Soccer Supremo - A Sports Progression Fantasy

8.

Saturday, November 21

In the classic heist movie The Italian Job, a bunch of bantering Brits descend on Turin, steal some gold, and escape in three very cool Minis. Life (and UEFA’s fixture-generating computer) had thrust me into the Michael Caine role. My team and I would soon be heading to Italy to take something that didn’t belong to us - a win - and it was my role to create a plan that could counter Evaristo and his gleaming, high-value football. It was also up to me to pick a crack squad with suitable skills. Who would drive a Mini? Who would hack into the traffic light system to set those lights to red and those to green? Who would nearly ruin the caper by being a sex pest on a tram?

That’s not a joke, by the way. In the movie, when Michael Caine needs a computer expert, he picks Benny Hill, famous for chasing women while the Yakety Sax plays. I hoped my choices would be a little more rational.

To that end, I was sitting on an upturned bucket by one of the training pitches at Säbener Strasse. Bayern Munich’s reserves were slowly gathering in front of me, all kitted out and ready to go.

I was shattered. An unexpected by-product of getting the curse had been that I got super-healing. Bruises cleared up twice as fast, hangovers were mild, bones knitted faster than an olden-days spinster. Last night, 90 minutes of top-tier concentration had absolutely wiped me out and this morning I still didn’t feel much better. Imagine how bad I would have felt without my fast healing. How was I going to be a player-manager in the Premier League? I’d need a week to recover if I tried to combine both tasks.

”Did you eat in the hotel?” asked Briggy. She was orbiting me like a high-tech defensive laser, ready to zap my enemies.

”Yeah, big spread,” I said. ”Eggs. Avocado. Croissants. I asked the kitchen to make me a bretzel but straight. No problem, sir. Coming right up, sir. 700 Euros a night is mental but if you want a straight bretzel, you’re glad you went five-star.”

”Max, stop talking shit. Did you eat, yes or no?”

”Last night? No. Couldn’t.”

”And this morning?”

”Fuck sake,” I said. ”Did Peter make a bet with you about how much omelette I would eat per day? What’s going on?”

She stopped her patrol. ”I’m worried about you. You look... Remember the first day we met? You called TJ a husk.”

”Am I husky?”

She looked at the reserve players. ”I think you’ll be safe for ten minutes. Can I go and get you something? Please?”

The very thought of food made me feel sick. ”Er... in a bit.”

”How about a smoothie?”

”Oh,” I said, surprised. ”That could work. Do you think...?”

”What?”

”Do you think they’ve got papaya?”

”Your Mancunian body is crying out for papaya?”

”I think it is, yeah.”

”I’ll just pop to one of the local papaya farms. I can get you a fresh coconut and a jujube, too.” When I didn’t respond, she switched tone. ”Papaya. I’ll try.”

”Before you go,” I said, pointing towards a player who was standing in the direction of Bologna. (An Artistic License is pending for the previous sentence.) ”Is that Stefan Clown?”

”It is, yes.”

”Can you do that thing where you grab his head from behind with both hands and twist it really hard?”

”No.”

”Vulcan neck pinch?”

”No.” She turned towards him. ”Clown! Over here.”

”Mate,” I grumbled, but suddenly the kid was in my area. I was too husked up to get fiery. ”Why are you here?”

Stefan Clown looked miserable, which was a good start to the day. ”You asked Bayern Zwei to come to Säbener Strasse so I have come. I could not be the only one who didn’t come.”

”Briggy,” I said. ”I’m wrecked and I don’t have mental capacity for this. Talk to the dolt, find out what’s happening, and summarise it.”

She talked to the Clown for a while, then reported in. ”It’s less humiliating for him to be shouted at by you this morning than it is to stay at home. If he stayed away, he believes the other players will say he should have come and fought for his opportunity to go to Italy with the first-team squad. He’s here to show he’ll do whatever it takes to get to the top.”

”Everything except respect Dieter Bauer.”

Stefan’s head dropped but he blabbed in German a little more.

Briggy said, ”He can’t take back what he did and he expects you to chew him out but he’s not trying to impress you. He’s trying to impress Diane Berger and Hoggy. They will be here after you’re gone. I suspect he thinks being mistreated by you will endear him to those who are in charge here, and he’s almost certainly right.”