Keep History After Retirement

[Tikka Mezzala]

My place in the history of Celtic Football Club was already secure. After ten consecutive league titles, five consecutive trebles, and a UEFA Europa League title, my name was placed alongside the club greats. All that was left to do was repeat the feat. of 1967, and the time had finally come. 

Our route to the final of the UEFA Champions League was arduous, throwing up the various sportswashing enterprises. First Newcastle fell, then City, and finally PSG. We had won the hearts of the footballing world, laying waste to repressive regimes. All that stood between us and immortality was Atletico Madrid. 

I spoke to the press ahead of the final in Munich, declaring our intention to attack our opponents from the get go. I updated them on any injury issues, talked a bit about how we were handling the nerves of the occasion, and paid respect to Atletico's main threats. Our press officer informed me that the conference went just fine. We could now focus on the game itself. 

I've always believed that you should avoid second guessing yourself ahead of the big occasions. If you have gotten to a European final, you're doing something right, and you should try to keep doing it. I, therefore, stuck with our usual tactical approach, an attacking 442 that focused our play down both flanks. I selected the players who I felt handled the bigger occasions well and settled down to watch my plan in action. Could we bring the European Cup back to Glasgow after all these years? 

We started the game on the front foot, banging on the Atletico door. Our opponents were struggling to cope with our tempo and it looked as though it was only a matter of time before the breakthrough arrived. Despite our dominance, the Spaniards survived until half-time. I took the opportunity to encourage the players, telling them they had been unlucky so far. It was important to keep the message simple - keep doing what you're doing and you will be fine. 

We headed out for the second half with renewed purpose. Quickly, the game fell into a similar rhythm to the first period. We attacked the flanks of Atletico, sending in dangerous crosses that narrowly evaded our forwards. Whenever someone did manage to connect with one of the balls into the area, the Atletico keeper kept us out. The chances were piling up, but we were still awaiting the breakthrough. As the final ten minutes approached, we had attempted almost thirty shots, seventeen of which were on target. Atletico had been restricted to a couple of half-chances. With time ticking away, and extra time and penalties looming, disaster struck: Atletico managed to win a corner after a nothing shot from distance struck the shoulder of a defender and flew out of play for a corner kick. The resulting set-piece was delivered high to the back post, where an Atletico defender rose above one of our fullbacks to head home from six yards. I looked on aghast, convinced that the game had been fixed. The remaining time in the game flew by and Atletico beat us to win the Champions League. I didn't even bother talking to the players or the press. 

The Current Game is Not Saved.

Do You Want to Save the Game Before You Quit and Exit Football Manager?

Do I ****. 

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Life hasn't been easy these past few years. I've been a social recluse, escaping into the world of football management simulations and internet porn. Sometimes simultaneously. I think my parents are worried about how this reflects on them. 

Sometimes it's only when your patterns are laid bare that you realise just how far you've let your life slide. I'm obliged to spend a certain amount of hours every week looking for work. It's part of the conditions of my benefit payments. I've been told to treat the search like a full-time job itself. I don't fulfil this quota, of course. I'm far too busy for that. But what this particular feature of my life tells me is that I actually spend more time focusing on my Football Manager career than any real-life equivalent. No one at the job centre has ever told me to turn my underwear inside out. 

I'd like to say that I'm ashamed of myself, but I'm really not. After all, aren't we told when we're young that you should find your passion in life. I took that message to heart. It's why I pushed my schoolwork aside and focused on winning the Bridgestone Copa Libertadores with Envigado in FM08 instead. I lost friends, social skills, opportunities, self-esteem, but nothing that a good youth intake couldn't mend. At the end of the day, if our conscious experiences are just mediated by all of this weird brain chemistry stuff, does it really matter what makes you feel good? A good performance in your exams. Getting a degree. Landing a well paying job. Seeing your academy product score in the Postabon Apertura Final. It's all just the same stuff really. 

The thing is, I'm not daft. I don't think I'm "lazy" either. I'm quite capable of pursuing a "normal" job in the "real world". I just don't see the point. People like to point the finger and say "he's unwilling to do a day's hard graft", but I expend just as much energy at my computer as the average office worker. I arguably put more effort into what I'm doing, too. The real difference is that they are doing it on someone else's behalf, and so they are "productive". Me? Well, if ten titles, five trebles, and a European trophy at Celtic isn't productive, well, what have words come to mean?

Despite my sober perspective on life, I do feel the pang of social shame. I know in myself that all of this job stuff is ********, but when enough people believe in ********, we call it "common sense". I know that people judge me, and I can feel their judgements like a tattoo gun branding me a ****ing loser. When people see me coming out of the job centre in my "lounging about the house" clothes, their stare objectifies me. It captures me in time and space; stripping me of all of the complexities that make me me. In those moments, I am reduced to scrounger. No one knows that I managed James Rodriguez as a fourteen year old before anyone knew who he was. That stuff doesn't matter to them. All they want to know is am I as miserably employed as they are? Well, they may soon get their way. 

I have been offered an opportunity to "work from home" with some non-descript company. Despite my best efforts to ward off any interested employers, it seems my half-arsed CV is proof enough that I am exploitable to someone. I don't even know what the job entails or what the company do, just that I have a virtual meet and greet with other bottom-feeders that have been accidentally dredged up in the trawler. If all goes well, I'll be unemployed again in a few weeks. 

In the meantime, I've got a Champions League Final to attend to. 

 

[Tikka Mezzala]

So basically, you handle the call from the customer, then you pass them on to the relevant department. Be attentive. Keep things nice and simple. Make sure you are polite and always ask the customer if there is anything more you can do for them. Everyone got that?

Whatever anti-depressant this woman is gubbing, I want to get my hands on them. To be able to remain keen and enthusiastic throughout this charade, something that she must have done a hundred times or more already, is quite a recommendation for whatever pharmaceutical company manufactures it. I'm just relieved I didn't have to put trousers on to attend this ****. 

I'm going to run through a few recordings that we have of our staff handling customers. I want you to tell me what the call-handler does well, and where they can improve their performance. Okay?

It's been over an hour and a half now, and we've not even had any promises or a clear code of conduct. What kind of shoddy operation is this? Never mind. This recording nonsense will allow me to zone out and think about my next FM save. I've already done it all with Celtic. I think it's time to start a journeyman save. But I'd like to start somewhere that really makes me look good. You know, those kinds of leagues where people read your updates on the SI Forum and think ****ing hell. I'd never even heard of that country, let alone thought about doing a save there. This guy must be cultured as ****. How ****ing niche. I'm thinking about Bonaire. Oh, wait! Some ***** already got a save going there. That's probably why I've heard of Bonaire. ****! Hmm...there are a lot of countries in Africa that people are surprised to learn exist. Comoros? Hmm...why have I heard of Comoros. Someone must have already done it. I'll just minimise this teams meeting for a moment...here we go. Guinea Bissau. That's a contender. Sao Tome and Principe. Nah, that's a little bit on the nose. Djibou...

So, let me see, Emi, what did you think of that last call?

****! C'mon! Say something non-descript but relevant.

Em...yeah... I thought it covered most of the bases. Probably could have been a bit more polite, though. 

So you didn't hear the call-handler swearing at the customer?

Ahhhh ****. 

Oh, so that was a swear word I heard. I think I just assumed it sounded that way in my head, but that I actually misheard it. 

No, Emi, it was pretty clear. You obviously weren't listening. 

No, I was listening. I really was. It's just...swearing makes me a bit uncomfortable. My dad used to swear a lot when he drank, and I think I've formed a kind of psychological defence mechanism where...

Look, if you're not going to take this seriously then you can just go and work somewhere else. 

Oh, you mean the cell doors aren't locked. That's good to know.

Okay, I'm kicking you out. You're not wanting to be here obviously. Goodbye. 

And for the record, I'd have told that customer to **** off as well. 

Mission accomplished. 

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Another goal for the Uptown Rebels! St Lucia conquered! All that's left to do is update my thread on the forum and pretend that people give a **** about my progress. Actually, I better send that college application in first. Now that I'm unemployed again, my folks are getting on hard at me to find something or get out their house. A college course should keep them happy for a year or so. This sports leadership one sounds like a ****-take. "Discover your potential with a sports-leadership diploma. Part of the Scottish Wider Access Programme, our course is designed to help people from all backgrounds make their way into the world of sport. If you have ever wondered whether you have what it takes to lead the sporting stars of tomorrow, this is the place for you." I better buy some new trousers! 

[tenthreeleader]

Wonderfully written.

[EvilDave]

Great to have you writing again, this is a brilliant start. I'm looking forward to wherever you take us with this, excited to follow along.

[Tikka Mezzala]

The summer shot past me like a conflicted humanities student whizzing past a beggar. I had spent it signing on and playing Football Manager. The journeyman save had gone through the usual cycle of distracting me from crippling depression and anxiety, becoming stale, and then contributing to my depression and anxiety. I ended the save in the North Korean second division. I think there came a point where I reflected on things, maybe while contemplating getting out of bed or while sitting on the toilet, and realised that my life amounted to wishing I was in North Korea. There aren't many things that shake me out of a Football Manager stupor, but I suppose my life had gotten beyond the pale. 

It was the first day of college and I awoke to heart palpitations, a headache from neck stiffness, and slightly sharper teeth. I knocked back two beta-blockers with the remainder of some lukewarm Lucozade, found a pair of trousers with the least observable stains, and contemplated ditching college for another exciting journeyman save. I then remembered that I told my parents that today was the first day of college, so they'd be expecting me to be out of the house. I bit the bullet and grabbed my laptop, threw it in a bag, and headed out into the grey and desolate charm of post-industrialism. 

Near the college I spotted a Starbucks that was relatively quiet for the morning rush. I headed in with the intention of grabbing a quick coffee and then heading to class, but it suddenly dawned on me: I have my laptop. I have Football Manager installed on it. There's some charging ports here. **** it! Sports Leadership? What is Football Manager if not that?

I fired up the game and paused to think about the kind of save I wanted to embark on. A youth only save? Another journeyman? A one club adventure from bottom to top? Build a nation? When the menu screen loaded up I was confronted with the image of my avatar standing in the changing room of Hamnam. A pang of shame shot through my arms and legs. I had abandoned this guy to the backwaters of some totalitarian dungeon. And, yet, I envied him. He might have been living in some bugged hotel room for a year or so, but at least he had some meaningful work to keep him busy. I thought about how he'd have to pretend to be happy all the time to keep the authorities onside, but then I realised that this particular feature of his life wasn't so different from mine. Maybe no one would throw me in a work camp for throwing a strop, but I'd be emotionally exiled from the kingdom of happy clappers and grindsetters. There are many different kinds of prisons. 

I decided to carry on with the journeyman save I had started in order to fulfil my obligations to my virtual self. I really didn't want to let him down. Sitting in a Starbucks in Glasgow, I transported myself to the DPRK. I was about three quarters of the way through the season and still in with a shout of promotion. 

 

[Tikka Mezzala]

A few weeks had passed since the college year began, and I finally received a letter warning me that I'd be taken off of the class register due to lack of attendance. I gave the letter some thought and decided to ignore it. The only problem I had was managing to keep up the act for the parents. I couldn't afford to keep going to coffee shops and playing FM for the duration of the college day. Lying gets expensive. 

When the next Monday rolled around I found myself aimlessly walking the streets of Glasgow. I became a bit paranoid about how I looked to passers-by. I felt shifty, jumpy, and somewhat strung out. Since my bursary had been cut, I knew I couldn't afford to keep buying weed, so I had to up the dosage of beta-blockers just to stay on an even keel. In order to make the paranoia subside, I told myself that Marcelo Bielsa always seemed a bit zoned out, and it was probably because of his genius. Maybe that could be my excuse too. How were other people to know that I was skipping out of college and not just going a walk to clear my head so that I could have a bit more mental clarity for solving the equation I was working on at university. I started to pinch my chin whenever people approached, nodding to myself as my eyes looked skywards. To stop myself becoming too self-aware, I thought about how I could improve my Hamnam side's fortunes in the Asian Champions League. We'd been fodder for the Japanese and South Koreans... perhaps that's not the best word choice. We'd been beaten sound...we were...we were ****, basically. It wasn't exactly easy to convince people to come to North Korea. Retaining players wasn't difficult, though. 

It finally dawned on me that we had public libraries in Glasgow. Many of them had closed or were operating on reduced services, but the Mitchell Library was more or less fully operational. I could go in there with my laptop and play FM for as long as I wanted. For free, too. I headed over and plopped myself down at one of the work stations. I looked around me to find a mixture of uni students typing away their essays, and people I recognised from the job centre. I was suddenly struck with a sense of guilt and shame. These people were probably searching desperately for work and updating their CVs. That's really what I should be doing. I opened up a Microsoft Word document and thought about how to start a CV, when I noticed that one of the job centre faces was actually watching 'laugh you lose' videos. I glanced around some more and found that even the uni students were at it. Tik-Tok, YouTube, PornHub, you name it. These people were avoiding life just like I was. I suddenly felt a warm sense of camaraderie. I even smiled at the guy watching porn. 

I was about a couple of hours into my FM session when someone passed behind me on their way back from the toilet and uttered FM, eh? How's it going? I turned to find someone who looked just as struck out as me glaring at my computer screen. I felt a sense of panic rise in my breast before the beta-blockers kicked it back down. Aye, it's going alright. Just looking for players the now, y'know? My response seemed to invite him closer. 

Who the **** is Hamnam? 

Oh, just some Korean team I'm managing. 

Korean? ****ing hell! You're adventurous. 

I don't know why, but his last comment actually made me feel good about myself; a feeling as unfamiliar to me as secure employment. 

They're, er...North Korean, actually. 

North Korean?! You're aff yer heed, mate!

Aye, it's actually been quite good. I think once you get to know the league and that, it's just like managing anywhere else. 

The next few moments were spent in silence as he continued to observe my screen, taking in as much information as he could about Hamnam. I thought about saying something, but my indecision allowed him to speak first.

Are you here tae avoid yer parents finding oot ye've stopped goin' tae college anaw?

I was gobsmacked at his prescience. 

How the **** did you know that?

It's become a bit of a ****in' tradition here. There are currently four ae us comin' doon here regularly. There used to be as many as twelve, but I 'hink the other eight goat a bit fed up ae no bein' able tae have a chug after a big game. We've goat an online save goin' if yer interested. It's no in North Korea or anyhin, but it's a good wae tae pass the time. 

Wit country ur yeez managing in? 

Scoatland, where d'ye hink? You'll be a bit late intae the season, and you'll huv tae start in the Championship or sumhin, because aw twelve Premiership teams ur accounted fir, but I'm sure you'll have nae bother getting promoted and that. 

Aye, awrite, then. I'll join. 

Sound. The server's cawd Skivers, capital 'S', n the password is the same. I'm Barry, btw. 

Awrite, I'm Emi. I'll sign up the noo. 

Barry headed back to his own den of lies while I joined Skivers. I actually felt quite exhilarated to be joining this gang of rebels. I felt almost optimistic for a moment. Capable of being a human being.