Chương 110: 7.6 - Copy That

6. Thursday, October 19"We've arrived, sir," said Brick.

"Copy that," I said, staring ahead. Staring at nothing. My bodyguard waited, then craned his neck to the left, eyed me, and dropped a hint.

"Normally at this point, you would jump out of the car, run into the canteen, sign a few players, solve a few crimes, commit a few crimes, break a few hearts." I can't say I was really listening. I exhaled, then sighed.

"Did I fuck that up? I fucked it up, didn't I? I'm shit. I shouldn't be allowed near kids."

"You are not shit with kids. You are shit at getting out of the car."

"Oh," I said, realising that we were at Bumpers. I unclicked my seatbelt and got out. I stood there, contemplating the tragic shitness of human existence and my infuriating inability to make a difference. I stood there for so long that Brick had time to park in my spot, fire off a few texts, and walk all the way back.

"Sir?" The guy was huge, brick-shaped, and had been banned from every swimming pool in Herefordshire because when he belly-bombed the deep end, it took hours to refill.

"You're not still thinking about that girl?" I sighed. I didn't even have the energy for a proper flashback.

The hospital visit had started well enough. I had chucked PlayStations at sick kids and they had freaked out. One kid was so stoked he contracted what a doctor called 'Megahiccups.' There were screams and selfies.

'Max! Max!' Parents, nurses, and doctors ran around, swooning, intoxicated by my mad, desperate energy. After ten minutes, one of the women from the charity had whispered, 'You're so good with kids!' But there was one girl who didn't agree, and she didn't join in with the Maxmania. She had black hair, large round eyes, sad eyes. Me being me, I fixated on the one-star review.

'Hey. What's your name?'

'Helen.'

'You aren't jumping for joy like literally everyone else.'

'I don't like football.'

'Hmm, that's interesting. I don't like football much either.' That got her interest.

'Really? What do you like?'

'Poetry,' said my mouth, without consulting my brain first.

'I can rhyme any word. Say any word and I'll rhyme it!' Helen gave me a disappointed look.

'Leukaemia.'

'No French. English words only.'

'It is English.'

'Not a problem,' I declared, pompously, as I wondered if the entire six-year span of the curse had been leading to this one, perfectly awful moment. I pushed my fingers into my temples to make my brain go faster. Maybe I pushed too hard, because in front of a load of kids and real, actual adults, and after counting syllables on my fingers a couple of times, this is what I said: There was a scandal in Bohemia; Sherlock Holmes was all outsmarted There was a Helen with leukaemia; She took her meds and out it farted.

Okay so Helen thought that was outstanding, and all the other kids laughed themselves hyper, and the Megahiccups spread, but it didn't go down terribly well with any of the medical professionals. Helen giggled, 'I still don't like football.' Why did she have to keep saying it? It was like dangling a side quest in front of me. I clicked my fingers and pointed at her.

'I know what to do.' Someone from Chester sensed the danger; I felt her trying to intercept me, but I was in full flight.

'I'm going to score a goal against Manchester United plc on Sunday and I'm going to dedicate it to you.' Cue general amazement. Helen was sceptical, which made me double down.

'It's gonna be such a great goal and everyone's gonna be so amazed when I say I did it for Helen that the entire country's gonna be talking about it. There will be tweets, podcasts, stories, God, there will be a movie about this. There will be a Wikipedia page called Helen's Goal. For the rest of your life, people are gonna come up to you and go, wait, are you Helen? The Helen? The Helen from Helen's Goal? And you'll have to say, yeah that's me. And everyone will go, wow, you're so lucky!

You'll lie, of course, at first. Yes, you'll say through gritted teeth. I'm very lucky.

'Every year, people will say, Helen! It's Man United versus Chester again! Let's decant some champagne and fire up the vegan hotdogs! And you'll go, fine. You and your entire family will get a VIP box at Chester and we'll make a fuss of you. Inside, you'll be thinking, I don't like football but I like getting free stuff and attention, and maybe Harry Styles is here today.

'And then the match will kick off and you'll see loads of players doing their best, giving it their all, like everyone here in this hospital, and you'll think, actually this isn't all that bad. And you'll gasp and realise oh my days, I do like football.' Helen had been torn between wanting to roll her eyes and actually finding me quite amusing suddenly when one of the boys had yelled, 'What goal are you gonna do?' I got closer to him and growled, 'I'm gonna score two goals with one shot.'

He went, 'Is that allowed?' I shrugged.

'Maybe if I explain to the referee about Helen and her intense passion for football.' That got an eye roll. I added, 'Or maybe I'll dribble past five players, smash one top bins, rip my shirt off and whirl it around my head while the world sees my hairy chest.' I peeked down my hoodie.

'Anyone know where I can rent a gorilla outfit?'

I groaned and dug my thumbs into my eye sockets. Brick folded his arms and smiled at some memory.

"When you got up on that chair - ""When I what?"

"You jumped up, turned into an act- or.

'Ladies and gentlemen lend me your ears.' Serious Max didn't last long.

'You, you've got two ears, you don't need two, don't be greedy, come on, lend one to me.' The children loved it, sir. You gave a speech, repeating your promise to score a goal.

'The whole of Manchester will tremble in dread at the very sound of the immortal name, the most famous name in sports...' Then to Helen, 'Sorry what was your name again?' Very funny, sir, a command performance. Helen was a tough nut but you cracked her. No-one present will ever forget this morning."

"I hope you're right." I shook my head.

"I can't do sick kids, Brick. There's always one who doesn't like me and I get weird about it. It's bizarre and desperate." I groaned again.

"That was such a disaster." He placed his hand on my shoulder.

"Not if you score against Man U."

Football is escapism. It's a world you can sink into and forget about your shit job, your shit house, your shit country. Your team is your tribe and together you can ride life's highs and lows hoping that one day soon, your team will get to the third round of the FA Cup, where you might be drawn to play against Manchester United at Old Trafford. That miracle scenario had actually happened to Chester, but I hadn't been able to play.

This Sunday, I would finally get to play at Old Trafford, in the Premier League no less, although I wouldn't be able to kick the ball with my right foot. Maybe a few toe-pecks or backheels, but the top of my foot looked and felt like a month-old banana. Sandra's plan was to match United's 4-2-3-1, and to station me on the wide right. From that zone, I would drive forward, cut 'inside' (meaning towards the centre of the pitch), and spam shots left-footed.

Sandra wanted me to use my imitation skills to play like Arjen Robben, a Dutch guy who scored the exact same goal 20 times a season. Take the ball on the edge of the penalty area, cut onto the left foot, shoot low. Sandra knew I wasn't keen (it was so boring!) so she offered me a different role model, the former Man United player Antony. He was equally predictable except that he shot high instead of low.

"And if you really want to pay homage to that true United legend," she said, "blast the ball into orbit nine times out of ten." I hadn't laughed, partly because I didn't like Sandra making fun of my boyhood team. (Why yes, I was allowed to make fun of her team. Thank you for asking that clarifying question.) But mostly I didn't laugh because my brain was fizzing. Pay homage to a true United legend? That was a fascinating phrase. Our conversation was interrupted and the thought didn't go anywhere.

I wandered moodily around Bumpers, but quickly remembered that my hospital visit wasn't the only thing going on. The Chester Foundation had taken over our rental pitches for the day, and they were running all sorts of meet-and-greets and workshops. Men, women, and children were wearing bright bibs, running around cones or doing short passes to each other while Helge, Dumi, and Cheb called out encouragement.

Other players were milling around, talking to volunteers, social workers, former addicts, people from the council. The idea was to maximise their impact in a time-efficient way. In one hour they could pose for selfies and promote multiple good causes. A great event, very worthy, beautifully organised, but only one of the three local MPs had responded to the invitation. The others might find they regretted that decision... As I approached, something caught my eye.

A media personality was ambling around with a microphone, talking to people, making notes. He had a soft face that made people trust him, and I knew that he had a calm, thoughtful voice, kind eyes, and came off as earnest. And here he was, at Bumpers Bank, milling around, smiling, being all kinds of sincere. I narrowed my eyes, got my legs pumping, and caught up to the guy in seconds. I put my hand on his elbow, turned him around, and frogmarched him towards the main entrance.

"Don't resist," I said.

"Don't say anything."

"But - " he said.

"Did you like what you saw?"

"Yes, but - ""Did you get enough to do whatever it is you're planning?"

"Yes, but - ""Good. Come quietly and I'll make this easy for you."

"Oh my God..."

Max: Hello and welcome to this very special bonus episode of Pyramid Schemers, the podcast dedicated to the English Football League. Tiers 2 to 4, baby! Now on YouTube, because every podcaster is bitten by the 'pivot to video' bug eventually. More cost, more stress, but ya just gotta grow your platform so you can sell it to G. Nev for eight figures. I'm your host, Max Best, also known as Max Actual Best, and my co-manager for the day is Rocky Langley. Rocky: I can't believe this is happening. Is this happening?

Max: Pyramid Schemers has been nominated as 'Best Podcast' at the Football Supporters' Federation Awards three times, but has never won. This might be the episode that tips you over the edge. Turns out all you needed was someone on the show who knows what he's talking about. Rocky: Haha, okay, so this is a wind-up. Max: It's not a wind-up; we're recording. Mics on, look. Cameras on. I'll send you all the files to edit as you like. Tell the viewers why you look flustered. Rocky: You know why I'm flustered.

Max: Haha come on, this is 2028! You've got to be nimble. Agile. This is happening, switch mindset, let's go! Rocky: But I haven't prepared anything! Max: Don't worry, I'll do most of the talking. It's better that way. All right, so what's going on? If this sounds different to the usual feed, it's because we're in one of our little studios at Bumpers Bank. That's Chester FC's training ground, if you don't know.

When I'm not hijacking podcast feeds, I'm actually the manager of Chester FC, which is a football club that isn't in the EFL so we're not of interest to your listeners. Rocky: You bloody are... Max: There are lots of charity things happening this morning. A few events are running concurrently so that our players can mingle, take selfies here, do a bit of coaching there.

I've just come back from a hospital, where I was giving out games consoles, some of which were donated by the owner of Wolverhampton Wanderers, which is a team that features on this podcast every second season, haha. Anyway, I saw a guy with a microphone and got alert. The media? Here? No thanks! But when I got closer, it was Rocky from the Pyramid Schemers podcast. Rocky: We got invited to come and see the good work you're doing.

Some of the funding came from the EFL Building Foundations Fund and they're our sponsors. Max: You're sponsored by a betting company, you cheeky little scamp. Rocky: They also sponsor the fund. Max: Synergies! Well, I have thoughts about all that but let's focus on the positives. I want to split this interview into two parts. In part one, I'll remind you of some of the predictions you made about Chester in the last three years. When you're editing, I want you to add raucous comedy laughter, okay?

Get really slapstick with it. Rocky: You don't always get it right yourself. Remember last year? Consolidation season? Max: When you're editing, delete that last thing you said; it makes me look bad. Right, into the good stuff. Your guesses got progressively more unhinged over time. This squad doesn't look ready for League Two. League One is a step too far for most of these players. Owen Elmham will never play for Chester again. Max Best will eff off and manage a bigger club and Chester will go into freefall.

Max Best will turn up with a shit haircut. Rocky: For the benefit of new listeners, that last one is a joke. The others are deep cuts, though. Do you listen to the show? Max: Not all the time, not every episode. I mean, you guys make 28 hours of content per day. You're the only people I know who record at 1. 5 times speed. But I like your whole vibe. You saw a niche - a football podcast that wasn't all about the Premier League - and you went at it hard.

It must have been gruelling and dispiriting in the early days but you kept grinding and now you're getting your rewards. You've built a Pyramid Schemers empire, haven't you? You deserve it; you're both EFL megafans. It wouldn't have worked if you were just trying to fill a niche. You talk about Mansfield or Leyton Orient with more enthusiasm than fans of those clubs. I think you're great. [Pause.] Are you okay? Rocky: Yeah, fine. Fine. That was... That was just a very surprising moment. Max: Okay.

So what I actually want to talk to you about is loans. Rocky: Um... Do you need cash, Max? I thought you were doing all right for yourself. Max: Haha. Yeah, I'm doing all right for myself. Rocky: Saltney Town won last night, didn't they? That's two wins and a draw in their first three Champions League matches and from what I understand, your arrangement with Saltney is heavily incentivised. Max: Oh, man, what a game that was! The teams were pretty evenly matched.

Copenhagen went for the win, we went for the win, The Racecourse was jumping. I've got pantomime beef with the people of Wrexham but they love their football and they get behind us. At 3-1 up I was confident but Copenhagen scored and I got all kinds of nervous. The release of tension at the end was incredible. Rocky: Is there any chance Saltney could get into the knockout rounds? I mean, you've got 7 points already. Max: We will need 9, I think. Rocky: 9, is it? Max: I think so.

So one more win would do it, or two draws. The next three games are Sociedad, Arsenal, Inter. Those will be tough, and in the case of Arsenal, tough to watch. Union Berlin in Wrexham - that's the tasty one. We could win that one. Could. And then Porto away is another tricky one. If we go there needing a draw... I mean, it would be an amazing achievement just to still be in contention. Oh, look at you, you sneaky journalist. Rocky: What? Max: You got me blabbing on a hot mic.

Rocky: I would be more apologetic if you hadn't kidnapped me and turned the mics on yourself. Max: Haha fair. Loans, then. I want to discuss the EFL loan market. Rocky: With me? Max: Yeah, why not? You watch tons of games. You know the managers, the squads, you have a sense of how the vibes are at 72 different clubs. So I've got four players on loan at EFL clubs. Normally I would start low and work my way up but you guys do it the other way round, don't you? You always start with the Championship.

Rocky: Fans of lower league clubs are more likely to stick around to the end. Max: Ah, it's about the metrics. So let's start with Vincent Addo at Charlton. How's he doing? How are Charlton? Is that looking like a successful loan? Would you say Charlton's a good club to loan players to? Rocky: Oh, wow. I wish I had prepared for this. Max: I don't need loads of stats! Give me the vibes. Rocky: But... what's a successful loan? How do you define that? Max: At the end of the loan, the player is closer to his ceiling.

That's the most important thing. Secondary objectives... So if it's a young player who has been in our youth system, it's not bad if they get a bit of culture shock. In the old days they'd have called it 'toughening you up'. I'm not talking about bullying - any player or manager who bullies one of my lads is gonna be eating Christmas dinner through a straw - but like, here's the reality of football. It's tough, it's hard, you don't get everything on a plate, you're up against guys whose mortgages are on the line.

Rocky: You don't mind a bit of hardship. Max: No. Life's hard. If you want to play men's football for the next ten years, prove it. One thing I love about my first team squad right now is that so many players were there with us in non-league, or they joined in League Two, League One. They've seen this sport from all angles and I think it makes them better players and better people. [Pause.] Minutes on the pitch is pretty important.

I don't send my players out with contracts saying you've got to start this kid every game. Everyone needs to earn their place. But we do structure deals like, if the player doesn't get X minutes, you have to pay a loan fee. Rocky: It's not pay-as-you-play, it's pay-as-you-don't-play. Max: Right. We don't set the numbers crazy high. Let's say a player is there from September to December. You can use him in ten matches, can't you?

If a manager isn't quite sure, isn't quite feeling it, he can suck it up for ten matches. Ten halves is enough; haul him off at half-time if you're not impressed, but you need to keep giving him chances and if you don't, your club is going to pay. After a month or two in a new environment, the player should have settled, should be understanding the manager's way of working, and we send players to clubs where they are above the average technical level, so there's really no reason the player won't help the team.

But this is part of the risk. We send a player to a good club with a good manager and then, boom! The manager's sacked or the club gets new owners who go on a trolley dash in January, then my player is in limbo. Rocky: So the environment is important? More so than being used in the right position, in the right tactical setup? Max: If a left back is being used on the right wing, we're gonna have a problem. But if there's a manager I personally feel is too defensive, that doesn't mean I won't loan a player to him.

Like, my guy's gonna get six months of discipline. Stand there, run there, don't do anything clever. Is that useful for a young footballer? Rocky: Yes? Max: Course it is. He'll come back to Chester and we'll let him play in a more expansive way but he'll have had some of his rough edges smoothed off. My players should be open to new experiences and should be willing to learn from everyone. The manager at Chester when I arrived was Ian Evans. You'll be familiar with his work. Rocky: Of course. EFL legend.

Max: I wasn't a massive fan of his style. Training was monotonous. He wasn't flexible. But I learned loads from him. One thing I learned is that there's a value in consistency, mastering a position, knowing what your team mates are going to do and being in the right place to help them. I learned that football isn't all fun and not every day needs to be a party. This is a job. If Ian Evans was an EFL manager right now, I would loan him a player. Rocky: Where is Ian Evans these days?

Last I heard he was the manager of the Malaysian national team. Max: He got fired. He retired for a couple of weeks - pretty long retirement by his standards - then got a gig managing Don Bosco Garelli FC, which as you know is in Manila. Good, so tell me about Charlton. Rocky: Okay, um... Is this a test? This is a trick, isn't it? You know everything about Charlton and you want to test my - Max: It's not a test, Rocky. Why would I watch Charlton? I'm a Premier League bigshot now.

I don't have time for the little people. Rocky: You've been spotted at Huddersfield, Preston, and Barnsley! Max: Haha, yeah okay, busted. I try to keep my finger on the pulse but come on, you're the expert. Drop some vibe bombs on me. Rocky: Charlton are struggling, as we correctly predicted. They kept faith with the squad that got them out of League One, but didn't reinforce in key areas. Vincent Addo is by far their best player.

All-action, never stops running, interceptions, crunching tackles, neat and tidy on the ball. The Charlton fans love him. One of our paid subscribers, an Addicks fan, said it was so clear that Addo was a Chester player. If anything, we're surprised he got a loan this season. Max: Being promoted messed up my plans. Thomazella, Nasa, Dan Badford, Tony Herbert, Vini - they all would have played in the Championship. Not all as starters; we would have eased them into it.

But yeah, when we went up, we had to hastily work out what to do. I thought Charlton was a good step for Vini because he would play every match, and Charlton would be under the cosh so he would be kept busy. He's got that thing where he's a bit of a kid, he's kind of... I don't want to say immature but he's got a youthful vibe, he's always smiling, always easy, but when you give him some responsibility he steps up. We have a loans manager, Ryan Jack, who gives me updates, and he's delighted with Vini.

Says he's out there mid-match doing little coaching sessions, even with much older players. Rocky: I wonder where he learned that? Wait, you've got a loans manager? Remind me why I'm here? Max: Ryan doesn't watch every match every week like you do. And he's a former player so he comes at things from a different perspective. Rocky: A more valuable perspective, surely? Max: Maybe but I want to hear everything so I can make good decisions. These are young men I have a responsibility for.

It's my job to tear up Old Trafford on Sunday, but it's my duty to make sure my players are in a good place. Ryan doesn't tell me what the Charlton fans are thinking. So based on what you've seen so far, would your advice be to keep Vini in place for the rest of the season? I could move him somewhere in January. Rocky: I can just hear the response from the Charlton fans if I say you should take their best player! Max: It's not about what's best for them, though, is it?

Vincent Addo is a young man with a lot of talent in a brutal industry. Brutal and short. He needs to get where he's going, fast. Charlton will still be here in fifteen years but Vini's career won't be. Imagine it's your son we're talking about. Keep him there, or move him on? Rocky: I think you keep him. He's happy, he's playing, he's loved. Max: Interesting take. Vini's done. Who next? I've got two guys at Tranmere. Adam Summerhays, rapid left back, Alfie Clitheroe, crafty midfielder.

And you can tell me what you think about Josh Owens, Tom Hickman, Nelson Smith-Howes, and no-one else. Rocky: Nelson Smith-Howes? Are you scouting him? Max: I spotted him at an Exit Trial and recommended him to Tranmere. Rocky: I didn't know that. Tranmere, let me think. The helicopter view. They've had a rocky start but at the end of last season their turnaround in form came from having top defenders for the level.

One's playing Champions League for Saltney Town this season, which tells you everything about his quality. Replacing Tony Herbert - who is a hyper-aggressive duel-winning monster - with Tom Hickman, well, it was always going to be bumpy and it's a different playing style, too. Hickman's more of a baller. He's just so raw. Max: He has barely played. He needs time to catch up. Rocky: Is he on your radar? Max: No, he was at Grimsby when I had my ill-fated adventure there.

I would have signed him if I could have, but for various reasons it was never possible. I just want to see him play football. He's a quality player and it caused me psychic pain to see his career being botched by one idiot after another. I'm glad he's out. You were talking about Tranmere. Rocky: Right. So it's a transitional period. Jackie Reaper's trying to play more expansive football but with a shakier foundation. There's a lot more quality all around the pitch, and the average age has tumbled.

There are some grumbles from Tranmere fans but there's a general willingness to give the new group some time to settle. Max: Smith-Howes? Rocky: He's a lot like Tom Hickman, isn't he? He looks undercooked. Max: Have you heard that theory about 500 games? Most players cliff after 500 games. If you've got a young player who's playing every match, they're gonna burn out age 26 or whatever. I'm sure everyone listening to this could name ten players who played too much, too young.

Tom Hickman, Nelson Smith-Howes, I'm sure they won't be happy with their careers so far but now they're establishing themselves as first teamers and that 500 game limit - if it applies to them - won't happen until they're 32 or so. It could be that this is actually the way a football career should go. It might be that they're on the optimal path. But yeah, they definitely need to play this season. I hope they make it. Keep an eye on them for me. What about Adam and Alfie? And Josh. Rocky: All great.

Josh Owens is one of the best players in League One, nuff said. Alfie gets caught on the ball sometimes but he's a tiger in the tackle and lovely on the ball. Adam Summerhays is interesting for this discussion because he also looks like being one of the best - if not the best - in League One in his position. I don't want to get hate mail from Tranmere supporters but if I were you I would think about moving him to the Championship in January. Max: To make sure he's being challenged?

The problem is making sure he gets enough minutes. Maybe at Charlton? Sheffield Wednesday? Rocky: I don't think he would displace their starters. Max: This is great insight! I'll probably end up leaving him at Tranmere for the whole season. He's happy, he's playing, Jackie Reaper's basically the best coach he could have right now. Ah! Maybe I'll bring him back to Bumpers once a month to show him that bossing League One isn't enough and he needs to keep grafting in training. Tell me about Newport County.

Rocky: Flying high in League Two. It's a real ding-dong battle for the top spot. Rotherham, Northampton, and Newport have been swapping places at the top. So far, no team has been able to go on a run. Max: Yeah, Rotherham have surprised me. They're a handful. Very balanced team. Rocky: Your mate Henri Lyons is still banging them in for Newport, and his double act with Chipper is a real area of strength. You're interested in the goalkeeper, Wilfred Banks. To me, he looks the outstanding keeper in the division.

And he's only 21? Max: 20. Rocky: Is there a case to be made that you move him on in January? He could do a job for Tranmere, for example. Max: Ehhh... nah. I get what you're saying but I think with goalies, slow and steady wins the race. I want him to move up a division every year so that when he hits the Prem, he'll have at least four full seasons of work to look back on. He'll be ready. Really ready. As long as the environment at a club is good, he'll stay a full season. Hmm.

So what I'm hearing is you think these loans are going great. Rocky: Very much so. Max: What do you make of Chris Acorn and Huddersfield? Should I loan players there? Rocky: Chris Acorn? He plays Chesterish football. Not as tactically dynamic but it's front-footed. It's a good group, I would say. Good culture. He prefers older players, though. Not many academy graduates getting minutes at Huddersfield. Max: Yeah. Interesting. Okay, rapid-fire round.

I'm gonna name my former players and the club they're at now and you're gonna tell me if the fans like them. Rocky: Oh God. Max: Jamie Brotherhood and Billy Webb at Barrow. Rocky: Wow. Er... In and out of the team. Off-pitch struggles mean it's a difficult atmosphere. Results aren't great. I don't know. Max: Yeah, it's a tough sport. This could be good for them long-term. Fitzroy Hall at Derby. Rocky: Yeah, really good. League One is a good level for him. He really looks like a good player.

Max: Andrew Harrison at Stoke. Rocky: Same, but more so. They love him. Fan favourite already. You can tell he's been coached by you. Max: What does that mean? Rocky: He does the right thing more often than not. Keeps the pressure on. So hard to play against. Max: Ian Swan, Sheffield Wednesday. Rocky: We know he's a good goalie for the Championship and playing for Wednesday, let's say he's being kept busy. Not perfect, but a solid signing. He's popular. Max: Christian Fierce, Watford.

Rocky: Epic character, massive. Rock at the back. Leadership. Watford are on their second manager of the season already. Max: What did they have last year? Eight? Rocky: Six, I think. If there's one thing that's a constant at Vicarage Road, it's change. So having a captain like Christian Fierce is essential. Great signing. Max: Joel Reid, Hull. Rocky: Great. Perfect. Slotted in nicely. Chips in with goals and assists. What's not to like? Max: Zach Green, Dazza, Middlesbrough. Rocky: Big hits.

Whole-hearted players, effective, leadership, instant connection with the crowd. Ten out of ten signings. Max: Rocky, I feel really good about this. I should hire you to do presentations about different divisions. If West Didsbury get promoted to League Two, you could go during pre-season and tell the coaches and players all about the other teams. That would be good prep, wouldn't it? Rocky: [Quietly.] I would love that so much. Max: Let's pencil that in. You can name your fee, as long as it's under 500 quid.

How do you normally wrap up these episodes? Rocky: Er, before you do that! Max: Yup. Rocky: It's just, there's one loan that a lot of people will be interested in, even though this is nominally an EFL-only pod. Max: Lucas Cook at Kilmarnock? He's on the right path. Thomazella? He's in Gibraltar and it's going great. Regular football, Europa League, and he likes the weather. Nasa's the same, but he misses his mum. They'll get a long Christmas break. We try to look after them, you know?

Sometimes it's the little things they most appreciate, like if you give them a futuristic toaster. Rocky: Oh, good, right. But I meant Angel. Max: Angel? Rocky: From the women's team. She's in the documentary? She's one of the Chester players we know best. We were invested in her story but you loaned her to Inter Milan. How is she doing? Max: Er, great. Top. She's a young woman with a lot of interests, Milan's a fashion capital, Inter Milan is one of the most famous names in the sport. It's idyllic.

We should all be so lucky. Rocky: Yes, yes. Yes. [Pause.] It's just that she stopped posting on Instagram and she hasn't played much. Max: Er, she has played six of the last eight games? Rocky: As a late sub, mostly. Max: I mean, that fits. The manager's giving her time to settle in, letting her get used to things. I do that with young players, too. She's young. She'll break into the team at some point and she'll never look back. It's all good. And if she's off social media, great. That's healthy.

You should get off it, too. Rocky: You're not worried about her. Max: No. Anyway, she's only technically a Chester player. She's on loan for this season, then her contract runs out. She'll probably sign for Inter, but most likely she'll have offers from a bunch of top clubs. Maybe she'll pick Paris, or Wolfsburg, or even London City. They're making a big push, aren't they? Starting to throw money around. Rocky: Didn't help them to beat you last week. Didn't help Spurs last night in the Nando's Cup.

You're better at spending money than they are. Max: Hmm. [Clicks his fingers.] Got it! I'll copy an ending from a different creator. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, right? [Clears throat.] That's all from us for now. Stay safe, stay cool, be good.

That evening, four of our future signings landed in England. In the morning, they would go to Bumpers for a tour, and after lunch we would take them around looking at potential places to live. On Sunday, they would be our guests at Old Trafford. On the basis that sometimes a little Max goes a long way, I decided to let other people take the first shift. Sandra, Peter Bauer, and Briggy met Ruud Berkenbosch, his partner (Dutch Susan), Jari Köngäs, his partner (Heli), and their son (Viggo).

The staff I had asked to volunteer for this mission covered a lot of bases - Sandra could talk about babies, Peter could hold his own when it came to art, and Briggy was honest and funny. Charlotte, Haley Goodhew, and Macca Serra agreed to meet the Finnish goalie, Miina Timonen, and her parents. Charlotte would be Miina's housemate, Haley her role model, and Macca was a genuine star player. Bonnie, Well In, and Bertie Kornek picked up the young Finnish winger Mikko Jaskari, his girlfriend, and his parents.

Mikko would only move to Saltney in the summer, but it didn't hurt to start making plans.

Friday, October 20 I properly joined in with training for the first time since getting Slabbed, partly because it was our last big session before the United match, partly because the new signings were watching and I wanted them to have a good feeling about moving to Chester. We played two full-sized matches, each lasting 15 minutes. In the first, I played for the reds, copying the playing style of United's key man, Brito.

He had been their creative fulcrum for years, racking up great numbers, and while he was slower than ever, his brain worked fast. For a quarter of an hour, I evaded challenges in midfield, pounced on loose balls, rushed into transitions, then leaned back and popped passes left, right, and centre. Always vertical, always on target. In the second match, I imagined I was a bald Dutchman called Robben. Robben Peter to pay Paul. Robben Hood. You know what? Cut all that.

What I'm saying is that I switched to a blue kit and played for Chester's first team as a wide forward. When the ball came to me, I ran straight ahead, got to the penalty area, cut onto my left foot, and scored. Not 'shot', just 'scored'. I bagged two goals and pissed Helge all the way off - he knew what I was going to do but couldn't stop me. As I left the pitch, heading towards the showers, I saw something that was becoming fairly common when people watched Chester train for the first time.

The civilians were polite and interested in a somewhat bored manner. But the professionals, the experts, they were bubbling. Ruud said, "My God! Incredible. You go from Brito to Robben."

"And it's flawless!" agreed Jari.

"Um..." I said.

"Yeah, well, their styles are easy to copy. They're both brilliant but part of their brilliance is simplicity."

"What you did was not easy," said Ruud, who had grown up watching Robben. He had probably played as Robben in the school playgrounds.

"Not easy, but simple. Brito passes into space in front of a fast forward. Robben runs and shoots. I mean... The hard part is staying true to the character and not adding my own influence." Dutch Susan, the artist, perked up.

"You are a forger!" I shook my head.

"I'm a Gemini." Jari said, "I have a request, if it is possible. On the tour, we saw the Sin Bin. The displays were configured for Sunday's match. Can we hear the tactics you will employ against Manchester?" I thought about it. Sandra and the others were off home, and I had asked them to give up enough of their free time.

"I can give you the quick version, sure. Does everyone...?" Miina and Mikko told their groups that yes, they would all be attending. An elite tactical breakdown? They weren't going to miss that. I saw a flash of blonde hair come around the corner. Emma was joining us. After lunch, we would drive to the 'Footballer's Belt' to look at a couple of houses for sale. If Ruud and Susan liked one, I would buy it and they would rent it from me while they lived in the UK.

"We would have to skip one of the house tours..." Susan said, "We are not complicated when it comes to housing, Max. My only request is that I want a staircase."

"Oh my God," I said. Emma pushed herself into me and initiated the smooch protocol.

"What's up, babes?"

"We only have time to see one house, and Susan wants a gaff with a staircase."

"Gaff?" said Ruud.

"Just means house," I said.

"Why do you need a place with stairs?" Susan said, "I have lived in flats for so long. If I am to move to England, I want stairs. I want my bedroom upstairs." Emma said, "You live in a block of flats. On the ground floor?"

"No."

"So you already sleep upstairs." I nodded.

"That's an excellent point. Emma one-nil!" Ruud said, "Why do we need stairs?" Susan leaned close, covered his ear, and whispered. Ruud took a beat, then said, "We need stairs." I laughed.

"Oh my God, this can't be happening! We found our dream home. It's beautiful, it's absolutely stunning, it's close to Manchester Airport but it's quiet and secluded with manicured lawns and a tasteful kitchen. It's got beams! Emma knows I love to expose my beams. And the property listing reads like a chapter of American Psycho!"

"Is that good?" said Heli.

"It's full of lists of brands and products and from that you're supposed to know that he has spent ages picking the fireplace that defines him or the instant boiling water tap that defines him. We were sure you'd love it and you'd live there and when I retire we would move in. But it doesn't have stairs. It's the one thing..." Emma said, "There's an annexe, which is also incredibly beautiful and tasteful and Max is thinking that maybe, God willing, his mother could stay there when she's better.

It's self-contained, great views, and it's all flat so it's perfect." Susan said, "I thought you were going to take us to look at tacky monstrosities." Emma said, "You might think this one is tacky! God, I hope not, but maybe we're inherently tacky people. We went to see some of the funny ones and you know what? They were too gaudy, too ostentatious, too self-important, but a lot of them were fun. Why have a swimming pool when you can have a sunken boat?"

"What?" said Miina.

"Think of a pool, five metres or so, but there's a boat in it. You can sit on the edge and splash your feet, or lie on the deck on a deckchair. It was hideous but it was fun. The problem with that place was they did a lot of the things you're supposed to do if you've got a big house. Like they had a living room with massive floor-to-ceiling glass, but most of the day you wouldn't be able to watch TV in there." The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

"Because of the glare," I said.

"Because of the glare. So you would end up closing the curtains almost all the time. Just a waste." I said, "I'm going to take a shower. Do you want to go to the canteen and get some drinks? Then we'll head over to the Sin Bin."

While the water smacked into my face, I thought about the property with no stairs. I had become quite smitten with it, but if I couldn't rent it out while I lived in Chester, there was really no point buying it. You can't drop 2. 2 million on a place and not live there. Ah, well. You've got to be flexible. When I went to pick up the gang, things had changed again. Emma handed me a flask full of tea.

"We've had a think. We're going to see the one with no stairs, and if they both like the place, Jari is going to live with Ruud."

"Pardon me what?" She patted me on the cheek.

"Don't stress about it, babes. Let's go learn how to beat Man United."

Dutch Susan and Heli sat next to each other; Ruud and Jari did the same. They had the vibes of being old friends, even though they only met the night before. Viggo was in a buggy, sleeping. Mikko and his family were on the other side of the aisle, just behind Miina and her parents. Miina's dad was trying not to look too excited. Emma was with me at the front. She hitched her jeans, rubbed the back of her hand under her nose, and said, "Right, men. Man United. Piece of piss.

We'll do 4-2-3-1 with a false nine, a hybrid ten, an inverted six, and a floppy back four." I smiled.

"That's actually pretty close to what we're doing." She looked amazed.

"Is it?"

"No. Please don't scare the normos." She smiled and went to sit next to Heli.

"All yours, boss." I had the laptop open and the files Tyson had clipped up for us were just a fingertip away. I could have thrown in some DOVE data, too, but I wanted to keep this short and sweet so that if Susan and Ruud didn't like the no-stairs house, we could rush to the other one.

"Okay. We played Man United a couple of years ago. We were in League Two. Our best player was Foquita, a natural goalscorer. I can't really remember if I thought we could win, but if you have a natural goalscorer like him, you've always got a chance. Er, that's why Ruud and Jari are here, by the way. On top of your many other talents you've got goals in you.

"We use a talent rating out of 200. Man United back then were 161, I remember that. And I remember we were about half that. Low 80s. I think it was 83. You would think, but that's not fair! And that's right, it's not, but United had a manager called Pedro Porto. Great guy, I really like him, outstanding in every respect but somehow totally unsuited to being the manager of Man United." Miina said, "You can't remember how you felt back then but you remember the numbers."

"Er... kinda?" Miina turned to her dad and said, "Told you."

"Oh... kay. So Pedro had United all kind of squashed up and the players didn't like it. Didn't understand it, some of them, which is really crazy. You're being paid a lot of money, do some fucking homework. Ask some fucking questions. So the genius billionaires who own Man United plc sacked him - 20 million quid to hire him, 16 million quid to fire him; seriously, they're remarkable - and replaced him with a former player.

Classy midfielder, very calm, puts the players in positions they like, doesn't ask them to do anything complicated, and results got much better.

"He sets up in a 4-2-3-1." I had a mixed ability audience here, and while it was Jari who asked to get this lecture, I had no plans to alienate the others. I could talk to Ruud and Jari in more detail on the way to Manchester.

"They are incredibly dangerous in transitions. If we have the ball and move forward with it, then there's a tackle or a loose pass or a mistake, five United players will start sprinting towards our goal. This guy," I wiggled the CAM magnet, "will get the ball and play a decisive pass that gets the attack going."

"That's Brito," said Mikko.

"The one Max was pretending to be."

"Yep. He's the most dangerous player on the pitch."

"Second most," said Emma, loyally.

"So their gameplan is simple. Try to force turnovers, then break at speed. Pass to Brito, who looks for the shortest route to goal. From there, you've got four or five very good players in and around our penalty box and even though they are a little bit dim-witted, they score a lot of goals through sheer force of talent." Mr. Timonen said, "What do you mean by dim-witted?"

"Like, shooting from crazy angles. This guy Labbo. He plays like Robben, but a semi-skimmed version. He'll dribble at the defender, move the ball to the left, and shoot. Our right back will get a career-high number of blocks. On the other wing, Biyik has the same mentality. He's a touch slower, a lot more physical, but imagine being a striker with those guys either side of you. You move, you run, you offer, you watch as the hundredth shot of the game flies over the bar. We expect this Dutch guy, Dekker, to start.

He's very technical, he can be very good, but because the wide guys don't pass to him, when he does get the ball he also spams shots. It's legitimately maddening and I don't even support United any more." Heli said, "But you used to?"

"Yeah, they were my team. When I was young they were really good, really exciting, had proper players. You know, ones with functioning brains. The only player from this era who might get in one of those teams is Brito. He is a class above because he'll shoot when he's the best person to shoot and pass when passing's the right option. That's a complete nightmare for me. Last time we played, he was basically playing as a DM. He was totally wasted there but he still dicked us.

If you could copy his brain and put it in the other guys' heads, you'd have an unbelievable attack." I paused to drink some tea and think about what the other key points were. Miina said, "What are the new numbers?"

"Er... I expect United to be about 165."

"So they're 4 points better than last time."

"Yeah, sounds about right. Biyik is an upgrade, and so's the new goalie. Labbo's more developed, Brito kept his levels. Yeah, they are a touch better. We've gone from 83 to... hang on." I turned the laptop to face me and pretended to type. Training had been good recently, and there was a lot of interesting stuff happening around the CA 150 mark. Marek and Youngster had hit that milestone, while Leo and Wibbers were only a point away. So after today's sesh... Marek was 150.

Lewis, Peter, Murray, and Cheb were 151, 144, 155, and 157. Youngster and Edgar were 150 and 154. Pascal was capped at 138. Leo was 149, I was whatever I was, and our striker would be Wibbers, on 149.

"Our average strength will be 149. 7." There was an approving murmur - lots of improvement in three years!

"If we took Pascal out... If we swapped Gabby in and moved Wibbers to the left, we would crack 150 for the first time ever."

"Why don't you?" said Ruud.

"Because Pascal is much better than his numbers imply. Maybe let me describe how it feels to play this version of United. When they're coming at you, you're just sprinting for your life to keep up with them, hoping they will take a shot when there's an easy pass on. They work hard defensively, but they're just not that good at it. You can play through them quite easily.

"I keep watching their matches thinking, where's the midfield? It's amazing. I'm expecting us to be able to progress through the lines very easily. We will have Marek in goal because he's our best passer. Peter Bauer will bypass four players with one move. We have trained with Leo Los in the playmaker role. His job is to give the ball to me, basically. Then it's a case of how well I can do.

"But if we're going to be bursting forward at speed, Pascal's perfect. He's got the brain of Brito. Huh. The Brain of Britain was an old radio show. Could that be a theme? Meh. Okay so Pascal doesn't win headers and he's not going to help us defend set pieces, but in a game like this he will wreck defences. And that defender he's up against is awful. He's one of the worst players to play for United in the modern era. Pascal will have him on toast.

"So... I suppose our plan is to copy United for the day. They do 4-2-3-1, we do 4-2-3-1. They have a horribly open midfield, we will probably look the same. They'll spam shots by cutting inside onto their stronger foot, we'll do the same. Yeah. My favourite movie is Copycat starring... I want to say Angelina Jolie?" Emma said, "Sigourney Weaver." Susan said, "You're not excited about the plan, nor about playing at the stadium of the club you loved as a child." I shrugged.

"I don't need to be excited; this is the most efficient way to play that might let us get a result. We lean into our decision-making advantage. Bosh." Susan looked at a spot somewhere above my head.

"There is a sadness to the life of a forger. So much talent, so much admiration for your work, but one does not receive the accolades. One cannot shout from the rooftops, I did this! It is a life that pays the bills but not one that nourishes the soul. Does your soul not deserve to be nourished, Max?"

"I had an avocado for breakfast." She laughed.

"Swipe away the magnets." I did so.

"Put the forger away. What picture would the artist Max Best draw?"

"A brontosaurus." She laughed again.

"Tell me." I rubbed my hair and thought.

"Mmm... this setup is the natural end point of the starting point which is that I'm injured. I can play left-footed, I make good decisions, I can shoot accurately." I moved a magnet into the right forward slot.

"I'm here. The rest of the team flows from that like, ah, parts of a molecule or pieces of scaffolding. There's an internal logic, a rightness, that cannot be argued against." Jari said, "I have watched you. You are two-footed."

"I play two-footed but I'm right-footed."

"What does that mean?" How could I explain that I had added myself to the database of an old version of Soccer Supremo, and that database had been used by a demon to give me powers?

"I mean..." I said, which was the moment I ran out of words that could fit in that sentence.

"So what that means," I said, hoping people wouldn't notice the jump, "is that if I want to play left-footed, I have to commit to the role. I have to go there, like an actor. I'll admit that I don't want to channel Robben, who somehow made scoring spectacular goals boring. Soz to all the Dutch people but seriously. But I'll do it for the team." I nearly added 'and for Helen', but didn't want to have to tell the story. Susan said, "Did Robben play for Manchester United?"

"Er, no. He's just the best example of a certain type of player."

"Did Manchester United ever have a left-footed player?" The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. My spine went cold and tingly.

"Oh my God," I said, as Susan's question made literal art burst out of me. I literally (not literally) writhed with the ecstasy of creation.

"Ryan Giggs!" Mr. Timonen smiled.

"You can be Brito. You can be Robben. You cannot also be Ryan Giggs."

"I can!" I said, sliding a red magnet into position.

"Man United's right back is shit, remember! He's awful!"

"Who is Ryan Giggs?" said Heli. I went to the laptop, mirrored the screen, and found a video called Ryan Giggs, The Welsh Wizard [Goals & Skills]. It was five minutes of a lean guy with frizzy hair running fast down the left wing. He veered left and right, avoiding tackles, always pushing forward, always attacking.

"Giggs is a problematic character," I said.

"Don't look him up, but he was undeniably a great player. He holds all sorts of records, especially for assists. He won the Premier League 13 times."

"Sorry, what?" said Ruud.

"Yeah." I paused the video and strode around.

"Imagine if I rock up to Old Trafford and play like Ryan fucking Giggs while United's wide players are playing like pale imitations of Robben." A delighted laugh burst out of me, increasing in pitch.

"Their fucking faces! They'll be going, sorry, why is this Mancunian wonderkid playing the type of football we grew up on, that we love, for the opposition?" I jabbed my finger at the screen.

"Alex Ferguson said that Giggs gave defenders twisted blood. Because they kept having to turn and turn, trying to keep him under control. I'll do this to Mendes. Yes! Wait wait wait. Maybe I could do this at every ground. I rock up and mimic their favourite players. Remind them of the good times. Max Best, everyone's second favourite player!" I paced around, trying to find a flaw in the plan. That was easy.

For example, we had spent a week preparing for me to play on the right, but now I was going to call Sandra and say, 'Remember that plan? I do opposite.' Didn't matter. I was excited. I was hyped. Mr. Timonen looked aghast.

"Are you going to change your plan just like that?" I got crazy eyes.

"Plans are useless; planning is essential. All the work we did will still pay off." I twisted and pointed east.

"To Manchester! Let's infiltrate enemy territory and see if I'm still keen on the idea by the time we get there. Hooray!"

Miina and Mikko went off with their groups, while Emma and I drove Jari and Ruud (plus entourage) to Manchester. I took the guys in my Mini while Emma borrowed a Seal Pup. I was so hyped that I worried about driving safely, so I calmed myself down by thinking about future perks I would try to buy through the Perk Creation Kit. If the theme was copying things, how about a perk that copied an existing one?

God Save the King (and its Queenly offshoot) was probably my most powerful perk, although Bench Boost would not like me saying that. But God Save the King only covered eight Attributes. What about the others? There were 31 Attributes that I knew of, and for the men I could boost eight. What if I asked the imps slash The Sentinel for the power to upgrade two more batches of 8, then a final group of 7? That seemed utterly reasonable. God Save the King plus three clones.

If one was allowed by the rules of the demon game, why not a copy? The original covered some of the best Attributes, so the copies would be less vivid, as was right and proper. I nodded to myself. If I got that one through the censors, I would be able to boost four men per season, and then I would do the same with the women. Ha! I was already thinking of scams and hacks. What if I boosted Pascal with four different perks?

I probably wouldn't - it would be a waste - but there were some very interesting possibilities there.

"See the planes?" I said.

"That's Manchester Airport. Greatest airport in the greatest city in Greater Manchester."

We reached Alderley Edge and drove past mansions that had been owned by Manchester United players.

"David Beckham lived that way," I told Ruud and Jari. As we wound around the streets, I said, "Dwight Yorke. Andy Cole. Down that road is Mark Hardwick."

"The Manchester United manager!"

"You could have him as a neighbour." We reached a long private driveway, then a bulky, sturdy electric gate. The estate agent was parked inside, and had left the gate open.

"Oh, nice," said Jari.

"Surprising," said Ruud. It was all manicured lawns, gravel pathways that looked like they had been swept to a higher state of perfection, and elegant wooden-framed buildings. Inside, everything was clean, modern, but understated. Light flooded in from high ceilings, structural beams were on display, and the estate agent explained how much of the money spent on the buildings was invisible - high-quality wiring, underfloor heating, insulation. An air-source heat pump future-proofed it.

There was a home cinema room that I loved, a neat little gym that the men were excited about, but the standout feature was an incredible outdoor kitchen, huge, covered, perfect for evening meals, parties, or just chilling by the wood burner. Susan said, "Emma, this is not tacky."

While the Finns went to the annexe to check it out in more detail, Susan took my arm and led me away.

"Can you see yourself living here?"

"Of course I can. You think because I'm an artist I want to suffer? There are different kinds of suffering. English country garden, hammock, glass of wine. What an ordeal I have ahead of me!"

"I think this is a gin and tonic kind of area."

"I want to talk about you."

"Blurgh," I said.

"Let's talk about where to put solar panels without spoiling the sight lines."

"You have been in a strange mood today." She let go of me to test out a garden lounger. She sank into it, smiled, but pushed herself to her feet before she got too comfy. We continued to potter around, though she didn't grab my arm - she was too busy touching things. Feeling the low hedge that separated the grass lawn from the gravel path, knocking the wood, running her hand along a brick wall.

"You aren't the same man I met. The first time I saw you, you were smooth and powerful. A big cat, I thought, but Don Pino suggested a shark.

"Next, when Ruud was injured you took control. Tight and lean and consumed by certainty. Today you are not centred. Even now, when you are much happier with your role in the coming match, you are restless. If it is not the match, what is it?" I didn't see the harm in telling her.

"Okay so I went to a hossie - hospital - and there was a girl who is very sick. It's already crazy that me going there is supposed to be a good thing. The reception I get, Susan, it's bonkers. They should cheer like that when a top specialist arrives, right? Not some sportsman.

"The public perception of me is wild. I'll get booed when the match starts on Sunday. Tens of thousands of people will scream abuse at me, and then I'll go to a hospital and the kids are so happy to see me their parents will sneak off to have a cry. I don't know. I try not to think about things too much because it'll drive you crazy. You say I'm not centred. I mean, yeah. You need a little gyroscope inside you that keeps you above ground, gives you a sense of direction. Does that make sense?"

"Yes."

"Does it? That's amazing. Okay so this little girl. She had that vibe of being a swat."

"Swat?"

"Teacher's pet? Always does her homework?"

"Why would you not do your homework?" I smiled. Had Susan been a teacher's pet? The wild artist who wore a scuba outfit to a football match was secretly a conformist!

"Look, I just thought, this girl hasn't laughed in ages, it looks like. I need to get a laugh out of her. Even a smile. I went hard at it, went nuts, did a whole performance." Susan peered through a window to see into one of the buildings.

"Did she smile?"

"She laughed her head off." In the reflection, I saw Susan grin, but by the time she turned to face me, she was pretending to be unmoved.

"So what's the problem?"

"No problem." We were in a 2. 2 million pound property that I could easily afford. Famous footballers would pay me to live in it, and in ten or twenty years I would move in with Emma. I would be free from the shackles of sport, and could have butties and Hobnobs and drink wine in the outside kitchen. I wouldn't ever need to leave. Wouldn't ever need to confront the realities of the world, or the limitations of my powers.

"Maybe I just wish I could help. Actually help instead of being a clown." Susan put her hands on my shoulders and turned me around so that I was facing the lawn. A goalpost had been set up at one side. Viggo would run around, kicking 'flyaway' balls, learning from two of the best players in Europe. Susan said, "Do you like this view?"

"Yes."

"What do you like about it?"

"Dunno. Kinda want to score a goal in that net." She smiled.

"The grass is smooth. The path is rough. You have to take the rough with the smooth. The hedge and the wall offer security. The goal promises fun. Life and death, sickness and health, rough and smooth. Parents give their children security. Football gives them joy. You do something exciting and they want to copy that." She smiled.

"Ruud is a serious person, older than it says on his passport, but you bring out the child in him. Look what he did! How did he do that? He likes the skill and the impudence. I liked it when you pretended to be injured every time the team kicked you." I waited for more, but none came. That seemed to be that; I would have to process what she had said in my own time. Susan tilted her head.

"Is this lawn big enough for Ruud and Jari to play a game?"

"They can do Heads and Volleys, Two-Touch, Sixty Seconds, but ideally you need a goalie. Probably they'll get a rebounder and do skills challenges, until Viggo's old enough to take a shot to the face."

"Viggo," said Susan, with a smile.

"How fun it will be to watch him play."

"Really? I tell you what, if he trains with Ruud and Jari every day growing up, he's gonna be ready for the Prem by the time he's twelve years old."

We all gathered in the main kitchen - a bespoke Todd James, whatever that meant - and I got the sense that everyone loved the property.

"Okay, look," I said.

"If you're gonna live together you're gonna quickly learn that there's some distance between Jari's and Ruud's salaries. At first, anyway. Obviously I'm hoping Jari kicks on, fast. The way I see it, if Ruud and Susan take the main house and Jari, Heli, and Viggo take the annexe, Ruud can pay twenty grand a month, Jari five. You can work out which parts of the garden are shared and maybe Ruud gets some spot that's private or whatever."

25, 000 a month was 300, 000 a year, so that meant an 8-year return on investment. Pretty good on paper, but there would probably be long gaps between tenants. Ruud said, "Yes, it's fair." I frowned. They didn't seem to be fully grasping the sitch.

"Well, not quite. It's a great deal for Jari. He gets to live in a palace and he pays peanuts and that's because you're subsidising him." Absolutely no reaction. He didn't give a shit!

"And if I know parents, they'll rope you into babysitting all the time." Ruud went to Viggo and lifted him up, bouncing him gently.

"If we pay more rent, do we get more babysitting hours?" Heli burst into tears. Jari hugged Ruud. Susan stayed in place, observing the scene with a slight smile. I turned to Emma, intending to tap my forehead and say 'these Euros are crazy', but she was quietly bawling her eyes out. The estate agent was patiently waiting outside. I waved for him to come in, then said, "I'll take it."

Sunday, October 22 English Premier League Match 9 of 38: Manchester United plc versus Chester Simplicity is the height of cultivation. Keep it simple, sexy. Chester would play a modern 4-2-3-1 and I would play left wing. I wouldn't make extravagant tactical changes and I wouldn't waste energy trying to optimise every little position. There would be no point, for the match was likely to be crazily dynamic, unstructured, messy, chaotic. The women were at home to Newcastle. I wouldn't think about that.

The United fans would boo me. I wouldn't think about that. I had made rash promises. I wouldn't think about that. Peter Bauer stood.

"Come on, boys! Let's go!"

We lined up in the tunnel. The United players talked to the little kids who were the mascots for the day. The kids' parents had probably paid 300 quid for the privilege. Crazy. At Chester, when we did it, we did it for free. Brito, United's captain, sauntered past. He eyed me, but only stopped to embrace his former squadmate Matt Rush - who was one of our subs - and he had a big chat with Peter Bauer.

I thought that was slightly odd, but I remembered that I had scammed Pedro Porto into letting Peter train at United for a while. Did any more of my players have any connections with the home team? Maybe from international football? I let my gaze roll down the line. United's goalie, Zottegem (CA 162), was Belgian, and we didn't have any of those. Campbell, the CA 171 lumbering centre back, had been in the England team until he was left out of one squad and had a massive hissy fit on social media.

He wasn't going to get back in so long as Alan Turner was in charge, and he wouldn't get back in if I was in charge, either. Sanchez was an Argentine hard man defender with CA 167. If anyone was going to break anyone's leg today, it would be him. Biyik (177) played for Cameroon, Labbo (169) the Ivory Coast. Dekker was a Dutch forward, but he wasn't all that good. Only CA 155. In a couple of years, he would lose his place to Ruud, but Ruud was up in the stands.

My attention focused on Mendes, my direct opponent for the day. He was fairly fast and had good Technique. His Passing was solid and he had a decent long shot. Given space, he could hit a good cross. So why was he only CA 143? Because his Positioning was awful, his decision-making was worse, he couldn't head the ball, and one of the hidden attributes in the curse seemed to be related to haircuts. The guy's trim was shocking. He wasn't fit to play for Man United! We walked onto the pitch.

I was in no mood to do the pre-match handshake bullshit, so I walked to the away end and applauded our fans. I had a feeling we were going to need their support.

Descriptions of the action and commentary taken from DigiWorld Sports Max 8K Ultra. 1' Matt: And we are underway at Old Trafford! The home team boot the ball long, trying to squeeze Chester into their defensive third. This way of starting is very much en vogue, isn't it Ally? Ally: It makes sense to do it, but it's too much like rugby for my taste. Maybe I'm old-fashioned. Matt: Alloula throws to Bochum. The German loses the ball. Short takes over and gives it to Biyik. The Cameroonian international sprints ahead.

He glances towards goal. Surely he won't shoot from there? He does! It's blocked by Edgar Wilde. Lovely to see him playing in England again. Los competes for the loose ball. He gets it to Youngster, who, under pressure, crashes the ball aimlessly away. Ally: Hello. Matt: What's this? Max Best is chasing. He wants to try to keep the ball in play. Surely he - Ally: Hoho! Matt: Best launched himself six feet into the air and kung-fu kicked the ball, preventing it from going out!

I care not one jot about his mischievous ways, this is a supreme talent! Has he come to cosplay as Eric Cantona? Mendes has caught up with him. Best dribbling along the left touchline. Best drops a shoulder, weaves left and right. Goes past the Portuguese on the outside. He accelerates! Max Best is chewing up the distance to the touchline. Will he cut inside onto his stronger right? He keeps going! Towards the corner flag. Now the cross. William Roberts is between Campbell and Sanchez. Perfect cross. Great header!

Amazing save! Zottegem flung himself upwards and tipped the ball over the bar. Ally: Wow. What a start to the match that was. I think we might be in for a treat.

4' Chester lose the ball in midfield. United break at speed. Players from both sides are sprinting towards Chester's goal. Youngster disrupts the attack. He passes to Burnett, who chips the ball into the centre circle. Leo Los has time to turn. Chester are on the move! Players from both sides are sprinting towards United's goal. Los aims a pass towards Bochum. It's anticipated well by Short. The former England international finds Biyik. He outmuscles Alloula and now United are surging forward again.

Bauer moves across into the right back zone. Biyik tries to knock the ball past him. Bauer follows the move and knocks the ball into Biyik's boot. Goal kick to Chester. Great defending! Chester take it quickly. Burnett passes to Lamarre. Best rushes towards his team mate. Mendes follows. Lamarre hits the ball twenty yards down the line. Best turns and chases. Mendes is in no-man's land! Best with the freedom of Manchester. Campbell moves into the right back zone. Best drops his shoulder. Campbell sticks out a leg.

Best pushes the ball to his left and dribbles away! Real chance for Chester. It's three-on-three. Roberts and Bochum are sprinting towards the penalty area. Best slows to give them time to catch up, points to Roberts, clips a cross... Into the path of Bochum! The German slaps it on the half-volley... And hits the post!

13' Matt: Chester break again! Leo Los is at the heart of everything. He looks to pick out Best, who has been nothing short of sensational on the left wing. Chipped pass, but Mendes just about gets there first. He fires a pass to Brito, who has barely had a kick! Brito looks up, and what a pass that is! Ally: Different gravy. Matt: He spotted the run of Biyik, who tussles with Alloula. All-African battle... Biyik looks for a shot. He has to settle for a pass. Into the feet of Dekker. The Dutchman tries to turn.

Burnett stabs the ball away, but only into the path of Biyik. Again he looks to shoot, but elects to pass to Labbo. Chester are stretched. Labbo pushes inside, lets fly - GOAL! Ally: Lovely finish. Lovely finish. Matt: Labbo got just enough space to get his shot away, hit it hard with curl around Masarik. One-nil United!

16' Shot count: Manchester United 5, Chester 5. Successful dribbles: Biyik 2; Labbo 2; Best 4.

25' Matt: And that's a sore one for Short. Bochum caught him late. Howls from the home fans for a yellow card. Ally: That's never a yellow, Matt. He's late, he's caught him, but there's no intent. He's gone for the ball and just missed it. Matt: The break gives us a moment to catch our breath. What a start we've had to this match! Utterly frantic, with both teams going hell-for-leather. Ally: It's entertaining! I'm loving it but I wonder if Chester should be trying to match United blow for blow.

Most promoted teams sit back and absorb pressure. The ones who play like this don't last very long in the league, more's the pity. Matt: Short is good to continue. Confirmation that there was no card. Sanchez hits the ball high towards Chester's penalty area. Campbell rises on the back post, heads it square. Dekker jumps, loses that contest. The ball is played out to Brito. He sees his international teammate Mendes making a dart on the right. Brito to Mendes. Neat control from the right back. He looks up.

Max Best with the tackle! He slid and hooked the ball away. He gets up, jabs the ball to Youngster. Neat return. Best plays it first time, diagonally to Edgar Wilde. Wilde sends it back into the path of Best. Ally: Go on, son! Matt: Best with yet another burst of speed on the left wing. United can't contain him! Best skips past one. Dances past another. He's into the penalty area. He waits for Zottegem to move, strikes... But the keeper makes an astonishing reaction save! The Stretford End rises to its feet.

Standing ovation for Zottegem! Max Best cannot believe his eyes. Ally: Neither can I, Matt. Best did it perfect. Hard, clean, on target. If anything, he's hit it too well! The keeper had no right to save that.

27' Dekker wins a header for the first time in the match. Bauer is first to the flick-on. He eases the ball to Masarik. The Slovakian keeper boots the ball long, to the left. Best thinks about chasing it, but it is too high. Best puffs his cheeks up and exhales - he is not impressed with that pass! Mendes throws the ball to Campbell. Sanchez. Short. Clipped into the middle. The ball finds its way to Brito, who hits a first-time pass behind Lamarre.

Labbo beats Lamarre in a foot race, but the Northern Irishman recovers his position. Labbo moves the ball onto his left foot and shoots. Lamarre blocks it. Labbo shoots again. Lamarre blocks it. On the far side, Biyik is going crazy. Why won't you pass? Labbo gives the ball to Brito, who whips in a first-time cross. Dekker jumps all of one inch, redirects the ball towards goal. It's high, but looping down. Masarik is scrambling towards it.

The ball drops onto the post, hits the back of the goalkeeper, and bounces in! Goal for United! An own goal makes it 2-0 for the home team! The Old Trafford faithful roar.

I walked to the sideline and got some energy gel. 2-0 was tough to take; we had matched United. In fact, we had outplayed them. Change something? Tweak something? I shook my head. Shocktober was in effect, and one of the effects was that one-on-one situations were more likely to lead to goals. I had gone through one-on-one against the goalie, I had played it beautifully, hit the ball sweetly, and even with the perk helping me out, Zottegem had pulled off the stop. What could you do about that?

Sandra said, "Keep going, Max. We're right in this."

The nature of the game changed. United dropped deeper, encouraging us to push into their half. They wanted to pick us off on counter-attacks. I thought about switching to 3-5-2 to slow us down, to be more careful on the ball, but that would have nullified our attacks. We hadn't come to lose 2-0. I let a pass run across my body; Mendes hit me with a cheap shot as I was turning away from him. Fuck. That hurt. I lay on my back, hands over my face, while I let the shock of the impact melt out of me.

In the curse commentary, I read that Mendes had been given a yellow card. Mendes will have to be careful now. I sat up. Mendes didn't know how to be careful. Mendes was a fucking idiot! He had stayed disciplined until his team had gone two goals up, but in his mind the game was won. Head's gone! Lewis helped me to my feet. I winced as I took a couple of steps. Lewis placed the ball for the free kick. It would have been a good one for me to take right-footed.

I could have aimed for the back post, and the goalie would have had to watch out for one of my beefy boys getting a header on it, but he couldn't cover both posts at the same time. Hitting right-footed wasn't an option. Lewis had an idea. He covered his mouth and said, "I'll touch it to you and you can run at Mendes. He's on a yellow. We can get him sent off!"

"Yep," I said.

"But I need a minute. Smack that into the mixer, Lewis."

"Copy that." He lined it up, whipped it high, curling away from the goal, towards the right-hand side of the area. Edgar Wilde and Campbell jumped, Sanchez clattered the ball away. Danger gone. I hobbled around for a couple of minutes. There was plenty of time left. Keep on trucking.

39' Matt: The frenetic early pace of this game has diminished somewhat, Ally. Ally: That's right. It was like watching basketball, but it has got more tactical. United are sitting back like a coiled spring and Chester are working hard not to spring that trap. Matt: Max Best still looks to be in some discomfort. Look at that stat. 6 dribbles in the first half hour, none in the last ten minutes. Ally: Credit to Mark Hardwick and his coaches. They have tweaked their press.

They're blocking off the passing lanes to Best. He's having to move around to get the ball. Look there. Matt: The ball's with Lamarre in the left back slot. Best is dropping into Youngster's zone so he can get involved. Lamarre fires a pass to Best. Best runs over it and it goes through to Leo Los. Los touches it into Best's path and now he's got the ball and he's running towards the left wing again. Chester players click into a higher gear. A hint of fear sweeps around Old Trafford. Best approaches Mendes.

Ally: Whoa-ho! Matt: Sensational wing play from Max Best yet again! He started life as a so-called mystery winger, and with one dazzling piece of footwork, Mendes is left clutching at thin air! Best racing forward. Sanchez is the nearest defender. He launches at Best with an ugly, two-footed tackle. Best might count himself lucky he was already cutting inside. Campbell the next in line, and Lamptey is rushing across to help.

Best evades them both, running at speed towards the corner flag, the ball stuck to his foot. Still running at speed, he lashes a cross into the middle. The centre backs have left their posts, so Roberts is up against Short. Roberts is first to the header. He angles it down, away from the keeper... and in! Stunning cross, even better finish. He wheels away and thinks about performing a somersault. William Roberts has scored at Old Trafford in the Premier League!

He did it in the Youth Cup final, now he's doing it in the big time, the big stage, in the Theatre of Dreams, where youth is ever dreaming of the things he's going to do. Ally: Best has been talking up the talents of this young man for a long time. Are we going to see him deliver? What a match this is, Matt! At 2-0, I thought this was dead and buried but Chester have stayed calm, stayed in it, and now the pressure's on the home team. Game on!

Half-time was simple. We re-celebrated Wibbers' goal, had our quiet time, and then I stood. I stretched my arms wide and said, "Lads, there's nothing to say. We're doing what we need to do. Think what you did in the first half, copy that for the second."

For the second half, United were shooting towards the iconic Stretford End, while we were going at the East Stand. Our fans were in the corner to the right of the goal, and for long periods they were noisier than the rest of the stadium. After five minutes of sparring, the game kicked back into life, and we had another ten minutes of attacks that led to counters that led to counters that led to counters. It must have been amazing to watch, but it was exhausting to play.

It wasn't just the relentless sprinting, but the switch in mentality. We're attacking, yay! We're defending, oh no! We're attacking, whoo! United's manager never man-marked players, but he did move Lamptey closer to me, and instructed Labbo to take up a deeper starting position. It wasn't quite three-against-one, but it was one-and-two-halves against one, for sure. I didn't mind it. It should have meant more space for Pascal on the right. Should have.

60' Bauer to Los. Los turns into trouble. Wilde with a thunderous sliding tackle! Los has another try. He finds Bochum, who skins Short. Bochum runs down the right wing at great pace. Sanchez will dive in, will he? Bochum gets out of the way, but the tackle doesn't come. Sanchez flicks the ball against Bochum's heel and wins a throw-in. Bochum is frustrated with himself; he got tricked there. Sanchez throws the ball to Short, who knocks it over the halfway line. Biyik is away!

Alloula is straining to recover his position. Biyik surprises Old Trafford by sweeping the ball to the right. Labbo takes the ball beautifully past Lamarre with his first touch. Will he cut back inside? He shapes to do just that, but chops the ball towards the goal line, and crosses with his right foot. Dekker jumps, but Masarik punches away. It falls to Brito. He moves the ball onto his right foot... And crashes it into the vacant left-hand side of the goal. 3-1!

The Stretford End went bonkers. In another world, one where I hadn't met Nick and had been promoted at the call centre, I might have been in there, jumping around, screaming. In this world... In this world, it's just us.

"Come on, men!" I cried.

"Come the fuck on!" I strode around, giving tiny pep talks.

"Leo, you're smashing it. You look good! Cheb, it's a tough gig. You're fine. Stick to it! Murray, get aggressive. Get on his fucking case!"

But for the next five minutes, we couldn't get going. It just wasn't clicking. Leo seemed to have gone timid, possibly because United's breaks were so fast and he didn't want to be the one who gave the ball away leading to a goal. Pascal was in his own head about jumping out of the tackle, but I couldn't blame him for doing that. He had already had one major contact injury and he had been lucky to get away with a couple of others. I wanted him to evade wild challenges.

Sandra saw what was happening and made two subs. Helge replaced Leo, which probably surprised the commentators, but Helge was going to right back, where his physicality would be great against Biyik. Cheb would take Leo's role. Matt Rush replacing Pascal was a straight swap. Rushy was a right back, according to the curse, but when a player's that fast you can get creative.

"Yeah," I said.

"This works."

66' Matt: Here's a stat, Ally. Chester with 70% possession in the last five minutes. They have competed with the home team, haven't they? Ally: They're good on the ball, they're clever, but they don't have enough quality in both boxes. United's goalie has come up with big saves, and their strikers have tucked away chances. That's the difference between the teams. In the middle of the park, if anything, Chester look better.

They're easy on the eye, but they're going to need more ruthlessness to stay in this division. Matt: Hard to disagree with that. But let's see. Alloula looks relieved not to be up against Biyik. He shapes to play a pass wide right, dribbles forward, goes back to Youngster. First time to Lamarre. Back to Youngster. Patient from the away team. Wilde - he has played well. Hagen involved in the build up. Bauer. He pings one for Best to chase!

Zottegem thinks about rushing out of the penalty area to help, but thinks better of it. Ally: That would have ended in tears. Matt: Best outpaces Mendes, gathers the ball, picks up speed! The gap between him and Mendes is increasing. Campbell moves across. Best ignores him! Runs past like Campbell isn't there. Best into the penalty area. He looks up... Toe-pokes the ball past Zottegem... It brushes past the post and goes out for a goal kick! Best's momentum takes him to the slope by the side of the pitch.

He struggles to avoid crashing into the barrier. And he's taking a little break! Sitting on the hoarding, hands on head. He has given this match everything and has had no luck whatsoever. Some of the fans in the East Stand are giving him a bit of tap.

"Oi, Best!" I scrunched my eyes closed. Helen was right not to like football. Football was shit.

"Best, oi!" With a groan, I pushed myself upright. I turned my head to see who was talking. Some gobby Manc twat. They were ten a penny round these parts.

"What?"

"Why are you trying to play like Ryan Giggs?"

"To show you what you're missing."

"Yeah, well, thing about that is," bellowed the guy, whose grin showed he had a zinger locked and loaded.

"Giggs scored." About sixty Mancs laughed, and what could I do? He'd nailed me. I trudged back to the pitch and wondered if I should swap places with Rushy and do my Robben impression after all. That might have worked with Pascal, who could play on either wing, but not with Rushy. I was stuck. For the tenth time, I vowed to get my head down and stick to my job. This time, though, I actually followed through.

74' Matt: Best takes the ball on his left foot, threatens to go on one of his mazy dribbles, but he is crowded out. He clips the ball into midfield. Wilde pushes the ball through to Roberts, who has come deep to get a touch. Ally: Roberts has played well but you can tell he doesn't like being a low-touch striker. He wants to be more involved. I wonder what position he'll end up playing. Matt: He took his goal well. True striker's finish. The ball is heading back to Chester's left.

United shuffle to that side, wary of the threat from Best. Alloula points to where he wants his boss to go. Best sprints, taking three players with him. But the Algerian spins and clips the ball behind Short. Matt Rush with blazing pace! He's surging towards the goal. Ally: Wow. Great defending. Sanchez had to make that challenge. Matt: The Argentine was well positioned, but the danger isn't over. United look stretched. Alloula pulling the strings. Roberts shows for the ball, turns, barrels forward.

He beats Lamptey, tries to skip past Sanchez. Sanchez is everywhere! But the ball lands at the feet of Max Best. He pushes it to Roberts, who plays the return pass into Best's stride. Big chance coming! But Best is fouled! He's taken down from behind, a desperate lunge from Mendes. The Chester fans are baying for blood. Mendes pleads his innocence. The referee has a big decision to make here... Ally: Red. Matt: It is red! Second yellow, red card, Mendes is sent off! He can't believe it.

He puts his hands together in prayer, looks to the heavens. What have I done to deserve this, he asks? Ally: Two stupid fouls. Matt: [Very slight pause.] Indeed. Well now! Chester are 3-1 down but have a man advantage. And a free kick that will have Max Best licking his lips!

Best places the ball. He stands to the left, calculating the angles for a right-footed shot. Will he go over the wall? It's a four-man wall. Zottegem, standing in the exact centre of the goal, slaps his gloves. The referee is ready. He blows his whistle. Best asks if he's sure. Was that a smile from the referee? Best takes a deep breath, eyes the ball, thinks about it, takes a step to his right, and clips the ball with his left foot. The ball rises, curls, spins towards a mass of players.

Helge Hagen jumps highest... Unleashes a thumping header... GOOOOAAAALLLL!!!! He has done it! The Norwegian has scored his first-ever Premier League goal! Hagen, Best, Roberts and the others sprint towards the Chester fans. They are going crazy in the away end. Their team are only one goal behind!

The match went back to being pure mayhem. We ran, we chased, we started to cramp. Sandra made three subs. Gabby for Wibbers. Magnus and Jimmy for Youngster and Edgar. Fresh legs, same old idea: attack till we drop.

77' Best picks up the ball and moves forward. United have a back five. Best moves to his left, but suddenly whips a shot towards goal. Zottegem calmly plucks the ball from the air. He smiles at Best. The Belgian made that look easy, but Best nearly caught him out.

78' Chester are piling on the pressure. Rush gets past Short, crosses, but Campbell heads away. Gabriel has a chance to shoot... But he scuffs it wide. 79' Best shapes to cross, but pauses. Lamarre overlaps him. Best moves to create an angle, then slips the ball between two defenders. Lamarre smashes a low cross. Gabriel hurls himself forward. Any contact will do! Nothing. So close! 80' McNeill beats Lamptey to the ball. Evergreen brings it forward. Alloula sees Gabriel making a run to the channel.

The pass is good. Gabriel does well to hold off Sanchez. Gabriel to Rush. But Short steals the ball. He releases Biyik. Biyik squares to Brito. Diagonal pass to Labbo. Labbo is haring towards goal. Burnett blocks the left-footed option, but Labbo simply goes past on his right. Labbo on his right foot. Only Masarik to beat... Labbo... cuts the ball sideways. Dekker applies the finish... GOOOOAAAALLLL!!!! The United players steam into the Stretford End. They have scored with ten men! It's 4-2!

My nose was itchy but I didn't want to scratch it. Two or more cameras would be pointing right at my face, recording my every twitch. Murray hadn't done a stellar job on that move, but he shouldn't have been put in that position. And why had Labbo suddenly decided to do the right thing? I shook my head. This game had been a total mess but it was hard to think how we could have done it better. I scratched my nose. Peter Bauer yelled, "There's still time, boys!"

United sat back, a back five and a screen of four. We tried things. From the left, I hit crosses from deep while Lewis went ahead of me to do slaps. Rushy got past Short several times but we didn't have enough bodies in the box to make the breaks count. And we couldn't put too many bodies in the box without risking more lightning fast breaks. I scoffed. United's weak link was off the pitch and they were playing ten times better. I wandered around thinking about the career of Ryan Giggs.

I had done a pretty good impression of early-stage Giggs, but the guy had kept playing until he was about 40. As he lost his searing pace, he had reinvented himself as a silky-smooth playmaker. I shuffled my guys around. Lewis took my role on the left, I moved Cheb into the same zone as Gabby, and I went into the CAM slot. Now the closest player to me was Brito. The two players on 10 out of 10 clashing at last! But it was no contest. He wasn't a defender.

I could draw him into a challenge and boop the ball away from him ten times out of ten. The key was to get the timing right. We needed to slip passes through the defenders for either Lewis or Rushy to slap into the box, and hope that one of those times, someone from our team would be first to it.

85' Matt: Into the last five minutes of normal time. Chester probing for an opening. Another goal from them would blow this one wide open. United, down to ten men, remember, are happy to soak up pressure. They would love to hear the final whistle! Ally: They would. They really would. Credit to Chester for making a game of it. Matt: Best is in the centre, pulling the strings. He chips the ball over the top. Can Lamarre get there? Campbell stretches out a leg and hooks clear. The tension is building!

Ally: Chester have nothing to lose. They're really going for it. Matt: It's back with Best. Brito challenges, kicks Best, but the player-manager stays on his feet. He threatens to shoot right-footed, but plays a lovely pass to the left of Short. Ally: Gorgeous, that. Matt: Rush takes a touch, smashes the ball into the middle. Sanchez is first to it. Deflects to Rush. He finds Hagen. The Norwegian touches the ball to Rush and sprints into the penalty area. Another target for Chester to aim for!

They are piling on the pressure! Rush is pushed away from goal. He finds Evergreen. Evergreen fires a cross into the box. Hagen jumps! Campbell does well. Best picks up the loose ball, battles with Brito, battles with Lamptey, gets the ball wide. Best runs into the box. Lamarre with the cross. It goes through a crowd. Who's there? Max Best to fire home from eight yards out! He smashes it! SAVED. Zottegem saves again! Ally: That's the best of the lot. That was unbelievable. Unbelievable!

Matt: Max Best is wandering towards the corner flag to take the corner. He's looking at the Chester fans, shrugging. What more can I do? They are on their feet, lauding him. Ally: They love him, and so they should. He has given it everything today. All those men in blue have. Matt: What can he do from this corner? He'll hit it left-footed. Inswinger. Great cross. Hagen first to it! But it goes over. Wow. Breathless stuff. We're into the dying minutes, though. Ally: I don't want this to end.

United played cynically for a couple of minutes, taking time off the clock, faking a couple of injuries, using their substitute windows to waste more time. I couldn't blame them, really. It's not like they were at the dark arts for the whole match, and once the clock passed 90 it was like there was an unspoken message saying, okay, we've done it, cut out the shit. I'd gone all-out, using Helge as a striker, pushing everyone forward. I'd used every perk, tried everything. The referee started to look at his watch.

Matt: Best moves into space, collects the ball from McNeill. Best looks for options, but United are sitting deep. Ally: There's no way through. Matt: Best, looking weary, heads to the left. He nudges the ball to Lamarre and runs on the overlap. Lamarre tries to find his manager, but the pass is cut out. Lamptey hacks it clear. Will that be that? Masarik is on the half way line. He gives the ball to Peter Bauer, who moves forward. He gives it to Best, who waves at Bauer to continue forward.

Bauer playing as an attacking midfielder now! Best gives him the ball, runs to the right. Another exchange of passes between the two. Best signals for Lamarre to make a run on the far left, shapes to make the pass. Brito bought the fake, clipped Best's ankle, but Best is dribbling forward. This time on the right. Ally: There's just no space. Matt: Best touches the ball to Bauer, then sprints forward. Campbell blocks Best's run and they crash into each other. Best is down! Bauer rolls the ball forward.

Matt Rush is on the end of it. Rush's route to goal is blocked by Sanchez. Rush cuts onto his left foot, makes an angle, swings his left foot... and scores! He has done it! On his return to Old Trafford, Matt Rush has scored! He runs to the Chester fans. It's 4-3 and they're delirious. Matt Rush is in heaven! Ally: Full time. Matt: And it's game over! The referee calls a halt to proceedings. What a match! 4-3 the final score. Ally: It could have been 8-6 or anything. What a game.

Matt: Some worry about Max Best in the United penalty area. He collided with Campbell and they both ended in a heap. Ally: He's fine, look. He's just exhausted. But you know, I wonder if Best initiated that contact because he took Campbell out and that gave Chester just the tiniest bit of space to get through. Matt: I'm sure they will analyse that in the studio. They have got a lot to talk about!

Red cards, seven goals, astonishing individual performances, but in the end, Manchester United win and move up into fourth. Chester lose and remain rock bottom of the Premier League, still on minus one points. But if they can replicate this performance, who knows?

I lay on my back for a bit. The match was over, so there was no point rushing to get up. 4-3. I didn't know what to make of it. Three goals from three different goalscorers. None of them me. Rushy had scored by copying Robben, which was amazing because his left foot was pretty shit. Maybe that's how he had beaten the goalie - neither of them knew where the ball would go... Brito was looming over me. He held his hand out. I took it and let him help me up.

"Max Best," he said.

"Amazing. Incredible. So good. We change shirts, yes?"

"Swap shirts?"

"Yes, we swap. I want yours." He raised his eyebrows." You are Manchester United quality." I gestured with my finger, circling all the United players.

"Well, that makes two of us." He looked down, trying not to laugh, but I knew he mostly agreed with me.

"We swap shirts. What? You don't do this?" I shrugged.

"Normally I hate everyone on the oppo by now." Brito laughed.

"Yes, I understand. Me too, haha. You pissed me off. Too good! Stop dribbling, please, haha! But tomorrow I think, what a player. So I take the shirt, yes?" He looked towards the goalmouth in such a strange way I twisted to check what was happening. Almost nothing. Zottegem, the goalie who had defied me, was gathering his gloves and towels and shit. Brito gave me a warm smile.

"Don't give it to him. Give it to me." I frowned.

"Why would I give it to him? He's a dick." Astonishment.

"Him? No. He's a wonderful person. Not wonderful enough to get your shirt, but..."

"I promised a sick girl I would score a goal for her, and he made me break my promise. What I want to know is, why does he hate children?" Brito dipped his head forward slightly, like he was peering at me over spectacles. Eventually, he realised I was joking.

"What is the girl's name?"

"Helen." He nodded.

"Give me the shirt and I give Helen my goal."

"She doesn't want your goal. She wants my goal. She doesn't even know who you are!"

"I'm the captain of Manchester United." I groaned.

"Fine. Whatever." I stripped my top off and handed it over. He did the same. I took the gorgeous red kit and stared at the badge that had once meant so much to me.

"Can I have your armband?" Brito's eyebrows rose, but he peeled it off and gave it to me. The captain of Manchester United. In English sport, that was one of the top spots. Brito was a worldwide ambassador, a hundred times more famous than me. Could I get him to visit our hospital? The kids would love it, the hospital staff would love it, and so would the staff at our Foundation.

"Why don't you meet Helen? She's in Chester. You can describe your goal in person and afterwards, I'll buy you a kebab."

"Chester? Yes, I will go."

"What, really?" He tilted his head.

"You are buying a house in Alderley Edge, no?"

"How the fuck do you know that?" He smiled.

"We have the same estate agent. We're going to be neighbours!"