Soccer Supremo - A Sports Progression Fantasy

I don’t hear what he says next, such is the roar from the Chester mob. Even Max is jumping around, punching the air. I have to read the subtitles.

”You wanted me to get Man of the Match so I would be picked for the Euros.” Helge’s happy face crumples. ”I will never forget this. You said you wanted to visit when I have built my dream home. When you come, you’ll find this ball and this shirt with pride of place. Right there,” he says. He turns to his left. ”No, there.” He scratches his chin. ”I have to think about it. I need to save up, which means I have time.” He gets cheeky. ”Unless you want to lend me some of the one billion kroner my goals made safe. No? Are you sure? Okay.” He takes a moment. ”Congratulations on the Premier League. Congratulations on your wedding. Please be proud of everything you have accomplished, the way I am proud to call myself a Max Best player.” Helge nods a few times, decides the video is finished, and reaches out to turn off the camera.

There’s a momentary glitch and an almost-naked Helge can be seen cavorting on the edge of some rocks while a storm is going on. He’s smoking a cigar and wearing a Chester FC bucket hat. The snippet ends before it has really begun, but it makes Max and Emma Best double up laughing.

The band launches into Sweet Caroline, the unofficial anthem of English football, and the dance floor goes bananas.

***

I dance too much, drink too much, flirt too much, and when Joe Anka demands I drink some water, I grin and ask where Max is. ”I think he snuck off,” says Joe. ”You know what he’s like. Doesn’t want to be the centre of attention.”

”Fucking Max,” I say. ”When he went round the goalie and blew kisses to the fans instead of scoring, I could have killed him.”

Joe smiles. He’s so cute. ”The only time he goes for the corner.” He laughs. ”I could have killed him, too! Three-nil is a dangerous lead, everyone knows that.”

”Were you at the stag party?” Joe zips his lips. Maybe I can unzip them later... I frown. There’s a story to chase! I push the water into his hands. ”Hold that for me.”

I wander off, putting one foot in front of the other with more than 90% accuracy, and find Henri holding hands with Luisa. Henri has had a long day, but it’s not over yet. He’s going to tell me what happened or else!

”What happened?” I say. ”Tell me or else!”

Henri eyes Luisa, and they both laugh. It seems I didn’t get the words out as clearly as I wanted. Henri says, ”I’ll tell you the story, Bethany, tomorrow morning, but perhaps for now you should go to bed.”

”Yeah, but with who?!”

Henri is delighted with my performance. ”Remember what Max said. We are not to proposition anyone at his wedding.”

”I din’t gree to that,” I mutter, which Luisa thinks is the funniest thing ever. They stand and shepherd me towards the lifts, take me to my room, and make sure I’ve got plenty of water to drink.

”Sleep well, Bethany Alban, and in the morning I will tell you a tale of how Max ruined my best-laid plans. A tale of a record-breaking promotion, a weeping Ryan Reynolds, the discovery of the arch that would have been used had Wrexham won, daring escapes, Maxmax, espionage, plots, counter-plots, and of course, a barge.”

”A barge?”

”A barge. Au revoir, Bethany.”

I drift asleep, and when I wake the room is empty. I take a swig of the water, put my head back on the pillow, then my eyes open wide like in a sitcom. ”Did he say a barge?”