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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.

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.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

"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

Coaching Goalkeepers

Coaching Outfield Players

Determination

Judging Player Ability

Judging Player Potential

Level of Discipline

Man Management

Motivating

Tactical Knowledge

Working with Youngsters

Coaching Style

Technique-based