Soccer Supremo - A Sports Progression Fantasy

”But what about Chester? The money?”

”Yeah, it’s a mess. We are in a pickle.” I stared into the blackness of the hot tea. ”At the end of a half, a referee adds time to the clock because of the stoppages that happened.”

”Injury time.”

”Yeah. As a football manager, all time is injury time. When a player gets an injury there’s a physical cost and an emotional one, too. I’m still getting back to full health after my c-o-m-a so I know what it’s like to be out for the long term. Ruud’s gonna suffer. I’ll suffer today but only for 90 minutes. I’m trying to keep a sense of perspective.”

My phone buzzed. I swiped away the timer, removed the teabags with one last squeeze against the inside of the mug, added milk, stirred, and took one cup to my mum. ”Thanks, son,” she said, which was a Morale boost and a half. A good day for mum was a good day for me.

I went back to the kitchen, where Angela was stirring her tea, looking guilty. She had added sugar to it! Vile. I grabbed the fourth cup and started to carry it to the front door. Angela said, ”Want me to hold it open for you?”

I scoffed. This was a transparent excuse for Angela to come outside with me. ”Yes, please.”

We brought the precious cargo out to the round bit of the cul-de-sac, where a beefy car with tinted windows was lurking. The driver’s window rolled down, silently, revealing Brick. Angela, like a certain subset of women, was absolutely fascinated by the enormous dude. The RectAngel, they probably called him. She peered through the open window. ”Brought you a tea, pet.”

”Lovely,” said Brick.

I handed it over, annoyed that Angela was somehow getting the credit even though it was I who had toiled over the hot kettle. Angela said, ”Aww, Max, can’t you let him in?”

”In the house? No, he’s massive. What’s mum gonna think? When did the moon move into the spare room?”

”I’m fine, Angela, really. This is the job and I’ve got my podcasts.”

”What do you listen to?”

”Infinite Monkey Cage; My Therapist Ghosted Me; History Hit: Medieval.”

”Ooh,” said Angela, fifty times more impressed than was warranted. Brick sipped the tea and winced. Angela panicked. ”He wouldn’t let me put sugar in it! I told him! I said Mr. Brick likes two sugars.”

”He doesn’t like it,” I said, wearily. ”You can’t like things that objectively taste wrong and are unhealthy. That tea, that one there, is the ultimate. In fifty years, when the robots have taken over, they will be running around Robochester looking for the last stragglers of humanity and one of the droids will go, ’I’m gasping for a cuppa’ and they’ll pop into this bungalow, which will be a kind of holy site in robot culture because they’ll consider it the birthplace of the best cup of tea in the world. They’ll use my recipe, my methods. If one of those robots goes, ’Pass the sugar’, they will instantly descend into robot civil war.”

Brick took another sip. ”Maybe that will be how humanity recovers. The robots will take time out from hunting down the last humans to fight each other and in that pause, someone will rally the last people.”

”John Connor,” I said.

Angela looked at me, surprised. ”How do you know John O’Connor?”

”What?”

”He’s a family friend back in Dublin.”

”Yeah, we’re talking about the John Connor who’s going to kill all the robots by sending a hot dude back in time to bang his mum.” I watched Angela to see how she would react.

”I’ve seen The Terminator, Max.”

Brick said, ”Is that your favourite movie, Angela?”

”She likes her movies like she takes her tea - so full of sugar you only think you’re enjoying it.”

Brick nodded. ”Love, Actually.”

Angela said, ”I like ones with The Rock. He’s awfully large.”

My phone vibrated. ”Got to load up on carbs. I’ll be inside for about half an hour, Brick.”

He did a tiny nod, then the window rolled up. Angela followed me back towards the bungalow and said, ”He’s a fine figure of a man. Sure, will I go back out with a bit of sugar for him? Ah, I will, so.”

***

I thought she would be out there for ages, thirsting after the cupboard-shaped bodyguard, but she was back inside soon enough, and took up her spot on the armchair to the left. Mum and I were on the sofa. We drank our tea and watched whatever nonsense was on. I watched it much as Solly would - it was just some moving shapes and colours.

Angela said, ”How are Man City getting on, Max?”

Mum said, ”He supports United.”

”Right, so. How are they getting on an’ all?”