Chương 29: 8.7 - Maidenhead United

7. Saturday, August 3 Match 1 of 46: Maidenhead United versus Chester The referee blew his whistle and the season was underway! Maidenhead kicked off and immediately knocked the ball long. Glenn Ryder leaped and headed the ball away. There was a tussle in midfield and Sam and Youngster between them nudged the ball out to Eddie Moore. He knocked it first time to Aff, who hit a big diagonal to Pascal on the right wing. Pascal raced ahead, then cut the ball diagonally backwards... right into my path.

I booped the ball from my right onto my left, faked a shot, and chipped the ball left-footed over the right-sided centre back into Pascal's path. He touched it square. Henri had an easy volley which he expertly guided past the goalkeeper. Twenty seconds, one-nil, thank you very much.

THREE WEEKS EARLIER Hot off our two friendly wins against Wythenshawe and Bala Town, everyone had gathered to hear my Maxterplan for the coming season. This everyone included the men's squad plus loads of the under eighteens. It included the coaches, physios, key admin staff - Brooke was a big distraction - and our two new cooks. They were charmingly nervous and didn't feel they should have been invited. Wrong! Even Jackie had got out of bed to hear it, which was a lot of pressure.

I had to be at least as exciting as Antiques Roadshow or he'd let me know.

"All right," I said, and the hubbub died down.

"Before I start, quick cheers to the guys who were with us last time who've moved on. Joe Anka, D-Day, Trick, Gerald May, Robbo, and Tony. Did I miss anyone?"

"Chris," called someone.

"He wasn't here for this bit."

"Angles."

"Yeah. RIP in peace Angles," I said.

"Oh, he's there at the back. Never mind. Literally the happiest guy ever since he retired. Ryan! Don't get any ideas."

"I'm raring to go, bosh," said my injured midfield maestro. I tapped my hips in a rare moment of doubt.

"Not sure what to call this. Maxterplan 2. Maxterplan 24/25. National League: Blitzkrieg. National League: The Max Best Year. Right, let's start in a slightly weird way by talking only about the first two games of the season. That's Maidenhead United away and Grimsby at home. Look at the person to your left. Look at the person to your right. Statistically speaking, seventy-five percent of those people weren't here this time last season. Youngster, put your hand down. We're not doing any fact-checking today.

When I gave this speech last time we'd already lost the first two matches. That was because I'd just come out of a coma. The only coma I've had this summer was a sugar coma in Osnabruck. Cooks? No banana splits on the menu until further notice. Right, so we had zero points from a possible six. If you squint and compare this season to last season, any points we get from the first two games are a bonus, right? Now, Maidenhead are one of the weaker teams. They're semi-pro, gates of a thousand.

West Didsbury might get more this year. That said, Maidenhead are in the National League for a reason and that reason is that they're better than anything we faced in the National League North and our fitness advantage probably won't pay off this early in the season. Then Grimsby. They're the best team in this league but guess what? I know a thing or two about them and I think we'll give them a good game." I smirked and the energy in the room went up a notch.

"For the new guys, I'm saying we're going to dick them. More about that later." I wandered off to my flipchart and pulled the first page over. There was one word written: Training.

"Chester Football Club's success or success - put your hand down, Youngster - is based on training. Last season we trained great. Lots of sweating and grunting across nine months and we gave birth to a big shiny trophy. This season we need just as much effort. Just as much dedication. When we play Maidenhead we'll have had five proper weeks of sessions and six friendlies. Last season we were miles off the pace in game one. Not this time!"

Maidenhead had a lot of tidy players. They were pretty comfortable on the ball and passed it around well. We spent some time keeping our shape. As one of the central midfield two I tried to stick to a disciplined interpretation of my role. Since we were winning, we could shuffle and slide and look to hit Aff and Pascal on counters. The last five weeks had seen healthy if unspectacular CA growth.

The goalies had added a fraction less than the squad average, possibly caused by the uncertainty of the keeper coach situation. Or perhaps not. Perhaps Ben had improved to 48. 9 and he had actually trained just as well as everyone else. All I knew was that he had almost recovered to the peak he had reached at the end of last season and that he would soon turn 50. 50 wasn't gold any more. 50 was silver. To be a gold player in my National League rankings you needed CA 60, and platinum started at 70.

Having a bronze goalkeeper didn't fill me with confidence but Ben still had loads of room to improve. Ben's understudy, the talented youngster Owen Travis, had improved slightly to CA 23. Far short of being ready for minutes, but I knew that when I signed him. Most importantly, he had picked up a nickname. This was a tremendous relief to me, since the major obstacle in signing him had been that he had a forgettable name that was similar to other members of the squad.

Now that he was being called 'Rainman' - I wasn't sure if I wanted to know why - I could distinguish him better, as could the coaches when calling out instructions. Our starting left back, Eddie Moore, was bronze, but just an electron or two away from silver. The other three in the back four, Glenn, Steve Alton, and Carl Carlile, were silver. Carl was already racing ahead - he'd hit CA 58, only a point off his peak from last season. Youngster, on CA 54, was slightly ahead of where he had finished.

He was still short of being National League quality but it would only take a few matches for him to get there. He was lively in training and reliable in matches, and was great with the Exit Trial kids. There were so many guys younger than him he was starting to take more of a leadership role. Just a great kid all round, and now that he was a year older I wouldn't stress too much if he had to play back-to-back matches.

We weren't the only ones to notice his upward trajectory; we'd had a few clubs get in touch to ask, could we? To which the answer was, no you couldn't. Aff, Pascal, and Sam had trained up a storm and were all on either CA 56 or 57. Pascal had been the single best trainer in terms of adding CA, and he had forced himself into my first eleven even though his morale was shit and he still had that horrible 'Dislikes Henri Lyons' message in his profile.

So far it had only manifested itself in some scowls, avoiding celebrating goals with the Frenchman, and being surly and uncommunicative. I wasn't too sure how to deal with it, so I decided to let things play out and wait to see if it actually affected us in any way. I mean, my profile probably said 'Dislikes Trick Williams' and we were able to do our jobs. Henri, though. He hadn't trained well at all.

He played fine, but his CA had been stuck on 57 ever since he returned from picking lavender in Provence or whatever romantic fantasy he had played out with his new girlfriend, Yoko Tiny Tino. Yeah, some good improvements, some a bit slower than I'd have liked, and cumulatively I was able to field a team with an average CA of 53. 6. That was two bronze, eight silver, plus me. Maidenhead United, a semi-pro team, had CA 56. We were fortunate that their strengths were defensive.

It looks like Maidenhead are adopting a more attacking approach. Huh. That felt premature. I looked around and liked what I saw. Our match ratings were a notch higher than theirs, and Aff and Pascal were doing a good job shutting down Maidenhead's wide players. The home team were doing your bog standard 4-4-2, which was pretty much meat and drink to our defenders. With Youngster helping them out, our back four were coping well with any threats that made it through the midfield. We passed the fifteen minute mark.

We battled. We won headers. Twice I clipped balls behind the right back that got Maidenhead in a tizzy. After the second time, their manager realised it was no fluke. It looks like Maidenhead are adopting a more cautious approach. Yeah! Get back, you worms!

I flipped to the next page of the flipchart. It said Project Youth.

"Ho-kay. As you know, the training ground has a more youthful vibe this year. We've got crayons and bibs and colourful, one-foot high plastic chairs. Ironically, that's all for Ryan Jack." Some laughs.

"No but really, I know there's a load of shit being talked about us having too many young players and I'm bored of it already. I'll get it in every interview and every fans forum and if I get it in here, too, I'm going to lose my actual mind. If you've got doubts about the way I'm running this club, write them down on a piece of paper and then we'll read them all out at the end of the season and we'll all have a jolly old laugh about what a fucking moron you are.

These kids are mint and they're going to get game time, the end. That said, not in the first two matches, as discussed."

Pascal and his opponent competed for a header - an unequal contest that left the German on the deck. The ball bounced down the line where Carl Carlile hoiked a clearance. As he did so, he got clattered, leaving me with two prone players. Neither had any red attributes or any notes in their Injuries section, but I looked over at the subs bench anyway. As in the National League North, in these matches I would be able to name five subs and use three.

One would always be a goalie - barring an unthinkable series of events - and I needed at least one defender, midfielder, and striker. Magnus Evergreen was incredibly useful as a squad player, as he was able to cover the defence or midfield. He was quite right-footed, though, and in general I liked to have at least one leftie on the bench. Today it wasn't possible, but I had Eddie Moore, Aff, and myself on the pitch. Alongside Rainman and Magnus, I also had Zach Green.

He had added five points of CA over the past month, easing from CA 40 to 45. He was still rusty as hell, but I planned to give him the second half, if possible, and had little doubt he would catch up to Steve and Glenn pretty darn quick. He had PA 139 and the capacity to become the best defender in the division. A defender who would be an attacking threat, too. Whoever it was that had made him come to the club, I owed them a pint. Finally, we had Sharknado and Ziggy.

Both guys had improved since joining Chester, but were miles off the required levels. If I could get them twenty minutes each near the end of the game, that'd work wonders.

The clock in my head ticked from 29 to 30 and I imagined Boggy's commentary.

"Half an hour gone here in Berkshire and it's been a good performance from Chester. They've been solid in defence, though the home team have been creative and forceful. There's panic, though, when Chester pick up the second balls. Player-manager Max Best's long passing is causing conniptions." Maidenhead had worked out that fast counters down the wings were sort of our thang, so when I got the ball they would all rush back ten yards. So instead of passing... Youngster finds Best. Best looks up.

He elects to dribble. He pushes forward. The defence retreats. Best still in space. Lyons drops deep to offer an option. Best instead finds Bochum. His manager overlaps on the right. Bochum plays the ball through a defender's legs. Best surges towards the byline. He cuts it back! GOOOOAAAALLLL!!!! Lyons appeared between two defenders and stabbed the ball home. This has been an impressive start to the season by the newly-promoted side.

"Mate," I said, after Henri had taken his flowers from the fans.

"You were rather fucking slow getting up there. I nearly flipped it out to Aff to see if he could get a volley." My star striker put his arm around my neck.

"Max, you worry too much. Perfection is a journey, not a destination. You say I was not moving quickly. I say I was moving at 67, 000 miles per hour. It is two-nil. Be satisfied. Do not forget to praise me in the newspapers. I should like to lie in bed listening to reports of my achievements read aloud in an exotic accent. Portuguese, for example." I felt more than heard a disgusted tut from my left, and sure enough Pascal was suddenly pacing back to his position.

"How about," I said, "I sub you off right now and give Ziggy the rest of your minutes." The arm retracted like a snail's antenna.

"My two goals are not enough for you?"

"No, mate," I said, moving off.

"They're not. Every striker in our entire program is looking to you. You're the role model to everyone from little Simon Black to Tom Westwood. So how about you sprint when there's a race on?" He briefly seemed furious, the old firebrand. Yes! Give me an earful! But he cracked into a placid smile.

"Max, you are magnificent. I enjoy your tantrums. Do not worry about those who idolise me; they will see not only a complete striker but a complete man."

I flipped to the next page of my presentation. This time it said Targets.

"Interactive time. What should our targets for the season be? Discuss with the people around you. Ready, go." I watched with amusement and interest as little groups formed - or in some cases, didn't form. I ambled to the cooks and made them turn around to talk to the players behind them. Jackie Reaper was trying to be aloof like he had no part to play in this tawdry men's team stuff, but I made a turn-around motion and he grinned and joined in the chats with the players behind him.

Brooke, MD, and Secretary Joe were busy chatting, but they'd be coming at the question from a financial angle. I made them separate and talk to some players. After a while I stopped them and picked a few people out to summarise what they thought. The first three people I asked said 'win the league'. That was interesting.

Was it better to have an ambitious target that we wouldn't reach or to tell them exactly how it was going to go so that, as my predictions came true, they would have even more belief in the process?

"Okay, guys. You know I'm not defeatist but we're starting at too low a point to actually win the league." Zach Green spoke up.

"You think we can beat Grimsby, yeah? And they're the number one you think. So if we can beat number one, we can be number one." This got some thoughtful nods, but not the whoops and cheers I think Zach was expecting.

"That's a cool phrase. Someone write that down. I might steal that. Yeah, look, guys. We can beat Grimsby because I am fucking pissed off with them and I'm going to go full Max in a way I rarely do on a football pitch. We're going to use all our special moves and we're going to devote the week before the match to preparations for that match. For the newbies, we only do that for key games. The rest of the time we train skills.

The reasoning is that instead of constantly reacting to every team we play, we'll eventually get so good it doesn't matter what the other team does. So we're going to beat Grims with a superhuman effort from me, Max Best. But I can't do that every week. I know I make it look easy but this player-manager shit is exhausting. I want to play much less this season. Plus I keep getting suspensions and shit like that. Think about this. The return match against Grimsby is March the first.

Will you be able to beat Grimsby then, away, without me?" I looked up and thought about it. What would our CA be around then? 65, maybe?

"That's the challenge." I went to the board and wrote: PROMOTION.

"Our target is promotion. Through the playoffs, probably. That means we need to finish the league in the top seven. The top seven! How easy is that? Um... not so easy as I thought, maybe. These teams have some good players and better coaching."

My match rating hit 9. Smasho and Nice One had warned me that going up a division was always a mind fuck, was always difficult. But not that long ago I'd played five matches at League Two level and even more recently I'd trained with a League Two side. It was even possible the curse had given me a bump for training with the Slovakian national team. I reckoned my CA was probably between 80 or 90.

Not sure I could definitively call myself the best player in the league, but I was almost certainly the player who made the best decisions. If my players were shocked to find themselves playing at National League level, they weren't showing it. Maybe that's because the pre-season friendlies had been well-designed. After beating Wythenshawe and a small team from Wales, we'd put the kids out against West Didsbury.

I couldn't resist playing ten minutes in the stadium I owned, but apart from trying to chip the goalie from forty yards and yeah, okay, doing a double dribble against a gobby left back, I hadn't done anything special. Home to Bury, away to FC United, and then the important one - home to Tranmere. As it was the last pre-season match, both sets of players took the day pretty seriously and it was a feisty old affair that Tranmere won 4-2. Ignore the result - this was great preparation for the coming season.

Tranmere's new manager was Jimmy Mustard and he was an upgrade on James O'Rourke. Mateo hadn't consulted me about the decision but he'd done all right on his own. He was helped by the fact that Mustard had fallen out with the owner of his club and had been sacked after being in the job for ten successful years. Mustard's numbers were average for a League Two side. He liked 4-4-2 and when I spoke to him after the match he lusted over Sam Topps.

I'd planted the idea of Tranmere buying Sam a long time ago but it was still startling to hear them openly perv over my best midfielder. Sam's match rating now was 8 - he was good and he was consistent. He went for an interception that only succeeded in slightly deflecting the ball. That was enough to bamboozle a midfielder with poor technique. I anticipated a miscontrol from the guy and snapped into a challenge. I held him off as his CM partner came to help out.

I rolled the ball back a foot, forward a foot, back a foot, then flicked it sideways between the pair. They grabbed a chunk of my shirt and stopped me accelerating away. The ref could have booked both, but he picked one at random. I checked the tactics and found the booked one had been told to man mark me. Some shouts came from the dugout and the instruction vanished. Interesting. I'd have to get used to being man-marked more regularly. Would I have to get used to a midfield without Sam?

It almost didn't bear thinking about.

Under the word PROMOTION I wrote CUPS.

"General cup runs. Can we get to the third round of the FA Cup this time round? Yes, please. Can we retain the Cheshire Cup? You'd better, you bastards. Can we do something in the FA Trophy? We might need a bit of luck with the draw and the timings but sure. The final's at Wembley, guys. Can you imagine going to the playoff final and the FA Trophy final in the same season?" I added the words FA YOUTH CUP.

"William and the under eighteens, cover your ears. This isn't for you." I slapped the marker against my lips. This was going to be a tricky topic.

"Like the FA Cup, there are qualifying rounds before the proper tournament begins. Last season there were more participants than ever and our Chester boys got to the final qualifying round." A cheer rose up.

"Yeah, that deserves a cheer. They did well. Good job, Vivek! Now, you know Vivek's the only survivor from that batch. The next lot are crazy talented. We've got a phenomenal squad and a few genuine matchwinners. So I want to have a proper pop at the FA Youth Cup, and everyone in this room has a part to play." I went for a little stroll, letting them digest this information. I imaged Glenn Ryder asking himself what he was supposed to do to help.

I had a piece of paper with some notes and I picked it up and referenced it every now and then.

"We'll get through the qualifying rounds easy enough. Then at the start of November it's the first round proper. Last year at that point in the cup it was loads of randos and the main names you'd recognise were ones like Derby, Bolton, and Barnsley. The best youth system is Crewe, we're supposed to think? They scraped through against a tiny team on pens. There's not a lot of teams I'd fear at this point. And there's zero who have more talent with kids who've got first team minutes." A few of my guys stirred.

The smart ones had just realised where this was going.

"Yeah. Minutes. First-team minutes. Benny scored against Walsall. Lucas Friend, Tyson, and Dan Badford played a few matches. WibRob's already made his Banbury debut. We'll do more, more, more, plus give game time to Noah Harrison and Chas Fungrieve and when we do that, suddenly our youth team has seven players who've played first team minutes in brutally tough leagues. Think how that will play out when our battle-hardened boys roll up against Crewe.

"Mid-November's the second round. Last time there was a tenth tier team still going. There were a couple of big names, yeah, but look at the results and some of the big names barely scraped through. I genuinely think we'll be the best team in that round. Think about it. We're Chester. We just came out of the sixth tier. How have we got the best youth team?

"Third round, here come the big boys. These games go on all through December. Last season, a few Premier League teams put seven past some of the weaklings. All right but a ninth tier team took tier two Millwall to extra time. Anything can happen. And remember, our boys are getting first team minutes. Can we play three at the back in a few halves to get Henk into the team? Then Bomber? Then Captain? I think we can. We can't get the goalies on the pitch but they can train with us for a few weeks, right?

"January. Fourth round. I reckon we're still in this! Seriously! Unless we draw Arsenal or someone in the third round, we're going through. Last time there were four League Two sides out of 32 so okay, our chances are reducing at this point. But Swindon made it to the fifth round and guys, I think we'll be putting out a better, more experienced side than Swindon.

"At some point we're going to come up against one of the top academies and I tell you what, I think that could be an interesting game because our lot won't be scared in the slightest. We've got the weapons to hurt any team. Any team. Can we beat, like, three Prem clubs in a row? It's a long shot. This season.

"This season? Yeah, this season. Because our entire under eighteens mob will still be able to play in the Youth Cup next season. So you think they're good this time, next time we're proper going for it. We're going for the whole fucking thing. Fourth tier Chester, as we will be, winning the Youth Cup. Look at the history books. That doesn't happen. This city will go absolutely bonkers as we get closer and closer. Seriously, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for all of us. You, too. You're part of this.

"I will be giving minutes to players who aren't ready for first-team football. Why? To get them ready.

"Now, don't be worrying that they're taking your minutes. That's not the problem. We played 59 games last season and there will be more this time. There's loads of minutes. No, don't worry about me giving some kid ten minutes here or there. But the guys from last season remember what happened when we put kids on the pitch. Results dipped a bit. And did I learn a lesson from that? Yeah. I learned that we did the league and cup double anyway.

"So think of the bigger picture. If we're struggling against Dorking or Southend because we're giving minutes to a couple of babies and you step up and clear the ball off the line or make a line-breaking sprint or score that equaliser and we get a point or a jammy win, you've helped us for what we're doing and you've helped us win that Youth Cup. If you find it frustrating then I've got good news. We've got a room full of boxing equipment! Go punch something until you feel better.

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"But just think about how good it's going to feel. That kid who's been learning your position. Maybe you've given him a tip or two. Maybe you've lifted him when he's been feeling down. And you watch him go toe-to-toe against Liverpool. You watch him shut down some jumped-up prick from Saints. And you watch him lift that trophy and bite his medal and spray alcohol-free bubbly all over the Emirates stadium. Yeah, the final's at Arsenal. You'll get tickets, mate, don't worry. We'll all be there.

We're all going to suffer and sacrifice to get us there. It's going to feel shit until it feels so, so good. Trust me.

"These brats winning the cup won't go on your Wikipedia page but I'll know what you did, and you'll know what you did. It's going to be magic. Pure magic." I left a dreamy, wispy pause.

"And also, I'm your boss and I'm fucking telling you this is what's going to happen so fucking get your head around it." I flipped to the next page. It said Mentoring.

As the half neared its close, I found a new way to play the CM role - stick near Sam. He wasn't as good at reading the game as me - how could he be? I had a computer game in my head telling me exactly what was happening - but he was better at knowing where he was supposed to be. My moves often led me to the DM slot or to the wings. That was fine, but the players in those zones had to adjust. What if I stuck to my job for once? So I hung out near Sam and it was shocking how often he was where he needed to be.

And if he was where he needed to be, most likely so was I. Topps challenges. The ball breaks to Best and the danger is gone. That was it! That simple. But do that ten times in a half and you really stop the other team from building momentum. Maidenhead started to play longer and longer passes, which made life easier and easier for our defenders. Oh, Sam. I'd nominated him to be Dan Badford's mentor.

They had an unexpected connection and it was fascinating to see Dan, a silky smooth playmaker, start to do snide tackles that broke up attacks or copy Sam's confused, wounded face when the ref gave a free kick against him. If Dan could absorb the work rate and positional discipline of Sam while retaining his passing and creativity, we'd have a hell of a player. Sam to Tranmere. How much would I get? Not enough to make up for the loss. God actual dammit.

I spent some time outlining the mentoring concept. It was mostly informal - an experienced player (Sam) would take a fledgling (Dan) under his wing. The Brig would monitor and support both players while the club would hire Cody Chambers or another expert coach to do special training sessions just for those guys. It was a simple way for us to put our money where our mouth was - this process wasn't mere flipchart hot air but had specific real-world benefits.

The prospect of the extra training was very attractive to most of the older guys. Some of the pairs were obvious. Glenn would mentor Vivek; Carl Carlile would do Cole Adams; Aff was looking after Josh Owens, the wing back; Ryan Jack would be a grandfather figure for Omari Naysmith; Eddie Moore was keeping an eye on Lucas Friend. Slightly less obviously, Ziggy was going to mentor Chas Fungrieve.

It seemed like an odd couple but Ziggy must have seen something of himself in the shy, helpful kid who didn't seem to have the temperament to be a killer. I had a bit of an issue with the strikers, since Henri had been informally teaching Benny for some time. That left me with no-one helping Tom Westwood, our Exit Trial prospect. Henri solved the problem by saying he could do both.

In his distracted state I worried he'd forget or tell the kids that football wasn't everything and that the poem was mightier than the goal, but I didn't have much choice. Finally, exceptional students need exceptional teachers. William B. Roberts was the best prospect in the entire country so he got the best. The Max Best. One downside of the relationship was that because I was always zipping around doing random things I wouldn't be able to commit to a regular time to train with him.

I suspected structure would be useful to WibRob, but in pure football development terms joining my sessions with Cody would massively accelerate his improvement. Training with the firsts every day and getting minutes in the friendlies had shot his CA up to 23. The way he was treating every drill like it was a cup final made me think this guy would smash the single-season CA growth record. The guy was incredible, a pure natural.

Any other manager would have stuck him right in the team and used him in every match but I wanted to be super careful. This guy wasn't an asset to be sweated. He wasn't a grunt to be put in the front line of battle. He was a champion. You kept him back, fed him beef, and taught him finesse.

Two-nil at half time. A great start to the season! Maidenhead didn't have a great striker which obviously made the whole affair a lot easier. It wouldn't be this simple against Grimsby. Marcus Wainwright would make mincemeat out of Glenn and Steve, sorry to say. We'd have to come up with a plan to limit the damage he would cause. I smiled. Sweeper?

"Oh, God," said Sandra, as I took my spot on the bench and ate some marathon paste.

"You're up to some mischief."

"Not," I mumbled. She shook her head and gave me half a minute before bending down and whispering.

"It's going well. Good performance. We sticking to the plan?" I closed my eyes and thought things through. On the one hand, getting a win in the first match would be politically useful. It'd make the fans happy and convince MD and the board we were on the right track. On the other hand, it was going to be a long season and we needed to get players up to speed as fast as possible.

"Zach attack," I said.

"Hack-a-Zach. Zachy Mondays. Love Zach by the B52s."

"Sorry, boss, I don't follow. Who should come on?" She almost convinced me she didn't know what I meant; I nearly choked on some paste. When I recovered, I said, "First we Zach, then we Zig."

"You've done that joke about ten times."

"And it gets funnier every time."

"Sure." She went to the tactics board and tapped it three times. That was her signal for the guys to shut up.

"Lads, good half. They're not getting a sniff. Pascal? That's perfect wing play. Impressive." Our resident bad boy tried not to look pleased - that wasn't his image. He couldn't help but glow, briefly. Then he nodded and the scowl came back. Sandra continued.

"I've got a couple of technical details I'll discuss with a couple of you. We're doing our planned change. Zach for Steve. Zach, look for fast passes into the centre."

"Hit Sam," I said, and Zach got up so he could see me over the heads of some teammates. I explained.

"They're flirting with man-marking me so I'll make a move across their CMs to draw their aggro onto me. You can still hit me if you want but there's probably gonna be easy diags to Sam. Hit him and he can lay it off for me, big one-two, or he can go wide to Aff."

"Got it!" Zach said, with what I thought was excessive energy. He was so hyper all the time and so keen to impress but while someone like Aff did his talking almost exclusively on the pitch, Zach did his talking on and off the pitch, non-stop, and at maximum volume.

"Yeah! Let's do this, y'all!"

"Mate," I said.

"There's twelve minutes of half time left. Let's reserve the whoops and hollers for the last, say, six seconds. All right?"

"I'm just stoked, boss! Gonna play!" Although he was hella annoying, I couldn't help but smile.

"Yeah, good, but we're not two farmers yelling hot goss at each other across Snake River. We're in a three-metre-wide box in Kent." The Brig perked up.

"Berkshire, sir. You're thinking of Maidstone."

"You're right. I was thinking of Maidstone. Now let's all hush and think about different places that have similar names."

I flipped to the next page. I'd written Everything can be improved no exceptions.

"Young players will become squad players. Squad players will become first team regulars. First team regulars will become key players. Key players will become legends.

"That's you. What about us?" I pointed to the staff.

"We're pretty good but I'm always looking to improve. If this is the squad at the end of the transfer window I'm going to start thinking about the coaching staff. I'm happy with what we've got but if I don't make another signing I'm going to see about putting on extra afternoon skills sessions. Something like the hyper-specific drills I get from Cody Chambers. The kind of thing you guys would normally have to pay good money to get.

Someone like Cody isn't going to take a massive pay cut to come full time but I think it'd be value for the club to get like three hours back to back from Cody or someone like him. If you're not playing Tuesday night you can get a skills session. Something like that. And yes, this stacks with the mentoring. I am deadly serious about improving you as players.

"But let's see how the squad looks and what my budget is. If you happen across a good coach who lives in the area, let me know." Pascal stirred and it seemed like he would put his hand up, but he settled back into a cross-armed scowl.

The second half started fine. Zach was the only change from either team, and he soon set about imposing himself physically on his opponent. There were almost fifteen hundred spectators including a fair few hundred Chester guys but the main thing I heard was the trash-talking of one player in particular.

"Yeah! Come on! You like that? We got these clowns, y'all! Boss, I'm gonna need a bigger pocket! Whoo! Showtime!" We got a corner and I wandered over to take it. I thought back to a match from a couple of weeks before. I'd stayed in Manchester for a few days to spend some time with my mum, Anna, and Solly, and also to catch a pre-season friendly involving the under-21 side from Avro FC. Avro were in the eighth tier, the division below where Ziggy usually played.

But Ziggy had heard talk about this young hotshot who had got turned a bang-average team into serial winners. The hotshot turned out to be called Jay Cope. He was twenty and he had his team whizzing around playing front-foot football. The match I watched was as one-sided as any I could remember. But how? All the players were equally poor. The answer was the manager. Jay liked a 4-3-3 with wide forwards and a high defensive line.

Fearless football, all right, but the bit that got me was an elaborate corner kick routine that would have graced any Premier League encounter. It didn't come to anything - most corners didn't - but the smiles and laughs on the players's faces told a tale. They were loving their football. After the match, I asked Jay if we could meet up in a couple of days. I got the Brig and Brooke to help me do background checks and get references, then over a vegan brunch I offered Jay a choice of two jobs.

One, a coach at Chester who would take youth team matches. Two, the manager of West Didsbury and Chorlton FC. He thought about it for the amount of time it took him to eat one little square of feta cheese and chose the latter.

Jay Cope Adaptability 7 Coaching Goalkeepers 2 Coaching Outfield Players 15 Determination 12 Judging Player Ability 13 Judging Player Potential 16 Level of Discipline 7 Man Management 11 Motivating 13 Tactical Knowledge 19 Working with Youngsters 19 Coaching Style Technique-based Preferred Formation 4-3-3 Preferred Style Prefers an attractive attacking style of play Other Likes to play a high defensive line He couldn't play - he said he was dogshit - but he was a floating megabrain and I felt sure his numbers would improve even further as he got experience and more coaching badges.

How could I get such a top prospect? Because he had one terrible, ghastly flaw - he was young. So four new players and a gun manager. That was West sorted! Jay was a valuable addition and I was excited to see what he would get up to. Elaborate corner routines, though? I smiled as I respotted the ball, letting it hang over the corner arc to annoy the home fans.

(It looked like the ball was illegally close to goal, but that was because most fans are stupid idiots who don't know the laws of the game and are easy to wind up.) I inhaled, put my right hand up, switched to my left hand, then both, then neither. This signal meant absolutely nothing. Best to take the corner. He whips it in with great pace. Green rises! Goal for Green! He's scored on his debut! He wheels away in celebration. But wait - the referee has spotted an infringement. No goal!

Fucking Zach with his hyper aggression! He'd wrestled his marker to the floor before scoring. I pottered back to midfield shaking my head. Something for Vimsy to work on. Sam Topps was the model - he played hard but smart. Sam was screaming at me to get back. I really didn't have the mental discipline to stay in central midfield. Have I stuffed this up? I thought. I'd wanted a crafty midfielder and hadn't found one so I'd pretty much stopped thinking of central midfield.

I'd put so much stock in Sam Topps - he'd proven himself not just to be an intelligent and efficient player but a positive force in the dressing room. An interesting guy who flourished in my new culture and who was an inspiration for our youth players and a man who was incredibly popular with the women's team. In purely football terms, if he left we would be desperately short of midfield quality. Our best pure CM would be Andrew Harrison - who I'd just sent to FC United until January.

Yeah, in January we'd get him back, ready to rumble, and Ryan Jack, too. What about until then? Would our central midfield pairing be Magnus Evergreen and Omari Naysmith? It didn't much set the pulse racing. Easy fix - don't sell Sam Topps.

"Okay, I've got two more big things to talk about and then we can do questions." I flipped to the next page, which read SWOT. I tapped each letter in turn.

"Strengths. Weaknesses. Opportunities. Threats. Brooke, you didn't know I could do this, did you?"

"You're full of surprises," she said, and the sound of her voice raised the energy level in the room. Bunch of horny gets.

"He's full of something," said Jackie Reaper, who I remind you hadn't been invited.

"There's a sale on Kappa tracksuits if you need to leave early, mate."

"Thanks, lad. Always looking out for me. I appreciate it."

"Strengths. We fucking slap, guys! I know for a fact we're better technically than Grimsby, so I expect us to be the most technical team in the league. More accurate passes, better control, better crosses. It adds up. We've got some beefy boys, some pace. We will improve faster than most or all teams. One way we improve is by spreading minutes around and that also helps reduce our injury burden. The medical rooms are nice and we added some more equipment and two new physios.

Their main job is to cover all the extra matches we've got going on but it means more massages and leg rubs and whatnot for you guys. And Dean's been learning the pan pipes, I heard."

"Steel drums, boss," joked my Head Physio.

"Oh! Well, that's not relaxing at all. Weaknesses. We have to work around some issues but so does every team. You might be in a tough match and look at the bench and think, God, that's young. All right. Fair comment. Are we going to make some mistakes? Yeah. You know who else makes mistakes? The other team. How do I know? I've fucking seen them, bro. Can they put ten passes together? Can they fuck. How about we pounce on some of their mistakes instead of feeling sorry for ourselves? Eh?

Yeah, we've got some weaknesses. I think I prefer our weaknesses to Grimsby's, to be honest. Our issues lessen every day. Do you know what I mean?"

Powerful defensive header from Ryder. Maidenhead's corner is cleared. Best rushes to put pressure on Maidenhead's number 3. He tries to shift the ball to his stronger foot… but he slips! Best pounces. He's on the right of the pitch speeding forwards. Number 4 moves across to cover. Best darts to the centre of the pitch and heads back out to the right. Number 4 is between Best and goal. Best shapes to shoot... But cuts it back... Sam Topps has made up the ground. GOOOOAAAALLLL!!!!

Chester have scored from a Maidenhead corner kick!

"Threats. There's some good teams spending loads of money. We can thank our good friend Ryan Reynolds for that. He's got every rich nutjob in America thinking the fifth tier of English football is a good place to invest money. These rich pricks are so fucking stupid. No offence, Brooke."

"Huh?"

"There's clubs that nearly went bankrupt last year and this summer they're chucking Darlo money on players I've never heard of. Seriously, I've legit never heard of most of these recent transfers so we'll see if those managers are improving the sides or not. Let's assume they are. I'll do a full analysis in a minute. But obviously we can expect Grimsby to run away with the league and there could be six, seven, eight teams going hard at the playoffs.

It's not going to be like last season where it was us and three top teams. So the threat is quality. Teams have players that can hurt us."

An hour gone and Maidenhead had a sustained purple patch. That was partly 'game state'. At three-nil up, my players were happy to get behind the ball and let Maidenhead do all the work. To be honest, I was happy with it, too. Three-nil was way beyond what I'd hoped for from this game. I'd thought it could be tricky. They had played pretty patterns, working the ball around trying to get us to lose our shape. When that had happened, Youngster had popped up to make interceptions.

Now Maidenhead's creative players were trying to build down the wings, with much more luck. They slid a pass behind Eddie Moore and got a dangerous cross in. They chipped behind Carl Carlile and he gave away a free kick that Ben did well to tip over the crossbar. Then after a bit of keep-ball and some insipid probing, they booted a high ball towards our shortest defender, Eddie, and created havoc in the penalty box that led to a bit of a scramble.

I thought about using Seal It Up to give us fifteen minutes of extra defensive solidity, but decided to leave it until I had the last two subs on. They would not help us defensively.

"Opportunities. I'll talk more about Grimsby in a second. But think about this block of eight teams who are throwing money around. My instinct is that there won't be one who breaks clear of the pack and they will all take points off each other. So if we're, like, ninth with ten games to go, we'll finish in the playoffs. Hundred percent. Last season I said I wanted us to be the best team by January and we did that. This year? Can we be the eighth best by January? I think we can get, like, in that vicinity.

Add in better fitness, team spirit, tactics, and a big squad full of players who can come in for a specific game! Horses for courses. If a team's going to hit high balls to our full backs, we've got Cole Adams who's going to win most headers and if they're going to sit back we'll get Eddie to slap them on overlaps. Know what I mean? We're way more flexible than other teams."

It was clear Maidenhead were going to keep pounding Eddie Moore, so I moved him to left mid, Aff to be the left CM. And Max Best went to be a left back. The idiot Maidenhead left back hit a huge diag in my direction. I took my position and bumped into the tall CM that Maidenhead had moved out to the right for the purpose of winning these headers. With me in his way he couldn't get to the ball, and I had the option of letting it go out for a throw-in. Throw-in?

Maidenhead had sent half their team into the penalty area waiting for the CM's header. As the ball dropped, and as I held off this beanpole, I turned and lifted my foot and when the ball hit it, I removed every joule of energy. I swayed left and right, then faked a burst round the outside of the player down the line. He threw out a leg to block me and I think was pretty surprised to discover that I wasn't there. I was, in fact, thundering forward thinking about dribbling the length of the pitch.

But the relative moves of Henri and Pascal called to me like a mermaid. I lazily flicked a fifty-yarder that bisected the defence and spun right, right, right into Pascal's stride. He burst forward and slipped the ball into Henri's path. Henri took a first-time shot that was smothered by the goalie who had gambled on the move happening just as it did. Good goalie!

"Put a finish on that!" yelled a very American voice.

"Shucks, fellas!" I seethed at Zach for a few seconds, then reset the formation with me back in the CM slot. If Maidenhead wanted to try the big diagonal again, I'd smash them again. Bring it on.

I looked around the meeting room. MD and Brooke had been going round Cheshire scavenging for cash and because I'd gone nuts at the Exit Trials buffet instead of splashing out on transfer fees, I still had a fuckton of the Raffi Brown money.

"So check this out, guys. We're getting better and better and training and working our socks off and by January we're the eighth best team in the league. Some of you are frowning like eighth is shit. Hey, think about our starting point. Eighth by Jan would be unbelievable. Unbelievable! So we get within range and then what? Could be another Chris Beaumont situation where we bring in someone who makes a difference or fills a gap. Could be. Loads of players fall out with their managers and become available.

That's an option." I smiled. The room was bristling with high-PA players.

"But I really think this is a group that has a high ceiling. Eighth best by January, sixth best by Feb, fourth in March, second in April, and the absolute best team come the playoff final.

"How do we keep getting stronger? Here's the tricky bit. By giving minutes to players who need minutes. When we play Maidenhead, we'll start strong and bring on a couple of guys for the last twenty." I had a great line - we'd get weaker at the end of some matches to get stronger at the end of the season - but I didn't want to suggest some players made us weaker. Leave that kind of talk to the podcasters.

"It's always a risk changing a team and there's gonna be some frustrating moments. But it'll pay off. It'll pay off big time."

"What sorta frustrating moments?" bellowed Zach.

The match got back underway and I signalled for Sandra to make sure Ziggy and Sharknado were ready. The plan was to swap them for Henri and Pascal who, whatever their current faults, were playing great and would be needed against Grimsby. It became apparent that my direct opponent had been told to have another go at man-marking me. He was following me around, pushing and pulling me regardless of where the ball was. I went to the centre circle and stayed there.

After a minute, the guy detached from me, drawn by a contest happening fifteen yards away. I dashed into space, got the ball, and pinged a pass for Aff to chase. A defender took a risk and slid in front of Aff's path; the risk paid off and all we got was a throw-in instead of a shot on goal. My marker came back.

"Why bother?" I asked.

"You're shit at that. Stick to what you're good at."

"Fuck you," he said. Sandra was ready with the subs, but I jogged to the ref and asked to delay them a minute. My shadow came with me, so he heard what I said next.

"I'm just going to humiliate this piece of shit, first." I demanded the throw go backwards and signalled to Youngster to Let It Happen. He got the ball and dribbled backwards, while our defensive line shuffled back accordingly. Youngster put his foot on the ball, taunting an opponent to challenge him. The nearest striker fell into the trap - you can't press on your own - and we started to pass the ball around, picking off opponents one by one.

As the ball went to Zach, my marker lost concentration and took a few steps towards him. I zoomed away and Zach pinged the ball into my path - glorious! - and I was suddenly breaking against three defenders with Henri and Pascal offering options. I dabbed the ball diagonally left to where Aff had drifted infield. He continued to dribble forward while I got my head down and sprinted forward. Now it was four on three and I surged square, across the width of the D, confusing defenders who were already panicked.

Aff had acres of space and loads of options. He cocked his foot and eased the ball into the bottom-right of the goal. Four fucking nil! Aff and the others ran off towards our fans. I walked in the general direction of our dugout, deep in thought. Stick to the plan? Why not? Or what about switching from 4-1-4-1 to 4-5-1? We could flood midfield and make the game scrappy. Ziggy would be isolated but I could drift forward and support him. Or how about 4-4-2 and keep Henri on so that Ziggy could compete for knockdowns?

I could go to left mid and support Eddie on the big diags. Give Aff a rest. Or - Something crashed into me - a truck, perhaps - and I found myself plunging to the ground. I threw out a hand to break my fall and a shocking stab of pain flew up my arm. What the fuck? There was a rush of movement around me but I was too stunned to defend myself. All I could do was curl into a ball and try to protect my face.

"Max, relax. Open up."

"Dean?"

"Max, come on. Take a breath. You're safe. It's fine." He was doing his Doctor voice. It was soothing, but worrying that he had to do it. Was I broken? Was my head smashed to bits?

"What happened?"

"Er... nothing. You're fine. Just breathe. Try to untense." Nothing happened? I'm fine? What? I tried to relax, like he said, and mentally scanned my body. I wished I had a perk to tell me if I was injured.

"Tell me what happened. Someone hit me. Was it a crazy fan? Where's the Brig? Did he get him?"

"So, first of all, does this hurt? No? What about this?" He exhaled.

"Okay I think I'd like you to sub off."

"Yeah." Dean told Sandra and she signalled that Magnus should get ready.

"Er, no. Stick to the plan."

"Um, you tell her," he said. He helped me up and we walked off. Gingerly at first, but I soon realised I was more or less okay. I told Sandra I wanted Wes and Ziggy on as planned. We bickered briefly, but decided to put Aff in the middle and Pascal left. I followed Dean to the dressing room.

"Er, my arm kinda hurts."

"Let me look."

"Tell me what happened."

"Right. So... When we scored Zach was running around chest bumping everyone."

"What?"

"He kind of sprinted to chest bump you and sort of knocked you flying."

"Are you joking?"

"Not really, no. I think he was happy with his pass." The room got very quiet. A fair chunk of the home fans had left and now the main noise was the non-stop chanting of the Chester mob. Finally, I broke the silence.

"That guy's broke my arm, Dean. He's broke my arm."

"He hasn't."

"How long's a broken arm?"

"Six weeks out." I gawped at him.

"That's twelve league games. The fucker's put me out for twelve games!"

"It might not be broken," lied the renowned liar Dean. I closed my eyes as the agony washed over me. Not the agony of the break - though it was starting to burn - but the agony of my plans being trashed after a single match.

"Dean, listen carefully. I'm going to take a shower. You're going to wrap this up good and we're going to pretend nothing happened. We'll get an X-ray and whatever it says, I'll play against Grimsby."

"Absolutely not."

"And after we've smashed them, I'll take three weeks off and we'll X-ray it again and see if it's healed."

"That's not how it works."

"Even better idea," I said.

"Tonight we'll splint this up. Put a cast on it. I'll hide for a week so no-one sees it. Next Saturday you'll take it off, I'll slap Grimsby around the Deva, one-handed obviously, then we'll put a new cast on. Okay?"

"No. That's not okay in the slightest. You can't play with a broken arm or wrist." I smiled.

"You just told me it wasn't broken." Dean expressed unusual annoyance.

"You can't ask me to do this. It's not ethical. And besides, you said it yourself in the big meeting - individual results don't matter. We only need to finish seventh. It's a long season."

"Ah!" I said, trying to point my index finger up. It hurt like the devil. I switched to my other hand.

"Ah! But you forgot what I said in my opposition analysis."

"Last page from me." I tapped the words I'd written. Know your enemy. I hesitated. Last season, two board members had come to this meeting. This year, I'd kept them away. Inner circle only, I'd told MD, who was not, then, best pleased to see the entire staff including our two cooks. But fuck the board. Seriously.

"Last season I outlined the teams in pretty much the order they finished in," I said, with remarkably little smugness. Vimsy interrupted me.

"You made one big mistake."

"Oh?" I said, trying to remember.

"Yeah. You had Chester as fourteenth." I laughed.

"That's true. But we started as fourteenth. We trained from fourteenth to first. Okay but this season is going to be absolutely wild. Check this out." I picked up a big piece of paper I'd had specially printed with various club logos and clipped it to the flipchart. The logos at the top were surrounded by dollar signs.

"The two clubs relegated from League Two are owned by multi-millionaires and while they had a poor run last season they've got good facilities, coaches, and squad depth. Okay? Grimsby and Forest Green will be looking to go straight back up." I tapped the next logos.

"Barnet's owner is worth a quarter bill. Altrincham is part-owned by an American investment company. Gateshead have ambitious new owners. Dagenham is part-owned by the New York Yankees. Southend's got a new owner and he's as rich as Chris Hale! Ebbsfleet have Kuwaiti owners who lose 1. 3 million pounds a year and the team isn't even that good." I tapped logos that were a bit smaller than the others.

"Eastleigh, Woking, and Fylde have money, too. It's fucking crazy. This is not the non-league your parents grew up with. You get me?" I walked off, shaking my head. So many people were chasing a dream, but only two clubs could go up. Buying a non-league football team was not the path to riches, fame, or glory.

"I don't see all that money as a big problem, to be honest. They're all chasing the same pool of strikers and long-throw merchants - no offence Zach - so they're literally burning half their money. And playing against better players makes us better so I welcome it. And hey! It's good news for you lot, too. Impress in this league and one of these nutjobs will pay you Wrexham money. Know what I mean? If we're smart, we skim off a chunk of this new cash.

"Okay so the main issue is that there aren't many weak teams. The weakest might be Kidderminster, and we know how tough those games are. I've seen they've added some players so, urgh. Maidstone look weak on paper but they beat Ipswich in the FA Cup last year!

"So yeah, it's going to be a chaotic season and we're going to succeed by navigating the chaos and causing some chaos. Because I tell you what, there are ten teams who will be having a meeting just like this one except they won't mention Chester. We will go under the radar big time.

"Now, there's one match that I think we should go hard at. It's the second game of the season and it's Grimsby at home. Now, the thing about them is they have great fans, very noisy and they'll come in big numbers. I liked them, on the whole, but they're a very whiney, complainy bunch. Very pessimistic and if we beat Grimsby in the second game of the season we really could send them into a doom spiral. Would it stop them winning the league? Who knows? But we're going to go hard at that one.

That match will be the hardest we go in the league until the final stretch, or until someone pisses me off. If we can send Grims into a tailspin, it's going to be like blood in the water for these other teams and all kinds of mad things will happen. Chaos is good, guys. Embrace the chaos. If we beat Grimsby it opens up all kinds of absolutely delicious possibilities." I pointed at the cooks.

"Delicious possibilities! That's a good name for our restaurant."

I was in quite a lot of pain by the time I got back to the dugout. I was in place for the last ten minutes, earning a tasty 6 XP per minute. The same as watching a Championship game! Truly I was moving up in the world. I let Sandra make the tweaks and do the shouting. Just in time, I remembered to use Seal It Up to give our defenders plus one positioning. I also used Cupid's Arrow to link Youngster to Sam thinking it would help us keep control of the midfield.

The defence held firm and the midfielders won most of their duels. Ziggy was terrible. Wes was wayward. But Aff was solid in the centre and Pascal continued to impress on the left. I fretted about Eddie being targeted with long balls again, but Maidenhead's manager had all but given up. Four goals was just too big a deficit and he seemed happy to contain us. A five-nil loss at home in the first match of the season wouldn't have gone down well with his board.

Zach's match rating dropped a point and I couldn't hear him chirping out his usual stream of nonsense. I inwardly tutted. Henri was in love, Pascal was in hate, Sam was wanted, and Zach was absolutely demented. Which idiot said we should embrace the chaos? That guy was a prick and a half. I asked for a score update. Livia said Barnet had won 5-1. We wouldn't finish the day on the top of the league, but we'd won away and won well. It was a hell of a relief for me and a big ol' party for our travelling fans.

I paced around some more, chucking the marker up so I could catch it.

"Last word from me. The months ahead are going to be choppy at times. It's going to be weird. Very, very weird and chaotic. There will be tough times! But smooth seas do not make skilful sailors. All we have to do is do what we do. Stick together, train hard, scrap for points, watch as all the pieces of the jigsaw fall into place and it all seems so, so easy. Then we go to the moon, just like last year.

"This, my friends, is a promotion season. This is a successful season. Remember that when things feel shit. This is a winning season. This is a winning season." I grinned one last time.

"And no-one can stop us except ourselves."