7.
FIFA Under 20 World Cup 2025, Chile
Monday, June 2
Group C: Valparaíso
In any football tournant, the caran are more interested in the crowd than what's happening on the pitch. Bonuses are paid every ti they get a good shot of the president of FIFA sitting next to soone with a regional monopoly on violence. There is huge interest in likeable superstars such as Taylor Swift, while showing Ed Sheeran is good for hate-watchers and generating angry engagent on socials. But what really elevates a cara operator to elite status is their ability to spot and ho in on beautiful won.
[An Italian player wearing his country's gorgeous blue kit passes the ball out of play and points at a stricken comrade who is on his back, clutching his calf. The referee signals the physios.]
Tyler (Comms): Bit of a break in play here as an Italian player goes down. It was off the ball, no contact. Is it Palazzolo? I think it is. Could be a muscle injury?
Jen (Co-comms): That's right. He'll be worried right now. That could be his tournant over. I hope not; he'll have been looking forward to this for months, ever since Italy qualified.
Tyler: How do you assess the match so far?
Jen: It's very much what we expected. Italy dominating but New Caledonia showing flashes of the talent that got them here. Three-nil's a fair reflection of the balance of play but New Caledonia have threatened on the break. You see the Italy manager is very aware of it. He's there now, big gestures, probably reminding them of what they need to do on their rest defence.
[We cut to a couple in the crowd. A blonde woman is resting her head on a man's shoulders. She seems to be asleep.]
Tyler: [Chuckles.] Not everyone's enjoying it.
Jen: Maybe he's been teaching her about rest defence.
Tyler: Not sure about the yellow hair.
Jen: I don't mind it.
Tyler: Looks like Palazzolo is good to continue.
Jen: That's good news for him but even better for his manager. Palazzolo's been impressive so far. Lots of clubs here looking at him.
***
The half-ti analysis proved difficult to make interesting; Italy had not been tested in any aningful way. The program's host led the two in-studio analysts through so of Italy's best moves but instead of showing the chances created by New Caledonia - there weren't any - she got a slightly cheeky smile.
"Rember the woman who was sleeping on her friend's shoulder? We kept an eye on that scene. Here's what happened next."
[We cut back to a shot of Max and Emma, but Emma is even more zonked. Max is trying to hold her neck straight.]
"Good support there. Trying to keep a good shape."
[Max taps the shoulder of the guy in front of him. The stadium is far from full but the turnout is decent given how one-sided the match was expected to be. Max uses one-handed sign language to indicate he needs help. The man in front, who is in a red Chile top, is willing but doesn't understand what is needed. Max points to the space in front of him. The man lifts up a backpack. Max bids him to extract sothing from it. The man rummages and cos up with a neck pillow. Max gives him a thumbs up but realises he won't be able to put the pillow on by himself. The Chile fan signals to the person behind Emma, passes the pillow across, and while Max gently eases Emma's head more upright, the man behind slips the pillow around her neck. Max does a tiny fist pump. He quietly high-fives the man in front and tries to reverse high-five the man behind. He fails, and asks the man in front to high-five the man behind. It's smiles all round.]
We cut back to the studio. "What teamwork!"
One of the analysts has an ace up his sleeve. He gestures towards his phone. "You know, Sarah, unless my followers are mistaken, that young man is Max Best. He's the manager of Chester FC in the English League Two and he's probably here to watch his Ghanaian midfielder in the match against Peru later."
"Oh, fascinating! We hope to have so team news before the final whistle. Let's hope he didn't co all this way for nothing."
***
XP balance: 1,443
While Emma got so fitful rest in the roofless Elias Figueroa stadium, I took stock of the situation.
With my Relationism studies finished for the sester, we had enjoyed so Emma ti, taken Chelli and Tockers to the airport, then a couple of days later parted with Henri and Luisa. My new haircut told that instead of thanking Luisa for her (mostly) patient translations, I should pick her up and whirl her around. The haircut was right!
This morning we had flown five hours to Santiago and got straight on the road to Valparaíso, 90 minutes away. After watching two matches here, we would travel back to Santiago and spend the next two days there before moving on to two more cities in two days. It was good Emma was getting so rest because this could get very exhausting very quickly. I wouldn't say I was hosick but I was done with living on the move.
As for the football, well, it was a sha for the tournant to start with a damp squib.
New Caledonia had a lot of heart and so decent players but none that interested , certainly not at the cost of one of my precious ESC slots. Italy were the opposite - I would have taken ten from their squad in a heartbeat, but those ten were already well known and a quick internet search suggested their next destinations would be big clubs willing to spend a few million on a hot prospect. No arbitrage possible on those guys. No deals to be had. They went into my database and I used them to test theories about the value of the new Attributes I had unlocked: Off The Ball and Decisions.
I kept my eyes on the action to suck up experience points (3 per minute) while I let my mind drift.
A lot had happened on the night of the 31st. I woke up with the curse update already installed and a bewildering amount of new information.
For a start, my reputation. I was still rated 'poor' in England and 'unknown' internationally, but the curse counted as a League Two manager and Chester a League Two club. Number go uuuuup.
The achievents system had been removed. No big loss there.
The profiles of my staff had changed. So numbers had gone up, one or two had gone down. Sandra's favourite formation had changed to 3-4-3. More on all that later.
Another change: hundreds of non-league players had seen their contracts expire and were free agents. So I knew about but so ca as surprises - I had scouted those guys before unlocking the Contracts perk. There were a few options there, guys with decent CA I could try to get to Saltney, West, or College. Players from the top four leagues tended to have a contract expiry at the end of June so I had to wait a few more weeks before I could sign any of those.
Then there were all sorts of small tweaks to the interface. Many seed to take the way I used the curse and make it even easier. I had more control over the fonts which sounds very fastidious but which allowed to optimise my space better, foregrounding important information like soone's age and reducing things that didn't change, like a player's nationality.
Tiles could be dragged and dropped more easily instead of having to force things, and I was better able to bring tiles across screens with . I could, for example, sort my squad by wages in one section of my vision while browsing the player market. If I felt player X would need 1,500 a week, I could put that into perspective. 'He would be my sixth highest-paid player - do I really want that?' That sort of thing. Big quality of life improvents based on what I wanted, not what the imps thought I needed. If only big tech companies were run by imps and not demons.
I was also able to see more panels when the Match Overview screen was locked in. I could bring up the latest news items, for example, and I could view the curse shop even if I couldn't use it. That would be helpful when it ca to watching the Relationism cost decrease, and to just generally make feel less claustrophobic.
Talking of the shop, that's where most of the activity had co. There were eight major new perks available, plus five patches. I bought the patches right away because the imps weren't letting buy anything else until I did. It could have been annoying, being forced to direct my XP towards a certain end, but the patches felt to like sothing imposed by The Sentinel, the cosmic referee who would squash and the imps flat if we broke the rules, and who would put Old Nick back to the bottom of the demon pile if he was too brazen in tipping the scales in my favour. In any case, the patches tended to make my life easier. One had taken away almost all of my headaches - I got a brief pang when I first saw Relationism in action but that was a major event.
The eight new perks were a lot to take in, so I decided I would think about one per day on average to make it easier to digest.
(I an, that's a blatant lie but it's less bloated this way, so just go with it.)
One thing worth ntioning right away, though, is so slight regret that I hadn't been able to upgrade Playdar over the last year. My scouting trips during the rest of my ti in Brazil were duds. I found three high PA players, of course, but one was aged 7, one was, even more uselessly, aged 46, and one had Decisions 2. Chelli took the latter's phone number just in case I discovered it was easy to boost soone's Decision rating, but I knew we wouldn't call the person. I'd been shouting at Tyson for two and a half years and his Teamwork attribute had only increased a few points. It didn't feel like I was going to get so rando who didn't speak English from Decisions 2 to Decisions 12 fast enough to stop absolutely despising them.
Still, nice girl.
Oh, that was the other thing. She was a woman and I couldn't sign foreign won for another couple of years.
Emma stirred. "Mmm, what's the score?"
"Seven-nil."
"Who to?"
"I'll give you two guesses."
"I can't rember who's playing."
"Italy, babes. They're mint and they're taking it really seriously. Sixth and seventh goals got the full Tardelli treatnt, which you would know as the full Ziggy. It ans a lot to them."
"Wouldn't it to you?"
I had to think about that one. "Not sure. If I'd gone through the academy system then yeah, it would have been sothing to put above the other lads. There's Max Best, England captain! That's sothing to work towards, isn't it? Bit of a boost. And you don't cut an England player, do you? It's like getting a shield in The Traitors. If you play for England, you're protected from elimination for another season."
"Very passionate," mumbled Emma, who peeled the neck pillow off and gave it a quizzical look. "Three Lions on your chest. Lie back and think of England. Mmm."
"Babes," I said. "I'm a technocrat. Football is all mathematical to . Now wipe away the drool before anyone sees."
"You said these gas aren't being shown in England."
"They're not. No-one gives a shit about this tournant except scouts, agents, and the kids themselves. I read it will be on in Arica. And Malta."
"You're massive in Malta."
"They don't control the caras, though. Brooke might be watching from the States but it wouldn't be the first ti she's seen you fall asleep at a match. You're fine."
***
We hung around the stadium for an hour waiting for the next match to start. A couple more thousand people turned up, mostly Peruvians who wanted to cheer on their lads. I had a beer and a 'completo' - a gigantic hotdog so-called because the only way to eat it is to make a complete ss - but Ems had sauced pretty hard on the plane and stuck to water.
The curse told that Youngster wasn't in the starting line up. Neither was the Peruvian striker who played for Alliance Lima, the one Bassco had told about at the Transfer Room.
Before the players ca out for their warm ups, I did a slow walk of the stadium looking for anyone I knew. I found a cluster of familiar faces by the halfway line near the VIP seats.
"There's Bassco," I said. "I bet that guy next to him's the striker's agent. Who's that woman? Ugh. Wouldn't like to et her in a dark alley."
"Don't be horrible."
"I'm not being horrible, I'm just saying she holds the modern-day world record for turning n to stone with a look. How do we get there? I think we need to go back into the concourse and pop back out a few exits down. Okay?"
"It's Max ti, babes. We can do it however you want."
"Right," I said, pulling her to one side so other people could get past while I plotted. "I think... I'd like to stay over here for now. I'll watch the warm ups and maybe soone will catch my eye."
"Already in the warm up? I really don't know how you can be so sure so quickly."
I pulled her close and gave her a full blast. "That day I t you in the deli in Didsbury. I knew, I just knew, just from looking... it was going to be a good cheesecake."
"Make your little jokes, babes," she said, cheeks very slightly flushed, "but when you look at like that you'd better kiss ."
We smooched, then we stood facing the pitch with my arm around her until the players erged from the tunnels. Ghana ca first, and I checked Youngster's profile and mood. In high spirits, but nervous. Very nervous.
I quickly scanned the rest of the team not expecting too much - I had seen them on TV a few tis and it always seed to that even without the curse it was obvious Youngster was the only one with the X-factor.
I was wrong.
Vincent Addo
Age: 17
DM RC
Decisions 15, Positioning 12, Stamina 14
CA 44, PA 169
Well, now. That was interesting! One of the substitutes, the sort of talented youngster who cos along to make up the numbers and gain experience for next ti, was Premier League quality. I instantly fell into daydreams of having him and Youngster as a double pivot, the two DMs in my 4-2-3-1. Christ, that would rock. Absolutely rock.
He played for Inter Allies in Ghana, so his transfer fee wouldn't be exorbitant.
My thoughts pivoted to one of the new perks that had co with the update. Transfer Values, at a dizzying 20,000 XP, would give an 'objective' current valuation of any player I scouted. Insanely useful! I an, just think of the applications. Being able to filter my player database to those worth under five hundred thousand pounds would save hours. Plus I wouldn't get dicked on deals. And it would give the opportunity to move quickly. This Addo guy - if the curse told he was worth 300,000 I could go to his club right away and offer 310. They would accept and who knows? Maybe we could get the deal done before anyone else in world football ever saw him play.
What was delicious about Vincent Addo was that he didn't have an agent. Again, that would make things much easier for Chester and he could join REM.
One thing I liked about his player profile was that he could play on the right. He could definitely play as a wing back but I suspected he would do just fine as a right back. Well enough to be our second choice, surely. And one of the most exciting new perks was called Inverted Full Backs. For 15,000 XP I could join the modern tactical world. Vincent would be a right back when we were defending and then when we got the ball he would drift into midfield to be an extra passing option. Just a very desirable step forward in my options and it seed tailor-made for Vincent.
There were two big downsides to signing him. First, he wasn't yet 18 so he wouldn't be able to play until his birthday in January, although like any player who appeared in this tournant it would be easy to get him a work permit if I was willing to use an ESC slot. That was the second problem, though. It would take years to train Addo up and in the anti he would be clogging up my pipes. I needed to use my two precious slots to make fast cash so I could start the stadium rebuild.
I think I did a big sigh because Emma pushed herself back into and squeezed my arms tighter around her.
With terrible timing, I let out a groan.
"Er, babes," she said, amused. "Do you need a cold shower?"
"I need a shower every minute I'm in South Arica," I said, but the cause of my noise wasn't Emma. The Peruvian players had co jogging out of the tunnel, and the last one to erge, moving slowly, was the striker.
The striker.
The striker.
Foquita
Age:19
S
Decisions 14, Jumping 14, Heading 15, Technique 15, Off The Ball 17, Finishing 13
CA 99 PA 190
Swooooooon!
The guy was six foot two, strong, and ticked all the boxes you could want from a striker. Okay his Teamwork was 5 and his Pace only 10 but who gave a shit? If he was any faster the guy would be at Real Madrid B already. Why was he still playing in Peru?
One clue might have been his Condition score: 73%. His Injury tab showed he was recovering from a muscle tear. But that didn't explain it. Bassco had said his agent was ambitious but that didn't track.
PA 190. The number made feel drunk. I had a slight, vague, outside, sothing-more-than-nothing chance of signing the guy. The absolute best thing that could happen to right now was if his leg fell off. I an, fell off in a way where you could sew it back on. Just sothing where everyone stopped looking at him long enough for to get his na on the dotted line.
"See that guy there?"
"Is he the one that's got you heavy breathing down my ear?"
I think I maybe looked a bit shafaced and peeled myself away from her. I took a couple of breaths which utterly failed to slow my heart rate. I pointed. "That guy hobbling around looking miserable? There's my stadium."
Emma smiled and ca at for a kiss. "You're the strangest technocrat I think I've ever t."
***
: Can I rent one of your ESC slots?
Mateo: What on earth are you talking about?
: I found a player I want for *next* season. Chester will give you fifty grand if I can park him at Tranre until sumr 26.
Mateo: That's deranged even by your standards.
: I'll put you down as a maybe.
***
When I felt calm enough to et new people, I led Emma through the stadium to the section where a big batch of football insiders was sitting. "Babes, just so you know, I'm going full technocrat."
"Gosh."
"All these guys talk about is passes per defensive action, field tilt, and progressive pass difference. Heat maps get them hot. I have to speak their language."
"I hope you speak it better than Spanish."
"My Spanish is molto bene, actually."
I got myself in front of Bassco. He was wearing a suit at least one size too small. He introduced to Adrian, an agent in a plain black tee. Adrian looked a lot like Danny DeVito, the actor famous for his cody roles, and Adrian's glasses seed to have been chosen to amplify the likeness. The curse told that he worked for himself, not a big company, and he had four hundred thousand pounds in assets under managent, which didn't reek of ambition. Bassco then introduced to the modern-day dusa, a fierce-looking woman wearing lots of jewellery. He called her Maria and there was no further explanation. It seed clear that Maria was Adrian's partner and that Adrian wasn't in it for love. It was also clear that she did not like my yellow hair.
Bassco skipped right past the hair discussion. "Did you have any luck in the Transfer Room?"
"Yes! Signed two England youth internationals from Man City."
He smiled slightly. "The English humour. I never get it."
"For the won's team," I said.
"Oh!"
"Yeah. Buzzing off that. They're mint and they're gonna help my own girls get in the England team. It's genius. What else? I found a couple of talents in Sampa but I was busy most of the ti in Rio so I couldn't go as hard at the scouting as I wanted."
"You go back after the World Cup?"
"No," I said. "I think I need to go ho and do nothing. Like, proper nothing. See my mum." The Maria person gave a sharp glance but didn't speak. "Hey, Bassco, check this out." I showed him so photos of soil and diggers.
"Your new training ground?"
"Yes," I said. "They've started. It's happening."
"I am happy."
" too. I want to go ho and look at it every day. Shout at so lazy builders, maybe. I haven't done any good shouting for ages. Oh!" I said, and rummaged in my backpack. I ca up with a floppy rectangle wrapped in very crinkly plastic. "As promised."
Bassco opened it and out ca the new Chester top with 'Bassco 19' on the back. "Guapa," he said, turning it back and forth. The blue and white stripes, the illusion of an old-fashioned collar, the overall look was just what I wanted. "Muy guapa."
"That's the pro version," I said, feeling the fabric for myself. "I think I love it. Simple, no frills, but quality. That's what I wanted. They smashed it. You've got the first one in the southern hemisphere, Bassco!"
" encanta."
"Right," I said, smiling. "Let's talk about who else gets to wear that bad boy. Adrian, how many clients have you got?"
"Today? One. Foquita." He glanced at his wife.
I nodded. I knew the total value of his assets under managent, and since he only had one client, that ant Foquita was rated as worth 400,000 pounds. It didn't strike until much later that I might have heard what I wanted to hear. In any case, I was willing to go higher than 400 K to get one of the top ten strikers in the world on my books. "Let be honest. I've been watching videos of Foquita and I love him. I'd like to see him in my new shirt. As I understand it, Adrian, you feel Foquita is ready for the jump to Europe?"
"Yes," he said. "I've been researching you, too. You're a good player and manager. Your priority is to improve players. It's good. League Two in England is the right level. Perhaps League One but there are not so many managers like you who coach the players. It's very important that Foquita learns from every stage."
"How co he is still in Peru?"
"You think he has outgrown us?"
"Erm, not sure. Probably," I said, slowly, reminding myself to think in numbers around these guys. "I think you could have made the jump last year and made so extra money."
Adrian adjusted his big glasses. "Money is not important now." Maria's jewellery jangled its disagreent. "What is important is progression. Every step a good step. We have a saying, ah... not sure in English. Sothing like, go slow to go fast."
"Yes!" I said, bouncing on my seat. "That's right! Yes. Billion percent." I settled down and imagined what I could do with Foquita if I signed him. "If I could get him, it would be in January, would it?"
"Yes," said Bassco. "We have the chance to win la liga."
"That's cool. Winning's important. The ga is about glory. Er, and heat maps. So he cos in January. I've got my training centre built, I've got loads of great coaches. The rest of the team will be up to speed, more or less." If he was around CA 100 when he arrived, Foquita would score tons of goals. It would be the equivalent of sending Tom Westwood to the Welsh third tier. "Foquita's stats aren't too impressive so far. Fifteen goals in twenty gas will look good on his CV."
"Yes, I think so too," said Adrian. "You think you can teach him?"
"I wouldn't change too much about him," I said. "I personally would like a little more Teamwork, but only a little."
"He doesn't listen," said Bassco. "He only wants to score goals."
"Hmm," I said. If there was one thing I knew I could do it was shout at soone until their Teamwork attribute rose. If I signed this particular striker it would only be for six months. A year and a half if I was extrely lucky. It would benefit him in the long run if I, er, politely suggested he pass the ball more than he was wont to do, but it would benefit if he scored more goals quickly so I could sell him on. Yeah, for once I would keep my mouth shut and let him keep taking shots from whatever crazy angles he wanted.
An odd thing happened just then. As I was thinking that, Maria gave one of her dusa stares. The match kicked off and I forgot the stare until later. I scanned the pitch.
"Ghana 4-2-3-1 against Peru 3-4-1-2. Very interesting."
Adrian leaned forward and showed a team sheet he'd gotten from the dia room. "Ghana 4-4-2, Max."
"What? No. Look." I pointed at the pitch.
"It's 4-4-2, no?"
"Yes, but wait till Ghana get the ball."
Sure enough, when Peru lost possession, Ghana slipped into what used to be Sandra Lane's favourite tactic. Emma mumbled, "Burn the witch," which caused Maria to death stare her, not that Emma saw it.
"Max, it's incredible!" said Adrian.
"No," I said, with sothing approaching modesty. "It's the players and the inclination of the manager. Statistical probability. I have an AI model I use sotis. It's er, thingy. Proprietary. I'm only disappointed my player isn't on the pitch; he's fantastic in this role."
"The ones playing are not?"
"Er, one's a pure CM. Sotis you have to use one a bit deep but it's never quite right. Sa as playing a DM as a CM. You lose one point in the match rating sort of automatically. Avoid that if you can, obvs."
"Obvs," agreed Emma, who I don't think was really listening.
"The other one is good but my guy is better and he knows the position very well. It doesn't matter, really, does it? It's just one step on his journey. I an, I hope he gets on the pitch in one ga, at least. His parents would love that. I might have a word with the manager," I mused.
"To get your player in?"
"I'm pretty sure that'll happen anyway but I might pitch an idea; there's another kid I'd like to see in the team. If he plays in this tournant I can sign him easily. I an, give the lad three minutes against New Caledonia so I can bring him to England. You'd need a heart of stone to say no, right? The manager might be thinking of doing it anyway to keep his squad fresh for the match against Italy. It's a good group, this. Great fun. What I an is it's statistically interesting, what with the high average national rankings and montum factors."
Bassco, ignoring my technobabble nonsense, said, "You have another player you want to sign, Max? I thought perhaps you only had money for Foquita?"
That was interesting! He wanted back on the topic of making this deal. "I would love to sign Foquita before anyone else realises how good he is. Bassco, I'll give your club a 50,000 pound loan fee with a 450,000 pound option to buy." One of the new perks in the shop was called Forex for Dummies. For 1,000 XP I would be able to change the currency in the curse. Useful for negotiations in the Transfer Room but I had gotten ahead of this one. "That's almost 2.5 million Sols, mate."
"His wages?" said Adrian.
"I can do 2,000 a week." He was about to reply when I clarified. "That's 10,000 Sols but I'm sorry that's not a number I can negotiate. It's really my best offer in both cases. I want Foquita even if it's only from January and those are the numbers I can commit to."
"And the release clause?" said Adrian. "Bassco said you told him 1.5 million."
I nodded, very slightly frustrated. "Yeah."
Adrian adjusted his glasses. "Why so unhappy? That's one million profit for you if all goes well."
I squeezed my eyes up tight and then relaxed into a smile. "He's so good, though! I know exactly how to use him. He's sooo good, mate. Make the release clause four million and give another year with him."
Adrian did a sad little smile. "That's not his path."
"Yeah," I said. If it was my player I'd want him to settle in Europe at a friendly club - Chester leading the line there - followed by a move to sowhere a step tougher with a taste of European football. Glasgow Celtic, for example, or Sporting Lisbon. Then Newcastle or Borussia Dortmund before the move to a top superclub. A five-year plan. Adrian couldn't know that Chester would be one of the best teams in Europe five years from now. But then I thought, fuck it. We would never be able to afford an elite striker's wages and a one million pound profit from one of my ESC slots was sensational.
I'd done very, very well to carve out just enough money and just enough reputation for this deal to be conceivable. It struck that if this conversation had happened in May, before the curse update, it might not have progressed very far.
"Look," I said, "I'm all for it. I'm in. This is a true win-win-win. What do you want to do? Sign for Chester already or wait for him to score a boatload in this tournant and skip so steps on his career path?"
Adrian said, "We will not skip steps. We don't want to send him to a big team who loans him to you. We want him to stay humble and stay hungry so he can get to the very top. Too many players skip steps and never reach the top. Go slow to go fast, go slow to go far."
The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
I blew out of my cheeks. "You're, like, the best agent I've ever t."
"There is one hurdle."
"Oh?"
"Was it the right word?"
"Hurdle. Obstacle. Roadblock. Nightmare fuel."
"Yes. The boy's mother is very interested in his career. You must put her mind at ease."
"I'm great with mums. Aren't I, babes? Your mum thinks I'm great."
"You're her favourite technocrat."
Adrian said, "Will you be at the other group C matches?"
"No, the plan is to scramble around until we've seen every team. I could go to the final group match. It's back here, isn't it? It's just we've done a lot of travelling. We've been on more motorways than beaches. I think Peru will get to the knockouts. I could et her then?"
"I'll check," said Adrian. "Would you like to et Foquita today?"
"Oh," I said, surprised. "Erm, no. It's the World Cup. That's a big deal for the players, isn't it? We should let him enjoy it."
"I think he is not enjoying it. He wants so well to play and win for his country. It makes him, how to say? Sick, so way."
I smiled. "So let him experience it." I pushed a hand through my hair and stifled a yawn. "He'll move to five different football clubs in his career, and have ten managers. I'm not that special. This is special, isn't it? A World Cup. He only gets one shot at the under 20s. If you think he needs so good news - and if I count as good news - then tell him. But if it was , I wouldn't be thinking about club football right now. I'd be thinking about my muscle tear and whether I should risk playing today."
Bassco's eyes widened. "Muscle tear? How you know? We told no-one!"
I smiled. "Mate. I can see it when he moves." I tapped him on the knee. "Don't worry. I won't blab."
As I turned to face the front and to focus on the match and absorb the XP it was offering, my gaze lingered on Maria for half a second. It was uncanny. I was sure she didn't know English, yet she sohow followed the conversation and reacted even to so of my inner thoughts.
It hit , then. She wasn't Adrian's wife; she was Foquita's mother. She hated my yellow hair and she thought I was an arrogant prick, a show-off playing at being an adult. No way would she put her son's future in my hands.
"What's wrong babes?"
"Nothing," I lied. In a couple of hours, maybe in the morning, I would get a text from Bassco with so bullshit reason why Foquita would not be joining Chester FC. A million pounds gone, just like that. Well, if it was going to happen, let it happen at the start of the tournant.
I'd found one other player worth signing and there were twenty more teams to scout.
If I was lucky, one of them would have another amazing striker... and he would be an orphan.
***
Ghana were rock solid defensively and were beating Peru 2-0 with ten minutes to go. Ghana's star striker Kpozo scored both goals. His CA matched the best in the other squads but his PA ceiling was fast approaching. Big sha, but he seed determined to stamp his mark on this tournant. Good for him.
When Peru made their last substitution, one that ensured Foquita wouldn't get on the pitch, Adrian, and Maria upped and left, complaining loudly. I found their reaction strange. It was sensible from the manager not to throw Foquita into a lost cause when the next match was only two days away.
I wanted to talk to Bassco about everything but I had this strange sense of paralysis. Would Youngster get on the pitch? AFCON was a pretty big deal but it was regional. It would an so much to Youngster, his family, and his church, if he represented Ghana in front of the whole world. And, since I was in technocrat mode, it would boost his CA by loads. Five points, maybe.
Emma was great. She sensed I was in so kind of state and turned on the charm with Bassco. They nattered away with Bassco sensing a chance to pitch the other players he had in the Peru squad. That only reinforced my belief that I'd blown my chance with the PA 190 striker.
Eight minutes to go. Seven. Six. And then I gripped the back of the plastic seat in front of . Youngster was getting ready to co on! In a World Cup!
I wanted to scream but my throat was tight. To jump, but my soles were glued to the floor. I tried to force myself to relax. So he was going on the pitch. Big deal. The kid would play in FA Cup finals, in the Champions League, in the n's World Cup. I couldn't overreact every ti he stepped up a level.
***
[We see Youngster on the touchline, waiting to co on. He's quite still and looks resplendent in his yellow and red striped top. His shirt number (14) is written on the top-left of the kit, which is unusual but aweso.]
Tyler: Good news for the Chester manager - his player is coming on. Youngster. Born in Manchester, England, he led the league in interceptions. That's a like-for-like change, is it?
Jen: Yes, still in the 4-2-3-1 shape. He'll slot right in.
[Cut to Max and the side of Emma's head. She gives Max a happy shake and turns to tell Bassco one of her stories about Youngster. Max appears to be frozen solid.]
Tyler: There's his club manager. Not much emotion on display.
Jen: Hang on. What's this?
[Max slowly lifts his hand. There's sothing in it. He dabs at the side of his eye with a neck pillow. Emma says sothing and he cry-laughs.]
Jen: Aww.
Tyler: Suddenly the exhausting trip to the other side of the world seems worth it. That's the magic of the World Cup. That's why it ans so much to these young n. Ghana and Italy look to be in pole position in this group. Peru will need a big result against Italy on Thursday. We'll bring you that match live, of course.
***
Bassco said he'd be in touch about Foquita and encouraged to think about his other players. I told him there was a good chance I would see him in the knockout rounds. Before leaving I got him to confirm that Maria was Foquita's mother and he said yes.
Yes. That was that, then. That moved Vincent Addo to the top of my admittedly unfinished wish list.
I asked Emma if we could wait in the car park until the Ghana squad left. The air was much cooler than in Brazil and it was almost a shock to feel cold. We huddled together watching the world stream past until Ghana's coaches ca out and started loading bags into their team bus. I went over and introduced myself, asking if Youngster was behaving himself - "Of course!" - and what they thought about Vincent Addo. The vibe was very positive. "He's a good boy. Shy, but he's younger than the others so it's normal."
Youngster ca shortly after, staring at his feet with a big goofy grin. He couldn't believe he'd just played in a World Cup match! "Oi," I called.
He glanced at and looked away quickly. Big scary yellow hair man was scary. But then he did a double-take. He recognised Emma all right and ca over. He looked at again, dropped a plastic bag he was carrying, and threw himself into the hug zone. My haircut told to spin him round like I'd done with Luisa but my back said 'ah, veto'. Youngster tried to give Ems a polite handshake but she wasn't having any of it - she enveloped the little dude.
He was flushed and happy and clearly we'd taken him by surprise. It was also clear he wasn't following Emma's Instagram. He looked in astonishnt at my hair. "My goodness, Mr. Best. What have you done?"
"That's a long story involving visions of the Archangel Gabriel and a clue hidden in a high-resolution scan of a Verer." I looked him up and down and checked his Morale: maximum. "Did you like that? Playing in a World Cup? You big shot, you." I gave him a friendly punch.
"Hurr hurr hurr," he said with his face. With his voice he said, "Why are you here?"
"To see you, you dick. Why else?"
"Oh!" he said, beyond pleased.
"Although while I'm in the area why don't you introduce to Vincent Addo and your manager? Just, you know, for a laugh."
***
Tuesday, June 3
Group A: Santiago
Spain versus South Sudan was another one-sided match. In its way, even more so than Italy versus New Caledonia, since the Spanish controlled the ga from start to finish with high Technique and vigorous counter-pressing.
The best players, as expected, were all in the Spain squad, and all of those seed out of reach. They played for Real Madrid, Barcelona, and Man City. The lowest ranked club with a player in the squad was Levante, but a player in the Spanish second division was hardly likely to move to the English fourth. In any case, I did so research and it seed a transfer had been arranged to Osasuna, a top-tier team.
I say 'it seed' because you can't believe transfer gossip. As luck would have it, the curse now offered a perk just for this occasion. For 6,000 XP I could buy what was called 'Interested Parties'. It promised to tell when there was serious interest in a player. One use case sprung to mind imdiately. If the perk told that Ipswich Town wanted one of my players I could call their manager and ask about buying one of their players. "Not for sale," the guy would say. "But would you be open to selling player X?" Why, yes I would, mate. Let's talk.
It would also make going to the Transfer Rooms very interesting and perhaps enable to cause a bit of mischief. I an, imagine the curse told Brighton were thinking of bidding for a key player from Bradford. It would be pretty safe to assu Bradford wouldn't know, right? I an, I didn't know who wanted my players until a club got on the phone to start negotiating. I could tell Brighton that I'd just spoken to Everton and they were going in for the Bradford player. If I did it right, Brighton would hurry up and bid and that transfer drama would destabilise Bradford's dressing room.
Hurr hurr hurr.
Another new perk would have the effect of making others even more useful. It was called Full Frontal. For 2,000 XP it would put alerts on the squad page. A relevant example - if Brighton wanted to buy Pascal Bochum, it would say WANTED next to his na and then I could go into the Transfers tab to see what was up. The perk would also alert to any players whose contracts were close to expiring, tell about bans and injuries, if the player didn't have a work permit, if he was particularly tired or unhappy.
I an, I tended to browse through all the player profiles once a day at least, but as the number of squads increased that would get to be a hassle. The Full Frontal perk would imdiately show the most pressing issues and would allow to reduce the amount of mindless checking (and worrying) I did. Absolutely worth it.
Yet another new perk was one I would absolutely have to buy as soon as possible. It was called Panopticon: Max's Multi-Club Model, which felt like a bit of a personal fuck you from Old Nick. It was 5,000 XP and all it would do would be to allow to spend another 2,000 XP adding external squads to my screens. The description hinted that the squads would be limited to ones I had a 'stake' in. It felt a bit like a trap - I had no direct stake in College, for example, but the imps had never actually ripped off before and I suspected they wouldn't now. They didn't want to demotivate from earning XP, right?
I wouldn't need to add Saltney or West to my screens as a matter of urgency, but adding College to my head would save from having to make regular trips to Gibraltar. The hard part of having deep knowledge of the club's goings-on would be explaining how I knew players were injured from thousands of miles away.
That sounded like a problem for future Max to solve.
***
Despite our growing fatigue, we stayed in the stadium for the second match, and I was very glad I did.
Chile vs Panama had three interesting players. One was a PA 140 left winger who had played one whole minute of senior football. I an, what a waste but what an opportunity for . He wasn't going to be quick money, though.
Nor was a Panamanian right back with explosive pace. PA 144 with the physicality to cope with English football. Low Decisions and Technique, though, and he wouldn't co cheap.
The guy with the highest ceiling was a PA 150 centre back. He wasn't as tall as you'd want from a CB, and he wasn't outstanding in any particular area. As a solid, consistent guy, yeah, you'd want him in your team all day long but he lacked that X-factor that was going to make other clubs fall over themselves to buy him from . That was in no small asure down to his na - Tony Herbert. I an, how does a guy in Panama end up sounding like soone from Liverpool? It wasn't very technocratic of but I felt strongly that his na was the opposite of exotic and probably removed 50% off his transfer value when selling to British clubs.
I watched him carefully, though. He could do well at Tranre, perhaps, or maybe next sumr if no-one had snapped him up I would try to get him to Saltney or College.
***
Wednesday, June 4
Emma and I took it easy, staying in the hotel until it was ti to return to the stadium for the next matches. Brazil versus xico was a wonderland of hot prospects and thanks to the Transfer Room I had a few high-level contacts. I sat close to Nono from Corinthians - close enough to sll his hair - and showed him my training ground photos before complaining that Brazil were playing the most European-style football in the whole tournant.
After a lively philosophical debate about what Brazilian football was supposed to be, I texted so directors of football to ask about their players. They replied with seven or even eight digit numbers. One wide forward I casually asked about was due to sign a 35 million pound deal with Chelsea.
I replied with 'I'll give you 36 million' and the sporting director returned a string of laughing emojis. Nono also laughed at , but told to keep my head up - negotiating in South Arica wasn't like in the US where there were winners or losers. I wasn't losing face by being interested in good players.
The top-rated xicans seed to have been well scouted - there were plenty of stories about them moving to the MLS. There were still a ton of interesting options, though. A good goalie, two dreamy midfielders, and an okay striker.
An okay striker was likely to earn more money than a silky-smooth playmaker so I didn't discount the guy, even if he was only PA 118.
The second ga in the stadium that day was South Korea versus Norway and again there was a lot of quality. Norway had a mini-Haaland and loads of rugged League One-type players. Physical, determined, able and willing to follow instructions.
South Korea had a lot of highly-technical guys comfortable with taking the ball in congested spaces. Did anyone say Relationism?!
The problem was the country was well-scouted and they had half a dozen guys already playing in England and Germany, while the ones playing in Korea seed to be on good money. I could probably pay more but not so much more that it would be worth uprooting their whole life. Still, I made notes and planned to have a poke around because so of those guys were worth waiting a season to get.
***
Thursday, June 5
Group B, Talca
The plan to see every team at least once was amazing and well-conceived and I was adding so genuinely interesting nas to my database but all the travel was really starting to wear us down. I had always found it ridiculous when business people complained about what from the outside was a glamorous lifestyle. I went to Ro, Cairo, and Istanbul this week. Wow, amazing! No, it was a nightmare.
But now I understood it better. If you didn't have the ti or energy to go to the tourist hot spots, you weren't really visiting a city. You were visiting a series of very similar hotels connected by traffic jams. Emma and I were talking less and spending more ti lazing in our room, and she was doing less reading about the cities we were in because knowing what was outside our doorstep was increasing the disconnect between the sort of travel she liked and the sort of travel we were doing.
But the day proved important.
We watched Senegal versus Colombia with Jesús from Envigado FC - who by the way was wildly passionate about the match to the point Emma beca a temporary Colombia fan - while back in the north, Italy were playing Peru.
"Emma," I said, looking at my phone. "Peru just scored. Guess who?"
"Foquita," she said.
"Who's that?" wondered Jesús.
"He's this striker I want to buy," I said. "But his mum doesn't like . It's crazy because I got it all lined up with the club and with his agent and normally the mum's the easiest one in the chain, right? You just sort of get very positive and sweep her along with you."
"You were positive, babes."
"I an, was I? I was being pretty cold, I thought. Focused on his progression. How we're just a step in his career. Maybe I should have talked about how we're a family and all that. It was hard, though, because the club and agent talk one way and that was my focus."
"Maybe all is not lost," said Jesús.
"Bassco texted that night. Said there were so hurdles after all, but he wrote the whole thing in super-formal Spanish. Normally he fires off quick texts in a hybrid of English and emojis."
"You think it's significant?"
"Yeah, big ti. I'm not holding out much hope. I've got two ESC slots and loads of options. Too many options, maybe."
Jesús took a few seconds to rage at the referee about sothing, then settled back onto his seat. "What is your strategy?"
"That's just it. Do you ever make jigsaws?"
"Jigsaw?"
"You know, the puzzle. It's a picture in three thousand pieces and you put them together."
"We call it puzzle. Just puzzle."
"Oh. So do you start in the middle or the corners or what?"
"Corners and edges."
" too. I get two corners from any country in the world, right. Ideally they are players I can sell next sumr so I can rebuild the stadium."
"That will be a small stadium, no?"
I smiled. "I planned to start with the west stand. It's 1300 capacity right now. Demolish that, put up a big new 6,000 seat bad boy. Ten million pounds including a beautiful new pitch with all the drainage and modern technology a boy could want. But I've got a new plan. Do the north or south stands. That gives the pitch plus a gorgeous 4,000 seat stand. More capacity, more inco, bring the won's team ho, and it'll only cost five million."
"I see. Five million pounds from two players is not so crazy."
"Right. Foquita's a million virtually guaranteed but I can't get him so what else? So of these guys need years to develop, which normally I'd be fine with but I can only have two. So are pretty good already and I reckon I could kick them up another level or two over the next year but even then I don't think I'm going to make a huge profit. Norway have an attacking midfielder I'm pretty sure I could buy for 300 K and sell for half a million. Good deal, right?"
"But not enough."
"Mmm," I said. "We've got three more days on the road, grinding, and we'll have seen every team. I'm pretty sure I'll sign two players from this tournant. But which? If I sign a midfielder I don't need Lee Contreras. If I don't sign a centre back I need one from the free agent list in England. If I sign players who can improve my first eleven I will get free agents with high potential. If I sign World Cup players with potential I need older free agents with League Two experience to get us over the line this season. It's a big cascade. The final picture could look like almost anything. I have to get the first decision right and if I do, the season will be a success and I can finance a big project."
Jesús smiled. "I like talking to you. But the solution seems easy, no? If you cannot buy to sell you have to sell from what you have."
I clicked my teeth. "Right. But the players I want to sell won't move the needle when it cos to the stadium."
"Perhaps you have to sell soone you do not wish to sell."
"Well, that's ominous," said Emma.
Jesús laughed. "Max, tell now. Are you interested in any of my players?"
I hesitated. "No, sorry. I an, I need a left mid and yours is good but he's not in my top ten."
"Thank you for being honest," he said. He got to his feet and walked away.
"Max!" complained Emma.
"What?"
"I was enjoying that. He's living the vida loco and I love it. He's my actual favourite and you scared him off. Oh, look, he's coming back."
Jesús was returning with a woman with long black hair. She was maybe 40, was dressed casually, and had the soft face hard eyes combo I always associated with headteachers. "Max, et Catalina. She runs our won's team and is very keen to et you."
***
By the ti Australia versus Cuba kicked off, I'd made a very useful new friend. The reason Catalina wanted to et was that she thought she had a genius in her squad but almost no-one believed her. Catalina knew the player would have to move abroad to continue her growth but there was zero interest. A flat zero. She told there were days when she thought maybe she was crazy, maybe she was wrong, but then the girl did sothing with a ball that made her believe all over again.
"Why can't anyone else see it?"
"They can, a little. But she doesn't have good numbers. She is still learning. Still growing. She does not fit easily into modern sches. That's why when Jesús told he had t a crazy Englishman I was interested and when I read about you and watched the videos I knew I had to et you. Here, look."
She loaded a video and handed her phone over. Emma leaned over to watch.
We saw a tiny little speck of a girl, no more than five years old, dribbling through a very confused boys team. "She's five!" I cried.
"She gets older through the video."
"That's a neat trick."
But Catalina didn't get the joke because as I spoke, the girl did a drag-back through the legs of a defender. A neat trick indeed.
As promised, the footage showed the girl getting older and competing against more girls teams than boys but so things didn't change - her close control, her vision to see passes. "She's really good," I said. The curse update hadn't offered a perk that showed player profiles over video. I suspected it never would, but imagine! It would have revolutionised my life. "How old is she?"
"16."
That was not a good number. "I need to see her live. But even then work permits are going to be a hassle. I can only sign foreign ladies when I'm in the top tier. That's three years from now, minimum. I've tried to dream up ways to scam the system but I can't get past the fact we're in tier four. Even if we were in the WSL or I had a friend there with a spare ESC slot, she can't co till she's 18." I shook my head and sighed. "I'd love to help but it's so complicated. Unless she wants to marry one of my players."
Catalina smiled. "No need, Max. You didn't notice the na of the video?"
I tapped the screen. "redith Ann Through the Years. What's that?"
"That's her na."
"A Colombian girl is called redith Ann?"
"After her father's mother."
"No way."
"Yes way. She can get a Welsh passport, we think."
"Wait. She could play for Wales."
"She will play for Colombia."
"I want to argue but I really like the way you say Colombia. Sort of makes want to play for Colombia myself. Okay, let think about this. Er... Get the passport. If it goes through, we'll fly her to Chester and take a look at her."
"I have a better idea."
By half ti in Australia's match, I had all but agreed that Envigado FC's won's team would visit England to play a friendly match against Chester Won. We would help with transport costs and accommodation. I told Catalina we would plead poverty so that our players would offer to host their Colombian counterparts, which would be good culture clash content for the docuntary, but that she herself would be put sowhere nice.
The outline of the next few series was coming to . As well as our natural progression through the leagues, Chesterness season 2 would feature a visit from an international team - one with a Colombian girl with a Welsh passport. Season 3 would be our first trip abroad. Season 4 we would join a big sumr tournant in the US. That would be good progression for the girls - and the show.
Jesús was pleased to find we had finally finished talking about won's football; he dragged us into a lounge to eat completos and/or empanadas washed down with beers and/or piscos.
TV screens were showing highlights of Ghana versus New Caledonia. The number 14 was often visible.
"That's your player?" said Jesús.
"Yes. Starting! I an, it's the easiest group ga but still. The manager must trust him."
Catalina said, "He's in the middle of every move."
I shrugged. "I an, it makes sense. There are four pitches for this whole tournant; they're being butchered and Youngster has plenty of experience of that. See the other players are doing short passes? Short passes are more accurate but not when the pitch is like that. You might as well go a bit longer and that's what my dude is doing. He's not the best midfielder in this tournant, very far from it, but I reckon he's fought the most battles in the widest range of circumstances, right? I an so of the Spanish kids have only ever been on teams with 70% possession. New Caledonia, South Sudan, Australia, they've never been favourites against a decent team. Youngster has. He's done it all. Sorry to be blasé about it but this is just what he does."
"Blasé, Max?" said Catalina, smiling at Jesús.
"I'm dispassionate. The sport is just numbers to . Football is the Matrix and I am the One."
"Vale, Max. Entiendo."
Jesús pointed to the screen. "I think you may have a leetle problem, Max."
Filling the left of the screen was one of those photos they take of players before a tournant. Youngster had his arms folded and was trying to look intense and brooding. He was failing in the most charming possible way. At the top was a title. 'A Youngster With An Old Head'. La. On the right were stats. Horrible, horrible stats.
Interceptions: 4 (1st in Tournant)
Progressive Carries per 90: 6.25 (=3rd)
Progressive Passes per 90: 8.57 (5th)
"Right," I said. "So he's had a good half against the worst team in the competition. Nobody cares about this stuff." My phone vibrated. Incoming call from an unknown number. While I red buttoned it I got a text. When I swiped it away I got a WhatsApp. I got rid of the notification and a new call ca in. I pinched my nose. "Fucking technocrats."
***
As if the match couldn't get any worse, the wonderful Colombians left us, and Emma went to get sothing to drink but ca back with a horny Australian.
"Max! This is Lachie!"
"Oh, shit." I couldn't believe this. Australians, with their easy charm, always made feel dull and boring. My tank was empty and this guy was energetic ay eff. He had got Emma to a second location in about thirty seconds. It had taken months.
"G'day mate. Digger hair, champ."
Emma loved the Aussie accent so much that last ti she'd encountered one she had spilled the beans on and the Aussie journalist, who was being paid by Folke Wester, had turned it into a savage article about . "I told Lachie you know everything about football. Tell him what's happening!"
I tried not to sigh and pout. Emma had been subdued for a couple of days and this was her first burst of excitent on a pretty dull business trip. "Yeah so it's a strange one. The Ozster Bunnies, that's what they're called, are playing like they've got sandpaper on their feet."
"What does that an?" said Emma.
"He's donking my clanger," said Lachie.
"Max!"
"Yeah, look, I don't want to be a dick but it's two teams playing 4-4-2 variants and it's super boring. Safety first, get wide, hit crosses."
"You see a good player?" said Lachie.
"A good football player?"
The guy gave a wide, easy smile. "Yeah."
"Aussie have two, what would you say down under? Two hench boofheads. The centre back there, 6, would fit right in League Two even if it takes him a while to do a uey."
"Uey?" said Emma.
"U-turn," I said. "I'm saying he's not the most nimble. He could do a job up to League One, though. The striker there, who by the way is the most Aussie-looking man I've ever seen, is actually pretty good." He was PA 138 and was already quite a handful. It was no wonder his manager was trying to get crosses in. "I quite like him but I reckon he'd cost too many dollarydoos."
"Mate, you're hilarious. What line are you in?"
"He's player-manager for Chester."
"Manchester?" said the prick, knowing it would annoy . My phone rang - another unknown number - and to preclude further conversation I picked up.
"Max Best Unlimited," I said. "This is Max speaking."
"Max," ca a voice. English. He introduced himself as Blackburn's head of recruitnt. It didn't imdiately click. "You defended Tranre Rovers in the Danny Prince case. You took to the cleaners."
"As far as I can make out, you cleaned up on that deal. He's crushing it, isn't he? Set for a big move."
"And I'll have a bit of cash to reinvest, won't I? You might be guessing why I'm calling."
I sighed. "You need a world-class defensive midfielder and you think you might get him on the cheap."
"Cheap? Far from it. When are you back in the UK?"
I thought about blowing the guy off, but I sensed a chance to get rid of the Australian. "Sorry I can't discuss that right now; the area's not private." I left a tiny pause. "Millions, mate. Enough to buy a new stand."
"What? Sorry? I'm lost."
I glanced to my left. Lachie had heard but had made no move away. I shifted right and hunched a little bit as I spoke down the phone. "Can you call back in a few minutes?"
"Er... sure."
I hung up and pulled on my lip.
Emma said, "Youngster?"
"Yeah," I said. "I think he's been on a few radars and now clubs are moving before soone else gets a deal done. Look, er, Ems, why don't you go off with Logan and I'll take all these calls."
"Oh," said Emma. She wanted to hang out with the virile force of nature she'd just found but she wasn't going to run off and leave .
To his credit, Lachie realised I'd absolutely dicked him. He stood and gave us one of his five star smiles. "Good codger, nice to et yers, bbe see yers ron." I an, I'm not a stenographer but it went sothing like that.
"That's a sha," I said, after he fucked off. "Good on him for supporting his team in the middle of nowhere, I guess. Babes, are you bored? We can leave early if you want."
She gave a squeeze. "I'm fine. We'll power through. You know it's funny you said the striker is the most Aussie-looking guy because Lachie looks like him."
I groaned; now that I looked at the player more than the numbers above his head, she was right. "You don't think it's his brother or sothing?"
"I think it might be."
"Jesus Christ. Am I going to get anything right on this trip? What did I call him?"
"A hench boofhead."
"Oh, my God." I stewed in my own juice for a while. "If I go to South Arica and co back with no players and without Youngster, I think I'll have to sack myself."
"Chin up, cobber. Don't forget Tomzilla and Tockers and the other one."
***
As Australia closed out a 1-0 win, I updated the minute-by-minute coverage of Ghana's match and saw that Vincent Addo had gone onto the pitch for the last five minutes. Phase one was complete! A British club would easily be able to get him a work permit. I sent Pastor Yaw a voice note. Phase two was underway.
***
Friday, June 6 and Saturday, June 7
Groups E and F: Viña del Mar
The drudgery of the trip continued as we visited another cool, interesting city and saw almost none of it. At least now the matches were killer. Real life or death stuff. Every team had already played two of its three matches and most had a mathematical chance of staying in the competition. That ant play in the third matches was less defensive; managers were willing to take more risks.
The USA and Ukraine played out a classic as I purred over the squads. So many options if I only had a couple of mill to spare.
Then New Zealand held firm against Japan for 80 minutes before one of the latter's many waves of attack finally broke through.
The next day, France and Tunisia played a brutal match full of snide tackles and cynical yellows.
That was followed by Argentina, who rested their starters but had too much quality for Qatar. Every now and then, Argentina slipped into shapes you might think of as Relationist - sure enough, the cost of Relationism reduced when that happened.
It was a fitting note on which to end our grind. We'd done it. We had seen every team. We got back to the hotel and flopped on our bed and I thought about our next steps. It didn't really matter who we saw next or even if we stayed in the country. I gave serious consideration to heading back to Rio and then flying ho, first class, to my own bed. Emma was tempted.
"I'd like to go ho but this is a big deal for us, isn't it? For you and the agency. It's not just seeing the players, it's hanging out with big shots and making connections. If we leave early we might miss the next Catalina. Or maybe a manager will fall sick and you'll have to step in to save the day. And, yeah, it's not my dream holiday, this part, but we can be here to support Youngster. You saw how happy he was to see you. You never know the difference you make by going the extra mile."
"You're right but he was happy to see us. Let's stay until Ghana are knocked out, at least. Let's look at the schedule again."
We very seriously needed a day without travel and with that restriction, a plan fell into place. While Sunday's final group stage matches were taking place we could have an easy-going tourist sesh. The tournant had its first rest day on the Monday and we would probably have energy to exert ourselves. Viña del Mar had these huge sand dunes by the ocean that people climbed up so they could watch the sunset. That seed like sothing Emma would like. Doing it like that would let us recharge and we wouldn't have to travel to watch the first knockout gas; they were happening right there in Viña del Mar.
"Then most of the rest of the matches are in Santiago so we'll go there. Watch a few gas, see so sights, no particular pressure either way."
"Lovely."
The very prospect of having two days off perked right up and I inford Emma I was ready to go out and try all the things.
"All the things?"
"All the things that aren't icky. Pincho sour. Pebre on bread. Choclo, humitas, and empanadas bigger than your head."
"How many of those did you just make up?"
I smiled. "Let's go find out."
***
Sunday, June 8
We took a break from one of the most relaxing days of my life to watch Ghana versus Italy on a big screen in a random hotel lobby.
Ghana needed a point to top the group, while Italy needed a win to be absolutely sure of progressing. Despite the pressure of the situation and the quality of the opposition, Youngster started! He had really done a number on New Caledonia, a pure 10 out of 10 performance.
Ghana's 4-2-3-1 got pushed back by Italy, and it seed there was only one way the match would end.
But Ghana's striker Kpozo was leading the race for the Golden Boot and he scored in the first half. While Italy were reeling, he scored again. Two-nil at half ti and another eye-catching performance from Youngster, the only Manc in the tournant.
Italy tweaked things at half ti and ca out with a focus on attacks down the wing. Trying to bypass the DM screen, and it worked - they crafted chance after chance. Ghana's manager realised what was up and switched to a 5-4-1 variant, sacrificing Youngster in the process. It was funny to how quickly Italy's tactically aware midfielders realised it was safe to attack through the centre. The goals ca in a blitz - three of them. Then in that maddening way of most Italian managers, this one shut up shop, removing his most creative players and putting on defenders. Ghana surged back but couldn't find an equaliser.
Italy topped the group, putting Ghana in second and Peru third. I tried to calculate who would play who but found a computer was faster than . Emma said, "Senegal will play xico, followed by Chile versus Ghana. Both here in Viña del Mar. We get to see Youngster again!"
"Cool. Ugh." My phone was blowing up again. "Can I take this?"
"Sure, babes."
I spoke to the person, said it wasn't the right ti to discuss it but that he was miles off, and ended the call with a slight smile. "Guess what that was?"
"Your Spanish teacher quit."
"That was the first ever million pound offer for one of my players."
"A million British pounds?" She smiled. "Look at you! Just like a real boy."
"This real boy wants to get you wasted on pincho sours."
"Pinocchio sours."
"Because I want to be a real boy. Shit that's good."
She stood and pulled her jacket on. "Are you going to tell Youngster?"
"During the tournant? Nah. They should beat Chile and then he's into the quarter-finals. No need to distract him, right? Anyway," I said, shaking my head, "he's not going to let sell him for under five mill."
"He'd go if it ant the fans got their stadium back."
"I think so."
"What are the chances you'll get five million?"
I scoffed. "Slim. Although..."
"What?"
Youngster had finished the season on CA 76, and while most players were losing points as they rested or boozed their way through the sumr break, Youngster was going the other way, big ti. Training with his national team and playing at a World Cup was sending him soaring. He'd added 8 points and was now on 84. If they got to the semis...
He was a data nerd's dream player. Was five mill really so crazy? I didn't want to think about what I'd do if soone offered it to .
"No more football chat for a couple of days. Max has spoken."
***
June 10 - June 13
After the rest day, football ca back with a bang. Senegal beat xico in a colourful classic before Youngster and Kpozo helped Ghana past the host nation.
We drove back to Santiago and saw the match that determined who Ghana would play next. Deliciously, the winners were Brazil. Youngster versus Brazil! My phone nearly lted with calls and texts from the Yalleys, from Pastor Yaw, from Chelli, from Beth, from almost everyone I'd ever t.
"I've got the wrong hair to support Youngster during a match against Brazil."
"Yeah you do."
On TV we watched Spain crush Peru with poor Foquita barely getting a touch. He certainly did nothing to increase his transfer value in that match. Even Emma said, "Are you sure he's good?"
"I know he's nursing an injury," I mused, "but I don't think I could stand there and let him play like that. He needs to suffer for the team. He needs to get a bit of Tom Westwood in him. Maybe I'm not the right manager for him after all; I'd scream at the prick till he heard in his dreams."
"Yeah," said Emma. "Spoken like a true technocrat. Hey, babes, can I check sothing?"
"Always."
"If Chester sell Youngster for five million, as his agent do you get five hundred K?"
"Depends how I negotiate, but yes."
"Huh."
"I won't sell him, though."
"No?"
A five and five zeros swam in front of my eyes. I could buy my mother a house to live in with that sort of swag. Mum house, build a stand, have one of the best pitches in the country. And all I had to do was - "No more football chat today."
***
Saturday, June 14
Ghana versus Brazil!
Ghana versus Brazil for a chance to play a World Cup semi-final against Senegal or France.
For the first ti in the tournant I worried about getting tickets. I an, watching Brazil in a World Cup on a Saturday. What's not to like? But it was easy enough; it was only the under 20s after all.
I'd spent enough ti hobnobbing with bigwigs so for once I didn't try to move closer to the VIP section. We got to our seats. I couldn't see any Australians in the area, not that I was looking.
Youngster, as sothing of a breakout star, was starting again. His CA was up to 85 and his Condition compared favourably to the other starters except for one Brazilian who hadn't played much in the tournant thus far. More significantly, Youngster had a look on his face, one I knew very well. It was one he'd learned from . He was staring across the halfway line at his opponents and he wasn't seeing the famous yellow and green shirts, he was seeing a load of idiots he was about to swat aside.
When the match kicked off and Youngster didn't even move for three seconds, I knew. I knew he was on one.
"Argh!" I said, jumping to my feet and thrusting my hands to my head. "He's gonna fuck them up! Christ, Emma. He's in the zone. What do we do? We should bet on him to get Man of the Match."
Emma pulled down to my seat and waved an apology to the person behind . "Soz," she mouthed.
Despite my haircut, I was thinking ahead. "We're gonna be here till Thursday. The semi-final! They could win that, the way they're playing. Holy fuck. Can they beat Argentina or Spain? If they can beat Brazil, why not?"
"It's only just kicked off, babes. Hey, is that Lachie over there?"
I panicked. "What? Where?"
Emma smirked. "Just distracting you, Max. You don't want to be passionate at a football stadium, rember? You're a technocrat."
"Yeah, yeah," I said, and rubbed my face hard. It helped.
Ghana versus Brazil. Why the hell would I care who won? If Ghana lost, Youngster would be fresh and ready for the start of the season. It was better for if he got knocked out.
My stupid brain couldn't hold onto that thought. Brazil had technique and they had a glorious spread of attacking players but they annoyed by playing a strictly positional system. They also had kids with stupid show-off haircuts. I had a stupid show-off haircut but it didn't stop looking down my nose at them anyway. anwhile Ghana played with heart, with togetherness, and most of all, with Youngster.
"Drop back you dick!" soone in the crowd with a Manchester accent yelled. "Cover! Cover, you lazy bastard! Yes, mate! Now hit the channel! Yerrrssssss. Co on!"
By half-ti I was hoarse and in sore need of an alcoholic beverage. Emma offered to go and get a couple but I had a flashback to last ti and said I'd do it. While I was in the mass of people struggling to get served first, a little girl pulled my sleeve. She spoke in quite posh English; I decided she went to one of those expensive international schools. "Papi wants to know why you cheer for Ghana but your hair is from Brazil."
"Tell him I'm playing both sides."
"I don't know what that ans."
"Tell him I will make five million pounds if Ghana win."
"Oh, okay!"
***
The second half was torture, especially because I kept saying "I don't care who wins, I literally don't care" over and over like a mantra.
"I think you do care, bebs," said Emma, who was making friends with the people around her. Lots had bought tickets on the off chance their team might get this far in the tournant. She was the hub of a very chatty community. Chester Chatters on tour. Chile Chatters. "How's he doing?"
"Eight out of ten," I said. "He lost position a few tis. He hasn't seen this level of rotation before. You know the way the right back goes up and the winger moves in and the CM slides over and all that? Brazil are doing it well and they caught him out a couple of tis. Carved Ghana's midfield up. But he reorganised it on his own. Did you see? We're not just teaching him what to do when he sees a specific thing, we're teaching him to work it out for himself. Brazil tried it twice since and got nowhere."
"Aw, babes. Let get you the neck pillow so you can wipe your eyes."
"He's so good, though. He's just good. He learns this shit then goes to help in a food bank. Do you know what I an?"
"I do."
Brazil had a late flurry of attacks, each one more heart-stopping than the last, but Ghana made it to ninety minutes. We would get thirty minutes of extra ti. "Christ I can't stand this," I mumbled.
It was a couple of minutes into extra ti that the drama dialled up to eleven million. Brazil scored two quickfire goals and with the match effectively over, fans started to leave their seats. But the stupid look-at- haircut show-offs couldn't help but show off, stupidly. One tried to do a piece of skill to get himself on the highlight reels but a Ghana player stole the ball from him and played it first ti to Kpozo. He knocked the ball further forward and chased after it. Almost clean through! A Brazilian defender decided to foul him and stop the goal. Red card! Brazil down to ten n for twenty-five minutes!
The show-off was subbed out and replaced by a defender, which caused more joy than playing Rhapsody in Blue loud on a hot night.
Brazil fell into a low block. Guess who knew what to do?
Youngster's match rating went to 9 as he directed traffic. He did a fucking Max Best impression as he pushed the full backs and the other DM up the pitch. When Brazil broke, Youngster was there swiftly, rcilessly, but he didn't play the ball backwards. He turned and kept the pressure on.
Pressure makes diamonds but pressure also cracks. Brazil cracked like nuts.
A beautiful piece of skill on the left from an attacking midfielder, an overlap, a slick pass, a cutback, and that man Kpozo to apply the finish.
Goooolllllazo!
The stadium was filling up again. The noise was terrific. I'd heard from so locals that they liked Brazil, but everyone was for Ghana. Football does that to you. Sweeps you along, makes you feel things you never wanted to feel.
Ghana kept up the pressure. One more goal and they would get to penalties but the way they were playing they thought they could go and win it.
Kpozo was imnse up front. The attacking midfielders were playing with more Samba than their opponents. It was happening!
Yet Brazil dug in. Under the shit trims they were the best players in their age group in their whole massive country. Those young n had been through so shit in their lives. They'd suffered and sacrificed, on and off the pitch. They were starting to tire, though. Starting to get reckless and desperate. Challenges flew in. Risks were taken. Sparks flew all over Brazil's final third as Ghana passed and crossed and jumped for headers.
Ti was running out. Only two minutes to go, ninety seconds. Pass, press, cross, recover, sixty seconds, go again.
It seed inevitable that Ghana would do it. They were so close. The margins were so thin and all they had to do was keep going, keep doing what they were doing. Who would be the hero?
Thirty seconds. Brazil tried to dribble clear. Youngster took the ball as clean as a whistle while the Brazilian threw himself to the floor, pleading for a free kick. The ref didn't buy it; Youngster was too immaculate. My guy rolled forward, crossing the turf like a middle-distance runner. He looked left. He looked right. Kpozo had a good Off The Ball rating - he was hiding between two defenders but when Youngster cocked his foot, Kpozo would dart diagonally to the right. He would collect the pass in stride and have a quality shot. Classic forward play!
Twenty-five seconds.
I noticed Youngster's match rating had hit ten. He dipped his head in a certain way.
Suddenly, I was on my feet, screaming, pleading, commanding. "Nooooooooo!"
Youngster took three more steps, veered slightly right, and took a long shot.
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