Football System: Touchline God
Chapter 27: Senior Football Atmosphere

Chapter 27: Senior Football Atmosphere

Covert chatters filled the evening air as they walked across the pub’s gravel parking lot. Other patrons had gathered near the windows with their phones out, snapping pictures of the supercar like tourists at a monument.

"Jesus," Claire whispered. "How much is that thing worth?"

"More than my flat," Sarah muttered, then caught herself. "I mean, it’s lovely. Really lovely."

Maddox clicked the key fob. The car’s lights flashed once, and all four doors opened with a soft mechanical sound. The interior lighting bathed everything in a warm blue glow that made the leather seats look like they belonged in a spaceship.

"Shotgun!" Jenna called out, but then paused. "Actually, no. You two take the front. I’ll navigate from the back."

Sarah practically dove into the passenger seat. Claire slid into the back with Jenna, both of them running their hands over the pristine leather like they were petting expensive cats.

"This is mental," Claire breathed. "The seats are heated. And they’re massaging me. The bloody seats are massaging me."

Maddox started the engine. The eight cylinders woke up with a rumble that vibrated through their bones. In the pub’s parking lot, every head turned toward them.

"Show-off," Jenna said, but she was grinning.

"It’s not showing off if you’re not trying," Maddox replied, backing out carefully. The Vireon moved like liquid silk, responding to his touch before he’d even finished thinking about what he wanted to do.

The drive to Cromley Rovers Stadium took fifteen minutes through winding streets lined with terraced houses and corner shops.

Football scarves hung from windows, and groups of supporters were already making their way toward the ground, singing songs that had been passed down through generations.

"There," Jenna pointed ahead. "You can see the floodlights."

The stadium rose from the neighborhood like a concrete and steel cathedral. Four towering light pylons pierced the evening sky, casting white beams that could probably be seen from space. The car park was already half full—mostly family cars and vans, with the occasional D&V or ShadeRunner scattered among them.

Maddox pulled into a space near the entrance. The Vireon looked ridiculous next to a rusty Podio One and a Breeze Hatchback that had definitely seen better decades.

"Right then," he said, switching off the engine. "Ready for some proper football?"

They joined the stream of supporters heading toward the turnstiles. The air buzzed with anticipation and the smell of fried onions from burger vans parked outside the ground. Scarves and replica shirts created a sea of red and blue—Cromley’s colors.

"One ticket, please," Maddox said to the woman in the ticket booth. She was probably sixty, with gray hair and the kind of weathered face that had seen every home game for the past dozen years.

"That’ll be forty-eight Terras, love," she said, then did a double-take. "Blimey, is that your motor out there? The blue one that looks like it costs more than my house?"

"Something like that," Maddox said, handing over the cash.

"Well, I never." She printed his tickets with obvious relish. "Haven’t seen anything like that in our car park since... well, never, actually. You famous or something?"

"Just lucky," Maddox said.

Inside the ground, the atmosphere was electric. The stands were filling up fast— families with kids in oversized shirts, groups of lads already three pints deep, elderly couples who’d probably been coming here since the stadium was built.

Their seats were in the main stand, halfway up with a perfect view of the pitch. The grass looked immaculate under the floodlights, painted with perfect white lines and sponsor logos.

"This is brilliant," Sarah said, pulling out her phone to take pictures. "I’ve never been to a proper football match before."

"What?" Jenna looked horrified. "How is that even possible?"

"My dad is more of a rugby fan, probably because he failed a few trials back in his youth." Sarah explained. "Said football was for people with no attention span."

"Your dad clearly never stood on a terrace in the rain for ninety minutes watching eleven men chase a ball around a field," Claire said. "That takes serious commitment."

The teams emerged from the tunnel to a roar that made the air vibrate. Cromley Rovers in their red and blue stripes, Longford United in all white. The noise was incredible—twenty-eight thousand people singing, shouting, cheering as one voice.

"Bloody hell," Maddox whispered. He’d forgotten what this felt like since he transmigrated. Youth football could never compare to this sort of atmosphere.

The pure, raw emotion of a football crowd. The way it grabbed you by the chest and pulled you in whether you wanted to be there or not.

The match kicked off at exactly seven-forty-five. From the first whistle, it was clear this wasn’t going to be a gentle evening’s entertainment as both teams were desperately in need of all three points.

Cromley sat sixth in the Royal Championship League Table with seventy points—two points above Stormgate United. And Longford United were eighth with sixty-four points—four points behind Stormgate United.

A win here would see either team closing the gap or pushing further above their counterparts, gaining a better chance of qualifying for the playoffs.

Both teams went at each other like they were fighting for their lives.

Cromley took the lead in the fifteenth minute. A corner kick followed by a scramble in the 18-yard box, and suddenly the ball was in the net.

The crowd erupted like a volcano. Strangers hugged strangers. Beer flew through the air. Grown men cried actual tears of joy.

"YESSSSSS!" Jenna screamed, jumping up and down like a five-year-old on Christmas morning. "Did you see that? Did you bloody see that?"

Sarah and Claire caught the fever immediately. Within minutes, they were singing songs they didn’t know the words to, clapping along to rhythms they’d never heard before.

Maddox found himself swept up in it too. For the first time all day, he wasn’t thinking about the disaster at Silvergate. He was just... here. Present. Part of something bigger than his own problems.

Longford equalized just before halftime with a thunderbolt from twenty-five yards that left the Cromley keeper standing like a statue. The away end exploded while the home fans groaned in unison.

"Jammy bastards," muttered the man sitting behind them. "Keeper should have had that."

At halftime, they queued for more drinks and overpriced pies that tasted like cardboard but somehow seemed perfect in the context. The crowd buzzed with analysis, predictions, and the kind of passionate debate that only football could inspire.

"What do you think?" Jenna asked, biting into her pie. "Can we get another?"

"Depends if Morrison plays it wide enough," said an elderly man standing nearby. He wore a scarf that looked older than them. "Been watching this team for forty years, and they always try to walk it through the middle when they should be stretching the play."

"Morrison’s class though," Claire said, surprising everyone. "My dad always said he had the best left foot in the lower leagues."

The old man’s face lit up. "Your dad knows his football, love. Morrison’s wasted at this level. Should be playing in the Imperial Crown League."

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