Glory Of The Football Manager System

Sarah came up the aisle and sat next to me at the front.

”Daniel.”

”Sarah.”

She had the iPad in her lap but she was not opening it.

”I was going to read you the list of records you have broken this season. I am not going to. You already know.”

”Yeah.”

”What I came up here to tell you is the bit Connor said to me at the back of the bus ten minutes ago.”

”What did he say.”

”He said you walked into the under-eighteens canteen on his second day at the academy in 2016 and you asked him what he was eating.

He had a plate of cheap pasta because cheap pasta was what the canteen did on Tuesday lunchtime and Connor at sixteen years old had not yet found the table where the third-year lads were eating decent pasta.

He said you sat with him for the twenty minutes it took him to eat the pasta and you talked to him about Lewisham because his mother is from Lewisham and your nan was from Lewisham.

He said you remembered his mother’s road and he asked you how you remembered and you said you had a notebook of every academy lad’s mother’s road from your first week at the under-eighteens job. He said he has been at the table with the decent pasta since the next Tuesday.”

I did not say anything.

”He said you are going to ring his mother at quarter past three.”

”Yeah.”

”I am ringing her at quarter past three too. To set up the car for next season. She is at every match Connor plays from this point.”

”Yeah.”

She put the iPad on the seat between us. Did not open it. Looked out the window with me for the last forty minutes of the journey.

[Etihad. Dressing Room. 15:42 BST.]

The City lads were one corridor over with the music on. Real champagne. The FA had not been at the Etihad and the FA’s no-alcohol rule had not been at the Etihad either. The music was loud enough to come through the wall and I could hear Don’t Stop Believin’ on a loop because somebody in there had decided that Don’t Stop Believin’ was the song.

I rang Connor’s mum at quarter past three.

She picked up on the second ring.

”Mrs. Blake.”

”Yes?”

”Daniel Walsh.”

”Mr. Walsh.”

”Your son is starting at the Etihad today. Centre-forward. The team-sheet goes public in fifteen minutes. I wanted you to know first.”

She did not say anything for a long second.

”Mr. Walsh.”

”Yeah.”

”You rang me on the twenty-third of April last year at quarter past three in the afternoon. Connor was at the under-eighteens at training. You told me you were promoting him. You said the same words. I wanted you to know first.”

”I remember.”

”I am sat in the same chair, Mr. Walsh.”

”All right.”

”Connor will score today. I have his nan with me. We have the kettle on.”

”Mrs. Blake.”

”Yes?”

”You’re at every match next season. Sarah is going to ring you on Tuesday. The club will sort a car.”

”Daniel.”

”Yeah.”

”My boy.”

”He’s a good footballer, Mrs. Blake. He has been since the day I met him in the canteen.”

”He’ll never get over it, you know. You doing this.”

”I’m not doing anything, Mrs. Blake. He’s the one on the team-sheet.”

”You did the bit before the team-sheet. You’re the reason there is a team-sheet.”

She hung up.

I sat on the bench at the door for a minute with the phone in my hand. Then I stood up. Did the team talk.

”Lads. Guard of honour at the tunnel. We let them through. Then we play the ninety. We do not lay down. They want their hundred. They are not getting it from us. Connor. Score me one.”

”Yeah, gaffer.”

Bell at the bottom of the tunnel.

[The Tunnel. 15:57 BST.]

The guard of honour was the Sunday bit of it.

City came through the tunnel. Kompany at the front. He shook Mama’s hand and held it.

”Mama.”

”Vinnie.”

”You won the cup yesterday.”

”Yeah.”

”Funny old year.”

”Funny old year.”

Agüero behind him, fist on his chest as he passed. De Bruyne. Sterling. The rest.

Pep at the touchline.

He hugged me. Held me.

”Daniel.”

”Pep.”

”I’ll keep it short today, mate. I am going to say this once. You did something this year that I have not seen done in any league in any country in twenty years. Second place on fifty million pounds against four hundred million pounds.

Three trophies between you and Thursday. Twenty-eight years old. I am the manager of the side that beat you to the league and I am telling you on the touchline of my own ground on the day my lads lift the league that what you did this year is bigger than what we did this year. Do not let anybody tell you otherwise. Including me. If I tell you otherwise in October I am lying to you.”

”Pep.”

”Yeah.”

”Thank you.”

”Now we play. Then I lift. Then we go again.”

He walked to his dugout.

The Etihad caught the hug. The big screen ran it on a loop. Then the Etihad started doing the thing the Etihad had decided to do when the team-sheets had been printed.

There’s only one Daniel Walsh.

Forty-five thousand of them. Manchester knew the lad on the away touchline was from Moss Side and Manchester was not letting the day happen without saying it.

I stood at the touchline with my hands at my sides because I did not know what to do with my hands. At the end I lifted one. The Etihad cheered.

Bray next to me on the bench, quietly: ”All right, gaffer. Now stop being from Manchester for ninety minutes.”

The whistle.

BLEEP.

[14’.]

James at the centre circle off a Mili ball.

Connor had peeled off Otamendi into the channel. James saw him. Outside-of-the-right pass curved past Otamendi and met Connor at the corner of the box.

One touch round Otamendi. Ederson came. Connor took the shot under Ederson’s right hand.

Whump.

[Manchester City 0 - Crystal Palace 1.]

Connor turned and walked back to the centre circle. Did not change expression because Connor at twenty had been in the senior dressing room thirteen months and Connor knew how to walk back to the centre circle.

Mama got to him at the halfway line. Put a hand on the back of his neck and said something into his ear that made Connor laugh.

Pato on the bench on his feet waving for the second.

In the away end three thousand of them. The drum at the back.

[36’.]

Agüero off a De Bruyne lay-off. One touch. Bottom corner.

Thud.

[Manchester City 1 - Crystal Palace 1.]

City came back. The crowd came back. Pep on his touchline turned to Mikel.

[HT.]

Short. ”Hold this. Pope. Mama line. Connor stay on Otamendi. Anybody with a knock comes off.”

[67’.]

De Bruyne half-volley. BANG. Pope at full stretch.

The rebound at his feet. Sterling. BANG. Pope’s face.

He held it.

[78’.]

Sterling free kick under the wall. Skhh. Pope’s left foot.

[88’.]

Sterling header from a De Bruyne corner. Pope tipped it over.

[90’+4.]

Bernardo whipped in. Stones at the back post. Thud. Pope caught it.

The whistle.

BLEEP. BLEEP. BLEEP.

[FULL TIME: Manchester City 1 - Crystal Palace 1.] [Manchester City: 98 points. Premier League Champions.] [Crystal Palace: 90 points. 2nd.]

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