Football Dynasty-Chapter 16: City’s A-Team

The year 1986 marked the beginning of a new era in English football, especially in Manchester, where the city's fierce rivalry was about to take on a whole new dimension.

While Manchester City struggled with inconsistent performances both on and off the pitch, their neighbor, Manchester United, was about to embark on a transformative period.

This was the year Sir Alex Ferguson took charge of Manchester United, a managerial appointment that would change the course of the club's history forever.

After reviewing the club's articles, Ms. Heysen, the senior secretary, gently knocked on Richard's office door before stepping in.

"Mr. Richard, the youth team is about to finish their training," she informed him. "It might be a good time to introduce yourself."

Richard looked up from the scattered papers. "Give me a minute," he replied, quickly organizing the documents and handing them over to Ms. Heysen with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Ms. Heysen. I appreciate the heads-up."

As they walked through the narrow corridors, Richard couldn't help but ask about Manchester City's youth setup—Team A and Team B—hoping to get a complete picture of how things were run.

Ms. Heysen, who had been with the club for years, smiled knowingly. "Team A follows a pretty disciplined schedule. They train..."

She went on to explain the details, and Richard felt a touch of sadness hearing it. English football, especially for clubs without the financial resources, could be grueling. Clubs like Manchester City, underperforming and struggling, were a prime example.

As they continued down the corridor, they spotted a man carrying a large basket filled with freshly cleaned jerseys and training kits. The sight made Ms. Heysen's eyes light up.

"Mr. Rouse! Wait a moment!" she called, raising her hand.

The man, startled, came to an abrupt stop. Seeing the club secretary, he tilted his head curiously, the heavy basket resting against his hip.

Ms. Heysen, with Richard following behind, quickly caught up. "Mr. Rouse, are you heading to the dressing room?"

"Yes, I am," he replied, adjusting the basket for better balance.

"Perfect," she said with a warm smile. "Let me introduce you. Richard, this is Jimmy Rouse, our dressing room caretaker. Jimmy, meet Richard Maddox, the new youth coach."

Rouse wiped his hands on his shirt before extending one to Richard. Richard shook it firmly, feeling the callouses of someone who had spent years working for the club.

"Pleasure to meet you, Richard. Welcome to the club," Jimmy said with a friendly grin.

"Thanks. Happy to be here," Richard replied, returning the smile.

Ms. Heysen clasped her hands together, satisfied. "I'll leave you two to it. Mr. Rouse will show you around from here." She gave Richard an encouraging nod before disappearing down the corridor.

For a brief moment, Richard stood still, unsure of what to say next. But Mr. Rouse's warm, easygoing demeanor quickly broke the ice.

"Come on, lad. Let me show you where all the real magic happens," he grinned, nodding toward the dressing rooms.

As they walked, Richard felt himself begin to relax. The conversation flowed easily, especially as they discussed the current state of the club and the youth setup.

Manchester City used Maine Road stadium for everything — matches, training, and for both the first team and the youth squads.

The issue was glaringly clear: the first team took priority. Their matches and training sessions were scheduled first, and only once they were done could the youth team use the facilities. On days when first-team players stayed longer, the youth players had to wait even more.

It was a different story when the oil money started to flow. But right now, the current Manchester City simply couldn't afford to build a separate training complex for the youth squads, leaving them to work around the first team's schedule—a tough reality for any young footballer.

"Alright, Richard, this is where I'll leave you," Mr. Rouse said, stopping just outside the entrance to the training ground. "I've brought you as far as I can."

Richard smiled warmly. "Thank you very much, Mr. Rouse."

Mr. Rouse chuckled, waving his hand dismissively. "Ah, just call me Jimmy," he said, adjusting the basket before heading down the corridor.

Richard raised his head, gazing at the pitch-black night sky as the sound of the rain pattering down filled the air. He shifted his eyes back to the scene in front of him. He stood beside a lush, green football field, its grass glistening under the glow of the floodlights.

'Ah... Manchester,' he thought. 'When will this rain ever stop?'

Richard rubbed his hands together to warm them against the damp chill before pulling the hood of his City sky-blue raincoat over his head to shield himself from the persistent drizzle.

On the field, he noticed two middle-aged men deep in discussion, surrounded by more than ten young football players who listened attentively, hanging on to every word.

One of the men was none other than Tony Book, a true Manchester City legend. Nicknamed "Skip," he had captained the club during the iconic 1967/68 season, leading the team and playing every single match.

Beside him stood Glyn Pardoe, another respected figure—a loyal servant to City both as a player and later as a youth coach.

Both Book and Pardoe had been with the club since the early 1960s and joined the youth staff in the early 1980s, solidifying their places as key figures within the structure. Now, they were the current Team A manager and assistant manager, respectively.

"Alright, that's it for today. Dismissed!" Book called out to the team, signaling the end of training.

As he and Pardoe turned to leave, they noticed someone approaching from the sidelines. Both men exchanged puzzled glances.

'Is he late?' Book wondered. 'No, that's impossible. Wait... who is this?'

As far as they knew, there had been no notice from the scouting department about any new player joining, which only deepened their confusion.

Unaware of their thoughts, Richard strode forward, extending his hand in greeting.

"Manager Book, Assistant Manager Pardoe, good day. My name is Richard Maddox. I'm the new youth coach."

The two men blinked, momentarily speechless. 'A new staff member?' Pardoe thought. 'Shouldn't we have been told first?'

Then, as if a memory had just clicked into place, Pardoe nudged Book's elbow and whispered, "Wasn't there a rumor about a new coach joining? The one we heard about yesterday?"

Book's expression changed as the realization dawned. That's right—there had been talk about a new coach, a former player joining the youth setup. He thought that was just a rumor... but wasn't he a bit too young?

Still, it was rude to keep someone waiting, so both men stepped forward and offered a handshake.

"Have you just joined?" Book asked, his tone polite but curious.

"Yes, I have," Richard replied, shaking both their hands.

"Well then, welcome to Manchester City," Book said, giving a slight nod.

"Thank you. It's great to be here," Richard replied, though an awkward silence quickly settled over the group.

None of them seemed sure what to say next. Pardoe, breaking the tension, spoke up. "I heard you used to play?"

"Yes," Richard replied with a small smile. "I played for Sheffield Wednesday."

Book and Pardoe exchanged a quick look, their interest piqued. Sheffield Wednesday had been one of their old First Division opponents.

"Sheffield Wednesday, eh?" Book said, raising an eyebrow. "Didn't expect that. But... if you don't mind me asking, why are you here coaching instead of playing? You look pretty young."

Richard hesitated for a moment before answering, his smile tinged with something bittersweet. "Yeah... I'm retired."

"Retired?"

Book and Pardoe traded bewildered looks of shock. The guy in front of them barely looked twenty—how could he already be retired?

"Wait, what was your name again?"

Book's brow furrowed as if something had just clicked in his mind.

"Richard Maddox," Richard replied.

"Richard... Maddox... Sheffield Wednesday..." Book murmured, rubbing his chin, trying to place the familiar name.

It wasn't until Pardoe suddenly blurted out, his voice filled with realization, "The one who fractured his skull?" that it all came rushing back.

Richard gave a quiet, confirming nod.

"No way!" Pardoe exclaimed, initially shocked, but then his voice shifted to something livelier, more engaged—completely different from his earlier indifferent tone.

After all, back in 1970, he had also broken his right leg so badly that doctors feared they might have to amputate it. The thought had terrified him. But after two years of relentless effort and sacrifice, he managed to recover and return to the pitch.

He could relate deeply to Richard's pain—it felt like an unspoken camaraderie between players who had both been through "Rehab United."

"So, you're that Richard Maddox," Book added gently, his eyes filled with sympathy.

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A prodigy, someone they all expected to become a star. But instead, his career had ended far too soon, in the most heartbreaking way.

Soon, the three of them found themselves deep in conversation, the initial awkwardness fading away.

They talked about football, the highs and lows of the game, dealing with serious injuries, and the spoken and unspoken rules of Manchester City's A-team.

"It's strange," Richard mused. "One moment, you're dreaming of lifting trophies, and the next, you're in a hospital bed wondering if you'll ever kick a ball again."

Pardoe nodded in understanding. "I know that feeling too well. After my leg injury, I thought it was all over. The hardest part wasn't the pain—it was the fear. Fear of losing everything you worked for."

Book chimed in, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "Injuries can break you, but they can also build you. It's about what you do next that counts. You being here, Richard, proves that."

A small smile crept onto Richard's face. "Thanks, I'm trying."

After a moment of shared silence, they arrived at the office.

It was modest and simple—a shared space with four desks lined up close together. Papers were scattered across the tabletops, and a couple of aging filing cabinets stood against the walls, their drawers slightly ajar and filled with documents.

"This is the office?" Richard asked, glancing around.

Book chuckled at his reaction. "Yep, this is it. Not much, is it?"

Richard waved his hand, clarifying that wasn't what he meant. "No, I mean—it works. This desk's empty, right? Can I sit here?"

He was surprised. The office wasn't just cramped; several desks were empty. Only three had papers scattered on top. 'So, only three people work here?' he thought. With me, that makes four.

"Yes, go ahead. That desk's free," Pardoe replied, settling into his chair. "We're a tight-knit team. Not many resources, but we've got heart. Most of the club's budget goes to the first team. Youth setups like ours... well, we make do with less."

Richard nodded thoughtfully.

After a moment of silence, Pardoe asked, "Do you want to become a professional coach?"

The question took Richard by surprise.

"Haha, it's not hard to guess. For someone who loves football, if you can't play anymore, you either jump into coaching or end up talking about the game instead of playing it. But in the end, we all stay close to football."

Richard pondered for a moment. "Is it difficult?"

Pardoe brushed it off with a casual wave. "Since you're an ex-pro, not really. It's just about gaining experience—managing, coaching—and finishing the courses to get your badge. With your background, the club could fast-track you to get certified quickly."

"Hearing this, Richard grew curious. 'Before I made my debut at Sheffield, my coach at that time mentioned something about the youth award module. Is that the way to go?'"

"That's for first-timers," Tony Book chimed in, placing a stack of documents on Richard's desk. "If your performance is good, within 12 to 15 months, you could be managing the youth team on your own. And in two or three years, you might even be coaching a professional team."

"Oh," Richard murmured, not responding right away. Instead, he opened the documents in front of him, which outlined the current A team.

As he skimmed through them, a thought crossed his mind: 'Wouldn't it be easier to just hire Pep directly and watch the team dominate the match from a sky box?'