budapest."
Emma said, "We'll always have Aberdeen."
Beth grabbed a bottle and came forward. "We'll always have Man City Under 16s."
I laughed. "You win, Beth. You win." I drained my beer, put the bottle on the table, leaned forward, and messed up my hair with both hands. I leaned back. "I've only got one regret, Mike."
He leaned forward. "What's that, Max?"
I sighed. "I only ever wanted to leave Chester in a better place than I found it."
His eyes widened. "But you did!"
"I know, but in all respects."
MD laughed and frowned. "The club's better in every respect, Max! The men, the women, the youth, the stadium, the training ground. The balance sheet. I mean... What?"
I shook my head, sighed, tutted, sighed again. "Yeah, but Mike." I pointed. "I never got around to fixing your haircut."
"Well," he said, taking my joke in good spirits, "If you come back, I'll let you do whatever you want to it."
I got to my feet and reached out to take Emma by the hand. "You heard that, right?"
She nodded. "That's a verbal contract. You own his hair, babes."
MD spluttered. "Ah, hang on a second. Wait a second."
Emma and I were walking out of the director's box at Chester FC, arm in arm. "Emma?" I said, feeling surprisingly content. "This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
As we turned right, heading towards the downstairs exits, MD threw himself into the corridor and yelled in a pleading tone. "Within reason! Within reason!"
...
Thanks for your support!
Seems sudden but this book is 185,000 words, ish.
This wouldn't be possible without your feedback and constructive comments etc. I tweaked the previous chapter to add a bit more context to remind you of who some of the minor characters are.
Also, mega shout-out to nid, who is basically the official fact-checker and club historian at this point, and Lynedoch, who helps out on the discord, and loads of other people who chip in, too.
Next is the appendix, and then I hope to have a MEGA SPECIAL bonus bit for you, and then I will have a well-earned day off before starting book 4 with a bang.
Comments
Ted Steel
When my wife is very tipsy she laughs at everything and is silly. When she's drunk, even the spiders leave the house. [This is not true.] I like being tipsy but drunk, not so much.
Nuheen
This has been the jarring bit for me too, as a biotech investor. LOVE your writing Ted, but you need to address this!
Craxuan
What's the difference between "very tipsy" and "drunk"? Like is it slightly below "drunk" or past that point?
Sal 101
Nooooooo Max don't leave Chester!!!
Uncle Snoo
Chasing money is not the answer. Max has tunnel vision right now. He's only thinking about what he wants to happen as if it's a done deal. Which is walking up to them with a boatload of cash, and getting a controlling stake in return. Beth and Anna need to get him to see reality on this road trip. Why would they want HIS money when they can get investment from anywhere, likely without any of the conditions Max proposes? What's he going to do if they refuse? Also realistically, there's no way 80 million is even close to being enough to buy a company with promising treatment for dementia unless its pre-clinical. At which point, how would you even know if it'll be helpful? Take Nick's word for it?
leafinthepond
I feel like everyone's missing a potential win-win scenario here. Max wants 30 million pounds? Chester can afford to pay him that...if they make the Premier League next season. Max has said it's possible if he plays more and the kids play less, he just doesn't want to go for it because they will get crushed in the Premier League. But who cares? It's happened to much more storied teams than Chester, no one will hold it against them, they will be too busy being amazed that a team got promoted literally back-to-back from tier 6, with no money and some of the same players even! If the fans get discontent, just remind them that they will be able to hold it over Wrexham that they got to the Premier League first literally forever. And I get that it will be pretty awkward for Max to ask for that much, but it can be seen as the culmination of his years of work to get them to that point, everyone knows it's for his mom, it's similar percentage-wise to what he demands from his "side-quest" teams, and if the alternative is him leaving altogether? I mean, I can see the reasons why this wouldn't happen, but I feel like they should at least consider it.
Ted Steel
Tempsford don't need to get to high levels for it to be clear they are on that journey. Winning 8 out of every 10 matches and scoring loads will catch the attention of the CEO. That's Max's idea, anyway. He did it with Chester, with West, and now with this one. The arc of the story might be enough for his purposes.
Ted Steel
Sorry, Droman!
Galeg
That plan with the other local football team sounds really dumb. It would span years. Why does he think he would have years for that plan, but not years for other plans?
Erlost
Thanks, as always. Okay byeeee.
Droman
You know Ted, it's a rare day to have as bad as the one I've had today, to then come in here, read a fantastic chapter, and then feel even more downhearted at what might be the end of Max at Chester (even if I'm being honest, I was hoping he'd get drummed out by the Starrs, take over Saltney, rocket them up the Welsh league and also double-run the Welsh national team to spank England). C'est la vie.
MomoKokomo
laughed out loud at this one :)
MomoKokomo
Nope. Not giving you a heart for this one. Well-written yada yada, but you do not have this reader's permission for taking Max out of Chester, Mr. Steel. No way. No how. Not until they're at least Premier League. Then he can fuck off and do what he wants. Respectfully. Sir. Ahem.
Ted Steel
Thanks for the comment! I'm not quite sure I follow your question. Max has three choices - stay at Chester, go to Hearts, go to Saudi. Is that not clear from this ending? Or do you want me to tell you his choice already?
Peculiar Oranges
I am a bit confused. So the Soccer Supremo is going into a reset arc? I thought he was going to do that thing where he went to Scotland (after Poland) and then came back to Chester. Emotionally great epilogue, and quite a clifhanger too, but it the ending is very vague in terms of plot direction.
Richard Carling
Thanks for creating a decent rival for Cambridge Untied. My Ex looks just like Ingrid Bergman did. I hope this chapter feels as special to all the other readers. Great book.
Crimson King99
Ted's got me crying in the club right now. Amazing chapter. I know next book is going to be absolutely devastating, but Max will do the right thing in the end (RIGHT TED??????). Can't wait
Geoff Urland
At my core I do not believe Max isn't coming back to Chester.
Tareq Malikyar
Plot twist: Mr. Yalley is somehow the owner of Temps Perdu. Thanks for the book!
