1.57 - Johnny Winger

57.

With 5 minutes to go till half-time, I threw on the remaining substitutes, bringing off John, the skilful striker, Zoe, the hearing-impaired cyberpunk midfielder, and Scrappy, the other midfielder whose ball striking had drawn a compliment.

Terry took me a little bit away from where the subs were recovering. "Max, you've brought off our three best players."

"Yep."

He wanted to say something, but whatever it was, he swallowed it. "Are you trying to make a point or something?"

"Huh? No."

He let out a tiny grunt of frustration. "Then why?"

"Every player plays every game," I said.

He bit his tongue, then sucked in a breath.

Before he could speak, I said, "Every player plays every game. I learned that from the best. Now, relax," I said, repeating his words back to him with a smile: "We know what we're doing."

Just then, Ellesmere scored again, and Terry's head dropped. He didn't mind losing but the self-sabotage of taking the best players off the pitch was more than he could stomach.

But I needed to see what the subs had to offer, and I needed my stars fresh for the second half. They would be doing a lot of work.

***

Half-time. The kids had battled to keep the score at 'only' 3-0. Now they were arrayed in front of me, waiting to receive my tactical insights.

I checked over my shoulder to see if Mr Yalley was about to barge in. Fortunately, he was in church 30 miles away. This wasn't a time for motivation - the kids were motivated all right. This was a time for Tommy Tactics.

"Good effort, team," I said. "Love it. Now listen up. I came here to win a match and chew bubble gum, and I'm all out of bubble gum."

Zoe raised her hand. "What?"

"I'm saying we're going to win this match."

"Oh. Okay."

Half the kids started rummaging in their kit. I needed to be a lot more lucid here.

“Forget the gum,” I said. I held up Terry's whiteboard and drew on it. I started by drawing two horizontal lines and two vertical ones, splitting the pitch into boxes. "There are 9 zones here. 1,2,3... 4,5,6... 7,8,9. Yes? I'm going to write one name in one box and that's your zone. Try to stay there unless it's an emergency. Let's put some names into boxes. Most important, the goalkeeper. Chester, you're in zone 2. That's where the goal is, so it makes sense. Happy? Next, we need goals. Beans, you're in box 8. What's the most you've ever scored in a game? Next, back in zone 2 we've got our classy centre-back Scrappy."

Scrappy complained. "I normally play as a CAM." That's what the young people call a central attacking midfielder.

I did an exaggerated look at the whiteboard. "Huh. That's not what it says. It says you're in defence. Wow. Then in zone 5 we've got Zoe. So that's Chester, Scrappy, Zoe, Beans. That's called a spine. Strong spine!" I had a brief moment of doubt. Did some of these kids have bad spines? I shot a semi-panicked look at Terry but he was just looking at my sketch with furrowed brows. I pressed on. "Zoe, you're going to be my brain. You're in the middle and you can move around based on where we need you. Join attacks or help the defence. But remember, only cross into another box if it's an emergency."

Chester had come forward to examine the whiteboard. "There are two people in my zone."

"Yes, Chester. That's right. Your name is written in green, do you see? So that's okay." He seemed to accept that logic. I should have created a special box just for the goalkeeper, but it was too late now. "All righty, then. Next, we need support for Scrapper so Clogger, you're in zone 1. Anything that comes down the left, that's your job. Clog it! Now, John. Where's John? John. I've got a new nickname for you to help you remember your new position." In box 3 I wrote 'Johnny Winger'. Remember when they renamed Marathon to Snickers? Remember when they renamed Opal Fruits to Starburst? Remember when they renamed One Direction to Harry Styles? No? Don’t worry. For the rest of the match I'll be calling you Johnny Winger. Why? Because you're a winger now. Look at zones 2 and 3. Two Scrapper, three Johnny. This is the key to the whole team. Scrapper, you've got the best passing. So when you get the ball you're going to pass to Johnny Winger. Every time. Okay? Then Johnny, you're going to run..." I drew a dotted line. "Run like the wind! All the way to the byline. Then you'll pass to Beans and he'll score. In the second half I'd like you to do this ten times, okay? You wait in zone 3 till we get the ball. Wait for Scrapper to pass to you. Then boom! Ten times. Thank you very much."

I took a sip of water to let the kids digest this information. Zoe put her hand up. "That's only 6 players."

"Yeah, well, we only need 6 to win. But if you want to make it really, really easy..." I wrote Wilson in box 7.

"Wilson. What I need from you is..." I wanted him to run around like a maniac but I didn't know how to explain it to him. What was the simplest way to say it? The easiest word? Terms like 'distraction' and 'decoy' seemed overly complicated and joyless. "If you stay in zone 7 and shout and make a nuisance of yourself..." I paused. I'd lost him on the word nuisance. I looked to see if Terry would help me, but he was still frowning at the whiteboard.

"Wilson," came a voice from over my shoulder. Henri Lyons stepped forward! He was dressed, preposterously, in a totally different outfit than the day before. How many changes of clothes did this guy pack for a 2-hour away trip? "Coach Max would like you to be a magnet." He plucked a little magnet from the side of the whiteboard, and knelt in front of Wilson. "You are the magnet and the opposition are the pieces of metal. Move around your zone and attract the other team to you." He took another magnet and they stuck together. He pushed it away to the side of the pitch. "Every player you lead away from zone 8, you make it easier for Mister Beans to score."

Wilson nodded. "Okay!"

The referee blew his whistle and the kids ran onto the pitch for the second half.

"Terry," I said. "This is Henri Lyons."

"I know," said Terry, stepping closer to exchange fist bumps. "I've seen you play."

"Lucky you," said Henri. He hesitated. "Your voice is familiar. Is it possible you were the gentleman who during last season's Chester match shouted at me to, quote, fuck off back to France?"

Terry turned pale. "No."

"Indeed?" said Henri. Terry hastily turned away to shout encouragement to the kids. Henri leaned closer to me and spoke softly. "I love doing that." At normal volume, he looked around and said, "Para football. Not what I expected from you, Max." That was a dagger to the heart. "Bien. I enjoyed hearing your team talk. It was worth the hardship."

"The hardship of staying overnight in scenic Chester?"

"Oui."

"What do you think of my strategy?"

"I like it. I play chess, too."

"Chess?"

Henri's eyebrows did a Mexican wave. "Your plan is pure chess. Johnny Winger is the rook."

"This is Chester," said Terry. "We call it a castle."

"Bien sur," agreed Henri. "The castle. You cleared his path to attack his zones. The girl in the middle is the Chevalier."

"The knight," said Terry. "But they're all Knights."

"That's the name of the team," I said. "Chester Knights."

Our conversation was interrupted when Ellesmere attacked down their right. Clogger got in the way of the ball and gave it to Scrappy. She looked up and sent a hard, low pass towards Johnny Winger. It took him a few touches to get control, but with no-one near him, he had time. Then he set off, zoomed down the wing, and fired the ball square. Beans challenged a defender for it, and for a moment the chance appeared to have gone. But Beans kept scrapping and with his long leg reached to nab the ball. He fired it into the bottom corner.

"Yes, Scrappy!" I said, clapping her. "Passing machine! Love it!"

They didn't mess about in this league - Ellesmere brought the ball to the centre-spot and kicked off right away. My players followed their instructions and spread out. Ellesmere attacked with all their players through the middle. Zoe tackled, the ball broke to Scrappy, and she fired it blind - no pun intended - to the right. Johnny Winger latched onto it, sprinted forward, completely unopposed, and suddenly we were two-on-one. JW shaped to pass to Beans and the defender moved to intercept. So JW took the ball even closer to the goal and passed it into the net. Easy as you like.

3-2, and we'd only played a minute of the second half.

"2 down, 8 to go, Johnny Winger!" I said.

"What?"

"I asked for 10 dribbles, remember."

"Oh, okay!"

Terry tapped me on the elbow. "Max, Wilson is struggling."

I looked over at the kid. He looked pretty emotional, in a bad way. "What's happening?"

"He doesn't understand his role. He needs a refresher."

I cursed my crutches, but then again, I had two assistants now. "Terry, can you sprint round and support him for a bit?"

"Sure," he said.

"Wait," said Henri. "You could start him in zone 9 and tell him to run across to 7."

"Max?" said Terry. Asking my permission!

"What he said."

With a nod, he scampered off.

Henri sighed and glanced back towards the throng of spectators. He kept watching them while he spoke. "Johan Cruyff achieved such mastery of the game that he would sometimes hit the post instead of scoring because he said the near-miss was more entertaining for the fans than the goal. Is that what you were doing here? Increasing the entertainment in the second half by making the first so miserable?"

"No," I said. "I had to learn about the players. I didn't know it was Para football. It was all new to me."

"Is that so? You have taken to it like a Frenchman to smoking."

"What? Nah. It's not complicated. Make space for the better players. Put people where they can be useful."

"I think maybe we could get along. Would you like to talk about how you might help my career?"

"No. I'd like you to help Johnny Winger with his starting position. Right now he's blocked by that player and he isn't doing anything about it. I want a clear line between Scrappy and him."

"When did I become your assistant?"

"When you started assisting me."

He scowled at me, but he took off his scarf, folded it, placed it on a little chair, patted it a couple of times, then ambled over to JW and started giving him advice.

After a few more minutes of scrappy football, we got a chance to break down the right again. JW played a pass to Beans, who blazed it over the bar. "Seven more!" I said.

Ellesmere, for once, attacked down our left-hand side. That's where we were weakest. An overload developed, they had a spare man, and they scored.

4-2.

All the Knights looked at me. I stretched my arms wide. "What?" I said. "Nothing changed. I want seven more attacks! Come on! Zoe," I said, waving her over. She subbed off for a couple of minutes and I discussed her role. I said she was most useful at the top or bottom of her zone and I didn't mind which one she was in and I trusted her judgement. But I wanted her to choose one depending on the game state. She said she understood, and she went back on.

And that was pretty much all I had to offer this team. I'd sub players off to have little chats with them. Henri had expanded his coaching role to encompass the entire defence. Wilson got into the game so Terry came back asking what else he wanted me to do. I didn't have anything. Maybe if I'd have the player profiles I could have tweaked things a bit more. Maybe someone else had the same passing skill as Scrappy. Maybe we had a secret dribbler who I could have used to mirror Johnny Winger on the left.

But I felt pretty good about what I'd done. Possibly my best contribution was to demand 10 dribbles from JW. Every time he did one I called out how many more he had to do. It was also a message to Scrappy, since she was the one who had to pass to him. And it was a message to Beans that he needed to be in position for when JW went on his run.

Ellesmere moved a defender over to try to counter JW, but it wasn't enough. His 4th dribble led to a shot, which the keeper saved. A second guy came over, messing up my plan, and blocked JW's 5th run. I sent Henri over to the far side of the pitch and switched JW to the left. That got us a free attack! JW zoomed forwards and the only danger came from the enthusiastic Wilson whose decoy run ended up with him, JW, and a defender colliding into each other. The ball, though, rolled through to Beans, and he slotted it home.

4-3.

Ellesmere reshuffled again, so I brought JW (and a grumpy Henri) back to the right. On our next attack, Scrappy passed to JW, who paused. I was about to yell at him to run because two defenders were racing towards him. But he launched a long pass straight down the line. Straight to Wilson, who hadn't made his usual decoy run. Wilson, shocked to finally have the ball at his feet, pottered towards the goalkeeper, waited for him to get close, then passed to Beans. Open net! Easy!

4-4.

The crowd was into it, now. There were a few minutes left and anything was possible. Parents were shrieking when the ball got to their children. There were gasps as shots went just wide, groans as passes went just too far in front of their targets. Wilson was very affected by the mood and I had to sub him off. The Knights in general were losing their positions, getting sucked into their old habits. I was about to shout their names one by one and remind them of what I wanted when I had the thought 'I wish I had a Freyja'. But I did - I had Zoe. She was supposed to be my brain on the pitch. I wanted to win but there was a bigger picture here - the development of the players. "Zoe," I shouted. She ran towards me. "Zoe, I need you to get everyone back in their positions."

"Me?" she said, astonished.

"Yes, you!" I called. "You're the captain!"

She sort of reacted like she'd been jabbed, and her cheeks flushed red. But she started to run around giving instructions. Getting a grip. Gelling the team.

I didn't notice. When I'd proclaimed her the captain, an invisible ninja had sliced my head in half with one of those razor-sharp swords. Or in other words, I had a mega pang of headache, one so bad my knees buckled. I got myself over to a little canvas caravan chair, and leaned forward with my hands over my face. I closed my eyes, just for a second. When I opened them, Henri, Terry, and Wilson were looking at me, worried.

"Sorry," I said. "Bit of gip from the old leg."

All eyes traveled towards my ankle. "I had no idea it was so bad," said Henri.

"It's not," I said. Why were they both checking on me? At least one of them should have been watching the match! "I'm fine. Really. Stop fussing. Check they're not doubling-up on JW."

"They're not," said Terry. "Game's over."

"What?"

"We won. 5-4. Last second Zoe screamer."

A thrilling victory! I saw I had cursemail, no doubt rewarding me with 1 XP for continuing my winning streak. But something even better had happened. Terry was giving me coach data. I looked down to where Wilson’s name was hovering over his head. His age and nationality were stated, but the rest of his attributes were question marks. Good enough for now! I threw my crutches down, picked him up, and held him aloft like he was three trophies in one.

Yes, mate!

***

It got better. Mike Dean came over, along with Jackie and some similar-looking men. The first-team coaches I'd heard about, I supposed. They were all smiling.

"Never a dull moment, Max," said Jackie.

"It's a shame you're not feeling well," said MD. "I promised you could take the boys under 14s if you won."

"I'm feeling great," I said. "I'm ready when you are."

He looked at his watch. "They're kicking off in two minutes."

"Perfect," I said.

"But," he said. "You're not well."

"I've never felt better. Seriously. Plus I've got an assistant now. Henri, pop over here a second. We're going to manage the under 14s. Are you up for it?"

Henri shrugged. "Porquoi pas?"

I smiled at MD and I saw the exact moment he decided to put me in charge. In my vision, two options appeared. Bench Boost and Triple Captain. Why? That was a question for later. I smashed them both. I went to the Match Overview screen and saw that Chester FC Under 14s were set up in a 3-5-2 formation.

I'd get to try a new formation! Without having to buy it first. Bonus!

Grinning like a madman, I started hopping away. Then I stopped. Henri ran up to me with my crutches. I called out to MD. "Which way is the pitch?"

He pointed, and me and my French assistant hopped (me) and jogged (him) in that direction. A few strides away, Henri started chuckling. I joined in. We looked at each other, and the chuckles soon turned to belly laughs. Jackie later told me we looked more like kids than the teenagers we were about to manage.

...

Just a heads up that I'm visiting a relative at the start of next week so it'll mess up my scheduling. (I don't bring laptops to airports.) At the same time, I don't want to hold oven-ready chapters in reserve, so I'll post as normal this week and maybe post on Sunday what I would have done on Monday.

The good news is that I'm 98% likely to spend a day in Chester! Doing research!