Episode 1 | Careless Whispers
Wakefield. July 2025. Dusk.
I’d had a tip-off that an old friend had fallen on hard times. As I walked under the arches of a disused bridge, broken glass cracked underfoot. Dogs barked. Couples argued. And with every step, the whispering got louder.
As I rounded a corner, I saw the shadow of something that, once upon a time, might have been a man. But now? The hair was long and shaggy, like a rabid dog had been given access to Just For Men and a mental breakdown. Nails stretched beyond what any sane person would consider acceptable, and a guttural noise began to fill the alleyway.
It couldn’t possibly be, could it?
“Barry?” I whispered, the words itching to come out but struggling at the same time.
“Agruondkjbwoin.”
Right then…
You see, since our escapades in FC26 had come to an abrupt end due to the fact that, well, it’s a fucking terrible game, times had been… difficult for Barry.
He was offered the Andorran U15s job but declined, stating that the mountain air would cause such a severe allergic reaction that he would have to be placed into a six-month induced coma.
Since then, there’d been nothing. And with no outlet for his strange little creative-yet-analytical brain, he’d started to go a bit… loopy.
I’d lost all contact with him when I returned home to Wakefield, but I did sometimes think I’d see a man lurking around Trinity Shopping Centre, hiding behind bins and old men named Jim.
I’d brushed this off as just my imagination, but now? I know the truth was much more desperate.
I knew that I needed to do something. I couldn’t leave him in this gibbering state, primed to get sexually assaulted by a badger, or worse, one of Wakefield’s finest ladies on a hen night.
I put my arm around him slowly, gently, and cradled his head for a moment.
“There, there, Barry, we’ll sort you out mate.”
“Hear me, distant albatross, the winds of chakfoib2foinwl…” he mumbled.
“What’s that, mate?” I politely asked.
“Hear me, distant albatross… the winds of change may carry you… to far away lands… in search of eternal… glory.”
Oh no. A prophecy.
I’d not heard one of those since he saw Tim Howard in his cornflakes. But this time, I knew what was coming.
Football Manager.
The Pentagon
Sadly, Barry’s prophecies are never about lottery numbers or affordable energy bills. They are, almost exclusively, about ruining my free time.
His prophecy stated far away lands, which can only mean one thing. The Pentagon Challenge.
The longest, most difficult task in Football Manager, the Pentagon Challenge tasks you with winning the five major continental club competitions:
- The UEFA Champions League (Europe)
- The CONCACAF Champions Cup (North America)
- AFC Champions League Elite (Asia)
- CAF Champions League (Africa)
- CONMEBOL Libertadores (South America)
And the hardest part? Start unemployed. No prior experience. No coaching badges. Except…
I do actually have a UEFA C License Coaching Badge. So I’m using it.
The Beginning
We’re going to begin our journey somewhere that will actually take a Sunday League jobber and his washed-up, psychic assistant manager… Asia.
Once Barry had been hosed down, shaved in the areas legally required, and placed within shouting distance of a laptop, we got to work.
Our first three applications are Kumamoto in Japan’s second division, Tochigi SC in Japan’s third division, and YB Longding in China’s First Division (who, weirdly, can’t sign non-Chinese goalkeepers. No, I don’t get it either).
Ten long days passed with Barry and me sitting by our fax machine. I’ve actually no idea why, because it’s not plugged in and no one uses fax anymore. Instead, we sat bolt upright as an email notification popped up, only to find it was HelloFresh sending us an offer for 10 free boxes.
As enticing as that is, we need a fox in the box, not fish in the post. But then… A JOB INTERVIEW!
YB Longding have got back to us and offered us an interview. First question: why don’t we speak Chinese. It’s not a bad question, to be honest, as it’s hardly a niche language.
Luckily Barry did an internship at a Chinese fishery when he was 27 and learnt enough to get by, and I lied and told them I can pick it up quickly (I absolutely can’t).
I then got asked why I was in the market for a number of jobs, and unfortunately there wasn’t an option to say ‘obviously because I’m out of fucking work you morons.’ Instead, I told them I’m merely considering my options.
Next up, they asked if I’m comfortable working with limited resources. Well, I’m currently working with no resources, so yeah, go on then.
Then came the big one: could I take them to the next level? As someone who took Halifax to world domination on FM Mobile 2005, I’m pretty confident I can do the job. Next!
I was then asked what changes I’d want to make to the backroom staff… well, I think my lads like Fat Rob the physio would follow me to the ends of the Earth, so I told them I’d have to take a look at everyone should I get the job (and immediately bin them off).
Finally, I was asked if I was happy to work with Xu Bo, the director of football. Unsure if this was Susan Boyle’s Chinese cousin, I just said yeah, why not. At least there is a director of football.
I had no requests, so I closed the Zoom call and sat back in my chair. Our first interview was done and dusted, now it was just a waiting game.
For five days. When we found out we didn’t get it.
Fuck.
Two days later, the Tochigi SC board informed me we’d been unsuccessful, and this suddenly felt like it was going to be much more difficult than we first thought.
During Sacktober, when FM clubs start firing managers like it’s a government initiative, Fukuoka, Thespa Gunma, Jubilo Iwata, Nagoya, Peng City, Yokohama FM, Daegu, Dewa United and Incheon United reviewed our application and collectively decided: absolutely fucking not.
Barry took the news badly, by which I mean he spent three hours facing a wall and whispering “Incheon” into a mug.
Southport offered us an interview, we declined. We’re not going for Europe yet.
Then, come December, we get two interview offers, both in Japan. The format is largely the same as before, as both Hachinohe and Ryukyu grill me on why I don’t know Japanese, whether I can keep a happy dressing room, and whether I want to stay for a long time. Obviously I lie like a Prince to make sure I say exactly what they want to hear.
AND WE DID SOMETHING RIGHT. A few days later, Ryukyu got in touch offering me a £1k-a-week contract to take over in the J3 League.
Barry licked the contract, declaring it “legally moist” and immediately began learning Japanese by shouting at Duolingo. We are fucking back, baby.
Boiled Eggs & Betrayal
On our flight over to Japan, Barry spent the entire first half of the journey drawing tactical shapes on a tea-stained boiled egg. I didn’t ask why. You learn not to.
As the cabin crew brought our evening meal, Barry grabbed one of the poor air stewards, Colin, by the collar. Terrified, but somehow unable to pull away, Colin could only listen as Barry named the three players he believes will betray me. One of them is Brazilian. One of them is a 16-year-old. And one of them is, somehow, me.
With that, Barry snapped back into his chair and instantly fell asleep for the final three hours.