ManUtd1

25th minute.

20th minute.

May 2036 - Europa Conference League Final “Hello, hello! And welcome to Merry Dublin! I’m your host Jamie Carragher, here at the Aviva with my good friend, Gary Neville, ready to bring you all the action as Steven Gerrard’s Leicester City take on the underdog of underdogs, the Garejian Giant Killers from Georgia, led by Rezo Gorlami! What say you, Gary?! Top o’ the mornin’ to ya!” [Gary grunts in a less than amiable fashion, barely deigning to look in Jamie’s direction.] “It’s ****ing evening, you sheet-sniffing ****, mind you--” [An alarmed look crossed Jamie’s face as he lunges forward to interrupt.] “Children, Gary! There are…let’s…now… Use your inside words, Gar-bear.” [Gary stops and stares into the camera, blinking blankly. Slowly, a smile creeps across his face. But it never touches his eyes.] “That’s a good lad, there, Gary. Why don’t you tell us about the Georgian champions, yeah?” “They’re from Georgia, you daft ****.” [A bead of sweat forms on Jamie’s forehead.] “Well, uhh…yes, Gary. That is technically correct which, as you know, is the best kind of—” [A sharp look from Gary silences Jamie, mid-sentence. The tension now palpable in between them as Gary begins to tilt his body ever so slightly towards his co-host.] “I. Wasn’t. Finished.” [Jamie nods, the bead of sweat rolling down his forehead, to the bridge of his nose. He chuckles awkwardly.] “Well, then, by all means, Gary. Uhhh… Please… Please continue.” [Gary turns back to the camera. Unblinking. Not saying a word. The lights of the stadium catch the bead of sweat now perched precariously on Jamie’s nose. As the silence stretches on, Jamie begins to speak again.] “So, as I was—” [Gary hisses, eyes narrowing in fury.] “I. Said. I. Wasn’t. Finished.” [Jamie stammers, unable to find anything resembling a coherent response.] “Jamie-lad, you ignorant, ****. If you had half the follicular and testicular fortitude of young Gorlami savoring the last drop of Khakhetian red wine as it caresses the heaving bosoms—” “—GARY, PLEASE. THE…THE CHILDREN.” [An awkward silence falls over the broadcast.] “Jamie-lad, you should know better than this, you biased ****. Just because little Stevie is playing, doesn’t mean you are allowed to speak in the presence of your betters.” [The bead of sweat lurches back and forth, dangling from the end of Jamie’s nose, as he looks about the studio for some measure of support from the production team.] “Don’t look at them, Jamie. Look. At. Me.” [As Jamie turns his head, the bead of sweat clings to his nose. Resolute. Like an unwanted youth academy prospect who has been foolishly signed to senior terms, it refuses to fall. For his part, Gary refuses to turn to face his co-host. He simply continues to stare directly into the camera. Unblinking.] “There’s a good lad, Jamie.” [5 minutes of awkward silence later, as the referee leads the players out onto the pitch as the first notes of the Europa Conference League anthem – J. Balvin’s reggaeton remix of the Spice Girls’ Viva Forever – echo throughout the stadium, Gary pulls out a plastic bottle of purplish-pink liquid, from which he takes a large drink, exhaling dramatically at the end.] “Oh, yeah…Jamie-lad. That’s the stuff... Come on now, Rezo… Do this for Daddy Gary... There's a good lad... Ooh, strikerless again you naughty little devil...”

April 2036 - Europa Conference League, Semifinals (2nd Leg). Ahead of the biggest match in club history, we task the 2nd XI with 2 matches in 72 hours. We cannot leave anything to chance. This is why a 27-man squad is the order of the day. A wild 5-3 win over Lokomotivi in the league fits the "anything can happen" mood of the moment. Only to turn around in short order and outplay Dila Gori...but fail to convert our chances, losing on penalties, meaning we're out of the Davit Kipiani Cup in the Second Round. I could tell you that I'm furious at having gone out so early -- our worst showing since 2025. But we both know I'd be lying. We're on the verge of a European cup final, after all. (And the hipsters among our support are adamant that this is the year our reserves will claim the Davit Kipiani Cup.) The Mikheil Meskhi is ready, even if there are far more empty seats than one would hope for given the significance of the moment. Our nerves show in the early minutes, the lads gifting the Italians several chances. We are not at our best even if our possession is elegant in certain passages of play. We do enough, however, to claim a 2-1 win on the night. We're off to Dublin to face Steven Gerrard's Leicester City, who are heavily favored in the line.

Great. Now I've been ordered to stay 100 yards away from Susanna Hoffs and the Oscar Meyer factory. It's not fair. Mat is the one who was - allegedly - being creepy on social media. Not me. But I'm the one who gets in trouble while he faces no consequences whatsoever. Like always.

April 2036 - Europa Conference League, Semifinals (1st Leg). First blood to Gareji, as Toroshelidze finishes a clinical counterattack in the 4th minute by curling one into the top corner. Dvali heads home a 2nd in the 11th, after Noah won a header off a Cosic cross, but was not quite on target. Ruthless. Disaster for Bologna mere minutes later, as Khukhua makes it three – the hosts failing to clear both a loose ball and their lines, allow him to collect and turn in space, firing home from less than 10 yards. The hosts complain but VAR confirms. The rout is on. An utter annihilation. Are you watching, Susanna?

I may be a little late to the party, but am enjoying this thoroughly!

I figured it worked on several levels

April 2036 - Europa Conference League, Quarterfinals. After the first leg, all I can think is, "****ing Germans." And when they open the scoring in the second leg, all I can hope is that, somewhere, Susanna is happy. And not watching, because she would be disappointed in us. Someday we will earn her love and affection. A day that feels a long ways off. Only...we're not dead. We pull one back to draw level on the night...then another in the 30th minute, to draw level in the tie. So, when Toroshelidze scores in the 49th to give us the aggregate lead, I'm left hoping that Susanna is, in fact, watching. When Azong claims another in the 57th, the traveling supporters start to dream...only for ze Germans to pull one back in the 82nd. In the 89th minute, ze Germans' high press forces a turnover, but it all for naught as the post denies them for the 6th time on the night. It proves to be their last chance. Against the odds, we've done it. We're through to the semifinals, to face Jens Gustafsson's Bologna. Someone should tell Jens that Susanna's Bologna has a first name, and it's R-e-z-o.

Koba Bregvadze and Vakhtang Abzhandadze crack the 2036 NxGn 50 -- sitting 37th and 50th. It was a real shame moving them on. Yet, as good as both are, neither is at the top of my personal list of the best players we are bringing through Fabrika.

March 2036. Another slight increase in year-on-year season ticket sales -- rising to 1,419 from 1,331. Modest. It will do. For now. Once we step into the new stadium next year, though, we need to get those numbers up. Following our poor showing in the Super Cup (and the 2nd XI's poor finishing against Lokomotivi), we seem to have sorted ourselves out. The 2nd XI is standing tall and -- barring a miracle against ze Germans -- we'll be able to refocus our efforts on Erovnuli Liga soon enough. (We're currently carrying a 27-man squad, which is far larger than I'd normally like. It is a function, however of our youth and the need for certain players to move on. Players 19-27 on the depth chart will see meaningful minutes with our reserves, as well.) Les Lions Indomptables kicked off AFCON qualifying against Mauritania and Botswana -- sides we should annihilate on paper. As one might expect from a younger squad, however, we are not yet as ruthless as we will need to be.

Sadly, I drew the short straw and was the one who had to break it to Mat that Hoffenheim is owned by David Hasselhoff, not Susanna Hoffs. Suffice to say he didn't take it well.

"What do you mean we didn't already go to Portugal, Mat?!" "The first leg was in Tbilisi, Boss." "So, why did we get on a plane for 8 hours, with a layover in Munich?" "You know, come to think of it, maybe that was a little unnecessary. In hindsight. But no one could have anticipated that beforehand." [Awkward silence.] Maybe I need more coffee. Or perhaps less. It is a delicate balance, after all.

I've been thinking long and hard about it, but with the Cameroon NT in my save, that itch is being scratched... At least a little.

That's what I love about them NxGn footballers... I get older, they stay the saaaame age...

Let's do this!

Loving this...

In Guimaraes (which Mat insists on pronouncing like Louis Van Gaal with a pickle in his mouth), the lads are ready to show the XI what it means to score. It doesn't hurt when our hosts are reduced to 10 men in the 4th minute... Yeah, that'll do.

TFW you send out your 2nd XI to take care of a match, and forget to remind them what the rectangle thing at the ends of the pitch are.

March 2036 - Georgia Super Cup. The domestic curtain raiser against Dinamo Tbilisi is a chance to lay down an early marker and claim our 8th straight title. Kameni and Khukhua are tipped for the Erovnuli Liga Player of the Year, with Kameni, Rostiashvili and Kamau up for Young Player of the Year. We are less than impressive, with multiple goals called back for offsides, and a nightmare on penalties -- striking 2 wide, and another straight at the keeper. Unacceptable.

February 2036 - Europa Conference League, First Knockout Round. The Belarusians prove little obstacle. We're firing on all cylinders in the preseason, and a tactical tweak we've been tinkering with for months appears to be paying dividends. 4-nil in the first leg, 4-1 back in Tbilisi. A job well done, with Guimaraes on the horizon...Jakimovski won't be retrained by then, but the process is starting.