1.32 - A Time of Triumph

32.

The Met Heads's starting seven set up in the 2-2-2 formation. Jane - Beth and Nobby - Freyja and Sophia - Lula and Bella. On the other team, mimicking City's 2-3-1 formation: Jackie in goal, Eva and Bex in defence, me, James, and Kisi in midfield, Anna up front.

Excitingly, since I was leading this part of the session, I was holding the whistle. My first time as the whistler! (I had brief fantasies of a monthly perk that let me stop time with a referee's whistle. Max Best, the crime-fighting referee. Tagline: Crime Gets a Red Card. Wow. I'd sell my car to watch that.)

We played a semi-serious match for a while, just warming up and getting used to our positions. "Okay, Met Heads," I said, kicking the ball to Jackie, "false midfield, let's give it a whirl."

Jackie took a beat to let everyone get set, then passed to Eva, who passed it to me. I passed to Kisi, who hit it first-touch back to me. I took a couple of strides forward. The nearest Met Head was Sophia. She moved towards me, so, like the City kids would do, I passed backwards to Bex. Sophia followed the ball, but only for a couple of yards. She was now the third attacker and settled into that spot. Meanwhile, my team passed around some more, and the ball came back to me. I was in acres of space. Ahead of me was Anna, surrounded by Met Heads. To the left and right I had the Ghanaians as options. We passed to each other for a while, unopposed. James and Kisi started to drift up the pitch, finally coming into contact with Beth and Nobby. Freyja marked Anna. In a normal game, I'd have dribbled forwards and created an overload, but that wasn't City's plan. Still, at some point a City player in my position would dribble forward even if they were trained not to. We had to give them a reason to obey their coaching. I paused, put my foot on the ball. I wanted to use the whistle but no-one was moving so there was no point. Disappointing. I turned my head and said, "Sophia, if it goes like this with those two midfielders pushing forwards, you can't completely abandon me. Come to harass me until I do something with the ball, then float forward again. Yeah?"

"So I'm a bit more up and down than on the plan?"

"You'll have to use your judgement."

Jackie called out. "When he's passed the ball, stand near him, between him and City's goalkeeper. It'll look like you're marking him, but actually you'll be using him as a springboard to join the attack."

My plan was only a few minutes into the testing phase, and was already being diluted. But this tweak made sense. We couldn't just completely leave one opponent to do whatever she wanted. "Okay, go," I said. Sophia made a show of pressing me, so I turned backwards and looked for a pass. There was none. I blew my whistle. "Guys!" I said, talking to the attackers. "You have to leave me somewhere to go sideways or backwards."

Lula nodded. "So I don't mark my man over here?"

"No. Especially if City's midfielders push on." I turned as I spoke so everyone could hear. "The key is to let them keep passing harmlessly. If they can't go back, they'll go forward. Which we don't want. Yeah?" I blew my whistle and the play continued. Lula went goalhanging, leaving a City defender free. I knocked the ball back to her, and the square passing resumed. Defender, midfielder, midfielder, defender. I blew again. "Jackie, does this look like City to you?"

"Yeah," he said.

I nodded. This felt very similar to how the first game had gone once I'd taken control. "Beth, what do you think?"

"Looks right to me."

"Not tempted to come on top of me?"

"Honestly, watching you pass it around is great. Feels like I've got you where I want you. At a safe distance."

"Five points to Hufflepuff," I said before blowing the whistle. My team passed in a couple of squares again.

Time to really test this puppy.

I turned backwards but instantly turned again, threatening to drive forward, Sophia charged at me. I took a single stride forward and shouted, "Anna! Incoming!" I played a smooth diagonal ball to her feet - but - as I'd hoped - Nobby screeched away from her man, and practically hurled herself at the ball. With her right foot, she controlled it, and with her left, mid-tumble, she toe-poked the ball. It flew up the pitch - straight to Lula. Eva and Bex were on their heels, and by the time they got their bodies into motion, Lula had already played a one-touch pass to the left, where Bella had sprinted. Bella faked a shot at goal, drawing Jackie towards his near post. But Bella played an unexpected pass back across the goal - into the path of Sophia, who had burst forward as soon as Nobby had made the interception.

She tapped the ball into the unguarded net.

Holy fucking shit. Holy fucking shit! I couldn't have sketched a more perfect demo of how the tactic could work.

I was about to tell Nobby she'd done well, but Beth was way ahead of me, chest bumping her fellow defender. "Fucking yes, Nobby!"

Freyja had picked up some proper Mancunian language and a hint of the accent. Slapping her Japanese teammate on the back of the head, she yelled, "That's fucking class, that, Nobby! Fuckin' mint!"

Nobby nodded, trying to be impassive. But she was very clearly glowing.

The strikers jogged back to their own half, exchanging high fives and sharing some joke.

Jackie fished the ball out of the net and tossed it back to the centre circle. "What are you grinning at, Maxy boy?"

I jabbed a thumb over my shoulder and spoke loud enough for the entire hall to hear. "I don't know, man. I feel like these twats are gonna give City a right hiding." Jackie grinned back at me. I turned to the City fan. "How do you feel about that, Ziggy?"

He was smiling along with everyone else. "Don't worry about me, Max. I'm into it."

***

It would be ludicrous to say that we spent the next 15 minutes perfecting the plan, but we kept working at it, rotating Eva, Bex, and Anna into the first team so they could get somewhat used to the system. We found a couple of issues, ironed out a bit of role confusion.

With a couple of minutes left on the clock, I had an idea. I blew the whistle and said, "I've just thought of something."

Jackie jogged over to me and said, "Don't overdo it. Stop there. Let them digest."

I nodded. Handed him the whistle. "Couple of quick sprints?"

"Go on, then." He indicated that I should join the other players.

"Me? I'm built for pleasure, not for speed."

***

The next group arrived and kicked us off the pitch. Most of us went for a quick shower. The kids and Jackie waited in the main reception, and one by one everyone else joined them. Ziggy was one of the last. Getting himself nice and clean! "Ziggy, I've got something for you," I said. "Jackie. Do you want to watch a historic moment in footballing history?"

He narrowed his eyes at me, and glanced at Ziggy. "Sure," he said.

A few of the ladies moved over as well, Lula foremost amongst them.

I pulled out a document and placed it in front of Ziggy, along with a pen. I'd spent quite a while on this, adapting it from something boilerplate I'd found online. "Oh!" he said, sitting down to read it. "Our contract. Right." He glanced up at Jackie, and started flicking through the pages.

This was, obviously, a big moment for me. If Jackie was going to steal my client, he'd have to show his hand now. I'd gotten two training sessions out of the guy; I'd seen what a proper coach could do in terms of improving a player. Ziggy was a good lad and I was still enthusiastic about him. But now I had Youngster. If Ziggy and Jackie wanted to elope to Gretna Green and leave me jilted at the altar, let it happen in front of Lula and the others.

Ziggy skimmed through to the last page. He pointed at the final paragraph. "What's this?"

"If you want to change to a different agent, you have to give me 6 months notice or pay that fee. It's just so I can get a mortgage and not have to stress about who's going to betray me. If I lose you, I'll have time to find another client."

He read through the clause again, and nodded. It was what I'd said. "Okay," he said, and he picked up the pen.

"Wait!" said Jackie. "Don't sign!"

I knew it.

I knew it.

Jackie, the snake, the despicable coward, the odious gollum, got down on one knee.

What the fuck?

Was he going to propose to Ziggy? Had I misread all those glances? They'd spent a lot of time together...

"Okay, perfect," said Jackie. He had his phone out and was pointing it at Ziggy and the contract. "Max, get closer."

Oh.

I stood next to Ziggy, bent down a little bit, and put my hand on his shoulder.

Ziggy signed.

He signed da ting.

Jackie didn't say 'smile' as he took the snap.

He didn't have to.

***

I invited Beth to come with me to take the Ghanaians home. She wasn't keen until I pointed out that once we'd dropped them off, it'd take 30-45 minutes to drive back to her place, and I'd be a captive audience and she could complain about me and delve into all my character defects. "Only 45 minutes?" she said. "Well, that'll do for the first part of the alphabet."

"A to M?"

"A."

So the four of us drove to Wythenshawe. I asked the teenagers if they'd enjoyed the session - Kisi said yes, she had always wanted to go to the circus. I asked if I was the ringmaster or the clown, and James advised her not to answer. James said he'd liked it and Jackie certainly was a good coach. And he liked the way I thought about football, even if my venture was, perhaps, foolhardy. Pompous little shit!

Anyway, we talked a bit about football and their studies and after a while the conversation was Beth and Kisi talking about TikTok. 'Did you see the one about the hair?' 'Do you think Khargol's apology to Nightsexy was sincere?'

That's when I started to tune out.

What was Jackie up to? One theory - he'd let me do all the work getting Ziggy a contract, then swoop in and take over as his agent. Sure, I'd get the first six months, but Jackie would get everything after that.

No, that didn't make sense. Jackie could easily have signed Ziggy as an agent, then got him a contract at FC United.

It wasn't that.

So what was it?

***

I invited myself in for tea. Beth was not especially keen, but I whispered that she could add it to her list of complaints. She gave me a dig in the ribs, but that was the end of it. I think she was curious about what I was up to.

Mr and Mrs Yalley were home and more than happy to welcome us inside. Their home was small and full of weird ornaments, plus a lot of textiles on the walls, and a large flag - African colours and a black star in the middle. Mr Yalley's English wasn't great, so he mostly just sat and beamed at us. Sometimes he'd ask for a particular section to be explained. Regardless, both parents were keen to know how the masterclass had gone.

Kisi's chattiness attribute had dropped from 20 to 1. Teenagers. Jesus.

"From my point of view," I said, "it went great. Beth was delighted to have your children attend the session. She was, and I hope she's not too embarrassed by this, extremely welcoming and generous." Beth smiled, a perfect smile. She was the ultimate chameleon! Would I pay for this later? It was 50-50 if she was feeling annoyed or amused. Probably amused. I was on a roll. I could do no wrong. I jiggled my special dice cup and rolled a double twenty! Let's get these guys signing on the dotted line right now. Forget all this getting-to-know-you shit! "Your children behaved beautifully, of course, not that you doubted it. Anyway, I wanted to pop in quickly and talk to you. James and Kisi are both talented players. As I mentioned, I'm a football agent and I would like to sign them as clients and try to find suitable teams for them. My fee is 10 percent, industry standard. No up-front fees, no hidden fees. Long-term, my role would be to balance your children's financial and footballing needs. Short-term, it's about getting them the training they need to develop their potential." I paused to let that sink in, and for a quick blast of translation. Mr Yalley looked astonished. I don't know what language he was speaking, but he very clearly asked his wife to repeat what she had said. They had a brief discussion.

Mrs Yalley said, "They have talent as footballers. Are you sure?"

I frowned. Surely James was the best in his class, at least? I could imagine him not being the stand-out player for his school team, since his role was less eye-catching than the star striker or the tricky winger. But surely he was the best on his church team or whatever? And surely Kisi was taking the piss in almost every game she played? "Yes. Without question. They could both play at a high level."

"My goodness."

I turned to Beth for support, but she was as confused as the parents. She didn't have Super Scout. "Well, look," I said, ploughing forward like the champion I am. "I've got these contracts here. It's standard stuff. If you sign, I can get started on finding clubs."

As soon as I placed the papers on the table, Kisi leapt forward with a pen. "Whoa, Kisi! Your mother has to sign. Actually, that's true for both of you, since you're both under 18."

James picked up his contract and skimmed through it. He placed it back on the table. "I like playing football with my friends. I am not sure I would like to be a professional footballer. It is a very troubled industry. I will pray on it."

I understood the words he had used, of course. They couldn't be more rudimentary, more single-syllable. But it was the strangest thing. It was like he was speaking the alien sci-fi squiggle language. "Sorry, what?"

"I will pray on it."

"Pray?"

Mrs Yalley smiled at me. "Do you not pray, Mr Best?"

"Pray?" I said. "You mean, um... Our father who art in heaven? That sort of stuff?"

James shook his head. "No, Mr Best. We are talking about a personal relationship with God."

I found myself staring at a photo - it was, presumably, James as a boy, dressed to the nines in his Sunday best, beaming at the photographer. Great photo, but his eyes had come out red. This kid prayed? Had a personal relationship with god? For half a second I suspected the red contained a hidden camera and all this was being filmed for a prank show. I shook it off. There was more than one way of living. "Is that you?"

"Yes," his mother said. "James won a prize for memorising scripture."

"I see." I'd messed this up. I hadn't put in the work. It wasn't just that I didn't know how to talk to someone who was really religious, it was that I hadn't even known how deep his faith went. If I wanted him as a client, I needed to know what made him tick - it didn't seem to be football, fame, or money, or he'd have leapt at the contract like his sister. Had I blown my one shot at this or would it be possible to reset and try again? "I have to take Beth home. I'll leave the contracts here and you can think about the whole thing. But I should come by another time and have a proper talk with you all."

"You could come to the service on Sunday, Mr Best," said James.

I can't explain it, but when he said that, I knew he wouldn't be signing any contracts, not with me and not with any professional football team. I tried to style it out. "Very kind. I'm not sure you're the right thingy for me. What's it called? Denomination. My family goes to the other church. The one with the ghosts."

Kisi saved me. "What time's the match on Friday, Beth?"

Beth had been quietly following the conversation, and from her body language, she had sensed the exact moment my time of triumph turned into a day of defeat. "Oh! Er... 7pm."

"Well, good luck! I hope you win. False midfield!" And she burst out laughing and went up to her room.

***

We got in my car. I didn't start the engine right away.

"He won't become a footballer because he's a Christian," I said, shaking my head.

"Is that what you heard?" said Beth. I should have asked what she meant by that, but I was in too dark a mood to understand she'd said something significant.

"It's what you get for taking shortcuts," I said. "Should have brought him to a few sessions at FC United. Got him excited. Built up to the idea of him going pro. Made it easy. Natural. Not just plopped a contract on his kitchen table out of nowhere. Jesus." I hid in the steering wheel for a bit, then turned the ignition.

We drove to her house in virtual silence. Me, feeling empty, godless, and poor, staring into an endless abyss. (An unusual abyss, for it was a littered with pot noodles and cheap, thin, 2-ply toilet rolls.) Beth, thinking whatever women think when they've seen a man's hopes and dreams crushed right in front of their eyes.

I pulled up outside her place. "Wait here," she told me.

"Uh, what?" I said. Beth was getting out. I leaned towards her side. "Don't you want to invite me in?"

"No sex before a big game, Max. All the top coaches agree on that."

"I'm the coach. I can make an exception."

"Nope. Also, I've got an exam tomorrow. Wait there."

So I sat there, holding my steering wheel, feeling pretty miserable, actually. Beth was gone for ages. It should have made me feel worse, but it was just more of the same. Somewhere in the world, someone was writing a country and western song about how I'd signed Ziggy but not Youngster. Ziggy was as quiet as a Graves, but the one Max really wanted was the one that got awayyy...

Tap tap.

I wound the window down. Beth changed her mind?

"Here," she said. She handed me some cash. Two twenties and a ten. "Fifty quid."

"What? Why?"

"You said you needed to borrow fifty quid."

That's right. I said that. "Beth," I said, overcome by emotion. "I just..."

"Be off with you," she said. "This is a nice neighbourhood. You're lowering the tone." She turned and sashayed away.

Wednesday had finally come to an end. I had a new client and a real, true friend. But Jesus had stolen my million-pound lottery ticket.

Was that a good day, or not?

---

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