4.5 - Mentality

26.

Date: Monday 27 February, 2023

Purpose of Form: UEFA C Licence Session Report

Candidate Name: Max Best

Coach Developer: Michelle Lomas

Participants: Darlington FC Under Twelves

Session Goals:

Creating and exploiting overloads in and around the penalty box.

Session Plan:

Max has prepared a highly detailed lesson plan entitled 'The Art of Slapping', which includes contingencies for having too many and too few participants. The session begins with Max handing out colourful tactical maps to every player. Max then demonstrates each skill, sequentially, inviting one participant to replace him until all positions are filled with participants. There is no mention of goals. Max talks in terms of 'slaps' and 'attempted slaps', meaning successful or unsuccessful forward passes and penalty box entries.

In the base model, four players attack versus four defenders and a goalkeeper. Teams switch from attack to defence with every successful or unsuccessful slap. Individual participants rotate roles with every attack. Goalkeepers act as servers. Participants are required to enter the penalty box through the sides, not the front. The attacking team manoeuvres until they have a two-on-one advantage on one flank, and attempt to create a goalscoring opportunity for teammates who arrive in the six-yard box late.

Communication:

Max remains positive throughout, with one exception (described later), communicating clearly and dishing out praise where he feels it's warranted. He ensures the participants stay on task by asking them pertinent questions such as 'did that slap?' and 'defenders, do you feel slapped?'

Participant Engagement:

Through the roof. Max allows the boys time to master the drill before he begins demanding more of them. The specificity of what he asks for is exemplary; it's all based on their personal strengths and weaknesses. He seems to have been coaching the group for years. Note: This was only their second session together.

Positives:

Max rides waves of motivation incredibly well. During these 'up' periods, his sessions are as focused and serious as any I've ever seen. Max is very comfortable letting energy fade and drift, and has a unique gift for distraction and outright silliness that serves as a natural break. During one lull, Max gathers the participants around him and begins threatening to sack them. 'You call yourselves footballers? You've got one week - just one week to regain your jobs.' The group eventually realises Max is performing a monologue from a movie, though I couldn't find a movie where a character orders people to 'always be slapping'.

With the participants newly relaxed and energised, the drill recommences with one participant showing off. 'Oh, wonderful,' says Max, as he pushes the participant away and takes his spot. 'But have you ever thought about doing this?' Max stands touch-tight to a defender, demands the ball, flicks it up, and somehow contorts himself so that he's facing the defender but with the ball trapped behind him, in the crook of his knee. 'Where's the ball, mate?' demands Max. 'Where's the ball?' He hops towards the goal. A defender tries to kick the ball loose. 'Ow, you dick. My wife will sue you. She's a judge. Oi! Stop that.' He laughs and continues hopping towards the goal. More defenders arrive and try to wrestle Max to a halt. One punches the ball out of its slot and Max runs around trying to regain it. The participants form an impromptu rondo that succeeds in keeping the ball away from him. He blows his whistle and awards 'five slaps to Slytherin'.

When the giddiness subsides, Max turns to the showboater and says, 'that's what you look like'. The participant acknowledges the criticism. But Max understands the impulse behind the original showboating. 'If you want to get a professional contract with my team, take your training seriously. If you want to play in the same team as me, make this pass ten times out of ten and that cross nine times out of ten. Yeah? But if you really want to impress me, play your passes to the receiver's strongest foot. Do you even know what they are? Because I do.' Max walks around pointing at every participant. 'Left, right, right, right, both, right.' The showboater is suitably impressed. The drills reach a new level of intensity.

Areas for Improvement:

(1.) Participants were initially confused about what constituted a slap. When I suggested this to Max, he said, 'yeah, duh. They have to work it out otherwise it's your bog-standard final third entry routine, innit? Come off.' I'm not sure I agree, but there was certainly some enthusiastic discussion about which moves counted as slap-worthy. Max listened to all participants and explained why he agreed and if he disagreed, what modifications would make a certain sequence slaptastic. The participants followed his reasoning with much more ease than I did.

(2.) Max does not ask the participants for feedback, as per best practice. When questioned, he says, 'yeah no point that was fucking mint they loved it the little shits'.

(3.) This is the seventh session in a row where I have observed Max only doing attacking drills. I reminded him that we expect to see some defensive drills, also, and he replied 'nah dog that's not for me dog anyways my DoF says I should stick to teaching kids how to slap'. Note: Max is the DoF at his club.

Final Comments:

The session meets the competency required at C Licence level. The session shows a high level of technical expertise, reinforced by Max's answers to my questions at the end and the way he gave tips on how I could analyse his sessions better - where to stand, how to know which sides the attacks would develop based on the participant's social hierarchies, and so on. Feedback I sourced from the participants was universally positive.

***

From the Chester Standard, Tuesday, 28th February

SEALS BATTLE TO BRAVE POINT AGAINST IN-FORM TIGERS

A dominant opening presaged a nightmare second-half for Jackie Reaper's Chester, as they survived wave after wave of Gloucester attacks to bank a valuable point. The first half saw Chester play some gorgeous football, and they deservedly took the lead through a thumping Sam Topps header. However, they couldn't find a way to double their advantage while in the ascendency, and Gloucester's half-time tactical tweaks turned the match on its head. Reaper's substitutions failed to stem the tide, and in some views, invited even more pressure.

The main bright spot for Chester was the return to first-team action of Trick Williams, finally recovered from a troublesome muscular injury. "It's very welcome news," said Reaper. "He brings balance to the defence and allows us to switch formations. Second half wasn't good, today, but a point is a point is a point. I hear Bradford lost, so it's really a good night for us."

.

Pos. Team   P   GD   Pts   

19. Blyth Spartans   34   -29 .  39   

20. Chester.  35   -11   37   

21. Bradford   33   -22   35   

22. Leamington   33   -15   34   

23. Kettering   35.  -27 .  30   

24. AFC Telford   35.  -38   22

***

Wednesday, 1st March

When I woke up, I had cursemail. The monthly status update.

Your Reputation in England: Unknown

Your World Reputation: Unknown

Bit annoying. I was 'known' as a player, albeit in a low division. And I was a Director of Football! I was also the manager of Chester Women, and I didn't appear on the ever-growing list of women's football managers. Like certain media personalities, the curse was struggling with the very concept of women.

I suspected that my version of Champion Manager didn't have any women's football, and the curse was slowly bringing itself up to date. It had chosen to have two lists of manager reputations, one for men, one for women. The England Women manager, Sarina Wiegman, topped the second list, of course, but she also appeared in the first even though she'd never managed a men's team. My guess was that her achievements were so huge that even a gammon would give her a chance as manager of a men's team.

I also got a special Director of Football message.

The Board are generally satisfied with your performance but are worried about the club's precarious financial position.

I couldn't fix the last part without a time machine, so I ignored it. 'Generally satisfied' felt very 3 out of 5. Bit annoying. I texted Emma.

Me: How would you rate my performance as your boyfriend? Generally satisfied / very satisfied / extremely satisfied.

She replied with a bicep emoji. What?

Despite the curse winding me up, I felt great. My big talk with Emma about my incohate, uncongealed feelings had done wonders for me. I had a long-term plan and very few short-term responsibilities. So it didn't exactly matter what I did or the order I did things. As long as I was progressing, I was allowed to feel good about myself.

***

XP Balance: 1242

Debt repaid: 1009/3000

***

I was torn about what to do on Wednesday evening. Spectrum asked me to let him know if I was going to watch any of the boys's training sessions, which was an unusual request from him. Jill did something weirdly similar but with the women's team. All quite curious. I wanted to know what they were up to, but Burnley were playing Fleetwood in the FA Cup, and if I could convince Jackie to come, he'd see the future of football. And I'd pile on enough XP to buy Attributes 4, which I'd got my heart set on. It had been far too long since I'd unlocked any cells, and without being able to see a player's full profile, I was flying through clouds. And I only needed another 325 XP!

(I'd decided I'd save my coupon codes for perks that cost at least 4,000 XP, unless there was an emergency.)

In the end, though, despite the prospect of a power-up, I decided to put my staff first.

***

I started at the under 16s. They'd gone from having so little talent that Kian was instantly their best player, to having four guys in the PA 30 range, plus Vivek (PA 66), Tyson (PA 58), and Lucas Friend, the left-back I'd found at the goalkeeper school. He was PA 62.

So yeah, not going to win any tournaments any time soon, but they'd come a long way in a fairly short time. The session wasn't very intense, and when I mentioned it to Spectrum he grinned and said, "They're saving their legs." He was up to something and I liked it.

Then came a meeting Spectrum had set up after I confirmed I was going. While the players went through their end-of-session warm-down, a good-looking older guy came. Last time I'd seen him he'd been wearing a puffy jacket with a fake fur hood that made his hair pop. Now he was in a well-cut suit.

It was Sullivan's dad. I'd released his son from the under 14s because he had the skills but not the mentality. He was too cautious and wouldn't make forward passes. He was too cautious because his dad screamed at him every time he made a mistake, but even when I banned the dad from going to matches, we couldn't change Sullivan's style.

Now the dad was asking for a second chance for the kid, just like Tyson had got. But the situations were different. First, Tyson had the potential to become a pro footballer and Sullivan didn't. Second, I saw evidence that I could help with Tyson's problem - his teamwork attribute turned green when we hammered him about it. But I couldn't see an attribute that explained why Sullivan wanted high pass completion stats more than anything else in the world. So it was a pointless endeavour.

I told the dad that his son wasn't going to get another chance. The conversation started out civil, but the dad quickly became angry. He said a lot of things that a member of a healthy society would regret. He pointed out, correctly, that his son was more talented than most of the players in the youth system, that Tyson only got a second chance because his dad was a sponsor (you can decide if you think that's fair), and that I was a damned fool and he'd tell everyone about this travesty. He vowed to get rid of me. I think his exact words were: "You won't make it till the end of the season."

I stayed really calm throughout - I know, I was surprised, too - because in the end it's a dad who wants good things for his kid. I didn't mind letting him vent.

When he finally fucked off, I turned to Spectrum. "Thanks, mate."

He cringed. "I didn't think it'd be like that. I'm really sorry."

"It's fine. That guy is a mess. Holy shit."

"Yeah. Poor Sully. That wasn’t why we wanted you to come today, though."

Exciting! But I wondered if I should let the Sullivan kid back in, after all. Try our best to fix his issue, heal one of his wounds. I shook my head. I couldn't run the club like a charity, and I already asked way too much of the coaches. "Who's hardest to coach? Dani or Vivek?"

Spectrum adjusted his glasses. "I don't think like that."

"Come on. I'm just interested. I know I give you weird things to do."

"Er... Dani makes me realise how much I rely on talking. I've started using the whiteboard a lot more. Laminated handouts that explain the drills. It's not just Dani who uses them - a lot of the players like to see the pictures. So that's good. But the first time we do something it's quite slow. Which, again, sometimes it's good. Vivek hasn't played much football and sometimes there's big gaps in his knowledge. You can't make assumptions with him. We realised the other day he'd never taken a throw-in in his life. And he's very passive on corners. We're trying to make him realise it's his job to head the ball! You have to be patient with him. So the question is, do I find it easier to communicate non-verbally, or to be patient?" He laughed. "I think I'm six out of ten on both."

"If it was easy, some other club would have found them." I went internal for a second, thinking about all these young people and how exciting it was to watch their CAs turn green. "Dani needs to realise she’s a sword and Vivek needs to realise he’s a shield. They’ve got enough natural talent I’m not worried about the rest. You're doing great. I'm happy. I'd promise to stop bringing you randos with unique challenges, but, you know. I'm gonna."

Spectrum grinned and went off to start the next session.

The under 18s was a talent desert, then one thimbleful of water (a guy with a PA of 22), then two lush green oases in Pascal and Youngster. The stars were in a CA race. When I met Pascal in January, his CA was 4 points behind James's. Now thanks to his full-time contract he was only one behind. James was on 26, Pascal on 25. Being named on the bench for the first team had been a big deal for both, and even James's infrequent training with the first team had done a lot to arrest a slight stagnation in his CA. The rest of the under 18s simply weren't good enough to challenge him. Frustrating, but that's what years of neglecting a youth system will do. Ian Evans had quit at just the right time to make sure the club's young talents could keep developing.

I hung around for a bit, and joined in a couple of drills. As I was leaving, James invited me to church, and Pascal said he had updated his personal scouting report if I wanted to read it. I said I only had time to do one of the two things and they should discuss which. Then I fled.

***

Across the King George complex, the women had started to arrive. I saw Dani and did the latest sign I'd learned: wassup? I had a quick chat with Pippa - she was feeling low because it was all much harder than she had imagined. I assured her she was doing great and I had absolutely no doubts about her.

Then I went to see what Jill wanted. She was with a younger, taller version of herself. By younger, I'd guess... forty? The daughter maybe?

"Hi, Max. This is Lucy. She was a young player coming into the Chester team when I was near the end of my playing days."

"Ah, another former legend," I said, shaking her hand. "Awesome." I noticed that Lucy was dressed in a very sporty way. "Do you still play?"

"That's the point," said Jill. "Lucy was our left-back. And she scored from headers." She left the thought hanging. I was supposed to say something.

"Right," I said, bursting with wisdom.

"I've brought her to fill in this evening," said Jill.

"What?"

"Oh, I mean, if I've overstepped, I'm sorry. Oh, no."

I put my hand up. "Let's all stay frosty. I'm not mad. Not even a sub-atomic amount. Mostly because I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Didn't Spectrum tell you?" Her eyes flicked to a point behind me.

I turned and saw the under 16s marching towards us. "Oh! A mini match, is it?" I got excited. That's why they were saving their energy. "Ooh, this is going to be chaos. I love it. Wait!" I said, suddenly bouncing. "It's Tyson versus Dani!"

"Er... stay frosty, Max," said Jill. "It's mostly going to be positional work. Everything slowed down."

"He," I said, bombastically, "was the son of a no-good low-life who founded an empire. She was the daughter of a couple of fucking weirdos. Brought together by fate and football, destiny has pitted them against one another. This isn't Old Trafford. This is the Amphitheatre of Screams."

"I'd watch that movie," admitted Lucy.

"Are you saying you don't want us to do shape work?" said Jill.

"No, do it," I said, a bit whingey. "There'll be a bit of a match at the end, though, right? Right?"

"Yes, Max," said Jill.

I had to suffer while Jill and Spectrum did a walking-pace 'match', which stopped every three seconds so they could point things out to the players. Youngster and Pascal came to join me, so it was much less boring. Pascal asked why I looked frustrated.

"This is good and important but I want to do the fun bits. Do you know what I mean?" Both kids gave me blank looks. They were the type who enjoyed the defensive parts of the game as much as the attacking ones. Both loved hard work and had a very high boredom threshold. "One good thing is both sides are getting something out of this. I heard that Conte does this with the Spurs first team and a load of under 18s. You'd think the young players would be in heaven, training with Harry Kane and all the stars, but they're really just mannequins. It sounds horrible. Like this we can work on two teams at once."

"Jackie told me I'll be on the bench again this weekend," said James.

"That's away at Hereford, is it?" I said.

He looked surprised that I wasn't sure. "Yes. Aren't you going?"

"Ah," I said, complaining. "I have to go to a Course Day to get my UEFA C licence. I'm doing one on Saturday and one on Sunday. I need to do six days. I missed two at the start that I caught up on, did the next two, and these are the last ones."

"How do you enjoy the course?" said Pascal.

"It's fine. It's not for us, if you know what I mean. It's for civilians. It's like this drill - for Vivek, there, it's amazing, because he's inexperienced and in his position, mistakes are punished. Every time you do this drill with him, he's going to get more confident. But I'd hate it, and I'd hate being the coach. These Course Days are like being back in school. Teacher gives you a task and you talk about it with your table and then you get feedback. Except in my case, at the end of the day, the teachers hand me their CV when they think no-one's looking."

Pascal looked worried. "Are you being given favourable treatment because of your position?"

"Not really. If I was, they wouldn't schedule the Course Days for Saturdays where we’ve got a big game. And I'm pretty open about what I know and what I don't. There are times when I'm the expert in the room, and times when I know as little as the rest of the students. I'm only doing it to get the paper so I can become a proper manager. I don't think I'm a good coach. I'm certainly not a natural. There's one thing I'm quite good at, I think, it's mentality. Especially with the young players. When I tell them what I want and what I don't want, they listen. I imagine a future where I take four sessions a year with each age group, to really drill into them the kind of football I want them to play, and the kinds of players I want them to become. Day to day training? I don't think it's for me."

"I hope you are there to see my debut," said James. "You made all this happen."

"Listen," I said, putting my hand on his shoulder. "If you make your debut and I'm not there to see it, don't worry. There's just one thing you need to remember. The absolute, most vital, most important thing is..." I pretended to get distracted by one of the players being out of position.

"Is what?" said James.

"Huh? What are you talking about? Ah, finally. We're going to get some action!" The coaches had decided they'd done enough shape work, and it was time for a match. I tried to make Spectrum push Tyson to left-back so he'd have to defend against Dani, but Spectrum refused. I turned to Pascal. "What's the point running a football club if you can't have some fun? Jesus."

"Mr. Best," said James. "What's the important thing?"

I was going to leave him hanging, because that seemed pretty funny. But I decided to give him a boost. "First thing is, when you step up a level it’s a shock. These guys seem so big and fast and they’re all trying to murder you. But at some point you’ll win a tackle or make an interception and you’ll realise - I got this.”

“I understand.”

“And if I'm not there to see it, that's God's plan. Isn't it? Because he knows if I hear your name being announced to the whole stadium, and I see you there on the touchline ready to go on the pitch, with your big, goofy smile... I'll actually pop."

"Pop?"

"I'll burst. With pride."

He looked away, trying to keep his face neutral. He mostly succeeded. Pascal gave him a pat on the back.

The match was strangely well-balanced. The boys were faster and stronger but the women were a better team and had higher technique on average. They trusted themselves to pass through the boys, to keep the ball moving, to wait for opportunities. But then came a mistake and the ball was fed through to Tyson, who lashed the ball into the top of the net. Tyson had the killer instinct all right. The thought occurred to me that I might not want his teamwork to go much higher.

A mistake being punished was the moment in recent matches where the women's heads had gone down. This time, though, they kept playing. Pass pass pass. They struggled to get the ball forward, but they kept trying. During a break, I crossed the pitch to where Jill was running the women.

"Jill, this is top. They've stepped up a level. Why do you think that is?"

"Have they? It looks the same to me."

"No, the mentality. They're sturdier. Calmer. It's more professional."

She scratched her cheek. "I mean, the only difference is Lucy. She's experienced. Maybe she's a good influence."

Influence! It all clicked into place. I had three good players, Dani, Pippa, and Bea Pea, plus a bunch of okay ones who would do a job. But I didn't have any leaders. Pippa wasn't a natural captain type. When things had gone wrong, she'd been unable to effect change. My sideline rants did nothing - I had no conduit to the pitch. With the under 14s I had Captain. With the Beth Heads I had Beth. The captain was my on-pitch avatar. Some thought nagged at me, but I couldn't bring it to the surface. If I didn't chase it, it would probably come to me.

Lucy was 41. She had PA 90, CA 3. At a guess, with regular training and game time, she'd get up to CA 20. Far short of the level I'd hoped us to be, but I needed her.

I demanded Jill's whistle, blew it, and went over to the left-back.

"I'd like you to play for Chester."

She laughed. "I'm a bit old, Max. I'd double the average age."

I didn't laugh. "I'd like you to play for Chester. You're my starting left-back. This season and probably next."

"Until you find someone better."

"Yes. But then you'll be my left-sided centre-back. You'll deffo play every time we do 3-5-2. You won't be short on game time."

She didn't know what to say. "I only came because Jill said you don't think women are good in the air. It pissed me off. I wanted to show you up."

"I never said that. You got scammed. Jill knew this would happen."

"But I haven't even won any headers, yet!"

"If God wanted us to play football in the sky, he would have put grass up there." The joke didn't help her realise that I was serious about my offer. I stepped away and opened myself up to as many players as possible. I called out, "Match is on hold until Lucy agrees to play for Chester Women."

The nearest few women rushed over to welcome their new teammate. Tyson came over and asked for a selfie - pretended to hold a phone up while they both smiled at his palm. He ran around showing it to everyone in the area. Lucy was overwhelmed by the attention. She needed a minute. I went over to Pippa.

"Are you okay with not being captain?"

"Oh, thank God. Yes, I'm okay with it. Yes!"

"You don't get to boss the girls around, but I do need you to boss the midfield. Good?"

"Good."

I turned to Lucy. She nodded at me. Energy filled me to the point I barely felt my feet touching the grass. I grinned as I strode towards Dani. It was time for her second masterclass. I escorted her to the side of the pitch and took her place at right-mid. I pointed to my eyes. Watch.

My direct opponent was Lucas, the left-back who wanted to play in goal. "Oh, no, no, no!" he said. "This isn't fair. I didn't sign up for this."

"I have a new move," I announced. "It's called Death by a Thousand Slaps." I winked at him and blew the whistle.

***

I showed Dani a couple of things. One, how to get a bit more space by dropping a bit deeper. If her opponent stayed with her, that only left more space to run onto. If her opponent stuck to the defensive line, Dani would have a few yards of the pitch all to herself. Two, how to combine with Bea Pea by driving forward, playing the ball square, and then having two options for the return pass.

I wanted Dani to be extremely aggressive in the moments after the last pass was played. I didn’t know sign language for ‘please kill everyone’ so I mimed swinging a sword. She looked around, uncertain, wondering if everyone else was seeing the same thing she was. Yes! I confirmed. Fast, decisive movements. I took a pass and cushioned it in front of me, burst forward, and smashed the ball into the net. I mimed like I was decapitating a few enemies and then I put my sword in the ground and, kneeling, prayed for their souls. Prayer complete, I picked up my imaginary weapon and handed it to Dani. She didn’t want to take it, but I made her. You are my sword, I tried to mime.

We repeated the move with Dani instead of me. She took a touch, thundered through the gap between defenders, and struck the ball low and to the left. I celebrated like we’d just knocked Newcastle out of the FA Cup.

I got so sucked into these scenarios that the rest of the players faded away. The entire world was me, Dani, and Bea Pea. When I came to my senses, I worried I'd bored everyone but it seemed the opposite was true. Everyone else was riveted, and when the mini-match ended, Tyson raced to Dani and was so excited to talk to her he forgot she couldn't hear.

Jill was joking around with Lucy. I think I heard her say, “Yeah, it’s always like this.” Having an older head in the team was going to be huge, I could feel it. But I was missing something. That thing on the edge of my memory was still there. A penny waiting to drop.

Penny?

No, not Penny.

"Shit," I said, and scrambled for my phone. I called Joe, the Club Secretary.

"Max," he said, in a panic, because he knew I'd text unless it was an emergency. "What's happened? What have you done now?"

"Do you still go to Footy Addicts?"

"Yes, sometimes."

"I need Bonnie."

"Bonnie?"

"She's a centre-back. She's 24, quite talented. Massive leadership qualities. I need her. Can you use your contacts to try to get her?"

"Get her?" he laughed. "You want Barnesy. He was in the army. If you want to kidnap a woman..."

"Great," I said. "You try phoning everyone you know. Meanwhile, he can assemble his strike team. Joe, I need her. Okay? Chester needs her."

Tiny silence. "I'll see what I can do."

He hung up and I started biting my nails. Bonnie had PA 41. I'd met her the day I'd found Kian, but back then, I wanted everyone on my women's team to have PA one hundred. The way I was thinking now was that PA 41 with high leadership was worth PA 60. Bonnie could be a mainstay for two or three years.

***

On Thursday I joined a Footy Addicts lunchtime match in Darlington, and in the evening went to Middleton Rangers to grab some XP. It wasn't much, but there weren't any professional matches that I could get to.

At half time, I used Playdar and whizzed round to a little field where I found a teeny tiny PA 56 midfielder. I got him to take me to his house, where I told his very confused mother who I was and that I wanted to organise a trial for the kid with Darlo.

"What if it doesn't work out?" she said, after loads of back and forth.

"Then you'll have to move to Chester," I replied, before racing back to my car to catch the second half.

***

XP Balance: 1404

Debt repaid: 1027/3000

***

Also on Thursday, I got my agent fee from Henri. He liked to pay his bills at the start of the month instead of when he got paid on the 15th. He said it was more orderly, more civilised, and if he wasn't going to show this country a better way to live, then who was?

Not for the first time, it felt strange to take money from the guy when he was letting me live in his house for free. He didn't think about it like that, though. The agent fee was payment for a professional service. The rent was an agreement between friends. He was able to separate the two concepts much better than me.

When was my income going to increase? There was nothing on the horizon. One day in the distant future, James would move to a big club, and my cut of his wages would set me up for life. Between now and then... what? A boot sponsorship deal? They were normally only handed out to active players.

I fumed about Old Nick and the weak-minded simpletons at the FA for a while, but then thought of a way to pay Henri back for his generosity - by doing my job.

I emailed a few clubs in League One and League Two to see if they'd be interested in signing Henri next season. The calls started coming in almost immediately.

***

Buckley Commoners versus Chester Women

We travelled to North Wales to play against a team from a former mining town called Buckley. It wasn't a glamorous destination, and even Tyson didn't come to watch. Spectrum had a day off, so it was just me and Jill. But with the addition of Lucy, we had ten players with a bit of quality - the average CA of those was 4.8. Then for the last slot, we had a variety of CA 1 options I could use depending on the formation we went with.

Buckley had five players with PAs ranging from 5 to 20, with CAs almost maxed out, but the other six were PA 1. Their average CA, then, was a smidge over 5. We were the underdogs again, but only slightly.

Before the match, I took our new captain, Lucy, and Dani over to the referee and explained the latter couldn't hear the whistle. The ref said, yes, yes, fine, I hope the floodlights stay on, they're very unreliable here. She didn't exactly fill me with confidence, but what could I do? (I needn’t have worried; the ref was inept but not cruel.)

Buckley were going to play 4-4-2, and I matched them.

The match kicked off. We started passing the ball around, settled into our shape nicely.

"I like the way they involve Robyn," I said. Robyn was our goalie. Only PA 14, but a fun hang. You need a couple of bubbly characters in the dressing room. The dream would be to find a high PA goalie but to keep Robyn around.

"She's good with her feet. They trust her."

While most of the team stayed solidly in their positions, Dani was experimenting with hers, the way I'd showed her. She dropped a little and her opponent didn't come. Dani played a few one and two-touch passes to keep the ball circulating. Her opponent started to creep closer, so Dani went all the way forward into an offside position. I'd explained to her that she wouldn't be called offside as long as the ball wasn't passed to her, but that her being there would mess with the other team's heads. And so it proved - her opponent didn't know what to do and ended up bickering with the nearest centre-back.

While Dani was high up the pitch, we broke through on the left-hand side. Lucy combined with Gracie, and played it to Bea Pea. Now, Dani was in an onside position, and Bea Pea's diagonal pass was perfect.

I'd tried to get Dani to be more assertive in these situations. At heart, she was still the shy girl lost in the middle of a disability football whirlwind. I needed a killer.

Bea Pea's pass is a good one.

Dani is in acres of space.

Her first touch is excellent. She looks up and hits a fierce strike towards the far post...

GOOOOAAAALLLL!!!!

A clinical strike!

The keeper had no chance!

That… that was exciting. She was merciless! Dani the Destroyer! Football management was easy. Get hot talents, train them up, profit.

I knew, then, that I was going right to the top of the game. Not long from now, there would be a camera following my every move. I needed to make sure my face looked managerial at all times.

I tried to be the cool, calm, and collected manager. You know, Carlo Ancelotti meeting triumph and disaster just the same. But first I did a little dance. Had a little smile. And then it was back to being impassive.

Pippa wins the ball in midfield. She plays it back to Lucy.

Lucy passes square to Mo.

She plays it on to Robinson.

Dani wants it short. She's screaming for the ball!

Robinson starts to play the pass, but pauses. She chips it long.

The defender is in no-man's land! Dani has the freedom of the pitch!

She races forward. The centre-backs are storming towards her.

The goalkeeper comes to narrow the angle.

Dani has played it too far wide... has she?

She lashes the ball towards the near post.

GOOOOAAAALLLL!!!!

She celebrates with Robinson - they combined so well for that goal.

I am a pebble on top of a mountain. I may stay for another million years, or I may fall. I am indifferent. I concentrate on being the best rock I can be.

Robyn takes the goal kick long.

Butler competes for the header. She can only glance it to the right.

Dani appears out of nowhere and skips past two players!

She puts her foot on the ball, then picks a pass to Bea Pea.

The return pass is crowded out, so Bea Pea turns left.

Lucy has bombed forward!

She touches the ball and shapes to cross.

The full-back throws herself into the way.

But the cross didn't come! A great feint by the Chester captain.

She pushes towards the by-line and whips in a cross.

GOOOOAAAALLLL!

Bea Pea stooped to conquer!

Lucy with the assist.

I am a sunflower. I turn to the sun. I bask. I show no emotion.

My half-time speech focuses very heavily on the interconnectedness of all living things. At times I forget I'm a sunflower and lean into rock-based imagery.

My players say that the other team's number 10 is very good and ask for advice.

My advice is: bask in the sun.

My players complain that it's night-time.

"Just keep doing what you're doing, Jesus Christ," I snap. "I'm trying to work on my persona, over here. When we're on TV all the cameras are going to be pointed at me. Ooh, what's Max Best going to do now? they'll say. I want to look unbothered and calm. That's how Carlo Ancelotti keeps winning everything. Because his players think he's so calm that everything must be part of the plan. All right? Can I get back to practising? Fuck me."

Chester are still well on top in this game.

They win another corner. Gracie is in no hurry to take it.

The corner is played short. Dani whips in a first-time cross.

Lucy rises highest...

GOOOOAAAALLLL!!!!

The captain scores!

She'll never have an easier header.

"Four-nil, wow," said Jill. She twinkled. "And a goal from a corner. Like you wanted."

"Might be a good time to thank you," I said.

"What?"

"Lucy. The missing piece. You saw what we needed and you made it happen."

Jill shook her head. "It was luck. I thought about what you said about headers. I know Lucy's been keeping herself fit with her runs and her mountain climbing and all that adventure stuff she does. I didn't realise she'd... I don't know."

"Bind the team together."

"Is that what you think it is?"

"Yep."

Jill blazed with pride, just for a second. "One thing about the old days. They toughened you up. She was a weedy little thing when she first walked into our dressing room. Look at her now."

I thought about that. "How do we get, say, Dani or Bea Pea to go on that kind of journey without, you know, bullying them?"

Jill looked down. "Don't know." Her head jerked back up. "Come on, Dani!"

Lucy loses the ball.

Erin is there to cover. Great tackle!

The ball breaks to Gracie. She passes to Pippa.

Pippa sweeps the ball wide to Dani.

Dani combines with Bea Pea - the Buckley defence must be sick of seeing that!

Bea Pea's return pass runs wide.

Dani shoots...

But it's a tame effort.

The commentary said it blandly, but I saw and experienced it on a visceral level. A full-body, guttural ‘nuuugggghhh’ that was not managerial.

Dani had let the ball run a few more yards to improve the angle of her shot. But then she'd taken her foot off the throttle and, basically, tapped the ball straight at the goalie.

She didn't want to embarrass the other team.

She didn't want to hurt their feelings.

Dani the Destroyer had killed enough for one night.

In her opinion.

I used the tactics board to sub her off, and told the nearest sub to get ready to go on.

"What?" said Jill.

I didn't want to make the same mistake with Jill as I had with Spectrum, so I told her, as calmly as I could manage (I was actually fuming) what I'd seen. Dani trudged off the pitch and her replacement sprinted on. I took out my phone and typed in the team chat.

Me: We're not dicks. We're not sociopaths. We don't want to hurt, maim, or humiliate our opponents. But if we ever, ever take our foot off the accelerator, we'll get slapped. We cannot feel sorry for other teams. We shouldn't think about other teams, ever, full stop. We have our team targets. Your teammates have their personal targets. We score every chance we get because leagues can be won or lost on goal difference. Because matches are never over until the final whistle blows. Because our fans pay to see goals. Because your teammate gets an assist and with enough assists they get a big transfer or a scout from their national team comes to watch them. Anyone who stops trying will get subbed off and I'll play with seven if I have to.

I sent that and felt Dani become emotional behind me.

Jill felt the change in the mood and got her phone out. She read the team chat. "Pretty harsh," she said. Her eyes flicked backwards. "What if she quits?"

"I can't live in fear. I have to do what I think is right. What if she does that in the World Cup final?"

She read the text again. "They're called truth bombs because they have a habit of exploding."

"That wasn't a bomb. That was the opposite of a bomb. A seed. That's a truth seed. If it grows, we've got a legend. If it doesn't, we never had anything. How does she look?"

"Bright red. I’m guessing less than perfectly happy."

I turned to the next sub. "You're on soon. You ready?"

Then I took Lucy off. She gave Pippa the captain's armband.

"What are you doing?" said Jill. But it wasn't accusatory. It was inquisitive.

"Lucy's old. She's tired."

"She's fitter than you," said Jill, which was probably true.

I congratulated Lucy as she left the pitch and asked her to think about what pose she wanted for her statue. "Giving you the middle finger for subbing me off," she said.

"I think a lot of people would like that," I said.

So then I was just waiting for the moment. The incident that would teach Dani a lesson. And it didn't take long to come. Buckley's dangerous number ten, the player with the highest CA on the pitch, started to get on the ball more. Started creating danger. Buckley's first goal caused a ripple of panic to spread around my team. I was attuned to it, now. I could feel it. Lucy would have absorbed some or most of it. But Lucy was off the pitch.

I made eye contact with Dani for the first time since the incident. I thought there might be a battle, but she looked away almost instantly.

Four-one up, and I was hoping to lose. What would Beth call this story? The Architect and the Arsonist - the twist being both characters were me.

But I felt it in my bones. I didn't often have such strong reactions to incidents on a football pitch. I knew Dani had eased off. I knew it to my core. I had to let my solution play out.

Buckley had another attack that we just about defended, and from the corner they put a header miles above the bar.

Jill looked at her watch. "It's going to be a long fifteen minutes."

And so it was. Buckley scored, attacked relentlessly, but their third came in the last minute. Too late to find another.

We won four-three but it didn't feel like a victory. No-one celebrated. People tried to put their arms around Dani but she shrugged them off. She tried to get Jill to open the minivan so she could get on board already. Jill refused and insisted Dani take a shower along with everyone else.

The next act in the drama would probably happen when I wasn’t around, so I asked Jill if I could leave her to gather our gear and whatnot, thanked the ref and the other team, then got in my car, ready to zoom away. Jill knocked on my window. I wound it down.

"Can I check this? Dani's by far our best player. You went OTT trying to get her here. Now you're pushing her buttons."

"She'll learn something from this. We were four-nil up and she let them off the hook. We nearly lost. She can blame me, or she can blame herself. Right?"

Jill lifted her eyebrows. "But if she quits..."

I shook my head. "I refuse to think like that. If she quits, I'll be gutted. If she stays, I'll wait a few weeks, and then find the next thing to fix." I smiled. "I'm no expert but I think if she doesn't hate me from time to time, I'm not pushing her hard enough. What do you think?"

Jill stood straight. "I think we won't need to toughen her up. If she survives your brand of management, she'll survive anything. But, er... if she does quit, will you make another Harry Styles dance video to win her back?"

I laughed. "Sure. If there's a song that fits."

Jill tapped the car twice, and went back towards the pitch.

***

The final two-day module in my UEFA C licence was called Helping Players Love and Learn Football Through Matchday.

I passed with flying colours.

Who said irony is dead?

...

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