Glory Of The Football Manager System

”Mendes has been talking to them,” Freedman said. ”Championship money, but it’s serious. They’re not going away. If we don’t move today, they might.”

That was the detail that focused everything. Wolves. A Championship club. The idea of Rúben Neves, the youngest captain in Champions League history, spending his prime years in the Championship was almost offensive to me.

But Mendes was a pragmatist, and if the numbers were right and the project was compelling enough, he would take it. We couldn’t let it get to that point. ”Go back in at thirteen,” I said. ”Tell them it’s our final offer. Tell them we’ve got another target lined up and we’re going to move on him this afternoon if they don’t accept. Make them believe it.”

”And have we got another target lined up?” Freedman asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

”No,” I said. ”But they don’t know that.” I looked at my watch. The next session was starting in ten minutes. ”I’ve got to go. Call me the second you hear anything.”

I spent the rest of the day in a state of suspended animation. I went through the motions of the course, participating in group discussions and designing training sessions, but my mind was elsewhere.

Every time my phone vibrated, my heart leaped into my throat. It was a message from Marcus, with a data query. It was an email from Sarah with a draft of the pre-season schedule. It was a text from my mum, asking if I was eating properly.

At four o’clock, as I was walking out of the final session of the day, the phone rang. It was Freedman.

”They’ve accepted,” he said.

I stopped dead in the middle of the corridor. ”What?”

”They’ve accepted. Fifteen million pounds. No sell-on clause. Porto have given us permission to speak to the player.”

I felt a wave of adrenaline wash over me, so powerful it almost made me dizzy. ”How?”

”I told them we were moving on,” Freedman said, and I could hear the satisfaction in his voice. ”I told them we had a deal agreed with another player and I was calling to thank them for their time. They held their nerve for an hour. Then they called back and accepted the fifteen.”

He had called their bluff. The man was a genius.

”The agent is Jorge Mendes,” Freedman continued. ”He’s already agreed to the personal terms in principle. Five-year deal, eighty thousand pounds a week. The player is flying to London tonight. He’ll have his medical tomorrow morning.”

It was happening. It was actually happening.

”There’s one more thing,” Freedman said. ”The player wants to speak to you. Tonight. He wants to hear the vision from you directly.”

”Of course,” I said, my mind already racing. ”Set it up. I’ll be back in London in three hours.”

---

At nine o’clock that night, I was sitting in the analysis room at the training ground, the same room where I had laid out my vision to my staff just twenty-four hours earlier. The room was empty, the big screen dark.

My phone was on the table in front of me, connected to a conference call speaker. Freedman was on the line from his office. And on the other end of the line, from a hotel room in central London, was Rúben Neves.

”Rúben,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. ”Thank you for taking the time to speak with me. My name is Danny Fletcher. I’m the manager of Crystal Palace.”

”Hello, manager,” he said. His English was perfect, his voice quiet and serious. ”It is a pleasure.”

”I’m not going to waste your time,” I said.

”I’m not going to tell you about the Premier League or about living in London. I’m going to tell you why I want you to be the heart of my team.” And for the next ten minutes, I talked.

I told him about the tactical system. I told him about the gegenpress, about the role of the deep-lying playmaker, about how the entire team would be built around his ability to dictate the play. I told him I hadn’t just been looking for a good midfielder. I had been looking for him. Specifically.

”I’ve watched every game you’ve played for the last year, Rúben,” I said.

”Every single one. I know what you can do. I know you can be one of the best midfielders in the world. And I know that the last twelve months at Porto have not reflected that. You captained a Champions League side at seventeen. You were the youngest captain in the history of that competition. And then they started rotating you. Resting you. Managing you.”

I paused. ”That ends here. At Crystal Palace, you will be the most important player in the team from the first day of pre-season to the last game of the season. You will be the first piece. Everything will be built around you. Not around a system that doesn’t trust you. Around you.”

There was a silence on the line. I had laid my cards on the table. I had sold him the vision, the same vision I had sold to my staff, the same vision I would sell to the fans. It was all I had.

”Manager,” he said finally, and his voice was different now. There was a new energy in it. ”When can I start training?”

I grinned. ”Welcome to Crystal Palace, Rúben.”

---

The next morning, the news broke. Crystal Palace sign Rúben Neves for an almost club-record £15m fee. The football world went into meltdown. It was a statement signing, a signal of intent that nobody had seen coming.

The media, who had spent the last week questioning my sanity after the purge, were now calling it a masterstroke. The fans, who had been bewildered and angry, were now ecstatic. The signing of one 20-year-old midfielder had changed the entire narrative of our summer.

I was back in the classroom at St. George’s Park, my phone buzzing incessantly with notifications. I ignored them. I opened my notebook, picked up my pen, and focused on the lecture. The first piece was in place. But the construction was just beginning.

My phone buzzed one last time. A different kind of notification. The kind I had been waiting for.

[Transfer Window Incoming Target Acquired: Rúben Neves.]

[Position: Deep-Lying Playmaker (DM/MC). Age: 20. Fee: £15,000,000.]

[Player Profile Match: 98%. System Compatibility: Exceptional.]

[Objective Update: First Piece Secured. Continue Recruitment.]

I allowed myself a small, private smile. The architect had his cornerstone. Now it was time to build the rest of the house.

***

Thank you to Sir nameyelus for the support.