Glory Of The Football Manager System

Chapter 95: Setting Things Right II

Next on my list was Mark Crossley. Of all the conversations I had to have, this was the one that sat like a stone in my gut. He wasn’t just a player who had left; he was the captain, my lieutenant on the pitch, a friend.

His departure had felt like a personal betrayal, a knife to the gut that had almost derailed our entire season.

But then I’d seen him in the stands on the final day, his face a canvas of raw, conflicting emotions pride, regret, hope, and pain.

He hadn’t just been watching a football match; he’d been watching his family win without him. He deserved more than closure. He deserved a way back.

We met in a quiet park halfway between our houses. It was a place of jarring normality, with kids screaming on the swings and old men walking yapping terriers.

He was sitting on a bench overlooking a duck pond, hunched over in a plain grey hoodie, looking smaller than I remembered.

The confident, commanding centre-half was gone, replaced by a man whose shoulders were slumped under an invisible weight. His face was pale, his eyes red-rimmed. He looked like a man who hadn’t slept in weeks.

"I’m so sorry, Danny," he said before I could even sit down, his voice raspy and low. He didn’t look at me, just stared at the murky water. "I never meant for it to happen like that. Chen... he told me the deal was for the end of the season. A clean break. I didn’t know about the loophole, I swear on my kids’ lives. I wouldn’t have done that to you. To the lads."

"I know," I said, sitting down beside him, leaving a careful foot of space between us. It felt like a chasm. "I saw you at the match, Mark. You were still with us."

the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, watching you all out there, knowing I should have been with you. When Jamie scored that goal... I was so proud. So, so proud."

of that. You were our leader for almost a year, Mark. We wouldn’t

what?" A bitter, hollow laugh escaped his lips, a sound utterly devoid of humour.

you mean?" I asked, though a cold dread was already beginning to form in the pit

When Chen offered me that three-year deal, the security... I couldn’t see straight, Danny. All I saw was a future where I didn’t have to worry every time

to win the league. Hundreds of thousands, apparently. He went ballistic. Called me this morning, screaming down the phone, blaming me for everything. Said the deal was off, that he was tearing up

had used Mark’s life, his family’s future, as a chip in a high-stakes game, and when the bet went south, he’d just swept

and tight with anger. "A pre-contract is a legal

from his voice. "They’ll bury me in legal fees I can’t afford. I’ve got nothing, Danny. No club. No money. No future. I’m thirty-two years old. This was

dull roar in my ears. My sympathy for Mark was curdling into a cold, hard

tried to destroy our club; he’d tried to destroy this man’s life, all for a bet. He had used him like a pawn and then discarded him without

Palace offer, about my decision to leave. He listened patiently, the

self, the supportive captain, returned. "You’re the best manager I’ve ever played for. You’re going to the very

not leaving Moss Side in the lurch. I’m recommending Scott Miller as the

lads respect

I continued, turning to face him