Translator: Nyoi-Bo Studio Editor: Nyoi-Bo Studio
After a night marked by restless apprehension and thoughts about Shania, Dunn awoke to some great news:
Des Walker called to inform him that Walker had just been approved to join the English National Team as their Assistant Coach.
Dunn was so happy that, as he held the phone in one hand, he punched the other into the air in a triumphant fist.
With the Assistant Coach piece sorted, the puzzle surrounding England’s team would become much easier to solve. The team generally sought Dunn’s recommendations, as he was a man with remarkable stamina, and had a great working knowledge of England’s coaches. Now he would just need to find a new Goalkeeping Coach, and things would be settled. Dunn had a degree of mistrust for the current coach, because under his supervision, England’s goalies had not exactly been performing well. In his eyes, this had to be the root issue.
For finding a Goalkeeping Coach, Dunn had focused his attention on two places: Germany and Italy. His thinking was that he could perhaps enlist the help of England’s former coach, Capello.
However, this matter was evidently not as important as finding an assistant coach.
※※※
Right as Dunn was facing his quandry around picking new coaches, Nottingham F.C. was going through some great changes of its own.
In Mark O’Neil’s opinion, if England were to keep their treble, they would need to filter out some of their more lackluster members and replace them with some fresh, outstanding players. If they could do this, he thought, they would regain a fighting chance at winning.
Evan had told him that when it came to buying players, money would not be a problem. With their stadium debts paid off, Nottingham F.C. had plenty of money to spend.
Tony Dunn had never been a big fan of O’Neil’s way of doing things.
After deliberating on it for a couple days, O’Neil finished up his list of names and handed it off to Evan. As he took it and began looking it over, he said to his friend Alan, “Martin thinks he has this whole team in the palm of his hand. He overestimates his own power, and greatly underestimates Tony’s.”
“How so?”
“The players he wants to sell are all subs or old-timers. With these changes, the core team would essentially remain unchanged.” He said. Alan snatched the list and looked it over.
As he read, Alan began to smile. “He’s trying to do this from the perspective of a coach. Every player has a record of some sort, and he’s trying to make sure that the team uses as many well-proven players as it can.
“But, if the team is in turmoil behind the scenes, then their treble status might as well be useless…” Evan said, letting out a slow sigh.
Once Dunn had left, even though the media was bombarding the team relentlessly, Evan was finally able to let out a sigh of relief. However, the team knew on some level that Dunn had not left because he wasn’t making enough money. Dunn’s recruits within the team were many, and they all felt a certain unease about losing him, as he was the one who had brokered their success in the first place. Evan knew what this meant. With their main backbone gone, there would be a question as to whether or not these players could remain on the team. Why else would he have given the task to O’Neil? It would be better to take the initiative and have him determine who should stay and who should go, rather than letting everyone remain safe because of their connections to Dunn. He figured that this was the best way to do things, as it would minimise the damage from the current mess.
“Tiago?” Evan said aloud, looking off and trying to picture the player’s face. “If he doesn’t survive a change of coaches, shouldn’t he be retiring soon? He’s getting a little old.”
“That’s what I’m saying. O’Neil must still be considering just sticking with Dunn’s dream team.”
The two men looked at each other, and they each smiled.
Alan began to look over the list again. Tiago aside, there was one person he was most concerned about — but he didn’t really think this person would be cast aside anyways. He and Dunn were likeminded in their regard of this player.
“So… what’s the deal with George?”
Evan knew who Alan was referring to — there was only one George on Nottingham F.C.
“I have no idea” Evan said, shaking his head, “Mr. Wokes still hasn’t gotten back to me.”
A sudden silence fell in the office. They both knew the deal with Mr. Wokes, with whom Dunn had once famously butted heads. This had offended Mr. Wokes, who was interconnected in England’s high society. His sexual orientation was unusual, but even this was not seen as scandalous in the world of the very rich.
“He’s not short on money.” Alan said aloud. He was stating this as a fact, but also appeared to be trying to console himself.
“He’s not short on money, but George is.”
“I don’t see how he should have any reason to doubt George’s loyalty.”
“There might be a problem yet, Alan” Said Evan, who stood up and began to pace. “After all, where does George’s loyalty really lie? With Nottingham, or with Dunn?”
Alan gazed at his old friend, looking lost for a moment. Then he said, “He’s only gone off to play for the English national team! That doesn’t mean anything! It’s not like next thing he’s going to run off to Manchester United, just to turn around and drive us into the ground.”
Evan stayed silent, still unsure if his fears had merit or not.
“The way I see it, the best thing we could do is write up a new contract with George, and give him a healthy raise to his weekly pay. Even if his contract is up in only three years, we need to d everything we can to ensure that Nottingham is the last team he ever plays in.
After Alan said this, Evan looked at him and replied, “we’ve only just given hi ma new contract last year — he’s already the highest-paid player on the team.” He knew that Alan was sensitive when it came to talk about money.
“Well, let’s make him the highest-paid player in the UK!” Evan said, with certainty.
Alan opened his mouth, but said nothing.
※※※
Wood looked at the man sitting before him, a man who rarely made visits in-person. It was Billy Wokes.
“So, George, what do you think?”
Wood shook his head. “I’m not going.”
“Come on. The salary they’ve offered you is huge, as are the perks and benefits.”
“My money right now is enough.”
“But George… there are so many better clubs you could be with! In fact, when you put it in perspective, Nottingham starts to look more and more like a quaint little group of countryfolk!” As Wokes said this, he beamed at his own joke, completely ignoring Wood’s stony expression.
“And have these other teams won more UEFA titles than us?” he responded.
This jab caused Wokes’s smile to flicker, almost imperceptibly. Then, however, it came back, and the man burst out in laughter, “Oh, George! Quite a wit you’ve got on you, asking a thing like that! As La Puerta would say, you’ve the tenacity of a Catalonian…. Hah! I must be honest, I hadn’t pegged you as the sarcastic type.”
Wood did not smile. He simply doubled his resolve, saying “I’ll go nowhere but Nottingham.”
“Real Madrid, AC Milan, Inter Milan, Man U, Arsenal… none of those catches your fancy?
Wood nodded. “I have a three year contract with Nottingham. While that’s in effect, I’m not going anywhere.”
Wokes smiled, and said slyly, “In three years’ time… you’ll be thirty-one. You’ll have a hard time going anywhere at all.”
“All the better, then. After Nottingham, I’ll retire.”
“Come now, George. Your man, Tony? He’s gone now. There’s nothing forcing you to pledge your allegiance to the team anymore. I don’t know if you realise this, but it’s only a matter of time before your mates, who you won so many championships with, start going their separate ways. With your old coach gone, and your old teammates as well… why should anyone feel obliged to stay?”
Wood was silent for a moment, apparently digesting what Wokes had just said. Then, he spoke. “Professional footballers will come and go. That is their choice, and their authority to do so. But me? I’m choosing to stay put.”
Wokes sank back, then, into the sofa on which he sat. He stared across at Wood. amazed. “Why are you going this? Is it because of your mother?”
“It’s nothing to do with my mother. Only me.”
“But why?”
Wood was silent for a time, apparently thinking. Wokes did not press him, and instead added some sugar to the cup of coffee in front of him, stirring it slowly with a small spoon.
As he got lost, then, focusing on the coffee, he heard Wood’s voice, “I don’t want to be anything like the man you want me to be.”
Wokes stopped stirring and stared at his coffee, as though there were something floating in it.
He had zoned out for a time, lost in his thoughts. When he came back, he fished his mobile out of his pocket, and began punching in a number.
“Hi, Santi. I’ve got some news to give you — an insider thing, very hush-hush. You want to hear, do you? Good, good.” Wokes nodded his head as he said this. “Ah, well, I cannot tell you right this moment. I’m with George Wood, we;ve just sat down for a spot of coffee… not terribly good, though. I don’t think I’ll be coming back here anytime soon… Yes, yes, okay, you’re busy, I understand. I’ll talk to you later. Bye bye.”
Wokes pocketed his phone and saw that Wood was looking at him, a questioning expression on his face.
“I was just calling an acquaintance of mine who works with the media. I’m going to tell him how you’re interested in quite a few clubs: Madrid, Barcelona, Milan, Juventus, the English top four — practically every great European team.”
Wood leaned forward, suddenly perturbed. He was looking at Wokes in an entirely different way. “Don’t you have any respect for me, and my wishes?
“Settle down, darling,” said Wokes, signaling for Wood to sit back down on the couch, “when have I ever disrespected your wishes? Only, since you won’t give me the good grace of a transfer fee, or a sign-on fee, I need to find some way of getting myself paid! You understand.” And with that, Wokes took his gold-rimmed glasses from the table before him and set them in their case — his sign that he was ready to leave.
“You are not to do anything. If the media comes to speak with you, I want you to be vague. Tell them nothing, except that you are loyal to Nottingham. Make your intentions unclear, and let the mosquitos drift over to me.” He reached out and lightly tapped Wood’s cheek. “Then, all you have to do is sit tight and wait for me. I’ll bring you a proper high-paying contract.”
“I’ve already signed one… last year.”
“Yet, if they come along and offer you more, who would you be to refuse? We came here today to celebrate your success, on the eve of becoming the highest-paid footballer in the UK. Next time we meet up to have a chat, why don’t we do it at your place? I’ll bet your mum makes a great cup of tea.” He stuck the glasses case firmly in his pocket and stood up. “Farewell, George. I do hope you don’t regret this day in the future.”
With the confidence of a jungle cat, the old man strode across the cafe and coolly walked out of the cafe door.
Wood, on the other hand, stayed seated where he was. He watched as Wokes climbed into an ash-gray Bentley, which then pulled out and disappeared in the daytime traffic.
※※※
When Wood was sitting down to his coffee with Wokes, Alan had already flown to Portugal and struck a deal with S.L. Benfica to write a transfer contract for Tiago Mendes. For six million pounds, Tiago would return to Benfica, and in all likelihood, he would remain there for the rest of his career.
In another decidedly ironic development, Real Madrid had unexpectedly come to fancy the Nottingham F.C. center rear guard — the Brazilian powerhouse, Pepe. Only a month prior, he had lectured a couple Madrid players out on the pitch, which had garnered intense animosity in the Spanish media. Yet, in a turn of events nobody could have expected, he had come back to Madrid a hero, with the press suddenly singing his praises.
In the previous season, Nottingham had scored on eleven free kicks. Because of this, their back defender, Gareth Bell, had become highly coveted by some big names in England, chiefly Manchester United and Chelsea. Manchester had gone so far as to offer Nottingham twenty million pounds to transfer Bell to their team.
Aaron Mitchell, who would be known as one of England’s best forwards for the decade to come, was also caught up in numerous affairs with clubs who lusted for his membership. Most notable amongst said clubs were A.C. Milan.
Nuri Sahin, the great midfielder of the Turkish national team, seemed on the verge of transferring to Bayern Munich, although Madrid also seemed quite keen to acquire him.
Wes Morgan, the third captain to be instated during the reign of Coach Dunn, also left Nottingham in favor of a new team — this time, Leeds United.
Bentley was being tempted along by Manchester City.
Rumours abounded that Fernandez was losing interest in Nottingham, and might return to play for a Spanish team once again.
Gago was on the verge of joining Inter Milan or Juventus.
Mourinho, dissatisfied with Manchester United’s goalkeeper, was rallying to acquire the Russian national team’s goalie, and current Nottingham player, Akinfeev.
When July first arrived, and the window for transfers in Europe officially opened, the media was flooded with stories and rumours that many of Nottingham’s players were soon to be changing teams. The masses were dazzled by the spectacular tales that began to spread, yet nobody knew what was true and what was fabricated.
Nottingham’s fans, collectively, were filled with worry about their team. It seemed that, with the departure of the Iron Fist, Tony Dunn, the lineup was being picked apart by more powerful teams. When they met in pubs and chatted on this topic, many fans pitted the blame on the incompetence of the team (despite its resounding successes in the past.) Others, though, psaid that the blame rested solely on Dunn.
He had brought joy and pride to Nottingham’s fans during his time as coach, but now that he had suddenly left, the fans had come to wholly resent him. Dunn had never explained why he had to leave, and this only made things worse. Misunderstandings about the man only got worse.
The man who was once the “King of Nottingham” had unexpectedly become widely resented. The club directors tarnished his memory, his hand-picked team was being pried apart by other clubs, and his once adoring fans had come to hate him. Could there be a worse fate?
※※※
While Dunn was still finding the right set of coaches for the English team, he was approached by the FA, who told him they wanted his team to come play a match.
“I haven’t sorted out my coaches yet,” he told them, slightly resentful of their decision, “let alone my players.”
Don’t worry, Mr. Dunn, it’s only a friendly match — nothing more. You can use the same roster from the last World Cup. The outcome of the match will not at all effect our evaluation on you.” Their decision was firm. They were the governing body, after all.
“This wasn’t in the contract.” Dunn said, discomfort evident in his voice.
“Mr. Dunn, this match was actually confirmed long before you were made head coach,” the official told him.
Dunn was at a loss for what to say. After all, who was to say that he could take it upon himself to be the slowest team builder in English history?
“Right. Who are we playing then, and where? Wembley? Or are we to go abroad?” He had a pen and paper in front of him, ready to jot down the details, lest he be messy and forget this new obligation.
“No need to go abroad, Dunn. You’ll be going to Nottingham, the City Ground. Your opponent is to be Nottingham Forest.” As the official said this, he tried to keep a straight face. He tried not to smirk. He failed to do so.
“Huh?” replied Dunn. He paid no attention to the smirking official, instead simply staring at the words he had just reflexively jotted on the paper before him: “Nottingham, the City Ground.” (To be continued. To follow up on this story and more, please visit www.qidian.com, where you can support the author, and support real, genuine literature.)
