3.16 - Inverting the Pyramid

16.

Football glossary: Inverting the Pyramid. The seminal tactics book by Jonathan Wilson, in which he tracks the evolution of football formations from the pyramid-shaped 2-3-5 to the modern 5-3-2. Which is also a pyramid, but, you know... inverted. It's the first book Coach Beard reads in Ted Lasso.

***

I was tempted to get stuck in straight away, to start giving orders, start fixing things. Old Max would have done just that. But this tournament was the team's big day out, and the team had a manager, and some of the people in the stands were parents of these players. If I was going to make a big mess, I wanted to do it thoughtfully. New Max. Still a bull in a china shop, but now with front and rear collision detectors, and third-party insurance.

I did a slow lap of the pitch, checking that my tactical plan would work. By the first corner, I was convinced it would. By the second, I was thinking of the consequences of diving in. As I turned the last corner, I knew what to do.

I went back to the bench and spoke to the red team's actual coach. "Alex, I love your formation."

"You do?"

"Yeah. 3-2-1. Very solid. You've got that guy Darnell up front, and he's really good. He's so good you can put an extra body in defence."

That made Alex happy. He very nearly made eye contact with me. "That was what I thought."

I picked up his notes and scanned them. "How are you doing? In the tournament?"

"If we win this, we go top of our group. Group A. First plays first in Group B to decide the winner."

"But the most important thing is to improve the players, right? Let them progress along their pathways. Right?"

"Yes, but you do that by winning the tournament. Scouts pay attention to the winners. The winners get more chances."

I took a few breaths. I was a tiny bit impatient - I wanted to get started on my project. I had my emotions under control, though. If Alex didn't want to work with me, I'd wait until he went to pee and then hijack his team. Something like that. The fact I had to wait to get what I wanted was actually making me more excited about the moment when it would happen. I smiled. "Normally you'd be right." I tapped on my phone, and brought up the Team page on the Chester website. Whoever ran the site had finally put my photo there. It wasn't very flattering. "That's me. I'm the Director of Football for Chester Football Club. My friend here is Henri Lyons. Star striker. Oh! And I'm the reigning Player of the Month in the National League North. No big deal. Just saying. So, look. I'm very interested in Dani. She's got the potential to be an absolute star, but she's not in the right place on the pitch to show that."

"She's a midfielder," he said. He was impressive, actually, this Alex guy. He knew his players and he put them in logical positions while having a clear overall playing style. We watched as Dani competed for a pass over on the right of midfield, where she should have been bossing the game. Her opponent was twice her size, a really huge kid with Bravery 20 who rampaged all over the place, heedless of the danger to himself or others. He barged through her and she ended up on the floor, rubbing her shin.

"That guy," I said, annoyed. "He's reckless."

"He injured one of our players. He's in the medical room, now, with his friend. I hope they come back for the second half."

"Yeah." I steamed at the bull for a minute, then returned to the topic. "You're right, of course," I said. "She's a natural midfielder. But right now she's lost. What I'd like to do is move her, give her some tips, get her into the game."

"Move her?"

"Yes. Just a tiny tweak."

"But I'm the manager."

"Alex, mate. You are the manager. You are the manager. But I'm the scout. I'm the Director of Football. I'm the pathway. Your job is to make the players impress me. Imagine a pyramid with this match at the bottom, and players who do well move up to the next level and then the next and the next and if they’re really good and really lucky, they get to meet me. Yeah? But I’m here. I’ve flipped the pyramid."

"You're her pathway?" He blinked a few times. "You want to take her to the Chester Knights? That doesn't make sense. We are much better."

I gave him a friendly pat on the back. "Confidence. Love it. No. I don't want her for the Knights. I want her to play for the Chester Boudicas."

"Max," complained Henri.

"The name is TBC," I admitted. "Chester Women is a bit dry, isn't it? I want a legendary name like the Doncaster Belles. I'm going to let the players decide. I think. Point is, Alex, I'm pretty sure Dani will be our first female professional. I want to pay her hundreds and hundreds of pounds to play football. Think what that would do to your intake!"

I was making lots of good points, but Alex wouldn't hand over the keys to his kingdom so easily. Neither would I, if the roles were reversed. Plus he had to consider the six other players. "What change?"

"Excuse me?"

"What change do you want to make? Tell me and I'll decide."

"Yeah," I said, rubbing my mouth. "The thing is, I do this thing where I get everybody hyped up. I'm great at half-time team talks. What I'll do, yeah, what I'll do is I'll give the team talk, get them all hyped, and that one tiny change I'll just sort of slip in in the middle all nice and gentle."

"Dani can't hear you," said Henri. I think he basically approved of the approach I was taking. Like me, he didn’t want to be making regular trips to Crewe to scout this girl. Two-thirds diplomat, one-third pushy salesman - it was acceptable. There was a problem though. It wasn’t working.

I clicked my fingers. "Right. Hey, when's half-time?"

Alex glanced up at a massive timer on the far wall. "One minute twenty seconds."

"Alex, can you help? Henri has a massive whiteboard in his car. It's incredible. Could you help him bring it in? Then I can sort of show Dani what I want. And tell you what, you can keep the whiteboard for the rest of the day. That's fair, isn't it?"

He frowned. "How big is it?"

"Big! And it comes with three colours of magnet."

"Max," said Henri. "Just to check. You want me to take Alex out to my car. To get the big whiteboard?"

"Yes, please. You'll be back before half-time, Alex. The car's right outside, if I remember right. Oh! And you can check on your injured player. You want to check on your injured player, don't you?"

Henri didn't like that last part. His head flicked up and I saw his lips moving quickly.

There was a brief silence. "Don't worry, Henri. It's not that heavy. Alex will make sure you don't hit the door on your way out."

Alex, understandably confused, was on the verge of refusing, but Henri put his arm around the guy's shoulder and gushed about how kind Alex was for helping and so on and so on. Their first few steps were a bit forced - literally - but then Alex went along on autopilot.

When he was far enough away, I danced up the hard wooden steps to one of the parents. He was wearing a red baseball cap. "Can I borrow that please? It's important. Give it back in five minutes. Thanks!"

Wearing a red cap with a badge I didn't recognise, I bounced on the touchline hoping Henri would distract Alex for long enough, and willing the half-time counter to hit zero.

When it did, I wouldn't have much time.

***

While I bounced, burning some of my manic energy, I checked the player profile that had made all this happen.

Dani Smith-Smithe

• Born 24.06.2007 (Age 15) English
• Acceleration 8
• Bravery 3
• Dribbling 9
• Finishing 11
• Handling 1
• Heading 3
• Jumping 4
• Passing 9
• Pace 9
• Stamina 5
• Strength 1
• Tackling 1
• Teamwork 16
• Technique 9
• preferred foot B
• M,AM (RLC)
• CA 1 PA 177

The first thing that jumped out at me were all the low physical attributes. They were horrible, but I felt sure - really sure - that it was because she was deaf. Not because she was deaf, but because she'd either never taken sport really seriously or her parents were overprotective.

Her parents, by the way, holy shit. I hoped I'd be able to get her signed at Chester without having to meet them. Smith-Smithe, what the hell?

Anyway, once she started in our training sessions and hitting the gym and all that, her strength and stamina would fly up. Once we taught her how to tackle, that would fly up.

Numbers flying up seemed absolutely inevitable given her PA. Massive! I hadn't scouted the Women's Super League or seen any international matches live, but assuming it followed the same pattern as the men's game there would be five to ten players worldwide with PA 195, twenty or thirty over 190, and a few hundred over 180. There was a lot of assumption there, and I was also assuming that while virtually all world-class male footballers had been scouted, there would be a lot of superstar girls who'd never even played a competitive match because their schools only had netball or they lived in countries that didn’t let girls play sports.

So surely Dani's PA 177 was high enough to play for England, or be a very useful player to bring off the bench in tight games. She'd get a cap, at least, I was sure. One day, she would run onto the pitch at Wembley. Maybe even before I would! And that high PA meant years and years of improvement, which gave me confidence that most of her attributes would shoot up.

But the thing that really clinched my obsession was her two-footedness. One thing my playing career and the MUNDIAL mini-game had really made me notice was the value of players who had that oh-so-rare B in the preferred foot cell. The ability to dribble left or right, pass left or right, oh! It was like gold dust. Would I take a bipedal PA 177 over a one-footed PA 187? If you'd asked me there and then, yeah, no contest.

***

Half-time.

The ref whistled and waved the flag. Ooh! The flag was for the deaf players! My God. So obvious.

"Guys, come in," I said, waving at the team.

They were confused, but they came. I was in the red hat, after all.

"My name is Max. I have to be quick, so listen up." This sounds dumb, now, but I wasn't talking to Dani. "You guys, you're a good team. I love what I'm seeing. But I want to change the formation so that Dani can impress a big time football director who is here now." They all looked around, scanning for the bigwig. Dani looked around to see what they were looking at. "What I'm saying is, will you help me? It might be strange at first, but if you do what I say, you'll probably win this match. Probably. But there's something more important than winning. And that's doing whatever it takes to help your friend. Am I right?"

"Yes!" said one.

"You're strange. Where's Alex?" said another.

"Guys. There's no time. Your friend needs you. Are you selfish? Or are you masters of friendship?"

"Friendship!"

"Amazing. Come here. I'll show you what I want." I brought them onto the empty pitch and told them where to go. "Darnell, you're in the same place. Simons, left-wing. Harold, right-wing. Go on. Go and stand there so we can all see. No, even further. More. Get right up there! That's it!" I'd pushed the two wide guys even further forward than Darnell.

This was exciting. The opposition manager was looking at me like I was crazy. He shook his head and continued his team talk.

I stuck my tongue out and coaxed the next two into position. "Bev, here, Ally here. You're a screen. A funnel. Block attacks."

"Are we the midfield?" said Ally. The position didn't make a lot of sense to her.

"No, you're defenders."

"Where's the midfield?"

"Midfield is so last century. Totally out of fashion, like skinny scarves. Am I right? No midfield. Just stay there and clobber people. Right. Now the fun part."

There was only one player left to position, and I couldn't communicate with her. I turned to face her, full on, and grinned. I knew she must have been totally bewildered, and I didn't mind that. We were starting from zero, I needed to get to a hundred, and I had the rest of the short half-time break plus fifteen minutes. The air was fizzing with static electricity. She couldn't hear, but surely she could feel it? The birth of a new superhero.

I was about to open my mouth to say something, but bit my bottom lip. How did this work?

"Can you read lips?" I said, pointing to my mouth.

She shook her head and circled her finger around. I didn't get it.

"Not here," said Bev. "Not in the football."

That made sense. Like, how was she supposed to read lips when she was jogging around and I was shouting to the whole team and there were loads of distractions? Easier for her to say no. I nodded, and smiled again. This was so hard! I loved it! I stood to my full height, put my hands on Dani's shoulders, and pushed. One leg went backwards, then another. On the third step, I gently pushed downwards. Stop there. I stood next to her and imagined I was playing. Yes, this was the spot. I turned towards her and gave her a big Maxy two-thumbs.

She shook her head, pointed to the spot I'd positioned her, and wagged her finger.

I wondered what the curse would tell me about this relationship if I had the right perk. Something like:

Your current reputation with Dani: zero.

"She's not a defender," said Bev.

"I got that one, thanks," I laughed. I pointed at Dani, then mimed using a broom.

Dani frowned and did something with her hands.

"Sign language! I need to learn that," I said. I glanced at the Chester Knights. They were getting ready for their second match, huddled up on one section of the benches, laughing and joking. I hoped Wilson wouldn't run into one of the benches. He was a very determined player. Next to him was Zoe, our cyberpunk deaf midfielder. Zoe probably knew sign language, but I didn't want my project to mess up her day. Plus I needed to make a connection with Dani for myself.

I went back into pantomime mode. I pointed for Dani to shoo away, and I took her place. While she watched, I stood on my tiptoes and shielded the sun from my eyes as I looked on the horizon, left and right. Ship ahoy! I mimed, pointing. I fell into a defensive half-turn and crabbed to the right. I imagined an attacker trying to dribble at me, and shepherded him away from the goal. Then the attacker made a mistake! I pounced on the ball, flicking it behind me to my left foot, where I played a gorgeous - and still completely imaginary - pass forward to Darnell.

Dani's reaction was pretty funny. She'd pulled her head back and slightly away, and her mouth was twisted. For a microsecond I thought she was appalled by my acting, but no.

She pointed to herself. Me? You want me to do that?

I pointed to her and nodded. Three BIG nods, my grin getting more maniacal with each pump of the neck. I walked away and left her space vacant. She didn't move. I raised my eyebrows and made a tiny 'go left' gesture with my head. I did it again, but everything bigger. I did it a third time, including a stuck-out tongue.

Dani sighed and went to her spot.

The timing was on point - the referee came back onto the pitch just as Alex and Henri came in through the double doors. Henri was repressing a grin - God knows how he'd explained the fact that his car had transformed into a scooter - but as soon as Alex saw the match had restarted, he rushed over to his bench. We were positioned looking at our goalie's back, because in the morning, the reds had colonised the space behind the goal. It made sense - less trudging around carrying bags and equipment. But it wasn't the most optimal spot for coaching. That suited Alex fine, since he gave almost all his instructions during breaks.

He stood on the second tier of benches for a better view. "What have you done?" he said. Henri caught up with him and scanned the pitch, frown lines appearing on his forehead.

"Bog-standard half-time team talk," I said. "Keep it tight first five, get stuck in. The usual."

Alex gawped at me, then the pitch, and after a brief but intense stare, he said, "You've inverted it!"

"Fuck me you're fast," I said, and for once I wasn't manipulating the guy when I said, "Send me your CV."

"I have to undo it," he said, stepped forward.

"Whoa whoa whoa," I said, partially blocking his path. "That wouldn't be fair on Dani."

"Why?"

"Because you can't make changes during the half because she can't read lips when she's playing. And you don't have any subs. So if you change things again she'd be stressed and confused. And you wouldn't do that to her, because you're a nice person."

Henri shook his head, but he was partially responsible. At this point I think he wanted to know how it would all play out.

"I don't know," said Alex. The guy was miserable. I'd ruined his whole month. Year, maybe.

"Tell you what," I said, jauntily, but I never finished the sentence.

The reckless black team player bundled through my defensive shield and the ball sped towards Dani. It was 50-50 who would get there first. Actually, it was 60-40 in Dani's favour, but she lacked confidence and the striker barged straight through her. He rammed the ball into the net.

Dani shrank.

"Henri, quick," I said, pushing him onto the pitch. I grabbed the ball out of the net and threw it to him. "Hard low pass." I looked at Dani and pointed to my eyes. Watch.

While the black team's manager and referee asked what the Clough we were doing, Henri kicked the ball towards me. With my entire body virtually motionless, I let it hit my right foot, and with the most microscopic flick the ball popped up and to the right. I took a dynamic stride towards the ball and then mimed dribbling away.

The referee waved the flag at us. I put my hands up and got off the pitch.

If you kick a ball at someone's foot, you expect it to bounce off in a more or less predictable way. It might roll left, or right, or come back to you. What it doesn't do is pop up and land a metre away, exactly where the opponent can push off into a dribble.

Dani was frowning, big time. Not at me. At my foot.

Your current reputation with Dani: one percent.

Henri and I exchanged glances. Electricity flew. He didn't know what I was up to, but he sensed the change in the air. My reality distortion field was up. Henri grinned and coaxed Alex back to the small manager's bench that was in front of the benches for spectators.

I couldn't sit; I paced around, blood pumping. For some reason, I kept nodding. I glanced at the spectators. There were about six parents there, most on their phones. The only ones really paying attention were the guy who'd lent me his cap and his wife. Dani's parents. Right. Of course.

The game continued. The black team streamed forwards, virtually unopposed, unable to believe their luck. Our three strikers were out of the game and the defenders were inept. It was six against one. I felt the manic grin return - by the time I was finished with Dani, they'd need a lot more than six.

This time, the two defenders got stuck in and slowed the attack. The ball fell to a midfielder who burst towards Dani. But like almost always happened in these games, the player overhit it. Dani's ball! But Dani didn't move. It was like she was frozen. Rabbit in the headlights. The midfielder was almost on top of her when she booped the ball exactly as I'd shown her. It went slightly less than a metre to her right and she pushed it away with her dribbling stride. Two more strides and she was free on the right. And then? She tried a pass but it hit a black player and went out for a kick in.

Dani did a quarter-smile, then went impassive again.

Your current reputation with Dani: two percent.

"Yes!" I hissed. "Come on!" I paced up and down some more. This was fucking amazing. If I could pause the match, I'd be able to teach her one move a minute and she'd finish the game playing like Beckenbauer. "Hey, Bev. Bev!"

"What?"

"Kick the ball over there."

"What?"

"Smash it away. Far as possible."

Bev pulled a face, but in the next passage of play she did just that. She absolutely twonked the ball down towards the furthest wall. I was ready with Henri and a ball. "Same again, mate."

I made sure Dani was watching and fell into the same position as before. Henri kicked the ball at me, and I adjusted so that it would hit my right foot again. But this time I moved my body weight so that it was obvious what I was about to do. And I did it. Boop, one metre right. I looked at Dani and gave her a thumbs up with a questioning face behind it. Thumbs up, she said. "Same again, please."

Henri repeated it, and I started to do the same boop. But with my weight trending right, I booped the ball left and went through the motion of sprinting away.

The referee came over and waved the flag quite aggressively.

I pulled an innocent face and stepped off.

"Don't come on the pitch," he said. "Or I'll yellow card you."

"You can't yellow card me," I laughed. "I don't work here."

"I know who you are, Max Best."

Fine. Jesus. Of course I'd bump into the one referee in Crewe who recognised me.

"Henri, come round here." He followed me to the left side of the pitch. Aggressively close to the other team's manager and subs, but Dani would be able to see us.

And we had a great view of what came next. The same pattern of play repeated - the blacks attacking down the middle, coming into contact with our screen, getting slowed down but bundling their way through. This time there was a genuine 50-50 and I was sure Dani wouldn't challenge for it. But she did - she got her foot to the ball first and popped it to the right. That bought her some space but the reckless attacker was coming. She booped to the left - really smooth, really balanced - but the first attacker was alert. He pushed the ball more central and was lining up a shot when Dani stuck a foot out to try to kick the ball away. She kicked the guy instead, and he howled with pain.

It wasn't in the penalty box, but this tournament was playing a rule where if a foul stopped a shot, wherever it was on the pitch, a penalty would be given.

Dani looked distraught.

Your current reputation with Dani: Leave me alone!

I waved my red cap wildly. "Guys! Get Dani for me!" She finally turned. Come over, I waved. Come on! She sighed and trudged closer. Watch. "Henri, dribble at me." He did. I kicked him on the back of the calf.

"S'il vous plait," he said.

I turned to Dani and wagged my finger. No no no! She threw her hands up. I know! I know that! The black team scored the pen. She slumped and walked away. I raced onto the pitch and tapped her on the shoulder. Demanded that she watch me.

"Henri, again."

"The match is starting."

I made a frustrated noise. "Who gives a shit?" He sighed and came at me. I half-turned away from him so that he'd naturally drift to my right. He moved at me and I kept my distance. He moved, I retreated. He moved, I shadowed. I looked at Dani. Two thumbs up. Yes yes yes do this. She looked over at Alex. Her expression said: save me from this madman. But Alex was in shock, staring up at the scoreboard, slapping his hands against his hips.

Dani needed a minute to process. "Let's go back behind the goal. We have to manage Alex for a minute." On the way, I decided positivity was best. I gave the guy a friendly pat on the back. "Isn't she great? She learns so fast. Wonderful player."

"We're losing," said Alex. "It's chaos."

I scoffed. "It's actually highly organised. A very effective formation."

"Effective at what, Max?" said Henri.

"It achieves multiple objectives," I said, smugly.

"The main one being that all the action flows through Dani."

"Huh. I hadn't thought of it like that. Alex," I said, changing the subject. "What do you think of sweepers?" Sweepers sit behind the centre-backs and mop up anything the other guys miss. It's not really compatible with the offside trap and I can't remember the last time I saw a professional team use a sweeper. The modern version is the sweeper-keeper, where the goalie has the technical qualities of a midfielder and can rush out of his box to clear danger.

"The sweeper position is dead," said Alex, but he wasn't really engaged in the conversation. He'd gone internal. We watched yet another break that Dani ended by racing to the ball and popping sideways. She was fouled and everyone took a breath. Alex stuck out a finger. "This... This concept is almost starting to make sense. But not with Dani. She can't play this role."

I clapped, once. "Yes! I love that you said that." I sighed, contentedly. "I love meeting a fellow visionary."

"It doesn't actually make sense, though, does it Max?" said Henri. "You have perhaps two players in the right positions, including the goalkeeper. Your outside forwards haven't touched the ball this whole half."

"They did!" I complained. "After the goal."

"The restart doesn't count. It's interesting to watch you teach Dani some strategies but I fail to see how playing like this will lead to victory."

"Victory? What do you mean?"

"I mean winning."

I scoffed. Waved the word away. "Winning is for losers."

Henri cradled his nose with thumb and finger. "Do you mean to tell me that this formation isn't designed to win? It's all about aggrandising Dani?"

"No," I said. "I mean, yes. They'd win if the match was long enough and I had breaks to coach her. She's blocking almost all their attacks, now. They might score another goal. I wouldn't count on it. Her positioning is really good and she sees danger. I told you - she’s like me! The more tools we give her, the more she'll dominate her zone."

"Max! You've proven your point. Change the formation so they can win." He didn't like my reaction to that, so he took a step closer. "The team came to win. Dani came to win. She won't thank you if you focus on her to the detriment of her friends."

I thought about telling him the rest of the team had voted to be masters of friendship, but Henri could see through my bullshit. "Ugh," I said, energy flopping out of me. "Fine. We'll stop writing a story that will astonish the world and instead we'll put our pen down and spend an afternoon fucking rearranging all our library books. Jesus Christ, Henri, I didn't have you down as the Person from Porlock!" I fumed for a few seconds and checked out the pitch. Dani was shepherding the reckless defender to the side. He realised he was going nowhere and tried to dash towards the goal, barging into Dani. The ref gave a foul. I scanned the other players. Darnell was still impacting the game, as were the two defenders. The outside forwards were currently useless. The goalie stepped forward to take the free kick. That would be her first touch of the ball for a while.

I slapped my hands together, cracking a big smile. "Henri, you're a genius. I can get even more of what I want while letting the kids go for the win. Alex, have you got any more red tops?"

"Yes, there's a bag." He pointed.

Henri watched as I had a good old rummage. "Max, if you're thinking about playing, there are one or two impediments."

I surfaced with a large red shirt. I held it up over my torso. "Bit tight, do you think?"

Henri's mouth opened and closed like a goldfish. I darted to the side of the pitch and bounced around, waiting for a break. When it came, I waved the shirt around like one of the referees with their flags.

The ref paused the timer, rolled his eyes, and walked over. "What now?"

"We need to change keeper." I handed our goalie the red top. She looked at it. I waved at her. Come on! Come on! She frowned but took her gloves off and started to change. "You're second striker," I said, and her face lit up. Goalies love being strikers.

The referee was right next to us, now. "Well, you can't."

"I've read the tournament rules and statute 8 section 8 says we can."

He was exasperated. "There's no such rule."

"Look," I said. "Changing goalies is completely normal. That yob over there smashed our player in the first half and you didn't even book him." That was a guess, but the ref's face suggested I was right. "We've got no subs. We're doing it. Sue me."

"So who's going in goal?" said our goalie, now wearing the red top.

"Yes, I'd like to know that," said Henri, but he must have already known. It was obvious.

I handed the gloves to Dani. There was a chain reaction of appalled noises from all around. Dani refused to take them. "Put the gloves on," I said in my sternest voice, then remembered she couldn't hear. She took a few steps back. Practically ran away. She made big, wide gestures. I can't! I can't!

"Henri, take a shot on me."

He zipped to the penalty spot. "Anywhere in particular? Face? The testicles?"

"Left of me, ankle height. Hold on. Wait till she's watching." Simons, our left-winger guy, was trying to bring her back towards the pitch. When she saw me in goal, she froze. Watch, I gestured. "Kay go."

While Henri approached the ball, I stuck my hands behind my back.

Henri shot, aiming halfway between me and the left side of the goal. I swung my right foot behind the left leg and killed the ball. I did an enormous yawn. Too easy.

"I'm sorry," said the ref, "but we can't wait. If you don't have a goalie, that's on you."

I kicked the ball back to Henri. "Knee-height, right," I said.

Henri did it. I stuck out my thigh and caught the ball on it. Then I leaned back and did the most enormous stretch anyone has ever done. Henri laughed, but the ref blew his whistle and rustled his flag.

We scampered off the pitch, and Dani, teamwork 16, saw the empty goal and ran to fill it. Henri and I exchanged a glance.

"No, Dani," I said, and then grunted. Her back was to me.

"Why have you done this?" said Alex. "She's worse as a keeper than as a sweeper."

"I don't want her to play in goal," I said.

"Oh, Max," said Henri. "This is exasperating." But he was cackling. I think he was starting to get it.

The ball came to Dani and she had two attackers running at her. She thought about trying to pass through them, thought better of it, and moved the ball sideways. She looked for a pass but couldn't find one. She kicked the ball out of play and turned, stared at me, and threw her hands wide. I gave her a few big claps. "Yes! Good. Henri. Alex. If you want to win, how about you get those lazy fucks to run around a bit? Give us some passing options, yeah?"

Henri paused. "Before I waste my precious life force, is this a genuine attempt to win the match? Or not?"

"It is."

Henri's tongue appeared between his lips as he went through some internal calculation. "It better be. Alex, you take the left side. I will go right. The goal is to get one of our... four... strikers into space for the pass." He looked at me for confirmation; I gave it. Henri glanced at Alex. "Actually, come with me. I'll show you what we mean."

They strode around the sidelines towards Harold, our right-winger.

Dani turned to see what was going on. I made the sweeping brush gesture. She shook her head. I did it again. She rolled her eyes and took five steps forward. She stopped. Looked at me. I pointed. She took another step forward. I signalled for two more. She bent down and stared forwards, but when she finally turned back, I was still there, still holding up two fingers. She inhaled and finally obeyed.

Your current reputation with Dani: three percent.

We were now playing a 0-1-2-0-4 formation. Surely even Burnley wouldn't play something as insane.

I'd done most of what I could do, now. I took a couple of steps back from the pitch and rested one foot on the enormously long wooden bench behind me. I idly noticed that all the original parents were watching, and a bunch of players and parents from other teams had sensed something was happening. They were giving me and Dani very curious glances.

I tuned it all out.

It made sense that Dani hadn't been spotted. She'd been coached like Terry coached Zoe - to be a good egg, to run around, to try. And yeah, even if she'd spontaneously decided to learn tricks and skills, only one in a thousand managers would want the hassle of dealing with her deafness in match scenarios.

But it wasn't a hassle for me. The curse was definitely a blessing in this scenario. In a match, I wouldn't ever need to say anything to her! At least, not for any of the important things. I could switch her from left-back to right-wing at the speed of thought.

And coaching would be made easier - I'd telepathically instruct her to do things in games which we'd then coach her to do! Using the video of her already doing it. Finally, a story with a logical time paradox!

I did a little moonwalk along the bottom of the benches. "Hee hee hee!"

Yeah, being deaf was not a problem if I was the manager. We'd still have to do a lot of hard work in training sessions, a lot of adapting. Some kind of signal board like in Formula One, perhaps. Because I wouldn't always be her manager. And if she really did make it to the national team, we'd need to be able to tell those guys what we did and why.

That was all in the future, though. For now, there was only this match. Staggeringly unimportant, except to those who were playing in it, and maybe the two managers. The reds were losing 4-2 and hadn't had a shot in the second half. Since the break, there had been wave after wave of black team attacks. But now...

Now another attack came, this time down the left. Dani hesitated - should she sweep or should she keep? She decided to go against her instinct and do what I'd told her. She followed the player over to the left, like I'd demonstrated with Henri. There was an opponent in the middle, unmarked. I berated the midfielders for not dropping back, but when I looked back at Dani, she'd stolen the ball and was dribbling back towards the goal. I waved my hat around like a crazy person. Henri did something, and Harold dashed diagonally towards Dani. She rolled the ball to him. He touched it to Darnell, who wanted to play it left but found no movement from Simons. So Darnell laid it off to Jackie, our former goalkeeper, and she lashed at the ball. It span well wide.

I celebrated like there had been a goal, bouncing up and down like the hard floor was a trampoline.

Your current reputation with Dani: eight percent.

I saw Henri in deep conversation with Alex, and then Alex was rushing around to the left. Suddenly there was energy all around me. I couldn't help but pace around.

Your current reputation with Dani: nine percent.

Another attack, and Dani's quick footsteps were in full retreat. She ended up on her goal line, and the black team were two on one. One simple pass later, the ball was slammed into the roof of the net. 5-2 and much of the new energy was gone.

Your current reputation with Dani: seven percent.

It was deeply frustrating, but I had to let her work out her new position. She glanced over at me and I pointed to the sweeper spot and mimed that she should sweep. She stood with her hands on her hips, staring at nothing, then trudged forward. She would do it my way.

Your current reputation with Dani: ten percent.

We kicked off, and the ball was lost almost instantly. Another attack, but this time Dani didn't retreat. She found herself with two players coming - one shaped to shoot, but I knew he wouldn't. I tried to beam out a psychic signal warning her, but I needn't have worried. Dani read the move, intercepted the pass, and played it forward to Darnell. He turned and passed out wide to Harold. He shot - why? bad angle; dumb choice - scuffed it, but Simons was on the move, close to goal, and he slammed the ball low and hard into the net. 5-3, and a big pop of energy.

Dani looked at me. I put my hand to my mouth, overacting that I was shocked. Shocked, I tell you!

She did a demure little grin. Now she was starting to get it.

Your current reputation with Dani: twenty percent.

The tide had turned. Time was running out, but we'd broken through. The black team's manager had been telling jokes with his coaches the whole half, apart from those moments where I was dicking around on the pitch. Now, he looked worried. I lived for those moments! He didn't make any changes just yet, but I knew what he'd do. He'd go defensive. Try to hold onto the lead. And we would absolutely thrash him anyway. Yawn.

I walked around to the long side of the pitch, into the middle, and scanned the team. The electricity I'd summoned up was almost tangible. I bent to feel the air above the pitch, to see if I could feel it. There was nothing, but for a moment I thought about launching fully into the game. I could become an emotional presence on the sideline, blood and thunder, thunder and lightning, and the team would respond. God, they'd respond, and I was a few misfiring neurons away from doing it.

But that wasn’t the mission. I stood and took a few paces back towards Dani and angled myself directly at her.

Over my shoulder I kept watch for the next black move. The goalie had the ball, and I knew they'd pass long to the right. I waved my hat and crabbed to the left. A dozen tiny leftwards shuffle movements in two seconds. Dani's eyes widened and she moved left herself, before the ball had even left the goalie's hand. The black team winger was racing forward, but Dani moved against the tide, took the ball on her chest, and passed to Simons. He burst forward, cut the ball back, and then there was chaos. While the ball bounced around, Dani was entranced. I waved my cap around. Get back into position!

With a start, she did. I did the 'sailor watching the horizon' mime again, which made her roll her eyes. But she smiled - a blink-and-you'll-miss-it microsmile. But I didn't.

Your current reputation with Dani: forty percent.

The scramble ended with the ball in the goalie's hands, and this time I crabbed to the right. Dani copied me, intercepted the ball, passed forwards, and retreated to her position.

I looked up at the timer. Loads of time left. We would absolutely crush this. No danger.

I took a second to enjoy the scene I'd created. Across the chasm, the other manager, begging his players to fall back. To my right, Alex and Henri rushing around giving tips to the strikers. Behind me, some kind of tournament organiser. She had a clipboard and a lanyard. She gave me a little hat tip. I saluted in return. Then over to the left, the five banks of benches. Solid, ancient, easily bearing the weight of the spectators. Almost all the Knights were there, now, taking in the show before their match. Terry was watching me coach a rival team with multiple shakes of the head and a twinkle in his eye. Lots of players from other teams had come, too. Word had got around that something was happening. Many were pointing their phones at the pitch.

Dani was checking me every ten seconds or so, now. Wondering what I'd teach her next. Instead, I pointed to the stands behind her. She looked at them, then back at me. I put my hand out, flat. Then I raised it. I was trying to say: Let’s take things up a notch. Let's put on a show.

Dani raised her arms. What?

I thought about how to say it. Then I thought: fuck it. Show, don't tell, and all that. I went to get a ball, waited for a break in play, then flicked it up and did some mad tekkers. Basically what that means is crossing football skills with tricks a seal does to get a fish. After my tiny routine, I bowed to the spectators.

Dani laughed. No way!

Why?

She pointed to the scoreboard.

I rolled my eyes, highly exaggerated. Fine! Create some fucking goals then. I Tysonned my arms in mock frustration.

Your current reputation with Dani: sixty percent.

The pair of defenders, Ally and Bev, had been pretty shit, tbh, but now that they were under less pressure they started to get a grip on their roles. Ally made a tackle, Bev picked the ball up and passed it to Dani. Although we had four strikers, she found it hard to pick a pass. She put her foot on the ball. I waved my hat until she looked at me. I mimed a golf shot. What's it called - a sand wedge? The loopiest one.

Dani rolled the ball forward and tried it. She made a big mess and the ball went flying. Nowhere near me, but I threw myself to the ground and covered my head. When I looked up, she was laughing pretty hard.

Your current reputation with Dani: seventy percent.

I took a ball and chipped it to her. She chipped it back. I extended my arms. See? Easy.

Oh, I was having the time of my life. Dicking around, showing off, making amazing football happen, while being socially useful? What more could I want? It was incredible. I was getting pretty hungry, though. I wandered back behind the goal to drink some of the sugar water stuff Alex had brought.

So I was handily located when my spider senses went wild. I took a few steps to the right before I even knew what I was seeing.

The reckless yob, the bravery 20 bulldozer, wasn't used to being on the end of such a mauling, and he had taken it upon himself to sort things out. He dribbled down the wing, full pelt, and when Dani went to intercept she correctly decided to do... nothing. The enormous kid kicked the ball too far, but instead of leaving it, he chased it even harder.

"Shit," I said, pushing my legs in that direction.

The fucking wooden benches! The edges weren't sharp, but fuck me. The guy's head was literally going to crack open before my very eyes. I didn't want that haunting my dreams.

I got there in time, wrapped my arms around his waist, tried to arrest his momentum.

Then I was falling, trying to twist, fleetingly astonished by the guy's weight, and then I saw the bench shooting up towards me and then I was looking down, surprised to see blood. I took a second to check I could move all my limbs, but when I tried to stand up I felt weird.

The kid got up and ran back onto the pitch. Little prick didn't even thank me.

Terry was first on the scene. "Max, Christ, what."

Some parents. "Anyone a doctor?"

"Don't move."

"Sit down."

"No, he should stay standing."

And then Henri was there, and Alex, and they supported me across the hall. Before we went through I found some strength and made them turn me back to the pitch.

"Attack!" I yelled. Henri looked alarmed. I misunderstood why. "Oh, yeah. Deaf. Well, shit. I was doing so well."

Henri later told me I'd babbled in baby gurgles or one of those languages you get in a random Swiss village.

***

Henri stayed with me in the hospital, flirting with nurses, making a fuss. I later learned it wasn't a hospital but a private clinic. Apparently I had private insurance through the club.

It was a nice, quiet place with lots of staff - I should have guessed it wasn't a normal hospital - and I was feeling just fine with the odd bout of wooziness.

"Did they win, then?"

"Who cares? Winning's for losers," he said. "I can't believe you said that. You're shameless in pursuit of something."

"Let's go for the same nurse," I said. He'd spent the whole day trying to cheer me up even though I'd been trying to find out what was wrong with him.

"No, Max. Please just rest." He got a text and shot to his feet. "I must fly. Be safe. I will talk to you tomorrow."

"What? Don't leave me," I said, suddenly pathetic. A mighty pharaoh become helpless invalid.

"Hush, Max."

"But... but did you like it?"

"I did. It was a great day. Page five of our story."

I wanted to ask what pages two to four were, but I had a little pang and when I opened my eyes, he was gone. And my hand was in someone's. I tried to turn but it hurt.

"Max," said Emma. "It's all right. Stay still."

"You came," I said.

"Of course. Henri called me right away." Huh. Spends the whole day threatening to steal her from me, then plays cupid.

"How? It's miles to Newcastle."

"Three hours. Dad drove me. I was in no state. Henri said you'd cracked your skull open saving a disabled kid."

That was exasperating. I mean, yeah, but also, no.

"Mr. Best?" said someone from the door. "You have visitors. Would you like to see them?"

Obviously Emma's dad. Well, shit. His daughter had called him in an Henri-induced panic and he'd dropped everything to drive her to me. "I thought Newcastle were playing today."

"They are. He left when I called. We listened to it on the radio."

"Mr. Best?"

"Yeah, send him in." I couldn't say no, could I? Guy was acting like a fucking hero. Anyway, if he got annoying I could just pretend to black out. If you think I wouldn't produce some grossly unattractive drool to get rid of someone, you haven't been paying attention.

While Emma gave me a little hand squeeze, I steeled myself. But in walked two randos... and Dani.

I tried to sit up straight, but it hurt and I collapsed.

"Where's your dad?" I said to Emma.

"Gone back."

Six hour round trip and the ruination of his day. Wow. But it wasn't time to think about him. "Hi," I said to the newcomers, then remembered the whole deaf thing. It was a lot more of a problem now that there was no football.

"Hi," said the guy, so he was hearing. "I'm Dani's dad."

"Are you Smith or Smithe?" I asked, which made Emma squeeze my hand, worried for my sanity.

"Smith," he said, with a smile. At least, I think that's what he said. "When we went to pick Dani up from the So Solid, we were, ah, pretty surprised to find that she had been named Player of the Tournament." He signed to her, and she shyly showed me a little football man on a small plinth. They'd engraved her name into the plaque. She also had a gold medal on a ribbon, with 2023 Crewe WINNER engraved. So they'd won the whole thing.

"Mate," I said, resting my head back on my pillow.

"Well, we asked and quite a lot of people tried to tell us the story."

The mum started signing at me now. It was the first time anyone had ever signed at me. I was surprised how big and expressive some of the movements were, and how small and precise were some others.

The dad translated. "Alex said you wanted to sign Dani for your team. Is that true?"

"Absolutely," I said.

"Tell us your phone number and we'll make a WhatsApp group with you."

This was it! The day was going to pay off. Signing a superstar from the comfort of my own bed. I smiled and closed my eyes, just for a moment.

When I opened them, the parents were gone, but Emma and Dani were facing each other across my bed, texting. I groaned and picked up my phone - there was a lot of chat history to go through. I typed.

Me: I'll read all that later. Dani. Really great to meet you. You are an amazing player. I'm starting a women's team in Chester. It will be the best in the country one day. I want you to be my first signing.

Dani: I liked meeting you, too. You are funny. And this is another joke.

Me: No joke. Very serious.

Dani: You mean a deaf team?

Me: Normal team. Can I say normal? I don't mean normal. I mean thingy. Non-disabled. (Bit woozy. Soz if I said bad.)

Dani: How can I play in a hearing team?

Me: Hearing. Right. I knew that word. Mate, it's not a hearing team. It's a team. It's Chester Somethings.

Emma: Somethings?

Me: I want a cool name but I can't think of one. Chester Medusas. Fans and players can choose. Dani will get a vote.

Dani: I can't play that kind of football.

Me: You can. You're top. I'll teach you. I don't look like it because I'm all humpty-dumptied right now, but I'm actually the best player in the world, probably. I know what I'm talking about.

Dani: I can't.

Me: Emma, type you can you can until Dani gets that she really really can. And will.

I put my phone on my chest and put my hands over my face. When I took them away, Dani looked at me. Thumbs up, thumbs down. Are you okay?

Wavy hand. Bit woozy.

She returned to typing. There were three dots for a while.

Dani: Years ago, I played big pitch football with hearing girls. I made a noise to tell my team where I was and where I wanted the ball. I don't know what the noise sounds like but it must have been very stupid. The players on the other team always laughed at me. Some of the grown ups, too. The people watching. Laughing. My friends told me the people copied the noises. It wasn't nice but I could cope with it. Later someone told me my teammates laughed at me, too, but I didn't believe them. So she showed me chats. And they were. They were laughing at me. My own team.

Emma: Oh, Dani, no.

Me: Holy fuck.

Dani: And the managers. I couldn't read their lips. They'd turn away and give instructions and I wouldn't know what to do. So they wouldn't pick me. I'd train and go to matches and after six games I'd have played ten minutes. And one time I got a yellow card for kicking the ball away but it was because I didn't hear the whistle. I tried to sign to the ref to explain but she didn't want to know.

Me: That is fucking bullshit and none of that will happen on my watch. I promise.

Dani: You can't stop it. It's people. People are shit. My team today, they get me, and I get them. We're a real team. You're fun and kind but you can't understand it. You don't know what it's like to want to shut out the world and only be with people you trust.

I gave Emma a guilty glance that she didn't notice. I went to type but Dani was going again.

Dani: If I went to training with your team, I know you'd try your best. And you're the boss and the star so while you were there everything would be perfect. I know that. But when you're not there. When you're in hospital again because you saved some asshole's life...

Me: Dani! We don't talk like that here!

Dani: Sorry.

Me: This is England. We say arsehole.

She laughed - the biggest I'd got out of her yet. We had to be getting close to one hundred percent on the relationship tracker. Had to be.

Dani: When you're not there I'll have to struggle and to be brave. Like Harry.

I learned who 'Harry' was later, and so will you.

Dani: 'Normal' football is the worst thing that ever happened to me. I don't want to struggle for what everyone else gets for free. I don't want to be brave. I don't want my life to be a constant drama. I'm happy where I am. Thank you very much for believing in me and for teaching me. I will keep this trophy forever. It already means the world to me. Thank you very much Max Best, and goodbye.

Me: But did you like it?

Dani: Did I like what?

Me: Being the best.

Dani: I did.

Dani has left the chat.