Max Best IRL

Hi all!

Quick unexpected bonus content.

In the Discord chats, one Club Legend told us he was inspired by Player Manager to get back on the pitch after a long break. He found a Friday night game and wrote his experience up as a story which you can now read! If you like it, there's already a sequel. Like or comment if you'd like more of this kind of thing. (Not for algorithms. Just so I know.)

Happy Sunday,

Ted

...

Time: 7 PM CET.

Location: An indoors stadium in a Balkan country that shall remain nameless.

Cost: 10 euros per person for 60 minutes on the pitch.

The narrator: It's me. Crit (AKA CritKhan). Former child prodigy. Height: yes. Motto: Hesitation is defeat.

The ball: Way too hard for my liking.

The jerseys: We wore red and yellow bibs, whereas the enemy team wore black and white bibs. I myself was wearing an old FC Bayern Bastian Schweinsteiger jersey and shorts and Adidas shoes (no cleats, as I am poor). Notice however, that Schweinsteiger was famed for having incredible endurance, as if he had two pairs of lungs. This would prove to be an unfortunate omen for me.

...

After me and the lads, most of whom I could not name, set up into two teams, two randoms were chosen as the captains, and then the teams set up in formation.

Our team had the standard 4-3-3, with myself playing the role of central defensive midfielder, or in other words, the conductor for the motley band of raggedy clowns that I was cursed to call my teammates.

The enemy team had set themselves up in a 4-2-3-1 formation.

I instantly knew we were at the disadvantage.

Why?

Because half my teammates were fat. Double-chin fat. Noticeable through their clothes kind of fat.

I would have to put in extra work in order to make up for these shortcomings. Ergo I would be the CB, DM, CM, CAM, ST, everything in one. Box to box, LA to Chicago. A smooth operator.

The ref blew the whistle. The game had started.

01’- Enemy team kickoff. They attacked down the wing.

05’- A through ball from the enemy LCM who we shall call Heatseeker, onto our left wing, split our defense wide open. The ball was caught by the enemy RW, who we shall call 200 km/h. He shot the ball with incredible power, luckily it swerved off course by a few feet. It would have been a goal had it actually been anywhere close. I shall refrain from commenting about how we have yet to touch the ball, and our nomadic fullback on the left was way up the pitch for some reason. Perhaps he thinks he’s Gareth Bale?

09’- We get the ball, somehow. Bearded Fat man, our number 5 (LCB) gets the ball, and passes it to me in the middle of the pitch. I catch the ball with the outside of my right foot, and turn it to my right. The unexpected move catches the enemy off guard, and I dribble past Heatseeker and Greasy Haircut, the enemy team’s two CMs. I pass the ball to King Egomaniac. I continue to run toward him, hoping to create some sort of one-two. I see Gray Fox, our right winger, and the only competent teammate I have. He is open. I call out to King Egomaniac to pass me the ball so I can send it to Gray Fox. Instead he opts to dribble. He fails. We lose possession.

11’- The enemy team refuses to counterattack. They pass the ball around the pitch. I implore my ‘teammates’ to help me press, but already the lard-asses are out of breath. Instead, we are forced to return to our own half, which is a mistake because everyone is out of position. The enemy team keeps passing while I run here and there, patching holes in the defense.

13’- Luis Figo shirt, their CAM, and left-footed blondie, their RW, pass the ball around for a bit between themselves. Eventually, Left-footed blondie goes for a cross from way out there. Miraculously, the ball goes through our entire defense, and their striker, Tracksuit guy, scores it via first touch.

0-1.

14’ - Kick off. We try to make some chances here and there, but they collapse. My teammates prefer to pass it to themselves in a circle, or dribble and fail, instead of giving me the ball. I am running more than half my teammates combined.

Not much happens, just more of the same. At some point we get a chance, but my teammates trip over the ball even. Just an abject failure.

Eventually, though, the enemy team makes a mistake.

25’- Drunkard, the enemy RCB, who is probably nursing a hangover or about to get another one, sends the ball way up the pitch. One of our fat CBs, I can’t tell which one, heads the ball away. It finds its way to Mr. Small Lungs, a rather anorexic looking bloke who is our RCM. I scream at him to pass me the ball. He does. I see Bald Prick, and pass him the ball. I continue to run. I scream at him to pass me the ball. He contemplates giving it to Ginger, our LW, who hasn’t really done anything of note offensively or defensively, but he gives it to me instead. I continue up the pitch, carrying the attack. I do a roulette spin like Zizzou, and get past one of their CMs. I continue dribbling, and am about to send a through ball to Gray Fox, who is hopefully able to cross it into the box for King Egomaniac to score. Instead however, Horsey kicks me from behind, twice, and I can’t hold my balance. I fell. Free kick. 24 yards out.

The ref gives Horsey a yellow card. I want to knock the ugly bastard’s teeth out.

After a while, there is a ‘debate’ among our team. King Egomaniac wants to take the free-kick, because of course he does. I tell him no, to get in the box, and I will take it. He doesn’t accept this logic. I tell him that he is in charge of penalties, and I need to take this and in case it doesn’t work I can just remain in position. Eventually he sees I will not budge. He relents, and goes in the box.

I set the ball down. 24 yards out. A bit to the left, but still quite center.

In my head, there is nothing but rage. My teammates are incompetent. No point passing the ball. I’ll go for goal. I get some space between myself and the ball. The ref blows the whistle.  I run up to the ball and do my best to make it as tricky as I can.

By some miracle, the ball swerves, much like a knuckleball, and it hits the goalie’s own near post. It rebounds. Chaos in the five yards. King Egomaniac somehow scores.

A bittersweet taste. I didn’t score, King Egomaniac reaps the rewards of my free kick. At least we equalize.

1-1.

28’- The enemy team starts attacking with fervor. Luis Figo shirt lobs the ball for 200 km/h man, who hits it on the volley. This time it is on target. The goalie who has saved so many shots for us, can’t save this one.

We are down 2-1.

So much for the equalizer.

2 minutes till half-time.

Nothing much happens.

The break comes and we get a few minutes rest.

There’s some minor arguments, but I just tell them to press up and not be so scared.

It doesn’t work.

We get absolutely demolished in the second half. We make no chances, we have no possession, and we concede two more goals.

We lose 4-1.