12.

Saturday, March 29

It was lunchtime on a sunny day and I was being whisked down the motorway in a white convertible by a sensationally hot blonde. Just the dreamiest, most perfect way to go to Saint-Tropez. Sadly, we weren't going to the French Riviera, but to Oldham.

Brooke had bought or was renting a BMW 4 Series 420i M Sport, which is yet another product name that sounds more like a Wifi password.

"This should be called the BMW Huntsman, or something like that," I said, as I flicked through the manual I'd found while nosily rummaging in the glove compartment.

"Named after the spider?"

"What?"

Brooke inhaled. "So we're allowed to talk now, are we?"

"Yes. We're on the motorway. We stay in this lane for ages. I trust you here."

"But not in the city."

"That's right. You need to concentrate."

She made a noise. "I can talk and navigate the treacherous outskirts of Chester."

"Everyone says that. Science says otherwise."

Brooke decided not to press the issue. "BMW Fox."

"Huh. You'd rather be the fox than the huntsman?"

"I would never buy a car called Huntsman. That's not how I ride. Okay, tell me again who we're going to meet."

"We're going to Oldham Athletic. They are the only club ever to go from the Premier League to non-league. Teams did it before, of course, but it wasn't called the Premier League then. It's much harder to fail so badly these days. You get parachute payments when you drop down, so you've got tons more money than the teams in the lower leagues. Sunderland went from the Prem to the Championship to League One but even they couldn't fail any further down."

"How did Oldham do it?"

"They were in the first year of the Prem and at that time it was a pretty normal league. The progress to being the richest league in world football took years. So Oldham went down before it was awash with cash. At some point they got an owner who was an agent and that was catastrophic. That's why I got a bad reception when I went there the first time."

"Bad reception?"

"Yeah. I was put in a room with some gammons. They heard I was an agent and they all turned purple. The waitress was pretty rude, too. This is the stupidity that's ingrained in football that gives us potential advantages if we can weed it out at our club. Even if you don't like agents you need to have good relationships with them, make them feel welcome. If they have a choice of clubs to send their players to, soft factors could make the difference. That's why I want you to meet Bill Brown. He's Oldham's hospitality chief. He's a lovely guy, made me feel super, super welcome. I think even with the gammon attack, my overall experience of Oldham was positive because of Bill. And because of the pies."

"So am I to learn what to do or what not to do?"

"Both. Worst case scenario, we'll get some ideas, won't we? There are different levels of hospitality experience for different sets of fans. When we rebuild the stadium we're going to have to put loads of corporate boxes in for when we host top-level matches. It's like, you've got to have X number of boxes for the bigwigs. Okay, so maybe we host one such game every now and then. What about the rest of the year? What do we do with the boxes? I was thinking one could be a crèche."

"Crèche?"

"What do you call it? Baby place. Place with babies. Put your babies in there and go shopping."

"Oh!"

"Little bonus for the players, innit? And sponsors can have boxes, obviously, but if we have 20 sky boxes and 6 big suites we're going to need to fill them with normos. Oldham are ahead of us in those terms so let's learn what we can from them. Hospitality for normal fans. A little slice of the VIP lifestyle. Forty-pounds for nicer seats, a half-time pie, and a few anecdotes from a former player like we do in the Legends Lounge. It's not rocket science but we can start thinking about it. And, er..."

"What?"

"When we start rebuilding the stadium we're going to expand fast. We'll go from selling fifty special meals to five hundred. Two boxes to thirty. We'll have disabled access, sensory rooms, all that good stuff. We'll need staff who are as comfortable joking with gammons as they are dealing with floating megabrains. Someone who isn't going to start a fight with a guy with MS because he's bringing crutches into the stadium. Someone who can defuse tension and bring people together."

"Why do I feel like you're trying to describe yourself?"

I tipped my head back and laughed. "No way. I know that's not me. No, I was thinking maybe we can poach Bill."

"Oh, I see."

"It's just an idea. Your input is worth more than mine on that one. It's possible I overindex my own experiences. But he's someone who was nice to me when I was just starting and didn't have a clue what I was doing - I mean, he must have smelled how green I was from a mile away - and he navigated the tension between me and the gammons beautifully. It just seems like, yeah, there's an amazing option, ready made, let's put him right at the top of our list. He's an Oldham fan and it might not be easy to persuade him to move. I'd like to create jobs for local people but we need professionals if we're gonna make the transition from tiny fan-owned club to ginormous fan-owned financial juggernaut. Talking of juggernauts, do you see that truck in front of us? The one that seems to be approaching like a cliff edge?"

Brooke sighed and took her foot off the accelerator until the distance between the vehicles was safe. "Happy, now?"

"Yes, actually. Life's good. West Didsbury are up and look like going through the season unbeaten. Saltney are pulling clear of their league and it would be more shocking than Devon Loch if they didn't win. Chester Women need three wins from four; they'll win all their matches. It's done. They did it. The documentary will have a happy ending. Our kids are doing well and none got poached. My friend is buying a club in Gibraltar, which is good for me personally and for some Chester players who can't come with us on our journey."

There was a gap in the traffic and Brooke accelerated. We overtook the lorry and eased back into the slow lane. It was very smooth, very decisive, very controlled. "How do you make decisions about player journeys?"

"You can see when someone stops improving. That's the time to sell."

"It could be a plateau. Not all progress is linear."

"Sure. Maybe I'll get some wrong. But the basic principle of this project is to increase the three standard income streams of a football club - gate money, that's ticket sales, you've heard that phrase, right? Gate money; commercial; broadcast - all clubs have that income. Bigger stadium and more hospitality packages leads to more gate money. Success on the pitch leads to greater sponsorship income and merch sales. Getting to a higher division gets you more broadcast revenue. But we've got a fourth and fifth stream. The fourth is player sales. The fifth is investment income. Pitch rentals. A hotel near the stadium. Buying flats to rent to our players. Anything where we can invest and get a return. The more I think about it, the more I think that's where the big wins are gonna be, and I have to do that stuff anyway because it's the only way to make sure MD increases my budget. He's not as ambitious as me and that's fine if I plan around it. Could even prove to be better, long-term. Certainly better for Chester. Okay but most of the injections of cash will be from player sales. We've had a concrete offer for Aff and Carl and it'll be a wrench to see them go - and to play against them next season - but it's good for us, for them, and it's not inherently bad to refresh the squad. Alex Ferguson used to have a sense of when things were getting stale or when a young player was ready to kick a star out of the team and he was pretty ruthless about it."

"I like those boys."

"Me, too. Carl still has some growth left in him but if we wait another season will we get a lot more money for him? I doubt it. I'm still learning the market but I think the optimal time to sell is just before players hit their limits. In an ideal world, this summer I would sell those two, Ben Cavanagh, James Wise, and Steve Alton. In one of the next two windows it'll be Eddie Moore. It's fine if some stay as backups but we need to sell one or two guys every window and we need to have the next guys more or less ready to step into the team. That's going to be bumpy at times but I think I can do it. We have plenty of players who can cope with League Two, many who can do League One, a few who can come all the way to the Championship."

"Where does Zach fit?"

I gave her a sharp look. "Top end of the Championship. Playoff team." I continued to stare until I thought I saw a very slight reddening of a microscopic area of her cheeks. Surely not? I got slightly bombastic. "Yeah, I can't wait to flog him to some Championship chumps. Get a good few million for that lad, we will. I've got it all planned. December 2026 I aim all my free kicks and corners at him. He scores five goals in seven games just as the transfer window opens. We'll do a photoshoot for him to promote yoghurts or something and we'll hire a make-up artist to make his eyes seem a more natural distance apart. We'll attach electrodes that zap every time he says y'all. Yeah, I'll do a whole My Fair Lady scam on him and clubs will be at the door thrusting cash at me and I'll be like 'oh sorry to see him go he's mint but I suppose we could accept two million quid' and as soon as I hang up I'll call the builder and scream 'get me a hydrotherapy pool, stat!'"

Brooke was leaning forward a smidge. "I know you like him."

"He's just a player. He's a commodity. He's a good to be traded."

"Max."

"What's going on? Why are we talking about the Zachass?"

Brooke winced. She tapped the steering wheel a few times while she considered her next words. "Okay, we're really doing this. Come on, Brooke." She sat up straighter and coughed. "I, er, asked him out."

I tapped the dashboard and the door around my knees. "This car has airbags, right? Crumple zones?"

She tutted, sighed, and let out one laugh. "What are you doing?"

I waved my hands around. "It's the end times! It's a sign of the apocalypse! The Zachass. Remember? He broke my arm and you called him the Zachass. It's wild that I need to remind you of how you feel about him."

"That was unlucky and it was just a smudge on an X-ray, you said it yourself, and frankly it was your fault for spacing out on a football pitch."

I recoiled. "Is that what he told you?"

"No," she said, with heat. "No," she repeated, normal. "But since then when you're near a goal celebration he checks you're safe before joining the others. And since I gave him an earful after he messed up my photoshoot he has been unfailingly polite and kept his distance. He tries so hard to..." She swallowed, did a little cough, and did another single laugh. "Oh, boy."

I shook my head. Brooke and Zach? The idea was surreal, but in the end it wasn't really my business. Brooke needed to tell me they were dating, and that was the end of my involvement. "Right, well, no problem. I, er..." I had been about to say I thought it was a mismatch but first of all, why would I say that out loud? And second, Zach was young, fit, soon to be successful in his field, and most of all had an absolutely five-star father. There was more than enough there to interest any woman, but especially someone whose family life was lacking. "You'll have to fill in a form. I'd email it to you right now but I have to write it first. This one's going to be bespoke." I chuckled. "It's good you can see past his physical flaws. Inspiring, really."

She smiled and once again zoomed past a lorry. "He turned me down."

"No!" I slapped myself in the face a few times. "No! Wake up, Max! It's a dream sequence, Max! Wake up from the simulation! Leave the Matrix! The dream is collapsing!"

"I read about a big renovation at the Natural History Museum. Since we went, they added a garden that's also a display. They've got rocks you walk past that show the history of our geology. Every metre is five million years. Zach would love it." She cleared her throat again. "I said we'd had a blast last time and wouldn't it be swell to go and see this new space? And he was, ah, he was unfailingly polite." She laughed and tapped the steering wheel some more. "I thought I should let you know in case he behaves oddly."

I turned again; she was making no sense. "Why would he? Why do I need to know any of this? Nothing happened. There's nothing between you."

"There's gonna be."

I laughed. "Does he get a say?"

"He gets to say 'yes, Brooke'. I'm letting you know that I'll be pursuing him hard."

"BMW Huntsman." She narrowed her eyes - an admission that I had won the conversation - and her lips tensed in an attempt not to smile. It was clear to me that if she ever got Zach alone in, for example, a ski lodge, things would get all kinds of torrid. The poor guy would barely make it out alive. I said, "Could you at least wait until after the season?"

"No."

"Fine." I leaned back against the headrest. "You don't seem to be very good at flirting. Would you like some tips?" A smile burst out, but she didn't say anything. "I use a method I call intermittent reward. I've often thought about writing a monograph on the subject." She wasn't biting. "This conversation was confounding. Can we get back to the real world? Where's Chip at?"

"Dallas says takeover talk has fizzled out. Nothing doing, as far as she can tell. Chip has been in his office a lot."

"Any strange happenings around Biccy?"

"No," said Brooke. "Actually, one thing."

I sat up straight, alert. "What?"

"The other day, I called him Biccy."

I relaxed back into my chair. "I'm the best at naming things. Just go with it."

"No. He's Biscotti. I've been careful, though. I spend more time with other horses. Never mention Biccy on my socials, never talk about him with strangers."

I looked into the wing mirror to my left. Were we being followed? It wasn't completely stupid to think we were. "I'm sorry I even put the thought into your head."

"I'm not. You were right. I'm grateful."

"Er, quick business things. Where are we with Grindhog?" Grindhog were a sportswear supplier Brooke wanted us to get into bed with. It was fast-growing and had good marketing. The founder was a former Tranmere player but I wasn't feeling any love from the company. The owner talked a good game on podcasts but under the surface it looked like another soulless corporation to me. I preferred a cheap-and-cheerful option from a factory based in Manchester. After all, my requirements were pretty simplistic. I wanted the kits the players wore to look good, I wanted our fans to be able to buy them - including the women's goalkeeper shirt - and I wanted the clobber to be affordable and decent quality. Brooke wanted to 'leverage' Grindhog's sophisticated data mining expertise that led to fans buying more merch. I didn't give much of a shit about the potential profits - WibRob's left toe would bring as much money to the club as a billion replica kits, but I had to consider all avenues when it came to getting more income.

"An account manager will come to one of our home games before the end of the season. It would be tight but they promise us the new kits would be ready for the start of next season."

"Account manager?" I said. "Forget it."

"Why?" she said, with some heat. She had put a lot of work into setting this up.

"Because we're not some non-league no-marks. We're fucking Chester! We're the story of the century and some account manager is going to say 'I need to talk to my boss' every eight seconds because if we have a meeting with Grindhog, Nike, or Adidas I will have demands. I will want a kind of deal these companies have never seen before, something unlike anything that any other club in the world wants and unlike what any sportswear company would be willing to do. I would want to put the fans first and the money second and that means a lot of b-boys have to dance to my tune and that means I don't want to talk to an account manager. If Grindhog want to get in on the ground floor with us, they need to chase us like we're a beautiful Texan defender."

There was definitely some red on the cheeks. "What is it specifically you want from such a deal?"

"I can't think about it today. Today isn't kit day. Today is use 3-4-3 to get a result at Oldham day. One more b-question. If I sell Aff and Carl I will get something like 150k. Bradford City said they would pay up front, which MD thought was very strange but very welcome. We think it must be some kind of amortisation thing. Some accounting trick because normally you pay transfer fees in instalments. 150, though. If you can still get grants, that could buy us another 3G pitch."

"At Bumpers Bank?"

"I was thinking at one of the other sites you've been looking at. Eventually we'll have several 3G pitches at Bumpers but the second would cannibalise the rental income of the first, wouldn't it? And I've got a new one coming at Saltney, just down the road. So let's go further afield to really maximise the revenue. If we can get the grants, Aff and Carl could generate a hundred grand a year."

"We might not be able to get all the same grants, but I'll do some research. The council were enthusiastic about Ryan's idea to do something in Hoole so I'd expect it would be a smooth process. Won't you need the money to replace the players?"

"No. There are loads of free agents. Right backs are ten a penny. Left mids are harder, sure, but there will be options. If we're in League Two, it's easy."

"And if we don't go up?"

"We're going up."

***

Bill Brown, the former actor, was in sparkling form. He showed us around for a while and asked if it was true that I sometimes went walkies after handing in my team sheet. I said it was true. He said he had a great idea to show us the hospitality experience, if perhaps I slipped away out of the dressing room half an hour before kick off.

I said I was in his hands. Bill also said that if Brooke so desired he would let her see some numbers - profit per customer, break even points, catering rates, all kinds of things.

"Why would you do that?" I asked. He was going to share confidential information.

He looked around, checking for gammons. "I've been following your career since you popped up in Darlington. I hope we beat you today and again in the playoffs but I've seen what you've done. The deaf girl, the dentists, the loneliness project, the boys from the Exit Trials."

Oh! What's the opposite of my actions biting me on the arse? I gripped Brooke by the shoulder and shook her for a couple of seconds. "We also took a... let's say 'differently-abled' boy down to London to look at some dinosaurs. Didn't we, Brooke?" She scrunched her face up. "Brooke doesn't like to talk about our extensive charity work. I just... When I think about boys like that I get all hot. Just sort of fiery and passionate and I want to scoop them all up and carry them home and take care of them, do you know what I mean?"

"You've got a good heart," said Bill.

"Brooke's always saying I've got a good heart. Aren't you, Brooke?" Not at that moment she wasn't, no. I thrust my head a few inches forward. "Do you need a drink? Are you thirsty?"

"Pardon me?"

"Are you thirsty?" I repeated.

She went through a range of expressions - amused, annoyed, regretful - before getting some measure of composure. "I'm fine. I might fix myself a green smoothie later." She checked her watch. "Don't be late, Max. We're all counting on you."

***

I went down to the dressing room, did a quick team talk, warmed up with the lads, changed into trainers and a big training jacket, and went to find Bill and Brooke.

He told us to follow him. "Here's my idea. We'll go outside and I'll take you on the same journey our hospitality guests go through. Don't worry, it won't take more than ten minutes, but I wanted to do it now while there's fans and noise and you get a sense of the atmosphere."

"Ever the actor," I said. "The full theatrical experience. I love it."

We went through the hospitality entrance and traced the path a real fan would take. Bill pointed out a few small things they had done to make it feel more premium without being stuffy. I knew Brooke would be paying attention so I didn't get too far into the weeds - I had a match to manage!

The final stage was a large dining room with eight tables of five people. Forty people, forty quid, sixteen hundred pounds income. Not bad at all. The punters had been given some snacks and would get a full meal at half time. A former Oldham player had a microphone and was telling some old stories from his playing days. I supposed the tales would be from the era when Oldham had a plastic pitch - one of the ones that felt like concrete - and the great cup runs they'd had. Bill was missing a trick - these customers would pay double to hear an insider's perspective of the dark days when an agent had bought the club and given it to his brother to play with like a toy. Maybe better to keep things light.

"Bill!" said the player, into the mic, causing everyone to look over at us. "You've brought them to the wrong room!" He was being friendly, even if it doesn't sound like it.

Bill twinkled back. "Max is an old friend. He wants to know how a real football club does things."

"Max? That's... that's never Max Best?" He walked over to the big glass windows that had a view of the pitch. Some Chester lads were out there, passing a ball around, but none were so handsome as me. "Bloody Nora! I think it is."

People were taking photos and filming me and whatnot, so I thought I would go to the front and shake hands with the former player. You never knew, he could have been a top coach or his son could have been the next Dixie Dean.

He seized the chance to elevate the experience by doing a humorous interview. "Max Best! Tell us your plan for today. Spill your secrets!"

This got hearty laughs, but I simply held my hand out for the mic. The guy hesitated, but decided to go for it. He knew enough about me to guess there could be a cool story out of this. "Thanks, bro. Hello, Oldham. My name is Max Best. We're enemies today but I'm from Manchester and I always liked Oldham. It's that bloody Chadderton I can't stand." This made about five people laugh, which was good going for such a nonsensical comment. "You want to know today's tactics? Sure, I'll tell you. Why the devil not? Just don't tell your manager, okay? Promise?" I was up to seven laughs. "Right. Have we got a tactics board? What, no? What kind of dining room doesn't have a whiteboard and magnets?"

"We've got white bread and Magners!" cried one of the waiters.

"Brooke, sign him up!" Everyone was loving this, but they didn't believe I would really lay out my tactical plan. A couple of people were filming, just in case. "I was playing Fifa against one of those Twitch streamers - er, ask your grandkids - and he taught me all about 3-4-3. We've never used it, never practised it, not done so much of a minute's training with it." I paused. "So it would be pretty stupid to use it for the first time, away, against one of the best teams in the league." My smile got wider when I saw one guy turn to his mate and say 'no way'. "I'm doing 3-4-3 and that's the truth. If I don't, I'll give each of you one billion pounds unless I find out you live in Chaddy.

"So what do we get with 3-4-3? The first thing you get is a headache when people try to tell you all the fractional, hyper-specific ways you can use it. I prefer to think in broad strokes. Keep things simple. So there are three defenders. They are centre backs. Three big, hurling, brutish men. We give you the chance to get crosses in but we're going to head those crosses away with our big slab heads.

"Yeah, we've got this one guy. I won't say his name for privacy reasons but he's the key to the whole thing. He's the guy who can play passes to midfield and when he's not around I find myself all flustered like where is he I need him I miss him. He's the kind of man who makes you realise that the songs on the radio are about you. It's like, yes, I am out of my head when you're not around. You do make me feel brand new. Why does expected threat appear, every time you are near?"

I bit my lip and tried hard not to look at Brooke. She was standing with one arm on her hip. I had to make sure I didn't go too far.

"I pursued him for so long!" I cried. "He ran from me and I chased him - literally. In the end to get what I wanted I had to physically subdue, to dominate. I doused his fire and tamed him. No longer a wild mustang, but a mild-mannered, obedient cog in my machine.

"So that's the defence. Midfield we've got four guys spread across just like in a 4-4-2. I will start by asking the wide players to tuck in a fraction to make the centre of midfield a quagmire. A swamp.

"Then up top it's three strikers. Strikers? Yes, strikers." The curse version of 3-4-3 was completely symmetrical - our three forwards opposite our three centre backs. Sandra would have liked the front three to be spread out, but that's not what I had. I had the Emlyn Hughes version that loaded the penalty box although if I wanted, I could use WibWob to move one player wider. The next formation was 5-3-2, by the way, and cost 4,532 XP. I couldn't imagine using five at the back but then again, I hadn't wanted 3-4-3, either. Until I did. With it and with all the rotation, my team would be a tad under CA 60, excluding me. Oldham were CA 71, down from the 72 the last time we played. "Yeah I'm glad I'm entertaining you now because the match is going to be pretty boring. We're going to be very, very defensive. We might get lucky and one of these strikers might do something but they're all babies, really.

"Ah! The line ups. We've got Ben in goal. The back three is Christian, Dreamboat, and club captain Glenn Ryder. We're resting Carl and Eddie. Then it's Josh Owens - watch out for long throws into the box! - Ryan Jack, Andrew Harrison, and Max Best. Oh, that's me! Nothing much to say about that bunch. Pretty workmanlike and uninspiring, but it gives us a chance to rest Magnus and Youngster. Up front it's Henri Lyons - he's a good player but I stand by the baby comment - Pascal - too short for this league - and William Roberts. He's all right, I suppose, but he's just turned 17. Can't expect too much from him in a big game like this. He'll run around a lot, I reckon, but your defenders will gobble him up. Don't bet on him to score - that would be a real long shot."

That last comment was met with a baffled silence. But 3-4-3 wasn't the only upgrade I bought from the perk shop. While watching Sumo play Fifa I decided the best use of my XP, the one that might conceivably have an effect in the rest of the season, was to unlock another attribute. The only question was whether to try to target a specific attribute like Flair by locking down one of the columns. In the end, I decided to let nature take its course - targeting Flair when I was so far from being able to buy Relationism seemed pointless.

I bought Attributes 7 and lo and behold, it landed in the middle column anyway. That was extremely pleasing, since it would make it easier to get Flair when the time was right, but also because the attribute it unlocked would help me, specifically and tangibly, in the coming games.

Long Shots!

There was an option in the in-match controls to encourage or discourage players from taking long shots, and now I didn't have to go off my gut feeling.

Youngster was Long Shots 1, a stat that made me yelp when I saw it. I fucking knew it!

The general level of the squad was low. It was possible I had an unconscious bias against guys taking shots from distance because it was a low-probability move at the best of times. The men's squad wasn't completely barren: Henri could have a crack - 12 - Aff was pretty good - 13. In the interests of completion, Chipper was higher than Aff. Sarcastic thumbs-up emoji. On the women's team, Dani, Kisi, and Angel were decent, but the only one I would want taking regular pops from distance was Charlotte.

The stand-out, the tastiest treat, the one that nearly made me do a little dance right there on Sumo's stream, was William B. Roberts. He had Long Shots 16. Ooh, baby! If he kept improving, would he max it out?

The pre-match team talk I had given downstairs in the away dressing room had been the same as always, but with two differences. One, I told the CBs and CMs that if Oldham's number 19 got the time and space to hit a long shot I would line them up and punch them in the dick. Two, I told Wibbers to have a crack whenever he wanted.

Brooke pretended to cough and I snapped back into the moment. For some reason, I had decided to tell a bunch of strangers my plan. "Yeah, so that's your Chester FC line up today. One untried formation, two team-of-the-season shoo-ins rested, three teenagers in the first eleven. I love that you're here going above and beyond to support your club and I want to apologise for what you're about to see. It's going to be a dour, defensive grind. We're doing this formation to try to block your passing lanes and make you go more direct, so, yeah, it's not exactly gonna be France Portugal 1984. It's gonna be as much fun as a night out in Chaddy. You'll be back next week, though, won't you? You're good fans. Oh when the blues, yeah? Latics for life. Mic drop."

I grabbed Brooke and took her out of the room while the vibes were still positive. Once we were behind a pair of double doors, I let go. She said, "What have you got against Chadderton?"

"Nothing. I've never been there. It's just next door to here on the map. Old comedian's trick."

"Oh. So it's going to be a boring match?"

"Terribly, terribly dull. Sorry."

***

On-the-whistle match report from The Mail Online

Oldham Athletic 3 Chester 3 - Swashbuckling Best Stumbles and Enthralls

Author: B. Alban

Meta tags: non-league; ChesterFC; MaxBest; RyanReynolds

24-hour page views: 7,563

A coruscating clash between title favourites Chester and playoff hopefuls Oldham ended with a standing ovation from all four sides of a breathless Boundary Park this evening. Chester's destiny was taken out of their hands and a point was not much use to the home side, but fans of both clubs were enraptured. This was football as it was meant to be played - whole-hearted, chaotic, and thunderous.

Like any classic, it was a clash of styles. Oldham played 4-4-2 and attempted to stay disciplined. Their aim was to minimise mistakes and to pounce on those of their opponents. Eking out advantages at the margins. Playing the percentages. As the Chester manager's friend Donnie Wormwood would call it, Oldham were inside fighters.

Chester FC had been drifting in that direction in recent weeks, to the disappointment of many, but player-manager Max Best appears to have shaken off the angsts and worries that come with heavy responsibility. On the evidence of this ninety minutes he has rediscovered the swagger that allowed him to swat league leaders Grimsby Town aside with a nonchalant backheel wondergoal. He went with a 3-4-3 formation he - it is possible this was an elaborate prank - learned from watching someone play a video game. At one-nil down he was cocky. At two-one down he danced. At three-two down he mocked the fans who were mocking him. This was a performance of unflinching belief and certainty and if he was faking, I'll have what he's having.

Chester's team sheet came as a shock. After weeks of the team getting older, Best's Babes were back - three teenagers in the starting eleven and one on the bench. Another teen, Youngster, perhaps the best player in the division, was rested. Best pushes his players to the limit - except when he doesn't. Where is Chipper, the on-loan striker scoring a goal a game? Banished, it seems, with no explanation. The kids are back.

And the kids are all right. The left midfielder, Josh Owens, is known in the north-west as Josh Throw-Ins. In the early minutes, he hurled one into Oldham's penalty box that caused havoc. He then took every throw-in in Oldham's half, left or right, and every time Owens had the ball in hand, the Latics brought their entire team back to defend. But that first long throw was the only one. The rest went short, which is as funny to Max Best as Rick and Morty was to my ex-boyfriend. All went short... save one. From the left of midfield, Owens went through the endless rigamarole of drying his hands, drying the ball on one of his custom towels, and threw it all of thirty-five yards - horizontally, which I've never seen before - to Max Best, on the far side of the centre circle. Best dribbled forward and let loose a wicked cross that his record signing Christian Fierce nodded wide. Owens struggled at times, but earned a pat on the back and a smile from his manager.

Another young player, Pascal Bochum, ran riot. His movement was thrilling to behold. He is as fast and agile as a fox and he stupefied Oldham's defenders. In the post-match interviews, Best noted that the two yellow cards handed out to defenders trying to stop Bochum in the first half were critical in the latter stages of the match.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

But the most eye-catching performance was from William B. Roberts, a prodigious talent who is said to be attracting the attention of Premier League clubs. He showed movement equal to Bochum, strength equal to journeyman French striker Henri Lyons, and the ice-cold ruthlessness in front of goal of Best himself. He scored Chester's second equaliser with a long-range blast that left Oldham's goalkeeper with Wile E. Coyote gunpowder smoke all over his face. Best and Roberts joked about the strike afterwards, and for the next ten minutes the football match was put on hold as the pair tried to out-do each other with long range efforts. Oldham's attempts to block these shots led to Chester's third goal, the equaliser, as Best and Roberts combined to set up Lyons for his second of the game.

Oldham were a force. Their attacks were purposeful and they overwhelmed Chester's experimental defence at times. The home fans raised the roof for their goals, were never outsung, and were generous in their appreciation for their team and their opponents when the final whistle went. The away end was a non-stop party. Their team is unbeaten in eleven, their young players are flourishing, and their manager is a maddening contradiction in egocentricity and altruism.

An away point is a good point, but with Grimsby Town winning, Chester have stumbled in the title race. They are seven points behind with two games in hand, and time is running out. Grimsby may be out of reach, but Best's ambition for the season has always been a playoff victory. If Chester versus Oldham is repeated in the National League playoffs, make sure you put the date in your diary. This is the football you long to see: thrill-a-minute fare served up by players chasing their dreams. If the bland monotony of the Premier League is the disease, this National League promotion race is the cure. Do yourself a kindness - tune in.

P GD Pts 1 Grimsby 42 39 85 2 Barnet 42 36 85 3 Chester 40 33 78

***

Monday, March 31

It was a decent weekend for Chester Football Club. The men's team got a frankly outrageous draw against a much stronger team, the women's team beat Tranmere, their last troublesome opponents, and the youth teams had good results. In addition, the Chester Knights got two international call ups. I made sure I was at their Sunday morning match to dish out hugs and selfies.

We were no longer in pole position for the title. If Grimsby won all their games, that would be that. As I said to the lads in the morning, though, Grimsby were about to have a week off.

"Okay so we have two hard games in a week and they get to put their feet up. But imagine you're at home trying to relax and on the second day, your seven-point lead gets cut to four. And on the weekend when you're supposed to be enjoying a barbecue with your mates, your four-point lead gets cut to one. What do you think, are you having a good time?"

While I was still pushing for the title as best as I realistically could, we had to be professional and that meant thinking about the playoffs and you can't think about playoffs without thinking about penalty shoot-outs. Since the squad's CA growth was absolute dogshit anyway, I'd decided that at least once a week we would cut a session in half and do mock penalty shootouts. No laughs, no jokes, proper shootouts between two teams. I planned to bring a pro referee in to oversee it to make sure it was all kosher, to make it as authentic as possible.

For this Monday, though, we were doing a simple penalty brackets challenge. I had scrounged up every goalie I could get my hands on, including Trev Northcross from Tranmere and Jay-Mo from the JM Academy (new motto: Keep Clean Sheets and Carry On). We had about twenty fit outfielders and I started by handing out laminated printouts that showed how I wanted the penalty takers to behave. On the flipside was how the non-takers should act. It was a rip-off of how the England national team approached shoot-outs under Gareth Southgate. It was all about the details and making it feel that it wasn't a lottery but that the team who prepared better would win. Shooters needed to wait for the referee's whistle and then begin their routine, not rush into the shot. Those on the halfway line needed to keep calm while only one 'buddy' praised or consoled the guy who had just taken a pen.

The plan was for the players to read the sheets, absorb the ideas, and we would practise later in the week. For now, we were doing a simple test of the basics. Could you strike a penalty kick or not? We quickly whittled the squad down to 8 guys with good technique, which included me.

The eight best penalty takers competed in four best-of-five shootouts, with two pairs doing battle simultaneously at either end of a pitch. The rest of the squad was in the centre circle, lined shoulder-to-shoulder as though it was the World Cup final. The idea was to make it seem like every pen mattered.

Eight became four.

In the semis, I faced off against Ryan Jack, while Henri did battle with Chipper.

In my match, I went first. I dribbled the first pen into the corner after sending the goalie the wrong way. Ryan scored. I scored. Ryan scored. This continued until the fifth pen when Sticky showed signs of having worked out my technique. Instead of trying to send him the wrong way, I blasted it high, close to the corner of the post. No-one's saving that. I regretted it immediately, since goalies don't like being scored on endlessly.

Fortunately for me, Sticky saved Ryan's fifth pen and I was able to run and hug Sticky like he had just won us promotion. He did his gruff Yorkshire 'gedoff' stuff but I knew he was pleased. We jogged up to halfway to watch the epic battle going on between Henri and Chipper. Wibbers, furious with himself for not getting to the semi-final, told me it was currently six-all and every pen had been amazing.

Six-all became seven-all became eight-all. I started to stress about what this might do to Ben's Morale. It was stable so far, but I couldn't afford my best sticksman to drop Morale for no reason. Henri and Chipper were reliable penalty takers. Point proven.

While I was fretting, Ben dived the right way and while he didn't get a hand to Henri's shot, the dive made Henri go a bit wider with his effort - too wide! Chipper tucked away the winner and there was cheering and applause and a whoop.

The swirl and sway of the near-thirty people oriented towards one goal, ready for the dramatic shoot-out between Chipper and Max Best. I got my whistle and summoned everyone into a semi-circle.

"Lads, I'm mostly happy with that for a first go. Some of you got knocked out early because you were clowning around. I'm not interested in comedy when it comes to penalty shoot-outs. If you're dicking around in these practices you will never, ever take a penalty kick for Chester Football Club. There's nothing funny about fifty people and fifty volunteers working their arses off for a fucking year to achieve something and it all falls to shit because you wanted to do a panenka for the memes. You want everyone to go oh wow, what a player! Not in the shootout. If you want acclaim, you earn that in the ninety minutes.

"If you want to take a pen in a shootout, you'd better take these sessions as serious as anything you've ever done in your life, and you fucking go left or right and hit with purpose unless I tell you otherwise. When I came to Chester, there was a guy who thought it would be funny to do a panenka in an important match. He missed and guess what? He ain't here any more. Do you get me? We have the best technique in the division and that means we should be the best at pens. We've got two and a half weeks until the Cheshire Cup final. By seven thirty that Tuesday night I want to have the feeling that you understand the process and you understand what's required of you.

"We'll do something on Friday with a proper referee and we'll be able to press him about what sort of gamesmanship we can and can't get away with. But basically there's no need for bullshit. Follow the process, stick your pen away, bosh. Okay? Thanks to all the goalies. Let's get lunch."

"Max!" called Glenn, laughing. "Did you forget? It's the final! You against Chipper!"

"Yeah, boss," whispered Chipper, somehow being just as loud as Glenn. "It's the big showdown."

For a moment I genuinely couldn't work out what they were talking about. Chipper was so completely off my radar I didn't even consider the fact that everyone would want the tournament to finish. "There's no showdown," I said. "Chipper's an amazing penno taker. We all saw it. Job done. Check complete, good process. The end."

Thirty people, two deep, discovered, for the first time, the extent of the antipathy between me and Chipper. He took a half-step forward. "It's demotivating to get to a final only to have it cancelled."

"Is it? That's really interesting. I don't really see why, though. You're clearly an outstanding penalty taker. It might take twenty goes for me to beat you. 39 pens against some poor bastard. Reckon that's demotivating for him?" I stepped closer. "Or do you not give a shit about anyone except yourself?"

He took a step. "You talk big, but when the stakes get raised you shy away. Let's make it interesting. Let's put two grand on the final."

"What final?"

"The shoot-out!" he cried.

I gave him a pitying look. "Didn't you hear me? The session is over. It's lunch."

He said something strange, then. He said, "Are you gonna bottle this?" Except the very fact that he even replied turned my piss, instantly, to vapour, so all I heard was 'are you gonna bottle this?' but from context and the reactions of those around, I'm pretty sure he said something along the lines of 'are you gonna bottle this like you did the league?'

Incredibly, unfathomably, I had juuuuust enough composure not to erupt. But the prick was undermining me in front of everyone, just as I'd feared. I needed to assert my authority but I didn't need to say what I thought about him. In a cold, distant voice, I said, "Thing is, mate, I don't need to test how you react to pressure for the simple reason that you won't be featuring in the playoffs. You won't be taking any penalties for Chester Football Club, ever.

"You've got your opinions about me and you're entitled to them but they're the kinds of things I'd normally read on a Wrexham fans forum, not hear from one of my players." Someone - Sandra, the Brig, Vimsy - was trying to talk to me. I held up a hand and eyed Chipper. "Hang on. Let me make sure I don't bottle this. Ah... yeah. Clear out your locker. Don't come back. We'll pay you till the end of your contract so feel free to go zorbing or swan-counting or whatever you're into. I won't slag you off in the media or in front of other managers. In fact, if asked I'll say how talented you are, like I always do."

I went internal and found I was perfectly content. I deleted Chipper from my mental database - not literally. I swept my eyes around the rest of my players and staff.

"Anyone who thinks all this - this club, this season - is about themselves can leave, too. Anyone who comes to training tomorrow morning, I expect insane levels of commitment, insane levels of sacrifice and togetherness. Tomorrow night we're going to beat a good team in Hartlepool in front of our fans. We'll have to battle and suffer and if you're not up for that, there's the door. There are plenty of morons talking about choking and bottling and there's only one response to that - join in with the chirping or stick it to them. I'll tell you one thing I was keeping to myself: I've never been more confident that we'd get promoted than Saturday night after the Oldham game. Yeah, after. Because I saw the look in the Oldham manager's eyes. I saw how their players looked at us. They know that next time we play them we'll slap them pink.

"The playoffs? We'll beat Oldham, we'll beat Grimsby, we'll beat Solihull, we'll beat Aldershot. The only one that makes me think twice is Barnet and you know what? I want them in the final. I want them! I'm ready for war, lads. The night before the final we're gonna go to bed as the fox and wake up as the huntsman. I can feel it! I'm psyched. I'm stoked. I don't have an ounce of fear left in me! Tomorrow night we're gonna tear shit up and this whole league is gonna have nightmares. So tomorrow morning be ready to work because this is Chester and there's one thing we're the best in the world at and that's chasing down a bigger dog. We drew with Oldham. Is that bottling it? No-one's bottling anything, that's just crap I was chatting to the media. Wainwright's gone and this league's a mad eight-way scrap. When we play Gateshead, Grimsby have to play Aldershot. Do you want to be home playing Fifa or do you want to be at the Deva with the scent of blood in your nostrils? Come back here in the morning pumped up or send me a text saying you don't fancy it. That's all I've got to say. Get going."

***

On-the-whistle match report from The Mail Online

Chester 2 Hartlepool 0 - Sensational Chester Back in the Hunt

Author: B. Alban

Meta tags: non-league; ChesterFC; MaxBest; Wrexham; PromotionRace

24-hour page views: 9,009

Chester FC returned to winning ways after two draws, dismantling a Hartlepool team that harboured hopes of making the National League playoffs. With no other teams in action, Chester eased to within four points of first place with a game in hand. The one-sided nature of the match was not expected. Pools had proved bothersome to many of the league's top teams and, indeed, crushed Chester 3-0 early in the season.

This was not the early-season Chester, though. This was a formidable 4-2-3-1 featuring three defensive players likely to appear in many end-of-season teams of the year. Centre back Christian Fierce was dominant, right back Carl Carlile had boundless energy, and defensive midfielder Youngster made five interceptions in 70 minutes. A front four of Irish winger Diarmuid Dubhlainn, German schemer Pascal Bochum, Mancunian player-manager Max Best, and French goal-getter Henri Lyons proved all too much for Pools, who were fortunate their red card came after Best had essentially shut up shop for the evening.

The only clouds on a near-perfect evening for Chester fans were that two players (Green, Wise) received their fifth yellow cards of the campaign and will miss the next match, and that this was the latest in a long line of non-appearances from their much-touted striker Leslie "Chipper" Thomson. Best batted away questions on the topic, stating that Chipper was "Mint at football and a very, very salutary lesson to everyone involved at Chester Football Club, most of all me."

Chester are at home to Rochdale on Saturday in the last of their rearranged matches. A win will take them just one point away from the summit and on this form, no-one would bet against them making it 13 games unbeaten.

P GD Pts 1 Grimsby 42 39 85 2 Barnet 42 36 85 3 Chester 41 35 81

***

Wednesday, April 2

I asked Aff and Carl to come to my office and while I waited, I checked my screens. There was the league table - a thing of beauty - there was a mostly healthy first team squad, there was a database brimming with soon-to-be out-of-contract players, and there was a new monthly perk.

New Perk Available: April Fuels

Cost: 1,000 XP

Effects: In the month of April, in-game refreshments will restore an additional point in Condition. This is limited to two instances per match for a potential cumulative effect of 2 points. The perk will automatically trigger at half time and in the event of a stoppage in the second half. These effects will wear off after the match, meaning a player whose Condition improved by 2 points during the match will lose 2 points after the final whistle. April Fuels do not show on blood or urine tests.

So many questions with this one, but primarily: Was this cheating? I couldn't quite tell but the more I thought about it, the more I wondered why I hadn't questioned Seal It Up or Cupid's Arrow. Those were artificial boosts, just like this one. Perhaps Old Nick had used salami tactics on me to make me more and more susceptible to this kind of corruption.

Having an extra 2 points of Condition would be a fairly small effect. It would perhaps let Aff make one more huge sprint to get on the end of a cutback from the other wing. It would perhaps stave off some of the brain fog defenders got late in games and would allow Carl to keep in the optimal position a while longer.

But most of all it would fractionally reduce the chance of my players getting injured. That was decisive, really. Even if it felt a bit cheaty, I would always buy perks that stopped my players getting hurt. I planned to buy it before the Rochdale match kicked off on Saturday - that would give me time to wrestle with the ethics of the perk.

"Boss?" Aff was at the door. I gestured; he and Carl took seats in front of my desk.

"Lads, thanks for coming. Great game last night, Carl. The break did you good."

"It did, boss, yeah. I don't need another one, if it's all the same to you."

I let out a slightly exasperated noise. Players! "Okay listen. As you know, we've had loads of interest in you from other clubs. I think you're both mint but obviously I'm not going to stand in the way of a juicy contract. I think normally I'd want to wait till the season was over but Bradford want to get it all wrapped up asap - I think they know I'm going to Brazil - and they're willing to pay us up front. And you know I need the cash."

"Bradford," said Aff. "Park Avenue?"

I laughed. "No. Bradford City. League Two. They're not doing well right now but they're not going down. Get this." I handed over a printout of Bradford's home attendances. "Sixteen, seventeen thousand fans every week. It's a huge club, lads. Sleeping giant. I'd love to play for a club like that. Biggest crowd I played at was about eight thousand. Closer to seven, if I remember right. I've got vague memories of sometimes choosing Bradford City when I played Champion Manager. I love a big crowd, a big stadium. If you're interested you can go tomorrow and do a medical there. Negotiate a deal. Ruth, the board member who's an agent, will go with you if you want. Ah, for free, lads, relax! She'll make sure you get a good basic wage and add-ons and promotion bumps and all that stuff."

Carl was eyeing me. "Aren't you worried we'll switch off when we've agreed a deal?"

"You two? Switch off? I'm not worried about that, no."

"What if we get injured?" said Aff.

"Not a problem. If we do the deal then the deal's done. Your contract will expire here and your contract there will start when it starts. July first I think. You'll be doing your medical now, when you're fully fit, so it's not an issue. If you turn up injured, that's their problem, not yours. That's a gamble they're willing to take to prevent there being an auction for you."

"You don't want an auction?"

"The fee we're talking about is fair and cash up front is amazing. Cash is king. And I know you guys are superfriends so that's awesome, being able to move you both to the same place. That's a plus. Other clubs won't do that."

Aff looked at Carl and some agreement passed between them. "It'll be strange to play against you next season."

"It won't be strange," I said. "It'll be painful. For you guys." I smiled. "Nah. Of course it'll be strange but we'll all have tripled our wages, won't we? We can get together after the final whistle and light cigars with hundred pound notes. What I need now is for you to give me the nod and I'll call Ruth and she'll organise tomorrow."

"I'm in," said Aff, who was perhaps the most underpaid player in the entire league.

"Yeah," said Carl, who had been on the verge of quitting the sport when I turned up at Chester.

Now they would both get good moves, big salaries, and play in front of big crowds. "Top," I said. "Top top top."

***

From: Emma

Babes, the podcast guys are buzzing about the team but they're confused about the Chipper sitch. They know you bombed him out. Things are being said. Not quite slanderous, more's the pity, but you'd better listen and maybe get in front of it.

>> Okay will listen.

From: Ruth

Bradford have suggested 2K for Carl, 2.1K for Aff. It sounds about right to me. What do you think?

>> Carl should be 2.2.

From: Bethany

Have you heard the rumours that your old friend Daddy Star is sniffing around Bristol Rovers?

>> Six million quid to buy a club that loses three million a year? How about nah.

Can I have an interview, please?

>> No. Busy.

I'm trying to get my bosses interested in the title race. And you might want to put your side of the Chipper story out before it gets toxic again.

>> I'm doing it! I'm literally doing it!

***

Thursday, April 3

@DevaStation: About to record interview with MAX ACTUAL BEST. He's promised to spill the beans about YOU KNOW WHO. Can't wait! Will edit and upload asap. Hold onto your hats!

***

[Epic theme music plays, interspersed with commentary of memorable moments from Boggy and the BBC]

J: Yes! Welcome to Deva Station, I'm your host, J. I don't have a co-host today, but I have a very special guest. [Audio of Best's goal against Grimsby plus crowd noise recorded from the away end.] Max Best, welcome to the studio.

Max: Good clip that, isn't it? That was a fun goal.

J: Amazing day out, Max. Beers and cheers all the way home. It's good to have you on.

Max: Yeah, it's good to be on.

J: Is it?

Max: No, it's just something people say, innit? [Laughs.] Seriously I like doing it but I have to be in the mood and most of the time I'm not. I keep trying to put myself in the headspace, like, let's talk to the fans, let's film a quick something and put it on the socials but I think it's just not me, do you know what I mean? I'm not a professional broadcaster. If I get to choose when these things happen I'd like it to be when I'm in a good mood.

J: Are you in a good mood?

Max: Yep. Are you?

J: Third in the table, Max. It's unreal. For a minute I thought...

Max: I know what you thought because you said it six hundred times and got t-shirts made.

J: We got so close!

Max: Don't count us out just yet, but yeah, looks like the playoffs. Trip to Wembley suit you?

J: That's a yes from me. From all of us. I've never been.

Max: What, never?

J: Chester have never been to Wembley, Max.

Max: What, never?

J: Not once in 140 years. The closest we got in recent times was 1997, a playoff semi-final. We lost to Swansea.

Max: Hey, that's perked me up. I'll be the first manager to take Chester to Wembley. Fun. What do you reckon, would we sell twenty thousand tickets?

J: Oh, more. The club's first time at Wembley? To get back to the league? Yeah, thirty at least. Forty if you lay on a load of coaches.

Max: Interesting. I was just talking to someone about playing in front of a big crowd. Wembley's massive, though. I wonder if fifty thousand still feels big if the stadium's half empty?

J: You'll have to come back on and let us know.

Max: You know what I like? I like that you've gone anti-Max again. It's more fun talking to you when you're agin me.

J: I'm not agin you. No-one's agin you. I think - we all think - there have been mistakes. There are worrying signs in amongst the overall euphoria of the team's recent results.

Max: All right so, look. You've got the right to say whatever you want and you can speculate and wonder and dig me out if you want. I really don't mind it when it comes to the football. I gave Youngster two matches off when he came back from his month away and you didn't like that and I think that's a fair discussion point. It's hard to say whether I was right or not but I felt there was a risk of him getting injured and okay we didn't win the match but he didn't get injured, either, so I feel the club came out on top. But it's a good talking point. Where I don't like the Chipper discussion on your last pod is where you said I'm blowing the club's money.

J: Okay. But you are.

Max: I'm sensitive about that kind of talk because I'm poor and most of your listeners are poor and I'm not casual with the club's resources. Boris Johnson threw a four hundred thousand pound party for a bridge that never got built. A hundred and sixty thousand pounds for a website for a bridge that never got built. Fifty million pounds of taxpayer money for a bridge that never got built. That's our money and he's piled it up and pressed down a plunger and exploded it. I know those stories and they're infuriating. They boil the blood. We've got three home matches left and I want the Deva packed and noisy. I want the fans going bananas every time we attack. Do you get me? I don't want fifteen hundred people folding their arms when we score as some kind of protest or some crap.

J: That's not where we're at. We're behind you, I said. We're behind the team.

Max: Are you? It sounded to me that you were behind Chipper.

J: He's been hard done by.

Max: That's possible. But he's not in the team. He's not going to be in the team. We're talking about him instead of getting ready for Rochdale.

J: Because we don't know what happened except you took against a player - again - and froze him out - again. That's the third time this season. It's a pattern.

Max: The problem is it's hard to talk about it in public. I could tell you the whole story except for one part but that's the only part that makes sense of it all. To me it's a question of trust. Do you trust me to spend the club's money? Do you think I've got the club's best interests at heart?

J: That's not how I see it. I see it as: Are you learning from your mistakes?

Max: I promise I will as soon as I make one.

J: Max...

Max: [Laughs.] Let me just say my piece about the money because it's winding me up. We've got half the budget of the other teams in the top half of the table, a third of the budget of Grimsby and Barnet. We're right up there. When we beat Rochdale - and we will - we will be one point off. This is a three-way title race. If it was only one of them, I'd have us as favourites but there are two so we've got fingers crossed for two slip-ups, haven't we? Which isn't the kind of position I want to be in, but that's how it is. Now, we haven't done that by accident. We didn't win some points in a lottery. We scrapped and competed and trained and here we are. The money's out on the pitch. The money's in talented young players. Do you know what I mean? The spend is, like, 93% efficient in a league where the next best is 60%. Okay you want me to get from 93 to 95 but I'd say turn around. Look behind you.

J: Yes. Very, very fair. But did you do everything you could to make sure Chipper was a success?

Max: No. I didn't. When we signed him, did you think it was a good deal?

J: Yes. Top striker. Done it at a higher level. Strong, tough, can cope with the physicality. That's why we want to see him out there.

Max: Okay so you didn't think I'd wasted the money at the start. I was really happy with it. I was smug. Insufferable. I thought I'd done another Chris Beaumont. If Chipper fired us to the title the way Chris did, that's money well spent. Yes?

J: Yes.

Max: There you go. I allocated it efficiently. I'm not chucking money around like some twat. That's my main point. If we can agree to that, we can move on.

J: But -

Max: J! It's a yes or no question.

J: Okay, yes, it was a good allocation of resources. But -

Max: Things are starting to happen, J. The money we used to spend on electricity bills is out on the pitch. By the end of this calendar year we will have two 3G pitches that we're renting out, making money, money that can go into players or into facilities.

J: Two pitches?

Max: Yes. Two. One at Bumpers Bank, one somewhere else. We'll use them ourselves, obviously, and we'll rent them out. That's good money coming in. Reduce costs, grow income. I'm hugely ambitious for the financial side of the club. I want to set it up so that over time we go from having the fundamentals of a National League North club - we're still there in many ways - and build it so that when I go, the next guy has a platform. A bigger budget, better facilities, a fully-stocked youth pipeline. That's what I'm doing. Now that manager, whether it's Sandra or Jackie or whoever, is going to have players they fall out with. That's a fact of life. At every football club there are at least two players who are on the outs and are waiting for a transfer or for their manager to get sacked. If you want to say that when it comes to me and Chipper, that situation shows my bad character but every other similar case with every other manager who has ever lived doesn't, okay! Just take the financial angle out and crack on. Or jab me in the side with a dagger just before I go out to face Rochdale.

J: Maxxx.

Max: J, I need you screaming your head off on Saturday so I'll tell you what I can. First, let's see things from Chipper's point of view. He has a great season in League Two, Crawley get promoted, spend some of their bitcoin money and buy what they think is an upgrade. Chipper gets sidelined. Not nice. He's seen me in action, briefly, helping Crawley go up at Wrexham's expense. Lol, by the way. So he thinks I've got some potential and he's heard I'm a good player, too. He's certainly heard I like to play attacking football and he can pad his stats and get a good move in the summer. Great. He turns up and the pitches are all mudbaths and everyone's walking on eggshells because of the failed so-called takeover bid. He's pleased to see we've signed Christian Fierce and we've got some guy from the Welsh FA doing some coaching. There are enough serious people around to balance out a small amount of strangeness.

J: Lots of questions about the Welsh connection if you have time.

Max: Er, nah. Also: focus. On Chipper's first day at the club, I come in to update my Maxterplan and my talk is all about rocks and fossils and weird shrimp creatures. I say we're going to play brutal long-ball football. We do and it's awful and at times shambolic. We're, what, ninth in the league? Training is bad because we can't trust the surfaces. We're drawing against Dagenham and we seem completely out of ideas. At this point if he's thinking what am I doing here, can we really blame him? Okay so he gets sent off. Two yellows, but later the ref upgrades the second to a straight red. Chipper misses three games where we really needed him. We lose to Barnet and that's another huge blow. He's back from suspension and I don't use him. I put him back in the team against Rochdale and we go one-nil down. At that moment we're out of the playoffs again. He gets a yellow card for dissent and I sub him off after eight minutes. Now, there were maybe two key moments in all of that but you get the general idea, right? He can't believe he has taken a risk and landed in this madhouse.

J: When you lay it out like that, yes. Did you say shrimp creatures?

Max: I'm not completely devoid of empathy, J. I do understand these frustrations but also that's all hindsight. At the time I wasn't watching him like a hawk, was I? I've got 92 players to look after and I'm scrabbling to get us time on better training pitches, trying to keep us grinding whatever points we can where we can get them. Some of the chat on your podcast was that I should have intervened earlier. Well, look at you bunch of megabrains! Let's hook you up to a pond so you can predict the future and solve problems before they've even happened. It's not that easy, mate. Pretty early on I was aware something was off and I was talking to people about going to Scotland to chat to the manager who got the best out of Chipper. Your mate was on here saying I should have talked to Chipper and sorted it out. Yeah, but I did talk to him. We'll come back to that in a second. But let's be generous to Chipper and say we understand his frustrations, okay? And let's get his achievements and contributions on record. He scored the winning goal in his first two games and when he played, he played well, and bravely. And he trained great and I was happy to keep him around even if he disliked me because the young players were watching him and seeing the standards and that's good for them. That's all positive. That's all good.

J: But?

Max: I talked about the two key moments. The most important one is that when he got sent off, I asked the ref what he said. The ref told me. I asked Chipper what he said. He said something, hah, quite different. I believed the referee. So there's a problem, right, with communication between us. I should talk to him about this dissent and this behaviour but he denies he's doing it. We can all see he's doing it but he says he isn't. Maybe I'm too immature to square that circle but I react badly when people lie to my face. It sounds harsh to put it like that and maybe I would lie, too. It's not a huge issue but it does mean the communication channels are pretty blocked, do you know what I mean?

J: Yeah. But you've got assistants. Vimsy. Come at it sideways?

Max: They talked to him but it didn't lead anywhere. He certainly didn't change his behaviour, did he? Then against Rochdale the referee was wearing a bodycam and at half time I saw and heard what Chipper was saying. I won't repeat it, and that's part of the problem I've got. Remember the fans forum? You all saw loads of private footage. Chipper's out there in public and he knows there's cameras on him but he feels the pitch itself is a sort of safe space so he's firing off volleys - verbal ones, sadly - but I'm not going to repeat what I heard to you, to Sandra, to the Brig, not even to Emma. I heard it, I know how he talks to refs, it's not acceptable.

J: Well.

Max: Yeah, you don't care. Ian Evans wouldn't care. No-one cares. But I do and I'm the manager and if you want a different culture you have to wait till I'm gone. I want a winning culture and that means being intelligent. That starts with spending our money as well as poss, but it's on the pitch, too. What advantages can we get by being smart? It might be a clever throw-in routine or a cheeky free kick. It might mean a funky formation or even which way we shoot if we win the coin toss. Yeah? And we are nice to the referee first because we plaster the word respect all over the stadium and we're setting an example to the young players, second because no referee no game, and third, because we want to win! It's moronic to wind up the guy who decides if that foul was inside the box or if that tackle was a yellow or a red!

J: You've been known to have a pop from time to time.

Max: Yeah, of course. Everyone does but it's a question of degree. If you get booked for it, you've gone miles over the line. And you've put your team at a disadvantage. It's not for me. No, thanks. Think what you want but that's the way we're doing it. But that's all by the by, you know. What really matters is that it proved he lied to me. You get that, right? Now, I still might have gone to Glasgow to talk to his former manager, I still might have tried, but then the second thing happened. Again, I can't go into details but I saw something in that match that I thought I recognised and when I heard the bodycam audio I heard it clear as day and, in a nutshell, he was slagging me off.

J: Slagging you off? Critical?

Max: Yeah. We've established it's a shambles, haven't we? It's not Christian Fierce's fault. It's not Sandra's. It's me. I'm gibbering about rocks and shrimp and I'm slipping taking corners and every chance I get I flood the team with babies and so on and so on. Now, you're gonna think it's personal. But you slag me off all the time, J. I can take it. I wish you didn't, but half the time I agree with what you say about me! I wish I didn't have flaws but I do and it's okay you call them out. But I'd like to think you can look at a list of budgets and compare that to the league table and think, huh, eighth in the league isn't bad, actually. But guess what? We're not eighth. We're third going on first.

J: So you think it's unfair.

Max: It's clearly unfair but that's not the point. I mean, one reason we were so low in the league in that particular match is that we only took one point from the previous two matches because a certain striker was banned. Him getting banned and criticising me for us being out of the playoffs is incredible logic. I suppose strikers are like that - they never make mistakes, it's the passes to them that cause them to miss. Anyway, fair, unfair, I'm not immune to a bit of sulking but I'm busy enough to power forward, right? And who knows? Maybe I am shit. But you can't say that. You can't say it on the pitch or in the dressing room. You can't. That's not for my ego, that's for the team. Have you seen Welcome to Wrexham?

J: It's a show that glorifies our main rivals. What do you think?

Max: I can't really get on my high horse - I refuse to watch the Man City crap. Okay so there's a player in there who is constantly moaning. I can't believe he did it on camera, it's that bad. Makes him look like a twat, to be honest. He's whinging and moaning and slagging off the manager. Saying the manager lied to him and he should be in the team and blah blah blah.

J: Charming.

Max: It's like, can't you see you're poison? You're the problem?

J: And you think Chipper's that person in our dressing room?

Max: No, no, no, it didn't get anywhere close to that. Maybe there were a few comments here and there but we went on a winning streak, didn't we? It's hard to say I'm shit when we're winning eight on the trot. And most of our squad were here last year so they're used to me using strange metaphors and they know when I say we're gonna get good near the end of the season, we're gonna get good near the end of the season. I'm not mad at Chipper. I understand where he's coming from and I know some of his time here looked bizarre and amateur. But I can't have that kind of negativity in the dressing room because it starts small and grows and it doesn't matter to me if patient zero is a guy we promote from the youth team or a very expensive star striker. It doesn't matter who it is, J. No one player can ever be worth more than the collective. You're looking for me to get some kind of growth in how I deal with players and that might be fair enough but I can promise you I will never 'grow' in the area of undermining the team because preserving team spirit is a non-negotiable. It is absolutely, one billion percent non-negotiable. It's my job and my staff's job to minimise how often it happens but it's going to happen. This will happen again and it will go exactly the same.

J: [Sigh.] I think this isn't what people want to hear but I think I basically understand your perspective.

Max: All I can promise you and the fans is that I'm not like Jose Mourinho picking a player to go to war with to get the other lads afraid of him. I want harmony. I want everyone to be happy and I want to have a positive effect on everyone's careers. I am trying. It's not easy. There isn't a week that goes by that I don't pick up some new enemy. A manager, an agent, a left back, a billionaire. I can just about deal with those enemies as long as there isn't one sitting behind me on the team bus. Do you know what I mean?

J: Yeah. You don't want to end up with a bus full of likeable, easy-going boys, though. You need some right bastards on a team.

Max: Er, have you met me?

J: [Laughs.] Good point. We've got some handy lads, all right. Fierce, Green, Lyons, Wisey.

Max: I take your point, though. I don't want a load of yes men. Henri is happy to tell me what I'm doing wrong but he's behind me, too. There's a way to do it.

J: Right.

Max: I need to go; there's a school match kicking off in ten minutes and I got a tip that one of the girls is a player. Look, J, I'm not here to shut down dissent but we really, really need some of that could we energy. We are on a roll and we're picking up speed and we are about to smash into the end of the season. The chase is on, J. This is the last time I'm going to talk about anything negative until the final kick of the final game, whether it be at Woking or at Wembley. We are going hard at every match and we're plotting and scheming to do something incredible but we need togetherness and unity. I need you loud on Saturday. We're so close, mate. The EFL is right there. If you want to do another Fans Forum and put up a big timeline and we'll work out the exact moment I pooped the bed with the Chipper situation, weird but okay, can we please do it in August while we're playing Bradford City, Tranmere, and Carlisle?

J: Big clubs, those.

Max: I know! Put your doubts aside. Get behind the lads. The eleven who take the pitch on Saturday, that's Chester. That's the team. Normally I'd say something like take it or leave it, but this time I'm asking the fans to come down and cheer us on.

J: A rallying cry.

Max: Yes! I'm doing a rallying cry. I don't know the proper words but come on, let's be having you!

J: [Laughs.] I think those are the proper words, yeah.

Max: I'm building a bridge, J. A bridge to the football league. Back where Chester belongs. Do not doubt for a second that we're going up this year, but you and all your listeners can play your part. Get yourself tickets. Drag your mates. We were twenty points behind. If we win on Saturday...

J: One.

Max: One.

J: You're a persuasive bastard when you want to be.

Max: See, I'm not trying to persuade you, J. I know you'll be there week in, week out. You're the rock this club's built on. You're the rock and I'm Nicholas Cage and - [Phone beeps]. Ah. Got to go. [Chair scraping.] Hey, J?

J: Yes?

Max: Would you rather win the league or go to Wembley?

J: Win the league. The playoffs are too stressful. I can't hack it. Win the league and go to Wembley in a cup. That'll do me.

Max: Interesting. Hey, J?

J: Yes?

Max: We could, you know.

***

On-the-whistle match report from The Mail Online

Chester 4 Rochdale 2 - Deva Delight As Dynamic Duo Destroy Dale

Author: B. Alban

Meta tags: non-league; ChesterFC; MaxBest; RobAndRyan; PromotionRace; NailBiter

24-hour page views: 13,415

The National League title race was blown wide open as the day's only fixture saw Chester win their game in hand with considerable aplomb. Grimsby Town, who once held a twenty-point lead over Chester, now find themselves in a desperate three-way tussle for the crown - and for the league's only automatic promotion slot.

Roared on by the biggest league crowd at the Deva Stadium in years, Chester exploded out of the gates. Rochdale had come with a carefully-thought-out 3-5-2 shape but it was eviscerated by Chester's 3-4-3. The stars were Chester's forwards. Wes Hayward's pace was something to behold, and the enormous gaps Dale left at the back were exploited mercilessly by the diminutive German forward Pascal Bochum. These gaps were a natural product of the formation clash - three strikers against three centre backs - but were made worse by Dale's ham-fisted attempt to man-mark Manager of the Month Max Best. Best simply stood on the halfway line, saving energy as his troops laid traps Dale were all too happy to trigger.

The first goal came in the second minute. Lyons worked the channel, held the ball up, and found Bochum, who drifted past a defender and rolled the ball diagonally into the path of Hayward. The second arrived five minutes later. A burst from midfield by the talented midfielder Youngster ended with a crude foul. Diarmuid Dubhlainn and Max Best stood over the ball, but there was never any real doubt about who would take it. Best curled the ball over and around the wall and was off laughing before it even hit the net. Man-mark that!

Rochdale countered the battering by retreating into their shells for the rest of the half, and came out for the second with a new plan - 4-3-3 with wide attackers. Best responded by switching to 4-2-4 and the mayhem, if anything, intensified. Hayward on the left, Bochum on the right, Best himself as a second striker, and two passes later they had exchanged positions. Potent, but was it defensively solid? Zach Green, one of the league's better defenders - suspended for this fixture - was in the stands doing a shift for the much-lauded Chester Chatters programme but with Dubhlainn and Carlile as full backs, Chester's back line was as good as anything in the division. This team are fast, fluid, and clever. Non-league football isn't supposed to look like this!

Bochum and Hayward repeated their earlier combination for the third goal, before Ryan Jack chipped over the top to set up Lyons for the fourth. Best made three changes, giving minutes to Sticky, his reserve goalkeeper, midfielder Andrew Harrison, and youthful prodigy William Roberts. Rochdale, to their immense credit, seized the chance to restore pride and got a consolation goal after a lapse in concentration from captain Glenn Ryder, while a late penalty for a harsh handball by Fierce made the scoreline look respectable.

Chester have gained nineteen more points than Grimsby since February 22nd and sit one point behind. In-form Barnet lie in second; Chester must hope they also slip up. Goal difference could yet prove crucial, and Best's late changes might yet decide the title. He was unrepentant in the post-match interviews, saying "It's just who we are, mate." The Chester fans are well aware that Best only knows one way to do things - his way - but for today, at least, they are one hundred percent behind him. And why not? They are nineteen-twentieths of the way to a truly remarkable turnaround. Can they complete the job in the final four matches? This race now enters the final stretch - only four more lengths to go.