Football System: Touchline God
Chapter 30: Woes Of A Good Samaritan

Chapter 30: Woes Of A Good Samaritan

The disappointment in the stadium was thick enough to taste. Cromley fans sat in stunned silence while Longford supporters sang victory songs that echoed off the concrete walls.

Maddox shifted in his seat. The match was far from over, but the mood around him had changed completely. What started as hope had turned into resignation.

"I need to use the restroom," he said, standing up.

"Don’t miss anything good," Jenna replied, though her voice lacked its earlier excitement.

"At this rate, there won’t be anything good to miss," Sarah muttered.

Maddox made his way down the narrow stadium steps. Other fans were doing the same thing—using the break in tension to stretch their legs or grab another drink. Nobody expected Cromley to mount a comeback now.

The concourse was busy but not packed. People moved slowly, their earlier energy drained by what they’d just witnessed. Conversations were muted. Even the kids seemed subdued.

He found the men’s toilets near the main entrance. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting harsh shadows on the tiled walls. The smell of disinfectant mixed with something less pleasant.

Maddox chose a urinal near the wall and got on with his business. The stadium’s noise was muffled here, reduced to a distant hum that rose and fell with the action on the pitch.

Then he heard something that didn’t quite belong.

A soft moan came from one of the cubicles behind him. It was quiet at first, barely audible over the stadium’s background noise, but its rise and fall tone came at intervals.

Maddox finished up and moved to the sinks. As he washed his hands, the sound came again. Louder this time and more urgent.

’Is someone hurt?’ He mused.

Had to be. Maybe they’d had too much to drink and were being sick. Or worse, maybe they’d had a heart attack or something.

He dried his hands on his jeans and walked toward the cubicles. The moaning was clearer now, coming from the end stall.

"You alright in there?" he called out, knocking gently on the door.

The response he received was unexpectedly immediate and explosive.

"Fuck off!"

The voice was definitely female. High-pitched and breathless.

Maddox stopped dead. This was the men’s toilet. What was a woman doing in here?

Before he could process that thought fully, a man’s voice joined in.

"Piss off, mate! Can’t you see we’re busy?"

The penny dropped with embarrassing clarity. Maddox felt his face burn red. They weren’t hurt. They were... busy. Very busy.

"Sorry," he mumbled to the closed door, though he doubted they heard him over their own noise.

He practically ran from the toilets, pushing through the swing doors like his life depended on it. Other men were heading in as he rushed out, and he wondered if they’d discover the same thing.

"Children nowadays..." He sighed, shaking his head in lament.

The concourse felt cooler after the stuffiness of the toilet block. Maddox tried to shake off his embarrassment as he walked toward the stadium shop. A drink would help clear his head.

The shop was busy with fans buying scarves and programs as souvenirs, despite their team’s poor performance. Hope died hard in football.

Maddox bought a bottle of beer from a tired-looking teenager behind the counter. The boy wore a Cromley shirt that looked several sizes too big for him.

"Rough night," Maddox said, trying to make conversation.

"Tell me about it," the kid replied. "Been supporting them for three years, and this is the worst I’ve seen."

"Could still turn around," Maddox offered, though he didn’t believe it himself.

The boy snorted. "Yeah, right. Morrison couldn’t hit water if he fell out of a boat tonight."

Maddox chuckled internally before paying for his beer and wandered back toward the concourse.

Through the large windows, he could see the stadium’s exterior lit up against the night sky. Cars passed on the road beyond, their headlights cutting through the darkness.

That’s when he saw the figure again.

The familiar figure stood on the balcony area outside the main entrance. She wore the same dark coat he’d noticed earlier, and she was talking on her phone.

Something about her posture, the way she held herself, tugged at his memory. Who was she? Why did she seem so familiar?

Maddox moved closer to the windows, trying to get a better look without being obvious. The woman had her back to him, but her voice carried on the evening air.

He crept toward the exit doors that led to the balcony. They were propped open to let in fresh air, and sound traveled easily through the gap.

"...I think this would be a good time to approach Morrison for a transfer, Dad."

Maddox froze. She was talking about Morrison. The same Morrison who’d just missed a penalty and looked completely lost on the pitch.

"Despite his bad game today, he’s good overall and still young at twenty-one. He’d make a quick impact."

The woman paused, obviously listening to someone on the other end of the call. Maddox stepped closer, trying to hear more without being seen.

"The club’s clearly struggling to stay afloat," she continued. "We’ll need to sell players to balance the books. Morrison would be perfect for us. Fast, skillful, and cheap because of nights like this."

Maddox’s mind raced. She was talking about signing Morrison. But for which club? And why was she here watching him play?

"No, I don’t think his confidence is permanently damaged," the woman said. "Young players bounce back quickly. One bad penalty doesn’t define a career."

There was another pause. The woman shifted her weight, and for a moment, Maddox thought she might turn around. He pressed himself against the wall, trying to stay hidden.

"Alright," she said finally. "I’ll get it done. Give me a week to make the approach. The timing is perfect."

The call ended. The woman lowered her phone and stood quietly for a moment, looking out over the car park.

Maddox held his breath. His heart was beating so loud he was sure she’d hear it.

Then she turned.