5.

  In the week leading up to Chester FC's money-spinning match against Manchester United, a series of videos was released on their social media accounts. The campaign was called 'Combined Eleven'.

  ***

  1 - Dennis Reeves versus Pat Dunne

  MAX BEST strides through the tunnel onto the pitch at the DEVA STADIUM. He is wearing a new addition to the Grindhog product line - a black Chester hoodie. He stops and looks to the left of the lens. He addresses SOPHIE, the producer.

  MAX

  Sophie, is my hair blowing enough?

  SOPHIE

  What do you mean?

  MAX

  I'm trying to look like a titan, aren't I? I am astride my stage. Bestride it, even. I want my hair all blowy.

  SOPHIE

  There's no wind today.

  MAX

  Ever heard of movie magic, Sophie?

  [Cut to Max once again emerging from the tunnel. He strides onto the pitch and looks at the camera. His hair is magnificent.]

  MAX

  [Shouting over a din.] Hi, I'm Max Best, player-manager at Chester FC.

  SOPHIE

  Sorry, Max. We can't hear.

  MAX

  Is it because of them?

  [We cut to a second camera which shows two interns aiming cordless hairdryers at Max's head.]

  MAX

  Fine, scratch that. I'll just look [bleep]. What the...

  [We go again.]

  MAX

  Hi, I'm Max Best, player-manager at Chester FC. On the 11th of January 2026 we're going to play a football match against Manchester United. If you're thinking wow that's weird, yes it is! But we've done it once before, back in 1965. Chester had a crazy team in those days which I'll tell you about in these videos. But first I have to choose my starting goalie for Sunday.

  [Cut to the goalpost at the Harry McNally end. Almost every goalkeeper in the Chester system is standing in a line of descending height, in full kit. The image freezes and each player gets a name tag: Sticky, Rainman, Banksy, Bivvy, Gerbil, Scottie Love, Queenie, Big Sam, Babs, Tadpole.]

  MAX

  Why are there so many of you? Er... anyone injured? [They shake their heads.] Hang on, Rainman, you're out on loan. Everyone out on loan stand away! [Rainman departs.] Queenie, how many first team games have you played?

  QUEENIE

  For the men's team? None, boss. I'm not allowed because I'm a girl.

  MAX

  That's not fair, but it does make my life easier. Erm... yeah, women go with Rainman, please. [They obey.] Tadpole, can you touch the crossbar?

  TADPOLE

  [Stretching.] Nearly!

  MAX

  Off you go. Big Sam, how much is a credit check for BoshCard customers?

  BIG SAM

  I don't know. Ten pounds?

  MAX

  Bzzz, it's free. Off you go. [Three goalies remain.] That's better. Wow, look at the age gap here! Banksy and Bivvy combined make one Sticky.

  QUEENIE

  [Off-screen] That sounds like a really boring Transformers toy.

  MAX

  You three, with me.

  [Cut to: Max and the three goalies lying on a patch of grass in an X formation, heads next to each other. We are looking down on them. Max is in the 'south' position so that viewers won't have to tilt their phones to see him properly.]

  MAX

  Chester played Man United in 1965. January 9th in the FA Cup Third Round and Chester were in the fourth tier at the time. Almost the same as this week's match! There are lots of mad similarities, actually. [Max points to his left.] The main stand there is named after one of the strikers that day, and Chester had a player-manager.

  BANKSY

  What, really?

  MAX

  Yeah. I bought United Review, the match programme. Look, there's a mis-print on the cover. It says it cost 6d instead of 6p. Inside, here, look... The line-ups! Both teams were rocking a 2-3-5 formation. That's absolutely bonkers, eh? Some of these names are unbelievable. The history! The magic of the cup! It's all here, lads, in this single graphic. What I want to do is come up with a combined eleven from the two teams.

  SOPHIE

  [Off-screen, with subtitles.] Can I ask something? I don't understand what a combined eleven is.

  MAX

  Oh. It's a kind of debate you have in the pub or as podcast filler. If you could make a single eleven from the two sides, who would get in? It's a framework for discussing the merits of the squads. You can take it quite seriously and say goalie X is a better shot-stopper but goalie Y is better with his feet or you can race through it and say 'yeah but goalie Y is [bleep]'.

  SOPHIE

  It's just that you said United were one of the best teams and Chester were in the fourth tier so the combined eleven would be the United team, wouldn't it?

  MAX

  We don't know yet, do we? That's what we're going to find out. I've seen scraps of footage from three of the United players and none of the Chester ones so basically we're flying blind. We'll go by their Wikipedia pages and some articles I've dug up, okay? Let's pick the first player in our combined eleven. Goalies choose goalies. Ready, go!

  [Cut to the two young men sitting side by side with their phones in their hands; Sticky has been given an Apple Macintosh. That is a joke about him being old.]

  STICKY

  [Moving the single-button mouse on the grass.] Dennis Reeves was the Chester goalie that day. Apparently he made an amazing one-handed save against Bobby Charlton.

  MAX

  No spoilers for who else played!

  STICKY

  Reeves played for Chester for three years, lost his place in the team and asked for a transfer. Moved to Wrexham.

  BANKSY

  Ouch. Wrexham are not very popular around here. That has to count against him.

  STICKY

  Played a lot for Wigan in non-league.

  BANKSY

  Pat Dunne was the United goalie that day. He was Irish. Reeves was Scottish. Any thoughts about Irish and Scottish goalkeepers, boss?

  MAX

  Scottish goalies are - [he pretends to remember he's being filmed] - of various quality levels, as with all nationalities.

  BANKSY

  Dunne won the league in his first year at the club and played five times for the Irish national team. United sold him to Plymouth where he stayed for three years before going back to Ireland for the rest of his career. It says he started taking penalties. He got two goals in his career and the first ever red card in Ireland. Oh, and he was a player-manager!

  MAX

  Bosh bosh bosh. I like him. I want Pat Dunne in my combined eleven, I think. What do you reckon?

  STICKY

  I reckon Dennis Reeves wouldn't disagree too much, boss.

  MAX

  Reeves played in that match, though, didn't he? He'll always have that. Made a famous one-handed save against Bobby Charlton in front of 40,000 at Old Trafford. What a moment that must have been! What a memory. That's what you want, isn't it? Some old boys in a pub talking about their favourite Chester goalies. One guy goes: Remember Reeves? That save? His mate goes: Bobby Charlton? Like it were yesterday. It's smiles all round the table. You know what? I'm picking Reeves for my combined eleven. Number one is Dennis Reeves.

  BANKSY

  Hear that, Bivvy? The boss doesn't want the better goalie. We've got a chance of being picked on Sunday!

  MAX

  Course you have, mate. It's about who trains hardest this week, isn't it?

  [He pats Banksy on the shoulder, but turns to Sticky and pulls a face meaning, nah, I'm lying my tits off here. It's you.]

  [A graphic appears on screen. It's a 2-3-5 formation. The name REEVES slams into the goalie slot.]

  ***

  Sunday, January 11

  FA Cup Third Round: Manchester United versus Chester

  Chester had gone FA Cup crazy. The town centre was awash with blue-and-white flags, shops wrote amusing and/or supportive messages on their sandwich boards, and our Combined Eleven series was the talk of the town. The younger fans liked the jokes and the older ones loved when I tapped into their nostalgia.

  The club was making all kinds of money with the prospect of more to come. As an example of short-term hustle, Brooke had ordered 500 half-and-half scarves (half Man United colours and badge, half Chester), arguing that if we didn't sell them our fans would get them in Manchester. 'Proper football men' hated half-and-half scarves (why would you wear the colours of the opposition?) but it was hard to argue with the money-making aspect.

  Some people were thinking more long-term and we had seen a huge spike in interest in our corporate hospitality options. Businesses in Cheshire were waking up to the fact that Chester FC were a coming force and maybe it would be a good idea to negotiate the lease of an executive suite just in case we were going to play Newcastle and Man U again. Brooke was merrily playing the interested parties off against each other - in the new stand we would only have 12 small 'units' to offer, and even a minor player like Glendale would probably need three units back-to-back to offer a premium matchday experience to their clients. If Glendale and BoshCard took three each, that only left six for the rest of the world.

  All the more reason to start plotting the next expansion...

  ***

  4 - Peter Hauser versus Paddy Crerard

  MAX BEST is in a cramped, old-fashioned office with paper everywhere. He's playing Solitaire on an ancient PC. A phone rings.

  MAX

  [Bleep.]

  [He scrambles and wraps a headset around his ears. It has a fluffy microphone that he positions in front of his mouth. Max presses a button on the phone.]

  MAX

  Hello this is Max speaking, how may I help you?

  CALLER

  Heh. Max. How many Maxes have you got there?

  MAX

  Just one. Unless Sandra did the right thing without telling us. The Christening hasn't happened yet so there's still hope but Sandra says she won't invite me because one bawling child is enough. The cheek of some people.

  CALLER

  You're not really Max Best?

  MAX

  I am. What's your name?

  CALLER

  Stevo. But why are you on the phone?

  MAX

  You tell me, Stevo. How can I help you today?

  STEVO

  Is this a wind-up?

  MAX

  No. First thing I did when I came here was learn all the computer systems. I'll admit I'm recording all this for a project I'm doing for the socials but I'm proper able to help you. I think. Do you want to rent a sky box in the new Harry McNally? I can give you a discount on the first five years.

  STEVO

  Er... I'm calling to get tickets to United if there are any going? There was a rumour...

  MAX

  Yeah I started that rumour to get people to call.

  STEVO

  So there are no tickets.

  MAX

  There might be. I need a fan to yes and me.

  STEVO

  What does that mean?

  MAX

  It's where I talk a load of [bleep] but you go along with it because you want United tickets.

  STEVO

  Heh heh. You're absolutely mad, you.

  MAX

  What it is, right, did you know we played United in the ‘60s?

  STEVO

  Yeah, everyone's talking about it.

  MAX

  I'm doing a combined eleven from those teams. I need to choose between Paddy Crerand and Peter Hauser.

  STEVO

  You're a United fan, aren't you? You'd know all about Paddy Crerand. All those Scottish lads were the same - hard as nails but could play, too.

  MAX

  What do you know about Hauser?

  STEVO

  Not much, I'm afraid! I might not have heard of him if you hadn't come. He was player-manager, wasn't he? I don't know much about him as a player - not sure there's much to say - but he was manager when we had the Famous Five. The original ones, not the Welsh girls we've got.

  MAX

  Do you watch our women's team, Stevo?

  STEVO

  No but I look out for how they're doing and I'll pop in when they're at the Deva.

  MAX

  Top man. We're going to have a season ticket that covers the men's and women's teams. It'll be dirt cheap, mate. Pile in on that. Okay Paddy Crerand, yeah. He works for the United media channels and he's really biased. As a red I always found it pretty funny but he winds other fans up no end. So I'm going for the guy who played 16 times for his country, won the league twice, the FA Cup, and the European Cup.

  STEVO

  Yeah, I reckon.

  MAX

  This Hauser guy, though. I'll tell you it's not easy being a player-manager and his team scored 119 league goals that season, 151 in all competitions. They beat Wrexham 6-1! There were four one-nils in the league and the rest was mayhem. He sounds brilliant. Can I put him in?

  STEVO

  Go on, then!

  MAX

  Yesssss. Number four is Peter Hauser.

  [A graphic appears on screen. It's a 2-3-5 formation. The name HAUSER slams into the right-half slot, joining REEVES, JONES, and STARKEY.]

  ***

  We were not alone on the M56. Sealbiscuit was the most splendid vehicle, the most jam-packed with footballing talent, but many other coaches and cars were making the same journey as us.

  I was not alone in my part of the bus. As per my suggestion, Emma had taken her cousins down to that there London to endure the Harry Potter play before taking them to see United. Somehow, a jokey offer to let the birthday girl come on the team bus had been taken seriously and thus instead of having two seats to myself as befits the King of Chester, I was having to entertain a 14-year-old Scottish girl called Wee Bonnie.

  "What is happening now?" she said. Wee Bonnie sported light ginger hair and brown eyes that looked very slightly off. One was large and round while the other was narrower. On the 'narrow' side of her face, her lips went a bit higher and her smile lines were more angled. These details gave her face tons of character; she seemed thoughtful and intelligent but with just a hint of Emma's untamed streak. One last detail: she loved being called Wee Bonnie.

  I jiggled myself higher and faced the rear. Wee Bonnie copied me and hugged the headrest, knees digging into the back of her luxury seat. "Okay," I said. I checked the squad's Morale. Loads of players had Morale going all over the place. "As you can see, everyone's nervous as hell."

  "They don't look it."

  "That's because you're here. They're boys and boys try to look brave in front of girls. If you weren't here, they'd be in bits."

  "Doubtful."

  "See that guy there? Looks like if the Cookie Monster put on a tracksuit?"

  "He's Vimsy. He's dead nice."

  "Yeah. He's running a card school."

  "What's that?"

  "A repeating card game. Often it's the same time, same place, same players. You're probably a big Star Trek: The Next Generation fan, right? All the kids love TNG. They have a card school in half the episodes but Picard never plays because he's the captain and he needs some distance from his minions. I'm Picard, obvs. I never play so that when I do, it'll be a tear-jerking final episode. That's called 5D chess, by the way. Literally threading multiple narratives all over the place. I'm absolutely bosh."

  "You were talking about Vimsy."

  "He's playing Ryan, Christian, and Sticky. All the olds. Hear how loud they're laughing? That's because they are, in Manchester speak, bricking it."

  "Afraid?"

  "That's too strong but yeah, really nervous. Ryan isn't starting today's match because he's got no legs but I'm probably going to use him. I can use five guys from my bench, you see. I'd like to give the minutes to young players so they can learn the game faster but if they make a big mistake that could eff them up so I'll probably use Ryan even though I kind of want to use Dan and maybe even Roddy. Sticky's a very experienced goalie and he's excited about the challenge but United have great forwards who can score a goal out of nothing and if he loses concentration even for a second he'll get done."

  "That's all really interesting but I was asking what's going on. Is this a football team?"

  "Didn't Emma explain?"

  "She might have done. I spent the whole weekend thinking about The Cursed Child. That's the play we saw. It was amazing. I wanted to go again today but mum said this was a big deal and my brothers got mad at me for saying I didn't care about the stupid football and they made me come on this bus." She sighed. "Stories are better than the real world, don't you think?"

  "Unless that story is Foucalt's Pendulum, I basically agree. Well, we are Chester Football Club and we are on our way to play a match against Manchester United."

  "Oh, okay."

  "In the FA Cup."

  "Right. What's that?"

  I smiled. There are people in the world who have zero interest in sports. "Okay, so, in Harry Potter there's Quidditch, right? The four Hogwarts houses play against each other and you add up the wins and the scores and you get a league table. Top of the league gets the trophy."

  "The Quidditch Cup."

  "Right, but it's not a cup tournament, it's a league. The Quidditch World Cup is a cup."

  Wee Bonnie gave me a doleful look. "Those scenes are interesting for what they tell us about the characters, not because of the format."

  "Yeah, well, the author missed a trick. There's an easy ten thousand words in having Harry Potter complain about the new Swiss model and the proposed European Sweeper League." I paused for a reaction. "That's not a bad joke, that. It's broomsticks, isn't it? They sweep. Sounds like 'super'." I was mere seconds away from triggering an eye roll so I moved on. "You're right. Doesn't quite land. Unlike the broomsticks! No? You're a tough crowd, aren't you? Everyone else on this bus laughs at my jokes."

  "Because you're paying them."

  "Yeah, so? From now on, laugh at everything I say."

  "Telling a Scottish girl what to do? That's funny."

  "I don't remember the name of the Quidditch team Ron supports... Cannons? Based on Arsenal, maybe? But imagine Chester - that's us, remember - are one of the teams from Hogwarts and we're playing the most famous club in the world in a big stadium and we're going to be on TV watched by five to ten million people in this country alone. You know when Harry wins a match by swallowing the little ball thing and everyone thinks it's cute? Now imagine fifty million people around the world don't know he defeated a dark wizard, they only know him as the kid from the ball-eating gifs. He's an international joke because of one second from one match. That's what's happening today. The entire world thinks we're going to get humiliated and they can't wait to see it."

  "I can understand how that might lead to some tension."

  I pointed. "That dude is called Dan Badford. He's our coolest, most unflappable kid and he's got his big headphones on, bathing himself in sound, but he is - "

  "Bricking it," smiled Wee Bonnie.

  "Butterflies for days. That's Peter Bauer and Pascal Bochum looking at charts and heat maps and shit. When they get stressed they get technical like the answer is in the numbers."

  "The answer to what?"

  I faced forward; WB copied me. "The answer to not ending up as a funny gif." I picked a bit of fluff from my hoodie. "Today could be legendary but it could be a proper, proper disaster. Everyone on this bus has been daydreaming about scoring and running to the away fans. We'll have 6,000 fans today but our stadium only holds five thousand. This will be our biggest attendance for decades. But just as the goal celebration daydream ends, you break out in a cold sweat because what's far more likely is that you swallow the ball and a lot of very famous people tell jokes about you."

  "Emma said you're fearless so you would be in Gryffindor."

  "I'm not fearless. I've been imagining hundreds of ways I could be humiliated today. I'm up against a perfect football manager who is taking this cup seriously. I haven't thought about school for ages but I keep thinking about kids from my year going 'Hey, this guy who's being thrashed on live TV... isn't that Max? What's he doing pretending to be a football manager?' In that particular nightmare I'm also not wearing trousers and I've forgotten my homework."

  "Are you from Manchester?"

  "Yeah." I shifted and fussed with the meal tray fastener. I looked around. "It's really weird, this. Really weird day. I've made the trip home hundreds of times in the last couple of years. My mum's still there and I don't own a football club there. But this time I'm not going home, I'm going away. Wow, that was cool. Write that down."

  "Maybe later."

  "I'm trying to give off the vibe that it's just another match. Which... it is in a way but it's also a huge deal for this football club. Chester is absolutely buzzing, the players can put themselves in the shop window, everyone we know will be watching. Almost everyone." I knew one bungalow in Chorlton which would not be tuned into the BBC. "The problem is we're..." I lifted myself up like a meercat and scanned for eavesdroppers. "Don't blab this, okay? Pinky swear." We crossed our little fingers together. I leaned closer. "We don't have much chance to win. When we played Newcastle they put out a reserve team but today will be most of United's best players and the ones who don't start will be on the bench. United's squad cost way more than a billion pounds and they are paid two hundred million pounds a year in wages. Mine are not even getting two million a year. They are paid one hundred times more than us and in this game, money is almost everything."

  "That doesn't sound very fair."

  "No."

  "What's the point watching if you know who's going to win?"

  "Good question. Not enough people ask that. I'm planning a rant at the end of the match. Live on TV, an epic diatribe about how this isn't a football club any more, it's a brand, a rolling marketing campaign completely disconnected from the fans who built this club into what it was. How it’s a weapon of mass destruction aimed at the English pyramid."

  "I like that you're using your platform but I don't know what any of it means. Didn't I hear you were a fan of United?"

  "I'm a fan of what it was. Fast, attacking football, wingers, thrills, spills, beauty, dreams, glory. Now it's just a business run by some very, very horrible people."

  "Seriously though, can I go back to London to watch The Cursed Child again? This match sounds like being hit by the crucio curse."

  "If it helps cheer you up while you're in the VIP seats eating the finest prawn sandwiches and being offered all-you-can-drink gin, I'll be there in the rain for two hours while my boyhood club slaps me pink. The TV cameras will be watching my every twitch of pain so I'm going to try to stand there like a statue so it's not interesting TV. Doing that's not fun, as I'm sure you can imagine. If we come back next year I'll be super excited. I'll have three solid plans and one Hail Mary."

  "What's that?"

  "That's where you do something mad and desperate because it might work."

  "Don't you have one of those for today?"

  "No. I mean... No."

  "You hesitated."

  I had Relationism and a string of perks. I could combine Cupid's Arrow with Happy New One-Two and see if that allowed me to turn Bestball on for a couple of players. Experimenting against United was not on the menu, though. "There are things I might do if certain players were a bit older. Dan, Wibbers, Roddy. But it's one thing to try something wacky in the House Cup against Hufflepuff, another thing at the Theatre of Dreams."

  "If you don't enjoy your job you should change."

  I laughed. "What makes you think I don't enjoy it?"

  She shrugged. "I remember when my dad didn't like his job and he looked like you. He had that tone when he talked about it."

  "I like my job but I don't like it today. I'm playing chess with all pawns and Pedro Porto has six queens and three horse-bishops. Yeah okay so we're gonna lose, fine, I'm not a bad loser like some of these managers, but it could have serious repercussions. A lot of businesses in Cheshire are suddenly waking up to the hype train and if we lose three-one they will go wow so cool can we rent an executive box in the new stand? Can we sponsor you? Can we get involved? With that money I can hire more dentists and do more charity for our old fans and all kinds of amazing things. If we lose seven-nil they'll stop answering our calls."

  "New phone, who dis?"

  "Exactly."

  "Ghosted."

  "Exactly."

  "You suck."

  "That's what they'll say. Have you finished?"

  She grinned. "Yeah."

  I slumped in my seat as much as its lovely contouring would allow. "I've been thinking things like, if I was offered a three-nil defeat, would I take it? And I probably would because that would keep my story alive. Four-nil is par. Five-nil is embarrassing even with the financial disparity. Six and above and things get awkward."

  "Will you get sacked?"

  "Ha. No. It would just fucking suck arse, do you know what I mean?" I closed my eyes and imagined the scoreboard I'd seen so many times in my life. The black background, the red text for the home team, white for the away. What would be written there? Manchester United 6 Chester 0... or worse? "When I talk to new players I tell them this is a cool place to join. I tell them we're going to the Championship - that's the level below United. There's a guy I like called Dugdale."

  "I wouldn't want a player called Dugdale."

  "You'd prefer him to be called McDugdale."

  "No."

  "I told him if he wants to come to us he needs to sack his agent. I sent him to Gemma and now it's a race against time to get all that wrapped up before the deadline. What a mess. Anyway, I told him we're going to race through the divisions and we're going to compete against big teams every week. If we get tonked today, he might look at today's match and think it's better if Max Best stays in his little League Two crevice." I pushed myself up. "Och, it's not that bad."

  "Stop saying och. That's cultural appropriation."

  "Even if we get dicked a lot of good will come out of today. We get loads of money, my players will improve, and I think I'll improve too."

  "You learn more from losing than from winning. I read that once."

  "Maybe. I learn as much either way most of the time. Wow, can you imagine if I only got experience from losing? How would that work?" My brain froze while I tried to game out the scenarios. I shook that line of thinking away. "I meant as a player. I was fretting that I would spend the rest of the season regressing and what if we ended up in the playoffs and I was bang average? Disaster. But I'm a sub today, aren't I? I'll go on the pitch and do some kick ups. I'll be on the pitch against United, sort of. That has to smash my ceiling back up, right? The curse is pretty inelegant sometimes. I could finish the season closer to my best than any time since my murder."

  "I understand all the words you're saying but I can't follow you."

  I turned around again. Wee Bonnie copied me. I pointed. "See that kid there?"

  "Yes, I know what this is. At football matches there are little boys who go onto the pitch with the players. I didn't know they came on the team bus."

  "They don't. By the way, a lot of clubs charge money for that. It's like eight hundred pounds at Everton. It's a scandal. At Chester it's thirty pounds but even that's outrageous. It should be free. Give them a Chester kit and an amazing memory and we get them hooked. That's coming next year. But that boy is not a mascot. He's one of the best football players in the world."

  Wee Bonnie's eyebrows shot up. "No way."

  "He is. He's called Roddy Jones. He won't play today but I can bring nine subs and it's starting to get time for him to be involved. He'll be in the dressing room with us, he'll warm up with the senior players, he'll get an idea of what it means to be a professional footballer. This is his first time at Old Trafford. 74,000 people watching him. He'll be all wide-eyed, won't he? Overawed. As long as we don't lose six-nil he'll be smiling all the way home."

  "What about if you lose seven-nil?"

  "You're better than that, Wee Bonnie."

  "Bonnie."

  "Next time Roddy comes to Old Trafford, he'll only be thinking about the match and his role. Being on the bench today is going to make him a better player and it's going to give him a hunger. He wants to be part of days like these and he can if he works hard. And if he does what I tell him."

  "Now you look like you enjoy your job."

  I smiled. "It's my job to tell a story to our fans but it's really hard to tell a good one about today. That's so frustrating. I don't really know how to explain it but I feel constricted and I know I have to suffer for 90 minutes. This week, I've been sort of trying to tell a story that isn't based on winning. Ah, shit, that's so lame. It's fucking loser talk. I hate this." I fumed for a while, but let the moment pass. "Chester played United a long time ago and lost 2-1. Chester scored after nine minutes and United equalised in the 56th. If you include half time, that's 62 minutes where Chester were ahead. The most glorious hour and two minutes in the club's history! Imagine being one of those fans that day... I've been looking into the histories of the players and losing two-one is actually amazing given who was on United's team. I made some social media videos where I pretended to be picking a combined eleven from the two teams but I only picked the Chester players."

  "Ha. That's funny."

  "Yeah, it was fun. I want everyone to take what they can from today. The fans can sing their hearts out for 90 minutes and the players can win some of their duels. We will keep our shape and that will make it hard. United will break free and score, course they will, but I just want my players to put up a good fight and do one cool thing that the fans can talk about. Do you know what I mean?"

  "I think so."

  "Yeah." I pulled at my lip. "But even that isn't going to happen. We need to stay solid and keep the score down, the end. I'm sorry, Bonnie, but today really isn't going to make you like football. You should come to one of our other games when we're going absolutely mental."

  "I don't mind. I've got my book."

  "Do you want to see one of the videos I made?"

  "Sure."

  "This is one of my favourites."

  ***

  6 - Dave Durie versus Nobby Stiles

  Max Best is on a chair reading a match programme from 1965.

  VOICE

  Max, what are you doing?

  [The camera swings round and we see that we're in a small dentist's treatment room. Two men and a woman are sitting on chairs opposite Max. A dentist is looking in the mouth of a young man. The picture freezes and everyone gets a name and title. From left to right: NICE ONE (Chester legend), SMASHO (Chester legend), JILL (Chester legend), DOC HUSSEIN (Chester Chompers Champion), BENNY (Youth Player and FA Cup Goalsman).]

  MAX

  Just trying to pick a number 6 for my 1965 Chester slash Man United combined eleven. I've got Chester's Dave Durie or United's Nobby Stiles.

  NICE ONE

  Max! That's not a contest!

  SMASHO

  Come on, Max. We love our former players but Nobby Stiles won the World Cup.

  JILL

  And he man-marked Eusebio when United won the European Cup. Only three Englishmen have won those two trophies.

  BENNY

  Uh uh UH uh uh!

  DOC HUSSEIN

  That's right.

  MAX

  What did he say?

  DOC HUSSEIN

  Benny said Nobby Stiles is namechecked in the famous Three Lions song. When they are listing iconic moments that make us proud to be English they say 'and Nobby dancing'. That's a reference to Nobby Stiles dancing on the pitch at Wembley Stadium holding aloft the Jules Rimet trophy.

  BENNY

  Uh uh UHHH.

  DOC HUSSEIN

  Which is gleaming.

  JILL

  Stiles was a defensive midfielder, Max. You love your DMs.

  MAX

  Yeah but Dave Durie became a player-manager.

  [A graphic appears on screen. It's a 2-3-5 formation. The name DURIE slams into the right-half slot, joining REEVES, JONES, STARKEY, HAUSER and BUTLER.]

  ***

  Wee Bonnie liked the video and we watched all eleven. After each I described the filming challenges, discarded lines and scenes, bloopers.

  It helped take my mind off the stress of the day, but all too soon the cantilevered roof of Old Trafford came into view and my heart fluttered. This was happening. I was going to manage against Manchester United. Demon Boy versus the Red Devils. What the actual eff.

  Wee Bonnie sensed that something had changed and she followed my gaze. "That looks quite big."

  "Seventy-four thousand. Used to be one of the best stadiums in the country but the club was bought by a family of vampires and they stopped investing in it. Now the roof leaks and it's turning into a shithole. The new billionaire owner wants to build a completely new stadium but he wants the British taxpayer to pay for it. Capitalism for us, socialism for him." I sighed. "It used to be a great club. Now it's just a business run by businessmen. It's all about cutting costs. Sacking people who've been working there for thirty years, stripping Alex Ferguson of his ambassador role. He's the best football manager ever and he's the man who made the club what it is today. No United fan would dream of kicking him out to save a bit of money but there is nothing the new owner won't do to put some extra cash in his pocket." I grunted in frustration. "I'd fucking love to beat them!" I took my phone out of WB's fingers. "Instead I'm doing social media content. Brooke calls it 'building an emotional world for our fans to live in' but I call it trying to give myself the illusion of control. I wrote the scripts, designed the billboard."

  Wee Bonnie got a sniffy expression. "I don't know what you're so worked up about. It's only a game."

  I stuck my tongue out the side of my mouth. "You're right. Princess Perspective. Wee Bonnie the Wise. Heh. It's only a game."

  "Games are supposed to be fun."

  "I'll try to remember that."

  ***

  Sealbiscuit pulled into the car park and we got out, walking past a few United fans who were waiting for the home team. Some of them booed us in playful fashion. Wibbers looked affronted, Dan let it wash over him, Pascal smiled.

  I kept my expression neutral all the way to the dressing rooms, got changed, and joined the warm ups, staying on the fringes to protect my heel. This would ensure everyone thought I was fit to play so that sacrificing my spot would mean something. I was also praying that being on the pitch at Old Trafford would raise my CA soft cap.

  On the pitch at Old Trafford! I tried not to let it affect me but the place was steeped in history and stories. I'd seen the stadium from all kinds of angles but mostly from above, as per the TV cameras, or up in the North stand. More recently I had watched from the executive lounge. I hadn't seen it from the edge of the D, from a player's perspective, except when playing FIFA.

  Video games didn't do it justice. The place, crumbling though it was, remained a cathedral of football. One of the banners hanging read: MUFC The Religion.

  Amen.

  I got a ball, wandered into space, lay down, and did a hundred tiny kick-ups with my right foot. I got up and thought about taking a free kick or penalty just to say I'd scored at Old Trafford but something made me hesitate. Apart from the obvious risk that putting pressure on my achilles would delay my healing, I wanted my first goal here to be real and to mean something. I would be back soon enough and by then my CA would be approaching pre-murder levels. I would run, dribble, shoot, and score and I would knee slide and somersault and take my shirt off and launch myself into the crowd. I would give myself two or three fines and the ref would give me two or three yellow cards.

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

  I wandered over to the away fans and got a hair-raising crackle of applause. We had sold six thousand tickets in a big wedge, generating a big wedge of cash for the club. I gave them a Maxy two-thumbs and a cheeky grin but as I wandered back to the dressing room the smile faded.

  Time for the game.

  Time for my game face.

  ***

  "All right, shut the fuck up," I said. The dressing rooms were pretty massive and even with all my extra subs and having brought as many backroom staff as possible, there was loads of space.

  Some of my staff were down in Lincoln, where the women were also playing in the FA Cup. Their match had kicked off already and was nearing half time. It was still nil-nil but because Kit had already played for Bristol in the cup, Angel was leading the line. I had very little doubt we would win and Angel would score. The contest between Kit and Angel would be intense for the rest of the season and Kit would win. She was a frankly ludicrous CA 90 - completely overspecced for the level we were playing at. But Angel would have no rival for the FA Cup matches and those would be her chance to shine - and to get minutes in the documentary.

  "My favourite movie is The Sound of Music, because that was released in 1965 and because it's 174 minutes long, which is the same amount of time Sticky's going to waste on goal kicks today." I ambled around checking out the faces of my troops. Now that we had warmed up and slipped back into the old routine, some of the nerves had eased away. "The Sound of Music is the story of an absolute rando called Max Best who gets a job at an old ruin. He has to babysit seven fucking brats called Wibbers, Pascal, Roddy, Josh, Banksy, Youngster, and Henri."

  "Max," complained the Frenchman.

  "He teaches them to play football, makes them a new kit out of the old curtains, and he enters them in a competition that they win easily because they have learned the value of togetherness. One of them bangs a Nazi but we can gloss over that. What's interesting is that during the scenes in the convent - I forgot to mention Max Best is a nun - you can clearly see the other nuns are watching Man United v Chester on the telly and both teams are playing 2-3-5.

  "That's what United will be doing today when they have the ball, which will be most of the time. We're doing 5-3-2 to counter that. We'll slow their attacks, make things difficult for them. It's going to be unpleasant. Dirty work but someone has to do it - you are the chosen ones!"

  I tapped the magnets representing the 'chosen ones'. There were no real surprises in my line up.

  "Sticky, they're going to pepper you with shots and they have players who can hit them. Their crossing is generally shit, though. Come and claim and look for big punches to launch counters, like we practised. And yeah, hate to say it but we need to run down the clock. Take your time on goal kicks, offsides, the rest of it. Don't get a yellow card and do look for quick breaks, especially in the second half when we've made some subs. They have lazy players and they leave gaps.

  "Back five: Cole, Christian, Magnus, Zach, Lee H. It's going to be hard. Their forwards are fast and have all the skills but if you stick with them you'll see they beat themselves more than half the time. Shit decisions, shit crosses, complacency. You just need to stick with them. Don't dive in, stay on your feet. When they get past you, get your head down and sprint back. Trust your teammates, keep your shape. I know it's easier said than done.

  "Three in midfield: Lee C, Youngster, Andrew. Yeah it's all about running. Little shuttles up and down, side to side. One thing United are good at is switching the ball to the other side of the pitch quickly. These are a few of my favourite pings. Anyone? That's a song from... No? Okay when they ping it, don't panic. Jog across, keep your shape. United take a lot of shots from outside the penalty area so get in position to block those.

  "Two up top: Henri and Foquita. Henri, we need you to suffer. Close down as much as you can. If you get yourself a bit of space on the ball we're looking for Foquita early. There won't be any fancy combinations today, no slapping."

  No slapping indeed. Our average CA was 82.9. United had picked up a couple of minor injuries over the international break so instead of their usual average CA of 169, they would only have 161. Their bench featured a few kids brought along for the experience and to placate the fans who were grumbling that Pedro Porto wasn't giving minutes to young players the way most United managers did. But there were five internationals on the bench, too. We wouldn't get any respite and even if United got a red card it would be a surprise for us just to get a shot on target.

  "If we get smashed I'm taking Sealbiscuit and going to escape to Switzerland."

  Henri laughed and got to his feet. "Max! Don't give us an incentive to lose."

  That got a load of laughs. As so often, his intervention was pitch-perfect. Julie Andrews could do no better. I would miss him when he was gone. I went over and put my hand on his shoulder. "You've got the shittest job of the day, mon ami. Your job is to work, work, work." I took my arm away and grinned. "But no-one said you can't look fantastic while doing it."

  Henri ran his hand through his hair. "Work hard, look fantastic. I like the plan."

  "Give me an hour of thankless running and I'll give you a standing ovation."

  Henri's eyes narrowed. "I accept."

  I walked on, making strong eye contact with everyone. "There's glory out there. Get yourself one moment you'll remember, one moment the fans will still be talking about in sixty years. One great save, one crunching tackle, one goal-line clearance, one brilliant interception. Glory through suffering. That's a thing, isn't it, Youngster? First step, the suffering. Keep it tight first eighty-nine and we'll have a real good go at them at the end." Lots of smiles at that. "That's it. Let's give the fans a day to remember."

  ***

  Commentary from the BBC's coverage.

  Mark: "You're joining us here at a sold-out Old Trafford where the rain has just started. For now, it's a light drizzle but it is expected to get worse. Thirteen times winners Manchester United will host fourth-tier Chester and the home fans will be hoping it rains goals. The two teams have only ever met once before in a competitive match. That took place 61 years ago almost to the day and finished 2-1 to the Red Devils. Such a close result would be unthinkable today, and would turn up the heat on United's manager Pedro Porto. He says he needs time to rebuild the squad but will he get it?"

  Chris: "I think he will, Mark. He has done enough in his time at the club to suggest he's the right man for the job. He deals with the media very well and he knows how to communicate to his players and the fans. There's a very definite style of play, which was lacking with previous United managers, and they have shown us glimpses of what we can expect to see if he gets the players he wants. Many of his current players don't really suit this system."

  Mark: "Does that give the visitors any hope? Chester FC, until recently a non-league team who started the season rooted firmly to the bottom of League Two."

  Chris: "Hope? For Chester? No."

  ***

  Manchester United to get this match underway.

  Dekker rolls the ball to Brito. He clips it wide right to Labbo.

  Labbo plays it backwards.

  The ball goes through the centre backs to Tekin in goal.

  Tekin to Campbell. Campbell to Brito.

  He has time. There is not much pressure coming from the Chester players.

  Brito leans back and hits a hopeful ball into the box.

  Evergreen and Fierce compete with Dekker.

  Fierce wins the header...

  But heads it straight into Evergreen!

  The ball rebounds into the penalty area...

  Dekker reacts fastest...

  GOOOOAAAALLLL!!!!

  Manchester United take the lead!

  ***

  ButteryCrumpets

  Man U 1 Chester 0

  lol.

  After twenty-five seconds.

  LOL.

  ***

  In 1965, Chester's player-manager gave the travelling fans over an hour in which to dream of a famous win. I can only imagine the songs, the chants, the cheers. Peter Hauser, I assume, didn't have a curse helping him. I did, but on my watch the six thousand Chester fans who had put their trust in me fell silent after half a minute.

  I tried to keep my face impassive because I knew the cameras were on me. I tried not to think about how Emma would explain this to her cousins, how Brooke would be smiling thinly at some sponsor, how everyone who hated me would be refilling their glass, how my former schoolmates would be pissing themselves laughing.

  I walked along my technical area and back to where I started.

  We kicked off. Henri played the ball to Lee C, who passed to Zach. He decided to give Sticky a touch, which was something I liked my defenders to do, but a United striker had sprinted full-pelt, slid in front of Sticky, and was an inch away from the ball as Sticky frantically sent it to Cole. Cole was instantly put under pressure and had to work hard to keep his body between Labbo and the ball. Cole eventually wrestled enough space to turn and hit the ball right-footed down the line. Labbo blocked it and we got a goal kick. Typically brainless defensive play from Labbo - if he had left Cole's clearance alone, United would have got it and had another chance to attack.

  "Thank God for idiots," I mumbled.

  Talking of idiots... one of my wilder schemes was about to debut. But first, a little timewasting.

  Sticky ambled over to get the ball while a ball boy threw one towards him. Sticky put the first ball down on the six-yard line and played it quickly out to Lee H. The ref whistled because there were two balls on the pitch - as Sticky knew. Zach rushed to kick the first ball out of bounds while Sticky threw his ball off. Suddenly there were none!

  All terribly amusing and since the home team were leading, no-one gave a shit. But we had taken thirty seconds off the clock. We might lose 19-0 but we wouldn't lose by twenty.

  When a new ball arrived, Sticky placed it on the left-hand-side of the six-yard-line. On the left of the penalty box, Cole Adams ran towards the ball before wheeling away. Christian did the same, moving in Cole's circular route, followed by Zach, followed by Youngster. It was the Ring a Ring o' Roses routine I had seen once. No United player flinched so Sticky played the ball to Cole. He was left alone until he carried the ball level with the edge of our penalty area - then the United swarm was triggered.

  "Interesting," I mumbled. United were using the line, not a particular player. "Peter," I said, and he appeared next to me. We discussed this new information and what we could do about it. Short answer: nothing today. Next time, though. Next time we might be able to exploit that.

  ***

  SummerhillBill

  What the fucking Christ did I just see? Jester players prancing around in circles. It isn't May and there's no pole.

  Not sure I want this clown running Welsh football.

  CrunchyAbs

  The United fans are chanting 'what the fucking hell was that?!'

  BeardedWonderwall

  We should send worldwide invites to LALAC. Who wouldn't want to laugh at Chester after this?

  ***

  I watched intently as we fought and scrapped. I wanted to crouch so I could concentrate harder but Pedro Porto was already doing that. Crouching was kind of his thing. Another of his things was having a virtual clean sweep of 20s in his profile. Adaptability, Coaching, Judging Players, Man Management, Tactics. This was a flawless football manager.

  Which made this match a great opportunity to learn. I don't mean the 14 XP per minute I was bagging, and I don't mean learning from Porto's tactical ideas. Putting your players in a coherent system? I knew that trick.

  No, I was interested to see if Porto would spot when I made tweaks and if he would even bother reacting. If a manager with Tactics 20 couldn't spot what I was doing, that boded very well for my career. If Porto spotted the problems I was creating and reacted quickly, that was going to make my life a lot harder.

  Of course it was possible I wouldn't cause him a single issue in the entire match, certainly if the first nine minutes were anything to go by.

  Sticky caught a tame cross and instantly dropped it, very nearly leading to disaster. Cole was struggling against Labbo, United's most in-form player, and when the ball did fall to Cole's feet, he found himself being forced onto his weaker right foot. Christian's confidence seemed to be shaken when Dekker won an aerial duel. Zach and Magnus were pulled out of position, Lee H was beaten for pace. The midfield ran around dutifully, our strikers barely touched the ball.

  I tweaked every single setting at least once and when we had a goal kick I micro-managed the team as far as the interface would let me. First I swapped Magnus and Lee Contreras so that Lee was in the back five. I set Lee to be our playmaker to try to get Sticky (set to short passes) to give him the ball. When that happened and United's players surged ahead, I swapped Magnus and Lee to their correct positions and set whoever was in space as the playmaker. The idea was that I could guide the ball through the press and into a position where we might be able to play some football, though it was a testament to how outmatched we were that I created a new hotkey - instantly reverting everyone to their starting positions and setting us to 'men behind ball'. In short, I had created a panic button.

  My attempt to approximate the patterns of elite teams almost worked but in the end I had to abandon the idea because persisting with it was likely to give me a heart attack. I just didn't have the players and we kept nearly shooting ourselves in the foot. Peter had urged me to think about my own career, my future job prospects, but I cared more about what Wee Bonnie thought of me than the directors at Bournemouth or Brighton. "Sorry, Wee Bee," I mumbled as I gave up all attempt to do anything interesting for the day. I instructed Sticky to boot the ball long and focused all my attention on adjusting our defensive spacing.

  Ian Evans would have been proud.

  Our match ratings were bad, our stats were bad, we didn't pass the eye test. Things got worse.

  ***

  Mark: "Labbo collects the ball on the right touchline, drifts inside left-footed. Adams tries to hold him up. Donno on the overlap. Labbo chooses to dribble square. He passes to Brito. Clever ball to Donno. His attempted cross is blocked by Green. Good play from the American. United go again. They play the ball back to the halfway line. A lot of probing, a lot of movement."

  Chris: "It has been a really bright start. They want to get this match wrapped up - they have a lot of fixtures on the horizon."

  Mark: "From the left it's worked inside. Brito moves forward. Nearly tackled by Contreras. United retain possession, just about. Recycled to Brito. Will he have a pop from distance? He can hit them from there! Evergreen moves to block... Brito with the slick pass to Dekker. Dekker simple pass through... Labbo curls it left-footed past Icke and the Stretford End rejoice! He struck that so sweetly. Two goals for Manchester United in the first ten minutes!"

  Chris: "That was a lovely goal. That was quality interplay between those three. Few defenders can handle that."

  Mark: "It could be a long afternoon for these Chester players. You have to fear for them."

  ***

  ButteryCrumpets

  Two-nil.

  lol

  SummerhillBill

  United should score ten today. Anything less than ten and I'm calling the police to report match-fixing.

  ***

  I couldn't keep still and pulled my hood over my face so I could do some low-level fuming without making a big deal of it. This fucking sport, man. Every match without fail, Laddo had ten shots like that, most of which were only a danger to the guys sitting in row K. But of course against us he gets it right.

  "Peter," I said.

  He came rushing. "Yes, Max?"

  I pulled the hood back so he would feel he had my undivided attention. "Distract me."

  "Oh." He thought about it. "I've been wondering what that thing was between you and Brooke."

  "She tried to jump me in a hotel but I turned her down."

  He smiled. "No way that happened. Uh-uh. No, I meant in that meeting when you said you were going to Canada. She seemed put out."

  "Mmm," I said. "I think she was just disappointed because she has been networking in the States but she doesn't know anyone in Canada."

  "Okay. I suppose that makes sense." Christian won a header and Zach rushed forward to get to the ball before Brito. Green won the duel against the PA 190 midfielder. "Yes, Zach!" called Peter. "Love that!"

  Brito was fascinating. He had great technical skills, Creativity 20, and could play all sorts of passes. He was a menace from free kicks. Now 32, he was United's captain but his Influence score was a paltry 11. It really seemed like he was the captain because he was paid the most. 366,000 pounds a week. Nice work if you can get it.

  I had spent most of the week resolved not to change from 5-3-2 but I was feeling itchy. Restless. "Peter, if we do 5-4-1 we might be able to keep the ball more than two passes."

  Peter shook his head. "Our only hope is to get lucky. Maybe a defender slips or there's a loose pass back to the goalie. We need two strikers to make sure we get any freebies that come our way."

  My head dropped. "Yeah, there's nothing we can do." I looked around the stadium, the familiar rain passing in front of the floodlights, the familiar colours, flags, banners. The unfamiliar feeling of alienation. I was the intruder, the enemy. These people would love to watch me suffer. "I'm going to rehearse my post-match rant. Come and distract me sometimes."

  "How should I do that?"

  "Just talk a load of shit."

  "I am learning a lot from you, Max, but I am not in your class when it comes to that."

  I smiled and pulled my hood to eye level.

  ***

  Mark: "Half an hour gone here in Manchester and the rain is coming down heavier. United well in control. Chester are yet to have a touch in United's penalty area, let alone have a shot. Peter Bauer, grandson of the great German player, in discussion with Max Best there. I wonder what they are saying."

  Chris: "If I were him I'd be saying why don't you get on the pitch, gaffer? You're our best player."

  Mark: "Best has an unconventional attitude to his playing career and certainly he's unconventional with the media, too, though when he's sending Sandra Lane or Peter Bauer to the pressers there can be few complaints. Good work by Youngster and Harrison! They combined to thwart that latest United attack. At two-nil there's still some semblance of hope. More good closing down from Harrison forces United back. It's with Tekin. Foquita goes to pressure him... but Tekin boots it long. He didn't trust the surface, which is now quite slick."

  Chris: "He was Tekin no chances."

  [Pause.]

  Mark: "Labbo on the right. Great piece of skill to get past Adams! Adams has been given a torrid time today. Labbo to the byline - cross - header from Dekker - oh, how has that missed? I thought that was in!"

  Chris: "Great cross, great movement by Dekker to find space in the crowded box, decent header, he's just got his angle slightly wrong."

  Mark: "He holds his head in his hands. Utter disbelief from the Dutch international. He's usually so reliable in such situations."

  Chris: "Corner."

  Mark: "What? Yes, the ref has given a corner. The Chester players can't believe it. I'm not sure I can."

  Chris: "You can tell by a team's reaction, sometimes. Chester absolutely stunned by that. No-one in red even appealed for it. And there on the replay. Dekker heads it wide and there isn't a Chester player anywhere near it. Astonishing decision by the referee. If United score from this it will be a travesty."

  ***

  ButteryCrumpets

  Three-nil.

  lol.

  From a corner that shouldn't have been given.

  LOL.

  BeardedWonderwall

  Wonder what Best is thinking?

  ***

  8 - Mike Metcalf versus Bobby Charlton

  MAX BEST is strolling around Chester Zoo with Peter Bauer.

  MAX

  PB, it's that time. I know you hate talking about it.

  PETER

  I love football, Max, and I love my grandfather. I don't hate talking about it. I'm actually excited; I did a lot of research.

  MAX

  So you know that Mike Metcalf scored 38 of Chester's 151 goals in the 1965 season. He was a serious goalsman that year. A proper bagsman.

  PETER

  Bagsman? You're making these words up, Max!

  MAX

  People say it! Listen to those podcasts that slag me off. They say goalsman and bagsman all the time!

  PETER

  Mike Metcalf had the season of his life in '65, there's no doubt about it. Is that a capybara?

  MAX

  Don't express interest in the animals! The zoo isn't paying us. It's Britain's best zoo, so what? Pay us and we'll say that on our socials.

  PETER

  Can we talk about Bobby Charlton yet?

  MAX

  He [bleep]ed your grandad in 1970 and everyone knows it. We were winning two-nil and Germany only won because Charlton was subbed off. Not even Beckenbauer could handle him.

  PETER

  We actually scored one goal while he was still on the pitch but my grandfather speaks so, so highly of Bobby Charlton. They were peers. Mirror images. I'm here to beg you to put Bobby Charlton in your combined eleven.

  MAX

  [Somberly, nodding.] Go on. Tell me why.

  PETER

  He was an astonishing player. Two hundred and fifty goals from midfield, for such a long time England's top scorer - in a country that produced Dixie Dean and Jimmy Greaves! He was one of the Busby Babes, the incredible Manchester United team made up of the country's best, brightest, and youngest. He survived...

  MAX

  [Looking away, tears welling.] Don't.

  PETER

  [Softly, with empathy.] He survived the Munich air disaster. Scored twice in the 1966 World Cup semi-final, kept my grandfather quiet in the final. Scored twice in the European Cup final two years later, ten years after the disaster. Max, you've seen his statue outside Old Trafford a hundred times. I have to put my foot down on this. I know you're doing mad lad bantz but I also know you respect the history of the game. You can't go against Bobby Charlton, even as a joke. It's not right.

  MAX

  Mike Metcalf became a player-manager, though. For a Welsh team. That's double points.

  PETER

  Bobby Charlton was player-manager of Preston North End.

  MAX

  Bobby Charlton... player-manager? Seriously?

  [A graphic appears on screen. It's a 2-3-5 formation. The names REEVES, JONES, STARKEY, HAUSER, BUTLER, DURIE, HUMES are there... The slot with the number 8 shakes, flips over, rights itself, before finally the name CHARLTON slams into place.]

  ***

  At half time we were three-nil down and the contest appeared over. I walked into the dressing room and let out a big sigh. Something like this had been almost inevitable. In a perverse way I was glad the curse operated within footballing logic. If I could win just by wanting it, what would be the point of grinding and hustling to increase our CA? And when I had a CA 160 team I didn't want us getting surprised by some League Two nobodies.

  The lads were quiet while we decompressed. I rested my head against a wall and replayed some of the most notable incidents. Players with loose first touches getting us into trouble, dudes passing to guys who weren't expecting it, all kinds of remedial shit. I wasn't sure if I should make a big deal out of those things in the coming week's training or if I should let it go. Write it off as the cost of playing at this level for the first time. I would discuss it with Peter and Vimsy but probably I'd let it go. The players would know, wouldn't they? They'd train it up in their own way in their own time.

  You’re half right, I thought. We needed to work on the defensive mistakes, especially while Peter was around. He was a lot more sophisticated than Vimsy. In fact, I should use the rest of January to let Peter take us up a level in our defensive work. Our attacking output would take care of itself, especially if we were able to add Charlie Dugdale to the mix.

  That felt right. I was on a roll. I got to my feet and went to the tactics board.

  "Shut the fuck up," I said, and the lads stopped murmuring to each other.

  I noted that Morale was good. We had been well and truly dicked in the first half, if we were being honest. Every single player had lost his duels and no-one was on more than six out of ten. But I think we knew that our fundamentals were sound. The shape was good and the formation was appropriate.

  We'd been unlucky with the first goal - bad bounce. The second was very slick play that was hard to defend against. Maybe when Sticky was CA 122 he would get his hand to it. Maybe. The third was fucking annoying. It was never a corner and we had defended the initial cross really well. The ball had bounced out to Donna, one of my least favourite United players, a guy who was nowhere near good enough to play for the club, and he had hit a one-in-a-million thunderbastard right into the top-left corner. The guy least suited to wear the same shirt as the team of '65 had hit a Bobby Charlton thunderbastard.

  The unfairness is part of why we love the game.

  I got cheeky. "Okay, so I'm pretty sure that's the first time I didn't cheer when Man United got a dubious decision given to them at home."

  That got a big laugh. Opposition fans always complained United got soft penalties and loads of generous decisions. I genuinely didn't think that was something that happened. Liverpool, on the other hand...

  "Manchester is my home. This," I said, checking out the walls and ceiling. "This is supposed to be my home. My club, my city, my community. But it isn't. It hasn't been my home for a long time."

  I clicked my neck left and right and went on a stroll.

  "This brand - it isn't a football club - has done so many disgraceful things in the last twenty years it's hard to remember which one was the final straw for me, but at some point I stopped caring if United won or lost. It's hard because if there are three academy kids in the team I still think about the Busby Babes, about the Class of '92. They wear the same red, the fans sing the same songs. These players go on the same Wikipedia page as Bobby Charlton, Bill Foulkes, and Nobby Stiles. But this isn't Man United. It's not." I rested my hands on a laundry bin. "I don't feel at home out there."

  I pushed the bin away as I stood and continued walking.

  "In The Sound of Music the von Trapp family realise that their homeland has turned into a place with no values, no morality." I pointed to the outside with a satisfied smile. Nailed it! "As decent people they couldn't live in a regime of cruelty, stupidity, and wasted talent, so they left. Man United's owners are anti-fan, anti-democratic, anti-football, so I left. The von Trapp family went to Switzerland, the poor bastards, but I got lucky. I went to Chester." I inhaled and looked up. I couldn't make eye contact or I would go off. I put my hand on Youngster's shoulder. "You're my home now. You're my family." The entire squad's Morale briefly hit maximum. "Whatever happens in the second half, I'm with you. I've got your back. I'll defend you till my dying day. That's a promise. Just please stay in the game for as long as possible until we get our chance to do something amazing, something worthy of the support we're getting. We will get a chance and when we do, we're going to go at it hell for leather. Until then, keep doing what you're doing because what you're doing is what football's all about."

  "Max," said someone from the back. I hadn't expected anyone else to speak so it took me a second to realise it was Physio Dean. An injury I hadn't spotted? He pointed to his phone. "The women are two-nil up. Angel with both."

  "Fuck me!" I roared, suddenly energised. I paced around slapping my guys on the top of the head or on the shoulder depending on whether they could batter me or not. "Are you twats gonna let the women get all the glory today? Hey? Get the fuck back out there and earn the right to do something fucking cool." No-one moved. "Let's fucking go!" I screamed.

  That did the trick. They yelled things and stormed back out.

  Ten out of ten speech.

  "Amazing," said Peter, eyes shining. "So we have a plan?"

  "Yeah," I said. "Hope three United players get sent off."

  ***

  We battled. We struggled. We barely crossed the halfway line and when we did, our attacks fizzled out.

  United had 80% possession. They played the ball around in their set patterns until they slapped shots at goal from mad angles. Some shots were blocked by our defenders, some went high, some went narrowly wide. In almost every case, another United player was much better placed to score. They were like a team of Youngsters; they would drive me fucking insane if I had to work with them.

  I spent a good deal of my time watching Pedro Porto. Listening, too, because he was constantly yelling instructions. Every single one of them sounded right to me and my admiration for him increased. Luckily for me, the United players didn't pay attention.

  It was like someone had been on a ten-year mission to assemble a group with the highest possible footballing talent that came with low decision-making. Some of the players had seen off five or six managers. Why should they listen to the latest one?

  The whole thing was reinforcing my belief that I shouldn't sign players with single-digit Decisions scores. Beggers can't be choosers and if a PA 180 guy turned up for free or cheap I would pretty much always sign him, but if I could possibly help it, I needed to stick to my guns. High Decisions, Technique, and Teamwork, and my teams would always stand a chance.

  ***

  SummerhillBill

  Absolutely fuming at these United players. They can't cross, can't spot there's a fella unmarked at the far post. They could have had twelve goals by now! Score more goals you overpaid twats!

  BeardedWonderwall

  No joke now, put Muggles in this team and he'd score 40 goals a season.

  SummerhillBill

  How? They never pass when they can shoot from distance!

  ***

  The clock ticked ever higher. Fifty minutes gone. Fifty-five. While it was still three-nil I was content. No doubt United would score one more in the final minutes but as I'd told Wee Bonnie, four-nil was par.

  The away fans had, ah, taken on liquid in the half-time break and were making more and more of a racket. The home fans didn't get up to much, which is to be expected when the match you're watching is of no real entertainment value. They were simply waiting for the next goal.

  With an hour gone our Condition scores weren't bad considering how hard we'd had to work - the Brig had kicked our fitness up a notch since last season - but I knew Henri would like his ovation and Ryan would want to get on the pitch; he wouldn't get many more big games. I took Henri and Andrew off and put Dazza and Ryan on. Henri enjoyed his ovation from the Chester fans but he was too exhausted to do anything other than go directly to the bench and cover himself with a towel.

  I glanced at Pedro Porto. He was watching as if every kick was vital. Not a hint of complacency about him. He hadn't made any mistakes. He gestured and United's subs went to warm up, two England internationals and two Champions League winners among them.

  I stood quietly on the touchline, taking my beating like a champ, suffering in silence.

  The United fans sang one of their George Best songs and that triggered a tiny smile.

  ***

  11 - Elfed Morris versus George Best

  MAX BEST is shivering slightly near a busy roundabout. BROOKE is wrapped up in a soft cream coat, scarf, gloves and hat. MD is in a suit.

  [Cut to: Chester's billboard. It is covered with a big sheet. Two men are up on the top and will release the sheet on Max's signal.]

  MD

  So the last decision is Morris against George Best. That one seems straightforward, Max.

  MAX

  Quite right. Elfed Morris all day long. First point in his favour, he's called Elfed. How awesome is that? Second, he scored 26 goals in the '65 season. 28 if you count the Welsh Cup, and why wouldn’t you? Third, it sounds like he could have gone to a bigger club but chose to stay. Loyalty! Love that. The only black mark against him is that he never became a player-manager.

  BROOKE

  He did, Max! For Caernarfon Town.

  MAX

  Bosh. Case closed.

  MD

  My director friends will never let me hear the end of it if that sheet comes down and it says Morris. The Fifth Beatle. The Belfast Boy. George Best, Max. Ever heard of him?

  MAX

  Name rings a bell.

  MD

  [Stamping his feet and blowing into his hands.] Come on, I'm freezing. We know you wrote Best up there. Let's get on with it.

  MAX

  Fine.

  [Max gives the signal. The signal is that he turns around and jabs two thumbs at the top of his back.]

  [The sheet falls. The entire billboard is taken up by a 2-3-5 formation. Under the numbers one to eleven are the following names: REEVES, JONES, STARKEY, HAUSER, BUTLER, DURIE, HUMES, CHARLTON, TALBOT, RYDEN, BEST.]

  BROOKE

  Nine from Chester. I'd love to get your methodology peer-reviewed.

  MAX

  No need. Total science, that. I consulted with experts from France, Germany, Australia, Peru, and wherever Magnus is from.

  MD

  [Squinting.] What's that, there?

  MAX

  Where?

  MD

  Above the name Best. It should say 11 but the serif is quite long... Max, does that say 77? Did you put yourself in a combined team from... from 1965?

  MAX

  Don't be daft. That doesn't even make sense.

  MD

  Brooke, does that say 77?

  BROOKE

  I think the font may have been chosen for its ambiguity.

  MD

  I'm almost lost for words. I suppose I should have expected something like this. Okay, well, it's up and it's quite moving, actually. Shame for two of the Famous Five to be left out.

  MAX

  If we win this Sunday I'll name my firstborn Elfed, how about that?

  [They admire the billboard for a few seconds.]

  BROOKE

  Who would get in a combined eleven for this week's match?

  MAX

  [Makes an O face.] MD! Can I have some more money? I just had a great idea for another series!

  ***

  Number one, sang the United fans, to the tune of Yellow Submarine, is Georgie Best. Number two is Georgie Best. Number three - well, you get the idea. In order to scan, the song goes all the way up to number twelve - first substitute - before the chorus: We all live in a Georgie Best world.

  The acoustics in the rain felt strange - it sounded like only one stand was singing.

  Wait.

  Hang on. Only one stand...

  The back of my neck tingled.

  The song wasn't coming from the home fans. Chester's fans were in full voice. I shuffled to my right, pulled my hoodie back, and listened in utter disbelief.

  Number eleven! Is Maxy Best!

  Number twelve! Is Maxy Best!

  What the fuck...

  We all live in a Maxy Best world! A Maxy Best world! A Maxy Best world!

  Three-nil down, seventy minutes of abject football, shuffling left and right, scraping by, no shots, no skills, just heart. Heart, sweat, effort, fighting for the badge.

  My spirits soared. The fans were with us, behind us, behind me. I paced around the technical area, adrenaline pumping, jaw set. I wanted to fucking do something. I had to do something. Give the fans something to talk about on the way home. Just one moment.

  I once more checked every setting, every hotkey, every perk I had yet to use. I only needed the slightest bit of help from Pedro Porto but the bastard was far too good. The pressure from his system was unrelenting; there was only one way I could impact the game.

  I took my hoodie's zip between my finger and thumb. I could play at the risk of aggravating my achilles. In fact, it would probably set me back to zero. Who gave a shit?

  "Max!" called Peter, as he rushed up to me.

  "I'm not," I said, hand flying away from the zip.

  He gave me a strange glance before gripping me by the chest. "Subs, Max! What are we going to do?"

  "Yeah, soon," I said, frowning. Why was he being so dramatic?

  "Not ours. Theirs!"

  I snapped wide awake. Pedro Porto had his arms around some rando while his coaches were showing formation graphics to another couple. "The fucking kids," I said. "He's putting the kids on. The kids, Peter!"

  "I know!"

  "Don't look too excited or he might call it off. Look sombre."

  He was beaming. "I can't! What are we going to do?"

  "Just wait. This can't really be happening. Don't jinx it." There was no way Porto was taking off three guys with an average CA of 180 and sending on three twenty-year-olds with an average of CA 100. But he was! This was him throwing a bone to the United fans. They wanted to see young players given a chance in the side and Porto clearly thought it was safe to throw three bones! That would kill the topic for a while, wouldn't it? I stared in amazement at the eight senior players who would remain on the turf - you wouldn't bet on that mob to score, ever, unless you handed them a goal on a plate. We could get reckless. Fearless. "Fuck me, this is happening," I mumbled.

  Peter nodded silently, rain splashing all over his happy face.

  United weren't going to change formation but their press would be even more disorganised and their attacks far less threatening. Three young men making their debut! They would be trying to avoid mistakes, trying not to screw up. The match would still be crazily unbalanced but we might be able to do something. Something, at last!

  The three departing reds got their ovations from the home fans and there was generous applause for the new lads. "This is happening," I repeated, as I realised I had three subs left to make and all my perks.

  Peter's eyes flicked around as he considered our options. "You told me Old Trafford is the home of wingers, of wide play. What about 3-5-2? Bark on the right. Josh on the left."

  "No," I growled. Growled! Physio Dean had his Doctor Voice that came out in emergencies. I had Nutjob Voice. My jaw was set and I couldn't hear the away fans over the thunder in my head. "Dan! Get over here." Dan rushed to my side. "I'm putting Pascal and Wibbers on. Do you want to play?"

  "Yes," he said, instantly. Then he realised what that meant. "But what about you?"

  I grabbed his shoulders. Suddenly everything was urgent, life or death, no time for hesitation. "You're the future of this football club." If there was a loyalty attribute, I was pretty sure I had just increased it by one. Thank you, Chipper! "I need you to take the ball from Sticky and get it to midfield. United will be incoherent but I still need you to play smooth, save the skills for training. Simple, slick, smooth. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, boss."

  To Peter and Dan I said, "3-5-2 but we shove it up them through the middle."

  "The middle?" said Peter, pulling a face.

  "The middle," I snarled. The blood was in my nostrils; I would turn this stadium red. "Lees off." I checked my working and liked it. "And Cole."

  Peter rushed to get that communicated to the fourth official while Dan summoned the other two. I paced around, pulling at my hair. We would have a base of 3-5-2 with Christian, Zach, and Magnus as the back line. Pascal left, Wibbers right, Dan, Ryan, and Youngster in the middle. Dazza and Foquita up front. Average CA 81.5. Pretty decent given how youthful the team was about to get: two seventeens, an eighteen, and three twenty-year olds.

  I would be deforming the formation like a madman, giving Youngster as much time in the DM slot as possible, moving one of the wide players forward or back, even dropping Dazza down a slot so we could aim direct balls at that zone.

  I would be using the hotkeys to make us man-mark, to turn pressing on and off, to set different playmakers.

  Most of all, I would be radically shifting formations and swapping players around to try to help us move up the pitch.

  Pascal and the teenagers high-tenned the senior players they replaced.

  I turned my back on the pitch and looked up to the area that held Emma and her cousins. "Wee Bonnie! Put your fucking book away! The football is starting."

  ***

  Mark: "Quite extraordinary. What do you make of it, Chris?"

  Chris: "He hasn't gone completely young. The goalie is 31. The three centre backs are 29, 28, and 26, plus he's got 37-year-old Ryan Jack in midfield. There are some wise old heads out there."

  Mark: "All true but in the home of the Busby Babes, we're seeing Best's Babes. Six players aged twenty or younger. Will their inexperience make them freeze?"

  Chris: "Three of them played in the under-20 World Cup, Mark, and the other three have been getting first-team action for a while. They're probably a lot more ready for this occasion than the young players United just brought on."

  Mark: "Neat play from Manchester United again, moving the ball around midfield. Lancaster takes the ball on the right. Pressure from Bochum. Lancaster plays the ball down the line and it's a foot race! But Bochum wins it easily!"

  Chris: "What a turn of speed that was."

  Mark: "Chester have the ball. Lots of movement suddenly. Bochum has options. He picks Green, now on the left of a back three. Youngster. Jack. He clips it through to Roberts on the right. He's challenged by Sanchez - but Roberts simply shrugs him off!"

  Chris: "Ho!"

  Mark: "Roberts advances. This already feels like Chester's best move of the match. He crosses. Smith at the back post! Heads it square. Foquita with the volley! Blocked!"

  Chris: "The ball wouldn't come down fast enough."

  Mark: "It's an open game now. United with the fast counter. They're going through the gears. Bochum chasing. Youngster joins in. Rossi forced to turn back. Great work but now Chester are exposed on their left. Lancaster has space and time. He surges forward, crosses, just too far ahead of the onrushing striker! Icke is happy to let the ball go behind."

  Chris: "He should have kept it in. These goal kicks have been painful to watch - they're kicking long and United are getting the ball right away. I know a lot of older viewers complain about passing the ball from the back but if you go long it'll come straight back at you, as we've seen today."

  Mark: "No wheel this time - I do wonder what that was all about. It's, er, young Dan Badford in the penalty area. Icke passes to him. Three United players smell blood! This could get - wow! Badford with his languid style drew the first challenge and simply played past the other two. I thought Roberts was playing right midfield?"

  Chris: "He moved all the way inside and the defensive midfielder is over on the right."

  Mark: "It's all happening for Chester. Despite the positional chaos they've got a measure of control in midfield for the first time. Jack. Youngster. Jack. Badford has moved back into midfield and, er, Roberts is with him. Smith has gone to left midfield, so Bochum is the second striker. Am I seeing this right?"

  Chris: "Are they doing Total Football?"

  Mark: "Badford to Roberts. Back it goes. Pressure comes. Badford forced backwards. Exchanges passes with Green who’s now on the right. Badford slides the ball to Roberts, who lets it run. Bochum is behind. He touches it wide to Ryan Jack. Jack clips the ball through. Foquita is through on goal! He must be offside? He's through on Tekin... Goal! Goal for Chester! The flag... doesn't go up! It's a goal!"

  [The roar from the away fans scares pets in homes all over the nation.]

  Chris: "That was incredible. That is an unbelievable goal."

  Mark: "The away fans are losing their minds and who can blame them? We have just seen one of the all-time classic FA Cup goals. That will be replayed again and again. Even the home fans are applauding. Now some emotion from the manager! He enjoyed that!"

  ***

  Yerrrrssssssss get in!

  Get in you fucking beauty!

  I had combined Dan and Wibbers using Cupid's Arrow, then blasted them again with the one-two perk. My thought was that with those boosts and his naturally evasive style, Dan would have half a chance of moving the ball to his mate and we could get into midfield and launch some attacks. But two things had happened I hadn't really expected. First, to make it happen I had been forced to move players into mad places - Dazza to left-mid, for example - and that led to Pascal being unmarked while I got five players into one midfield zone. The second thing was that the Bestball trigger had stuck to 'yes' for Wibbers, Dan... and Pascal.

  The three had combined to form a river that totally wrecked United's shape before Ryan, the crafty old fox, had spotted Foquita angling his movement so that he would stay onside. The pass was delicious, the finish simple.

  The roar from the away fans hit me like I was going into a sauna. The hush from the home fans was even louder. The bigger they are, the harder they fall. The day I fell out of love with football management just got pushed back a year.

  Intense, man. Intense.

  ***

  SummerhillBill

  No! No no no!

  Do not fucking outplay Man United in their own home!

  No!

  ***

  As much as possible I tried to get the three Bestballed players together so that they would be able to do some Relationism. But United had been stung by the goal and were playing more cautiously. They were clearly trying to keep the ball for a minute to stop us building up a head of steam.

  Good plan. Good professionalism.

  I had one trick up my sleeve though - going man-to-man on their entire team.

  The risk-reward on that move was very, very much in United's favour. I probably wouldn't do it. Nah, I definitely wouldn't do it.

  "Max Best's blue-and-white-army! Max Best's blue-and-white-army! Chester! Chester!"

  I got Christian's attention, made two fists, and slammed them together.

  ***

  Mark: "United trying to take the sting out of the game, knocking the ball around very comfortably. Closing in on ten minutes to go in a game that has only just come to life. Perhaps Chester have only just recovered from the shock of conceding that early goal."

  Chris: "Best's subs have changed the game. It looked like he was giving some experience to his young players but no, they're really having a pop."

  Mark: "That said, he seems happy enough to keep the score at three-one and who can blame him? That's a good result."

  Chris: "Absolutely."

  Mark: "The away fans in fine voice. The home fans are starting to stir. United moving into midfield now and - great tackle from Ryan Jack! He snapped into that one! Rolled back the years. United retain possession but it's Bochum putting pressure on his man. Smith, the Australian, pressing now. Foquita's turn. No options for the defender so he goes back to Tekin. What just happened?"

  Chris: "Chester went man-to-man. We haven't seen that so far today. I wonder what the trigger was?"

  Mark: "Tekin looks for an option. Sanchez drops deep but he is followed. Lancaster makes an offer. Bochum lets him go. Tekin finds him - but now Bochum snaps into action. Lancaster trying to give him the slip - no dice. He's forced to go back to Tekin. Some jeers from the away fans. Tekin throws his hands up. Now he pings the ball long. Christian Fierce with a towering header! He meant that one! Jack controls on his chest and flicks it to Badford. Now Roberts slips into the centre and the intricate passing begins again! One-two. Roberts spins, finds Bochum. Bochum to Badford. Roberts. These young men are dancing all around Old Trafford! Smith makes a run, draws a defender, Roberts to Jack. Jack clips the ball to Foquita. He chests the ball into the path of Roberts. Roberts shoots! It's blocked."

  Chris: "Handball!"

  Mark: "Was it handball? The Chester players are insistent. The referee looks at his linesman - no penalty! Max Best can't believe it. He's on his knees! Peter Bauer is gesticulating. We do have VAR today. It's being checked. Here comes our replay."

  Chris: "That's a pen. That's as clear a pen as you'll ever see. Roberts cracked a shot, it was on target, looked to be flying in, and the defender's arm is away from his body. We don't want to see penalties given for any old contact with the arm in the box but the defender has basically saved that."

  Mark: "Now we wait for the video assistant referee to decide."

  ***

  BeardedWonderwall

  Oh my God, how long is this going to take? Almost makes me not want to go to the Premier League. Imagine this ten times a game.

  CrunchyAbs

  All my friends who support Prem teams say it's shit. Best league by miles is the Championship. Loads of big teams, great stadiums, no VAR. If we go up this year, which seems pretty likely, I reckon I'd be happy to stay there.

  ***

  Penalty.

  Nailed on penalty.

  When the ref had given a goal kick I had slumped to the ground and ended up with my forehead pressed to the grass. Peter had a lot more experience of VAR than me - I had zero - and he had gone to berate the fourth official.

  If someone was watching that incident in slow motion there could be no doubt we would get the pen.

  The problem was that the decision was being made in slow motion, too. My perk timers were counting down. Seal It Up and Cupid's Arrow had six minutes left but Happy New One-Two was down to the last minute.

  The three timers ticked down remorselessly. While the action on the pitch ground to a pathetic halt, Pedro Porto gathered a few players around him and gave them some instructions. I watched as the curse tactics screen updated. His wide midfielders now had arrows bringing them into the centre and, incredibly, a fifty-five-million-pound CA 173 defensive midfielder had been asked to mark Dan Badford, who had been scouted while wearing a puffy jacket at Das Tournament.

  Okay, Porto's tweaks would stop my tactics working all right. Porto was very, very good. I noticed the two England internationals were ready to join the action.

  It took three minutes for the VAR to call the ref over to the monitor and another half a minute for the ref to decide that the ball had indeed hit the defender's arm and it had stopped us from scoring. When the ref finally pointed to the penalty spot I closed my eyes and tried to get a grip. My heart was going faster than it was supposed to. I had to calm down or I might actually drop dead.

  Foquita took the ball and placed it on the spot.

  Gosh, I thought to myself. All the delays and stoppages in the Premier League are going to nerf my perks, aren't they?

  The ref walked along the edge of the box pointing at people. Fucking idiot.

  A good monthly perk would be one that paused my perk timers when the ball was out of play. Give me a proper shot clock like in the American sports.

  The ref whistled.

  Even baseball has one now, or so I've heard. Get on it, imps. Take my money!

  Foquita sent the keeper the wrong way and nestled the ball into the bottom-left corner.

  I looked up at the famous scoreboard.

  United 3.

  Chester 2.

  The England players were coming.

  Time to turtle up. Time to play it safe and go home with our honour very much intact.

  ***

  It looks like Chester have adopted a more attacking approach.

  ***

  Mark: "Wild scenes! It's end-to-end stuff and the home fans have woken up. They realise their team is in trouble."

  Chris: "Chester are playing 4-2-4. I can't believe my eyes. They're going for it."

  Mark: "Barnes on the overlap. Great cross! Sanchez unmarked at the back post, volleys - saved by Icke! He flung himself across goal and threw a massive paw at it. That's gone behind for a corner and he is mobbed by his mates. He screams at them to get off him and concentrate. Chester with everyone back, as you'd expect. Bochum not very useful in these situations but he's making a nuisance of himself. He wanders off now. The ref is unhappy with the pushing and shoving. He wags his finger at Zach Green and Bingley, the England striker. Corner comes in... punched clear by Icke. Bochum in acres of space! He snuck out to the wing and he's on the move. He's on his own but there's only one United player between him and goal. Players on both sides storming to help. Bochum cuts back onto his right foot, plays it to Smith. His first touch holds him up. He swivels, tries to feed Foquita, intercepted! It was so close. Now Chester must get back. Big diag played in behind Evergreen. He looks shattered. Sanchez gets there, steams clear, but Evergreen slides and gets a touch on the ball. Out for a corner! His turn to be mobbed! What a recovery tackle that was."

  Chris: "He had to time that perfectly or it would have been a penalty."

  Mark: "Best is gesturing to the away fans and now they're chanting. What's...?"

  Chris: "Attack attack attack. It's a Man United chant."

  Mark: "Corner comes in - headed clear by Smith. Headed miles! It'll go for a United throw. No! Kept in by Youngster. He's been everywhere today."

  Chris: "Great player."

  Mark: "He holds the ball up, retreats, fakes two United players! He runs down the line. Foquita trying to get close to support, but Youngster ran out of legs. He's cramping up. United put the ball out of play and Foquita goes to help his new colleague."

  Chris: "Ahh... that's that. Best is calling an end to it. They're retreating. Could be 5-4-1. His team gave it a go but he doesn't want injuries."

  Mark: "What a shame! That was tremendous fun. There are a few minutes left but I suppose the league is his priority. Eighteen points behind Bradford City with three games in hand - could be interesting if Chester can play like this for the rest of the season. Youngster is okay to continue. Smith throws the ball to Tekin - round of applause from the home fans - and United build once more. No pressure this time. United working the ball forward... goes to Sanchez on the left. He fizzes it into the middle. Beautiful first-time touch into the area - Green won't get there. Bingley... scores! That's his fourth of the season and United's fourth of the game. He smashed it low, gave Icke no chance."

  Chris: "Perfect finish. Low, hard, into the corner. That's why he wants a new contract."

  Mark: "Many reports saying he is demanding 400,000 pounds per week but if he scores a few more like that, maybe he'll get it."

  Chris: "Game over. That's done and dusted."

  Mark: "I agree, but the Chester fans are still bellowing. What a noise they have made today!"

  ***

  The referee looks at his watch. Time is nearly up.

  Lancaster gets the better of Bochum and moves forward.

  Lancaster thrashes the ball square. It is helped further left to Sanchez.

  Sanchez gives it to Bingley on the overlap. He wants to bring the ball onto his right.

  Green does well to get between Bingley and goal.

  Bingley lays it off...

  Connelly shoots!

  GOOOOAAAALLLL!!!!

  He has scored on his debut!

  It's a day he will never forget.

  The final whistle blows. Manchester United 5, Chester 2. United progress to the next round!

  ***

  ButteryCrumpets

  Five-two in their cup final.

  Lol.

  SummerhillBill

  Satisfying. I'll take it.

  Tell you what though. I'm back on the Best's Bales bandwagon. Those kids can play!

  He had his Welsh lad on the bench. Barely fifteen he is. How good must he be?

  BrokenGround

  Haven't seen much of the boy Jones but when I ask Best about him, he stares me out and goes 'not for sale, not for sale'.

  SummerhillBill

  Fuck. What a sales pitch that is!

  ***

  When the whistle blew, Pedro Porto celebrated with his staff and came over to shake my hand. Peter was between us, though, and while that embrace was happening I spotted something I didn't like.

  I jogged onto the pitch, weaving around a few players from both sides. Foquita was swapping shirts with a United player.

  "No," I said. "Not yet."

  "Que?"

  "Después mate. Después. Fucking later." I took the red shirt from his hand and gave it back to the United guy, nabbed the Chester shirt, and told Foquita to put it back on. He babbled in Spanish but I was insistent. I pushed him towards the away fans and at a certain point he understood what I wanted.

  He pulled the shirt back on while I yelled at Christian. Soon all my players were heading to the corner of the Bobby Charlton stand and I formed them into a line in front of our fans.

  They cheered as though we had won. I walked along the line and picked Foquita and Ryan Jack to step forward. I stood back and clapped; our fans roared approval. I showed Foquita how we did it in Chester, demonstrating how to point to the name on his back using both thumbs. He was happy to embrace the technique, especially as the volume increased when he did so. Four goals in two games generates a lot of affection.

  Foquita and Ryan got back in line and I walked up and down again. I pointed from Dan to the spot Foquita had vacated. He stepped forward, eyes shining, and I drew a circle with my index finger indicating that he should turn round. He did.

  I leant and put my palms down. The rest of the team copied me, and so did six thousand fans. I shook my hands and brought them slowly higher as the fans went 'oooh' in anticipation. As our hands reached eye-level and the ooooh reached a deafening climax, Dan double-thumbed the name on the back of his shirt. You would have thought that would be the peak of the noise but I had lost full control of my actions. I gestured to Dan that he should remove his top. One eyebrow shot up but he did it. I made a throwing motion and he rushed to the fans and threw his shirt hard and high into the mass. I looked at the rest of the squad and shrugged. What are you waiting for?

  They stripped off - some needed no second invitation to go topless - bunched up their shirts and competed to throw them the furthest back into the stand.

  Better than the Sound of Music is the music of sound. Six thousand voices united desperately shrieking 'Chester! Chester! Chester! Chester!'

  Inject it into my veins! What a rush, but I had just enough self-control to slip away, leaving the bedlam behind me.

  I had an interview to give. I had memorised the speech I'd written on the night of the draw. A nice bottle of bath wine and some soggy paper were all I needed to create a masterpiece of modern banter.

  Time to prick the egos of some billionaire pricks. Time to take the actual piss.

  ***

  The BBC's live footage showed Max Best's interview with their on-the-spot reporter, Izzy Lake, but the next day they posted a longer version on their website and socials.

  [As Max gets into place for his interview he wears a face of thunder, stares down, sometimes chunters, eyes ablaze. Off camera, there is a voice. The cameraman senses opportunity and swings the lens - it's Pedro Porto.]

  PEDRO

  There you are! Amazing! Just amazing!

  [He holds his hand out. Best stares at him, scowling, until his expression softens. Just in time he reaches out and accepts the handshake.]

  MAX

  Yeah, well played. Mint.

  PEDRO

  I haven't been sucker punched like that since my father caught me smoking his Ventils. You have to tell me what you did!

  [Max pulls a face.]

  MAX

  Er, no. [He scoffs.] You couldn't do it anyway. Not with those [beeps] you've got playing for you.

  PEDRO

  [Huge laugh.] Then it's safe to tell me! Come on! Max, I have a very special bottle of wine. It's from a vineyard near my family home. It's sensational and I was saving it for a special occasion but this feels very special. Please, Max. Have a glass with me.

  MAX

  A glass? Aren't there like three glasses in a bottle?

  PEDRO

  Five.

  MAX

  This is England. Fill her up. I don't get out of bed for less than half a bottle.

  PEDRO

  [Laughs more.] Drink all you want, my friend! But talk to me. I haven't had that much fun since I came to England.

  MAX

  [Tuts.] I don't know. I'm in a mood.

  PEDRO

  Of course you are! I would be, too.

  MAX

  You know who you'd like? My mate Henri.

  PEDRO

  The striker? You think so?

  MAX

  I do. You'd get on big time. Don't give him my wine though. Tell you what, he'll be in the shower for an hour anyway. Let's do it up there.

  PEDRO

  [Confused.] Where?

  MAX

  Wherever my seats are, I guess. My girlfriend's there with her cousins. You have to help me convince Wee Bonnie that football isn't boring.

  PEDRO

  Boring? She has eyes, doesn't she? Regardless, I agree. They have glasses up there, I think. [Laughs more.]

  MAX

  Just don't fall in love with my girlfriend.

  PEDRO

  [Sternly.] Max, I am happily married.

  MAX

  That's what they all say.

  PEDRO

  [Pushing his palms together.] I'll get the wine. Don't spend too long with these people! We have a lot to discuss!

  MAX

  [Smiles.] I won't.

  [Pedro departs. Max pinches his nose. He takes some notes out of a pocket... and crushes them into a ball.]

  MAX

  [Bleep.]

  IZZY

  Ready, Max? [Pause.] I'm here with Chester FC's player-manager Max Best. Max, not so much player today. What happened?

  MAX

  It was a choice between me and Dan Badford and I chose him. Good choice. To any scouts watching, he's not available for sale but he is available to play for England if any of the selectors can be arsed coming up north. I want my players in the March squads or I'm going to go nuclear on someone.

  IZZY

  The game exploded into life in the last quarter of an hour. What happened?

  MAX

  I know you have to characterise it like that and I know a lot of it wasn't entertaining but that was a game full of life. My players gave it everything.

  IZZY

  You had a chat with Pedro Porto there. What were you talking about?

  MAX

  [Scoffs because she heard the whole thing, but he decides not to make a big deal of it.] Yeah, he was worried that we threw all our new Grindhog kits into the stand but I told him that Ken Carr from Grindhog will send us, like, ten new tops per player so we can keep throwing them into the fans in front of two million people on the BBC.

  IZZY

  More like eight million, Max.

  MAX

  Cool. Make it thirty tops per player then.

  IZZY

  I liked your Combined Eleven videos. Who would get in a combined eleven from today?

  MAX

  That's for little baby Max's grandson to decide.

  IZZY

  You made some substitutions and we were struck by how young the players were. But you caused Manchester United some problems. What did you do?

  MAX

  Before the match I was talking to a Scottish tactics expert who told me not to take things so seriously. She also told me that a late switch to 3-5-2 might allow us to get a foothold in midfield. I pointed out that it would leave us vulnerable in the full-back positions but she told me to, and I quote, 'quit making excuses, och, and put on my big-boy troosies'. She also asked me to make sure all my players took their tops off at the end. I said no, she said it was her birthday, and yeah, she won that conversation.

  IZZY

  It was certainly a very powerful scene. I think some of the home fans would be jealous of the togetherness - the Chesterness - of your celebrations at the end.

  MAX

  [Scowling.] We weren't celebrating. This is Chester football club. We don’t celebrate defeats; we honour players who give everything for the badge. In 1965 a brilliant Chester team came here and fought against Bill Foulkes, Paddy Crerand, Nobby Stiles, Bobby Charlton, David Herd, George Best. They lost but they gave it their all. Who can ask for more? Today my lads gave it their all and so did the fans. Who can ask for more?

  IZZY

  For some of your players it was a once in a lifetime experience to come here. Will you be back, do you think? Maybe as a player?

  MAX

  Once in a lifetime? Chester FC will be back here this season. The Youth Cup final is at Old Trafford and we’ll be there. Four of this squad will be playing in that match. Four. Banksy, Dan, Wibbers, and Roddy. They won’t be awed by the stadium or their opponents, I won’t have to say anything to them. Just point them in the right direction and stand back. We've been talking about history this week and we're going to make more history that day. Wibbers is trying to break every goalscoring record. Dan might just be a Glenn Hoddle regen. Banksy is phenomenal. I wouldn’t swap Roddy for any of those United players. Whoever has the misfortune to face us in the Youth Cup final…

  [He looks down the camera.]

  You have my sympathy.