.

I work in a call centre doing customer service. I make 350 pounds a week, and spend 200 just on rent. My house is a narrow shithole in a place with such a violent history that the BBC refers to it as 'the notorious Moss Side area of Manchester'. You know, when they're announcing a shooting or whatever. It's pretty much the only area I can afford to rent a house on my own.

I overslept, but when I finally did wake up, I felt fine. Not groggy, no hangover.

I decided to turn up for work after lunch. My boss asked me why I was late and I blagged it. "I told you I'd be at the doctor, remember?"

She didn't remember, but I was the employee with the best stats, and call centres are all about stats. Also - I didn't take the piss. When I called in sick, I was sick. When I said I was late because the bus crashed, I showed her a selfie of me and the crime scene. She pursed her lips and suggested that maybe next time I could put my doctor’s appointment in writing. Absolutely, my dear. Next time I have an out-of-body experience, I'll let you know in advance. I stayed late to make up the hours, and also because for once the job felt good. It was normal, you know? Our customers always had the same problems, so most of the time the job was pretty mindless. Solve the problem, end the call. Solve the problem, end the call. My stats were great.

I left work feeling better. Whatever had happened the night before, hadn't happened since. I'd gone past thousands and thousands of people and not seen any more numbers. I'd even seen a group of lads in their kit on the way to have a kickabout. Nothing.

I was looking forward to getting home, making a tea, and dunking those chocolate hobnobs until they got devilishly soggy. I hopped onto the bus, went upstairs, and peered out of the window. Curry place, second-hand shop, terraced houses. Red bricks, modern Tescos, student flats. The same things I'd been seeing day in, day out, since I left 6th form. The big park. Wait, what? I stormed downstairs, but too late. I'd fallen asleep or something and missed my stop. I wasn't, like, in south Manchester or anything, but it was still annoying. I could get a bus back a couple of stops or walk a little extra. It was a nice evening - easy decision.

Platt Fields is pretty famous in Manchester. It's a huge park named after Platt Lane, a nearby road. It's not that far from Maine Road, where Manchester City's ground used to be. If you haven't heard of Manchester City, they're quite well known in the area. There's a decent sports complex on Platt Lane that City's academy used to use.

My feet were operating with a mind of their own. I was halfway through Platt Fields, heading towards Platt Lane. Where I knew there'd be some football going on. I grunted and turned myself more north, to where my house was. But then again, I couldn't avoid football for the rest of my life, could I? If I saw a football match and there were no numbers, then last night had simply been a hallucination.

I turned left again, and ambled towards the all-weather football pitches. I heard a referee's whistle and all the hairs on my neck stood on end. I took a deep breath, and walked faster. Let's get this over with...

Conrad Etuhu

Born 28.9.1999

(Age 23)

Nigerian/English

Acceleration 4

Stamina 1

Heading 2

Strength 2

Tackling 2

Jumping 5

Bravery 7

Technique 1

Pace 4

preferred foot R

Passing 1

Dribbling 1

Midfielder (Right)