The signing of Jamal 'JJ' Johnson was a seismic event for a club like The Railway Arms. It was like a Sunday league team waking up to find they'd accidentally signed a Premier League academy player.
The news rippled through our small, dysfunctional family with a mixture of excitement, skepticism, and outright hostility.
The younger players were thrilled. They had seen his talent in that brief, chaotic training session, and they were excited by the prospect of playing with someone who could, in theory, win a game on his own.
The older veterans, the core of the team, were more suspicious. They saw his arrogance, his lack of work ethic, and they saw a threat to the fragile team spirit we had just begun to build.
Baz, our unofficial dressing room enforcer, pulled me aside after the session. "Gaffer, are you sure about this kid?" he'd asked, his brow furrowed with concern. "He's got talent, yeah. But he's a right little prick. He's going to cause trouble."
"He is a prick, Baz," I'd admitted, using the 'Man-Management' skill to choose my words carefully. "But he's our prick now. And it's my job to turn him into a player. Just give me a chance. Trust me."
Baz had just grunted, unconvinced, but he had agreed to give it a go. It was the best I could hope for.
I knew that integrating JJ into the team was going to be my biggest challenge yet. It was a delicate balancing act. I had to harness his individual brilliance without destroying the collective unity that was our only real strength.
My first step was to have a one-on-one chat with JJ.
I met him for a coffee in a greasy spoon cafe in the city centre, a neutral ground where we could talk away from the rest of the team. He turned up late, of course, and spent the first ten minutes scrolling through his phone, but I was patient. I was playing the long game.
I didn't talk to him about tactics or teamwork. I talked to him about football.
I asked him who his favourite players were, what teams he supported, and what his first footballing memory was.
I used the system's insights into his personality: his arrogance, his desire to be the star, to connect with him. I told him stories about the great individualists of the game: George Best, Eric Cantona, and Ronaldinho. Players who were geniuses, but who had learned to channel their talent for the good of the team.
Slowly, he began to open up.
He told me about his childhood, about learning to play in the cages, where individual skill was the only currency that mattered. He told me about being scouted by Manchester City's academy as a kid, and then being released at fourteen for having a 'bad attitude'.
The story was laced with a bitter, defensive anger, the anger of a kid who had been told he wasn't good enough, not because of his talent, but because of who he was. It was the key. The source of his arrogance, and his vulnerability.
"They don't get it, man," he'd said, his voice low and intense. "They want everyone to be a robot. They want you to pass and move and tick all the boxes. They don't want players who can do something different, something special."
"I do," I'd said, looking him straight in the eye.
"I want you to do something special. But I want you to do it for us. I'm not going to ask you to be a robot. I'm not going to ask you to stop dribbling or trying tricks. But I am going to ask you to be smart. To know when to do it, and when to play the simple pass. To be the difference-maker in a winning team, not just a highlights reel in a losing one."
It was a breakthrough. He didn't suddenly become a model professional overnight. But he had started to listen. He had started to see that I wasn't trying to change who he was, but to help him become the best version of himself.
The next few training sessions were a tightrope walk. I designed drills that gave JJ the freedom to use his skills, but within a team structure. We worked on counter-attacking patterns, on quick transitions from defence to attack.
I paired him with Liam, our other fast winger, and we worked on them interchanging positions, creating confusion for defenders. I gave JJ a simple, clear role: stay high up the pitch, conserve your energy, and be ready to explode when we win the ball back.
It was a pragmatic solution. I couldn't make him a hard-working, defensive winger in a week. So I didn't try.
I built the system around his strengths, and tried to minimize his weaknesses. It was a classic Football Manager tactic: the 'Advanced Forward' with the 'Pressing Forward' next to him to do all his running. It was a compromise. But it was a start.
Our next match was away to a team called 'The Salford Scorpions'.
They were a mid-table side, a team of big, physical players who relied on set-pieces and long balls. They were exactly the kind of team that would bully and intimidate us. It was the perfect test for our new-look side.
In the cramped, smelly changing room before the game, I made a big decision. I named JJ in the starting lineup. There were a few grumbles from the older players, but I shut them down immediately. "He's earned his chance," I said, my voice leaving no room for argument. "Now it's up to all of us to make it work."
My team talk, powered by my new 'Team Talks' skill, was simple. I didn't talk about winning. I talked about being brave. I talked about playing for each other. And I gave them one, clear tactical instruction.
"We are not going to get drawn into a fight with these guys," I said. "We're not going to try and out-muscle them. We're going to be smart. We're going to defend deep, we're going to be compact, and when we win the ball, we are going to find JJ as quickly as possible. He is our out-ball. He is our weapon. Let them have the ball. Let them get frustrated. And then we hit them on the break."