Glory Of The Football Manager System

At half 5 I walked into the canteen and sat down at a table with somebody who does not work here. I have not done that in 14 months.

Ellis Cartwright had eaten a plate of pasta and about half a chicken and he had his hands under the table.

And I did the thing I have not done properly since a wet Sunday in Moscow, because I have not wanted to since a wet Sunday in Moscow.

I looked at him.

Not the way you look at a lad in a canteen. The other way. The way that has been in me since I was 26 and that I have never told one living soul about, not Emma, not my mother, not a doctor.

It takes a second and it costs me nothing and it has never once been wrong.

[ELLIS CARTWRIGHT. CA 91. PA 148.]

I put my coffee down.

91 is a League One footballer. 148 is a Premier League starter, and it is 3 places off what the system gave me for Aaron Wan-Bissaka the first time I looked at him.

A 57 point gap. I have seen 2 of those in 3 years.

Michael Cooke released this boy in May and was not wrong to, because Cooke has got eyes and I have got something else.

”Right,” I said. ”3 things and then you can go home.”

”Yes, gaffer.”

”1. You are not coming back at 7 in the morning.”

His face went.

”You are coming back at 9 with the 23s on Monday, because you cannot train on this ground uninsured and I am not having you do a knee on my pitch with no registration. That is not a favour, that is the law.”

”Monday.”

”2. Dougie Freedman is going to ring your mum tonight because you are 18 and that is how it works, and there will be a piece of paper in front of you on Monday afternoon and you are going to take it to somebody who is not me before you sign it.”

He had gone still.

”3.” I put my hands flat on the table. ”This is not charity and I want you to hear it, because in 3 weeks somebody is going to tell you it was.

”I have got 25 places in a Champions League squad and 8 of them have to go to men trained in this country, and 4 of those have to be men trained at this club, and I have got exactly 4 and no cover.

”You have been on our books since you were 9. That makes you a club-trained player, and I have got 4 of those in a first team squad of 25, and the rule says 4 is the floor.

”So you are not getting a contract because you are a nice lad who kept turning up. You are getting one because you kept turning up and because I need exactly what you are.

”If you had gone to your uncle’s doing windows on the 1st of September, I would have found out in October, and it would have cost this football club a place in Europe.”

Ellis Cartwright sat in that canteen and did not say a word for about 8 seconds.

Then he said, ”Can I ring my mum?”

”Yes.”

”Now?”

”Ellis, go and ring your mum.”

He got up so fast he took the table with him about 4 inches, and 3 of the canteen staff looked round, and he went out into the corridor with a phone already at his ear.

And through a glass door I watched an 18-year-old say something to his mother and then stop talking and stand there with his hand over his eyes.

Sarah caught me at the desk on the way out with a list in her hand, because Sarah always has a list.

”Olise is back in tomorrow.”

”Tomorrow is Saturday.”

”Tomorrow is Saturday and he lands at 6 in the morning and he has told Bray he is coming straight in, and Bray has told him not to, and he is coming in.” She did not look up. ”He has had 3 weeks and he has done every session they sent him. Marcus has got the data.”

”Of course he has.”

”And Eze is back Monday, and Semenyo Monday, and Tyrick Mitchell has been in since Wednesday because his mum has gone to Antigua and he was bored.”

”Sarah.”

”Mm.”

”How many of them are in this building who are not supposed to be?”

”On a Friday in July?” She finally looked up. ”6. And 1 of them you have just given a contract to.”

I got out of that building at 7.

Bzz.

Jessica Finch. 19:04.

Do not read the Spanish press.

Bzz.

I know you have read the Spanish press.

Bzz.

Monday. 9. And Danny, one of the 4 has just gone from a phone call to a formal approach, and it went to Steve Parish at 4 o’clock this afternoon and not to me.

He has not told you.

I stood in a car park in Beckenham on a Friday evening in July and read that 3 times.

Steve Parish sat in my office for 40 minutes that morning. He showed me a drawing of a stand that turns this ground into 60,000 seats, told me he had borrowed 120 million against me, and asked me at the door if I was leaving him.

And at 4 o’clock something landed on his desk that he did not pick up a phone about.

I rang Jessica from that car park.

”I am not doing this on a Friday,” she said.

”Who is it?”

”Monday.”

”Jessica. Who has written to my chairman?”

”Danny.”

”You have been sat on 4 phone calls since Sunday night and I have not asked you once. I am asking you now.”

There was a pause on that line that went on long enough that I looked at the screen to see if she had gone.

”Where are you?”

”Car park.”

”Go home,” Jessica Finch said. ”Do not go to Steve’s.”

”I did not say I was going to Steve’s.”

”You did not have to.” A car door went on her end. ”Danny, listen to me. If you get in that car and drive to Chislehurst tonight you will be doing it angry, and I have spent 18 months making sure you never negotiate anything angry, and I am not watching you throw that away on a Friday.

”Monday. My office. All 4, with the paperwork in front of you, and me in the room.”

”Is it a club or is it a player?”

She did not answer.

”Jessica. Is it about me or is it about one of mine?”

”Go home,” she said, and rang off.

***

Thank you for 200 Power Stones.