Soccer Supremo - A Sports Progression Fantasy

14.

LEAVE THE CAPITAL WASTELAND

The Brig drove while my mind raced. Every police car seemed to be hunting us, every rando speedster that came up our arse seemed ready to knock us off the road. My right forearm felt like it had ballooned up, making it seem like I was wearing a Pip-Boy from the Fallout video game franchise.

I suffered in stoic silence, a sentence which is at least half true.

My dread increased as we approached the border, getting ever closer - what would await us? - but suddenly we were across. ”Oh my God,” I said, relieved ay eff.

”The vegan has landed,” said Briggy.

”Houston, we don’t have a problem,” said the Brig.

Briggy, checking my reaction, said, ”He’s not impressed.”

”We could turn back and try our other lines,” suggested the Brig.

”I’m impressed,” I said, gently pulling the fake moustache off. ”You crushed it.” Like the dude crushed my arm, I wanted to add, but restrained myself. My bodyguards had earned some banter.

We pulled into the first service station on the motorway and were met by Dylan, the burly defender I had coached for a year, and Hot Rod, a midfielder from the same Welsh army regiment. Dylan gave the others their phones, while he had a change of clothes for me. I couldn’t face pulling my arm out of my mechanic suit. ”I think I’ll stay in this, unless it endangers the mission.”

Dylan eyed it nervously. ”How bad is it?”

”Bad,” I said. ”I might need your help in the bathroom.” His eyes widened. ”Mate,” I said, lowering my voice and looking around. ”I might need you to hold my tool. Belt.”

”Fuck,” he said, laughing. ”I’ve driven across Europe and this is the thanks I get.”

”Come stand here so I can sideways hug you.”

He did, and he clapped me on the back a couple of times until he realised I was wincing with pain. ”Sorry, Max. If it’s that bad, we should get you to a hospital. The Brig will know the nearest ED.”

”What?”

”Emergency department.”

”Huh. I call it A and E.” I spotted the door I’d been looking for. ”I’m gonna use the toilet.”

A few minutes later I emerged back into the main area. Briggy was texting. ”Max, here’s the plan. We’re going straight to Munich. A doctor’s going to go early, open the medical centre and sort you out. We’ll be there in five hours and you’ll get top treatment, private. If we go to a hospital, who knows how long we’ll be waiting?”

”It’s almost certainly going to be quicker going to Munich,” agreed the Brig.

I couldn’t think straight. ”I’m in your hands.”

”And Emma will be waiting for you,” said Briggy.

”There we go,” I said. ”Decided.”

”We brought food,” said Hot Rod. ”Drinks.”

”Top,” I said, trying to smile but not doing a good job of it. ”Maybe later. I feel a bit sick.”

”Let’s roll out,” said the Brig.

Briggy took the driver’s seat and I guessed the guys in the other car swapped roles, also. As we went around Vienna, Briggy took calls through the car. The Brig texted. It all felt solid. Planned. Competent.

Five hours to suffer, but then Emma would be at the end.

Emma. The pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

Richard Of York Gave Battle In Vain.

I closed my eyes and tried in vain to sleep.

***

FIND SANCTUARY

Wednesday, December 9

Säbener Strasse was dark but there were a few vehicles in the car park, and enough light for Dylan to say, ”Look at this place! This your new gaff, Max?”

”It’s massive, lads. Goes for miles. The security guards call it ’the Mojave’, after the vast, featureless desert. I came here at night one time and this security guard came up to me and said, ’Patrolling the Mojave almost makes you wish for a nuclear winter.’ Um... Am I the only one who played New Vegas? Fallout, yes? War... war never changes. Nobody knows what I’m talking about? Never mind.” Dylan and Hot Rod had come a long way to help. They were Wrexham fans but despite that, they liked football. ”It’s amazing, lads. I’ll see if someone will give you a tour when it gets light. If I’m not escorted off the premises.”

”Why would you be? For winning eight-nil?”

”Eight?” I said.

”You didn’t know?” said Hot Rod.

”No,” I said. I hadn’t thought to ask. I’d done what I set out to do and knowing the score wouldn’t make my pain go away. I was also feeling sore that I had been fired. Now that I was within sight of medical care, I got hungry for info. ”Who was Man of the Match?”

”Claude Sonko, I think.”

”Did they do Relationism after I was gone?”

Dylan shook his head. ”The match was abandoned. What do you call it? Halted. The players went inside and the stadium was cleared. The teams went out behind closed doors and finished the match but neither side had much stomach for it. It was just a formality, you know, to complete the fixture.”

I nodded. The Bayern lads had just seen their manager get chased out of the stadium by hundreds of hoodlums. The exact dimension of the Prime Minister’s humiliation was perhaps not their foremost concern. With me long gone, Hoggy would have been the manager for the last twenty minutes and he would have reverted to 4-2-3-1.

As Briggy led us through the building to the medical rooms, I wondered if Hoggy would get any credit for the win. Or all the credit, maybe. Kill-stealing!

I couldn’t find him on the list of the best managers in Europe, which suggested he got no credit or the curse hadn’t updated yet. He was still rated the 51st best in Germany.

I checked my own ratings.

Your Reputation in Germany: Good

Your World Reputation: Poor

Taking over as Bayern manager had propelled me straight to ’good’, which was higher than my reputation of ’average’ in England. The rating didn’t give me much pleasure because it was clear that the curse was taking some of Bayern’s reputation and lending it to me. The world reputation was lower but more satisfying. I had moved from ’unknown’, through ’very poor’, and landed on ’poor’ thanks to my adventures in the Conference League plus my two wins in the Champions League.

While I was getting X-rayed - blasted with radiation, in other words - I had a very minor epiphany. I had always wondered how the reputation updates actually worked. Sometimes I moved up the list during a season, but the vast majority of the changes happened during the big end-of-season update. I understood the process better now. Reputations were constantly shifting but the day-to-day differences were so tiny that it all looked glacial. The end of the season update hit like an earthquake because a big chunk of managers in the database left their posts or retired. The pack got reordered and reshuffled, moving me higher.

After the X-rays, I went in the MRI. The scanner gave better images so it seemed to me we could have skipped the part where I got partially mutated, but the doctor knew what he was doing. Maybe he wanted to see if I would turn into a super mutant.

After checking the results for a while, he declared that my arm was ’way fucked’ and told me he was going to ’unfuck’ my bones and set my arm in a ’fucking massive’ plaster cast. It’s possible I’m mis-remembering that conversation because that was about the time he gave me a handheld canister - it looked like a vape - and told me to huff on it. Penthrox, it said on the side. It tasted foul and made me woozy and him dicking around with my actual bones hurt like shit anyway.

”Imagine how bad it would have been without the stimpak,” said the doc. ”Hold onto that for a while. At least we know you’re not a synth,” he added, darkly.

”What?”

”I didn’t say anything,” he said. He was nearly ready to start casting me.

”Wait,” I said. ”Take a photo of this. Some people won’t believe it’s really broken. Where’s Briggy? Brig, take a photo of this. Doc, can you get in shot, please? No, don’t look sad! That’ll let them know they hurt me. We need to be jolly.”

We posed, smiling and giving a thumbs up, while the Brig took photos of what was a nasty wound.

”Send that to Beth, will you? Send the X-ray, too. She’s mad at me for not giving her any interviews while I’ve been here. That’ll help.”

I went back to sucking on my vape thing while the doc sorted me out with the cast; the result was pleasingly solid. I went from being vulnerable to feeling taken care of, all tucked in. Time would do the rest. Six to eight weeks out, the doc said. Typical - Chester had one big game left in the season, Sunderland in the FA Cup, and it was exactly four weeks away. I healed fast but it would be close. I would miss the Vans Trophy round of 16, too. My next game as a player would most likely be against Rotherham, Carlisle, or Shrewsbury Town. Something of a step down in terms of glamour...

Briggy reappeared - she had gone to get Emma - and let everyone into the room with me. Emma side-hugged me, then profusely thanked the doc for coming in early.

There was something unreal about seeing my dream woman, two Welshmen, and my bodyguards in a room in Bayern Munich’s training centre at five in the morning. I think everyone else felt it too because the conversations were a bit mad, a bit manic.

When things settled, Emma touched my cast, gently. ”Oh, babes,” she said. ”You won’t be able to lift weights or do your push-ups. What about your eight-pack?”

”I don’t need it now.”

She thought about the implications. ”So you’re gonna go back to a stamina build?”

The doctor said, ”What does that mean?”

”There’s where I optimise my body to perform for 90 minutes. You’re confused. Okay, did you ever play an RPG? In Fallout you get, ah, Strength, Perception, Endurance, and so on. You start with three or four out of ten in each one and you get a certain amount of points to spend on your character. My guy Andrew Harrison, he’s all stamina. Pascal Bochum is speed and intelligence. What I can do - because I’m SPECIAL, heh - is let my numbers go down and move them to a different attribute. What I have now is a strength build. Normally I optimise for skill.”

”Oh,” he said, frowning. ”Strength, stamina, or skill. The medical team felt sorry for Emma but it seems there are positive dimensions to being Max’s girlfriend.”

That got lots of laughs from my so-called friends. ”I’m actually a top-tier boyfriend. I could probably win an award. Anyway, next I’m gonna do a Pirlo build.”

”What’s that?” said Emma.

”I’m gonna grow three massive toes.”

***

REST AT A CAMPFIRE

The gang had something of a picnic right there in the doctor’s office. He was intrigued by the food and drink Dylan had brought from the UK and while he took little bites out of the utterly mental range of chocolates the Welshman had brought - ”I wasn’t sure what you liked, Max” - he was an appreciative audience for the first telling of the ’smuggle Max out of Hungary’ story. He, in turn, answered questions about Bayern Munich, working for a big football team, and his experience of working for me.

There were far more laughs than there should have been. Far more people saying, ”Fucking hell, Max,” than there should have been.

I tried to end that particular conversation by picking up a Thomas Müller bobblehead that was lying around. ”This is valuable. Collecting this makes your jokes ten percent funnier.” Saying that reminded the others of other random things I’d said and soon they were laughing again.

The painkillers were slow to kick in. Briggy said that Paul, Dieter, and Karl had taken the earliest possible flight back from Hungary and would be at Säbener Strasse soon.

”Maybe we should clear out,” I said.

”Why?” said Briggy, confused.

”Er, because I don’t work here any more.”

”What? Who said?”

Said a slight shift in the ordering of certain items in my head. ”I mean... It’s obvious.”

Briggy looked at the doctor. ”Have you heard anything?”

”No. Six-nothing, six-nothing, eight-nothing. They won’t fire you for your bad dancing.”

”Hey,” I said. ”Babes, you liked my moves, right?”

Emma thought about what to say for far too long, then turned to Briggy. ”If he isn’t fired, why are they rushing back?”

Briggy shrugged. ”Damage control? It sounds like a them problem, not an us problem. Dylan, tell us about being coached by Max.”

”That’s a story best told over some beers. They have beer in Germany, so I hear. Maybe tonight we could, ah, go looking for some?”

It was agreed to be a good idea. I decided I wouldn’t mind staying in the five-star hotel another night before making my way home tomorrow. I nudged Emma and whispered, ”Invite the doctor to drinks.”

”You invite him,” said Emma, loud.

”I can’t,” I mumbled. ”I’ve been going all Max on his department. We’ve got beef.”

”No,” said the doc, reaching into his drawer and rummaging around. He picked out a little pin, colourfully striped, shaped like a heart, and stuck it onto his white coat. ”We do not.”

***

COMPLETE THE MAIN QUEST

It was only when the triumvirate turned up that I started to get a sense of how my stunt had been received. Paul and Dieter looked pretty pissed off, but Karl was upbeat. He sat next to me and chuckled and shook his head and said, ”Oh, Max.”

Paul spoke to the doctor in German, apparently asking about my welfare. I listened to the doctor’s reply - with context, I could follow what he was saying - but then I thought I heard Paul use the word ’Samstag’.

Saturday.

Ever since I’d been kicked out of the Bayern Munich squad screen, I had been feeling pretty sorry for myself, a little bit betrayed and lonely, but the only possible reason Paul, on a Wednesday, would mention Saturday in relation to my health was to inquire as to whether I would be able to work.

So they hadn’t decided. Or Paul and Dieter had, but Karl had told them to wait. Or something.

They said they needed to go and discuss things and vanished, and I started to get surly again. If they asked me to stay on, I’d say no. I knew for a fact that Paul Braun had - in his own mind at least - binned me off. For what? Wearing too many colours? I’d done my thing. It was time to go home.

Fifteen minutes later, Dieter came to ask me to join them in a meeting room. I took Emma with me, which Dieter wasn’t too happy about, but I’d spent enough time apart from her, and in the Fallout games you often bring wildly unsuitable companions to locations they aren’t welcome.

We went to a room I hadn’t been inside before. Some kind of Säbener Strasse boardroom. Same great view of the pitches as the other offices on this floor, but a better grade of wood, grander portraits. I looked around. Better coffee machine, too.

I slumped into a chair while Emma sat to my left, holding my good hand. My right was in a sling to make the cast more comfortable. The doc said I shouldn’t bump the arm or use it much, but I could take free kicks. How much had I increased my playing potential by training here? A decent amount, it felt like. What if I did a few more days? Would the curse consider that positive (training with great players in great facilities) or negative (injured)?

It took a while, but finally Paul said, ”How do you feel?”

I lifted my mangled arm. ”I feel like a winner.”

”You wanted that to happen.”

”That was Old Max. Today’s Max thinks Old Max is a dick.”

Emma said, ”He didn’t want a broken arm.”

Dieter eyed me. ”What exactly did you want?”

”A whack or two I could exaggerate. Some mayhem. Benny Hill chase scene. What are we doing? I have to rest, the doc said.”

Paul Braun didn’t like my tone. What did he want? To tell me off like I was a schoolboy? The meds must have been kicking in because I thought of something I should have done many hours ago. In the Job Information screen, I was still listed as the Bayern manager but my status was ’very insecure’. I wondered what it had said when I got kicked out of the Bayern squad screen. ”You planned a lot. Did you plan for this meeting? What do you want from this?”

I shrugged my bottom lip. ”I’m the manager of Bayern Munich. A dude assaulted me while I was doing my job. You’ve got a decision to make. You can sack me for upholding the values of your club on the 20th anniversary of the gay fan group you set up, or you can back me and help me make some lasting, positive change to the world.”

”What would that be?” said Dieter.

”Help me get Hungary kicked out of UEFA.”

Paul and Dieter chuntered under their breath. Karl seemed delighted. Paul leaned back and thought for half a minute. ”It’s even more childish than I expected.”

”Is it?” I said. ”I’m obviously never going back to Hungary and I wouldn’t take a team there. When I know I’ve got your support, I can trigger a series of announcements. The league leaders in Wales, the team most likely to be the Welsh rep in the Champions League, will post on their socials that if drawn against a Hungarian team they will refuse to play. Three of the top four teams in Gibraltar will do the same.”

”Three?” said Emma, surprised.

”Yeah,” I said, smiling. My friend Henri and his mother had struck a deal to get the third one. I controlled three of the eleven clubs in the tiny nation and planned to turn them into a cash cow. ”Hey, what was the final score in the College match? It was nil-nil when I was brutally attacked.”

Karl said, ”It was nil-nil, final score.”

The buzz took away the pain for a few minutes. ”What?” said Emma.

”When you get to the league stage of these tournaments, you get money for wins and draws. For example, last night I bagged Bayern Munich another two million Euros. For that draw, College 1975 will get about a hundred and thirty thousand.”

Emma leaned close and whispered, ”Do you get half of that?” I nodded. It was welcome money. Seventy grand would get me a bodyguard for the rest of the season, I assumed, or pay for the hotel I was staying at if Paul Braun got vindictive and refused to pay my expenses. ”Bosh,” she said, squeezing my hand.

”Saltney and College are small clubs in unimportant countries, it’s true,” I said, getting back to the topic, ”but the future champions of England will add their voice and if the champions of Germany also chipped in, it could trigger a chain reaction. Of course,” I said, reasonably, ”if the champions of Germany don’t want to help me, perhaps it’s time that Germany got new champions. Babes, have you ever been to Dortmund? They are a huge club, massive stadium, enough budget for me to move fast. How long do you reckon it would take me to build a title-winning team there?” I looked up at the ceiling, pretending to calculate, and waited until Paul opened his mouth before I said, ”Eighteen months.” I nodded to myself. ”Maybe that’s the next step. More clubs in more countries. That guy from Malmö said his club had more money than it knew what to do with. I’ll offer my services to any club that fights the good fight. Guaranteed top two finish for everyone who chips in.”

I was puffing myself up like a blowfish, talking myself big, but I knew that in fact, I was very very small. Soon I wouldn’t even be the temporary Bayern manager.

Karl Lippstadt said, ”You’re too focused on clubs. Slovenia’s official accounts have already posted in solidarity with you, as has the FA of Slovakia.”

”Slovenia and Slovakia? How many countries is that?”

”That’s two,” said Karl.

”Max was joking,” said Emma. ”He likes to get Brexity sometimes to confuse the gammons.”

Karl gave us a strange look, but shook his head. ”And what about FIFPro?”

”What about them?” I said.

”What’s that?” said Emma.

Karl explained. ”It’s an organisation that represents professional players. Sort of a union of unions, you might say. It’s in every major region but not Brazil or Germany, for historical reasons.” He smiled. ”That doesn’t mean we don’t have contacts. I think you would have a powerful ally there. I will make some calls.”

”No,” said Paul, sternly. Here came the hammer... ”I’ll do it.” He produced a newspaper and pushed it across the table.

It was the morning edition of Bild. Its front page was normally quite messy with a hectic bunch of headlines and adverts, but this one was clean. Just a single photo. Me dressed as a rainbow, grinning, blessing the photographer with my magic wand. The headline was three large words - mia san bunt. We are colourful. Underneath was a sentence in German I tried to decipher.

”Go, Max, go! Mr. 100%... discrimination... win... style? What’s bekämpft?”

”Fights,” said Dieter. ”Mr. 100% fights discrimination and wins in style.”

Paul said, ”You wanted to force people to make a decision. Those decisions are being made. Bild made theirs. Bastian made his.”

”Bastian?” I said. I really hadn’t expected to hear his name.

Paul leaned across and showed me his phone. It was a shot from Basti’s socials. From what I heard, the guy hadn’t posted at all since I had been in Germany, except once to complain that ’daytime TV is ass’, a post he deleted soon after. Now he had posted a single emoji. A rainbow.

”Aw,” said Emma.

Paul said, ”The mood of the internet is jubilant. FC B are top of the table for trending topics. The reaction is not totally in your favour, of course. Manosphere influencers are planning to burn their copies of Soccer Supremo. Some of the player’s partners posted saying that you put their loved ones in danger. Some of those posts have been deleted and the top comments under the ones that remain are asking the question you asked. If it isn’t safe, why were the players there? In summary, until this moment, on aggregate, you have won.”

His tone suggested he didn’t really believe that. ”Yay,” I said, flat.

”So what’s going to happen?” said Paul, getting up and going to the window. ”We post that we have concerns about travelling to Hungary. UEFA announce they will set up an investigation. Seven months later, when everyone has forgotten this, they publish a brief report saying there is nothing structurally wrong with how football is hosted in Hungary. They will recommend something trivial. A partial stadium closure for three matches, two suspended. Barely even a smack on the hand. Your clubs, however, should they refuse to complete fixtures, will be hit far harder than any Hungarian team. As for Bayern, I will expertly navigate this minefield in a way that makes us seem like allies while not annoying sponsors or nation states.”

”Yeah,” I said. It was all too plausible. ”What you’re saying is the game was rigged from the start. There’s no way to win. What you’re saying is you don’t want to fire me, you want me to quit. Quit and go to Gunti at Bild and tell him you didn’t back me. Give him a decision to make. Support me again to get the interview of the year.”

Karl was shaking his head. ”Or support us and get a continual drip of stories. The stories that pay his rent. He wouldn’t burn his bridges so completely.”

”Right,” I said, slowly getting up. ”It’s six and a half hours to Dortmund, babes. You might want to go to the bathroom now.”

”Sit down, you tedious boy,” said Paul. I didn’t. He glared at Karl.

”Max,” said Karl. ”Please.”

I sat.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

It was Dieter who spoke next. ”I got a long voice message from Peter last night.” His grandson had been due to coach Chester in the Cheshire Cup, but had asked Colin Beckton to do it instead so he could watch Bayern on TV. ”He said he had never been so proud of Bayern or to be from Bavaria. He said he knew I must have been in on it and he thanked me.” Dieter had more to say but it didn’t come out.

Paul said, ”I got a similar message from Toddy.” Paul’s nephew, the manager of Stuttgart, who Bayern were scheduled to play next. ”He said everyone at his watch party was cheering and laughing and his friends and colleagues from Stuttgart who hate Bayern were singing our songs with gusto. When the flares were pouring down and you showed us Bestball...” Paul had a wistful look for a second, but then shook his head and looked quite angry. ”I am not happy you put my employees at risk. Not happy at all. Do you have any more stunts planned?”

”No,” I said. ”Why would I? I thought I’d have been sacked by now.”

”Yes, well, you’re not. Stuttgart away, Mainz at home. I can’t see how you can cause mischief in those matches.”

I opened my mouth to vent that I wouldn’t stay if Bayern didn’t back me, but closed it and did some calculations. So what if Paul’s faith in me had wavered for a few hours? Being the manager for another ten days would mean, what, eight scheduled press conferences? I’d be able to say all the things Paul wouldn’t. And it would be two more wins in the league. I could tie the record for the English manager with the most wins in Germany.

Plus going back to Chester was such a step down in terms of talent. I would love two more games in charge of Adam, Danny, and Zoran. If I stuck around, I would be able to get to know how all the back office stuff at Bayern worked. How they handled the media, what kind of ticketing software they used - I could get all kinds of insights I could use to get Chester ready for the big time.

Yeah, and Toddy Braun’s Stuttgart would provide a stern test. They were around CA 142 and Toddy was an interesting opponent from a tactical and psychological point of view.

It rankled, though. The heist had been amazing but Paul was saying the gold I’d stolen was lead with a thin coat of paint.

Paul seemed to sense where my thoughts were going. ”Hungary won’t be kicked out of UEFA. Asking for that is starting a fight we can’t win. You wouldn’t do that on the pitch. Why do it off? Here’s my suggestion. We demand that Hungarian teams play their matches in other countries. Pestis might play in Vienna, for example. Or Zagreb. There is no shortage of suitable venues in that part of the world. It’s a real punishment, I think. The clubs will feel it. Even if it’s only for one season, they will feel it. And no ground in that country will be chosen as a venue for a UEFA tournament or a final.”

Compromise. Ugh. But I didn’t need Bayern to be in the vanguard of this fight, did I? It would be enough that they were on our side. More nimble organisations could be on the front lines. ”You’ll push for that, will you?”

Paul’s expression lightened for the first time that morning. ”Happily. Once we make our stance, the whole mess is squarely UEFA’s problem.” I thought I saw him get very slightly cheeky around the edges. ”And we keep all our new fans.” He went to the window again, and looked down. ”The press are coming. I’m going to take how angry you make me feel and channel it into a declamation against the riot police. It will be the best rant in Munich since Trapattoni.”

Emma turned towards me. ”I’ll explain it later,” I whispered. The triumvirate seemed to be waiting for me to say something. ”Wait, what? That’s it? I stay here and do the last two games? That’s... That’s not narratively satisfying. I’m mentally on the beach.”

”Mother of God,” snapped Paul. ”You signed a contract to do a job to help Basti. Get back from the beach. You don’t have to supervise training today but you do have to do the job you came to do. Narratively satisfying? Unglaublich. Absolut unglaublich.”

I turned to Emma. ”He’s saying my abs are unbelievable.”

Emma blinked slowly, equal parts amused and horrified. ”We don’t want Paul to burst before the press conference, do we, babes? We want him publicly angry at the baddies, not privately angry at you. Don’t we?”

In the Fallout games I’d played, there was usually a moment where you left the vault that had shielded you from a world of radiation, and when you went outside and saw the world there was a moment of disorientation before you adjusted to the new reality. You were outside. You were free. You could go anywhere you want - but not that way because it was full of massive beasts called Deathclaws. Actually, not that way, either. You know, because of the giant scorpions you’re not tough enough to fight. Better go the way the game designers want you to go.

”What else happened?” I said, as I tried to adjust to this crazy new world I was living in. A world in which, somehow, I was still the Bayern manager for ten more days. ”Did Lee Kennedy get fired?”

”Not yet,” said Karl. ”You might have to be patient. Most of Europe is still asleep. I’m sure he’ll have been sacked and all the laws you don’t like will have been repealed by...” He looked at his wristwatch. ”Two o’clock, maybe?” He chuckled to himself, which I found irritating.

”Whose side are you on?” I said.

”I made my position very clear last night,” he said. ”Was it the sixth goal or the seventh when you pulled on a princess’s tiara?”

”Don’t,” said Paul.

The room was suddenly heavy with meaning and subtext. The triumvirate had a kind of Mexican stand-off. Paul and Dieter and Karl eyed each other, twitching.

”I love football,” whispered Emma, enthralled by this latest in a series of wild scenes. ”Karl, sweetie, tell us.”

Karl cracked into a smile. ”My position is that your boyfriend is very impressive and I very much hope he will be in the technical area on Saturday. It is one thing to beat weak teams and inept managers but Stuttgart are made of sterner stuff and there are some who think Toddy Braun could be a future FC B manager. There are some who think Saturday’s match...” - his eyes flicked towards his mates - ”could be a sort of audition.”

Saturday’s match! I thought to myself. I’ve got a match in three days and it’s not against Salford City.

I had a tiny panic because I hadn’t prepared, but then I remembered that I had.

Briggy had driven me to see Toddy Braun’s team. My motivation had been to get XP and to make it hard for people to know which match I was targeting for any stunts I might do. In a sudden burst of clarity, I made about twenty decisions. ”I need hotel rooms tonight for my escape team. And I want to go to Stuttgart with the advanced team. I’d like to see what they do. Babes, want to come?”

”To do what?”

”They go to loads of hotels and check they have the right setup. It’s probably not a big deal because they go to Stuttgart all the time but when they go to Bologna or Budapest there’s more work. We can follow until we get bored.”

Emma nodded. Like me, she was curious and keen to learn. ”And maybe we can find a shop with a good vampire outfit up there.”

I blushed a little. Paul Braun’s lips curled up at the edges. ”You only want to learn how things are done? You’re not secretly planning another stunt?”

”Stunts, me?” That didn’t reassure him, so I got more honest. ”I don’t actually want to do politics. That... thing last night? That was my political career. If some guy comes to me and says, yo Max, another settlement needs our help, I’m gonna switch off the console. I just wanted to do one epic stunt, you know? I took a baton to the arm, now other people need to pick up the baton and run with it. People who are good at that. This was my one chance at a megaclub. I couldn’t, you know, do nothing. I want to go back to Chester and build a winning team that serves its community. Yeah, I will use it to slap some baddies but nothing like this. I’m done now. I won’t get the chance anyway.”

Paul said, ”You need to get some sleep today. Tomorrow will be a normal day of training. On Friday you want to leave early. When will you formulate your tactical plan?”

”I’ve done it.”

”When?”

”Just then when Karl said it was Toddy’s audition.”

Emma frowned. ”Babes, that’s not - ”

”What’s the plan?” said Paul, slightly too hungrily. He was trying too hard to be nonchalant. If ever there was a time he would be a mole, it was to stop his nephew getting mauled by Mr. 100%.

”He normally plays a solid, stodgy, compact 4-4-2 but something tells me he’ll come out all guns blazing. Yeah, the Toddster will have something special planned. Remember Beth, the journalist you met? She had a team called the Beth Heads and we played against Sandra Lane’s Man City girls. I spent three weeks preparing for that one match. Something tells me Toddy has been doing that. He’s gonna come at me, ah, hot. Shit, that deserves a high five.”

Emma said, ”Hot toddy? Ooh, I want one but it’s a bit early, isn’t it?”

”If it’s before breakfast,” said Karl, ”it’s still last night.”

”So,” I said, carefully, ”we’ll have to start solid. Get through the first twenty minutes. Build momentum late in the game, hope we aren’t a few goals behind by then. Maybe keep a few of the big guns fresh on the bench just in case.”

”So, basically what you’ve been doing,” said Paul.

”Yeah,” I said, wincing from pain in my arm I wasn’t actually feeling. I wasn’t sure what my Barter skill was and I had a big lie to sell. ”Also, the players know what I want and if I keep it the same I’ll, you know, give myself an easier few days. No need to watch loads of tape if we’re gonna start with a low block.” I smiled at Emma. ”Drinks with the guys tonight. Training in the morning, museums and stuff in the afternoon. Ems, your holiday starts now.”

It was a magnificent performance. It was so convincing even Emma bought it. ”Oh! Can I make a tourist plan?”

”Absolutely.”

Paul nodded. ”I will ask Diane to find rooms for your friends. Go to Stuttgart early. Don’t steal my employees when you realise how amazing they are.”

I thought about training. There was no longer any need to separate the players. Bringing the shitheads from solitary back into gen pop would make Basti’s life easier when he came back. ”I’ll talk to the coaches before I go to the hotel. Will I have problems with the players, do you think?”

”Why?” said Dieter.

”About, you know, stealing their limelight and putting them in danger and making everything weird and intense.”

”Yes, you will,” said Paul. ”Of course. Some will be unhappy with you. So what is new? You know, before you came, you worried that you couldn’t handle elite players. The truth is, elite players cannot handle you. Oh, one more thing. You seem to delight in mocking us for our mission statement but those are the ideals we try to live by. One of our tenets is ’once in the Bayern family, always in the Bayern family’. Of course you brought the trouble on your own head, but still, we would not like to hear that you were hurt by...”

”Hungarian death squads?” I said, helpfully. I turned to Karl. ”Bet you didn’t have that on your bingo card.”

Paul rolled his eyes. ”We are going to pay for your bodyguard to stay with you until the end of the season. If she agrees, of course. Brigitte might want to pursue other avenues now that she’s famous.”

”Briggy’s famous?” I said.

Karl said, ”Let’s just say her uppercut has its own Instagram account.”

”What?” said Emma, getting her phone out.

”Good,” said Paul, checking his own phone. ”It’s settled and we have work to do.”

”One thing,” I said, before I missed my chance. ”This room is quite, ah, traditional, right? Not one you keep up to date with the latest interior design trends?”

”Don’t you like it?” said Karl.

”Yeah, it’s top. I’m just saying...” I changed to a dramatic voice. ”Decor... decor never changes.” The line bombed harder than the Chinese bombed Boston in the year 2077. ”Another room with zero video game fans. What are the odds, man?”

There was a knock at the door. ”Bitte eintreten,” said Paul.

A chef guy came in. ”Herr Best,” he said, excited and nervous. He had a little pride badge on. ”The kitchen team has a gift for you.”

”Gift means poison,” I said.

”Yes!” said the guy, handing over a tall glass filled with a viscous orange goo. ”But this is not poison. This is papaya.”

It clicked. ”You made me a smoothie! Oh my God. Emma, squeeze this guy until he pops.”

She tried, but failed.

”Karl, squeeze this guy for me.”

”He wouldn’t like it.”

”I bloody would,” the guy said, in German.

Karl, smiling, jerked his head towards the door. The chef left, followed by the others. Dieter Bauer placed a hand on my shoulder before wordlessly departing.

I drank my smoothie in the boardroom while Emma made herself a CEO-level coffee. When I looked out of the window, I saw Diane Berger giving my friends a tour. The sun was rising.

***

ATTEND THE MISSION BRIEFING

I took Emma down to the cinema room where I had once showed a video of James Blunt. The players and coaches were coming in, and most had their phones. They weren’t normally allowed but it was such a crazy morning with fast-moving events that the guys couldn’t put them down; they were getting constant hits of dopamine as their timelines blew up.

A few lads went to sit down, but more crowded around me, trying to show me the best memes and reactions from their social timelines.

Li Anjie, the kid from Singapore, went first. ”Max! Do you know George Takei?”

”Yeah, he was in Star Trek and he’s funny on social media.”

”He posted a picture of you and wrote: Sigh. Suppose I have to learn about soccer now.”

”That’s funny,” I said.

Edgar Wilde said, ”Boss, have you seen the Daily Mail?”

”Urgh, no. I can guess their angle. Maybe don’t show me.”

”Look,” he said, holding his phone towards me.

I was on the front page but unlike with Bild, I was only in a section. The headline was: England’s Pride. ”Fuck,” I said.

”England’s Pride,” said Edgar. ”So amazing. It’s pride because they’re proud of you but also England’s logo is the three lions and lions come in prides.”

Adam Adebayo said, ”And because of the pride movement.”

”What?” said Edgar.

”Boss,” said Danny. ”Here’s my fave. You know that Jose Mourinho was The Chosen One?”

”Nah,” said Willi, whose English had deteriorated since my arrival. ”He was The Special One.”

”It’s right,” said Dumi. ”The Chosen One was David Moyes.”

Danny said, ”Really? Why? Okay but look.” He showed his screen. It was a different picture from the others but still very much showed me prancing around. The headline said, The Lederhosen One. Danny thought it was hilarious.

”I worked it out,” said Adam, eyeing me carefully.

”What?” I said.

”Closing the dressing room, sending everyone out, it wasn’t just to keep the tactics secret. You were setting it up so no-one would think you were getting changed.”

”You’re quick,” I said. ”If only you were that fast on the pitch.”

He made a disdainful tongue clicking noise, but smiled. ”Here’s my favourite. I don’t know why it made me laugh so hard.”

On his screen was a screenshot of ’The Chester Mirror’. It had the usual snapshot of me waving my wand, but the headline said, Chester Resident Stars On Bulgarian TV.

”The fuck?” I said. ”Chester resident? Bulgarian? That has to be a meta comment about the state of local news. Must be one of those satirical sites.”

Zoran had joined the throng. ”I have bad one,” he said. He looked at me for permission to continue. I nodded. He said, ”Is the cop pig who hit you. He is hero in Budapest. State media say he stand up for his country.”

It shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did.

”That’s bullshit,” said Adam, shaking me by my left shoulder. ”Fuck that noise.”

”Here,” said Edgar, pinching his screen to zoom in on an image. ”This will cheer you up.”

I looked and my heart soared. It was one of the three photos the newspapers had chosen, along with the caption ’Abs-olutely Fabulous!’

”Yes!” I said, clenching my left hand into a fist. ”Wait, hang on,” I said, pulling Edgar’s phone closer. ”The fuck?”

I moved the image around and saw that this was the front page of the Financial Times.

Not only that, but under the photo it said, ’Englishman shows torso, Hungarian forint wilts. Down 2% on overnight trading.’

I laughed. ”That has to be a joke. Come on.”

”Why?” said Edgar, puzzled.

”All right,” I called out, ”Take a seat, everyone.”

I watched as the first teamers plus a few guys from Bayern Zwei took their spots. To the right were Basti’s three coaches, who I had marginalised what felt like a long time ago.

I pointed to the right of the room. ”That’s Émmö. She’s Icelandic royalty so don’t be rude, but you can speak freely in here; she doesn’t know English.”

Emma stood, bowed, and said, ”Erguh furguh smerk. Takk takk.”

”Max,” said Parnell, the Canadian midfielder. ”We know she’s from Newcastle. She’s been in the press here and anyway, we all follow her on Instagram.”

I pulled a face like I’d bitten into a lemon. ”Ew. That’s... Ew.” I reeled from that information for a while, then got on with what I had to say. ”Okay, I did my heist. We’re still counting out the gold but it looks like a decent haul. I don’t have especially strong feelings about Stuttgart and Mainz so the plan is to move things back towards normality to make it easy for Bastian to return. From right now your three coaches are back in charge of training and there’s only one training group.”

Adam said, ”Is it 1A or B2?”

”What do you think?”

”B2.”

”You’re goddamn right. You know, that never sounds right coming from me. Needs a North American voice. Parnell, say it for me.”

”You’re goddamn right!”

”So cool,” I said. ”Single training, default formation 4-2-3-1. We have to go to Stuttgart with a defensive mindset so anyone who doesn’t want to shuffle and slide and defend, let one of the coaches know so I can take you out of my thoughts.”

Henno Wald said, ”Is that aimed at me?”

”Yes. Specifically you.”

I had blasted him in the vampire interview and was blasting him now in front of his colleagues, but he stayed calm. ”I am available to play.”

I was in too much pain to really think ahead, but reintegrating one or two of the guys I had kicked out had the potential to be interesting. How would it affect the team spirit the rest of us had built? If Henno came back with no issues, that knowledge could help me in the future. And if we didn’t win, it would be blamed on Henno. ”You’ll be in the squad,” I said. ”Drissa, think you can leave the bone breaking to the police?”

The forward, who I had savaged after his red card in the Bologna match, also stayed calm, and actually seemed a little surprised and excited to be getting a second chance. ”Yes.”

”In the squad.” Drissa’s Morale went up three levels! This was going great.

Fabian Fromm had to go and ruin everything, as usual. ”What about me?”

I sagged. I didn’t have the energy to deal with him and very nearly said something like fuck it, fine. ”Injured players don’t play. Why don’t you get in the scanner? It’s all warmed up.”

”I am not injured.”

”Ems,” I said. ”You heard that, right?”

She didn’t want to get involved. ”Does gift really mean poison?”

”Yes and in French, poison means fish.” The players who spoke French called out what I assume was hearty agreement. When they had stopped yelling, I continued. ”Goalies, I can’t play because I’m injured and I’m not a clown who would make an injury worse, but I’d love to keep taking free kicks if you don’t mind. Just a few a day. Try that Pirlo thing.” Torben and Kaspar displayed strong approval. ”Kay. That’s it. We’re sliding towards normality.”

Cheb said, ”Is there anything you want us to do about the match last night? Some of the lads posted rainbow emojis but you told me not to do anything, so...”

”What you did last night was enough. Anything extra that comes from the heart, go for it. The club should be doing a lot of talking today so you can react to that if you want. From my point of view, you did your jobs amazingly and I won’t ask for more.”

Hoggy said, ”It is my fault we did not score more goals. I take responsibility.”

I was flagging; I’d been up all night. ”I don’t understand what you’re saying, Hoggy mate.”

Adam helped. ”You wanted us to score loads and we could have done but it was scary in there and we didn’t want to make things worse. At that point, we just wanted to get out alive. We were all imagining you being locked up and, you know...”

”Yeah, course,” I said. ”Get out safely. It’s all good.” I closed my eyes and saw images of Adam and Dany running past defenders at will and hoped there would be footage of the Prime Minister storming out of the stadium. ”What do you think we could have got? Thirteen? Do you think we could have got thirteen?”

”Eleven,” said Zoran, and a lot of guys nodded.

”Eleven-nil away,” I said, biting my bottom lip. ”If I ever get to do this again, I’m wearing power armour.”

***

TALK TO YOUR COMPANIONS

I finally got to the hotel and picked up my phone.

You have one billion messages.

Yeah, nah. I tried for a quick nap and managed to get some shuteye.

When I awoke, there was a notification in the corner of my vision.

You feel well-rested.

Okay, that didn’t happen, and it wouldn’t have been true. I felt groggier than before, but in a good way. I got my phone and made a dent in the incoming messages.

Brooke Star: Wow. That was something. Good timing to be in the news, with the sponsor negotiations for next season coming up. I’m allowed to push, right?

Me: Squeeze until they literally have to close their businesses down because of us. Also, don’t negotiate League One rates even as a backup. We’re a Championship team.

Ruth: Please stop getting murdered. Please?

Me: Agreed. Startiiiiiiiiiiiing now. By the way, get in touch with Henri’s mum. There’s a guy called Mr. Fruity who reviews perfumes on YouTube and TikTok. It’s a big channel. We could fly Angel out to Germany in the next few days and do some kind of combined interview slash advert thingy. I’m massive in Germany right now.

Ruth: I hate that you say Henri’s mum because you refuse to learn how to type the accent in Aurélie. But great idea. Leave it with me. Angel will be up for it. Everyone’s very proud of you.

Pascal Bochum: I can’t leave Chester now, can I? It’ll seem like I’m against the LGBTQ community.

Me: You have to leave. I need allies in other countries and you’ll be managing a top team in five years. You have to go, mate. You have to. Please note: the decision is all yours. FYI, if you stay your new nickname will be Pip-Boy.

Peter Bauer: Rainbow emoji.

Me: Rainbow emoji times two.

Peter Bauer: Rainbow emoji times three.

Me: Okay, you win.

The last text that I replied to right away was from my former mentor, the current Tranmere Rovers boss.

Jackie Reaper: Where did you learn to dance like that? Because you should ask for your money back.

Jackie Reaper (five minutes later): Shit, that looked nasty. Hope you’re all right, lad. This is your finest moment yet, I reckon.

Me: I’m good. Just back in my hotel now. Talk soon. By the way, I learned to dance where you learned to flirt but I have been seen dancing at least once in my life.

I closed my eyes for a microsleep, and when I opened them the room was dark and Emma was getting ready to go out for drinks with the escape team. She suggested I might be better off staying in, but I gave her a stern look and asked if I had earned a colossal German wheat beer or hadn’t I?

She agreed I had, and traced her fingers over my abs. ”Goodbye, old friends,” she said. ”Those whom the gods love die young.”

I snorted. ”They’ll be back. I won’t need long to get ready but let me quickly reply to a couple of guys.”

”Who?”

”There’s interest in Lee Contreras, at last. Might be able to get three hundred thousand for him. It’s not amazing, but... And Wrexham are getting mad keen on Josh Owens. The recruiter guy wants to talk in person so I have to let him know that, like, I’m gonna be here for longer.”

”New plan is we leave the week before Christmas, is that right? Tell him to bid the right amount otherwise he’ll have to come to Newcastle for Christmas dinner.”

The idea sent my head spinning in mad directions. ”He can cut up my meat.”

Emma laughed. ”You’re actually crazy, you know?”

”You’re right,” I said, but I had another idea. ”How funny would it be if I turned up to Christmas dinner at your parents’ place... with a butler?”

***

FAST TRAVEL

Saturday, December 12

Match 7 of 8: Stuttgart versus Bayern Munich

”All right, lads,” I said, as I walked around the dressing room an hour before the match. I had spent a fun night in Stuttgart with Emma, and my reception at the stadium had been rapturous. Knowing that the fallout from my heist was so massively positive, that people liked it, that it struck such a chord with so many strangers, brought up a lot of very soft, soggy feelings that I would very much like to describe to you now.

HOLD X TO SKIP SCENE

”All right, shut the fuck up,” I barked. There were ten minutes until kick off and I’d decided to stick to a winning formula and clear the room of everyone apart from the starting eleven and goalies. I didn’t want Toddy Braun getting even the faintest sniff of what I was planning. As far as I knew, he could change his entire tactical plan with a single gesture.

I moved the tactics board an inch closer to the middle of the room, then thought nah and nudged it back. My eyes popped open when I saw how the magnets were arrayed.

”The fuck is this?” I said. ”Five-three-two?”

”It’s what you said we were doing,” said Beat Ritter. He was amazed that he was starting even though Henno Wald was back in the squad, and his sky-high Morale made him chatty.

”Yeah, well, I lied,” I said, and there was some laughter. I nudged the magnets around. ”Toddy wants Bastian’s job. I may be a cold-hearted bastard but these Brauns are next-level. We’re going to fuck him up, all right? He’s normally quite conservative but I had the idea he would come at us fast and I’m absolutely convinced that’s what they’ve been working on. I told his uncle I would start super defensive and yeah, that’s what everyone expects. Bzzz! Nah. We’re going toe to toe. High-risk, high-reward. I call this heart attack football.”

I moved the magnets around.

”Toddy leaves huge gaps on the sides, so we’re doing four-two-four, baby. They get a shot, we get a shot. Let’s see what fucking happens. Oh, I’ll tell you what happens. I’m like Mama Murphy in Fallout 4. Get me high on the good stuff and I can see the future. Adam, help me with this.” I handed him a marker pen.

”Bosh,” he said, taking the lid off.

”Bring it here,” I said. ”Yeah, just...” I closed my eyes and inhaled the delicious marker fumes. ”I’m getting a vision. Am I? Yes, I see it! We get an early goal! More, mate.” Adam lifted the marker and I inhaled again. The room was full of giggles. ”We drop deep. We dick them on counters!” I inhaled and let out a triumphant breath. ”Pop the lid back on, mate. We’re not made of money.”

”Then what?” said Danny.

”I don’t know, do I? I don’t actually give a shit. When we hit two-nil I consider the quest closed. You fucks are on your own.”

”Max,” whined Zoran. “My mother baked you a poprtnik!”

I twisted my neck until it clicked. Satisfying! ”Yeah, but Zoran, I quite like the idea of Toddy being the manager of Bayern Munich, don’t I? I’m gonna have to play you lot one day. I don’t want you managed by someone good, do I?”

Adam shook his head. ”You’re so cold.”

”You think it’s more humane to win six-nil today so he doesn’t get overpromoted?”

”Ice cold,” said Adam.

”Er... hang on, lads,” I said. ”I’ve got a tiny speech. Should have started with this but, you know.” I waved my broken arm to explain why I wasn’t fully myself. ”Okay. My favourite video game is Fallout 4. Anyone play Fallout?”

Nobody did. Danny said, ”We’re more into Fortnite and Super Monkey Ball.”

”And Soccer Supremo,” said Beat Ritter, trying to be loyal. ”Mobile,” he added, somewhat ashamed.

I cleared my throat. ”I love Fallout 4 because it’s an open world. You can wander around and do what you want in the order you want. When it comes to video games, I’m a side quest boy. I do all the side quests until I’m sick of the game and I almost never complete the main story, do you know what I mean?”

I scanned my defensive players: Torben, Willi, Pak Young, Kumba Viera, and Dumi. Willi was a weak point in terms of CA but he gave me more balance than the other options and in a year he’d be one of the best left backs in the Bundesliga.

”I mean, it’s actually crazy the way I play that game. I’m on a quest to like, find yellow and blue paint, then find a mixer, so that I can help a guy paint his wall green. I’m exploring some sewers to find a murderer who died two hundred years ago. Then I’m in a conversation and my character suddenly yells: Hurry up and tell me! I’m looking for my SON! And I go, oh yeah, that’s the mission.”

My central midfielders, Petar and Beat, were riveted.

”Well, guys. I did my mission. You lot did most of the work - I’m not trying to steal your thunder. But, like, I did what I set out to do. Today doesn’t mean anything to me, really. I remember playing Spider-Man to the end of the main story and it said great, now feel free to continue to explore the map. I’m like, what? Why? Who would do that? I’m in that position now. A side quest after the main quest.”

The forwards: Adam, Danny, Zoran, and Claude.

Average CA of the eleven: 166.1. Average CA minus Willi Tillmann: 170.4. Stuttgart’s was 142.

”But for you it isn’t a side quest, is it? Win today and on Friday and you’re gonna be well clear at the top of the Bundesliga going into the new year. It’ll give Basti the flexibility to rotate before and after big cup matches. Two wins this week will put you in a position to go hard at the treble. There are real stakes for you.

”What about me? Where I’m at when it comes to Bayern is that I’ve learned all the buttons; I’m really good at this game. I’m leaning back with my leg dangling over the armchair going ’oh yeah that Adam attack doesn’t work on defenders with those big shields. We need Zoran to barge into the guy then Danny kicks him in the dick then Adam can use his special lethargy attack.”

They loved that.

”I’ll do all the right moves, guys. I’ll press the buttons at the right time in the right order, but don’t look to me to be animated or passionate. Not today. This is your quest, isn’t it? So play like that. And remember, you can go hell for leather because if it all goes to shit, I’ll take the blame. I’ll take the fallout.”

Crickets.

”Nothing on that? That was a great line. Jesus.” I pointed to the ceiling, sort of indicating the Stuttgart fans. ”No shithousery today, guys. Right now, everyone loves us. Smile, be cool, wave at the guys holding rainbow flags - there are fucking loads - and sixty thousand people will leave this stadium happy. It’ll be weeks before they think, hold up, we got absolutely dicked that day. We’re going to attack down the left to start with.” I planned to ’link’ Adam with Zoran using my Cupid’s Arrow perk. I’d mash Seal It Up, too, so that we could attack harder. ”Let’s go.”

***

When we emerged from the tunnel for the last time before kick-off, there was deafening applause. The spectators were up for this.

Toddy Braun shook my left hand too hard, trying to establish dominance or some crap. I stared at my hand for a minute, wondering how angry I was going to get. The answer? Not very.

I walked to my technical area and started to daydream about what a football match would look like if I had a Fallout interface instead of a Soccer Supremo one.

In Fallout, before you took a shot you could slow time to a crawl and decide what to do. The interface showed the percentage chance you had to hit a particular part of an opponent’s body. Replace the body with the entire goal frame and you had a great way to handle shooting in football. Could be some fun decisions to make. Okay, the near post has a higher chance to score direct, but if I shoot across goal my teammate is more likely to get the rebound.

Perks would be presented in a cutesy graphical style but would work the same.

Oh! And you’d be able to listen to the local radio station that was commentating on the game, or maybe switch it to cowboy rock.

Talking of switching... I noted that Stuttgart were kicking off first, so I reset our formation to 5-3-2. That would help to convince Toddy that what he had heard from his uncle was right, not that he really had much time to do anything about it. As soon as the ref blew his whistle, I went to my high-risk 4-2-4 with Beat Ritter allowed to make forward runs. In theory, we could have a cross from Adam on the left aimed at three guys attacking the penalty box, and most clearances would go to Danny on the right and we could try again.

I hoped for an early goal like the one we scored against Bologna after eleven seconds.

No such luck.

Our first goal took shockingly long to come - well over two minutes.

***

The first half went like a dream.

We grabbed the early goal (Adam to Zoran, heh) and I switched us to 4-2-3-1, defensive, counter-attacking.

Stuttgart’s eleven had been hyped up to attack the big bad wolf but all they got was bites.

We created five incredible counters but only added one goal.

”Sometimes the logic of this game leaves a lot to be desired,” I mumbled.

Getting the better of Toddy became all too easy and while making the tweaks I needed to make, my mind wandered. Was the past couple of weeks the first time in my career that I had used Bench Boost three games in a row? I had players like Adam whose form over the past three games read 10-10-10. Now in the fourth we didn’t have Bench Boost but were we coasting on its effects? Adam wasn’t going to give me a 5 out of 10 display after three almost perfect games, was he? Was that a mini-hack I might carry over to a future season?

I remembered that the Christmas Tree formation was boosted in the month of December and switched to that for five minutes. It slayed, giving us all kinds of control, stopping the home team from building anything.

Toddy Braun might think twice about squeezing my hand next time.

***

At half-time, with everyone in the room because there was no reason to kick them out, I made one last attempt to hit the theme.

”We’re gonna make some subs,” I said. ”Spread the minutes around. Henno and Drissa, you get a shot at a redemption arc. I strongly advise you to take it. I’m probably not going to change the defenders though, because of what I learned from Fallout.” In a deep voice, I boomed, ”Back four... back four never changes.” I waited for a reaction. I’m still waiting.

***

The second half was scrappier than the first. Once it was clear that Kumba and Pak Young were still playing well, still compensating for Willi’s relative weakness, I made my first subs. Putting Henno and Drissa onto the pitch was disruptive in some way that was hard to quantify. It wasn’t bad - they were quality players - but we lost some flow, and both guys were trying too hard. If I had been thinking really clearly I would have put them on one at a time. That would have been slightly more scientific.

I found myself smiling slightly. When I arrived in Germany I had been bricking it worrying that I might not have what it took to beat SV Elversberg. Now we were so comfortable against Stuttgart I was having to work really hard to find things to worry about.

I walked up and down the touchline shouting out encouragement, making suggestions, and when a cameraman came at me, pretending to be about to remove my hoodie.

With twenty minutes to go, someone shouted ’Max’ and I turned to look at the dugout. Everyone - including the physios - was wearing an indigo princess crown. They fell about laughing.

There was only one last loose end to tie up.

Ten minutes to go, with us still leading two-nil, I summoned Stefan Clown.

I looked him up and down, torn between amused and annoyed. ”Here it is,” I said. ”Your debut. As promised.”

He was staring past me at the pitch, bouncing, eyes wide. ”Briggy said you keep your promises.”

”I try,” I said. I eyed him. ”Ten minutes is about ten times what anyone else would give you, but I like intelligent players and I think you’re smarter than you look. And act. And look. When I offered you this deal, I think you knew I was tricking you.”

”You thought you were tricking me but you weren’t because here I am. Anyway, I know what you did. You took Hoggy to a room and told him how to use me in matches correctly and gave him a detailed training plan for the next year. That’s... That’s better for my career than making my debut. But I knew you would still be the manager today so the other things were a bonus.”

”You didn’t know,” I said. ”I’m one hundred percent sure Paul Braun wanted to put me in the bin. If Bild hadn’t tossed a coin that landed on the edge, neither of us would be here.”

”I gambled,” he said. His attention suddenly turned to me, completely. ”After my mistake on the first day, I did my research about you and there’s something I learned. Something said by the people who know you.”

”What’s that?”

”Always bet on Best.” He smiled before blowing my mind even further by revealing that he was the only person I’d met at Bayern who had actually played any Fallout games. He said, in his most dramatic voice, ”When it comes to you and football, the game is rigged from the start.”

He was getting too cocky again. Time to remind him who the overseer was. ”Good line. Just remember that I’ve rigged this game to finish with a clean sheet. That means no goals against. Shuffle, slide, keep your position, do your work. Yes? All right, soldier. Fall out.”