15.
Countdown to the Cup! Episode 10 - The Physios
[We see Dean and Livia in the medical room at Boshcard.]
- I'm Dean.
- I'm Livia.
- We're the first team physios.
- Max sends us broken players and we try to fix them.
[quick cut]
[Dean] - I'm not nervous about the cup final, no. Crewe aren't a dirty team. It'll be a football match. Right now we've got a clean bill of health apart from our long-term injuries. No player is ever truly healthy but practically speaking Max can choose whatever team he wants.
- I'm nervous! This match means a lot to the players. They've worked hard this season and I want them to end on a high.
[cut]
[Livia] - Predictions? Crewe are better overall but we've got Max. It depends which Max turns up.
- I think Crewe will rest players and they'll be in for a surprise like Salford City. Four-nil Chester.
***
I drove to Chester city centre, Hoole to be exact, to an apartment block by the river Dee. I got out of the Duchess, stuffed a tennis ball in my hoodie pocket, and walked upstream. That seemed like hard work so I turned around. I had a photo of the building but was surprised at how long it stretched; it was longer than our stadium.
"Max," called Dean. He came scurrying towards me.
"Morning," I said. "This building. Is this nice or shit? I can't decide."
He eyed the red brick property. "It's ugly but it looks enough like other, nicer buildings that it tricks the brain. I was online while I was waiting for you. Two bed flats are 950 a month. Pics look okay but the rooms are tiny. Your first choice goalkeeper is squashed into one of those tiny rooms, Max."
"He can get a pay rise or you can."
Dean hesitated. "Property's all about location. Lovely view of the river, isn't it? Close to the city centre. Small flats are cheaper to heat."
"After you."
Dean led the way along a warren of alleys and courtyards until he found a buzzer that included the name Cavanagh. Dean buzzed and said who he was and a rando came down. "I'm Simon. Ben's flatmate."
"Hi dude," I said, taking over. "Max. Dean. He's bad, is he?"
"Sweating, shivering. Burning up. Do you want to come in?"
"Do I want to go into the plague house on the day of a cup final? Dean, what's your expert medical opinion? Should I go into the plague house where all the plague is?"
Dean shrugged. "If you catch it right now you'd probably get sick after the final whistle."
"Yeah but I need to slap Darlington on Saturday." I sighed. My number one goalkeeper getting a fever on the morning of a cup final was not ideal. The crazy thing was the curse rated him as fully fit and ready to play. "Simon, could you please ask Ben to wrap himself in a big duvet and come down here?"
"What, really?"
"Yes."
"But he's sick."
"Come on, man. I've got a football club to run." Simon pulled a face and went inside. "Dean, we should film this for Brooke."
"Why?"
"It's viral content."
"Max. Please."
A minute later, a very rough-looking Ben Cavanagh appeared. He was clammy and it was obvious his head was throbbing. For some reason I’d been expecting his blanket cover to have a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles pattern or something funny, but it was an IKEA thing. "Boss."
"Ben!" I said, quite jolly, but even that level of volume was too much for him; he flinched. "I had a dream last night. You were sick, so Angles was on the sub's bench for a cup final. Robbo got a red card so my ninety-year old third choice goalie had to play eighty minutes. His first minutes of the season were against a League Two team of turbocharged tearaways young enough to be his grandchildren and the final score was twenty-nil and all twenty goals were his fault. In one corner of my mind, that dream is ongoing and he's staying overnight in his therapist's office."
Ben shook his head. "Angles won't let you down, boss."
I threw the tennis ball right at his face and he dropped the duvet and caught it a comfortable distance from his nose. The curse was right!
"No," I said, "you won't let me down. You'll be there tonight. Messi won the World Cup final when he had three kinds of flu at the same time. Boris Becker won Wimbledon when he had mumps. Boris Johnson threw the biggest party this country has ever seen when half the partygoers had full-blown Covid. Okay? That's what heroism looks like."
"You want me to play?"
"No. I'm not stupid. You'll be a sub."
"But boss, you're class in goal."
"As much as I appreciate you picking the team and telling me where to fucking play, Ben, I'm not class. I can make the first save but not the second. My handling's shot. I'd be a sweeper-keeper without the keeper. Fun against Brackley or someone, not fun against a quality League Two team. No, you'll be the sub. You can suffer on the bench as easily as you can suffer in bed. We'll get you a sleeping bag. And one of those Victorian sleeping hats. Dean, can you find out what those are called?"
Dean said, "Max, this isn't like you. He's clearly unwell."
"This isn’t a strain that might turn into a tear. He’s physically fine and we can’t make anything worse. Okay? It's time for the big boys to put on their big boy pants, Dean. You'll spend the day pumping him full of medicine, right? He'll go to the stadium in a separate car. We'll find him a spot where he can hang around until the final whistle without infecting anyone else. I'll clear it with the ref. If called into action, Ben will have the game of his life. And peep peep peep, game's over, Ben's summer holiday begins."
"But," said Simon.
In the unlikely event Ben would be needed, he'd have the Bench Boost lifting him past his limitations. "I played sick recently and set up the winning goal. I'm not asking you to do anything I wouldn't do and in a week you'll look back on this and be happy I made you do it. This match will be on your CV forever and when you're old you'll tell the story of how you got fever and saved five penalties in the shoot-out."
"He could only save five if we missed four," said Dean.
I made a big show of being patient. "Dean's going to support you. That's it. Conversation's over." I walked away, had an idea, and returned. "Dean, get some footage of him looking all sick like this but he's so desperate to do his part for the team he's going to try to convince me to let him travel with the team, even if he's only on the bench. Ben, did you hear that? You plan to beg me because you're so full of Chesterness even the fever can't, ah, dampen your ardour. That's terrible. You can workshop the exact words. Just get some heart-warming video we can cynically use one day. Simon, whose idea was it for Ben to shake off this fever?"
"Er... Ben's?"
"I like Simon," I said, as I walked away.
***
Countdown to the Cup! Episode 9 - The Legends
[We see Smasho and Nice One in an open-plan kitchen. Sounds of football can be heard from the next room.]
- I'm Nice One.
- I'm Smasho.
- Funny old game, isn't it Smasho?
- It is, yeah.
- He's brought the good times back to Chester.
- Good times. Better times.
- The best times. More cup glory for the lad. Gets the juices flowing, dunnit?
- Oh, it does. It really does. Should we thank the man responsible?
- I think it's way overdue.
[Nice One goes to the camera, picks it up, and holds it in front of him while he sneaks into the living room. There, we see Benny playing FIFA. Benny's mouth hangs open and there is no apparent brain activity but his fingers twitch and jerk. Nice One swings the camera close to the corner of the large TV screen, revealing that the score is Chester 2, Crewe 0.]
Smasho [forcefully hugging his godson from behind] - Benny, mate! Thanks for all you've done, lad!
Benny [laughing, resisting, annoyed] - What? Geroff!
Nice One [swings the camera to face himself and cackles] - Come on, Chester!
***
"All right, shut the fuck up. We're getting the team sheets now." The dressing room calmed and Sandra came up to the tactics board. I could have seen Crewe's team on the curse screens but I'd forced myself to wait the extra two minutes until I got the physical team sheet in my hand. I wanted, as far as possible, for my reactions to be authentic. Sandra handed the paper over and I nodded. I tried to stay calm but didn't succeed. "Yes!" I said, breaking into a huge grin. "This is perfect."
"Did they rest their best players?" wondered Vimsy.
"No! No, it's a mix. Half strong, half prospects. This is perfect," I repeated.
"Why is that perfect?" said Sam. He was moderately grumpy that he wasn't starting, but Bench Boost made me do weird things.
"If they put out their best team we're in trouble. Right? Let's be honest about that. If they put out their weakest, we win and everyone says yeah well done you beat some kids. This... this is ideal. I reckon we're favourites but there's..." I scanned the sheet again. "There's six proper first teamers, here. Let me show you."
I went to the flipchart and wrote pluses and minuses in a 4-1-4-1 formation.
"Goalie's a minus. I have to say I'm surprised he's playing."
"Their first choice is on loan from Liverpool," said Sandra. "I think him getting injured in a Cheshire Cup game isn't part of his career progression."
"Yeah. Okay, so look, these Crewe kids are talented and they'll have long careers so don't underestimate them. The minus is relative."
I wrote a minus for the goalie, who had CA 50, and minuses for the full backs, who were 55 and 56. The centre backs got pluses, but on reflection, I changed them to double pluses. The centre backs were proper first team stalwarts and had CA 96 and 91.
"I reckon they've gone strong at CB because they thought Chris would start. The DM's their best one, too. Double plus for him." He had CA 97. "Strong triangle there. Midfield's a little bit weaker." For the CMs I drew one minus and one plus, while the wide midfielders got pluses. "Striker's good but he's coming back from injury." He had CA 79.
image [https://ted-steel.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/02/b7c15lineups.png]
The average, then, was CA 65.4. Their morale was high and Crewe rotated a lot so I didn't expect a fitness advantage. They were at home but with under a thousand fans expected in the stadium it wouldn't be a febrile atmosphere. When I brought my Bench Boosted players on, we would get closer to their level. As it was, our starting line up was quite weak, averaging just under 50.
"Okay let's run through our eleven. Robbo. Eddie, Glenn, Steve, Carl. Youngster. Aff, Magnus, Andrew, Donny. Pascal. We'll start with 4-1-4-1 but be ready for mighty morphin’ power changes. 4-5-1, 4-3-3, we can do it all. I want fifteen minutes keeping it tight while I see how Crewe approach it. Go get warmed up and all that and I'll remind you of the tactics before kick off. If you see Ben wave at him but don't get close."
"What's he got?" said William Roberts, who was getting his first taste of a cup final dressing room.
I smiled. "What do you think he's got? He's got cup fever, same as all of us."
***
Countdown to the Cup! Episode 8 - Behind Enemy Lines
[We see Dani alone in what looks like a classroom. She signs and subtitles appear.]
- I'm Dani. I play midfield for Chester.
[Subtitle in a different colour: Who do you model your playing style on?]
- I think I'm supposed to say Max Best but Jackie Reaper's trying to make me more sophisticated. [Dani laughs.] Seriously, Max wants me to play like him and Jackie wants me to play like Aff. I'm trying to learn to defend better.
[Are you going to the Cup Final?]
- Max said pop stars don't go to league games but they go to cup finals so if I go I might see Harry Styles. Maddy says he’s talking like that coz he's worried I might not go to the match. As if! Everyone's excited, even Sam and he normally pretends like he doesn't care and it's all in a day's work. Yeah, I'm going. Also, I live five minutes from Gresty Road! [She laughs even harder.]
***
I spent five minutes with Sandra explaining my thought process for the rest of the match so that she'd understand if I started doing weird things. I say 'explained my thought process' but actually I moved magnets around the tactics board in a blur while doing a stream of consciousness as I drew lines all over the flipchart. She frowned but seemed to follow the general principles.
The Brig came over and put his hands on my shoulders before slowly rotating me away from the tactics area. "Perhaps you would enjoy a break, sir?"
"Would I?"
"You are gibbering."
"I'm not gibbering."
"I said to Dean, who let a troop of monkeys in here? He said it wasn't a dozen primates but was in fact the gaffer being a hypomaniac. He prescribed a healthy dose of Emma."
"Did he?"
"He implied it and I agree with him."
I inhaled. "Fine. Fine fine fine. I'll go do a walk around the stadium and see who's in."
***
Countdown to the Cup! Episode 7 - Geordie Sure
[We see Emma in a Chester scarf in the home dugout at the Deva. When did that happen?]
- I'm Emma. Max's girlfriend. I live in Chester three days a week, now. Still getting to know the area but so far I love it and everyone's dead friendly.
[What's it like living with Max Best?]
- Haha next question!
[Why do you think Max is so fanatical about this match?]
- Oh, that's tough. He says things like it'll help the club attract new players and it's good for the city and all that kind of stuff but I think there's something deeper. It'll be easier to ask when it's over. My family's all Newcastle fans and we haven't been to a cup final since 1955 or something and the first time it happens the whole city will be going down to London, I can promise you that. My dad says when we win one, we'll win a dozen more. But you've got to get the first one. If Chester don't win, Max will fret about it for a year until he gets another try to put it right.
[Are you nervous?]
- Haha, no. Max says he hasn't felt this good since he was at Darlington. You should have seen him, then, he was unbelievable. He did things with a ball that made you feel like you were hallucinating. He says Crewe have two good moves and he's got a plan to stop them. But how do Crewe stop him? He can change the game like that. [She clicks her fingers.]
***
Waving at people in the stands, narrowing my eyes at Bradley Rymarquis and a gaggle of agents in the main stand, posing for selfies with a few fans, having a laugh with the referee, it all turned out to be therapeutic, as did a brief cuddle with one of the ravishing blondes who seemed to follow me around the country.
It was time for my pre-match team talk, so I headed back inside.
"All right shut the fuck up," I said, as I burst into the dressing room. I paused at Vimsy's laptop - he had the Seals Live page open and he would listen to his mate Spectrum with one earbud. A counter told me that 800 people were listening. Well down on a normal league match, despite our best efforts to promote the game. I tried not to let it bother me. "Last reminder of the game plan. Remember Vimsy's presentation. Crewe play pretty passes all over the midfield, trying to draw you over there. Then they slap diagonal passes to the other side and see what mischief their wingers can get up to. Failing that, they hit long diags to the space between the centre back and full back. It's all about moving the full backs out of position, then they see if they can get the ball out wide quickly or if they can play a through ball behind the defenders. We trained this. Full backs, don't fall into the trap. That's half the battle." I coughed. "Pascal, I'm going to ask you to man mark this centre back for the start of the match."
"Yes, boss."
"A lot of their moves go through him. I reckon it'll freak them out a bit and they'll have to build down the sides where they're relatively weak. Defenders, watch out for me giving the signal to go man-to-man for periods. If we do it for a whole half they'll adapt, but I think if we do it for two, three minutes we'll get turnovers because they won't be expecting it. Okay but mostly the game is hard work, suffering, keeping your shape, winning your duels. Do that for long enough for me to come up with a plan for how we win. Yeah?"
"Yes, boss!"
"Okay, dim the lights and turn up the sentimental music. It's time for my heart-warming motivational speech. WibRob, watch carefully. This one's going to be legendary. Ahem. So we know that Cavvers has got himself a bad case of fever, and that's ironic because my favourite song is Fever by Dua Lipa and the Belgian pop weirdo Angèle."
"That's your favourite song, is it?" said Sandra.
"Yes, and I didn't simply type fever into YouTube this morning so don't even start with that." I tutted. "Where's Dean? Dean, mate. Come to the front. I want to discuss the lyrics from the point of view of a medical professional."
He smiled. "Go on, boss."
"So it's Dua Lipa, I guess, and she sings, 'I've got a fever, so can you check?' Dean, that's good, isn't it? She self-diagnoses but wants a second opinion."
"Always good to consult a professional," said Dean.
"Next bit is where the actual consultation happens. Dean, thumbs up or thumbs down for this. Hand on my forehead." Thumbs up. "Kiss my neck."
He laughed. "That's not the lyric."
"It is!"
"It's unconventional. Medically, thumbs down."
"I thought so. WibRob is giving me a dirty look. It's actually a fun song, mate. But let me bring this home. Dua Lipa, right, is Crewe Alexandra. And we, Chester, are a virus. We're, like, invading their spaces. And we're going to give them a fever. We're going to raise their temperature and make them sweaty."
Henri tutted. "Max, this is awful. Awful."
Sandra said, "If Crewe are Dua Lipa, who is going to kiss their neck?"
"I don't know. Half the song's in French. There's no way to know what they're saying. Checklist time. Analysis of opponents? Tick. Individual instructions handed out? Tick. Weird story distracts players from their nerves? Tick. Okay, I think that's it. Let's go win the cup."
***
Countdown to the Cup! Episode 6 - Take a Butchers at That
[We see a butcher in a butcher's outfit surrounded by meat.]
- Name's Des Reddington from the famous Reddington and Son in south Chester. Been a Chester fan man and boy and yes, we like to name our meats after Chester players. Always raises a chuckle. Special offer for the cup final? Of course! Starting with the big man, it's Max Breast, 5% off these tender chicken cuts all this week. Goliath sausages. Look how big they are! Very popular with er... well I shouldn't say who with. I'll have them ten percent off if Chris Beaumont scores in the final. What have we here? Henri Surloins. Joe Shanka. Chicken Wingers, that's your D-Day and your Aff. We've got some Pascal Boc-ham. And we've got some Youngster. That's veal, obviously.
***
The match, at last, kicked off, and I immediately broke out into a sweat. Had I caught Ben's disease? Or was it one thing to draw up a weakened team on a flipchart and quite another to see them take to the pitch against much more talented opposition?
I'd hit Bench Boost and Triple Captain, of course, and now I smashed the Seal It Up option. For fifteen minutes, my defenders would gain plus one positioning. We would get stronger as we started to bring our subs on, so the earliest part of the match was very much the most dangerous.
I checked behind me. Sam Topps, Henri, and Chris were chatting away, in good spirits. The Cheshire Cup was unusual in that I could name five subs and use all of them. The guys knew they would get onto the pitch, and probably quite early, too.
Ben was over in an otherwise deserted section of the main stand wrapped up in multiple blankets with his 'flatmate' Simon holding a thermos.
Sandra made a little groaning noise and I looked up to see the absolutely outclassed Andrew Harrison running around like a blue-arsed fly. Over recent weeks his CA had risen to 34, which was fairly disappointing in one respect but then again, midway through next season he could get to CA 50 and start to be quite a serious player. It was unfair to expect him to go faster than he could go, and he'd improved enough for me to feel mostly comfortable about starting him in a cup final. The alternatives were Joe Anka or Bark and neither would be at Chester next season. Picking Andrew was an investment in the future of the squad.
Harrison slides in but doesn't get the ball.
Crewe snap a few quick passes around the centre circle.
The ball is pinged to the right!
This could be dangerous.
But Eddie Moore heads it out for a throw-in.
Sandra and the Brig called out their support. Eddie was a quiet guy who hadn't imposed himself on the squad yet, but he'd applied himself in training and had crept up to CA 48.
"Steady Eddie," I said. "Sandra, what do you make of him?"
She thought about it. "I finally see why you let Trick go. He does everything Trick did but he gives you more."
"Come on."
"What?"
"He gives you more? Eddie Moore? Are you doing poems, now?" I watched as Crewe went through one of their set midfield schemes. We'd played six minutes and they'd done the exact same sequence three times. "Explain this setup to me. The 4 to the 6 to the left 8 and back to the 4. That's the prelude to the big diag but there's something wrong about it."
Sandra nodded. "I wonder if those three have ever played together in a real match. Combinations work better with more familiarity." She went quiet. "What they're doing is what Liverpool do, but Liverpool have three fast forwards so they can launch it faster. Crewe have to pass it around longer to get their players into position. And this 10, this CM, isn't a threat when he breaks. Or is he?"
"No, I agree."
"If that was a Liverpool player, he'd storm towards the goal inside the full back, who would have to cover his run. That opens the entire right of the pitch for the wide player."
"And if the full back stays wide to cover the wide player, they pass to the runner and if the pass is good, he gets a shot."
"It's Liverpool. The pass is good."
I shook my head. Elite teams had so many weapons you couldn't possibly shut them all down. How was I supposed to learn how to deal with that? "Guess I have a few years to work it out."
"We're only one player short of being able to do that ourselves."
That cheered me up. "What?"
"Like, you can do all three roles. You can play the long pass, break into the box, or collect out wide. Pascal can do the last two quite well. We need one more guy next season."
My eyes shone but despite my excitement, I lowered my voice since I didn’t want to give anyone a big head. "WibRob! He's Pascal, but better. The three of us will rip teams open."
Sandra checked my forehead. "He's not ready. Get me two more players like you and I'll coach you to play like Klopp's Liverpool. You'll be unstoppable."
"Unkloppable."
"What?"
"Nothing."
***
Countdown to the Cup! Episode 5 - Can't Win Anything with Kids
[We see Youngster and Pascal on the sofa at Henri's digs.]
- I am Youngster. I am 18 and I am a defensive midfielder for Chester Football Club.
- I'm Pascal Bochum, a forward who can play right, left, or centre. I'm a space invader with superior pressing qualities and I have been working on a list of reasons why I should be picked for the final. One, I am a forward who can play right, left, or centre. Two...
[very abrupt cut]
[Subtitles on screen: It's your first cup final. How do you feel?]
- I feel calm because I know that God will be with me and my team mates will be at my side. Together, we will overcome any obstacles put before us, as we have done so many times before.
- In fact, we have lost eight matches this season and Crewe are much more technical than us. It is unlikely that we will beat them.
- We will beat them if God wishes it.
- We will beat them if the team can remain fully focused for ninety minutes. That rules you out of contention. Here's the team that I would pick. [Pascal leans forward and when he sits back he has a ring binder in his hands. As this is happening, Youngster gets up and walks away.] What did I say?
***
For fifteen minutes my defensive ideas had worked nicely. Pascal marking one centre back and leaving the other defenders to have as much time on the ball as they wanted wasn't going to win us the match but it did discombobulate Crewe. They had certain patterns of moving the ball from the goalkeeper to midfield, but those patterns were based on using triangles to beat their opponent's press. We weren't pressing, but were blocking off one point. It was fascinating to watch them be so slow to adapt.
But Seal It Up ran out and from that moment my ideas would stand or fall according to their inherent soundness. People tried to talk to me but all I could do was crouch and stare at the pitch. Crewe were dominating the possession and the match stats, and I had no doubt Boggy and Spectrum were fretting and saying things like, how are we going to score?
Crewe went through their midfield patterns and their DM suddenly twisted and slapped a long pass out towards Eddie Moore's zone. Eddie tracked it, closed the space, and when the winger knocked the ball down the line, Eddie simply went with him and stopped him from getting a free run at goal. The winger tried a cross - it hit Eddie, bounced back at the Crewe player, and went off the pitch for a goal kick.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
Sandra burst into applause, but after a brief surge of triumphant energy, I got very cold. Crewe's attempts to pass through the middle were being stifled by our energetic midfield trio of Youngster, Magnus, and Andrew. All three loved defending and if Crewe got past one, another was there, and if they got past him, the first guy was already back in place.
No, if they scored from open play it would be from the wings. So why not double down on my basic concept? I set up some hotkeys that would turn man-marking on for certain players. At the touch of a button, I could get Aff and D-Day to mark Crewe's wide midfielders. A different button did the same but with Eddie and Carl. I did some experiments when there wasn't much danger and it was effective. So when Crewe's DM, their player with the best long passing, got the ball, I hit one of the hotkeys and someone got tight to the wide mids, instantly cutting out the option for the long diags. As Sandra had explained, the solution from Crewe's point of view would have been for a central midfielder to race forward into the space the full backs had left, but their guys weren't fast enough to hurt us.
I watched, enthralled, as my plan to shut Crewe down... continued to work.
"Is this what it feels like to be Ian Evans?" I wondered.
"Huh?" said Sandra.
"I'm doing a defensive masterclass and I'm enjoying it." My grin faded. "This is a defensive masterclass, isn't it? Or have I forgotten something?"
She smiled. "Max, it's very good. I don't know about masterclass but it's very good. Right now they don't know what to do. Did you already write your Chesterness essay? Shame. You could hand this in and pass any coaching course." She bit her nails. "It would be nice to have some goal threat, though. If they blink first and start throwing bodies forward, we don't quite have the players to punish them."
"Right but if we nudge the dial towards attack, we give them a sniff. It has to be handled with extreme care. You might say, it needs the touch of someone sophisticated."
Sandra took a step away and looked back at me. "Grimsby was good for you. You're a more complete manager, now. More interested in the defence. More balanced."
"I'm balanced because this match is all about balance."
"Centred, then."
As she spoke, Andrew Harrison's match rating dipped from 6 to 5. "Andrew's done his shift. Let's get Sam Topps on."
"Yes, boss."
***
Countdown to the Cup! Episode 4 - MD
[We see MD facing the left of the screen with his hand resting on the desk in front of him. An expensive watch adorns his wrist.]
- I'm Mike Dean, Managing Director at Chester Football Club. I'm a lifelong Chester fan. I've seen a couple of great teams in that time and this one is right up there. When we hired Max we knew he'd get involved in the youth teams but his commitment to football in the county took me by surprise. Why should a young man from Manchester care about the Cheshire Cup?
[cut]
[The scene is identical in every way except MD appears to be wearing an even more expensive watch]
- I think it's the perfect final. Crewe are doing well in their league, we've won ours. Max has ambitions and one of those is to make Chester the biggest club in Cheshire. Let's see how close we are! I've told him that if we can win, the board and I will look at increasing our transfer budget.
***
Extract from Seals Live
Boggy: Still nil-nil here at Gresty Road. A very cagey affair so far with neither team willing to take too many risks. Nine hundred fans all around the world listening in to this very tense occasion. Quite a lot from Texas, and I suppose we can guess the reason why. And Germany. That's odd.
Spectrum: Pascal's fan club.
Boggy: Oh, oh course. Well, er... Wilkommen to Crewe. As for the match itself, Sam Topps has come on and made a difference.
Spectrum: I'm not sure what it is but sometimes when Max leaves him out of the starting eleven he comes on like he's got an extra gear.
Boggy: What about Best himself? When will we see him?
Spectrum: I can't understand why he didn't start. All I can think is that he has the same flu as Ben but he looks okay.
Boggy: Crewe continue to pass the ball around, probing for an opening. One of the intriguing things that came out this week was the idea that winning today would unlock extra transfer budget for the summer.
Spectrum: That surprised me, too! MD doesn't normally dangle carrots like that. It got everybody worked up, though, didn't it?
Boggy: Long pass out. Carlile caught out of position! But there's Youngster! He sensed the danger and was right over there. He puts it out for a throw in. Quick thinking from the youngster. From Youngster. Heh.
Spectrum: I fear the tide is turning. Crewe turning the screw, now.
Boggy: In answer to your question, yes, linking the cup win to more budget proved a masterstroke, if the intention was to generate interest. People love a transfer. Oh, good play by Crewe's 8! He evaded Magnus Evergreen... here comes a chipped pass... big chance for Crewe... blocked! Where's the ball going? I think it's going in! It can't - On the top! It lands on top of the goal. Well, Robson was stranded. The shot ballooned up, could have gone anywhere. It's landed on the top of the goal. Corner to Crewe. And that seems to have woken Best up. Looks like he's getting ready to come on. First, it's Crewe's fourth corner of the game. They haven't done much with them yet, but their two big centre halves have trundled up... Here it comes. Oh, no! Robson... What's happened?
Spectrum: Collision of heads. Robson and their striker. Looks bad.
Boggy: Yes, it does.
Spectrum: [groan] Oh, no. Ben! I saw him before the match and he didn't even recognise me. He's sick. He's seeing double. He can't play. Who'll go in goal? Magnus?
[pause] I think that might have been the end of our chances of getting anything out of this game, Boggy. That's cruel.
Boggy: It looks... Max is waving to a fan over to his left. The fan looks like... Spectrum, do you know that cash machine at the train station and there's a homeless chap who sleeps next to it? He always knows the exact time but he never has a watch. It looks like Max has brought him to the match. What a nice gesture.
Spectrum: Sorry, Boggy, but that's not Rolex Luther. That's Ben Cavanagh in a sleeping bag. He's coming on.
***
Countdown to the Cup! Episode 3 - No Fussin'
[We see a rando fan on the streets of Chester.]
- Cheshire Cup? I'm not too fussed, to be honest. Happy to win it, like, but it's not a big game. You can't make it a big game just by saying it is.
[We hear Brooke but because she's foreign, the subtitles help] - Will you be listening in on Seals Live?
- Nah. Like I say, I hope they win, don't get me wrong. It's just I'm not really fussed either way, like.
[Let me show you this.]
[We see the video that the fan sees. It's a Crewe fan.]
- Name's Sam. Been a Railwayman since I was knee high to a Mars bar. Yeah we're having a great season and we've got some top talents. Good crop this year. Get promoted, win a cup, happy days. Prediction? We'll win, easy. Five-nil. I mean, it's a good little team you've got there but be fair. It's only Chester.
[The moment where he says 'good little team' is replayed at half-speed with the sound distorted. We cut back to the Chester fan, who can't believe what he's just seen and heard.]
- Come on, Max! Let 'em have it!
***
I swapped Robbo - clearly concussed - for Ben. Ben’s face was pale and his scalp was visibly clammy and he hadn't warmed up because movement gave him a headache. He would either put in the worst single performance in the history of football... or if the curse was right that he was fit to play, he'd play the best hour of his entire career so far. CA 49 plus boost.
To give Ben a bit more time to jog around and do some stretches, I made another change. Off went D-Day and on went Max Actual Best.
Our official average CA was now 53, but three players had the Bench Boost.
I slipped into the right mid slot, intending to play there for a while. If I gave Crewe's left back enough grief they'd have to make a tactical change to support him, which would open up opportunities elsewhere. But I wanted to ease myself into the match while being fairly disciplined - Crewe's best chance of a goal was if they pulled Carlile out of position.
Yes, the plan was to keep calm and carry on doing what we were doing, but with the addition of some temperate, carefully modulated counter attacks.
"Oh, what the fuck?" I said, as the ref signalled for Ben to take the free kick that would start the game. I hadn't even touched the ball and my temperature had soared. I strode towards the man in black, then wondered if there was a diplomatic solution. "Ref, what the heck is happening?"
"Calm down, Best. What are you blabbing about?"
I pointed. "That chap has got a hecking concussion!" It was true. Crewe's striker had clattered into the goalie and he hadn't come off unscathed. His attributes were red, his condition had tanked, and the injury screen said 'suspected head injury'. I mean, three strikes and you're out. So why was he still in?
The ref shrugged. "Are you a doctor now, as well?"
"Yes," I said. "I'm Doctor Traumatic Brain Injury Survivor and I'm an expert in mashed heads. Look, he's not my player and it's in my interest to have them effectively down to ten men but if he collapses on the pitch I'm going to feel like shit. If I have to go up for a header against him, I mean, I'm not having the world blame us for what happens to him. Instruct Crewe to do a concussion protocol, at least."
I saw the moment he decided to ignore me, but then I saw the moment he remembered that I would be writing a match report and giving him a rating. "All right. Let's talk to them."
We went over to the touchline, where Crewe's manager was bristling at the way I was allowed to berate the ref and he wasn't. "What's this shit?"
I pointed, again. "Your 9's got concussion."
"No he don't."
So this was the real Crewe. For as much as they looked like future Chester with their amazing academy and squad rotation, when it came right down to it they didn't give a shit about their players. This manager wasn't future Max. He was a caveman in a jacket. I found myself with my hands on my head looking up at the colossal stand that housed 70% of the seats in the entire stadium. Steam was coming out of my ears. I took a step to the side and eyed the nearest physio. I pointed at him. "Oi. Do a concussion check."
"Get on with the fucking game, you twat!" yelled Crewe's assistant manager.
"You've said your piece," said the ref. "They're not interested. It’s on them, Best. Game on." He ran away and blew his whistle. I eyed the Crewe guys one at a time, my fury turning white hot. I gave the manager one last eyeful. You and I are not alike.
What had that fan said on Brooke's absolutely awesome little series?
Come on, Max! Let 'em have it!
As I finally turned, I switched Pascal to play on the right. I, Max Best, would play as a striker.
***
Boggy: What's happening, Spectrum?
Spectrum: I don't know, but it's all gone wild. The match is suddenly being played at a hundred miles an hour.
Boggy: Either we lost a few listeners during that long injury break or the counter is glitching again. Anyone missing this is missing out! Ben's in goal. Pascal Bochum is at right midfield. Max Best is striker. Tackles are flying in. The small crowd is making a big noise. There's aggro between the two benches. Wow. This contest went from nought to sixty very fast. Crewe passing the ball around the defence. That seems much easier now.
Spectrum: Max isn't working hard like Pascal did.
Boggy: That's bad, right? It sounds bad. I don't know football but that's got to be bad.
Spectrum: If you think Max Best has found a way to weaponise laziness... yeah, I think that's unlikely. Even for him!
Boggy: Ben in goal makes me nervous. When the ball is away, he crouches and feels sorry for himself. Crewe with the long pass. Carlile wins the header but the second ball drops to a red shirt. More neat passing, and now they're in behind! Left-footed cross, low, there's chaos, a scramble, Cavanagh drops on the ball.
[cheers]
Boggy: It's gone in! It's squirmed under his body somehow.
Spectrum: Oh.
Boggy: Disaster for Chester. Crewe have turned up the heat in the last couple of minutes and now Chester are sweating. Approaching half time, it's Crewe one, Chester nil. [pause] Shit.
***
While the Crewe bench celebrated wildly, I jogged back to talk to Glenn Ryder - he'd had a great view of the incident. He confirmed that as Ben had been about to dive onto the ball, a cheeky scamp from Crewe had backflicked the ball while facing the wrong way and being upside down. It was actually a sensational piece of improvisation.
I nodded. "Look after Ben," I said, and left him to it. His influence score was tripled, after all.
On my way towards the halfway line, I switched to 4-5-1 with Pascal on the left of midfield and Magnus on the right. Aff was on the left of the three central midfielders and I made him our playmaker. I set him to 'try through balls'. I took ten seconds to explain what I wanted. It wasn't his natural game, but he would try.
I tapped the ball - my first ever touch in a cup final - and the match resumed. I strolled around, getting even more of a feel of the speed of the game. It was always a bit of a shock to go from the strategic view into the trenches.
My legs carried me into a pocket of space and I took a pass from Pascal. I was on the half-turn and took two explosive strides as Cody Chambers had taught me. There was no-one ahead of me, though. If I wanted to create something from here, I needed an Henri to combine with. I passed back to Youngster and made a signal. He turned backwards - a groan was audible from the region of the media centre - and Crewe pushed up hoping to force a turnover in a dangerous position. If they got a second goal...
Carl, Steve, and Glenn passed the ball around. Crewe's striker was making an effort to press, showing no visible signs of his brain injury.
Eddie took a pass, stumbled, turned onto his weaker right foot, and then Crewe were swarming all over us. I had my head in my hands on the halfway line, apparently seeing disaster on the horizon.
In fact, I was making sure I had no aggro on me.
***
Boggy: This is so stressful. Pointless, horseshoe passing, inviting the opposition to come closer to our goal. It's crap. Sorry to say.
Spectrum: Breathe, Boggy. There are 700 listeners who need you.
Boggy: And now a slip from Eddie Moore! He stumbles, gets up, swipes at the ball with his weaker foot. Anywhere will do. Goes to Aff. Aff first time ball over the top! Best is chasing! He's clear! There's no-one for miles. How's he done that?
Spectrum: You know how.
Boggy: Charging. The speed is frightening. Max Best a one-man stampede. Bearing down on the nineteen-year-old goalkeeper... Little chip? The keeper's down... Best continues his run! He slides it into the empty net! The whole move took three seconds! Best is going crackers! He jumps for joy. Look what it means to him!
***
Countdown to the Cup! Episode 2 - Max Best
[We see a boy aged about seven. He's wearing full Chester kit, except for boots, and he's on his bed throwing a football against the wall. He crashes onto the mattress as he fires a spectacular volley. He jumps down to retrieve the ball and promptly jumps back up to repeat the process.]
[The voice of Max Best narrates the scene.]
When I was a kid we had a supply teacher for P.E. and it was raining and he didn't want to go outside and the girls were in the gym so he wheeled out the old tape player and put on the only sports-related DVD he could find. I suppose it was called Man United FA Cup Glory or something and it was just goals from United in the FA Cup. Mark Robins, Mark Hughes, Eric Cantona. It was just goal after goal with no context but it did something to me. If there was no-one playing out or there was nothing to watch I'd get a ball and practice volleys. Chuck the ball against the wall, scissor kick, fall onto the bed. I must have been copying one of the goals I saw but I can't find it now. Over and over again, volley, goal! There was a patch on the wall I had to hit and that was the goal. Scissor kick, goal! Scissor kick, goal! I never got tired of it because every kick was the winning goal in the FA Cup final. I don't even play like that now. Have I ever scored a volley? I don't think so. But if we're in training and the ball comes at me just like that, I'll throw myself sideways and volley it no matter what the drill is. I can't help it. It's in me. Best with the volley... Best has won it! I keep chasing that feeling. Glory hunter is a negative phrase. It means someone who follows a team only because they win all the time. I think there's a different kind of glory hunter. Someone who hunts glory. People tell me I shouldn't care about this cup or that trophy. They don't know who they're talking to.
***
When Eddie passed to Aff, I blacked out, and it was only a few seconds later, while I was screaming at and being screamed at by some Chester fans, that I realised what I'd done. Aff's pass was not ideal but it had loads of spin and that gave me a ton of options. The fact that I 'chose' the simplest one shows how little control I had over myself.
Scoring against a CA 50 goalie in a deserted stadium in the lowest ranked cup known to man... blew my mind.
I felt like my brain was expanding and contracting with every breath. I wanted to storm around chasing the ball; I wanted to sleep.
Crewe kicked off and passed the ball backwards. Everyone moved around me in slow motion. I blinked and stepped to the side, but somehow that included me intercepting a pass and surging into enemy territory. My heart crashed into my ribs as I thundered forwards, feet shattering the very earth beneath me, and as a challenge finally came in time sped up and the ball left my foot, arced, and cracked against the post and away, finally rolling out for a throw in.
I was dimly aware of an ooh from the Chester fans and a smattering of reluctant applause from the Crewe lot. It was only when Crewe's manager rushed over to the throw-in taker and yelled instructions at him and everyone nearby that I remembered the curse screens. I fell to my haunches and stared at the nearest fistful of grass.
Crewe, who never changed anything against any team under any circumstances, had gone into a low block. I wondered why. On autopilot, I switched to 4-2-4 with Magnus and Sam as unlikely target men and Youngster and I in midfield. In this new constellation, a very confused Crewe back line tried to play keep ball but found they were swarmed by opponents. The ball was passed back to the safest option. Sam hared after the goalie, who was now utterly frazzled the realisation that I was trying to end his career before it had started. The keeper got to the ball first and hacked it clear. I took a few steps right and controlled it. I pushed it ahead of me, took something of a long jumper's approach, and kicked through it, so cleanly I didn't even feel it. The ball compressed and in an attempt to keep its shape while obeying the laws of physics, shot away in a fast parabola that was far, far more accurate than it needed to be.
***
Boggy: Oh my God, Best scores! He's scored from long range! What is happening? He has just... No celebration this time. It looks like he can't believe what he's just done and neither can I. Max Best is obliterating Crewe Alexandra! They went defensive to try to get to half time level but he took the ball and shot like he was absolutely alone. They could have thirty players and it wouldn't make a difference right now. This is... Where...? Spectrum has gone! He's run off. Spectrum has left us, ladies and gentlemen. There's no actual dugout here at Gresty Road, but Spectrum has made his way down to the space in the main stand and he's hugging Vimsy. He's dancing with Sandra Lane. She can't believe what she's just seen, what's she's seeing. I tell you, if Best gets another shot in this half, he'll score. He's in the zone, but what that zone is I couldn't tell you. The Twilight Zone. Over eight hundred listening live, and I can tell you I've just witnessed a... spellbinding few minutes. Crewe are in full retreat, full panic, and the atmosphere... There are perhaps only a thousand people in the stadium but it's electric. I need a break but I don't want it to end. What on earth are Crewe supposed to do now? I would ask a professional football coach but he's gone!
***
Crewe got desperate. In an attempt to stop me somehow, they set two players to man-mark me. I switched us to 3-5-2 with me as one of the defenders, pushed Eddie to midfield and Aff to striker, Carl to right mid, and I stood on the centre spot while my players tried to use the last couple of minutes in the half to overload, overlap, and slap.
It was frantic, it was crazy, at times it was so unstructured things bordered on unprofessional. We had half-chances and the last action of the half was a neat one-two between Pascal and Youngster. Youngster tried to cross the ball for Aff but one of Crewe's centre backs stuck out a leg and cleared the danger.
Half time. Two-one, but as I walked to the dressing room, I felt that brief surge of heat drain away. Whatever the hell it was, it was over.
***
Half time was calm. I talked to Sandra suggesting two versions of our next change. I wanted Henri on - the only reason to delay had been to make life harder for Crewe's manager.
"The obvious change is Pascal but he's playing well and he gives us options. The other choice is Eddie and we go 3-5-2."
"Has to be Pascal," she said. "Most of our formations are four at the back and I wouldn’t want Aff playing left back in a cup final."
"Okay. Can you tell them? I need a minute. And please check on Ben."
"I can do that," said the Brig. I nodded - that was even better.
***
I munched on marathon paste and ruminated. Was it too late to undo the change? Youngster as a central midfielder was okay but nothing special. As a DM he was great, but when we brought Chris on we'd play 4-4-2 and it would be better to have Pascal flying up one wing than Youngster stodgily occupying the centre.
"Sandra," I mumbled. She came over. "I think we have to stick to 4-1-4-1 with me and Magnus as the two right-most midfielders. He'll cover me when I go roaming. You can yell at him to move around if you see some danger behind me. Sound good?"
"You want your DM in place."
"I do."
She thought about it. "It'll be a tough half getting up to support Henri while dominating the centre. You'll run out of gas if you aren't careful."
I nodded. My fitness wasn't bad but it was nowhere near Premier League levels. "Efficiency."
"Or," she said, "you could score from forty yards like, six more times?"
"You know I don't like repeating myself."
"Sorry, what?"
"You know I don't - Oh, well done."
Her next question showed that while she seemed relaxed, she was nervous as hell. "Any idea what changes they'll make?"
"Crewe?" I said, going into the curse screen. "They'll strengthen midfield but sub off the striker. They've got that runner from midfield. We need to deal with him."
"Want me to...?"
"Yes, please."
Sandra went to the tactics board and reminded the lads about the diags and said in the second half we expected a young striker to come on, so that was good, but that we had a new problem. While she talked about the duties of the defenders, I was thinking about how we could stop Crewe's moves from midfield. It was easy in principle - Magnus would play CM, I'd take the right mid slot but drift infield. We would effectively have three CMs while Youngster mopped up behind us.
That felt very, very good.
***
Boggy: Second half is underway! Crewe have made some changes, finally replacing their concussed striker. Pretty shocking it took them so long but it annoyed Max Best into producing a simply sensational few minutes. Chester have used their fourth sub to bring Henri Lyons on in place of Pascal Bochum. That leaves Max Best...
Spectrum: Right midfield is where he lined up.
Boggy: Right midfield. Oh, but it's Best pressuring Crewe in the middle of the park. The midfield's Sam Topps, Magnus Evergreen, Youngster a little deeper. With Aff left and Best right, that's one of the best midfields ever seen in the National League North, but Crewe are near the top of League Two. They won't feel that they are out of this.
Spectrum: No, the zip is back in their passing. The half time break came at a good time for them.
Boggy: Just over a thousand listening live, now. Word is getting around that there's a classic cup final going on!
Spectrum: They've all been watching the countdown videos instead of listening to us. They got to the big surprise number one and now they're tuning in here.
Boggy: Oh, you were surprised, then?
Spectrum: I was! I thought it would be either a cute little brother and sister talking about how they want to play for Chester when they grow up, or Harry Styles, or Max Best's mum or something like that.
Boggy: Right! Something sentimental. But who they chose made a lot of sense and it was good to see his face again. Okay, there was a tiny break in play there but we're back underway. Crewe seeing a lot of the ball...
***
Two minutes of the half gone. Three minutes. Crewe's passing was much faster than ours. They played a lot more one-touch passes than anyone at our level, of course, but also far more than Salford or Wrexham. Their players didn't dwell on the ball so we couldn't get close to them to force them into mistakes. It was impressive, especially now that a couple of youngsters had been replaced by a couple of mediumsters.
Yeah, if these guys got ahead in the match, we'd have to take more and more risks just to get the ball off them.
They weren't ahead, though.
I set us to low block, men behind ball, let Crewe take the risk of coming at us.
The change made them cautious, funnily enough, and they seemed happy to have sterile possession. When I saw their manager call out some tweaks, I clicked off the low block hotkey and raced after the ball. It was time to get Henri into the game. At CA 63 he was outmatched by the centre backs, but he had the Bench Boost and he was a physical presence who could hold the ball up pretty well.
Surprised that we were all over them, suddenly, Crewe played a safety-first pass slightly away from the DM. I rushed after it and we got there at the same time. We shoulder barged inconclusively, but I had the faster feet and dabbed the ball to Henri. I continued my sprint and he calmly played a square ball into my path. I was level with him, now but my options were limited and the route to goal was blocked by the energetic left back. I dropped my shoulder to make him continue his run, took a couple of paces to the right, and switched the play in one thrilling, unexpected move. My curling chip landed in front of Henri, who thought I might try something like that and had moved accordingly, and he blasted a left-footed shot... just over the bar.
I had my head in my hands as I grinned in the direction of Henri. So close! We wouldn't get too many opportunities, I didn't think. Using Cupid’s Arrow at the right time would be hard. Maybe impossible. Probably I would connect myself to Chris when he came on and hope to get a free kick or corner. Cupid’s Arrow plus Free Hit - there was something to pin a couple of hopes on. That was for later, though.
Henri’s chance had the effect of giving Crewe yet another thing to worry about, but a few minutes later they were making their way up into our territory on a regular basis. If I overloaded the middle they came on our right and if I supported the right, they came through the middle.
And once again we were back to the fundamental problem of being a player manager - I couldn't do both roles to the best of my ability at the same time. Was there a trick I could use to solidify us? I was starting to struggle with my decision making. Fake low block? Good as a shock tactic. Actual low block? Not with over half an hour to go - have some self-respect! Man marking? Wouldn't work with the fast, goalscoring midfielder on the case. Seal It Up? Used it. Double DM? They would make mincemeat out of Carl.
In the end, I decided to station Magnus on the right - he and Carl together would do a good job of shutting down attacks on that wing. I tried to be a classic central midfielder - a little bit of everything - but slowly, inexorably, Crewe's superior technique wore us down and I found myself dropping a yard back, and another yard, and with half an hour to go it felt like the entire match was being played in our half.
If only we had one more Max! Another player like me so I could be in two places at once. Did that player exist? Someone who could run, pass, and shoot as well as me, who would actually sign for a non-league team? Highly doubtful.
No, I'd have to do it with the players I had. They would always be flawed, always have weaknesses.
***
Boggy: Crewe come again. This is nail-biting stuff. Chester lead but are well and truly under the cosh. Can they hang on? Cross comes in - well cleared by Ryder. He's been immense.
Spectrum: He wants to lift that cup.
Boggy: Crewe, patient, probing, quick feet, quick passes. The ball's never still for long in this game, whether it's Crewe's version of tiki taka or Chester's explosive counters, though there have been vanishingly few of those in recent times.
Spectrum: That's it! That's the image I've been looking for. This is like watching Man City against Liverpool.
Boggy: Ah, now you say it. Oh, now there's a good pass! They're... they're in behind Carlile again. Gets to the byline. Cut back! Shot! Oh magnificent save from Ben Cavanagh! He threw himself to his right, stretched, got his fingertips to it. What a save!
Spectrum: That was fantastic all round. The midfielder kept his shot low - it's not so easy, we've seen Henri not quite get it right. Top left corner, top bins, that's a goal all day long. Ben to the rescue.
Boggy: It's a corner. Crewe keen to get the game back underway. Floated in - Ben punches! Out to the edge of the box. It's Lyons defending. Shot goes way over. [pause] There's twenty-eight minutes to go. I can't handle this.
Spectrum: Twelve hundred listening. Tell your friends how good it is!
Boggy: What's this? Steve Alton will take the goal kick. Cavanagh with a raging headache so Alton booms the ball long and rushes after it. Haven't seen that since last time I was down at a Sunday League match.
Spectrum: His head must be killing him. How did he make that save?
***
I competed for a header and won it, but could only direct it in the general direction of Henri. Crewe's DM got there first and played the ball to the right back. His match rating was 5 and he was currently on the far side of the pitch from his manager so it was plausible no-one was really aware of how bad he was playing.
I filed the information away and got back to grafting for the team.
***
Boggy: The agony of the second half continues. Max Best's minute of mayhem seems like a tale from a bygone era akin to Arthur Pendragon or... or...
Spectrum: Or playtesting triple A games before you release them.
Boggy: I don't know all of those words but I'm going to agree because it saves me having to report on this agony. Agony! Fourteen hundred people sharing in the torture. Crewe are bossing the match and we are struggling to respond. I think removing Pascal Bochum was a mistake. There, I said it.
Spectrum: We've lost some pace and the only sub left is Chris Beaumont so that doesn't help in the sweeping counter attacks stakes.
Boggy: Youngster is looking tired. It's his first cup final. One wonders how well he slept. He's over on the left helping Eddie Moore. But Crewe retain possession. It's played inside. Their sub, fresh and full of running, drives forward. Ryder has to be wary of the runners in behind. He moves to the ball now. Shot! Shot from distance! It's flying - no. Cavvers plucks it out of the air, calm as you like. He made that look easy.
Spectrum: Is that confidence from Crewe, or are they running out of ideas?
Boggy: Ah, don't fill me with hope while poking my despair!
Spectrum: Soz.
***
Quarter of an hour to go. Fifteen minutes to hold on and we'd beat Crewe in their back yard to win the cup. We were getting ragged, though. The defensive spacing was not consistent. The critical moment was coming.
Time to act. I used the curse screens to remove Youngster and put Chris on in his place. Straight 4-4-2. Chris would help us defend corners but would offer very little in open play. This was a gamble and a half.
Crewe's manager sensed the opportunity and ran around like a crazy person.
It looks like Crewe have adopted a more attacking approach.
"Here they come, boys!" I called out. "Archers, ready!"
Sam laughed. "We don't have archers."
"No archers? What kind of shitty army is this?"
"We've got a bus."
He was suggesting a low block. Park the bus. That could work, especially with Ben giving us a 9 out of 10 performance. Even if Crewe equalised, if we could take the match to penalties we'd have a massive advantage there. We had the better keeper, Bench Boosted, too. I was amazing at pennos and Chris was almost as good. No way did Crewe have two penalty geniuses on the pitch. My eyes drifted to their young right back. Imagine if he had to take a pen to keep Crewe in the game...
"Come on, Chester!" I yelled. "Let 'em have it!"
***
Boggy: Big tackle from Steve Alton. Oh! Big tackle from Sam Topps. Chester are re-energised. Best on the ball. Shapes to pass long, dribbles round his man. He's through the lines in midfield. Chris Beaumont lolloping towards goal. Henri dropping short to offer an option. Evergreen trying to keep up. Best... chops back inside! He's still going. Lyons spins, adjusts his run. Best pops it forward. Lyons into the box on the right. Two players left. What will he choose? It's a shot! No, chipped! Oh, it's just over the head of Beaumont. That looked a certain goal! But, what? Best has beaten the right back to the ball. How's he done that? The young defender had a ten-yard head start. Best rolls it back to Aff, who's up in support. First time cross, danger for Crewe! Beaumont hits the crossbar! It's clipped the crossbar and gone behind. What a cross! Beaumont and Lyons are up in arms. They're saying the goalie got a touch.
Spectrum: Didn't look like it but sometimes you can tell from the reaction.
Boggy: I'd give you a thousand pounds right now for a Max Best to Chris Beaumont corner. But ref says no. Chester will want to hurry back. Crewe take the goal kick short. Into midfield it goes. Very smooth mechanism, this. Out to the right, their left. Cross, cleared by Alton. Loose ball. Attempted ball in behind Carlile. He slides, just about gets there. It breaks. Alton and a red shirt slide into it - that could have been nasty. They both look okay. Ball’s played across. Ryder's isolated! Crewe line up a shot - no, touched on. He's - clear shot on goal, now. Oh! He's dragged it wide. Six inches wide, I can't believe it. Cavvers had no chance. That was agonising. Ten more minutes of this absolute nightmare. I hate football, Spectrum.
Spectrum: We all do. That's why we love it.
***
I switched to 4-1-4-1 with Henri dropping into midfield. I had to otherwise we'd get swamped. But I had my hotkeys all lined up, ready for one last attack. One last throw of the dice.
But first we had to withstand Crewe's relentless pressure. Wave after wave, and they'd targeted Carl. Even with Magnus operating almost as a second right back, Carl couldn't cope with the movement of the Crewe players. His positioning had improved and was more than good enough for non-league level. It would probably be okay in League Two, even, but not against a team who had 80% possession. They just had so many opportunities to test him.
After yet another near miss, Glenn Ryder stormed towards him and screamed in his face. Carl briefly looked like a cartoon cat being blasted by a jet engine, but soon was giving Ryder a piece of his mind. I didn't mind the scene in the slightest - they were geeing themselves up for the final push. Or, I suppose, Carl was setting himself up to get a red card. Yeah, the way he was clenching his fists, that looked the more likely option.
I swapped Carl into my slot and went to right back. Crewe, sensing the chance to put pressure on the mystery winger with no defensive skills - excuse me? I am literally the best sweeper in the world. Didn't you get the memo? - they tried one of their famous balls in behind. I intercepted it easier than picking up a ten pound note and hit the 4-4-2 button. Henri raced forward and I fizzed the ball through three Crewe midfielders, right onto his toes. While the striker tried to do something productive, I swapped Carl back. As he went past, I gave him a friendly pat, and said, "Beat that."
***
Boggy: Five minutes of normal time to go. Chester two, Crewe one. Fifteen hundred listening in. Chester are five minutes from an unlikely win. Crewe have stretched our defence to breaking point. Chester have stretched me to breaking point. Crewe playing with feverish intensity, now. I can't remember the last time Chester strung three passes together. Crewe continue to aim their attacks at Carl Carlile. This time it's the little chip - he follows it, here comes the winger - this has penalty written all over it. Carlile... knocks the ball against the winger! Goal kick! He roars with triumph! Now, let's waste some time, please, Chester.
Spectrum: Where's Max going?
Boggy: I can't look at Max. I'm mad at him. He keeps doing this to me.
Spectrum: What's...?
Boggy: They've taken the goal kick short! What on earth are they playing at? I can't stand this. I quit! I quit!
Spectrum: Alton played the kick to Eddie Moore, who was in acres of space on the left. Crewe didn't expect that. The - oh! I get it! The winger's gone to press him. Moore chips over him to Aff. Best is on the left, too. Boggy, this is it! This is the special move he's had in his pocket!
Boggy: Why's he keeping moves in his pocket? Use the moves right away! No more pockets!
[roar from crowd]
Spectrum: Slick play from Aff and Max and now Max is tearing down the line. We know he can hit a left-footed cross but he'll probably cut back inside.
Boggy: Go for the corner! Speckers, make him go for the corner.
Spectrum: It'll be a cold day in hell, Boggy! Oh.
Boggy: Max Best goes for the corner! Hallelujah! I'm the happiest man alive. I can't - no! No!
Spectrum: He waited for the centre back to move and -
[roar from crowd. strange noises from Boggy]
Boggy: Goal for Chester! Goal for Chester! Chris Beaumont! Max had two to aim for but he picked out Chris Beaumont's magnificent head. Three-one! Three, four minutes of normal time to go. Limbs in the Ice Cream Van Stand! Jelly and ice cream for Chester. Straight to bed with no supper for Crewe. Chester are minutes away from a league and cup double, mimicking the wonderful 2013 side. It’s been a helluva struggle, the entire team has been immense from start to finish. Chester have ridden their luck, made their own luck, and look at what it means. Joyous scenes, joy unconfined, uncontained.
Spectrum: Unbridled.
Boggy: [huge exhale] What’s this? I knew it! The audience number was stuck. The chat was far too busy for there to only be eight hundred or so people in there. It was whizzing by. More than four thousand have been listening to this epic, epic contest. Spectrum, can I relax? Please. Three minutes to go. Nothing bad can happen, surely?
Spectrum: I think so, mate. I think so. Erm...
Boggy: What?
Spectrum: I think I might go over there.
Boggy: But -
Spectrum: Bye!
***
Countdown to the Cup! Episode 1 - The Manchester Messi
[We see a footballer getting into a chair. He clips a microphone onto an unfamiliar kit and smiles at what might be a hot blonde behind the camera.]
- I'm Andy Garden. 31. I play attacking midfield for Stockport County.
[What's your nickname?]
- The Manchester Messi. [laughs] I love it but I think Messi would be a bit annoyed if he heard about it.
[What's your connection to Chester FC?]
- Yeah, so I started as a boy at Man City. Moved to Crewe and got loaned to Chester. Loved it there, signed full-time. Had a good spell in a good team. Won promotion three times in a row, by a lot, and I scored the winner in the Cheshire Cup. That was the last time they won it.
[Have you been following Chester this season?]
[Big smile] - I have, yeah! They're all gunning for my records. [laughs] I'm happy for them, though. You know what it means to the community and just from the league table you can imagine the smiles and all that. Nah, you seen how many goals they scored? That's mad, that. I haven't seen them live because I been playing but they got the same kinda heart and talent what we had.
[And they've got a Manchester Messi of their own.]
[Biggest smile yet] - Don't know about that! I wish him well but if he comes after my nickname we're gonna have beef, me and him. [direct to camera] Oi, Max Best. Get your own nickname, yeah? Hey, and bruv? Enjoy it. These are the days you remember. [He tugs at something hanging around his neck and pulls it to reveal it's a winner's medal. He holds it up, admires it, and gives it a little kiss.] Come on, you Seals!
***
The final whistle blew. We’d done it! We’d actually fucking done it. Soon we’d get the cup and our medals and dance around the pitch like Nobby Stiles in 1966. But first…
I sank to one knee to catch my breath. That last long sprint had absolutely done me in. I closed my eyes.
Chester FC have won the Cheshire Senior Cup after a remarkable 3-1 win against Crewe Alexandra.
But first, I repeated, pushing myself to my feet… First things first.
“Dean,” I called, waving him to come with me. He raced onto the pitch, throwing in a few little hops and skips, his joy reminding me of my own. I crashed into him, then laughed as I pulled him towards Ben. We raced to the goal, where Ben was on one knee as though he was about to be sick.
“Mate,” I said. “I think you might get Man of the Match.”
He groaned and held his hands out. Dean and I took one each and slowly helped him up. “Two goals and an assist says otherwise.”
I gave him a smug smile. “Oh, that? No big deal. Now, look. There’s a hotel down the road. 4.4 stars on Trip Advisor. Go get yourself checked in, order room service, treat yourself. Double room if your mate is driving and all that. The club will pay and we’ll look after your gear. You’ve done your bit. Now go sleep it off.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“There’s no maybe about it. Dean, can you make sure he goes?”
“Go on, Ben,” said Dean giving him a little push in the direction of Simon.
“What about me medal?”
“I’ll get it for you. And we’ll photoshop you into the team photos.”
“Robbo, too.”
“Yes, Robbo and Trick and some fairies. Just get the fuck to bed, holy shit.”
He trudged off, torn between elation and his big throbbing.
Dean shook his head. “How did you know he could play?”
“It came to me in a vision.”
“But really.”
I put my hands on my head and looked around. The party was underway. Next time, we’d do this in a full stadium, even if I had to buy all the tickets myself. “I didn’t know. I just have to trust my staff, don’t I? It’s been a long season. Everyone’s worked so hard.” I nodded. “We deserve this. We really, really deserve this.”
Dean grinned from ear to ear. “I know I do!” His smile faded somewhat. “But Max. The last game of the season. We don’t have any goalkeepers.”
I scoffed. “Sure we do. Angles is a perfectly good backup for an unimportant league match.”
“Backup? Then who’s… No. Don’t say… Max. Max! Come back! Why are you laughing?”