Football Dynasty-Chapter 291: Secret Santa Shenanigans

Manchester City were on a roll—dominating both home and away, and rapidly carving out a name for themselves at the top tier of English football. After a commanding 2–0 victory in their previous match, they catapulted into the Premier League’s top four, turning heads across the country.

Barring two rare exceptions—Newcastle United in 1993/94 and Nottingham Forest in 1994/95—no newly promoted side had ever climbed this high in the table or qualified for European competition the following season.

Following the Sunderland match—still in the first week of December—Richard made a decisive, bold call: a Christmas party for Manchester City!

In most of Europe, it is customary to have a minimum two-week winter break over Christmas. However, Premier League teams are expected to play twice a week during the festive period, including on Boxing Day and New Year’s Day.

The fixture list was brutal—December’s congestion created a compact and pressure-packed calendar.

It might be tempting to blame the broadcasters, but the UK has a long-standing tradition of festive football rooted in medieval customs and hard-fought workers’ rights—long before Super Sunday or Match of the Day were ever imagined.

Recalling a possible future where players and their families couldn’t even enjoy a casual dinner at home due to fixture demands, Richard clicked his tongue.

Was there life before football?

Professional football is a relatively recent invention—the first of the British Football Associations, the FA, was only formally established in 1863—but festive public games have existed for centuries. Variations of the sport known as medieval or "mob" football have been documented as far back as 1170.

These games were often played during Christmas or Easter, and some are still held today, like the Orkney Ba Game on Christmas Day and the Royal Shrovetide Football Match in Ashbourne, Derbyshire.

There is even documentation showing that football was traditionally played on Christmas Day because it was one of the few days off in the year, especially for working-class people. It became a day for public gatherings, and for many, it was the only chance all year to catch a game.

In the Victorian and Edwardian eras, matches were frequently scheduled for Good Friday and Easter Monday, with some clubs playing up to three games in four days over Easter. Football clubs took full advantage of bank holidays, which offered the opportunity for bumper attendances.

Thanks to this tradition, religious holidays and bank holidays have long been associated with a packed football schedule. There was a time when top teams played almost every day during the Christmas period.

One remarkable example comes from 1913: Liverpool beat Manchester City 4–2 at home on Christmas Day, lost the return fixture 1–0 on Boxing Day, and then drew 3–3 at home with Blackburn Rovers the very next day!

While Liverpool’s fixture list won’t be quite as intense this Christmas, one thing is guaranteed—there will still be football on Boxing Day.

Naturally, football, Boxing Day, and Christmas traditions have evolved. Unlike the old packed football schedule and modern football with its increasingly strict standards, players in this era still had some freedom to attend such events. Christmas was a time for indulgence—too much food, too much TV, too much football—and just enough time with family.

Of course, training and matches still came first. With Boxing Day and New Year fixtures looming, players were often required to train on Christmas Day and follow strict rules around alcohol and discipline. That’s why, for Richard, the team Christmas party would be held in early December—before the worst of the fixture congestion began.

The initial proposal on Richard’s desk was standard: fancy dress and hotel dinners.

Two parties—one for the players, and one for the staff. As was tradition, Manchester City often excused players from the internal staff party due to tight schedules.

Richard immediately shook his head as he looked over the draft.

The reason why the players and staff were separated was mainly because, while the players were used to tailored suits and designer labels, many of the other staff—kitchen crews, groundskeepers, junior physios—were not. Even a modest formal dinner meant borrowing clothes, stressing over appearances, and quietly feeling like they didn’t belong.

Miss Heysen could already read his thoughts. She gently reminded him, "they’re not going to say it out loud," she said, "but a lot of them feel out of place. It’s not about the dinner—it’s about the pressure to look like they belong at one."

"But it’s still a hotel," Richard muttered, glancing over the glossy brochure. "Which means velvet ropes, white tablecloths, staff in tuxedos, and at least one guy in a bow tie asking if you parked in the wrong place."

Indeed, there’s also the matter of venue. Most of the decent hotels are offering private club bookings — limited seating, exclusive access, mandatory dress code.

Richard, who had envisioned a Christmas party for everyone at Manchester City—not just the first team—paused.

’If it’s going to include the staff," Richard thought, "then a hotel ballroom is the only logical choice. A contained space. Controlled entry. No press—especially.’

Because sometimes the press tends to exaggerate things. One infamous example came in 1993, when Wimbledon players brought a live goat to their Christmas party. It was reportedly paraded around like a VIP guest, with some players claiming it was a "lucky charm" or even their "new mascot."

It was bizarre, juvenile—and thanks to that incident, Wimbledon became permanently branded as the "Crazy Gang," a team whose locker room antics and roughhouse style had already earned them a reputation for mayhem.

Richard definitely didn’t want his Manchester City to earn that kind of reputation. With that in mind, he leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing with quiet resolve.

The next three days were the weekend, and Richard had already instructed Miss Heysen to distribute the invitations to the players and Manchester City staff who were able to attend.

The party was held in a five-star private hotel ballroom just a few blocks from Maine Road. It wasn’t funded by the club—Richard had personally allocated £20,000 of his own money to make it happen.

The room was tastefully decorated—not overly lavish, but warm and spirited. Twinkling lights, pine garlands, a traditional Christmas buffet, and music loud enough to melt the December chill.

No journalists. No sponsors. No stiff speeches. Just laughter, clinking glasses, and boots thumping on the dance floor instead of the pitch.

Richard stood quietly at the edge of the room, near the bar, observing as the night unfolded. It wasn’t chaos—it was release.

Shevchenko showed up in full Soviet goalkeeper attire—thick gloves and all—announcing,’Tonight, I only speak Russian.’

Ronaldo arrived dressed in a Brazil 1970 kit with a giant afro wig, declaring himself Pelé—though his version of Pelé also wore sunglasses and gold chains.

"Pelé has arrived!" he announced in an exaggerated voice, raising both arms like a returning hero.

Laughter broke out across the room as he posed like a statue, pretending to sign autographs no one had asked for.

But he wasn’t done.

He pulled something from behind his back—a sleek, glass bottle filled with glittering gold confetti and a homemade label scrawled in bold black marker: "GOALS IN A BOTTLE – For Emergency Use Only"

He sauntered over to Henry, who was leaning against the wall, sipping his drink, dressed sharp but casual—far too cool to fully commit to the theme. He then handed over the bottle with a straight face.

"For you, my friend. Since Stamford Bridge wasn’t feeling generous."

Henry blinked, the realization hitting him. Stamford Bridge—three chances, zero goals. After the match, he was devastated. Thankfully, City’s head physio and performance coach, Dave Fevre, stepped in. Through quiet sessions and careful guidance, Henry slowly regained his confidence.

He responded the best way a forward could: with a goal and an assist in the next match against Sunderland.

Still, those missed chances at Chelsea had become a running joke within the City squad.

Henry just smirked. "Really? I hit the post!"

"Exactly." Ronaldo tapped the bottle with a grin. "You almost opened the champagne. This will help next time."

Henry shook his head, laughing as he held up the bottle like a trophy. "You wait. I’m gonna score so many, you’ll be begging for assists."

Ronaldo winked. "That’s the spirit! But just in case—keep that on the bench."

Even Zanetti joined in, dressed as Diego Maradona, complete with a hand-sewn "Hand of God" glove... and a suspicious white powder ring around his nostrils (just sugar, thankfully).

Robertson and his staff were dumbfounded as they took in the scene.

Too creative.

"Is this what you meant by being prepared?" Robertson asked, unable to hide his disbelief as he stood beside Richard, who was chatting with Martin O’Neill.

Richard could only glance back at the chaos of the party with a strange expression. "Didn’t you know the theme for this party?" free𝑤ebnovel.com

It had been clearly communicated: the theme was "Football Time Machine"—players and staff were encouraged to dress as iconic footballers from the past or from different eras.

"I know, it’s just..." Robertson trailed off, completely speechless at what he was seeing.

What they thought would be a normal party had turned into a full-blown costume circus.And somehow, it was perfect.

The staffs and employees wide-eyed and grinning, finally let loose. The players also, shoulders relaxed, raised toasts that would never be spoken on matchday. Even the physios and groundskeepers—often in the background—were laughing along.

It wasn’t just a party. It was therapy.

The season had been intense. The pressure, relentless. But this—this was the exhale.

And for Richard, that made every penny worth it.

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