13.
Extracts from Rovers Return, the third most active Tranmere Rovers unofficial fan forum.
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Max Best: A Retrospective
Thread created by Fredly_Submarine, 2 Feb, 2024
The purpose of this thread is to document my memories of the short-lived Max Best era, to speculate on what it all meant, and to generate a discussion that will hopefully answer some outstanding questions. For those new to the forum, I am known to have solid contacts in the club's staff. I've also been trawling through other forums (the shame!), social media, and listening to every single Tranmere podcast from the past month. Putting all the pieces together has been both illuminating and confounding.
I shall begin by outlining certain indisputable facts.
1. On the first of January this year, Chester FC manager (and Director of Football!) Max Best was registered as a Tranmere Rovers player for a loan period of four weeks. There was no advanced warning this might happen.
2. Later that day, he was named as a substitute in the match against high-flying Notts County.
3. In twenty minutes, he scored two goals.
4. The entirety of Tranmere's fan base asked themselves: who is this kid?
Certain conclusions were reached with impressive speed. Within days, we all knew that:
1. MB burst onto the scene as a right-winger playing for Darlington.
2. MB spoke of his ambitions of becoming a manager.
3. He joined Chester to fulfil those ambitions.
4. He won every match that he managed.
5. He was put in a coma by a deranged fan.
6. MB survived and while he had become a statistically unremarkable player, he continued to be an off-the-scales manager.
7. He took a very shit Chester team to the top of the league.
8. He found a woman to replace him and came to Tranmere. (I say 'woman' not dismissively - she has a higher win percentage and more points per game than any of our last ten managers. I mention gender only because it links to the topic of the media which I will get into).
9. The top-of-the-league Chester fanbase debased themselves with a pathetic four-week long temper tantrum that will forever taint that pathetic excuse for a football club.
Much of the speculation around point 8 centred around the idea that managing in the sixth tier had become too easy for him and he wanted a new challenge. Some of the discussion devolved into rants about snowflakery and MB being a social justice warrior. There are possible merits to that case but I'm not interested in how he chose his successor, only why he came to Tranmere.
On the playing side, of particular note was Best's performance against Notts and even more so against Barrow that had many re-evaluating his statistics within the context of a long-term recovery from a very serious head injury. How could a player with three goals in eighteen tier 6 matches score two in twenty minutes in his first EFL match and bag two assists in a half in his second? It was decided that Best's recovery was more or less complete, that the strain of managing had diminished him as a player, and that with better players around him he could express himself more on the pitch.
A big portion of the fanbase, notably every single intelligent poster on this forum, decided MB was the Second Coming and would awaken this sleeping giant. The hype reached amusing but captivating heights.
As we dug deeper, we discovered yet more delicious tidbits:
1. Best recommended Junior Howland and Calabash Barkley (a youth team prospect) to us.
2. He warned us off buying a much-regarded Scottish striker whose form has since turned to dust.
3. He sent his best mate Henri Lyons to train with us earlier this season though it didn't lead to anything.
4. He helped the club in a transfer tribunal, increasing our fee by a 'substantial' amount (how exactly he did this remains a mystery but Mateo is known to have gone into the tribunal carrying a cross and emerged walking on air).
5. MB has regularly visited the training ground and watched matches with Mateo in the executive box. (There are many photos and in the first of such images, his girlfriend is with him. This is important in the context of Facegate, which I shall address later, naturally.)
6. There's an unsubstantiated rumour that Mateo provided the finance for MB to buy his local grassroots team (some hipster collective thing in Manchester that I refuse to take the piss out of because they, correctly, hate the Tories).
In short, Best has been acting at least partially as our Director of Football, has been getting players into the club that he rates and would like to work with, is big mates with our owner, and unlike most people in the club is an actual subject matter expert. (For the hard of reading I'm saying he understands football.)
Other important facts:
1. His girlfriend is just about the fittest woman I've ever seen (and I include Jet from Gladiators). As most of you already know, this is highly relevant to this discussion. I urge you to follow her on Instagram
2. MB is quite poor. Most of the sightings of him during the last month were in second-hand shops, pound shops, and cheap cafes. His car is a wreck, though I will refrain from stating the make and colour because of his issue with the deranged fan. Suffice to say, it is not an appropriate car for someone who can control a fifty yard pass and send it accurately another forty yards without letting it touch grass.
The upshot of all this fact-finding and educated guessing was obvious - at some point, Mateo would sack James O'Rourke and install MB as our new player-manager. The only real mystery was why JOR would accept having his replacement join the squad and why he would select him for games. Most hot-blooded Rovers fans agreed it proved JOR is a cuck who enjoys being humiliated and the conversation turned to whether it was wrong to kink shame him, not whether the accusation was real. I took no part in such juvenile threads but enjoyed the memes
All of this analysis was so compelling that we decided MB would soon be our new manager and it was impossible to imagine a different outcome.
I was, perhaps, one of the first to revisit the issue. I wrote match reviews of the Notts County game
But how could that be? The facts only supported one conclusion.
Now it's time to pick up our facts and twist them into new shapes, because MB has gone back to Chester. Tonight is their 'fan forum' where he will face a roomful of manbabies (I heard they changed the venue because demand for seats was so high), and tomorrow he will be back in the hot seat for their match against Chip Shop FC (or similar. Who knows what the teams are called in that Mickey Mouse league?)
In short, he's gone, and the transfer window has closed so if he's coming back, it ain't as a player.
This is what's breaking my brain...
If Max Best didn't come to Tranmere to become our new manager... what the hell just happened?
***
Part 2.
Why would a player-manager loan himself to another club? A rival club, in fact.
Some theories:
1. He did it for the money.
2. He came to replace JOR but something happened on our side to prevent him.
3. He came to replace JOR but something happened on his side to prevent him.
4. Our existing squad warned Mateo not to hire him.
5. He failed a medical.
6. There's a legal reason he can't join an EFL team but he can work in non-league.
7. He lost a bet and the forfeit was to play for us.
I think I can disprove most of these in the form of mini match reviews.
But I do have one big question that I can't shake. I believe if we answer one question we'll be much closer to finding out his motivations. The question is this - why didn't he speak to the media ONCE in his time at the club?
That answer might also explain what he did in his last match, and for that reason I despair of ever learning the truth because the club and players - and my sources - have rallied around the lad. Facegate is especially frustrating because we all saw what he did, we know what he did, and we even know why he did it. Yet somehow that doesn't help us understand anything in the slightest.
***
vs Notts (home) and Barrow (away)
Two goals in the first, two assists in the second. Some shaky moments but overall Best showed great attacking qualities and he showed that he can defend, too. Interesting to note his interplay with Samuel (virtually non-existent) compared to his interplay with Junior (they know each other's games inside out). MB is a player/manager with favourites and is not shy of showing it. Already we can see he has problems with Samuel and Jack the Lad.
Goal Celebrations: Note the difference. In game 1, he runs into the Kop like he was born in Birkenhead and grew up with a John Aldridge poster on his wall. By game 2, he's moving away from the celebrations. Something's happened in the meantime. Could be that someone at Chester has had a word with him, but why would Best give a flying fig? He holds all the cards if he wants to stay at that tinpot little outfit. So someone at Tranmere has told him not to get the crowd worked up? Makes no sense. There's footage of Mateo jumping around the executive seats when Best scored his penalty and there's one thing everyone agrees on when it comes to our owner - Mateo's a Tranmere fan through and through. There is zero chance HE asked Best to stop celebrating. So why did Best stop celebrating our goals? Unknown.
Mediawatch: Best's signing took everyone by surprise and there was almost no media attention for the first match - lots of the reporters were at Chester watching the second match with a woman in charge. (The first was another MB surprise - not announced at all. Why not harness the media buzz?) Against Barrow there was a ton of press, but Best gave them the slip. Why? One thing's for sure - if it was all about the money he'd have taken the chance to raise his profile.
***
vs MK Dons (home)
This match disproves the 'we saw something about him we didn't like' theory, in my opinion.
MK Dons had played 3-5-2 in eight of their last ten matches, and the other two were against small teams in cups.
JOR had played 4-3-3 in every match of his reign except for two. 1, Notts, where Max Best had a free role and seemed to play DM most of the time. 2, Barrow, where for twenty minutes it looked like 4-4-2, which many fans have been crying out for given our squad. The team sheets, the TV formation graphic, the BBC report, everything had us as 4-3-3 against MK Dons with Best as one of the strikers.
They did line up like that in the moments just before kick off, but as Dons got the ball, MB fell to his haunches and did nothing until the first throw in. He had seen what it took the TV commentators another two minutes to realise - Dons were playing 5-3-2. They'd learned from Barrow that you don't leave huge gaps for Max Best to wander into! MB went to midfield, grabbed Carlos, and pushed him from CM back to DM. Carlos didn't want to go but Best yelled at him and manhandled him until he stayed put. They had another very visible on-pitch row when Best lined up next to him. Two DMs! We were playing 4-2-2-2, which I had never seen before but later all the hipsters said was the 'RB Leipzig model'.
With Best shouting at Lee and Dodds to attack, it meant we were getting four players forward in central positions against three central defenders who were only sometimes supported by a full back. Even from the stands it was clear to me that the Dons fullbacks weren't much in the match. They were defending against attacks that rarely came.
Next Best was in Bogle's face, telling him to join the attacks. I was on the far side of the pitch but you could almost lip read what Best was saying - there's no-one here - all the action was central. Bogle got the message and started bombing up and down the right, but Best still wasn't happy. He pushed Bogle into a right wing back starting role.
So what was that? 3-3-2-2?
Notably, MB didn't do the same on the left. He didn't acknowledge Jack the Lad once in that first half, I don't think.
The overall feeling was confusion.
Our dugout was confused - Coach Colin was pacing up and down with his head in his hands, but JOR didn't change things back.
Our players were confused - the formation was a lop-sided folly.
Our fans were confused - in the first half, the superstar player they'd come to see completed, what, ten passes? Won two headers?
MK Dons were confused. They were set up to defend against a player who barely went in their half while our workmanlike, unimaginative midfielders were suddenly popping up in their penalty area playing one-twos, doing stepovers and flicks.
I think even the referee was confused - he knew we were shit as well as anyone, and he knew MK Dons like to get stuck into a tackle. But he had the easiest first half of his life. No drama, no fuss, just whistling to signal our goals and to give an uncontroversial penalty which Dizzy took.
Three-nil at half time!
We went to relieve ourselves and get beers and the atmosphere was one of disbelief. Still some weren't optimistic. "You watch now," said my mate. "We'll concede early and fold like a cheap tent." I heard one fan tell the world, "Get that Best off. He's done nowt. Stealing a living." The people with functioning brains were smiling and happy. Three points would ease a lot of the tension around the place. Put a bit of distance between us and Forest Green, even put us above Col U and Grimsby until they played the 3 p.m. games.
What we now know is that there was yet another half-time bust-up in the dressing room. Unlike with what went down in Barrow, this one was witnessed by our moles and we have the gist of what was said.
Jack the Lad: What the fuck, Best? What is your problem?
MB: My problem is that I can't draw a perfect circle.
Jack: What?
MB: I try to draw circles but they come out as stars.
Jack: You know what I mean.
MB: If I knew what you meant, I'd know what you meant.
Jack: You're giving out instructions, running the match, bossing everyone around.
MB: Friendly suggestions as part of a collaborative process.
Jack: You've given orders to every fucker on that pitch except me.
MB: You want an order? Two chicken burgers, hold the cheesy chips.
Jack: What did you say?
MB: There's no point trying to involve you in the match, mate. You're useless. You're like a Subbuteo man who's been glued into place. If I was really giving the orders you'd never get on the pitch. There's good young full backs in the reserves who want to contribute. You're a blockage. You're stuck in the pipes.
Jack: I'm fucking good at this game. I'm better than you!
MB: You're number one in the league for cash earned divided by yards run. James, MK are switching to 4-4-2 second half.
James O'Rourke: What? How do you know?
MB: I'll give you a billion pounds if I'm wrong.
Remember the theory that the players and coaches told Mateo they'd never play for Best? We know at that point he'd had run-ins with Coach Colin, Samuel, Jack the Lad, and Lee Contreras, which is impressive for two weeks' work.
So in the second half, what do we get? We switch to 4-4-2 as Best wanted. We know from our sources that Best was supposed to be playing left midfield - it was his idea. But then he played as a sort of left-sided DM, and every time he got the ball he passed to Jack the Lad.
I was on the wrong side of the stadium again but my mate was close to it and described it to me. The passes got slightly further and further forward, forcing Jack to run higher and higher up the pitch. Whenever Jack turned back, safety first, Best threw a hissy fit. When Jack didn't make forward runs, Best collapsed to the floor in disbelief.
It sounds childish, now, but at the time everyone in that stand was sucked into the drama and turned on Jack pretty quick. "Get forward, you bastard!" "Jack, you useless twat, what are you doing?" Once they had noticed how he never went forward, it was all they could see. When Jack finally crossed the halfway line, Best ran around doing a goal celebration.
Bear in mind, there was a high-stakes match happening at the same time. MK Dons came out for the second half flying, and we were almost down to nine men while Best was doing his antics.
Dons got a goal, and then another. Three-two, they're on the march and we're in big trouble.
Best went to be CAM, then. He got the ball, dribbled left, looked for support. Jack was nowhere, but Best passed to where he thought he should be. It rolled out of play for a throw in and we were screaming our heads off. There was equal vitriol for Jack and Best, I think, but only one of the players was affected. Best was laughing at the abuse; Jack was close to tears. Best went over and we thought he was going to put an arm round him, tell him it's not that bad, something like that. But no. He waved his finger, gave him a tongue-lashing, and pointed to the subs bench. If I were the manager you'd be off, son.
MB made Lee go to left mid, and played central midfield himself. With a proper left side we looked more solid again and it looked like it was going to come down to who won the most duels. Best struggled in the middle, but when he lost the ball he sprinted back to help the defence, and when he did get a bit of space he slipped the ball to a striker nice and fast or waited for Bogle to get on the overlap.
The match was finely poised, really tense, when Bogle got fouled. We had a free kick over on the right of the box and Best wanted to take it. He hadn't been near MK's goal, so they didn't know what's coming. He smashed it between the defenders and the keeper, slap onto Gareth Jones's forehead, goal! Four-two and we've got some breathing space.
MK lost a bit of their fire and there was a chance the match would peter out, which I for one was okay with.
Best hadn't finished being a clown, though. He wandered around the pitch - never on the left - and every time he got the ball he pinged it at Jack the Lad. Running between the lines with options left and right? He turned and threaded the ball BACK through the retreating midfielders all the way to the left back. On the right wing with Bogle making an overlap? Sixty-yard diagonal back onto JTL's toes.
It was bloody infuriating and for the first time I had some sympathy for the Chester fans. If he's turning important matches into his own private pissing competitions, I get why some of them are upset. Rovers fans watching from home are fuming. Best is diabolical. He's lazy. He's not up to the level. He should sort his passing stats out before he has a go at the other players.
Now, about the squad going to Mateo to say "I won't play for this guy." You'd think so, and they'd be justified, but no. Bogle's pissed when Best doesn't play a return pass. Lee doesn't want to play left mid. Carlos doesn't like improvisational football. But they do what they're told and do you know what football players like? They like winning. They'll play for Best because that means winning loads of football matches.
Ten of the players on the pitch would have no problem with Best as manager. Personally, I feel a lot of the 'Bully Best' and 'Jack the Sad' takes were overdone. Best IS annoying, there's no getting away from it. But I've read an article describing how he 'fixed' a young player in an unconventional way and I believe MB was working towards something in that match. I thought it at the time and I was proven right, though sadly we didn't get to see it on camera.
That was because once the three points were more or less safe, Best turned his attention to his most pressing need - to avoid talking to the media.
Near the end of the match, Best went up for a header. He didn't need to challenge for that ball - Dodds was there. Three players jumped, one fell to the floor, clutching his head. Of course, with his recent head injury, the physios rushed on and there was a long, long delay as he got the oxygen mask and was stretchered off.
We were told that he was rushed to hospital. Nope. That was an outright lie from the club. He was rushed to his hotel room. He was rushed to a steakhouse. He was rushed to Manchester to watch his hipster team. My sources aren't sure where he went, but certainly not to hospital. We know this because he was spotted watching Everton vs Aston Villa the next day and he trained as normal two days later.
The whole thing was a ruse to get out of talking to the press!
***
vs Swindon Town (away)
We named an unchanged team against a side in good form. The graphics I saw before the match had Swindon set up in their usual 3-5-1-1, but the Swindon fans we talked to before the game said they'd made some changes "because of that lad". Their manager's idea was to have fast full backs playing as the wide centre backs, to match Best for pace. That was the plan.
We were supposedly doing 4-3-3 again, but none of us believed that would actually happen.
At the start of the match, Best did that thing where he watches what the other team are up to. He jogged around giving instructions to everyone - including Jack the Lad - and he trotted back up top. Third striker! We were actually doing 4-3-3!
Then we started pumping long balls at Best. He was up against a fast but short left back, and Best beat him to headers every single time. It was twenty minutes of old-fashioned carnage as Junior and Dizzy feasted on the second balls and peppered Swindon's goal with shots.
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At two-nil, the fast left back got subbed off and they brought a big lad on. So what did Best do? He went out wide and used his pace to get to the byline. The centre back fouls him, yellow card. Best is hurt but walks up and down the front line looking for opportunities. Swindon are a good side so they adapt. They block the defensive holes and try to hit us on counters and nick something on a set piece.
Which they do and it's a tense last ten minutes, but even if they'd got an undeserved equaliser, that would have been a point against a top-half team.
Instead, we leave there with all three.
Again we had a lot of social media bleating about Best being lazy. A do-nothing with bad stats.
Apart from the shock and joy of watching a player turn his part of the pitch into a game of rock, paper, scissors against an opponent who only has rock and paper, what I took away from that match was how harmonious it was. We basically played James O'Rourke football but with an on-pitch general making rapid changes and the players accepting them. There was less shouting from Best, and a lot of in-game coaching.
Mediawatch: The paps were losing interest in following MB around, it seemed. He wasn't scoring dramatic penalties or doing volleyed assists and he wasn't speaking to them, so what was the point of travelling? The only talking point was that his assistant manager had lost her first match and they wanted a reaction to that. Again, though, radio silence from him.
At this point, let me remind you of some theories about why Max Best came to Tranmere Rovers:
1. He did it for the money.
The figure of 5,000 pounds a week started doing the rounds as the terms of his loan - double the wage of any other player (as far as we know). Hard of thinking fans thought this was extortionate. Clearly, this is nice money for someone working in non-league football, but if he can get it at Tranmere he can get it elsewhere. He has shown no signs of picking his career moves PURELY based on money. Note - he has a few clients from when he was a football agent and presumably that helps keep the wolf from his door.
2. He came to replace JOR but something happened on our side to prevent him.
Mateo decided he didn't want rapid tactical changes and would prefer to watch us slog through the same steps and missteps week after week? I don't think so. MB is so fractious and unlikeable that Mateo couldn't imagine working with him? Please. We know Best turned up at our under twelves training sessions, intervened in a girl's team match because he spotted an opposing player had concussion (later confirmed by medical staff) and was 'caught' delivering cardboard boxes full of stuff to a local food bank. He might be manic depressive (Dixie Dean statue vs not celebrating goals) but the backroom staff liked him. They described him as 'intense but funny'.
3. He came to replace JOR but something happened on his side to prevent him.
What could this have been? He was offered five thousand a week for the first four weeks like a drug sample to get him hooked, but then the offer for the rest of his contract was much lower? Mateo doesn't strike me as that sort of huckster.
He was disappointed with our facilities and players? But he already knew them before he came. As mentioned, he was a regular visitor to these shores.
He didn't like living in the Wirral? Understandable! But he could live in leafy Cheshire and work here. Many do, and many have done.
4. Our existing squad warned Mateo not to hire him.
MB's two-goal burst against Notts got the crowd going, but it was his assists against Barrow that got the players's attention, and when you listen to their post-match interviews from the other games you'll realise how they look up to him as a player. With the younger players there's no little hero worship. Check out
5. He failed a medical.
No. Unless Samuel did the tests while wearing a mask of someone else's face, Mission Impossible-style.
6. There's a legal reason he can't join an EFL team but he can work in non-league.
This makes little to no sense since he has recently played five matches IN the EFL.
7. He lost a bet and the forfeit was to play for us.
Many people found the
And so we come to the strangest and most controversial match yet.
***
vs Doncaster (home)
Donny had been playing 3-5-2 and if I were them, I wouldn't have known how to set up against us. They stuck with what they'd been doing, which seemed smart at the time.
We were unchanged - again - but that only begins to tell the story. Some changes aren't shown on the team sheet. With a nod from Best, Carlos would drop back from CM to DM. With a scissors gesture, our strikers would go wide with Lee and Dodds rushing to fill the gaps.
And - wonder of wonders - the full backs had come alive. What had happened in the previous week? Not sure. For once, our moles were keeping mum but there was an insinuation that James O'Rourke finally stepped up and bashed some heads together.
Our third goal sums up the positive side of the Max Best experience.
A controlled passing move from the keeper to Bogle, across the defence, back across the midfield. Very patient. Doncaster got pulled around, then it was on. The ball was fizzed out to JTL. He took a touch past a midfielder, scampered away, hit it square to Best. He turned inside, faked a long pass wide, turned slightly away from goal. He pointed at someone, then no-look backheeled it diagonally forward towards the left touchline. JTL had continued his run and he whipped it low into the area where Dizzy redirected it into the bottom left.
Glorious.
And now the negative side. First, while Jack the Lad is reminding us all of what he can do and adding to his transfer value, Samuel is nowhere to be seen. Our big summer signing looks like he's finished at the club already. Not exactly Best's fault we signed him, but he was utterly ruthless in excising him from the team and we have a big financial hole there now.
Second, the Facegate incident.
***
Facegate
Let's say MB is on 5K a week. He's got 20K in his pocket for playing five games - not bad - and he's helped the team get eleven points. After a rocky start with some players, there's buy-in to the way he wants to play. As a player, he gets into any team in League Two. As a manager, the same. So he's happy, right? All is well with the world. Yes?
No.
Let's do a moment by moment run down.
1. With around 70 minutes gone, a Donny player finally gets a chance to land a reducer on Best and smashes into his shins.
2. The physio signals Best needs to be subbed off.
3. Best throws a tantrum - he's livid.
4. Best refuses to leave the pitch.
5. He hobbles around for a minute while Donny press their advantage.
6. The ball breaks for Best, who holds it up and spreads it to the other side of the pitch for JTL to run onto.
7. While we nearly score, Best talks to James O.
8. JOR prepares the sub, but appears to have agreed to give Best a few more minutes.
9. Best whispers something to Lee Contreras, who asks Best to repeat it.
10. In the next phase of play, Lee finds some space and plays a very careful ball BEHIND Best, forcing him to turn onto his favoured right foot.
11. Best hammers the ball into the crowd.
12. The ball strikes someone in the press box flush in the face.
13. There is a moment of stunned, horrified what-the-fuckness.
14. Best points down the line and screams to demand a throw in. "Our ball!"
15. JOR subs Best off before the referee can yellow/red card him for... for what, exactly? Misconduct?
16. Best leaves the stadium early again.
17. This forum decides that Best will never be seen at Prenton Park again.
18. Best is spotted at Prenton Park the next day, watching Liverpool's women.
19. The identity of the person struck by the ball becomes public knowledge. He works for a media outlet and was present at MB's girlfriend's only visit to our stadium.
20. Tranmere TikTok is flooded with women saying the guy is a creep.
21. Jack the Lad posts on his socials defending Best for sticking up for his girlfriend.
22. That post is quickly deleted and JTL posts another one saying everyone's overreacting because it was an accident and that it was obvious Best was trying to play a long ball down the line and got it wrong.
23. The creep is banned from the stadium and a club statement uses phrases like 'unwanted and inappropriate sexual advances will not be tolerated'.
It's not hard to guess what happened. The creep had a run at Best's girl and Best has got very public revenge. Best will get a fine and a ban and he has also left himself liable to legal consequences.
Everyone has their own opinion about the incident. Mine is not relevant.
What fascinates me is that it does offer some potential clarity about the big question.
Why did Max Best come to Tranmere?
To smack a ball into a creep's face.
Case closed?
...
John King's_love_child
The title made me think he was dead.
...
Typo's_Intentional
I ain't reading all that.
I'm happy for u tho.
Or sorry that happened.
...
The_Bozster
Great thread, Fred. 11 points from January and JOR sure to be Manager of the Month. Jack the Lad been bullied into dominance. 20K to dodge the drop - drop the dough. Money well spent. Don't punch people but do punch a Nazi. Violence solves nothing, take your hands off my girl. Conflicted.
...
Challinors_Long_Throw
the guy's a lazy brat who thinks he will get away with smashing a ball into someone's face
and he will
there's no risk to his career. not in the slightest.
...
John King's_love_child
Could backfire, though. Can't imagine his girl's too happy about it. You can't even open a door for a lass these days without being cancelled. She's probably already broke up with him because he's a violent monster.
...
Geordie_Cruyff
He isn't a monster and she hasn't broken up with him. Max Best is a good man and I'd be happy for him to marry my daughter.
...
Morecambe_White
Oh thank fuck! I'm so happy someone did a proper post that got people thinking because I have a theory and now that there's context and people actually reading instead of just reacting, I feel like I won't get laughed at.
So hear me out, and don't jump down my throat right away.
This lad Max Best, he's proper autistic. I know you're thinking 'oh mate come on it's 2024' but wait! I'm not saying it like a diss or a slur. I mean, like, medically. He must be.
We've all heard bits and pieces about summer training. And as Fred put in his links, you can fucking see him there in the background of videos. You can see Jack the Lad flirting with this unreal blonde and that's Max Best's girl! It's all there.
All you have to do is put two and two together and that's what I've done. Get this. Strap yourselves in, boys.
Max Best doesn't have loads of friends. He's a loner by nature. You can't see that on the pitch, but just trust me. Read and watch his interviews. He's a loner, fact. So he gets his head cracked open and he's in hospital and all that. Shocking. They should hang the bastard who done it. He goes to Tenerife for some sun and some privacy. Hundred to one shot, bumps into our lads. James O and Mateo find out what's up and sort him out. Look, I don't rate James O as a manager and I think Mateo's made mistakes, but it brings tears to my eyes the way they looked after this kid. Dead serious, that's class, and that's what I want from my club.
So they let Best use the swimming pool, lend him a physio and a couple of coaches. What have we done? Like, three hours of work? I mean, seriously. And it's not work, is it, if you're in Tenerife and the sun's out and there's a fucking dreamy woman chatting to you the whole time. I mean, find a job you enjoy doing, know what I mean? But this Max Best kid, he's autistic AF. He doesn't think 'oh that was nice bye'. It festers. He's thinking, they helped me, how can I help them?
He goes... I know! I'll save them from relegation single handed. It's about a thousand to one in terms of value but that's what I'm saying. Three hours from us is someone sitting by the pool so he doesn't drown. Three hours from him is eleven points and safety. Do you get me? His head's not right. He doesn't think like us. I'm not joking, now. I happen to think he's a really good player but his real skill is being a sort of footballing Mike Brearley. Older guys will get that reference. He played cricket for England. He wasn't that good but he was a genius captain and made the other players outperform.
Me? I'd have him back on a big contract. But he'll never come back here. He's balanced the ledger. We're over.
edit - THIS EXPLAINS WHY HE DIDN'T DO ANY MEDIA. Think about it.
Last word - kicking the ball at some low-life? I mean, if it's proved to be on purpose he needs to be proper punished. Big fine, five match ban, warning about his future conduct. It's going to weigh on him and there will be days that he regrets it. But fuck me, what a shot!
...
Honey_I_Shrunk_Pat_Nevin
Top work, Fred, you absolute madman. I thought your forensic analysis of
Only thing is, everyone's missing the point about Best and his missus and why not handle it in private? It's mad simple.
Best gets a fine and a suspension. Maybe there's a sponsor that thinks twice about working with him.
The sex pest loses his job, gets a lifetime ban, and now everyone in the world knows he's got wandering hands. His life is in tatters.
Next guy who's alone in a room with her is gonna think twice.
Fred, you've way overrated him as a player and my cat could manage in the National League North, but he's done well, here. Good luck to him.
***
Liverpool, 11 a.m.
It had been almost a week since I'd launched a football into the face of the prick who had teamed up with his mate to harass Emma. When I left the pitch I went straight to the dressing room for treatment on my shins. Mateo came to ask me what the fuck I'd done. I told him about what had happened when Ems had gone exploring the media operations and why she hadn't been back to the stadium since. He listened in silence and all he said was, "I wish you'd told me."
After he left, I grabbed my stuff and snuck out of the stadium. The fewer people I talked to, the better.
The pain in my shins was pretty bad and I regretted not taking a pack of painkillers home with me. But the worst thing was the awkward phone call I'd had with Emma.
There was a lot of stilted phrases and half-truths, but I couldn't be totally honest. The British press were notorious for hacking phones and listening to whatever private conversation they wanted. I assumed Beth and her ilk were listening to my every call, every FaceTime, and had access to all my texts and emails.
I'd stayed in my holiday rental for one more day, watched a women's match at a sparsely-populated Prenton Park, then gathered my bits, posted the key at the estate agent's, and went back to Chester. Holiday over. One swollen bank account, one swollen shin, one demon gorging himself on all the XP I'd collected.
I used my rapidly-healing leg as an excuse to lie low for the week. I trained in private and tried to get myself ready for the Fans Forum where - in theory - my recent escapades could see me kicked out of Chester Football Club. But I couldn't think beyond Emma and what I was going to say to her. And, more importantly, what she was going to say to me.
Friday morning finally arrived.
We hadn't seen each other for a while, but she had taken the day off to go sightseeing with me and for moral support during that night's Fans Forum. Of course, I was dreading that it wouldn't be long before she was back on the train, heading north. I met her at the station and my heart stopped as she looked at me and immediately looked away. So it was worse than I thought...
She lifted her eyes again and her face softened. "Oh, Max," she said.
"I know," I sighed.
"Come 'ere." She pulled me in for a hug. "Gemma's worried about you. She can't understand why you did it."
"Why I hit the guy? I promised I'd hit him the next time I saw him." I broke away. "Are we only going to talk about that?"
"No," she said. "But I want to talk about it once and I want the truth."
Fair enough.
I drove her across Liverpool and out towards the Irish Sea. We parked and went for a stroll, with me being a surprisingly enthusiastic tour guide. We were walking along a stretch of sandy beach across the water from New Brighton where my flat had been. "The beaches here are all right! You're not supposed to go in the actual water. One third of people who go swimming around Britain's coast get sick. Did you know that? That's fine, isn't it? Absolutely fine. View's nice, though, and there's cool buildings and I sort of don't mind the Liverpool skyline."
"Did you miss Chester?"
"No. I enjoyed the break. Tonight will suck with them all yelling at me but I can make it through the rest of the season, now. I feel pretty good." On top of everything else, I'd found half a dozen youth players and bought two new perks - one to let me move players around at set pieces and one that showed me how much players from other teams were earning. Much, much more about those later.
"My dad's been helping me follow the results. We reckon Tranmere are safe, now. Twelve points from the danger zone. Is that right?"
"Not safe but pretty safe. And they're playing better. They should have enough about them to survive."
"And Chester? Did that go according to plan?"
"Yeah, pretty much. Sandra's league record is won four, drawn one, lost one. Got knocked out of the FA Trophy, made it to the semis in the Cheshire Cup. That's solid. B plus. And the transfer window is closed and the other teams didn't make any big moves and we didn't lose Raffi."
"It was a bad result against York."
I laughed. "I'll be answering all these questions tonight. The league's sort of interesting, now. York beating us brings them back into it. In theory." I showed her the league table.
Team P W D L F A GD Pts 1 Chester 27 20 2 5 72 27 45 62 2 Kidderminster 28 17 8 3 50 20 30 59 3 Darlington 28 16 9 3 45 28 17 57 4 York 29 15 11 3 47 29 18 56
"Why only in theory?"
"The only advantage the other teams had was our fixture congestion at the end of the season, but we played all our fixtures in January and the others had at least one match postponed. So that advantage is pretty much gone. I'm relaxed about it."
"You don't seem relaxed."
I slowed. "I'll be relaxed when I make you smile."
"You make me smile when you're being you. The real you." I didn't know what to say to that. My high-minded liberal ideals hadn't stopped me sucker punching a dude. And while I deeply, deeply regretted it, I also didn't regret it and would do it again. The real me? What was that? Emma sensed my confusion and changed the subject. "What's in the backpack?"
I smiled, just a bit cheeky. "I'll show you in about sixty seconds."
We kept on across the sand. The cool sea air was giving her ruddy cheeks like the cutest ever gammon and her cute little nose was tinged with red.
"This is called Another Place," I said.
"What is? This beach?"
"This is called Crosby Beach. There's art here, and the art is called Another Place. It's by a dude called Antony Gormley."
It looked like a pretty empty expanse of sand with a few people dotted around. "Art on this beach? You pulling my leg?"
"No. You'll see. It's weird but great. You can ask that guy about it. He's here every day."
"Him? But how do you - ? Hang on. Is that... wait... what is that?"
She picked up the pace, leaving me a few steps behind. I caught up as Emma leaned left and right. She was stood in front of a six-foot tall cast iron statue of a man looking out to sea. "But there's loads," she said, realising that every one of the people dotted around were all made of metal - we were the only actual humans there.
"There's a hundred," I said. "Some are half buried and you only see them when the tide goes out. It's pretty amazing, really messes with your head. I've been here three times, this is my fourth. There's something disturbing about it."
"It gives me the shivers. It's like there's an actual man inside, trapped. It's horrible. But it's peaceful, too."
"I think when your brain processes that it's really, really, really a sculpture, you start to like it. But that first shock is, er... shocking."
People had put hats and scarves on some of the statues, and we walked in silence to the next one. It was wearing a Liverpool scarf, which was really unfair on the poor dude, but Emma didn't seem to notice what she was touching. She pulled the scarf a little tighter so that the guy's neck wouldn't get a draught. "Is this what you feel like? A helpless statue looking for something you'll never find, far from your friends? Have you been lonely? Is that why you wanted me to see this?"
"Er... maybe. Lonely? In a way. But I was thinking less... poetically." I slung my backpack round and knelt to open it. I emerged with a football. "A lot of people are saying I was petulant and immature. I don't think I was but I'll take the punishment. I'll pay my fines."
"No, you won't."
"What?"
"Mateo's going to pay it, if there is one. He called me to apologise for what happened. He wishes you'd let him handle it. And so do I. Or you could have let John do it. Or if you really, really needed to punch a man in the face to defend my honour, you could have done it in private."
I shook my head. "No. It had to be public."
"Why?"
I squashed the ball between my palms and tried to bounce it like a goalkeeper. It flopped into the sand. As I cleaned it, I said, "It wasn't a punch in the face, it was a kiss."
"Max."
"There's a scene in the Bible where a mob has come to find Jesus. They don't know what he looks like; they didn't have Instagram back then. So they get Judas to point him out. He goes over to Jesus and gives him a kiss. That's how the mob knows. I've given my kiss, and now everyone knows. They know about him, and they know what'll happen if they try something." I looked up at the sky. A few seagulls were swirling looking for discarded chicken and chips. "I look petty and childish. Worth it, if you're that little bit safer. I'll get a ban. So what? I don't want to play if you're not there to watch me. Since he did what he did, you've been to a couple of Chester games but you didn't come to any Tranmere ones. I barely saw you in January." I looked at the smooth, clean ball. "So it had to be public. I want people to know that if they hurt you, I'll destroy them. It doesn't reflect well on me, I guess, but there's an easy solution - they can leave you alone. Then there's no issue."
Emma looked from the sea to the seagulls to the statues. A hundred cast iron replicas of an artist, some half-buried in the sand, some who got drowned twice a day. The installation made more sense than I did. "What's the ball for?"
"I..." I looked away instinctively and made a huge effort to look at her while I said something that was unquestionably childish and immature. "On the phone you said I could have hurt someone else by mistake."
"Yeah. You could."
Away and back again. "Pick a statue."
"That one."
"No, that's too far. Pick the one there." I pointed to a guy twenty yards away.
"That's not a choice."
"I'm kicking from sand. Do you know how hard that is? The degree of difficulty of this shot is insane. This is five times harder than hitting the press box from a nice flat strip of grass." I settled and looked from the ball to the target. I swung my foot - a travesty of a sentence which does nothing to convey the magnificent coordination of bone and brain - and with a dull thunk, the statue nodded the ball away. "Heading 20," I said. "Should sign him up."
Tiny creases appeared on her forehead. "You can make that shot a hundred out of a hundred?"
"I can make it one out of one. I'm just saying, there was no risk to anyone else. I promise."
She came close to me and put her hands on my sides. "I don't want people to think poorly of you and go on the radio and say you should be banned from football. I want people to see you the way I see you. Kind and generous and thoughtful."
"I don't care what they think. I only care what you think."
She leaned into me and rested her head on my chest. "You need people, Max. You need to talk to people. Next time you go to hit someone in my name, will you talk to me first?"
"You'll tell me not to."
"That's not..." She stepped away and I felt a massive, icy cold bubble form between us. "Do you still want to move in together?"
"Of course!"
She nodded a few times. The bubble wasn't icy, I realised. It was cool. "I have conditions."
"Right. Your own sink."
"I want you to talk to me. When it comes to something like this I’d like to feel my opinions mattered. Remember you said that to me once? It works both ways. If you want a me and you life then we have me and you conversations. There's no 'you' in 'us'."
"Er..."
"You’ve got to include me, even - especially! - when you think I’ll say no. I don’t want a relationship where you're always explaining why you did something. I want a relationship where you involve me and value me and if you really," she said, holding her finger up to stop me interrupting, "if you really respect me like you say you do, why wouldn't you?"
"So if I offer you a 49% vote in our decision-making council you'll move in with me? That's the best deal in the history of trade."
"You work in Chester and I work in Newcastle. We can't live together. Yet. But I'll talk to my dad about WFH one day a week. I'll go watch you kick a ball around and four days a week I'll still be a hotshot paralegal with exceptional photocopying skills."
The wording confused me. "WFH?"
"Work from home. The cottage."
"What cottage?"
"Where you live."
"Oh, the barn."
"It’s not a barn. Don’t let Ruth hear you call it that."
"It’s got wild animals living in it. It’s a barn. Will your dad say yes?"
"He’s… I had to tell him about what happened and he was incensed. I mean about the guy, not you. Dad isn't seeing any moral grey areas. He joked that he was going on forums defending you."
"Forums?"
"You know, like Reddit. And the ones from before Reddit. What? What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking it’s not fair you have to come to me all the time. How about one weekend a month I put Sandra in charge and go to Newcastle to watch you read documents?"
"Deal. But Max. You... This is a me and you conversation, now. If you want me to move in, I'll need to bring clothes and furniture and things. I'll need to buy some stuff. It's not a huge, huge deal but I don't want that to be wasted time."
"Why would it be?"
"Are you going to stay at Chester? If not, I'll wait and move to where you do settle. That's fair, isn't it?"
"Huh." A thought shot past like a shooting star. Was my relationship with Emma similar to my relationship with Chester FC? Successful but always one mistake away from ending? Built on a foundation of sand? I tried to imagine talking to Chester the way Emma had spoken to me. "So... if I can look past their flaws and we can have a good talk... I'll agree to move in with my toothbrush, my knee-high boots, and my fluffy white jumper that makes me extra huggable. Okay... Okay. I'm going to tell them what I want from them and they're going to accept because they need me desperately."
She bit her luscious bottom lip. "Are you saying you're the Emma of that relationship?"
"Of course I'm the Emma of that relationship. I'm the Emma of this relationship."
That made her laugh - a proper, warm laugh that made me realise everything was going to be all right. "You're not the Emma of this relationship. But just so you know, I don't have any knee-high boots."
"Yeah, you do. I saw you in them."
"You didn't because I don't."
"Might have been a dream? You said Mateo's going to pay my fine?"
"Yeah."
While I was waiting for her at the train station, the twenty thousand pounds had landed in my bank account. It hadn't excited me at the time because I was busy catastrophising, but now it clicked. Yes, I needed to save some to pay the Brig, but for the first time ever I felt I could splash some cash on my dream woman. I held my elbow out to her. "Then I'm rich. May I take you shopping?"
She took my arm and we started walking back to the car. "You hate shopping. It drains you. Don't you want to save your energy for the fans forum?"
I looked back at the ball I'd kicked. Some kid would take it home. "Didn't you notice? I've been training with a League Two team for a month. I've got almost seven litres of air in here." I thumped my chest. "And my stamina feels way better, too. It was weird, though. They didn't have any way to test it."
"Didn't they?" said Emma, her lips twisted. "While you're behaving yourself at the Fans Forum, I'll be thinking of some suitable tests. All right?"
Just then I didn't care about football or the future. I only wanted to be with Emma. "Why do you care if I behave myself? I could take over at Gateshead and we could live on the Tyne and you could walk to work."
We arrived at my shitty brown Subaru. "Because of Henri and Raffi and Youngster and Jackie and Dani and Ruth. Because I'm invested. And because you are, too. If you tell the fans how you feel, you might get what you want."
We kissed, then, and I felt so wonderful, so at peace, that I wondered if I could do things her way.
As I started the engine, I took one look back down the beach. The statues hadn't moved, but as always, they had moved me. "Art makes me retrospective," I said, as I navigated the car park.
"You mean introspective."
"That, too."
My mind was made up. I would go to the Fans Forum and patiently let the Chester fans vent their spleens and when they were done, I would talk about my lofty ambitions for the club and we'd all get on the same page and begin to sketch out a road map that everyone could agree on. And if there was any unexpected drama, some sort of seismic shock, or a devastating bolt from the blue, it wouldn't be my fault.