5.

Sunday, 1 August - The opening day of Chester FC's season.

The police considered Chester against Wrexham to be a high-risk fixture, so they had moved the game to the Sunday lunchtime slot. By starting three hours early, less alcohol would be consumed, resulting in less aggro, resulting in less damage to property and people.

The broadcasters had been keen to move the match to a premium slot anyway, since it would be an intriguing clash. The Hollywood owners versus the real-life fairy tale. Star power versus fan power. The world's most expensive pub team versus the world's cheapest dreamweavers. The perfect match for DigiWorld 4K+ to show off their latest innovations: interviews with substituted players, half-time chats with players and managers, and a camera that peered into the dressing rooms at all times.

I smiled at my audience and spoke into the microphone I was holding. "When you and I have talked in the past, I've compared our relationship to a relationship." I tried to make myself go cross-eyed. "Hang on, was that an amazing first line or was that absolute garbage?"

The huddled masses called out their opinions, many of which were hilarious. A hundred Chester fans were crammed into the Blues Bar. To my left was the doorway that led to an alley in which an angry fan had clobbered me with a metal bar. To the right of the doorway, the start of a much more pleasant bar, a wooden one behind which sat dozens of bottles of spirits. Straight ahead, the exit, leading to the dressing rooms, where Sandra was with the lads, going over our tactics for the final time. 3-5-2, get stuck in, nothing revolutionary. To my right, smallish windows looking out onto the pitch.

I focused on some of the fans. Fresh-faced, wearing their shiny new replica kits, smiling, but with more than a touch of anxiety. I looked up at the clock. It was an hour before kick-off in a match against our bitter rivals at a level of football the club had never reached before. No wonder our supporters were giddy, no wonder they were nervous. They had been winding themselves up ever since our promotion was confirmed, a process that had been dialled up to unhealthy proportions when the fixture computer had given us Wrexham as the first match of the season. Some of these guys were ready to burst.

"Yeah," I said, "this is pretty much the longest relationship of my life. I suppose by now we're way past the engagement. We're married, I'd say. There's just one thing I don't understand. If we're married, why do I keep taking you on honeymoon?"

Cue laughter and wolf whistles.

"League titles, promotions, Wembley winners, and now you're in the big time. And what thanks do I get? You say I don't take you shopping enough."

More laughter - everyone knew it was a joke about making transfers.

I looked up at the big clock again. "Less than an hour to go. You nervous?" A hundred adults gulped at the same time. Quite the scene. "All right, let's try to crack on with this. We're here because over the summer I saw the latest Fan Engagement Awards and we were nowhere near the top of the league table thing they do. Who's at the top? Exeter City, same as always, and right up there you've got AFC Wimbledon. The fan-owned clubs, basically. We're below some hedge-fund investments and billionaire playthings and that's my fault. Now, we'd all rather be top of the Championship than top of the engagement table and obviously the way I do things is not very compatible with that algorithm because I'm secretive and I want to move fast and not discuss every decision from every angle. But long-term, our goal should be to top that table, right? One of the three metrics they look at is called Dialogue, and it's about how well the club communicates with its customers. Sorry, fans. Fans. That was a joke! Look at this guy's face. It was a joke, bro!

"We do the Fans Forum and we have lots of dialogue with fans around the fringes of our core decisions but we could do much better on that front. One of the problems is that I don't want loads of things in my calendar because I might want to drive to Leeds to watch a match at short notice. Me finding a new goalie is better for the club than telling the fans I'm trying to sign a new goalie. Right? But hey, it's your club and I should communicate more, so I thought, why not do it before matches sometimes? So that's why we're here. We've got a couple of cameras on me, one on you, so that people who aren't in the room don't miss out. Don't worry about the match preparations, by the way. Sandra's got it all sorted and in theory I could stay here until just before kickoff. What I'm thinking is that maybe I'll come and talk to you like this a few times a season in addition to the Fans Forums and all the other stuff. Apart from being worthwhile, it should get us an instant five points in that engagement table. Sound good?"

Applause says yes.

"I don't mind how we do this. I can just blab on for a while or you can ask questions. I thought about having someone up here on the stage with me but that always makes things look, ah, staged. Holy shit, was that amazing or terrible?" Behind me to the right were a couple of chairs. I slid one forward slightly. "I need a volunteer."

I picked a young guy in a shit hoodie and made him sit on the chair. He blushed slightly, but was grinning. His day was off to an unexpected and exciting start! I handed him something I had bought from a specialist shop. At first glance, it looked like a square calendar but when you turned the page all you got was a number. The guy moved from 10 to 9 to 8. "Oh!" he said, as it clicked. "I'm the judge. Judge Dredd!"

"More like Judge Dreadful Haircut. Ah, why did I say that? It's just a prank, bro!" He took the banter well but he turned the 8 to a 7. "Yes!" I said, enthusiastically. "That's what I want. Rate my dialogue, do you know what I mean?"

He thought about it and moved me back up to an 8.

"Top," I said. I turned to the front and pointed to a woman. "Was your hand up with a question?"

She called out, "Can we ask anything?"

"Yeah, ask anything. I might not answer everything. Go on, hit me."

"Are we doing any more transfers?"

I laughed, and so did a lot of the audience. Everyone knew how I felt about transfer mania. "Mamma mia," I said, pressing my thumb into my fingers and shaking my wrist. The judge took me down to a 7. I glared at him for comic effect. "How about we save transfers for the end, as a treat, after we talk about all the boring stuff like, you know, football matches." Laughter. "Or the new stand."

Loads of hands shot up. I pointed. A dude said, "When's it gonna be ready?"

"The first section is ready now but we couldn't get the safety certificate in time."

"My mates who normally sit in the West stand have been kicked out and there's gonna be Wrexham fans in there!"

My face hardened. "And what?" The dude sensed he was on thin ice and he backed down. I felt certain he had been about to say something like 'we'll have to fumigate the whole thing'. I clicked my neck, trying to squash down the feeling of aggression I always got when confronted by this cross-border bullshit. "A thousand years ago, a couple of lords were having dinner, maybe on this very spot, and one said to the other, bro, the peasants are revolting. Cue two minutes of puns and one-liners. No, but seriously, says the lord of Chester, they're asking themselves why I get the fastest horses, the fastest women, the best cuts of meat, and why I live in a castle while they live in a fucking ditch. Don't worry about it, says his mate. We'll just pit your lot against my lot and they'll fight each other instead of us. What are you talking about, says the first lord. That will never work. And here we are, a thousand years later, and the lords are still laughing at us."

There was a moment of what I hoped was thoughtful silence before a dude yelled out, "I have a question, sire."

That broke the tension and there was much chuckling, but not from me. "Okay, I'm the new lord of the manor, I get it. That's fair. But I'm not looking forward to this match and it's not for football reasons but because this one today has the greatest capacity to make me walk out the door. I love a football rivalry, it's great. Bit of heat, bit of tension, bit of banter, but we shouldn't have riot police on standby for any match, ever. Do you know what I'm saying? I had a chat with the police guy in charge of our matches and some of the things he told me about this fixture are horrible and shocking.

"If your rivalry blows up today, if there's violence, that's gonna push me all the way over to the exit. I'm not interested in throwing mud at a guy across the border while bragging about who lives in the better ditch. He's a carpenter, you're a mason, why aren't you working together to build two brand new villages? I want to take this club into the future with a light, airy, modern stadium. Some wires didn't come on time, which means that a few hundred people have to sit somewhere else today. If you can't handle a Welsh guy sitting in your seat for one match, I have to ask myself exactly who I'm working for and why." I stared at the guy who had started me off. "Anything you want to say?"

He shook his head.

The judge changed my rating to an 8. I nodded at him, calmed myself, and circled back to the main topic. "We didn't get the safety certificate in time to sell tickets to the new stand, but our next two fixtures are away which means we've got two weeks until the next home match, against QPR, and we should have a thousand seats by then but if not, a Londoner will sit in your seat. And if somehow it's still not open by the time of the WBA match, a Brummie will be in it." I very nearly escalated my rant, but thought better of it. To the judge I said, "This is me diplomatically not saying what I want to say."

He changed my rating to a 6.

"Okay, you're fired," I said. "Give me that." I took the number book from him and made him slide across to the other seat, then grabbed someone else from the crowd to be the new judge. The new guy was older and had a kind of Sebastian Weaver vibe. Solid, dependable, really amazingly good at one particular thing, like bleeding radiators or hanging up paintings. I gave him the numbers and faced the front again. "I intend to treat away fans with dignity and if that's not compatible with your belief system, stop reading the Daily Mail."

There was a smattering of applause and when I turned to check how the judge reacted, I pretended to be gobsmacked that the sacked judge had found a second numbers book. Now I had two judges.

The guy who had made the 'sire' joke spoke up. "I agree with you about almost everything you've said but I do have concerns about the club hiring Welsh army men. Can you explain the thinking behind that?"

"Yeah, it's an experiment. I coached that army regiment and got to know some of the lads through that. They're always looking for jobs on the side because army pay, you know. So I thought, hey, why not grab ten, put them in distinctive tops, and have them in the away end on a match day? They're not Chester fans, right, which is patently obvious, so as an away fan, what happens?

"You rock up at the Deva, you know your team's gonna get battered, you've had a shit week, you've been drinking on the train, maybe you'd be in the mood for a rumble if something kicked off. You walk round the stadium to the away end and you're assaulted, literally assaulted... by the smell of the most amazing kebab in the Western hemisphere. Holy shit, your mouth is watering.

"You head over there, rush through the turnstiles, and there's Emre's Kebabs. You join the queue and you're amazed to see that Emre is wearing a top from the team he supports. You say, is that Besiktas? He gets mad and yells, it's bloody Galatasaray! So this guy's an away fan, too! Then two hulking great beefy boys come and loom over you. Try the Philip Lahm Shank, says one. It melts in the mouth, says the other. You go, hang on, aren't you Welsh? That's right. What, you think we don't eat kebabs in the valleys? No, I mean, you're not Chester fans, are you? Why do you work here?

"Oh, we're on a peacekeeping mission, keeping an eye on the workers, like. Daffyd here's sweet on the beaut who sells the frogurt. I am not! Yes, you are, I've seen the way you look at her! Hang on, says the away fan. There's frogurt?"

I stopped. There were quite a few bewildered faces but the older judge was rating me as 10, the younger guy 8.

I kept going. "I was trying to think of a cool name for these guys and because they're in the army and they're a small part of a unit from Wales, I wanted to call them my Red Army Fraction, but they refused to wear that on their shirts."

"Why?" called someone. "Because they don't want to be associated with a terrorist group?"

"Er, no," I said. "They didn't want to wear the initials RAF. Wow, I thought that would get some laughs. I made up that whole part about the name just to get to that punchline. Guess I should leave comedy to the professionals.

"The hope is that the army lads contribute to an atmosphere where oppo fans feel like they're being treated with dignity. Your new away kit is mustard, love that; the bathroom is that way sir; enjoy the match, fellas. But if trouble does kick off, well, then ten strong, fit men are on hand to keep our employees safe." The judges had been wavering, but they moved to a unanimous 10. "Okay, some question that isn't about Wales, please. You, sir."

"Quite a few of our best players aren't available today because they're in Wales."

"You've navigated my ban on questions about Wales by not asking a question. That's actually genius."

"I'm not too happy about it. You've got our record signing over there with you, and our best young player. Isn't this just you taking our players to get yourself rich? And after you've given yourself a big pay rise, an' all?"

The guy got booed, so I put my palms up, asking for quiet. "Hold up, guys. I don't mind that question at all. I should be held to account, right? If there's any suggestion I'm up to no good, we need to have that conversation. I mean, my goal is obviously to make loads of money from Saltney Town, right. If I can. So the question is, am I using Chester's resources for selfish ends? And the answer is, yes. But what do you get? You get Wibbers and Gabby for another season.

"Clubs call us every week asking about Wibbers and I say what can you offer him that we can't? They go, he'll be a fringe player for a Premier League team, he'll get thirty minutes in a cup match. I laugh in their face. Or they go, we'll buy him and loan him to a Championship side. I laugh in their face. Mate, I say, he's got Championship football here, and we can offer him Champions League experience, too." The older judge was nodding. I waved my finger at the audience. "If you guys tell me I can't give Wibbers Champions League football, I have to sell him because in that scenario we're gonna be a hindrance to his development.

"Right now I can put my hand on my heart and say he's learning as fast here as at any other club in the world. All the lads who are playing in Europe are gonna come back better and when we sell them, we'll get higher transfer fees. Would I do it if I wasn't consulting for the other clubs? Absolutely, a million percent."

Applause, and I was still getting straight 10s.

A different guy had his hand up. "I agree with you when it comes to Wibbers, Gabby, Banksy, and if I close my eyes and squint I can just about see the sense in letting Sticky play full-time for Saltney as long as we get a new goalie in. But strangely, I don't feel the same with Magnus Evergreen. He's the only one where I think, hmm, not sure that's in the best interests of the club."

I nodded. "Amazing topic, thanks. I'll quickly touch on Sticky. We're paying his coaching wages and Saltney are paying his playing wages. We keep an irreplaceable coach, while Sticky gets to play every week and yes, have a go at the Champions League. That's amazing from his point of view. So that's win-win but as you say, there's a hole in our squad, one that I intend to fill in the coming weeks. That'll be in the transfer gossip later on.

"Okay and Magnus is a special guy. I have to be careful how I talk about him because I don't want you to get the wrong impression. When he plays, he plays hard, right? We can all agree on that? And he trains hard, too. This guy's a competitor in whatever he does. He has won medals and tournaments in all kinds of sports and contests. But he's not solely focused on football the way most of us are. He's interested in all sorts of things. Like, to him, healing a sick patient would be as big a win as a league title, which, by the way, I can't really say is wrong, especially if that sick patient is me.

"So if we want to keep him on the playing staff, which we do, we need to keep it interesting for him. Moving up the leagues is great because every season there's a new challenge, new levels, and that's motivational to anyone. Wibbers isn't going to come to my office on Monday morning to say, hey Max, I think I want to go and run ultramarathons across the Sahara desert, but Magnus might! Last season when we did the Gibraltar thing, he met a physiotherapist who had an interesting technique and he wanted to stay and learn from her. Fine by me!

"How does that benefit Chester? Now we've got two people on our staff who can offer a different method of treatment to everyone else in world football. It's a small edge, but it's something. So if Saltney get into the actual Champions League and Magnus says, you know what? That seems like fun, I'd like to stay a few more months. That's an instant yes from me. He might be back on Chester's playing staff in September, January, or the summer, but he's coming back as a better, more interesting person, and as a more complete player."

A new voice. "We could do with him today, though."

I looked up at the ceiling. "Why, because it's Wrexham?" I found some patience from somewhere and looked at the guy. "We are Chester. We are a small, fan-owned club with big ambitions but we have to find unorthodox ways of doing things and those things come with drawbacks. We've rushed to get a new stand built over the summer and didn't quite hit the very, very tight deadline. Okay, so we have to give up some space to the away fans. And we want to give our players an unbelievable opportunity, one that could supercharge their entire season, their careers even. Great, but they're gonna miss some games at the start. If we were playing Luton today, or Preston, you would be more likely to see the long-term benefits. This will all pay off."

Another voice. "Max, I don't mind you doing your Champions League fantasy at the start of the season, it's actually pretty mint watching those games and seeing Chester lads! And this time you're around to be the Chester manager, too, like you've been at every pre-season friendly. But, like, we've got a big cup match on Tuesday and you'll be in Poland."

"Yeah. No, I get it, I do. Sandra was looking at the squad she could choose from and she was saying it's like we're riddled with injuries and I do kinda feel bad about doing this to her but not really because all this stuff we're doing means she gets to use a turbocharged Wibbers at the end of the season, you know? Bark's a full international, Dazza has been out fighting for his country, Gabby's a Eurostar... It's all going to come together. On Tuesday we'll give it a good go but West Brom are a top team at this level and we're not quite ready for that kind of contest yet. Even with the full squad, even with me there. Saltney Town are closer to Lech Poznan than Chester are to West Brom.

"We'll do our best and if West Brom rotate their team or have an off day, who knows?" I knew. We would get slapped. "Look, from next season I expect to have the kind of squad that can have a good go at the AOK Cup. Like, a proper go. But we're not there yet. Ha." I rubbed my chin, wondering whether to say the next thing or not. I was on straight 10s from the judges, so I should have just kept my mouth shut. Fat chance. "I pitched an idea to the marketing team. I said that we should run a campaign with all sorts of jolly smiling people, workers giving thumbs ups in the stock image style, but the text would say 'I'm Ready for Relegation!' or 'Don't Dread the Drop!' It would be a sort of tongue-in-cheek way of saying we weren't going to get 100 points this season, we were going to get battered sometimes, and it would kind of reset everyone's expectations. Surprisingly, they weren't keen on the idea. Heh."

My ratings fell to 8 and 6. The rating system was broken. Engagement was overrated.

"How do you think we'll get on today?"

I closed my eyes and went through the tactics screens for both teams. "Today? We'll be fine. Wrexham have spent the last six years buying big beefy boys so they could play pub football and bully their way up the leagues. Now they've got a new manager who wants to play a frenetic, hard-pressing style. He has brought in, what, four players who fit his way of playing? So what are they going to do today? They might overpower us in moments but I think it's more likely that we'll absolutely boss them... unless the ref lets them kick the shit out of us. Next time we play, Wrexham will be far more organised and unified, Stefan Sommer will have worked out which of his current squad can play in his preferred style, and maybe they'll have bought a couple more players. When's that match?"

"March," someone called out.

"Right, yeah. So he'll have had the January window to reshape the squad even more, but today it's Paul Parker's boys trying to play an unfamiliar system. It's a great time to play Wrexham."

"What do you think of Stefan Sommer?"

"He's a real statement of intent from the ownership," I said. "I don't think they could have got anyone better. He has won this league twice with different teams and yeah, he's very good."

"That's really scary," said someone.

"Why? We're improving faster than anyone. We are the most terrifying prospect in world football." My ratings shot up to 10. I shook my head, smiling. "One thing about Sommer is that he's quite, ah, predictable. 30 minutes into the first half, his goalie will fall to the floor with a, cough, injury. Wrexham's players will run to the side to get updated instructions. Same thing will happen at 75 minutes. It's amazing that these brave goalkeepers manage to play through such debilitating diseases."

"Have you got something planned, Max?"

I smiled. "Who, me? Heh. Course not. I'll be busy managing the game, won't I? But we've got two sets of large, modern electric advertising boards this season, in front of each new stand, right? And the McNally and the new away end have big video screens hanging down from the roof. I don't want them to be too much in use because it can distract from what's happening on the pitch and detract from the atmosphere, but they're great for giving information and, sorry to say, we'll be using them to show some carefully-selected adverts."

The young judge was lowering his rating but the older guy stopped him and whispered in his ear. The young guy listened, then burst out laughing and switched his rating back to 10.

I enjoyed that moment.

A new speaker said, "We had a terrible pre-season."

"Did we? That's news to me."

"We didn't win a single game!"

"Oh, no!" I laughed. "Who won the pre-season friendly trophy? The Manager of the Summer award? Nah, guys, come on. Who gives a shit? We're in good shape. Even better shape than I expected, to be honest. If Wrexham don't strengthen in January, we'll be past their level by March. If you think about that, about how much they have spent to get to this point, that's spectacular. That's unbelievable."

"What's your appraisal of the team right now? And the squad?"

"I'm excited. Let me just say up front we're gonna struggle in a lot of matches this season and it won't always be pretty and it won't always be fun but believe me, we're gonna get to the last five games of the season looking like a good side for this level. Okay, clock's ticking. Let's talk about incomings and outgoings.

"Players out. There's Sticky and Magnus, of course, who we've talked about. You know the guys we've loaned out to Saltney and teams in Gibraltar. Sunday Sowunmi, the young defender, has gone on loan to Crewe, while Alfie Clitheroe is on loan at Wigan. Those are both in League Two, fourth tier, and we expect them to get loads of minutes. Banksy, Youth Cup-winning goalie and Conference League clean sheet specialist, will go out on loan when he comes back from Gib. Again, he'll get loads of minutes and come back better.

"Omari Naysmith and Tom Westwood were sold to Saltney Town for a hundred grand each. I know there was talk that we could have got more by selling elsewhere, but that's just guys in pubs going ah, we can sell that Tom for half a mill, easy. Nothing wrong with some guys talking shit over some craft ales but realistically, we weren't going to get better deals without giving minutes to the lads, which would have been hard. Those deals suited everyone.

"Ryan Jack retired from playing and he's our full-time loans manager, plus he helps with transfer negotiations and player welfare.

"Not really a player but talking about Ryan reminded me that we got Sam Topps back. He's playing for Saltney to keep his eye in, but during the week he's gonna be in charge of the youth system. I'm stoked about that.

"Players in. Helge Hagen, our record signing. 4 million quid. Bosh! He'll be on the bench today and he'll probably come on, but he will make his debut against West Brom in the AOK Cup on Tuesday. You, sir, with your hand up. Do you want to ask about his position? Yes, I have bought him to play as a full back. Yes, it's a lot of money for a full back. He's gonna be a big hit, just you wait.

"Wallace Wells, left winger. He's for the youth team really, but you'll see bits of him with the firsts. Very exciting, lots of promise, but we need to be patient with him while he develops physically.

"Dan Badford's back from his season-long loan at Tranmere and he offers us something we need in midfield. He's your classic, 'it's like making a new signing'. He's gonna start today and Wrexham won't know what to do except foul him.

"Talking of Diggy Doggy's new plaything - er, that's Tranmere, not Dan - we did two deals with them before the takeover went through. One was to buy a young striker called Lucas Cook. I won't say the price because he's just a kid and doesn't need the stress." In fact, it was a bargain at only £550,000. "I'm happy with the deal, especially because MD isn't taking the money out of my budget until next summer, but it came with strings attached. Tranmere want him to stay there this season. Jackie Reaper's an elite coach so normally I'd be fine with that, but you saw their result yesterday. 4-0, but it could have been eight. Absolute shambles. It might not be the best environment for Lucas but I couldn't get him out this window so we just have to hope he's resilient. As long as Jackie's there I'm not too worried, but you know what happens when there's a takeover. The new guys fire the manager at the first sign of trouble, appoint 'their own man', and then realise they've made a terrible mistake.

"We're sort of in the same boat with Tony Herbert, the defender from Panama. His fee has been widely reported, one point five million, but again, he's staying at Tranmere this season and will join us next summer. In his case, that's how I wanted it, because he's gonna play every game for them and he can handle League One and as a defender you can shine even in a struggling team.

"Right, so the men's squad has had a little refresh and we've got some of next year's business done already. Can you see me trying not to get smug? How am I doing with that?" I lost 2 points in my engagement rating, which was widely considered to be funny. "But seriously, what I'm really excited about is the development of the players we already have in the building. I don't know if it's the fact that Bumpers is looking great or if the players have been taking care of themselves better over the break, but from the minute they started training they hit the ground running. Guys are looking sharp. The word I have been using a lot is acceleration. I think we're gonna see a lot of acceleration from a lot of players this year.

"We've done it under budget, too. I suspect this will be the last season it will be possible to do that and from next year we will face horrific financial challenges in terms of paying people what the market dictates, but because we got promoted and won the cup and there's this sense of possibility, everyone wants to be here and everyone got a decent enough pay rise, while from the club's perspective we extended everyone's contract. When I look down the contract length column on my spreadsheet, there are loads of threes and fours, so all that transfer value is locked in.

"So let's talk about the other transfers we might do. I've got just enough wage budget left to afford one of the best goalies from League One, but that will cost a transfer fee. Not a big problem if we're eventually going to make a profit on that guy. But as good as the squad is, we're gonna struggle and suffer and so I have been looking at goalies that have been released from Premier League teams. Can we get someone in who will give us a bit of protection while our young players are working out how to play in the Champ? Well, there's one guy who fits the bill but his wage demands are a little higher than we have left in our budget. So to bring him in, I'd need to dip into our war chest to top up his wages. But we wouldn't need to pay a transfer fee because he's a free agent. But we'd be spending big money and we wouldn't get a future transfer fee because he's old.

"So it's a tricky situation. Both options would work, both guys would add something to the squad, Sticky rates them both as players and the grapevine says they're good pros. I've been letting it drag out in the hope that the free agent would accept lower wages or the other guy's club would accept a lower fee, but so far they haven't budged. I'll have to make a decision soon.

"That's just a bit of background on what's holding that deal up. That's the last piece of business I need to arrange. I can tease you with the knowledge that I have one nice little surprise for you that you'll hear about soon. A very nice surprise indeed, heh heh heh."

One guy stood up and held his phone aloft. "Is this the surprise?"

I leaned forward and squinted. "I don't have super-vision, sadly."

"It's our team sheet for today. There's a guy on it called John Liner. Can you tell us who that is? Because the only guy I know called John Liner is a comedian and he's in his sixties."

"No, he's not the surprise, no."

"Are you going to explain this?"

"Um... don't know. No." The judges took 2 points off me. "Yes?" I regained one point, but I had hoped to keep John Liner's role a secret. "No."

I lost two more points from both judges. The guy with the phone was shaking his head. "Is this because the TV companies want to interview substitutes? You're going to put John Liner on the pitch, sub him off, and they'll be forced to talk to him instead of a real player?"

"Hmm," I said, while rubbing my mouth hard. "Is that what I'm going to do...?"

The audience split, instantly, into two camps. Those who were already laughing at what was coming, and those who were appalled. The older judge shot my rating back up to 10, while the younger guy dropped me to a 2. "Max!" said the phone guy. "This isn't funny! People will laugh at us!"

I couldn't help it. I smiled as I said, "Well, that's sort of the point of a comedian." Cue another eruption of laughter and outrage. I put my hands up and brought them down slowly. "Guys, listen. My pay rise is nice but I could get ten times more at twenty other clubs. Why am I still at Chester? It's because of this." I took a couple of steps while everyone settled down. "We're getting into strange new territory. I have started to hear rumours that the Premier League is sick of dealing with the EFL and they're going to propose creating a Premier League 2 with no relegation to the football league. If that happened right now, we would be in the top two divisions forever. Does that sound good? Not to me. It sounds like a dystopian nightmare and I don't want to take part in the death of the rest of the pyramid. One of the reasons I worked so hard to get us to this point was to have a voice. I'll defend Chester, yes, but also the wider interests of football.

"These latest changes to our sport. Cameras in dressing rooms? Never. Never on my watch. Players need privacy and they need to vent. The sport will suffer if we allow cameras into the dressing rooms, fact, and I don't give a shit what they do in other countries. So far I have been able to push back by saying the Deva's wiring isn't up to scratch so we can't install the cameras, but I don't know how long I'll be able to get away with that one.

"The broadcasters pay the bills so we can't piss them off too much but we can and should and MUST push back against this fucking garbage they're shoving down our throats. Interviewing substitutes? Why? What's the point? Who asked for that? They want to turn our sport into a joke, so I'm holding up a mirror. Whenever we're chosen to be the live game, our star striker will be John Liner. If they want to talk to someone, they'll talk to him.

"You're gonna say it will cost us one of our five substitutes. Yep, it will. But we're going to be the only club with the balls to stand up to this crap. Every football fan in the country is going to laugh their heads off when they realise what we're doing. I want Chester to be everyone's second favourite club. That's the ambition and this takes us closer to that.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

"And by the way, the music venue we've built into the new stand is perfect for comedy, too. As of tomorrow, Monday night is comedy night. The main act? John Liner. The guy rattles off jokes non-stop, it's absolutely amazing. If you don't think I'm funny, that's fair, but do your mental health a favour and get yourself to one of his shows. I think he might actually be a genius."

For the first time in a long time, a group of Chester fans ignored me as they turned to their mates and discussed what I had just said. There were some sour faces, but every now and then came uproarious laughter.

I let it go on for half a minute before I said, "Hey, guys, can I have some engagement, please?" The room settled down, but with the energy dialled all the way up. I smiled. "Look, this is why I get annoyed with the anti-Wrexham stuff. Our fans and their fans should be united when it comes to these changes that erode our traditions. When those 'ideas' were announced, there should have been a co-ordinated, cross-club fan campaign to cancel your DigiWorld subscriptions, a boycott that only ended when they backed down. Instead, I have to do legendary stunts. Do you know what I'm saying? We and they are on the same side." Someone called out and I smiled wider. "Not today, no. Not all change is bad, but I think it's fair to say ninety percent of the changes that have been forced on football fans in recent years have been hot garbage. If you bump into a Wrexham fan later, why don't you talk to them about this? You might find they're as sick of it all as you are. Maybe you could help me out in my fight to defend the pyramid and stop billionaires from pillaging what belongs to us because I tell you what, I don't want to live in a ditch."

The judges quite liked that, but the older one said, "What does everyone else at the club make of this?"

With my lips open, I pressed my teeth together, which conveyed a flavour of the conversations I'd had. "Opinions vary," I said, dryly, which made almost everyone laugh. "Sandra is not happy because we lose a sub, but she can't get too mad about it because she wants me to babysit." More laughter, and the young judge reluctantly gave me another point. "MD is just, I don't know, resigned. I think he gets teased by the other MDs but they're just jealous. But Brooke and the marketing team are excited. They like it when we're in the news and there will probably be three or four viral moments today. They love it when I do things that drive engagement and after all, engagement is what we're all here for."

I looked up at the clock.

"The lads will be out for their last warm ups soon, but I've got a bit more time. I wanted to let you know what I've been doing with your money, apart from signing a 58-year-old striker." Some of the faces turned sour again, which I'm afraid to say made me laugh. I pulled some paper out of my pocket. "Okay, what have we got here? So we bought Helge and Wallace Wells and built the new stand. After that, we still had 4.9 million, which seemed like a fortune but it has been dwindling steadily. First was the cost of adding solar panels to the new roof. We got good grants thanks to our grant maestro, Kian. We bought more batteries and installed more charging stations. We bought two electric vans that you might have seen zooming around the city. Very useful.

"We bought two ice baths for the Deva, one for the home team, one for the away. They're not cheap. The hydrotherapy room at Bumpers is fully fitted now, so that'll be great for players recovering from injury and it's got a couple of sort of warm pool things where you can just go and bliss out. The repayments on the mini-bonds were 400k. We bought the freehold to the land that Bumpers is on." To make sure my work didn't fall into the hands of a wrong 'un, I had added a poison pill clause that would kick in if the fans ever sold the club. "We bought our dentist more equipment. He'll be able to deliver a more comprehensive service.

"On the women's football side, we bought Haley Goodhew for a world record fee, 300 grand, and it cost us another hundred and fifty to get Victoria Rose out of Blackburn Rovers." Victoria Rose was a tall, powerful 23-year-old centre back with CA 78, PA 174, who apart from having the potential to play for the best teams in the world also boasted a hitherto-unknown ability to play as a defensive midfielder. I had been desperate to get her before another club realised what a hidden gem she was. Okay, her CA was on the low side for what we needed this season, but I hoped she was simply a late bloomer and that we could accelerate her progress. It was when negotiating her transfer that I suggested Blackburn should let me take Danny Prince on loan at Saltney. "VR is absolutely key to us achieving our tactical goals in the medium term and I'm delighted I got that over the line."

One of the previous speakers said, "Sorry to interrupt your flow, but don't you think you're going overboard with the spending on the women's team?"

"No," I said. "Actually, not in the slightest. We've got another season of Chesterness money, we've got a little bit of TV revenue, more in sponsorships, and we aim to sell more tickets this year. The wage budget's 1.5 million and we're not close to that."

As things stood, the women's squad generally fell into three bands. The young guns (Amy Shone; the Welsh girls) were being paid 400 pounds a week. Most first team players (Femi, Kisi, Charlotte, Angel, Victoria Rose) were getting between 800 and 1,000. Kit Hodges, a big signing and our top scorer, was on 1,200. Sarah Greene, our best player, was on 1,300. Haley Goodhew was on a whopping 4,000 a week.

Even with these generous new contracts, the total wage bill only came to 17 and a half thousand a week, or 900,000 a year. Well within budget.

I stood on my tiptoes to look out onto the pitch. Our lads were out there, doing their pre-match drills. "Yeah, look, the women's team is getting more and more formidable and while the men are struggling on Saturdays this year, remember that you can come back on a Sunday and see a Chester team that's already a match for most of its league rivals. It's going to be a fun, fun season. Be part of it. So where was I? My war chest. We had 4.9 million, we got a little bit from selling the two Exit Trial lads, we spent a bunch.

"Couple of small expenditures I wanted to mention. We have invested in making the fan experience better. First, we got the bus company to put on a match day special that will ferry you from the city centre to the Deva for free. Just a little quality of life upgrade, right? You can still walk if you want but it's not the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, that route, is it?

"And we've rented some bus shelters and advertising boards in the centre. We've got them for a year at a decent price and it'll be like the billboard on the roundabout but on a smaller scale. I'm thinking about some tourist who's come to Chester and they see our poster advertising the next women's match and they think, huh, isn't that the team from the TV show? They might like it, buy some merch, sign up to watch us online. Yeah, as with most things we do, it's an experiment and we'll see how it goes.

"We're also paying to train up some young people who are interested in learning how to do football commentary. They're doing courses and we're giving them experience, like they are doing co-comms on Seals Live and one of them will get the chance to commentate on a Youth Cup match. We're sort of hoping to find the next Boggy and we're creating more and more content so we need people with distinctive voices. We're calling those guys the Boggy Bunch.

"Okay, after all that, we still have 3.6 million lying around. We need a chunk for a new goalie, and there are basically infinite things we can do with the rest but it might be that we need some for the January transfer window, right? So at the moment I'm in wait-and-see mode. Also, we spent big on Bumpers recently and in a couple of months I'll know if we've done enough for now or if there's something else we need to do. It's a consolidation season and I think we all need to just sort of take a deep breath, relax, and once the dust has settled - literally, in the case of Bumpers and the new away end - we can start to think about the next steps. The lads are going back inside. All right, time for football."

I peeled off my hoodie, revealing a retro yellow-and-green Jamaican home kit from 1998. I had struggled to decide if I wanted to get Best 77 on the back or Bark 15, but had gone with the latter. I double-thumbed the name, smiled, and thought about doing my Jamaican accent. I decided I was in enough trouble for one day.

"Come on you Seals!"

***

I went down to the dressing room to check everything was all right. Christian Fierce was confident. "We're good, boss, but John's in a state."

"What?" I said, amazed. We went over to him. "John, how you going?"

"Oh, grand, grand," said the guy. He was bald, his belly was straining against the blue-and-white kit he was wearing, and there was something about how he looked in shorts that made him seem like a schoolboy. He had briefly held the world record for telling the most jokes in an hour and he had a one-liner for everything. Normally, you couldn't shut him up but this morning he was subdued.

I gave him a friendly shake. "What are you worried about?"

"I can't play, Max! I'm terrible!"

"That never stopped Dazza."

"Thanks, boss," said the Australian striker.

"John, you're gonna be on the pitch for five seconds!"

"I know, but..." He looked at me, eyes wide. "But what if the ball comes to me?"

I gave him my most charming smile. "Mate, you're a comedian. The funniest thing you can do is try to kick it."

Dazza laughed. "He's got you there, John."

John was nearing sixty but had something of a baby face. "I haven't had stage fright in years."

"Mate," I said, seriously. "I could leave you on for twenty minutes and everyone else could play the worst games of their careers and we would still be better than Tranmere." I patted him a few times. "This is gonna be legendary." To Christian, I said, "Does everyone remember about the other thing?"

"They do. We're on it."

"Top." I went over to Sandra, who was very slightly angling herself away from me. "How's my godson today?"

She shook her head. "Don't think you can get on my good side by asking about Jamie."

"Yeah, you're right, that was a cheap trick. It's just that I got him a present." I went to my kit bag and pulled out a toddler-sized Chester slash Jamaica half and half scarf.

"Ohhhhh," said Sandra. "It's so tiny and adorable! Oh!"

"I got Brooke to order some for today to hand out as gifts but I think she knew it was for him. She likes it when I abuse my position in a way that generates amazing content."

Sandra pointed to John Liner. "That's amazing content, is it?"

I smiled. "You know it is. Okay, I'm gonna get the photographer and go to find Jamie."

"The photographer?"

"For our socials. Any chance we can get Jamie to say 'Glendale Logistics' as his first words?"

"His first words were 'fucking hell, Max.' It's sentences he can't do."

"I'll see you in the dugout."

***

EFL Championship Match 1 of 46: Chester versus Wrexham

I swiped away the option to activate Bench Boost and Triple Captain. I would consider using those perks when we played Wrexham in March but today we didn't have enough players to make it worthwhile. Thanks to the fact that I had scattered so many players to the winds, we barely had a coherent first eleven.

The opening whistle was greeted with a bloodcurdling roar. Wrexham's striker played the ball back to a defender. Instead of realising that we were essentially playing with ten men, he whacked it long towards our penalty area in true pub team fashion. Christian won the header and Youngster hacked the ball out of play.

The ref blew his whistle and pointed to the touchline, where the fourth official was holding up the subs board. Coming off was number 99, John Liner, and going on was number 15, Bark.

John Liner applauded every corner of the ground, but when he was twenty metres from the touchline he collapsed to the turf, holding up his leg. He had got cramp! Sandra, who disapproved of the whole stunt, was trying not to laugh, but it was pretty much impossible. John, with his baby face, was now signalling that he needed a stretcher. Colin Beckton, who had started the day in the 'this isn't funny' camp, was grinning as he helped John up.

John trotted, knees high, off the pitch and ran to the nearest camera. "I'm ready for my close-up!"

The home fans gave Bark a generous round of applause as he slalomed onto the pitch, and the sound of steel drums rang out.

After that stunt, the buzz around the stadium was amazing. Across from me in the West stand, 1,300 Wrexham fans were chatting, laughing, asking themselves what the eff they had just seen. Similar conversations were happening to my right in the McNally and behind me in the main stand.

The distraction took some of the heat out of the game, removed some of the passion, which I normally would have hated but in this particular instance, it was welcome. Body count so far: zero. Let's keep it that way.

Now that our real team was on the pitch, I took stock.

To my left, the new away end stood tall and proud. It looked identical to the McNally, but was actually a few metres fatter in order to fit the music venue inside. I hoped the fact that one side of the stadium wore XL instead of L wouldn't be noticeable from the aerial shots. I spotted it every time, but I was always looking out for it.

So far, about five hundred seats had been fixed into place and I was confident we would be able to move in by the next home game. In fact, I was pretty sure we would have been given the safety certificate had our first match been against any other opponent than Wrexham. From the authorities' point of view, the fewer people in the stadium for this game, the better.

We weren't allowed to sell tickets to the new stand, but I couldn't see any reason not to chuck in a bunch of musicians playing steel drums in front of massive Jamaican flags and a big sign saying, 'G'wan, Bark!' Joe Anka, now working for the club full-time, had been playing Bob Marley and Shaggy hits before kick-off, but Joe being Joe he had included some reggae deep cuts. The red of Wrexham, the blue of Chester, the yellow and green of Jamaica. Surreal, but I didn't mind that one little bit. Anything to take the edge off the hostility.

The football was secondary to the potential for violence and mayhem, but I thought we were looking good given how much I had hamstrung our preparations.

Wrexham had an average CA of 122, with a clear distinction between the 'old' players brought in under the Parky regime and the new ones signed under Stefan Sommer's watch. The old boys were just that: old. They were also slow, tall, and powerful. They were an artillery-based army. Boot the ball high and long, win territory that way, keep the pressure on by being more physical. The new guys were athletes who could run and run. High Stamina, more speed, more technique. Both factions loved a late tackle and a snide elbow to the face; our physios would be kept busy.

Wrexham were playing Sommer's favoured 4-3-3, which was a big change from Parky's five-at-the-back. Today's centre backs were very, very good, but were being asked to do something they hadn't done for years - defend as a pair. Meanwhile, two of Wrexham's new signings were playing in the front three and they were very fast, very good, but not huge. Several times already, Wrexham players had forgotten what year it was and had sent high balls to the wings.

As for us, I had left the club with a starting eleven that could do 3-5-2, in a fashion.

Swanny was in goal, so no problems there.

A back three of Christian Fierce, Zach Green, and Peter Bauer had enough steel to combat Wrexham's direct play, while Peter's skills would help us control the ball and evade much of the pressure that came at us.

Cole Adams was nominally playing as the left midfielder but most of the time I shifted him to be a sort of non-attacking wing back. He was perfectly competent when we had the ball, and his height was useful against this opposition.

Bark was on the right as a conventional wide midfielder, while in the middle we had Joel Reid, Youngster, and Dan Badford.

Dan was only CA 94, seemingly miles off the required levels, but he had the ability to take the ball from either Zach or Peter, turn, and progress it. If that's the only thing he did for the whole match, he would fuck up Wrexham's plans big time.

Up front, last season's top scorer Colin Beckton was joined by Dazza. The latter hadn't trained much but all he needed to do was clatter into Wrexham's centre backs and help us out on set pieces.

That eleven had an average CA of 112.6, which I was ecstatic about. Not even our strongest team and we were a mere 10 points behind moneybags Wrexham! It actually made me feel great about the last two seasons of struggle - we were improving far faster than anyone else in England.

That said, I was realistic about how the first ten games of this season were likely to go, so I was fairly dispassionate on the touchline. I triggered Seal It Up so that we wouldn't get off to a terrible start, and watched carefully as the phases of play developed. Wrexham operated as I had expected, in a threatening but disjointed manner, and I created hotkeys to let me 'deform' different parts of our system. Instead of Cole dropping deeper, I could do the same with Youngster, and I even experimented with putting Dan Badford in the DM slot, just ahead of Peter Bauer. We stretched Wrexham where they didn't want to be stretched, and got more solid where they hoped we would be weak. I rated myself 10 out of 10.

"What do you think?" I said.

"It's good," said Sandra. "Good start. We're hard to play through, we look more coherent than Wrex, and we're moving the ball nicely."

"Yep. Peter and Dan are so slick. They're not even cooked yet but they're so tasty. Do you know there will be loads of pub quiz questions based on this match?"

She was half-listening, worried about a duel between Bark and his opponent. "Yeah?"

"Oldest player ever to make his professional debut. Fastest substitution." I left a pause. "First woman to manage in the Championship."

She smiled. "Yeah."

"Youngest baby to chant 'come and have a go if you think you're hard enough!'"

We watched together for a few minutes, but there was nothing I needed to do. I went to the dugout and squeezed myself next to Helge. The huge striker turned full-back was in the squad for the first time. The curse told me how excited he was to be playing in the Championship and that he was 'keen to impress his new manager'. "How you doing?"

"We have started well," he said, not even trying to hide his surprise.

"Yeah, why wouldn't we? We're mint. You remember the plan when you go on?"

He nodded. "We switch to 5-3-2, I'm at right back."

"Bosh," I said. "Let me know if you have questions about what you're seeing."

"I have one. Dan is playing very well. Would you consider leaving him on?"

Dan had a match rating of 7 out of 10, which was above expectations. "Not today, no. He would get eaten alive in the second half. In fact, I'm hoping that a big part of Sommer's half time talk is about closing Dan down, stopping him getting in those pockets of space, forcing him to move towards danger, but that will be wasted time because Dan won't be there. Lol."

As we watched, Zach passed the ball to Dan, who had a red-shirted bully steaming towards him. Dan lazily deflected the ball to Joel Reid, but the Wrexham guy didn't slow down and he crashed into Dan.

"Fucking hell!" yelled Helge.

I found my fists clenching. "Mate," I said. "If you get the chance to stick it to that guy..." I closed my eyes. "Don't do it. The squad's razor thin; we can't have you getting suspended."

"The ref didn't even give the yellow card!"

"I know. He's scared of being on the dickumentary."

I got up and wandered around the technical area, trying to stop myself from boiling over. Wrexham's cuddly billionaire owners had got the British media on their side - stories about Wrexham earned clicks - before going in two-footed on the ref who had been in charge when they botched their first attempt at getting out of the National League. Any referees who dared give decisions against them got burned at the stake, and boy did the refs know it.

There was so much to rage at, but only so many hours in the day. I had set today's targets ahead of time. I went back to the dugout and waited until the half hour mark, when the first fake injury would take place.

***

Commentary from Seals Live. Boggy is sharing the hot seat with one of his apprentices, Robin.

Boggy: Bark darts down the right. He's forced to check back. Neat ball inside to Reid. Youngster. Badford - what a half he has had - we go right to Bark again. Bark, the international footballer! He's got Colin Beckton and Dazza in the middle if he can get space for a cross. He checks back again and passes to Reid again. But that's a lovely ball over the top! Bark chases, nice cross! [Crowd goes ooooh!] Headed just over by Dazza Smith!

Robin: That was so good. We moved the ball around patiently, rode challenges, kept our wits about us, and when we up the speed of our passing, Wrexham find it hard to live with us.

Boggy: What do you make of the half so far?

Robin: Before kickoff Max gave me a piece of card with a quote on it. He told me he would give me six pounds if I said it on air. The quote goes, 'Without contraries there can be no progression.' I think he wants us to draw a contrast between the start and how silly that was and the actual football, which has been very serious. Yes, we're new to this level but this is a very serious team. I'm excited about what I'm seeing. Aren't you, Boggy?

Boggy: I'm loving it! That was a very good use of that quote, Robin. Six pounds well earned, if you ask me. Yes, this has been a serious - hang on, what's happening here?

Robin: The goalie's faking an injury so that Stefan Sommer can give his team instructions. Max said about it in the pre-match Engagement.

Boggy: These fake injuries are a blight on the game! I wish somebody would do something about it.

Robin: Er, I think Max is doing something about it.

[Pause.]

[Boggy bursts out laughing.]

Robin: [Trying to talk while trying not to laugh.] Boggy has gone! We've lost Boggy. I'm new at this but let me try to describe the scene. As he always does when his teams are getting opened up and his tactics aren't working, the Wrexham head coach Stefan Sommer is taking advantage of a stoppage to reorganise. The goalkeeper, of course, is the only player who doesn't have to leave the pitch after receiving treatment. The physios are in the penalty area now. I wonder what it's like for them, pretending to be checking someone they know is just fine? How do they sleep at night?

Boggy: [Wheezing.] Focus on Max.

Robin: Sorry, yes, good call. So while the usual despicable shenanigans are defouling the very spirit of the game, the very grass of this green earth -

Boggy: Oh, very good.

Robin: Over on the touchline, when Stefan Sommer started to deliver his instructions he found that he was mostly talking to Chester players. They have formed a kind of defensive wall down there, jostling for position. Max himself was right next to Sommer and appeared to be giving the Wrexham players different advice. Sommer was saying, go wide, and Max was saying, no stay central. When the Wrexham staff tried to push Max away, the Chester players became more belligerent. It's much ado about nothing, of course, but there is no chance any tactical information is being given right now. I do believe Max intends to do this during every single fake injury stoppage. It's funny this time but at some point it will aggravate the authorities.

Boggy: Have you met Max? That's what he wants. They will probably try to stop him doing this but there's a faint chance they might go to the root cause and do something about the fake injuries. And - [pause] What? [Boggy cracks up again.]

Robin: Okay, I'm one hundred percent sure that Sommer didn't get any tactical info across to his players because Max has stepped up the silliness. The ref realised there was a commotion and ran over. He told Max to get to his technical area, but Max was saying, 'I only came here to give these flowers'. He presented - or tried to present - a massive bouquet of flowers to Sommer. I think I saw one of those oversized 'Get Well Soon' cards, too. At the same time - [Robin giggles] - at the same time, all the electronic advertising boards changed to read UGI dot co dot uk. A few seconds later they read: Have you experienced an unexplained goalkeeper injury? Then you need UGI dot co dot uk.

Boggy: I'm looking it up. Oh my God, there's a website! There are dozens of photos of Sommer's goalkeepers on the floor surrounded by physios. Oh, Max. [He cackles.]

Robin: What happens now? Does the goalie get up and play on? He doesn't seem to realise he's in the centre of a storm. Yes, he's getting up. He'll play on. So brave!

Boggy: Thanks for taking the wheel, Robin. You displayed excellent composure. I wonder what - [Pause.]

Robin: Boggy has gone again. The boards are now promoting a company called Miraculous Recoveries. There's a picture of a tow car, so presumably it deals in, ah, roadside recovery. Boggy's checking if it's a real company...

Boggy: [Wheezing. He sounds dangerously short of oxygen.] It's the same website! [He exhales painfully.] But with more trucks...

Robin: Well, the Harry McNally terrace is giving Wrexham's goalie some stick, I think it's fair to say.

***

Sandra had been staring at nothing for about half a minute. "Max," she said. "A word?"

I walked to her side. "Hmm?"

"Those adverts are going to land us in hot water. Haven't we done enough poking the bear today?"

"Nope. And we haven't broken any rules on this one. I had Emma, Gemma, and Briggy quadruple check. The rules are weak as piss, right. To get on the advert hoardings, it only needs to be a real company. UGI dot co dot uk is a real company, registered at Companies House and everything. So is Miraculous Recoveries. And they paid the market rates for the spots, too. It's all done by dynamic pricing now. An AI takes care of it for us so sadly we can't peer into the algorithm to check exactly how it came to the decision to price that particular advert."

Sandra inhaled. "Was the price six pounds?"

I tried not to grin because she didn't seem quite in the mood. "I wouldn't be surprised if it was about that much, yeah."

She rubbed her eyebrow hard. "I don't - "

"Hey," I said, giving her a quick side-squeeze. "Sommer is a systems manager but all his players were bought for a different system. He's tried to talk to them just now and hasn't got a word in edgewise. They're flustered, but our guys are loving it. Chaos suits us. Look."

We watched as Wrexham overhit a pass, giving possession back to us. They snapped into a challenge on Peter Bauer, who was too nimble and was tackled late. The howls from our fans finally got through to the referee, who showed a yellow card. The next phase of play led to another late tackle on Dan. More howls, and this time our entire eleven got in someone's face. Wrexham had some big lads but we had Christian, Zach, Cole, and Dazza. Even Youngster was riled up. He was wagging his finger at someone.

The ref showed another yellow, and amazingly, it was aimed at the right person.

"Shit," said Sandra.

"Okay?" I said.

"Okay," she agreed.

"Jamie's first sentence. Mamma didn't raise no fool."

Sandra's face softened. "Do not teach him that, Max Best!"

"Okay. I pwomise."

She tensed her body up as she went, uuuuurrrrgh! But then she was dancing down the touchline, pointing, yelling "Go! Go! Go!"

Cheeky Dan Badford had taken the free kick slightly earlier than anyone expected. Dazza had got the ball, turned, and played it wide to Bark. He had pushed it forward and was sprinting down the right wing.

***

Boggy: Barkley chasing the ball! Has he got the legs? He does! He crosses! Dazza leaps! He can't get to it. It's half-cleared, but Cole Adams collects. He spits the ball to Joel Reid. He has a little bit of time. He sees Dazza and his marker wrestling each other. What does he - Reid slips a pass through the defenders. Beckton is there. Becktoooonnnnnnnnnnn!

Robin: Get in!

Boggy: Beautiful pass, quality finish! The Deva is rocking! Sandra Lane embraces Max Best. He hasn't made her life easy in recent weeks, but what a reward for all her hard work. The first woman to manage in the second tier of English football is ahead. And it's against Wrexham! What a story!

Robin: I'm a lucky charm. Can I come back?

Boggy: And as the host skilfully moves past the awkward question, we take a moment to listen to the steel drums. Ah, that's familiar. What are they playing?

Robin: Best Will Tear You Apart Again.

***

Incredible first half, not just for what we did, but how we did it. The Peter to Dan axis looked incredible to the point I wondered if I should give Dan some of my Secret Sandra boosts. If only I knew what his limit was!

The guys stormed the dressing room, absolutely elated. When you go to a new level, there's always that doubt. Can we actually hack it here? Are we going to do a Derby County and finish with a record low number of points?

Based on that first half, no. No way. We belonged here.

"Okay lads, settle down," I said. They didn't settle down fast enough. "Hey! Shut up, for fuck's sake!" I was standing at the front next to a TV we had wheeled in just for today. It was showing the broadcast from DigiWorld 4k+. "Okay, it's gone to ads. Chat away."

A minute later, I yelled at everyone again, and the room fell silent.

"Oh Christ," I said, as I shifted my weight from leg to leg. "Oh God. It's happening." The screen was showing a generic football studio with a host and two analysts, but there was a TV there, and on that feed was a picture of a bald 58-year-old footballer wearing our home kit. I turned the volume up. "Hahaha, holy shit, they're actually going to talk to him. Why can't everyone be quiet! Shush! Listen to your new teammate get interviewed or you're fired!"

***

Interviewer: We're here in the tunnel at the Deva Stadium with Chester FC's John Liner. John, people are suggesting that maybe this was all a prank, that it's some kind of protest. What's your take on it and why did you agree to be involved in what some people might call a childish stunt?

[As John Liner speaks, he side-eyes the camera and either raises his eyebrows or gives it a cheeky smile. He delivers his speech with short, rapid-fire sentences that make it almost impossible for the interviewer to interrupt.]

John Liner: I met Max Best at a golf course and we hit it off immediately! I said what's your handicap, he said I've got one leg shorter than the other. He said, I need a court Chester, do you want the job? I said sign me up, I've had all kinds of jobs in sport.

I was an NFL quarterback but I got sacked. I was a camel racer but they got the hump. I was in the Olympic Badminton team but they couldn't understand why I brought a horse. I went drag racing and they said 'why are you dressed like that?' I started a business doing birthday parties for referees but I couldn't get bookings. I went fishing with the Detroit Pistons but I got nothing but net. I went fishing with the Brooklyn Nets but I got nothing but shopping trolleys. I beat my old horse at a shooting drill; I outperformed my ex gee-gee.

Max saw I was qualified, so he took me up in a lift and on every floor he said the new handball rule made perfect sense. He was wrong on so many levels!

Interviewer: Do you think we could -

John Liner: In his office, he said come and join the team, I said, aren't you a control freak? He said he hadn't decided yet.

I said, look, I want the job but I'm worried that the stadium straddles England and Wales. What if semiaquatic mammals start charging around? He said 'I think you've got borderline hippotension'. I said why don't the goalies use every page in their notebooks? He said they want to keep a clean sheet. I said why are your strikers always composing music for films? He said they can't stop scoring.

Interviewer: Can we -

John Liner: A Japanese man once threatened to give me a paper cut. I said you and whose origami? A man once told me he was from an island near Australia. I said could you be more Pacific? A man once told me he was from Greece. I said which part? He said You're The One That I Want.

Interviewer: Back to the studio.

***

Euphoria is addictive and in that dressing room, contagious. I floated around in front of the benches, laughing, hugging, giving high fives. Everyone who doubted my plan was utterly converted when they saw it in action.

I had taken a stupid, absurd concept, that of trying to interview a footballer at half time, and dialled it up way past eleven.

Everyone knew that this would be all over social media for days. The raw footage, then the reactions, then the po-faced reactions to the reactions, then the memes mocking the fun police.

And at the end, maybe someone at the TV company would say, why are we doing this bullshit again? Everyone fucking hates it.

Engagement, bro. I had decided to embrace it.

John Liner poked his head into the dressing room, uncertain about whether he was welcome.

The roar of approval that greeted his appearance would have pushed his hair back - if he had any.

***

Our switch to 5-3-2 in the second half flummoxed Stefan Sommer. With Cole Adams on the left, Helge Hagen on the right, we surely had the tallest full back pairing in world football. Add Christian and Zach and our back line was massive. Wrexham's pub team schtick bounced right off us - literally.

But Sommer was no mug, and as time passed he got more of a grip on his players. He tweaked and he made subs and he got his men playing something more like his version of football. Wrexham started to dominate the ball and started to get quarter-chances, but our defence was solid and I was using my hotkeys to drop Youngster back into the DM slot from time to time to put the nail into Wrexham's build-up play.

We rebuffed them until the 75th minute mark, at which point Sommer sent out the signal for his goalie to claim to be hurt.

I rushed to his technical area to offer my condolences by way of flowers.

As my players rushed to get between Sommer and his players, Joe Anka spoke over the public address system. "We ask you to join us in a minute's silence for Wrexham's goalkeeper, who has picked up his second serious injury of the match."

The steel drummers played the death march.

The advertising boards changed to read: WORLD-CLASS CHEAT.

A dozen cute little kids emerged from the bowels of the new away end, were helped over the boards, and they carried massive bouquets of flowers towards Wrexham's goalie.

The referee was freaking out. He ordered the kids to leave the pitch, so they placed the flowers behind the goal along with a large sign reading '2 serious injuries every match; so very very brave.'

The goalie got up, went to the sign, and tried to break it into bits. The advertising boards changed to read: Miraculous Recovery.

Joe played a snippet from the James Bond ballad You Only Live Twice.

Everywhere you looked there was pandemonium.

"Max," said Sandra, pulling me away from Wrexham's technical area. "We're going to get into trouble for calling an opponent a world-class cheat."

"No," I said. "That's a real company. Cheat's an acronym for something. It's the UK's leading provider of advice in the football crypto and football NFT space."

"Oh, really? What advice does this company give?"

"Pay them six quid and they'll advise you not to buy NFTs," I said.

***

Stefan Sommer was fuming. This was a big day for him, too. It was his competitive debut as Wrexham's manager and this episode of their dickumentary would all be about how we had turned it into a joke.

Unfortunately, amusing as it was, there was nothing funny about the disparity between our benches. I had youngsters like Chas Fungrieve and Wallace Wells on the bench. Wrexham had a fleet of highly-paid, highly-experienced former international players.

Sommer unleashed them on us and we spent ten minutes trying to keep them at bay. Our tall guys were able to deal with most of the ugly long balls, the hoofs, the punts. Our nimble guys took care of most of the intricate passing, the scoops and flicks.

Peter Bauer had taken me aside one morning at the canteen and said he thought we would be okay in the Championship because we so often practised against different styles of football. I asked what he meant. He said that our first versus reserves games were incredibly varied and my ability to mimic any opponent meant that our defenders were constantly stressed - in a good way - constantly given different sorts of questions to answer. He said that Chester's reserves were the ultimate training tool.

We had agreed it would be wise to lean into that.

Wrexham were knocking on our door. Getting closer. Then one of their midfielders found himself in a decent position and with seven teammates ahead of him, he took a shot that went into row Z of the new stand. That's when I knew we wouldn't concede. Not today.

Stefan Sommer sensed it, too, and he threw the dice.

***

Boggy: Five minutes of normal time to go and it's still one-nil to Chester. One-nil to Chester! Against Wrexham! In the Championship! What a game we've had. We'll be talking about today for years, I'm sure.

Robin: Sub for Wrexham.

Boggy: Yes, the away team will make their last sub. No doubt a new goalkeeper to replace the one who is so frequently wounded. Ah, no. It's Josh Owens!

Robin: Josh Throw-Ins.

Boggy: Former Chester player Josh Owens will get a rare outing in a red shirt. And there's Max Best prowling the touchline. He's pointing into the Main Stand and into the McNally. Very aggressive pointing.

Robin: He's telling them not to boo.

Boggy: Ah, yes! There's... moderately warm applause from the Main Stand. Best... is satisfied. He gives a thumbs up and retreats to his spot in the dugout. Play continues. Wrexham hit a hopeful ball to the left towards Owens. Hagen heads away and Bark clears. What do you make of our new record signing?

Robin: Unspectacular, in a good way. He has slotted in, hasn't he? And he's so dominant in the air. He gives me a sense of security when we're defending set pieces.

Boggy: I'd agree with that. Another big diagonal pass, this time towards Wrexham's right-hand side. Cole Adams jumps and heads it out of play. That was a little bit tired from Adams.

Robin: Max says pre-season was good but Wrexham look fitter to me. They're coming on stronger at the end.

Boggy: They have used all five subs.

Robin: That's true. We know our cupboard is bare right now and we know the reasons, so let's just hope we can cling onto this win.

Boggy: Josh Owens is going over to the far side to take this throw-in.

Robin: Oh, God.

Boggy: He'll hurl it towards the new away end, empty apart from some flower-bearing children and steel drummers. Owens runs, throws, oh it's MASSIVE! Into the box. Fierce jumps, can't clear, pinball, where's it gone? [Roar.] It's in the back of the net! Wrexham have equalised. They've scored from a Josh Owens long throw!

Robin: No!

Boggy: Heartache for Chester! Relief for Stefan Sommer. The away fans are making all the noise now!

***

Wrex put us under pressure for a few minutes but Peter Bauer danced out of defence and drew a foul. We moved the ball into the final third, where Colin Beckton drew a foul. Two of my player-coaches using their experience to take the sting out of the game, to use the oppo's stupidity against them.

Two of my player-coaches? Yeah. Joel Reid stepped up to take the free kick and dropped it onto the head of my third player-coach. His header went wide, but it got our fans off their seats and cheering us on again.

Our third player-coach was Zach Green, who had decided it was time for him to do his first badge. I wouldn't know his coaching profile until the course was over, and I wasn't expecting loads, but he seemed to be great with kids and we had plenty of those he could work with. Also, there wasn't much rhyme or reason to which players made great coaches. Some seemed to be slam dunks but bombed. Some didn't seem cut out for it but had amazing numbers. Time would tell.

Time told in this encounter.

The referee blew his whistle.

One-all. Both sides could claim to have been the better team, both sets of fans would go home content. The Wrexham guys had to stay in their seats for ten minutes while the Chester fans departed. Normally, the away fans would stand and sing but I had a better idea.

A bald figure approached them, microphone in hand.

"All right, well, that's the warm-up act done. So an Egyptian horse walks into a bar and the barman says, why the long fez?"

***

I hovered around the edge of the pitch closest to the security control room. The Brig and Briggy were in there, helping to make sure things went smoothly all around the stadium.

After a couple of minutes of me trying to get nervous but instead laughing at John Liner's stupid and stupidly brilliant puns, I saw the Brig coming down the stairs. He smiled. "I think we did it, sir. No reports of trouble, most of the Chester fans are away from the area, Dylan is saying that the vast majority of the Wrexham lot are staying to listen to John Liner's set. No sign of trouble, lots of people smiling. I think it's safe for you to relax."

I inhaled and breathed out. Not quite a sigh of relief, but if the Brig said it was safe, it probably was. "Relax? Okay, I'll try. Tell everyone they did great today."

I made my way along the side of the pitch, where someone from DigiWorld called out, "Max, can we have a word?"

I pointed across the pitch towards my star striker, who was slaying with a series of puns about life insurance. "Talk to him." Inside the dressing room, Jamaican music was playing and half the lads were dancing while the other half were clapping or whooping. "Oh, amazing. Can I do my accent now?"

Zach Green pressed stop and was roundly booed. "Sorry, fellas, but I have an announcement."

He walked to the door, opened it, and in walked Brooke. I pointed. "Billionaires aren't allowed in here!"

"No," said Zach. "But players' wives are."

Brooke beamed as she lifted her hand. There was something incredibly shiny on one of her fingers. "We wanted to tell y'all before putting it on Insta."

Everyone was about to rush forward to congratulate the happy couple but I waved my arms around violently and got everyone's attention. "Everybody stay calm, okay? Nobody move. I only get one shot at this." I walked around Zach and Brooke, who were holding each other very sweetly. I held up one of the flags that was lying around. "Zach, listen carefully... Zach. Jamaica?"

He smiled hard but he knew what I wanted him to say. "No, Max. She wanted to."

I clenched my fist and pumped it. "Yessss. Life goal achieved. Thank you, Zach. Thank you."

Brooke shook with laughter. "You guys are so dumb. Today was so dumb. I love it! Thank you all for being part of my life."

I had the reggae playlist open and found the perfect one for the moment. We heard a big sexy saxophone and then: Baby I Love Your Way by Big Mountain hit and hit hard.

Brooke and Zach danced. After twenty seconds of wolf-whistling and cheering them on, the dance-inclined people - the showoffs, as I called them - joined in. The overall standard was low so I got involved to show them how it was done.

I bopped my way closer to Brooke and gestured that I wanted to see her new ring. I had to talk loud to be heard. "Just checking because I think I might have been doing it wrong..." I held her hand up. "Is this what you meant by driving engagement?"

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