Chương 72: 5.5 - The Max Best Apology Tour

5. Friday, March 10 Keith: Hello and welcome to another edition of the Luton Town Supporters' Trust Podcast, the award-winning, longest-running Luton Town podcast, in association with AOK Airlines, providing opportunities and resources to help our academy sides achieve lift-off. Alongside me as always to discuss last night's draw against Wrexham is The Lutonian journalist John Schofield, and in a slightly unexpected turn of events... John: To say the least. Keith:...

we've also got the Chester FC player-manager Max Best and the Newport County striker Henri Lyons. It's cramped in the studio and we've been taken by surprise but the plan is to crack on and hopefully it'll be a good show. Henri: On a point of order, Mr. Speaker. Keith: For those of you listening to the audio instead of watching on YouTube, that's the voice of Henri Lyons. What's the point of order? Henri: These days, we must amend the usual introductions.

He is properly known as the disgraced Chester FC player-manager Max Best. Max: Thanks, bro. [He laughs.] Keith: Well, that's right. You've been well and truly sanctioned, haven't you? Max: I've been punished more than most war criminals. Keith: For people who don't know, this is in reference to something you did, what, two-and-a-half weeks ago? Max: I don't like to say 'something I did'. It's more 'something that was done'. John: Passive tense. Henri: Exactly. Something that was done by someone. [Slight pause.] Someone called Max. Keith: Is that why you're here today? Max: I suppose, in a roundabout way, yeah. Henri: Max is doing the classic tech bro apology tour. Podcasts and fan media appearances all over the country. This is part of that. Keith: Why do you need to apologise to Luton Town? You only got one draw out of two games against us this season and we're safely above you in the league. Max: Ooh, the banter begins! That'd be a good movie with Christian Bale, wouldn't it? Banter Begins.

Keith: For people who don't know, which I suppose is absolutely everyone, Max and Henri ambushed us as we were settling in to record this episode, and when we asked why, they said the explanation will be great content and we should save it for the podcast. So, Max Best and Henri Lyons. Why have you gatecrashed this recording? We were going to review last night's match. Max: I know. We can still do that. Keith: You were at Kenilworth Road? Max: We both were.

Almost the last chance to watch a match at The Kenny, isn't it? You're moving to the Power Court and I know it's gonna be top but when you've had a home for over 120 years, it's hard to move out. My ban has given me time to catch up on a few things and yeah, I've been touring around, getting stuff done. Being productive. But there's always time for a bit of history, isn't there? The last days at Kenilworth Road, Luton's home since 1905. You two will be in tears after the QPR match, won't you?

Keith: No, because we'll have another home game in the playoffs. That will be the last game at The Kenny. Max: [Laughs.] I love the optimism. You had a good January window, I'll give you that. That said, the last couple of weeks have got a bit wobbly, haven't they? The wheels are coming off and the chasing pack is looming in the rear-view mirror. The playoff race is turning crazy. I love it! John: Can we address the gatecrashing? Max: Um, sure. As Henri says, I'm doing an apology tour.

I've done fan media stuff for West Ham, Leicester, Wimbledon. A few channels dedicated to women's football. One interview with a former England player, but that one isn't out yet. She's got a backlog of episodes. John: All this is to express your contrition? Max: No need for that - the pills are working great. Henri: [Laughs at a volume that will trouble the sound engineer.] Max: While banned, I've been trying to get to as many matches as poss and Luton v Wrexham on a Thursday night was perfect.

There weren't many other options on the schedule but I think that would have been my top choice regardless. After all, we're playing Wrexham soon and we could get Luton in the playoffs. Shit, I've just thought of something. If the last match at Kenilworth Road is against Chester in the playoffs, it's going to be horrible for you! Tears of sorrow plus tears of humiliation. Oh, shit. I feel bad already. Henri: Focus, Max.

Max: When I go to a random match, sometimes I don't want to be bothered or hassled or shown on TV so for this one I bought a couple of tickets instead of, you know, taking the freebies. I would have gone with Emma, my fiancée, but she draws attention so I asked Henri instead. He's got a wonderfully bland, nothingy sort of face, which is perfect for going out in public and being undisturbed. Luckily, Henri was available, otherwise I would have had to go with a cardboard cut-out or a sock puppet.

Henri: Max asked me to come with him not for those reasons but because he wanted me to buy the tickets because he's so, so famous that using his own name and his own credit card would be like beaming his intentions onto the moon. The whole world would know! Also, he hopes I will forget that I paid for the tickets and that I will forget to ask him to reimburse me. I will not forget. Henri Lyons never forgets a line item. Max: Why did you say that in such an epic way? It doesn't fit the content. Ah, content.

Great link, Max! Knowing I was going to watch the match, I thought it'd be fun to talk about it on a Luton podcast. The last stop on my apology tour, so to speak. I reckoned that if I asked to come on you'd be ecstatic - you are ecstatic, aren't you? - but that you'd make a big deal about it. Crowds outside, people sending in questions, all that stuff. How exhausting! Doing it this way, which you call gatecrashing, means the first anyone hears about this will be in a few hours when you upload it.

Think of the reaction! It's going to be legendary. I planned the gatecrash like I'd plan a heist. Fun fact, I'm great at heists! This one was easy. The location of the studio is in your channel description and I found out what time you were going to be here. John: How did you do that? Max: I asked someone. Told them I wanted to give you a hamper. Henri: You are hampering them, it is true. Max: I'm the twenty-first best manager in the country. Think of the quality of the analysis! And I'm the FA's Most Wanted.

Think of the viewing numbers! Henri: You are the most wanted? Max: I like to call myself the 'terrible infant' of English football, but that's a phrase that doesn't translate well into French. Henri: [Laughs.] John: I wouldn't be doing my job as a journalist if I didn't take advantage of this opportunity. Before we talk about last night - Max: Oh, God, don't phrase it like that or you'll wreck the wedding. John: [Chuckles.] Before we talk about last night's football match, what's your side of the story when it comes to the ban? Max: We played Leeds United in the cup and in the words of one rather hysterical media outlet, I ran amok. I gave a bunch of flowers to a goalie who was pretending to be injured - a scourge on the game that the FA has done fuck all to prevent.

When the fake injury - which the FA has done sweet FA to prevent - was going on, my players barricaded and barracked the Leeds technical area, making it hard for the Leeds manager to give new instructions to his players. They call it a tactical time-out; I call it stealing time from the fans. Henri: They don't care about the flowers, they care that you replayed a controversial incident on the big screen, which inflamed the fans and could have started a riot. Max: An incident was put on the big screen.

Fans were inflamed. A riot could have been started. Henri: Max. Max: Yeah, look, whoever did those things probably went too far in the heat of the moment but one of my players was sent to the hospital and when that happens you look for justice to be meted out and when it isn't, not every choice you make is sober or rational. Henri: The FA didn't like that you lied when you claimed that the preparatory work for the new stand meant the match couldn't have a video assistant referee.

In hindsight, perhaps you wish the VAR had been working, no? Max: VAR kills the game and there are still mistakes. Bad refs gonna find a way to ref bad. Henri: The FA didn't like some of the things you said to the referee. They were described as spicy. Max: Our conversation was mostly grounded in factual truth, objective reality. To the extent that the words spoken were spicy or otherwise served as a means for the referee to self-reflect. They were a mirror held up before him.

I can understand how that would be hard for him but can I really be blamed if he doesn't like what he sees? Henri: Don't forget to tell the viewers that you sent a dozen policemen to surround the thug who injured your player. Max: Ah, no, I was praised for that. My quick thinking helped to defuse that situation. Henri: You're a hero, in fact. Max: I wouldn't say that. Max Best is regarded as a hero by some. John: How did the club respond? The directors and the players? Your partner?

Friday, February 25 - Three Days After DUMPING Leeds Out of the Cup When I woke up, I had a couple of annoying messages. One was from Brooke, saying that it wasn't too late for me to put out a statement in which I apologised for breaking the FA's rules. She hinted at the existence of a draft of such a document, one that could be released early enough to make a difference when it came to my punishment.

The other message was from Sebastian Weaver, Emma's dad, telling me that an apologetic statement often tipped the balance of public opinion in such cases. I left the messages unanswered, left the phone on my bed, had a quick shower, and crept downstairs, trying not to step on the squeaky parts of the floorboards. Emma was in the kitchen with an empty mug and a vacant look on her face.

"Babes," I said, giving her one of my patented reverse-cuddles. I nuzzled her for a while, then mumbled, "Want a refill?" Her eyelids flickered.

"Max, please, not until we're married!" I laughed and went to our little coffee machine.

"Do you want a Medium Blonde or a Swarthy Italian?" Her turn to laugh.

"I would drink the shit out of a coffee called a swarthy anything." She pushed her mug towards me.

"I'll take it long, naked, and whipped." I tutted.

"I know how you like it." My index finger ran over our wide selection of capsules and I considered which one would be the funniest to end this little scene. Vanilla would work linguistically but not in terms of taste. Major Dickason's Blend was far too erotic. French Roast sounded like a very specific search term for an adult-only website. I made my final choice and stuck it into the machine.

"What do you pick?"

"House Blend. Medium." She nodded.

"Perfect." While the machine noisily exploded and imploded a thousand times per second, I checked out my future wife. She was tired and the stress of planning the wedding on top of all her other jobs was getting to her. I had asked Ruth and Gemma to shift work away from her - both said they had already done it, so subtly Emma hadn't even noticed, stop freaking out, Max - but there was little I could do about the pre-wedding panic because Emma was doing it to herself.

I couldn't even broach the topic because I couldn't help but make jokes about it. One time, I had said that my UEFA Pro exam was going to be on the morning of the wedding. It was supposed to be a whimsical way to find out where the event was going to be held - seemed like something that would be useful for me to know - but before I could add 'so if you could tell me which castle...', Emma flat out burst into tears.

The machine stopped swallowing on its own bits and I finished the coffee with my secret ingredient - a tiny pinch of salt. I handed it over and waited for her face to react. Seeing the edges of her lips curl upwards wasn't as epic as scoring a goal in a huge stadium, but it was still a top-tier feeling. Ems sipped the coffee, but the edges of her lips only went up three smile-units instead of five.

"Okay, what the fuck?" She looked surprised.

"What?"

"What's going on? Fess up. Come on, I'm gonna be annoying until you fess. Fess it. Come on." She blew out a bit of air, which inflated both her cheeks and eyes. A tiny laugh popped out.

"I had a dream." That wasn't what I had been expecting to hear.

"A dream."

"Two dreams. I think it might be because everyone says you're in trouble and you're really going to get it this time. You did, like, eight things you're not allowed to do and you were all over talkSPORT and TikTok and everywhere."

"You know those aren't real places, babes. Are you going to tell me the dreams?" She gave me big, sad puppy dog eyes.

"Are you in trouble?" I laughed and wagged my finger at her.

"I know fake big, sad puppy dog eyes when I see them."

"I'm really worried, Max, honest."

"K," I said, pouring myself a glass of water.

"But don't be. Tell me the dreams."

"The first one was us doing a drug deal." I nearly choked on the water. It was half a spit take, half waterboarding myself. I turned a horrible purple colour, Em said, and she tried to give me the Heimlich Manoeuvre while she laughed her head off. When I was back to full fitness and had absorbed most of my spray onto some kitchen roll, she continued.

"We were in a clothes shop selling drugs but we got caught. I hid in a changing room but there was a guy from the shop yelling at me. I know you're in there! Come out!"

"Where was I?"

"You ran off."

"I didn't!"

"You did."

"I would never run off if we were caught in the middle of a drug deal!" Sometimes dreams were just crazy, but sometimes they actually revealed something to yourself about your hopes and fears.

"You're worried about being in trouble with the authorities."

"Aren't you?"

"No. The FA are going to give me a break from football, aren't they? I'm going to get a one-match ban at least. Do you know what I was thinking?"

"What?"

"We pack and get ready to fly to Gibraltar."

"When?"

"This afternoon. I get the ban, we fly off. Long weekend in my flat over there. I still have never seen it. And the Gibby league first phase ends soon so it's good to get this done now. I can scout every player in the league and make sure the good ones are at our clubs next season. If I wait a few weeks, they will be doing the Championship Phase and that's not so good for scouting."

"Remind me what the Championship Phase is."

"Er, they do a league as normal, everyone plays everyone else. That part finishes in two weeks, I think. They slice off the top six teams at that point. Those six go into this Championship Phase and they play each other once. So that's another five matches and the results get added to the league table. I don't know why they do it like that, but the point is if I go to the Rock during that special phase, I'm only going to see six clubs. If I go now, I'll see eleven."

"Right, yes." She was still reeling from the idea that we might hop over to Gibraltar, just like that. She got her phone out and opened the weather app. She had Gibraltar on speed dial, same as me. She pulled an impressed face.

"That's a very nice forecast. Wow." I smiled and thought about bringing up the news that Gib was finally fixing the odd number of teams. From next season, there would be 12 clubs. I had panicked at first, wondering if an oil state was behind the new club. The sudden appearance of a team with immense resources would be insane from a financial perspective - it was guaranteed to lose money - but would be a very decent way of making my life quite a lot more miserable.

When I looked into it, though, it was a glorified pub team, one that had disbanded a few years before and was now back. There was nothing sinister behind it. OR WAS THERE? (Seriously, it was a pub team. Such a team was viable again for a very strange reason - me. In the past, low CA expats had gravitated towards Bruno's Magpies and similar teams, but I had taken three of the shit clubs and turned them into mini-powerhouses. There was nowhere for the low CA guys to play, and a critical mass had formed - enough to sustain the new club. I wasn't thrilled - they would drag the average quality of the league down. But it was better than the oil state alternative.) I gently pushed Emma's phone down so she would look at me.

"I'll whisk you off to Gibraltar and brew you my entire range of coffees, but first you have to finish the dream story."

"That's it, the first one. The second one - " She stopped abruptly. I glared.

"Fess." She shook her head.

"We were on the sofa, vegging out in our sweatpants, when suddenly I remembered we had an appointment. With the king." Another phrase that wouldn't have been in my top million guesses.

"What?"

"I know. I have no idea where that one came from. It was just a typical panic dream. Late for school, haven't done your homework. In this variant, you have to get dressed quickly, be on time for the fight, check into the hotel."

"Hotel?" I said, amazed at the logistics of the dream.

"How can we be late if we have an overnight stay first? Why did we get dressed up to go to the hotel?" She didn't like me investigating her questionable logic.

"I don't know, Max."

"Who do you think the king wanted to meet?" She eyed me.

"It's pretty obvious, don't you think?" I nodded, smugly.

"You're right." Her eyebrows rose a fraction, which would have intimidated lesser men.

"The king would only want to meet you to chop off your head. That's what worries me." She turned and looked out of the window - she had heard the first drops of rain.

"What are the chances you'll get off scot-free?" I expected one of the imps would be on the FA's disciplinary panel, which was a major reason I wasn't overly worried about the punishment. It wasn't in Old Nick's interest for me to get a long ban because I earned so much more XP when I was in the dugout. The next three matches were against weakish teams and I wouldn't want to get on the pitch at all; Old Nick would surely fight to keep me available for those three.

"Zero chance I don't get any ban at all. It's possible," I said, thinking about the fixture list, "that I'll get a punishment that doesn't start until the FA Cup Quarter Final."

"Why?" said Emma, confused.

"That one plus the following four are toughies. Five hard matches in a row, with Wrexham right slap bang in the middle of that run. If they really want to hurt me, that's probably optimal." I nodded to myself. That was a run of five matches in which I would play a lot if I were allowed. Old Nick might decide, on balance, that it was better in terms of his XP growth to keep me away from Chester for that period. Plus, I would be out of the eye of The Sentinel.

"So... I shouldn't pack yet?" I moved around the counter and gave her a kiss.

"I'll find out pretty soon. If it's an instant ban I'll call you right away and we can get everything booked. I will need, say, twenty minutes to talk to Sandra and the squad to make sure everything's in order. Chester are playing Plymouth, pretty much the weakest side in the league, and I've already picked the team, but it's good to go over some things face to face. We'll easily make the flight, though, and by Sunday night, I'll have scouted every man, woman, and child in Gibraltar again.

Did the FA just ensure my hegemony extends another year? Oops!" Emma's lips curled all the way to the top - the full five smile-unit extension.

"I love it when boys brag about their hegemonies."

I hopped in Car2D2 (the latest nickname for my Mini) and was soon whizzing past the billboard the club owned on Fountains Roundabout. We had put up a new poster the very night of the Leeds match. It didn't have our logo, though it was in the club's colours. It comprised two giant letters: QF Another viral hit on the Chester socials! And it worked for the women's team and the under 18s, too, since both were also due to play quarter finals.

XP balance: 3, 997 Another thousand would take me to the 5K I needed to buy 4-2-2-2. More importantly, I would learn what came next in the tech tree. Complete tactical freedom? Could we? When I pulled into my spot in the Bumpers car park, I got the news. Secretary Joe: You got an immediate 4-match stadium ban, so you'll miss Plymouth, Bristol City, Stoke, and the QF. Also, you got a personal fine. 20 thousand. I'm sorry. So the imps had come through.

All the rumours had been about bans in the region of 6 to 8 games. 4 was nothing. 4 was a holiday. I stayed in the car while I thought it through. Plymouth were in the region of CA 111. The 'weak' eleven we would send to the south coast had an average of 118. 4 - more than seven points better - and our bench would be full of game changers. I absolutely didn't need to be there for that one. Three days later came Bristol City at home. Average CA 123.

A stiffer test, but we would put out a strong team, possibly with another 7 CA advantage. If I hid inside the stadium, I would be able to use my in-game perks to give us a few boosts but really, what did it matter? We would probably win that one without me and I could use the time to go scouting. I needed to find a woman who was capped, who would improve our squad, and would agree to sign for Chester in the summer, then I could use God Save the Queen on her.

Plus with some proper time off I could absolutely hammer Playdar all over the country. Next Saturday we had Stoke away. CA 116 and we would be able to use our strongest eleven if we really wanted. Probably we would mix in guys like Helge and Dan who needed minutes, with an equally mixed bench so we could give minutes to kids if we were winning or send out the big guns if we were struggling.

Yeah, if I had time to sit down and plot three fixtures it was okay to miss, my list could have looked exactly the same as what was coming. There was a pretty good chance we would win all three. Two wins and a draw was probably par. Two wins and a defeat would still be a decent return. I smiled - this was a great opportunity for Sandra Lane to burnish her CV, wasn't it? Earlier in the season she had managed four league matches - her record of drawn 2, lost 2 didn't look amazing.

Winning three in a row would make it look a whole lot healthier, right? Wibbers, Cheb, and Youngster didn't want to be rested, anyway. The fourth match I was banned for - that was a painful one. The FA Cup Quarter Final. Against a club I had already beaten once this season. I texted for the first team group - players and staff - to assemble in the Sin Bin for a quick meeting at 9. Then I called Emma.

"Babes? The ban starts now."

"That's great! I'll book the flights." I stewed for a while. My thoughts kept turning towards the idea I should have apologised. Well, thanks to the FA, it was a topic I had a couple of weeks to explore.

The Sin Bin was packed. The first team squad, physios, coaches, plus Brooke, MD, Secretary Joe, Pradeep, Spectrum, and even Joe Anka. I clapped once.

"Right. If you haven't heard, I got a 4-match ban. The reasons for the punishment are pretty unclear - " Secretary Joe held up his phone.

"I can read out the statement, if you like. They're pretty clear."

"There's no time," I said.

"We don't have a single second to waste." I sipped some water, then pointed at Lewis.

"New trim?"

"Match trim, boss. Got to be done." I nodded. Most of the lads got their hair cut on a weekly basis. I yawned and stretched and it turned out to be one of those happy, lazy stretches. My body was already adjusting to holiday mode. Addressing the troops, I said, "Okay, so it's a stadium ban. They're not letting me play, manage, or anything. I'm gonna make use of the time to scout every team we might face in the playoffs, plus some women's matches, plus youth teams.

There are half a dozen scouts who send me tips about good prospects they've seen and this is a great time for me to go and check them out. You know I like to do an early transfer deal and this is a great opportunity to get ahead of the summer.

"Three league games. I expect us to win all three. We took 7 points from those teams earlier in the season. Winning the second half means upgrading that to 9. We don't need to rest players like we did before Leeds. Yes, we've got the Cheshire Cup but for most of you there will be a whole week between the Stoke game and the quarter final so that's plenty of time to rest." I drank some more water.

"Yeah, the quarter final. That's the one match I'm gutted about missing." I rubbed my lips while I considered feeling sorry for myself. Chelsea at Stamford Bridge. Capacity 40, 044. One of the most glamorous venues in the country, huge media attention, and a highly talented but highly flawed squad. Of all Europe's megaclubs, Chelsea was probably the one with the most Achilles' heels. In particular, their squad tended to play shit against lesser teams, and we were certainly lesser. For now.

"Wibbers, you're gonna get my minutes. Are you up for it?" He grinned.

"Yes, boss." I shrugged.

"That's that, then. I'm gonna be watching tape of Chelsea to see if there's anything clever we can do, but mostly it's going to be about being defensively solid, suffering, and making the most of our opportunities when we get them. Chelsea are better than Leeds but then again," I smiled, "so are we." That got a few whoops and cheers. Andrew Harrison - who would benefit from my absence - said, "Boss, are you going to take legal action? Gemma's itching to get after the FA. She says they are capricious."

"They are capricious," I said.

"But I don't actually like suing everyone all the time. It's not really the sort of society I want to live in. I'm going to leave this one." Emiliano amazed me by speaking up.

"Why don't you fight?" I eyed him. I couldn't quite get a read on his tone.

"This is fighting." He didn't understand, but didn't want to push his luck; he clammed up. I said, "You are players and you fight in training, fight in the gym, fight to get good sleep, fight to eat well. I know how difficult it is because I fight that fight, too. But it's also my job to climb out of the trenches and prepare for the future. The playoffs. The transfer window. I'm going to spend some time thinking about adding 4-2-2-2 to our list of formations." The Tommy Tactics types reacted with utter delight.

I continued.

"To see men's teams, I have to go to their matches but a lot of women's teams are letting me invite myself to their training sessions. Maybe it's because I pay the most money for women's players, I don't know..." Some laughter.

"I'm looking for good players and good coaches, too. And drills. Ideas." I looked around the room and pointed to various people.

"I went to Brazil and came back with Gabby and Nasa, Tomzilla and Tockers. I went to Scandinavia and got Helge and Vikki. I went to a Honky Tonk and met Brooke. I went to a celestial hairdresser and came back with this." I pointed to my own head.

"You get the idea.

"I don't fight alone. We're a team. When someone kicks Gabby, I fight back. When I take that too far, you take my place. When I'm away, I'm enlisting recruits, finding allies. So the cycle continues. Sun Tzu says never interrupt your enemy when he's making a mistake. If the FA want to keep Chester down, they have made a big mistake because we're gonna come out of this stronger and better." Roddy Jones said, "So you won't be coming to training for the next few weeks?" I laughed and so did a lot of others.

On Tuesday night, the FA announced their disciplinary committee would convene 'urgently' to decide my fate, and on Wednesday morning I had taken the coaches and Roddy Jones aside to let them know about the new regime. Roddy would train as normal except on days where he would participate in special extra training with me. Under the watchful eye of the best available coach, Roddy and I would do duels together, him against me, over and over again.

We had spent an hour on both Wednesday and Thursday endlessly duelling, duelling, duelling. As a defender I had swatted away his attempts to dribble past me. As an attacker I had thrown myself at him with pace, power, and skill. Over and over, I made him repeat moves, repeat moves, repeat moves. An exhausted Roddy had told the watching coaches that the drills shouldn't be called Duels, but Gruels. I had powered him up with the full 200 XP training bonus on both days, and it had paid off.

He was up to CA 92 and he would hit triple digits before the season was done. Would it be enough for him to hurt England in the European Championships?

"Roddy, I wouldn't miss our Gruels for all the world. I'll be here twice a week to make sure you're getting the attention you deserve." Wibbers leaned forward and shook his mate by the shoulder.

"Rodders doesn't work for the FA, boss. Go easy on him."

"Fine," I said.

"I'll let him get past me once per day. At the end, as a sort of treat." Roddy said, "I got past you a few times."

"Only that one time when I thought I saw a zeppelin." Secretary Joe interrupted by means of a huge groan. The senior staff went over to find out what was up. Joe whispered, "It's a pile on! The EFL have fined us for fielding a weakened team."

"How much?" said MD.

"50 thousand."

"Prepare a cheque for double that amount," I said.

"Coz I'm gonna do it again."

"Max," said MD, but his heart wasn't in it. Using a weakened team against Blackburn had helped us to beat Leeds, and beating Leeds had earned the club a fortune. Six figures in prize money, seven figures in ticket receipts. Into the last eight in the entire competition. Could we?

"QF," said Brooke.

"Hmm," said MD. He had taken steps to make sure no controversial footage would be shown on the big screen again and he had put his foot down about my use of the electronic boards to convey messages. I had pushed back because some of what I was doing was objectively hilarious, like when Dazza had celebrated his goal at the wrong end of the stadium. We had compromised that if I had any funny ideas, they had to be approved before kick-off. Lame. Secretary Joe said, "The EFL should fine the FA for weakening our team.

A hundred thousand for every match Max can't play." I went to the middle of the room again.

"It's all good," I said.

"Okay, listen, before I go, I want to have a quick chat with Swanny, Zach, Andrew, and Joel." These chats wouldn't take long. I would be meeting a lot of directors of football on my tour and wanted to check that the four guys were okay with me dropping their names into conversations about players I would be willing to let leave for the right price. Andrew needed to go this summer - he was close to maxing out on his PA of 121 - while the other three would be more than welcome to stay another year.

But if they could double or triple their wages, why wait? I didn't need to sell and wasn't trying to kick them out, but they were nearing their ceilings and much as I liked them, I would grow fidgety if they were capped for an entire season. Joel was 137/138 and was a key player for the team, but that could change very quickly if I used my resources well in the summer. Zach was 132/139 and his data had been trending upwards for a long while, so I would probably get a good price for him in the summer.

He would turn 29 next season and if he wasn't dating Brooke, I wouldn't have thought twice about moving him on. Time to get paid! Swanny was capped at 127, so he could be our backup goalie next season but wouldn't play anywhere near as often as he had. He would be 27 next season - good time to settle in as the number one choice for a mid-table Championship side or a highly ambitious League One team. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

"Last things, lads. First, it's not fair that Sandra has to do all the work when I'm gone, so I'm promoting a member of staff to be the new interim caretaker co-manager. He or she will do the media duties so that Sandra can take a break from that. No, don't ask me who it is. You'll find out. Second, while you're splashing about in Plymouth's miserable rain and endless grey skies, if you check your socials and see me sipping slow gin on a fast yacht in the sunny Med, that's a deep fake. I would never do that to you.

Okay?" Roddy said, "If I get a 4-match ban, can I go on holiday, too? Golf tour of Portugal?"

"If you get a 4-match ban," I said, "you get double Gruels five days a week." He put his hands over his head and curled up as much as his seat would allow.

"I'll be good," he whined. Cue laughter. Cue Morale. The sick and brilliant thing about Chester was that, hard as Roddy's routine had become, many of his teammates were jealous of him.

Luton Max: How did the squad react to my ban? They were pretty downbeat about it. Who are the FA? What are their names? What do they look like? They aren't transparent. Can we be sure they have the moral authority to mete out punishments? Who do they really serve? We can only answer these questions by looking at their actions. When you feel like shadowy figures are out to get you, it's hard to take. Me being punished the same amount as the prick who tried to kick a hole in my striker? That's how cynicism is born.

That's how people lose faith in institutions, my players included. I didn't know how to handle it, to be honest, because I was pretty downcast myself. Fortunately, Sandra Lane rose to the challenge. While I stayed in bed feeling sorry for myself, she rallied the troops. Come on, lads, she roared. Let's shove their ban where the sun don't shine! Henri: You heard that all the way from your bed, did you? Max: Super Sandra took the squad down to Plymouth.

Swanny in goal, Helge and Nasa as full backs, Cole Adams and Christian Fierce as centre backs. Vini the DM, Joel left, Andrew and Bark, Roddy Jones right mid. Colin Beckton the striker. First half's tight. It's scrappy. Roddy gets into good positions but his crossing's poor. Sandra says, hey, get to the byline. He does. Great chance for Colin, great save the keeper! Nil-nil half time. Henri: This is abysmal content for a Luton Town podcast. Max: They can do a special Patreon version where they cut all this out.

Henri: [Chuckles.] Max: Second half, Cheb replaces Roddy, and that's Plymouth's goose cooked. One-nil Colin, two-nil Joel Reid, job's a good 'un. Hang on, what's this? Goal for Plymouth? The mighty Lane stands tall. Get me Evergreen! He replaces Cole Adams and it's all looking nice and tight. 70 minutes gone, point proven, on come the hammers. Lewis, Youngster, Wibbers. We spend the last twenty minutes nailing the home team. Is there such a thing as a totally dominant two-one win? Henri: No.

Max: [Chants:] Sandra Lane's totally dominant two-one win army! John: The first woman to ever win a match in the men's second tier. Max: To be fair, she co-managed 16 wins already this season before that, but I take your point. A top moment for her. John: Do you think a men's team will ever offer her a job as manager? [Pause.] Sorry, is that question off the table?

Max: No, it was just that when I was watching that game, someone else asked me basically the same question and I had a weird sense of having already experienced that moment in time. The French have a word for that feeling, but I can't remember what it is and there's no way to find out.

Gibraltar Emma volunteered to pack my suitcase so that we would make the flight. Of course, I agreed. Why not? When we got to the airport, we were crazy early. Emma seemed confused and I put her 'mistake' down to how much was going on in her life, but when we arrived in my flat in the newly-rebuilt Victoria Stadium, I realised the truth. She had packed all my fanciest clothes and had bundled me out of the house before I could check.

Thus she and I were in a VIP box in the stadium, watching Chester on the TV screens and the Magpies versus the Red Imps on the grass in front of us. The weather was amazing, the clothes felt great - hang on.

"The weather's amazing, my clothes feel great." I took in a breath to achieve maximum creative potential, something I learned while reading a book about 'cultivation', which is the process of describing indescribable things for as long as possible.

"What's happening?" said Mateo, my long-time ally. Tomorrow morning I was going to get my first look at the new training centre he had built across the border in Spain. To finance the project, he had invested a lot of the money he had earned from selling Tranmere Rovers to Diggy Doggy's consortium and while it was based on a similar complex in Marbella, I had given my input in the design stage. Emma, blissing out while underneath a big, floppy sun hat, said, "Max is doing a poem. Come on, Max! Write it! Yeah!

Mateo, help me cheer him on."

"Gwan, son!" cried Mateo, far too loud. I pulled my sunglasses down an inch.

"Do you mind?" I took another breath.

"The weather's amazing, my clothes feel great. Four match ban? Kindly make it eight." Emma applauded. Our attention turned fully to the closing moments of the Plymouth v Chester match. We were thrashing them but when there was only one goal between the teams, a single moment of carelessness could spell disaster. The clock ticked down, the final whistle blew, and the lads ran straight to Sandra. Mateo watched, smiling.

"How long before she gets a job at a men's team?" I glared at him.

"She's got one." Mateo said, "One that doesn't involve fronting up to the TV cameras after you've had one of your tantrums." I couldn't believe my ears.

"I've already solved that problem! Wait a couple of minutes and you'll see that I've given her a co-manager for the day."

"Who is it?" said Mateo.

"He won't say," said Emma.

"Won't even tell me, no matter how vulnerable a position he's in."

"Babes," I said, embarrassed, but just in the nick of time, Chester's co-manager appeared on the screen. I turned the volume up, already cackling.

"John Liner," said the interviewer.

"You were Sandra Lane's assistant for the day, it says here, but I didn't see you in the dugout."

"I was in the stands," said John, who had turned so that he could side-eye the camera. His eyebrows rose and fell in the rhythm of every joke.

"Why's it called a stand when you sit in it? Why do Americans drive on the parkway but park on the driveway? I tell you what, though, you get a birds-eye view from up there. Fish fingers! Sweet garden peas!" Emma turned to one of Mateo's guests.

"Bird's Eye is a brand of frozen food."

"We have it here," said the rando.

"He talks too fast for me to process the joke!" The interviewer managed to stop John Liner in his flow.

"What's the mood in the dressing room when it comes to Max Best's ban? A lot of people are saying it was too lenient."

"I went to the Lenient Tower of Pisa, once. Passed my exams easily." John checked the reaction of the interviewer and groaned.

"That's a great gag that no-one's gonna get. But I did help Sandra with the lineup."

"You did?"

"I told her, Sandra, there's one thing you've got to do, and that's get Nasa into space.

"She said to the lads, don't worry about crosses because they're our goalkeeper's bread and butter. I shot to my feet. Don't feed bread to swans!

"I asked, where's Fitzroy Hall? Shush, not so loud, said Sandra. She told me she and Max have a secret code about which players can't play. They communicate with sighs, coughs, or winks, and that tells them all they need to know. I said I'm confused, can you demonstrate? She sighed and pointed to the injuries list. Oh, I said. One sigh's Fitz Hall.

"Plymouth's left back had a grip on Roddy Jones the whole first half, didn't he? He was trying to pull a fast one.

"The lads wanted me to organise dinner to celebrate our victory, so I called a restaurant. Is that the local Nando's, I said. It depends where you're calling from, they said."

"Right. Back to the studio." Emma was cackling away, but then she threw herself into my side.

"Maaax, you're gonna get in trou-bulllll!"

"Me?" I said, amazed.

"I didn't write those jokes!"

My flat was very nice and Gib's new stadium was really impressive. Having a flat inside a brand-new national stadium felt incredible. I wrote poems in celebration of my ascension. Emma enjoyed them, I expect. Mateo's training ground was fantastic - he had grown attached to the project and smashed the budget on every stage. I had only planned to look at it but once there, I borrowed some kit from Glenn Ryder and treated myself to an hour-long session.

"What do you think?" said Mateo, when I rejoined the group at lunch.

"Mint. Top. I could easily imagine using it as a training base for Chester in pre-season, or in the Prem when there's a break and everyone else flies off to Dubai. I'd rather come here."

"High praise," said Mateo.

"The highest. You've nailed it. No wonder our teams are doing well." The three clubs in The Conspiracy were currently placed first, second, and third in the table and unless there was an epic meltdown in the Championship Phase, all three would compete in European competitions next season. Mateo's investment would pay off in no time. Over the weekend, I updated my database, adding about thirty new names, while checking on the progress of everyone else.

A couple of good Spanish lads had made their way to the lesser teams - we would have to poach them in the summer. There were a handful of good players in youth teams who I hadn't seen last time round. Nab them. Otherwise, the squad-building for next season was mostly a case of shuffling players around College, the Magpies, and the Lions. I only earned 2 XP per minute while I was watching the men's teams and 1 point a minute for everything else.

I made sure to get eyes on every player in every match while I was there, but we still had time to re-explore Gibraltar and to chill in the flat. Emma smiled loads and laughed easily. 4 game ban? Make it 4 months. My stash of XP crawled a little higher. XP balance: 4, 300 On the flight back to England, I thought about how best to spend the next couple of weeks.

How could I balance checking up on my clubs (West, Tempsford), with ones I had a short-term interest in (Tranmere, Newport County), find players good enough to get into Chester's squad (Championship, League One, maybe Scotland), find young players who could join my 'academy' (I had tips from all over the country), while also doing the same for the women - and all that while gorging on as much XP as was inhumanly possible? Oh, and I had to investigate the topic of apologies, didn't I?

Well, I knew a few things that deserved apologies. I got my phone out and started to do some research.

Luton Keith: I'm quite interested to know what a football manager does when he's not allowed in his own stadium. Max: I'm allowed in, just not when the match is going on. I can still show new signings around and things like that. John: Have you got any good transfer gossip for us? Max: Ha, nice try. I haven't done any deals but I got a lot of prep work done for future things that might happen. While I was on my tour, I watched as much women's football as possible.

And I made sure to get to Leicester, Wimbledon, West Ham, and of course, Luton. John: That's a very specific list. Why does that set bells off in my head?

In the week after Sandra Lane became the Winningest Female Manager in the History of the Championship, I kept busy. Chester had over 11 million pounds in its war chest and I was in the market for deals of all types at all levels. On Monday, Notts Forest hosted high-flying Newcastle in the Premier League.

That put me agonisingly short of being able to buy 4-2-2-2, to the extent I thought about trying to find some crazy midnight football going on in the area, but I stayed professional, which meant staying late chatting to the directors of football at Notts and Newcastle. Both clubs were interested in loaning squad players to Chester next season and while I wasn't all that keen on the idea, I would have to replace Cheb and potentially Joel Reid.

As an afterthought - or so they believed - I mentioned that I was happy to be rinsed for women's players and mentioned a couple that I would be interested in. Newcastle had a centre back with WSL experience who I hadn't seen in a while but had to be close to her cap. If she was, she would be an option. That night, I drove to Manchester, stayed at my mum's bungalow, and in the morning went to Gemma's house to take Solly for a walk, then headed to Birkenhead to watch Tranmere Rovers train.

The plan was to hang around for most of the day - hitting Playdar, checking out the women's team - and then I'd sit in Diggy Doggy's box sending messages down to Jackie via the physios, just like in the old days. Jackie Reaper's men were still in big trouble at the bottom of League One. They were six points from safety and while the squad and its results had been improving, time was running out.

The situation reminded me of Chester languishing at the bottom of the National League North, but this time there was one big difference - Jackie wasn't cracking under the pressure and felt confident enough in his position to wave me over to join the main group when training was over. Two current Chester players were in the semi-circle, and two of the others would join us in the summer. The lads weren't breathing hard - it had only been a light session.

Jackie said, "Listen up, lads, this here's the renowned troublemaker Max Best. He breaks as many hearts as he breaks laws. He's banned from his own stadium so he's gonna help me out tonight." That got a big reaction. I had Tranmere's squad in my head and spotted a big upturn in Morale. Much as everyone wanted to believe in Jackie Reaper, it was easier to believe the league table when it said Tranmere were one of the shittest teams. Me, though? I was the Soccer Supremo. I was Mr. One Hundred Percent.

I was massive in Slovakia. Well played, Jackie. Adam Summerhays, a Chester player who was on loan at Tranmere, said, "Can you play, boss? We could use a backup winger."

"Backup winger," I muttered, shaking my head. Getting rinsed by my own players!

"Jackie, tell him to drop and give you twenty."

"Sure, Max, sure. Adam, put twenty push-ups on your schedule for tomorrow." Adam mimed.

"I'm writing it down, gaffer." Jackie clapped me on the back.

"Max, have you got any words of wisdom for the group? Give us one of your famous speeches?"

"Why? It's only Northampton." That made Morale jump even higher. Jackie laughed.

"Pretty good, lad, but I reckon you can do even better." I shrugged.

"Look, you don't need a big speech. Since January you've been getting better and better. You're twelfth in the form guide, my special software is purring over your improvement, and the best thing is, there's more to come." Tranmere's average CA had been rising steadily after a disastrous summer. Tonight the best possible eleven would be CA 99, almost the same as Northampton. Thanks to me, Tranmere currently had a group with a high ceiling and they could easily hit triple digits by the end of the season.

The range for League One went from 90 to 110, so logic would dictate that they would earn enough points to get out of trouble.

"Jackie and I had this when we were at Chester in the National League North. We got the team on the right track but it was only in the last couple of weeks that all the work really showed. We flew up the table and we ended up finishing, uh, 12th or 14th or something. If you only saw the final table you would never think we spent so long biting our nails - me - and pulling our hair out - him. I've got to be honest, after seeing this training session, I'm not worried in the slightest. Keep the faith."

"Wow," said Jackie, applauding.

"That was a real barnstormer."

"They don't need fire," I said, with heat, "they need ice! Ice in their veins, darkness in their hearts. Give the oppo nothing, drain their spirit, show you've got more quality, more solutions. First half you grind them with 4-4-2, get ahead, switch to 3-5-2 and pass them to death. Ian Evans to Jackie Reaper. Yes fucking please." Jackie's air of cockiness dimmed. He spoke more quietly.

"We haven't been doing 3-5-2. We did five-at-the-back until the new lads settled in, and ever since it has been 4-4-2, grinding, keeping clean sheets."

"What? Why?"

"Let's talk in private."

"Nah. You invited me to talk to the group. Once you let the vampire in, he can do what he wants. Mwahahaha! All right lads, listen up." I clicked my head from side to side.

"Tonight you're gonna show your fans what you're all about. You're gonna win your duels, you're gonna fight, you're gonna dig trenches. Then you're gonna switch." I clicked my fingers.

"Steel and silk. Beauty and the Beast Mode. The unbearable rightness of being 3-5-2." One of the lads I didn't know well said, "What the hell does all that mean?" Tomzilla smiled in that languid way of his.

"It means we fuck shit up. It means three points." The guy spread his arms.

"Why didn't you just say that?"

After threatening to get Jackie sacked if he didn't do as he was told, I jumped into R2D2 and did a Playdar tour of the area. There were always lunchtime work matches, and in the afternoon there would be games in schools. I found a 13-year-old PA 114 goalkeeper who I decided to recommend to Tranmere - it was his local club after all, and Chester didn't really need him - before hitting the biggest jackpot in a while. Patrick Rhodes was an M/AM RL, making him something of a Swiss army knife.

First half he's a left midfielder, second half he's a right winger, extra time he goes left wing. His PA? Minus 1. So far I had never encountered a minus 1 or minus 2 player who stopped improving, ever, so why should little Patrick Rhodes be any different? The one problem was that he was 9 years old so he was probably never going to play football for Max Best because by the time he got good enough for the Premier League, I would have retired to my private island.

Still, one day he would play professional football and if by some miracle the curse was still active in my head, I would get bonus experience points as Patrick hit career milestones. Would Old Nick be able to survive on a diet of 100 XP here, 200 XP there? A wonderful question for someone who cared. I approached a man on the touchline. I didn't need a perk to guide me to the one shouting, 'fucking get stuck in, Patrick!' He looked way too young to have a 9-year-old son and he was far too aggressive.

He felt my eyes on him and tensed up, but then relaxed.

"Bloody hell," he said.

"Are you Max Best?"

"Disgraced Max Best, I think is my new title."

"Right, yeah," he said, grinning.

"You kicked a ball in some knob's face."

"Ah, yeah, that was a long time ago. I've been up to my old tricks again. Still want to talk to me?"

"About Patrick? Are you serious?"

"Yep. We don't let parents yell at training so if that's a dealbreaker, let me know."

"Yell?" He seemed honestly confused.

"Shit. I don't even know I'm doing it, Max. I just love watching him play."

"Why don't you come to Bumpers one day this week and we can see how you get on."

"You mean, see how Patrick gets on?" I smiled.

"No. You." I turned to Patrick.

"He'll love it. He'll absolutely love it." The dad's face lit up, but then clouded over. Busy face!

"What?" I said.

"Ah, it's just... Chester." It was my turn for face-clouding. The guy wouldn't let me train his kid because of the team he supported? Jesus Christ. I don't think he noticed my change in mood because he was looking away.

"I lost me job, Max. I don't know how I can get to Chester twice a week or whatever."

"Oh," I said, perking up.

"I can't offer loads of money - that's called an inducement and it's one rule I totally agree with. But we're allowed to help with reasonable travel expenses. We'll fill your tank once a week, something like that. Sound good?"

"Sounds great!" And thus I signed a multi-million pound player for the price of some petrol.

I had invited Gabby and Fitzroy - my injured players - to come and watch the Tranmere match with me but while they appreciated the gesture, they wanted to stay in Chester and watch their mates play against Bristol City. I switched my invitation to Ryan Jack. He was Jackie's mate and was more stressed watching Tranmere than any Chester team because at this point, one defeat could spell the end for Jackie's career. (That's what he thought, anyway. Jackie would have six job offers the morning after he was sacked, and they would all be from me.) The one time he stopped catastrophising enough to check his phone, Ryan said, "Max, why am I getting dozens of messages from people saying you're at the Deva Stadium?"

"I don't know because I'm not. Look. See me here next to you?" He groaned.

"What have you done?"

"I haven't done anything."

"Dopplegangers. Lookalikes. Clones," he said, urgently.

"Oh, Ryan," I said.

"Is this what it's like to get old? Is this what awaits me?" He looked from me to his phone and back again, but a harsh peep on the ref's whistle brought his attention back to the pitch. Tony Herbert, future Chester player, had given away a free kick in a dangerous area, much as Zach had done against Leeds. The cross came to nothing. Tomzilla gave Tony a blast, then they fist bumped each other. Really interesting combination, that. I could easily imagine it working for Chester in the Premier League.

While we watched the grim first half, in which both defences were hugely on top, I kept half an eye on my growing pile of XP, and had the shop open so I could buy 4-2-2-2 the very instant I was able. My reaction time was pretty impressive, I think. As I bought the final formation, my pulse quickened. It had been a long, long time getting to this moment. What would come next? How much would it cost? The answers were simultaneously pleasing and annoying.

The bad news was that the curse was adamant about my next step - it was going to force me to spend 15, 000 XP on the Inverted Full Backs perk. Ugh. I had hoped to avoid that and skip straight to total control. The good news was that the rest of the 'tactics tree' was laid out for me. After Inverted Full Backs came Deformation 2. Spending 5, 000 XP would allow me to set any default formation and move two players one zone in any direction.

For example, I could take the default 4-4-2 with two central midfielders and slide them both back into DM. It struck me that if I was clever, that second deformation would let me cover 95+% of all the formations I could ever realistically want to use. In other words, almost-complete tactical control was just 20, 000 XP away. The curse also told me the final perk that awaited me in the tactics path. How did I know it was the final one? The name was a clue: Complete Tactical Flexibility.

That was also 5, 000 XP, which seemed cheap, but the imps had probably worked out that Deformation 2 was the really valuable one. Yeah, okay. I had a beefy target to hit but I would take a big chunk out of it during my ban. On the whole, I was happy with the imps' solution to this question and it was good to know exactly what I needed to do in the future. But what of 4-2-2-2? I hadn't been sure how the imps would have organised it. Four defenders, of course, and two strikers, but what about the other lines?

Two DMs, two CMs, two CAMs - pick two out of three. The imps had gone with CMs and CAMs, which was interesting. If you could get the ball from the defence to the midfield you would have a LOT of attacking potential down the middle. The great shame was that Emiliano would have been perfect in such a formation. It would need amazing attacking full backs, since they would be the ones providing all the width. Lewis and Cheb would suit the role. Wibbers and Pascal behind Colin and Gabby.

Joel and Youngster in the middle. Yeah, it was an interesting formation but it was going to be quite a while before I had the chance to test it.

"Ryan," I said.

"Yes, Max?"

"I didn't invite you here to watch you have a slow-motion meltdown."

"Tough shit, boss, because that's what you're getting." I rubbed him on the back.

"There, there." That made me laugh way too hard, so I finished what I wanted to say before Ryan got too annoyed.

"I need you to go down to the dressing room at half time and make sure Jackie switches to 3-5-2." Ryan stared at me, blankly.

"What?"

"I can't go because, you know, I'm famous. And I don't work here. You've got one of those wonderfully bland, nothingy sort of faces, which is perfect for what we need." I got the feeling I was joking with the wrong person at the wrong time, so I decided I would try that phrase again with someone else. In the meantime, I changed tack, becoming soft and sensitive.

"Jackie's floundering. He's lost at sea. He needs guidance. He needs his old mate Ryan." Ryan tutted, but glanced at the pitch.

"Which subs do you want?"

"No subs," I said.

"Adam can play as the left-sided CB. Tomz will be on the right. Those two will progress the ball into midfield while Tony will be in the centre winning headers and bodying opponents. Josh Owens at wing back is a natural fit. Jackie will know to attack left while locking down the right. Smith-Howes tucks into centre midfield."

"Huh. Will that work?"

"Bro," I said, a tiny bit annoyed.

"And we'll send Lucas Cook on instead of Junior."

"That's a striker for a striker, right?"

"Yeah, it's not tactical. This is the new concept for the rest of the season. Junior first half, Lucas second. Finish strong." Lucas had improved to CA 93, while Junior was stuck on 80.

"Every home match should go from 4-4-2 to 3-5-2. The best thing is, if Jackie loses his nerve at any point, he can revert, pain-free. But Jackie's a 3-5-2 manager, Ryan. He should do it as much as poss. Yeah, it's good he was willing to put the team first and go safety-first, dour, Ian Evans-esque, but now's the time to start mixing in his own style. Do you know what I mean?" Ryan thought about it.

"Managers get more out of their teams when they play the formations they like. Is that, er, science?" I clapped him on the back.

"Great question. Great question. I don't have hard data, only a feeling." A feeling based on knowing a manager's preferred formation and what they were actually using at any given time.

"I think it's a factor."

"That's why you were messing with the Leeds guy. Trying to bait him into using the wrong formation. Is that it?"

"Yep. Also to sow division between him and the fans. I'm going to do it to Wrexham and Luton, too, if I can." Ryan nodded.

"You think we'll have Luton in the playoffs. Why Wrexham?"

"A gift for our fans."

"You've got a heart of gold, haven't you?" I smiled; the half-time whistle went.

"Hear that? That's the sound of you showing Jackie where the ignition button is."

"Ignition?"

"On his rocket. This club's going to the moon! Well," I added, leaning back.

"Mid-table obscurity."

Extracts from Rovers Return, the third most active Tranmere Rovers unofficial fan forum. Tranmere Rovers 3 Northampton Town 0 - Match Discussion Thread. 452 replies.

John King's_love_child Yessss! Come on! What a performance!

Morecambe_White We! Are! Staying up! Said we are staying up!

Fredly_Submarine I can't believe this! Max Best has saved us from relegation again! We should send the Football Association a bouquet of flowers (and a hamper) to thank them for giving him that ban.

Honey_I_Shrunk_Pat_Nevin Fred, you know I love you and you're connected to insiders at the club but you don't half talk shit sometimes. What in the name of all that is holy did this win have to do with Max fucking Best?

Fredly_Submarine I'm glad you asked! Settle down, children, and I will tell you a tale. A tale of loan signings, backroom deals, an unexpected appearance at training, and a mysterious visitor to our dressing room at half time. [8, 000 words of well-structured prose follow.] On-the-whistle match report from News of the Blues, the leading news and views platform for all things Chester FC. Author: D. Cox Super Sandy Makes Robins Look Bobbins; The Other One's A Crane In the Arse No Max? No problem.

Chester outplayed their guests for long periods here at the Deva Stadium in a match that was rescheduled because of our cup run. The 2-0 win was well-deserved and the visitors could have no complaints. Sandra named a strong but intriguing starting eleven in her preferred 3-4-2-1 formation.

Owen Elmham was in goal, but there was no place for club captain Christian Fierce. Magnus Evergreen played centre back in his stead, while Andrew Harrison was in ahead of Youngster. Pascal Bochum scored after a high-tempo move involving six players, and Cheb proved the worth of Chester's expensive new defensive wall simulator when he caressed a free kick into the top left. Officially, Chester's 18th league win of the season was watched by a healthy crowd of 10, 641.

(A rare match that wasn't a complete sell-out, but one can forgive the Bristol fans for not taking up their full allocation on a miserable Tuesday night.) But was, perhaps, the real attendance 10, 642? For there was a strange addition to the stadium. A large crane was parked behind the PetPride End, and from that crane dangled a perspex box. Inside the box was a mysterious figure dressed in full Best 77 kit. It was hard to make out the figure's face and it appeared to remain completely motionless.

(Older readers will remember David Blaine dangling above the river Thames in a similar box.) The figure was holding a large screen which flashed messages from time to time. The first read: I'm not IN the stadium, lol. Other texts promoted a crane hire company - that answered one of my questions - and Chester Zoo, which explains where Max found a large transparent box at short notice. Is it against the FA's rules to watch a match from an animal cage that is being suspended above a stadium?

One suspects we're about to find out. We remain 5th in the league but it is very congested up there - anything could happen. And knowing Max, anything will.

Over the next few days I battled Roddy Jones in the morning, smashed Playdar in the afternoon, and travelled the country following tips and watching matches in the evening. A hot prospect at Crewe Alexandra turned out to be PA 104. (I earned 90 XP watching Leicester City's under 23s.) A left-sided attacking midfielder at Oxford turned out to be PA 93. (I earned 650 XP watching West Ham and appeared on a fan podcast.) A kid at Peterborough who seemed nailed-on to be my dream box-to-box midfielder was only PA 96.

(I earned 570 XP watching potential playoff rivals Norwich City and checking on how Duggers was getting on. He was a PA 143 creative left-sided player - if I could sign him back for the 1. 4m I'd sold him for, that would be a great deal given that he had improved in the meantime. Sadly for me, the Norwich manager was starting to like Duggers and he was getting decent minutes. Ah, well.) Saturday, March 4 - Match Three of Max's Ban I helped Sandra pick the team for Stoke, then drove to AFC Wimbledon, where I made no attempt to blend in or hide. With Briggy bodyguarding me, I talked to Dons fans, posed for selfies, and laughed and joked with some of the club's volunteers.

"What are you doing?" said Briggy, as we retook our seats for the second half.

"What?" I said.

"You're being funny and charming and not even slightly weird. It's distressing."

"I am all those things except distressing."

"What are you up to?"

"I explained what I'm doing to Henri. He called it an apology tour." Briggy frowned hard at that, but she let it drop.

I followed the Stoke match on my phone, but only via the BBC's live text page because I didn't want to miss out on XP. I would watch the match from start to finish later on. Stoke 0 Chester 1 Amazing long-range goal from William Roberts! He absolutely leathered that one! Stoke 0 Chester 2 Stabbed in from close range by Colin Beckton! From a corner, there was a scramble in the box and Beckton was alert to the possibilities. Chester are cruising, and it looks like three wins in three for Sandra Lane.

Stoke 0 Chester 3 Zach Green with a powerful header from a corner! It was another well-designed routine and the big Texan jumped high and headed low. Great cross, great finish, and Stoke fans are already heading for the exits! Who needs Max Best? Stoke 1 Chester 3 Doyle has clawed one back for the home team. Have Chester made a few too many changes? They have a few too many young players on the pitch right now and Stoke sense opportunity. This one's not over! Stoke 2 Chester 3 Amazing scenes in the Potteries!

Stoke have been playing some lovely football in the second half but haven't been able to generate much threat. One loose pass from Owen Elmham has gifted them a goal and now it's all to play for! The home fans are roaring their team on. Where's Max Best when you need him? Stoke 2 Chester 3 Five minutes of injury time to be played. Sandra Lane looks nervous. Is she going to be the first female manager to blow a three-goal lead in the Championship? She loves to set new records but that's one she'll be keen to avoid.

Stoke 3 Chester 3 Five minutes of - Stoke 2 Chester 3 Apologies. We had a technical issue a moment ago. Please refresh your screen to get rid of the false entry. Stoke 2 Chester 3 - FT She's done it! Sandra Lane looks sheepish on the sideline. She made one too many changes but the three points are in the bag and that's all that matters. Who needs Max Best? Chester stay 5th but have almost caught up to Luton in 4th. 3rd looks out of reach for now, but Wolves will be worried about their recent dip in form.

That said, the gap is probably too big. My prediction is that the playoffs will be Wolves, Chester, Luton, and West Brom.

Luton Keith: Your men's team have been flying but the women haven't had things all their own way, for once. Max: That's true. Keith: I have to say I had documentary fatigue and couldn't stomach watching another one, but I finally got round to watching Chesterness and it wasn't what I expected. It's quite raw, isn't it? You're not whitewashing everything. It's not corporate. Max: 'It's not corporate' is one of the best compliments of all time, Keith. Thanks for that.

Sunday, March 5 Women's FA Cup Quarter Final: Chester versus Liverpool My ban didn't extend to women's football, so I was able to co-manage alongside Jay Cope in our QF against Liverpool. The morning started amazingly - our starting eleven smashed through the CA 100 barrier for the first time. (It was 100. 7, in fact.) Liverpool had an average of 119, which according to Max Maths made them 20% better than us. Still, with good tweaks and optimisations along the way, we would close the gap, right? Wrong.

Liverpool scored two goals in the first ten minutes. Their coaching staff had done their homework and attacked down the wing that Kisi Yalley was patrolling. Kisi was far better going forward than she was defending. Against normal teams that wasn't a problem, but it was made painfully clear that top sides would not only see the opportunity but would have the players to exploit it. We swapped Sarah and Kisi around and that solved the problem - for ten minutes. Then Sarah got a knock and had to leave the pitch.

We had to move Kisi back to the right and use Mari as a CM. The Welsh midfield general was a decent replacement but with one fell swoop, we lost 23 points in CA. Jay and I made some tweaks to give Kisi a little more protection and slowly, the women fought their way into the game. The formation achieved its main purpose, which was to give us a way to keep the ball even against good teams, but without Sarah we couldn't generate any real threat.

We threw Angel on with half an hour to go, but she barely even got a kick of the ball. Not her fault. Frustrating. Out of the cup. In the dressing room, Kisi started to apologise, but I stepped in.

"You don't apologise for our tactics, Kisi. Jay and I made the decision to have a 3-4-3 season and it got us this far. Now we focus on getting to the next level, right? It's my job to look for external solutions, and it's your job to offer internal solutions. Kisi, if you want to play right mid in the WSL you're gonna have to work on your defensive game." She looked down.

"Are you gonna put me on Gruels?"

"Gruels are fun!" Angel said, "Yeah, for you, because you get to bully Roddy Jones." I put my hands up.

"Sorry for being good." I scanned the benches. Morale was low, as you might expect.

"Ladies, listen. We're not the finished article, but we're getting there. We've got four league matches and the Cheshire Cup semi final and then it's the big one. Our season's all about Birmingham City away now, isn't it? That's the one we need to win to stand a chance of winning the title. Win that and we'll play Liverpool and City and United every week and it'll be tough every week but we'll grow every week. So have a sulk, treat yourself to a moan, take tomorrow off, then on Tuesday it's back to work, okay?"

Their Morale didn't shift much, but there were plenty of nods. They would be all right, and next time we played Liverpool, I would have more tactical control. The 1, 330 XP I'd earned managing that match would help make sure of that.

Next week, my tour of the country continued apace. It started in Manchester, where I watched West Didsbury's women's team train at Brookburn Road for the last time before a huge fleet of construction vehicles tore the place up. By way of an apology, I took the women out to dinner. It took a few bottles of wine, but they finally forgave me for the inconvenience I was causing. On Tuesday I went to a clinic to visit a League One player who had just done his ACL.

The goal was to cheer him up and to get him to sign up to Physio Dean's data-sharing project. I was growing pessimistic that Dean would ever get actionable results, but he told me we had to be patient. The player was pretty amazed to see me.

"You've got some nerve coming here after what you said about my haircut." Anyway, he was happy for the company; it's shit being injured. In the evening I went to watch Notts County, who had a strange new way of running their first team. The manager had the normal amount of control over match days but when a game was over he had to meet with a 'technical group' and together they would go over the events of the 90 minutes and give the manager things to work on.

They very generously allowed me to sit in on one of those meetings and while I have no doubt they held back on some discussions because I was there, the whole concept was just fascinating. We did the same thing at Chester but with our coaching staff, analysts, and sometimes a senior player. The Notts County version was like meeting external consultants. ('Based on our findings, we have come to the conclusion you should not rotate goalkeepers.') Non-football men being invited into the inner sanctum to lecture an actual football manager was something of a culture shock, to be honest, but it was an interesting approach that potentially had some merit. On Wednesday, Sandra managed the first team in the Cheshire Cup semi-final. I could have played and managed in that one - probably - but how my bans affected the Cheshire Cup was a grey area that neither the FA nor the imps wanted to clear up.

It was safer to tell the boys I wanted that win and to show it by asking Sandra to take charge plus naming an extremely strong squad. They got the job done while I went back to the North East to talk transfers with Newcastle United, Sunderland, and Middlesbrough. With the Toon (Newcastle) I was in shopping mode - their women's team had that centre back who would give us a little extra squad depth, and they had a right wing back who would fill in for a season while Kisi got to grips with the WSL.

The other two clubs were potential destinations for Zach and Joel. Both players had higher CAs than the average of that team, so they were astute targets. Sunderland told me they would be interested in Joel at 1. 5 million. (Too low, not really an option, but good to have one 'bid' that I could use to start an auction.) Middlesbrough were surprisingly keen on Zach Green. In a fumbling, awkward way, I prised a potential number from my counterpart.

"We don't have our budget for next season finalised but based on our internal metrics, I could imagine it would be something like 3 million." That... was an interesting amount, but my first thoughts were of Zach's private life. Was Middlesbrough too far from Chester? He would be two and a half hours from Brooke. He would have to leave his house in Wrexham, take his dogs.

While I pondered those questions, Boro's director of football confessed that Zach was on their radar because Dazza, the Australian striker they had bought from us, had been complaining that training wasn't as tough as at Chester. Dazza had told the Boro bigwigs that Zach was an absolute mentality monster, always giving it a hundred percent in every session and that Zach's drive had pushed Dazza to better himself.

"He would fit your squad like a glove," I agreed, in a distracted way that was probably the best bit of sales I had done on the whole trip.

While in that part of the country, I Playdarred a PA 113 striker and got him a trial at South Shields, a small club I had a weird soft spot for. On Thursday I made my way down towards Luton and blitzed the phone. I had a chat with the manager of Stoke City and asked how he liked his midfield being overwhelmed by Andrew Harrison.

Some banter later, I suggested that Andrew would fit into Stoke's midfield, that Stoke was close enough to Manchester that Andrew's girlfriend (Gemma) wouldn't kill me, and that I needed the money to pay for the new stand and to pay all the fines I was accruing. The manager said he wasn't in charge of transfers but he could imagine the club would be interested in doing a deal at 1. 3 million. Before we ended the call, he said, "Why've you been going on all those podcasts all over the place?"

"Have you listened to any of them?"

"I've only seen a few clips."

"Ah, right. Well, I'm just being friendly. We're all one, big, happy family, aren't we? The football family." There was a pause.

"What are you up to?"

XP balance: 4, 300 Luton John: There's something I'm stuck on, if I could ask about it. You mentioned Leicester, Wimbledon, West Ham, and Luton, and I'm checking my phone here and you've done fan media appearances with all those clubs. Max: I love fan media. Newspapers, talkSPORT, their coverage is so reductive. Even The Sportsman is riddled with clickbait and ads.

You listen to a fan-made podcast and then hear the same topic on the radio and the so-called professional coverage sounds so babyish and is so brief it's actually embarrassing. You see the coverage of my recent incident. It's clickbait headlines for days but if you listen to a fan podcast from any club - except Leeds maybe, I didn't listen to any of those - you hear that there's a lot of sympathy for me.

Fans say things like, he stood up for his club, he's got the passion you want, he's a bit of a knob but I'd have him here. Then they get into what I did and they say why it's wrong from a holistic perspective, like the safety of the stewards and the match officials and so on. It's nuanced and it's reasoned and I love it. Keith: Hear, hear. John: But Leicester, Wimbledon, West Ham, Luton. Lots of podcasts about women's football. There's something behind it. What's the connection? Max: It's this.

Henri: For the listeners, Max is pointing to a tricolour flag. There is text. Luton Town, established 1885, betrayed by the FA 2008. Max: A lot of people told me to put out a statement apologising for what I did, and I thought, hang on. Do we have a culture of apologising in this sport? Let's start with the FA. Do they apologise for their mistakes? That's what my tour was all about.

I drove all around the country - in an electric car, so don't worry about the emissions - talking to people who had been shafted by the Football Association, asking if they ever got an apology. John: Oh! Apology tour. Brilliant! Max: We all know our wonderful FA banned women from playing football for actual decades. Why? Because it was taking money from the men's game. Shocking and disgraceful. Keith: Hear, hear!

Max: I found myself at Leicester City and asked their fans about an incident where the England captain kicked a Leicester City player hard in the face. Shoelaces right in the gob! When the FA moved to punish him, the England captain said okay then I'm not going to the World Cup. Good luck winning that without me. The FA folded like a deck chair. One rule for star players, another rule for the normos. Shocking and disgraceful. Keith: Agreed!

Max: Wimbledon had their club stolen from them and moved to Milton Keynes while the FA twiddled their thumbs. Shocking and disgraceful. Keith: Absolutely awful. Max: The FA ruined the life of a West Ham player, accusing him of being involved in a betting ring. A judge found in favour of the player and blasted the FA for its stupidity and incompetence. It turned out the entire case rested on them not understanding the use of a sarcastic emoji! Shocking and disgraceful.

Henri: That injustice could happen to any of us. How can a pensioner understand how young men talk? Max: Luton Town went into administration - a brilliant piece of work by the Luton fans, by the way! You saved your club in the most imaginative way. I think about it all the time. Henri: What happened? Max: There was an absolute fuckwit who owned the club. The fans stopped coming to matches and he was forced to take out loans to keep the lights on.

The fans couldn't buy the club but they could buy shares in the company that owned the loan. They used their shareholdings to call the loan in, knowing the fuckwit couldn't repay it. They forced the club into administration, then bought the club. Henri: That's utter genius. Chapeau, my Lutonian friends, chapeau. Max: How did the FA reward Luton fans for their brilliance?

The FA, who did fuck all to help save the club, gave Luton the harshest points deduction in the history of English football, condemning them to relegation before the season had ever started. Many clubs go into administration, but only one has ever had a 30-point penalty. Why did the FA treat Luton so harshly? No-one knows. It's shocking and disgraceful.. Keith: Oh my God. Max: The FA betrayed Luton, Wimbledon, and every woman in this country.

They routinely bring the game into disrepute with their weird, arbitrary rulings. I accept my punishment but I don't accept that I should apologise. Not to them. I'll apologise as soon as the FA apologise to the women of this country, to Leicester, to West Ham, to Wimbledon, to Luton. That's what this apology tour has been about. I have travelled up and down the country asking people, hey, did the FA ever apologise for what they did to you? For how much damage they caused you?

Not a single person has ever been able to tell me yes. I stand with Wimbledon and I stand with Luton. Football fans in this country deserve better. Henri: Max, as I remember, the FA did sneak out a half-hearted apology for their ban on women's football. It's not much, but it's something. Max: [Audibly grinning.] Great, so it's possible to get an apology out of them. [His voice hardens.] Now do Luton. Keith: Oh my God. I can't believe I'm about to say this... I love Max Best!

John: Thank you for gatecrashing this recording, Max. I don't think our subscribers will mind that we don't talk about last night's match. It has been a long time since anyone outside our own fan base talked about the shocking and disgraceful way we were treated. You're welcome to come on this show any time. Keith: We wouldn't mind a little more warning next time... Max: Hang on, lads. Thanks for those kind words but you're not getting off that lightly. Keith: What do you mean?

Max: This is the Luton versus Wrexham review episode and I'm going to review what I saw. [He rubs his hands.] Henri, mate, I'm about to banter Luton and Wrexham into an end-of-season tailspin. Henri: Mon dieu. Don't say that part out loud. Max: Watch and learn, Henri. First things first, lads. What was up with your captain last night? He was walking around midfield utterly bewildered, like he was trying to solve a Rubik's cube. And is your manager all right?

The last ten minutes you had a left winger at left back, a left back at centre back, and a centre back in midfield. Wow. But let's go back to the starting elevens. What was your reaction when the team news came out? Keith: Well - Max: Because let me tell you - I had thoughts. [He cackles.]