1.41 - The Manchester Derby

41.

The ulcer dude was so furious with me he didn't retake his seat. He must have fucked off somewhere else and watched from there, quietly fuming. I'd be lying if I said that brought me no joy.

The second half was more of the same - Oldham playing out of their skin, Wrexham struggling. But then the defender who'd made the mistake for Oldham's goal scored the equaliser. This happened so often in football. Redemption. Zero to hero. The Shakespeare bit.

Then Wrexham got a penalty in the 96th minute. The 96th minute! Six minutes, eighteen experience points, after the match was due to end. Mullin, the guy who should have been playing three divisions higher, stepped up and there was never any doubt about the outcome.

Oldham 1, Moneybags Wrexham 2

Heartbreaking for the Oldham fans. I found myself imagining what would be discussed on their podcast - the gap between where they yearned to be and where they were. I was getting sucked into their story now - a downward spiral, a life of quiet desperation, one false dawn after another. Oldham was me. I was Oldham. Well, there was one difference between us - I found the idea of Ryan Reynolds putting his Deadpool money into non-league football exciting.

***

On Sunday I woke up in a foul mood. It hadn't bothered me much at the time, but the hostility from Oldham's gammons and the waitress had gotten under my skin and festered. Prejudice was one thing coming from a group whose default position was ruddy-cheeked, spluttering outrage, but quite another coming from a pretty young woman.

Still stewing, I went to Wythenshawe again. I popped into the refugee shelter place I'd tried previously. That first time it had been empty, deserted. This time there were a few people milling about. A few women sitting around a desk, writing. It seemed like one was helping the others to fill in forms. Over in another corner there was a rotating pamphlet rack and a few harshly upright wooden chairs. One was occupied by a woman who was just staring straight ahead. I found myself watching for ages. Normally, when you stare at someone, e.g. the person next to you in a football stadium, that person feels it. This woman didn't. She was just sitting there. Staring. I left feeling uneasy.

To cheer myself up, I watched some abysmal football in the nearest park. An hour thereof. 60 XP. I was starting to get itchy about my bulging wallet.

XP balance: 1284

If I wasn't going to buy the Shocktober perk, I had to make a choice. Wait to see what November's was, or spend my capital soon and then buy God Save the King. Or, and this was tempting, buy something cheap and see if that unlocked any cool new options. For 100 XP I could buy Match Stats 1 (but I didn't have any 11-a-side matches on the horizon); 4-4-2 diamond (ditto); or Player Profile 2. The last one would unlock the History tab on a player's profile, so that had potential scouting benefits.

I decided I'd almost certainly treat myself to Player Profile 2 the next time I was at a pro game, and the others next time I was about to take charge of a full-sized game.

I normally walk pretty fast - I want to get where I'm going - but as I headed towards the church I unconsciously slowed down. It was a quiet autumn morning. Wythenshawe isn't a place I'd like to live, but it's surprisingly leafy. Lots of parks, lots of trees. They were yellow and red and various stages of naked. Really nice. Soothing. Nice, long, empty pavements. Just me and the fallen leaves. No, the problem with living here wasn't the foliage, but the people.

I stopped walking and looked around. Being an agent or a manager would mean dealing with people. Lots of people. That was unappealing. The pandemic had done something to me, or accelerated a process that had already begun. Whatever the cause, I had woken up one day and realised I had become an extremely judgemental person. And not wanting to deal with modern life - the daily hate, the culture wars, the weapons-grade stupidity, the grifters, the populists, the psychopaths, the 'influencers,' the hot takes, all of it - I had withdrawn. I had gone internal.

Now, I was on a path back towards normality. Towards being social. Towards putting myself in a position where my income depended on what other people were feeling and thinking.

The call centre? That was fine. I talked to people for three minutes. It was transactional. Even if I might have disliked the bank's customers if I'd met them, they still deserved to have the service they paid for. Plus I controlled how long the conversations lasted.

Ziggy and the Met Heads? We were fairly alike. Had a lot in common. Easy chats. Good laughs. Jackie, too, though he was quite political and had some hidden agenda. All in all, they were a great bunch. Spending time with them cost no energy.

Raffi Brown? I'd never spoken to him. What was his family like? Probably rough. Definitely not going to be nicknaming me Max Beth and quoting Shakespeare. I'd have to sit in a room with them. Smile. Listen to whatever bigoted views they had without losing my temper. Shit, I'd have to take them to Raffi's first game as a pro. Sit with them for 90 minutes. Charm them. I was already thinking of ways to rush away at full-time. Fake emergencies. Shit, gotta run, just got a call that mum has had a fall. We hadn't even met and I was trying to spend less time with them! That wasn't a good sign.

The gammons? I imagined being the Oldham manager and masterminding a 3-0 win. How would it feel to know I was bringing joy to people I detested?

The Yalleys? They were nice but this meeting was going to be hard work. I felt fatigued just thinking about it. There were big communication gaps between us. With Mr Yalley, language. With his wife and son, their faith. With Kisi - well, she was cool but she was a teenage girl. Bit of a nightmare tbh.

A leaf fell from a tree and I watched it float down. It seemed pretty content. It had done its job and now it was getting its eternal rest. Maybe, if it was lucky, it'd be picked up by a toddler and used in an artwork that would live on someone's fridge until Christmas.

I started walking again. If I signed Youngster as a client, I wouldn't need to deal with other people for very long. One big transfer. That's all it would take to free me from society's shackles. Then I could hang out with the Met Heads and spend time with clients I really liked. Or go internal again, but in a bigger house. One with a tree in the garden. Sit in its shade and devour the classics: Moby Dick; Bleak House; Shopaholic.

***

I snuck into the back of the church. Let's be honest - I was trying to give the impression I'd been there for the whole service (without actually lying about it). But I'd misjudged the timing and I had to sit through almost half an hour of church stuff. The end of the sermon, which was very odd to my ears, and then the concluding songs and - incredibly - more songs after those songs.

The boredom was spectacular. I learned one thing, at least - I still had it in me to grind. To put myself in places and positions I didn't really want to be.

The pastor had annoyed me by dragging the service out, but at the end he did me a favour and raced across, drawing everyone's attention to my presence. I think he was excited to see me again, since I'd made such an impression the last time.

"We were not introduced," he said, giving me a hearty handshake. "But I believe you are Mr Best."

"Max. You're Pastor Yaw."

"Just so. It is good to see you again in the House of God."

"I'm here to talk to the Yalleys," I said, in case he wanted me to write out my sins or whatever.

"For a particular purpose, I have no doubt."

"I want to sign James as a client and guide him to the Premier League."

Confusion. "The Premier League of what?"

"Football. I see him playing for West Ham. Maybe Ghana, too. Not sure how stocked they are in that position."

"Which position do you mean?"

"Defensive midfielder."

The calculations came thick and fast. If this was a joke, I was very seriously committed to it. He seemed to dismiss the idea. Then what? I was a lunatic? Perhaps. I had, after all, sprinted into his church mid-service. "What makes you think - "

I put my hand on his arm. "You don't need to have faith." I took my hand away. "It would all happen very quickly. I would find a club where he could train. They'd offer him a professional contract within weeks. His talent is obvious. James is a glistening jewel."

This brought a tiny smile to Yaw's mouth. "It is strange no-one else has ever seen what you discover so readily." He turned. "And strange that the Yalleys have not discussed this wonderful news with everyone. It would bring hope and joy to the community."

Good to know. Pop that factoid in my jacket pocket. "He's uncertain if he wants to become a footballer. We're going to discuss it today. I think he will refuse."

"Oh. Indeed?" He looked thoughtful. "Perhaps you should not have told me."

"I don't lie in churches. I've seen too many movies."

"In which movies do people lie in churches and are struck down? No, really. I would love to watch them!"

I laughed. My first laugh of the day. "I don't know. Maybe it doesn't happen. But still. No lying."

"An honest man, at long last. Tell me, what did you think of my sermon?"

"Oh, walked straight into that one. You want honesty? If I did a sermon, it'd be about five minutes. Ten, tops. Quote from the Bible, put it in a modern perspective, end with a call to action."

Now it was his turn to laugh. "I should like to experience your ten minute sermon, Max Best. Good luck with your quest."

***

He walked off and I was left there, alone for a second, absolutely buzzing. Almost all the negativity of the morning was washed away. Cleansed in a holy river. And all it took was one laugh and one smile. I felt rejuventated and I realised I wasn't misanthropic, I didn't hate the general public, I did like talking to people. I just needed to ration my energy expenditure so I didn't burn out. And, of course, I needed to give negative people the exact amount of attention they deserved: zero.

And how interesting that he used the word quest. Trying to convince Youngster was a bit like a quest, wasn't it? A quest in a video game. But was this a main quest or a side quest? I supposed it didn't matter - I tended to complete all the side quests first anyway, to level up before the boss battles.

In a much more upbeat, positive frame of mind I went to find the Yalleys and walked with them from the church to their home.

They had prepared a big lunch. The only thing I knew the name of was plantain, but it smelled great. Very colourful. While they prepared everything and I hovered around, Kisi asked me if I was nervous about the match. The Manchester Derby, which was due to kick off in about an hour.

"Not really," I said. "The gap between the teams is huge. There's virtually no chance United can win."

"They would if you were in charge," said Kisi.

"You think I'd cook up some scam and have three goalkeepers or something?" I laughed. "No, United's new manager is said to be a tactical genius. He's probably close to the level of City's manager. But he doesn't have the raw materials to work with. City are a machine and they have Haaland playing like The Terminator. City's win today is one of the most inevitable events in the history of human civilisation."

"How could the gap between the teams be closed?" asked Mrs Yalley.

"I'm not sure it can be," I said. City were too far ahead, had too many resources, and didn't make mistakes.

"There has to be a way," said Kisi. "That's sport, isn't it? Jackie told me you always say a strength becomes a weakness."

That was confusing. "No, he said that to me."

"He learned it from you." Kisi's eyes widened. "He told me!"

"Huh. I don't remember that. But okay. Maybe there's a way a team could get closer to City's level. A few good deals in the transfer market, a bit of luck..." I glanced at James, who was laying the table. "And some divine intervention." James looked up at me, and unexpectedly, smiled. "Let's not talk about football during the meal, though. Is that okay with you?"

While we ate, we chatted about life in Wythenshawe, about trees, about birds, about side quests, and after we'd cleared away the plates and dishes, about how I liked my tea. I demonstrated the proper way to make tea. Mrs Yalley was fascinated. Mr Yalley shook his head, said things that Kisi refused to translate, and wandered out to his shed.

Mrs Yalley sat at the head of the table, to my left, as some sort of chairman figure. Or a judge. Kisi sat to my right, planting her flag as part of Team Max. Max United. She spent most of the time on her phone. James sat opposite me, the little stretch of table acting like a vast chasm. A gap that couldn't be crossed. After a few more pleasantries, battle commenced.