The lukewarm tea did little to calm the frantic energy buzzing under my skin. My flat, usually a sanctuary of comfortable, predictable boredom, now felt like a cage.
I paced the worn rug in my living room, a ten-foot stretch from the window to the kitchenette, the leather notebook clutched in my hand like a relay baton.
The Personal Profile page was still open, my own stats staring back at me, a brutal but intoxicating mix of mediocrity and potential. CA: 38. PA: 165.
It was the potential that was killing me. In Football Manager, finding a player with that kind of PA was a eureka moment. It changed everything.
You would scrap your transfer plans, redesign your tactics, and build the entire future of the club around this one digital kid.
It was a promise of glory. Now, that promise was attached to me, Danny Walsh, a man whose greatest tactical achievement of the week was figuring out the optimal time to restock the milk to avoid customer traffic.
Was it real?
The question hammered at the inside of my skull. My logical mind, what was left of it, screamed that it couldn't be. It was a breakdown, a psychotic episode, a hallucination of unprecedented complexity.
But my gamer's heart, the part of me that had lived and breathed statistics and attributes for over a decade, felt the undeniable truth of it.
The system felt… correct. The numbers it had shown me for the Sunday league players, for Raj, for the kids in the street they made a strange kind of sense. They aligned with what my eyes saw, but gave it a terrifying, beautiful clarity.
There was only one way to know for sure. I had to go back. I had to test it. I needed more data. I needed to run experiments and to control the variables. I had to treat this like the most important Football Manager save of my life.
I grabbed my keys and headed for the door, the notebook tucked securely into the inside pocket of my jacket. It felt warm against my chest, a low, thrumming presence. Or maybe that was just my own heart trying to beat its way out of my ribcage.
Alexandra Park was a different place in the afternoon. The morning mist had burned off, replaced by the watery, pale sunlight of a Manchester autumn.
The park was alive. Dog walkers, families with pushchairs, teenagers huddled on benches, and, most importantly, football. Everywhere. On the main pitches, two different eleven-a-side games were in full, chaotic swing.
In the smaller, caged astroturf courts, furious five-a-side battles were being waged. And on every available patch of grass, kids were having kickabouts, using jackets for goalposts and imaginations for stadiums.
It was a buffet of data. My system, or whatever it was, seemed to agree. The moment I stepped onto the main path, my peripheral vision lit up.
Dozens of panels flickered into existence, a shimmering, overwhelming cascade of information. It was too much. My brain struggled to process the flood of names, numbers, and attributes. It was like trying to read every book in a library at once.
"Okay, focus," I whispered, finding an out-of-the-way bench. I pulled out the notebook, hoping it would act as some kind of focusing lens. I needed to be systematic. I decided to start small. The kids' kickabout. Lower stakes. Fewer variables.
I walked over to a patch of grass where a group of about ten kids, ranging from maybe eight to twelve, were playing a frantic game of jumpers-for-goalposts.
I sat on the grass nearby, trying to look like I was just enjoying the sun, and focused my attention on the game. I consciously tried to use the system, to direct it. I focused on one kid, a small, speedy winger with a mop of black hair.
'Show me his stats,' I thought, directing the intent at the boy. The other panels faded slightly, and his became clearer, more detailed.
> Name: Samad Khan
> Age: 9
> Position: Attacking Midfielder / Winger (Right)
> Current Ability (CA): 12/200
> Potential Ability (PA): 98/200
> Key Attributes :
> - Dribbling: 9
> - Pace: 11
> - Teamwork: 4
Interesting. Decent pace and dribbling for his age, but low teamwork.
A ball-hog. As if on cue, Samad picked up the ball, beat two of his friends with a surprisingly skillful shimmy, and then proceeded to ignore a wide-open teammate to take a wild shot that sailed over the 'goalpost' jacket and into a bush. His teammate threw his hands up in frustration.
The system was spot on.
I started to get the hang of it. I could mentally 'ping' players to bring up their basic data. I could 'focus' on them to get more detail.
The notebook seemed to act as an amplifier; when I had it open, the data felt more stable, the range of my vision wider. I was beginning to build a mental model of how this thing worked.
Then I saw him. He was on the other team, a skinny kid with bright ginger hair, probably about ten years old. He was playing in midfield, but he seemed hesitant, almost scared of the ball. His teammates were barely passing to him. My initial scan was unremarkable.
> Name: Alfie Burns
> Age: 10
> Position: Midfielder (Centre)
> Current Ability (CA): 9/200
> Potential Ability (PA): 142/200
I did a double-take. PA: 142. That wasn't just good for a ten-year-old; that was phenomenal. In Football Manager terms, 142 PA was a solid Championship player, maybe even a lower-end Premier League player if everything went right. It was a career in the professional game. And it was attached to this timid kid who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.
I focused on him, pushing the system for more detail. The panel expanded.
> Key Attributes :
> - Passing: 13
> - First Touch: 12
> - Vision: 14
> - Technique: 13
> - Decisions: 5
> - Composure: 3
There it was. The problem. His technical stats: Passing, First Touch, Vision, and Technique were absurdly high for his age.