1.64 - Boston United

64.

Back to life. Back to reality. Back to the daily grind at the call centre. Another day, another dollar. All my illusions of progress were shattered by my first inbound call of the day. Another hundred to go. The ego-smashing mundanity of it all.

But I had made progress. Around ten o'clock, I got a call from an 01244 number. Chester! I couldn't pick up when I was 'plugged in', but I took a break and called back. It was a woman called Inga and she claimed to be from Chester FC's admin team. She was calling to say she'd arranged tickets for me to attend Boston United vs Alfreton Town the following night.

I'll spare you the back and forth of me saying things like 'What?' and 'Are you sure?' and 'But when did Mike Dean ask you to do this?'

Long story short, it seemed legit. Mike might have fired me from the under 14s, but he still wanted my scouting reports. Wow. That was... unexpected. And potentially exciting.

On the other hand, Boston was in Lincolnshire and a quick search suggested it would be almost a 3-hour drive to the stadium. And a 3-hour drive back. Pretty much the ideal choice if someone was feeling vindictive.

I spent the rest of my shift ploughing through calls in case I needed to leave early the next day. By 5pm I was miles ahead on the stats and I even gave my boss a tiny smile and a nod.

***

Then I went to Broadhurst Park and was led into the manager’s office; FC United wanted to sign Ziggy on a short-term contract to cover their injuries.

On one side of the manager’s desk was the grey-haired man I'd met the first time I'd gone to FC United. The one who thought I was a top monarchist. The one who thought I was distraught that the Queen had died. Turns out, he was the big boss! The managing director. He asked me to call him Steve. Next to him were Neil, the first-team manager, and Jackie. There was also an admin guy loitering at the back, struggling to get comfortable leaning against a filing cabinet. They called him Statto.

Ziggy and I sat next to each other in separate chairs. Ziggy's right leg was bouncing.

"Thanks for coming, Max," said Neil. "This shouldn't take long. It's all pretty straightforward, yeah? We're short up front and Ziggy's been doing well. We'd like to give him a short-term deal until..." He glanced at Jackie, who held up two fingers. Two months? We'd HAD this discussion! But he was pranking me again, and I'd fallen for it. Again! Jackie suppressed a grin. Neil continued. "Until the end of the season. So you'll be helping us out short-term, and we'll be continuing Ziggy's training until the summer. It seems a fair deal. The only thing is, we need to get the paperwork done by the end of today so he's available for Saturday."

Ziggy was nodding like one of those puppy toys you stick on your car's dashboard.

"All sounds very smooth," I agreed. "There's just the question of his salary." I'd read that in a negotiation it was good to start with a high number. "I was thinking 600 thousand pounds a week. Same as Cristiano Ronaldo."

Steve, the guy whose grey hair made him seem like an 18th century Prime Minister, put his palm up. "Max, you're very charming and everything. But I've got to get to a family dinner. The deal is pretty much take it or leave it and no hard feelings either way. We're offering 350 quid a week."

That meant 35 a week for me. Which was, frankly, awful. But it was just the start. Next season we'd get a proper salary. I eyed Ziggy and he widened his eyes at me. I think he'd have signed if it had cost him money.

"Fine. We want shirt number 33 and a 500 pound goal bonus."

Steve's eyebrows shot up. But he smiled. "Maaaax."

"If it's like you say and he's just helping out and won't play most of the season, what's the problem? What's he going to do? Score 15 goals?"

Jackie shifted uneasily and shook his head at Steve. I didn't mind - he was working for FC United, after all. But I shouldn't have mentioned the 15 goals. Me saying it had made Jackie think it was possible.

Steve said, "200 a goal. Come on, now. Let's get this puppy signed."

"Fine."

"Okay, Mr Best," said Statto. "I just need the FAN attached to your agent licence. Then I can add the goal bonus clause and print out the contracts. It won't take two minutes."

There was dead silence.

Everyone stared at me.

I realised I'd gotten ahead of myself. I didn't have a Football Association Number. I didn't have my licence.

"I don't have it yet," I said. "Should come soon. Can we add that in later?"

Statto shook his head. "No, sorry. We need it now or the FA will come down on us like a ton of pricks."

My first contract talks were going to shit. Why was everything so hard?

I said, "Can I have a word with you outside for a second?" Ziggy started to get up, but I clarified. "I mean Jackie."

More weird looks, but Jackie came out and I closed the door behind him. I took a few shuffles away and said, "Did you plan this somehow?"

"Plan what, mate?"

"You knew I didn't have that number so you," I waved my hands around, "did this."

He was still except for his eyebrows, which didn't know what to do. "Are you okay, Max? Because it sounds like you're accusing me of injuring all our strikers to clear a path for Ziggy to sign a contract. And how should I know you're not a real agent? You've been saying you're an agent since I met you. I kind of thought maybe you were one."

I rubbed my face hard. "Fuck. Sorry. You're right. I just wanted to blame someone else. It's my fault."

"Why don't you have your licence?"

"It's 500 pounds. I thought I had until the next transfer window to get it. I can save 500 quid by then. I didn't think anything would happen till January, and the last week's been so frantic it slipped my mind."

"Well, anyway, that's Ziggy fucked." He shook his head. "Poor kid."

I opened the door and swapped Jackie for Ziggy. Closed the door again.

"Ziggy, mate. I won't have that licence till January, probably."

His face fell, but not all the way. There was a kind of steel there. "So what are you saying? I can't sign?"

I blew air through my lips. Was my poverty going to be the reason this guy couldn't achieve his dreams? "No. I would never stand in your way like that. You'll have to sign without me. Neil's right - you'll get some minutes in the next few games and when the stars are back you'll know what it's going to take to compete with them. And you'll be a real pro with real stats. You'll be on Wikipedia maybe." I beamed at the thought.

"What about you?" he said, not returning my smile.

I shrugged. "Maybe now you're a big shot you can lend me 500 quid so I can get registered. Make sure it doesn't happen like this with Raffi."

He shook his head. The steel was back. "We made a deal. I'll sign without you and pay you in cash. You're my agent, Max, whatever we tell the authorities. You believed in me." His eyes softened and he gave me a microscopic smile. "Do you remember in your car before my trial? You made me promise to sign a contract with you. Everyone thought I was shit that day but you believed even harder." He shook his head. "I know what you've done. I won't ever forget it. So in the summer when we sign the next one, you'll be there, and you'll bring your agent badge and your agent gun. All right?"

"You're going to pay me even though you don't have to?"

"I do have to."

"Without telling the FA." I looked up and to the right. "That makes me a secret agent. Jackie was right all along! All right. Let's do it."

He held his arm up like a barrier. "Before we go back in," he said, all serious-faced. "Will you do me one favour?"

"What's that?"

"Will you enjoy it?"

The phrasing seemed familiar. Something cool from a movie? I mimed adjusting a bow tie and said, "Hell, yeah!"

***

Ziggy signed a professional contract.

I'm in the photo, and so is my black eye.

Ziggy is radiant.

***

Mike Dean had wanted me to scout on Tuesdays and Saturdays. Well, not this Saturday. Ziggy was going to make his debut. I had to be there. Steve told Statto to sort me a ticket. Ziggy mumbled that he thought I might sit in the coach's area behind the dugout.

Neil said that was okay. Just this once. "But maybe keep your tactical ideas to yourself, hey?" Oh. What was that a reference to?

We moved into another room where there was a mini-fridge with some cans of beer. Said beer was distributed and we all toasted Ziggy's new life.

Ziggy took a swig and Jackie swiped the can from his hand. "Did you enjoy that? Good. Because that's the last alcohol you'll drink until you retire. Welcome to your new life. Welcome to hell! Now drop and give me twenty." Ziggy's big eyes shone - he was fairly sure Jackie was teasing him. About the push-ups, anyway. But he wasn't 100% sure.

I asked Steve if he wasn't going to be late for his dinner, and he said he'd made that up to pressure me into signing the contract fast. While I gaped at him, he laughed, took a big swig of beer and said he really did have to leave. He picked up one of those suit containers you get from a dry cleaner and said he was off.

"What's the occasion?" I said.

"It's my wife's wedding anniversary," he said, and then he was gone.

***

I lay in bed that night wondering why I wasn't happier than I was. I'd finally turned the curse into cash, it seemed. But Ziggy was planning to pay me under the table and could change his mind whenever he wanted. And Chester... who knew if that was real or not? I'd believe it when I saw the money in my bank account.

I tried to sleep early to be ready for a very, very long day, but I couldn't. I needed to pick up some XP before Saturday so that I could finally buy 4-4-2 diamond. There were no 11-a-side matches on the horizon, but I wanted the option. Tweaking formations and individual instructions and watching the match rating change - that's where my thoughts went. And why the deadline? Because I was going to buy God Save the King and give Ziggy another point in finishing before his big game. That would plunge me 3,000 XP into debt and it would be a long slog getting back to zero.

So that was the shopping plan for the week. Buy a formation and improve Ziggy. Maybe I'd place a 20 pound bet on him to score. As a complete unknown, his odds would be long, at least 10-1, so I could make a quick 200 quid from it. Plus I'd get my 20 quid share of his goal bonus! 3,000 XP suddenly didn't seem so expensive.

I ran through the pros and cons and decided that if I had inside information that he'd start the game, I'd have a cheeky little flutter, but if he was going to be a sub, I'd keep my money in my pocket. I loved Ziggy but he didn't seem like the kind of player who'd excel coming off the bench.

***

I drove to work. My ankle had improved, but it was still sore. Just on the border of being insane to start a 6-hour round trip after a hard day taking calls.

But that's exactly what I did. Fortunately, the traffic wasn't too bad, and I got to Boston United's ground with plenty of time to spare. I'd decided there should be at least one club in the country where everybody liked me and so I vowed to be nice to every gammon, every bulldog, and every soccer mom I met.

Boston were playing 5-3-2, and Alfreton 4-5-1. Formations don't tell the whole story - it's possible to play a very attacking version of either formation. But nah. This was a defensive borefest. Two old managers trying to make sure their lads didn't lose, and hoping to nick a winner from a corner or free kick. Pretty grim.

But I wasn't complaining. I was - hopefully - being paid. And even if I wasn't, I was picking up 2 XP per minute. Even better, I could see the match ratings and match commentary even though I was just a spectator, which made scouting even easier.

Inga hadn't given me any forms to fill in. Mike Dean had said that Chester had their own version of the scouting reports, but I hadn't ever seen one. Which, yeah, made me uneasy about the whole 'this was a revenge prank' thought that had been nagging me. Anyway, I made up my own method based on what I'd want to know if I were managing Chester. I drew the formations for both teams with shirt numbers in the circles and a legend with the player names. I noted their main strengths and weaknesses according to what the curse told me, but also added a little bit from my own observations.

On an inexplicable impulse, I put stars next to the three best players in each team, chosen by who had the highest CA.

There was no-one like Henri Lyons where I thought 'that guy would massively improve Chester' but I noted a few dudes who were solid in their positions in case they were ever out of contract.

This, since I was alone in my little scouting area, took me all of ten minutes, and I spent the next ten wondering what else I could do. Someone like Chester's manager, Ian Evans, wasn't going to read a detailed scouting report so I didn't feel that I had to plot things to the nth degree. The opposition's basic tactical principles would be enough for him. Which side do they attack down? Where are they weak? Who gets sucked out of position? Basic stuff.

I bit my nails and tried to get in the mindset of someone like Evans. An old-school manager. Fundamentals. Mostly interested in keeping a good defensive shape and hoping to get something from a... corner. That was it. Corners and set pieces.

I went to the match commentary screen and scrolled it all the way to the start of the match. Then as I was scrolling back down looking for the word 'corner' I thought 'what I need here is a CTRL-F' function. One mega pang of headache later and the curse had reprogrammed the interface. Now I could search for key words OR filter by incident type. I selected 'corners' and voila - only the text related to corner kicks was visible. I looked for patterns and didn't find one, but the match had only been going for 20 minutes.

So that was productive. While I waited for some dead balls (set pieces) I tried reformatting something else. I was successful in getting the match clock to appear in my vision without having to go into the match overview screen, and I left it at that. I didn't want a massive headache driving back on the M62. I'd change things one bit at a time, thank you very much. Lesson learned from unlocking two perks in one day.

At half-time I had a dubious pie and an ill-advised beer and chatted with some locals. Friendly bunch.

By the 70th minute I thought I'd done enough. My report said Boston were stronger on the right than the left and liked to hit the far post from corners and free kicks. Alfreton aimed their set pieces more centrally and because the player they left in defence in those situations was slow and had bad technique, in my opinion they'd be vulnerable to a fast break, so playing Chester's fastest striker against them would be advisable.

I took photos of my notes and sent them to the email address Inga had given me. Then I hobbled out into the car park. Of course it was sub-optimal to miss out on the rest of the XP, but this way I'd beat the traffic leaving the stadium. The alternative was to delay my return home by ages. I needed to experience sleep more than I needed the experience.

When I was just getting out into the car park, my phone rang. Weirdly, it was Inga. I thought she was working late, but obviously she'd got an unexpected notification on her phone.

"Mr Best, I got your report. But the match isn't finished, is it?"

"No, there's about ten minutes left. But I have a three-hour drive and need to get out before two thousand people all rush to their cars." There was an unpleasant silence. "I mean, I could go back in if you really insist."

"What? Oh, no. I was just looking at these scans. The pages seem quite thorough and well thought out. Will Wainwright, pros: heading, strength; cons: technique. Stars to show the best players on each team. Yes, I can almost understand this myself!"

It wasn't that complicated, especially for someone who worked for a football club. "You don't know football?"

"No, I hate it. Just a lot of grown men chasing a little ball. Pointless. But my grandkids love it and they're proud I work for Chester. I'll send these scans on to everybody. You have a safe drive home."

"Er... Could you pay me sort of... soonish? I could really use the money, to be honest. I had to fill my tank on the way here and that was financially catastrophic."

"I've got down that we're to pay your petrol and add ten pounds for food and drink. So don't worry about that. But I understand. I'll get this paid asap. Just this once, though. Normally we do everything monthly. We don't have a big enough admin team to be making exceptions all the time."

"Understood. Oh, and I can't work this Saturday. My friend is making his debut and I need to be there to watch him. Unless you want a scouting report for FC United."

"I don't know a lot about football but I know they're not in the same division as us. So, no. But no problem. We'll send you somewhere again next Tuesday. I'll be in touch."

***

Once I was close-ish to my house, I bought 4-4-2 diamond. At last I had more than one formation! Thankfully this didn't come with a headache, but I suspected I'd get one the first time I actually used it.

Buying that one unlocked another. I'd hoped the curse would offer me a sort of tree of formation options, for example all the ones with a back 4 in one branch and all the ones with 3 at the back in another. But it seemed like I'd have to buy one at a time. Next up was 4-3-3, available for 200 XP. Double what I'd just paid, but very affordable.

I'd be able to buy it during the Beth Heads match on Friday, but I'd have to be careful about using it for the first time. Using two new formations in one match seemed like a recipe for a very bad night. But that match was way off in the distance.

In fact, I couldn't quite tell where my next management gig was going to come from. There were a hundred professional clubs in the English pyramid... seemingly endless possibilities. But Neil had told me to keep my tactics to myself. Maybe he felt I'd shown him up when I'd threatened to lead the reserves to victory over the first team? He was still happy to deal with me - at arm's length. So there was one club unlikely to give me a reserve or youth team to experiment with.

And, yeah, similar story at Chester. Similar but worse! I thought about the daydreams I'd had of being Chester's manager. How did it go? I’d be their manager by the end of the season?

It was like Jackie said.

I had a vivid imagination.