Soccer Supremo - A Sports Progression Fantasy

She lingers behind to look at power tools - Bonnie’s the exact same - and I’m at the checkout. The guy frowns at the plug covers and he’s about to say something but Angel sashays towards us, gold trailing behind. The guy clams up, scans the items, I pay.

We get back into the car - I have to tuck Angel in because there’s bits of her everywhere - and I say, ’Did you enjoy that?’

’I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.’

’Right.’

I drive to the next location, which turns out to be a pretty normal semi-detached house in a nice suburb of Chester.

’Wait here,’ I say, but Angel’s already getting out.

We go along the garden path, knock on the door, and there’s some twitching of the curtains in the front room. After a short delay, the front door opens.

JasonRhewl, you’re not gonna believe this next part, but stick around and I’ll try to sneak a photo to prove it.

The door opens, and a large man looms over us like a bouncer in a very expensive suit. He’s got a toad-like quality to him, and beady little eyes. Slightly unpleasant, but somehow charismatic, too. Very powerful aura. He looks at Angel and his eyes only widen slightly, which is amazing self-control. Then he looks at me. ’Where would you find the Lake of Dreams, the Sea of Clouds, and the Ocean of Storms?’

’You what?’

The man turns and shouts down the corridor. ’He doesn’t know the password!’

I hear Max’s voice shout back. ’Is he carrying a plastic bag?’

’Yes!’

’Take it from him and tell him to clear off.’

Angel goes, ’The Moon.’

The guy smiles at her and it’s actually quite charming. ’Very good. You may enter.’

I haven’t even seen Max yet, but I’m pissed with him. I plan to throw the plastic bag in his face, demand he pays me in cash, and then flounce out, transfer gossip be damned.

The guy steps back and I power along and into the front room of the house, ready to tell Max what I think of him.

I stop, because Max is lying cross-legged on the floor in front of a child. The kid is playing with block toys and looks pretty happy. Max, though, looks destroyed. You saw him at the end of the Celtic game, trying to keep it together? That was nothing compared to this. His eyes are sunken, eyelids poofy, and his hair is a total mess. I’ve seen him in torrential rain and his hair more or less keeps its shape and looks good. I never thought I would look at Max Best and think of Gollum, but here it is. ’What’s going on?’

He gives me a world-weary look. ’I’m babysitting.’

I step back. Angel is still making her way inside, and the man is shoving her ’train’ forward in great heaps so that he can shut the front door. I turn again to the King of Coefficients, the Supremo of Soccer, the man some football insiders simply call The Outlier. ’How long has it been?’

My question breaks Max’s spirit. ’Four hours.’ His lip wobbles. ’And there’s four to go. I don’t think I can make it, Dylan. I don’t think I can hack this. He keeps trying to kill himself. He’s got a death wish, I’m telling you. You look away for just one second and he’s got, like, knives. He climbs. He clambers. Teeters on the edge of things. He doesn’t understand about gravity. He’s a fucking idiot.’

’Is that why you wanted plug covers?’ says Angel, sweeping into the room. ’Oh, hi.’

She’s talking to someone I hadn’t spotted. In the far corner of the living room is a young man. He looks about 20, Mediterranean complexion, footballer’s build and haircut. I’m excited. Here’s a secret transfer deal going down, after all! The kid doesn’t know what to do with himself. He stands, decides he looks ridiculous, sits again, then stands and steps towards her. He admires her, head to toe, and goes, ’principesa!’

Angel stretches her hand out but instead of doing a handshake, she holds the back of her hand out, regally.

’Oh,’ says the caballero. He awkwardly gets to one knee, but it’s clear he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do in the presence of a princess. He leans in and kisses her hand. ’Emiliano,’ he says, in a very thick accent, touching his chest.

’Hmm,’ says Angel, judgemental, like the kid did it wrong. As if she’d know! She’s from Carlisle.

It’s all a bit exotic for my tastes, and clearly Angel’s been spending too much time with Emma. I go, ’Is this Sandra Lane’s house?’

Max says, ’Yeah. You’ve met Jamie, haven’t you?’

I shrug. ’All babies look the same.’

’Maybe in Wales,’ snaps Best. He frowns and looks left and right. ’Wait, is this Wales?’