Football Dynasty-Chapter 22: Falling out

Jimmy Frizzell's role was re-titled as manager when the team was relegated to Division Two. Amid a serious financial crisis, Mel Machin was then appointed as the new team manager.

This was different from what people expected. Many thought Tony Book would be promoted after leading the team to victory in the FA Youth Cup. However, the higher-ups still seemed skeptical about his ability to manage the first team, especially given what had happened to City in the early 1980s under his leadership.

Under Mel Machin's leadership, it didn't take long for Steve Redmond, Ian Brightwell, Paul Moulden, and David White to be promoted to the first team—a direct result of the squad overhaul planned by the new manager.

With the club in desperate need of fresh talent and energy following relegation, these young players, who had just proven themselves by lifting the FA Youth Cup, were seen as the future of Manchester City.

Off the pitch, the current chairman, Peter Swales, announced a club-record sponsorship deal with Brother worth over £500,000 for three years.

Following that, City released Graham Baker, Nicky Reid, Tony Grealish, and Nigel Johnson before the summer break. Mick McCarthy was then sold to Celtic for £500,000, while Darren Beckford moved to Port Vale for £17,500.

Their rebuild was real.

BANG!

Richard was furious—absolutely livid.

He could accept being pushed into the background, as his role was merely a meager part-time, volunteer position. He could even swallow the fact that he had to cover his own scouting expenses using his own pocket money.

But what he couldn't accept—what burned inside him—was seeing a player he knew would become a superstar being overlooked, especially by this f**king bunch of no-name scouts!

"Chief, couldn't you do something? We have to bring him back!"

Richard pleaded desperately with the chief scout, Barnes.

Barnes let out a heavy sigh and said helplessly, "Richard, I know you have a knack for spotting talent, but you need to understand..." He paused, carefully weighing his words. "The decision came from higher up. It's out of my hands."

The success of the youth team brought a sense of optimism and pride, leading to a wave of regeneration in the senior squad.

Several players from the youth side were promoted to the first team, seen as the future of the club. However, this also created gaps in the youth ranks that now needed filling.

With spots open, the scouts were thrown into a competitive race, each eager to present the next big talent to the club. It became more than just finding players—it was about proving whose eye for talent was sharper.

As a volunteer scout, Richard had the right to recommend players he believed had potential. The problem, however, was that none of the players he suggested were ever signed!

He even brought this up in a board meeting—an agenda item that wasn't supposed to be discussed there. He still remembered the scene when he stood up and said, "These players will become our future. Let's sign them quickly."

When the board saw the list of players he presented, they were bewildered.

All of them were sixteen-year-old no-names. No, they weren't from affiliated schools or famous local academies either. Now it was Richard's turn to be speechless.

Still, he wanted to fight for it. "Listen, gentlemen. This guy here—the one on this paper—will become the backbone of our club. Trust me," he said seriously.

What did he see back then?

Incredulous, uncertain, and questioning looks.

"You'll regret this, I'm sure," he finally said, his gaze sweeping across all the board members.

Peter Swales, hearing the threat, finally spoke for the first time. It was an ultimatum.

"Mr. Richard Maddox, I'll say this once. If you can't respect the structure of this club—if you keep pushing your personal agenda—you'll no longer have a place here. We make decisions together, not based on the whims of one man."

The words hit Richard like a punch to the gut. Only then did he realize—yes, in the scouting team, he was just a volunteer. In the youth staff, he was merely a part-timer. And in the boardroom, with only a single share, what could he really do? Why hadn't he understood his position sooner?

It was as if they were telling him, 'No matter how impressive it sounds, your role here is insignificant. Can't you understand the reality?'

At that time, the relationship between him and the board had completely fallen below zero. It wasn't hostility—just strained to the point where Richard didn't even bother attending board meetings anymore. Well, they didn't care either.

Back to the present—that's why he sought the help of Chief Scout Barnes. However, he hadn't expected Barnes to reject him as well, not approving a single player!

Richard wasn't angry—just sad. No wonder City couldn't compete with the top clubs in the league later on, let alone rival Manchester United. They were too prideful, blinded by that ridiculous Youth Cup victory.

Did they really think they could repeat that achievement? By building a new squad filled with talents like Redmond, Moulden, and Brightwell?

"Hah, ridiculous," Richard mocked.

Just by winning the FA Youth Cup, they'd already become stubborn, acting like they knew everything about football. They had forgotten that the trophy they'd won was only the FA Youth Cup—not even the real FA Cup. And even if it had been the FA Cup, so what?

By the 2000s, it had become a minor trophy, nothing compared to the Premier League title. The meeting with chief Barnes and the board wrapped up quickly, yielding nothing.

Richard had thought it was simply about recommending players, but he hadn't expected something deeper to change. It was too late—the damage was done.

"Are you sure they said that?" Richard asked the young woman sitting in front of him.

Ashley Hall Meredith—the receptionist who had first welcomed him to Maine Road Stadium—nodded.

She had a good impression of him when they first met, drawn to his handsome appearance and polite demeanor. What started as simple "Good mornings" over coffee turned into light teasing until it gave way to longer conversations.

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It didn't take long before casual lunches became evening dinners, and soon after, something more. Their relationship had grown over time—they'd gone on a few dates, eventually becoming a couple.

"Hmmm, if what you said is true, maybe it's better if you keep your distance from me," Richard muttered.

Ashley's face tightened with worry. "What do you mean? Are you breaking up with me?"

Richard sighed deeply. He didn't want this, but it couldn't be helped. If what she had just told him was true, then she was really in deep trouble.

The power of words was strong—stronger than she could imagine. As someone who had seen how things could unfold, he knew how hoaxes and rumors could ruin careers and drive people to despair.

He didn't want this young girl to go through that. 'Those bastards,' Richard cursed under his breath.

None of this would've happened if it weren't for that bunch of idiot scouts. They realized their chance to shine was being overshadowed by an outsider—someone who hadn't even been at the club for a year—so they started an internal campaign to push him out.

Some mocked him, others pitied him. But the worst part?

He could feel it—the staff slowly pulling away, treating him more and more like an outsider. At least he still had Ashley though.

Without her, he wouldn't even know what was happening behind closed doors. But now that he did, he knew he had to take drastic measures.

"I—"

SPLASH!

Before he could even finish his sentence, Ashley stood up and threw the entire glass of water right at his face.

The whole restaurant went silent for a moment—forks frozen mid-air, conversations cut short. A couple at the next table gasped, while an older man nearly choked on his soup.

Richard, still dripping, blinked in disbelief. He could only helplessly watch as Ashley stood up and stormed out, leaving him alone in the restaurant.

'Is she crying?' he thought anxiously, his chest tightening.

Even though he'd seen things most people in this era couldn't even imagine—wars, revolutions, inventions that would boggle the mind—when it came to relationships between men and women, he was a complete newbie.

A total rookie. I mean, how could a ghost date, right?

It's not like he could've floated into a café back then and whispered, "Hey, darling, mind if I haunt your heart?"

Being alive was hard. But dating?

That was a whole new level of hell. And now, his very first real relationship was going down in flames—well, more like drowning, considering he was still soaked from the surprise splash attack.

Still, there was some relief, though. He glanced at his Motorola DynaTAC 8000M—built like a tank but completely useless for capturing moments like this. No cameras, no smartphones, no viral videos. He was safe!

The only witnesses were the stunned diners. Richard sighed, wiped his face with a napkin, and awkwardly nodded at his neighboring diner before paying for the food and leaving.

Once outside the restaurant, he looked left and right but Ashley was already gone—he had lost her trail. Letting out a final sigh, he decided he would talk to her tomorrow.

He usually heads straight to Islington on weekends to spend quality time with his family. However, today, instead of taking the train to Manchester Piccadilly, he goes directly to Brantingham Road, where he has been renting a flat for the past few months while working at City.

As the door swings open with a soft creak, Richard steps inside.

"I'm back!" he calls out, his voice carrying through the quiet house, signaling his return to whoever is home.

THUD THUD THUD

The sound of hurried footsteps echoes through the hallway. Suddenly, a young boy bursts into view—around 16 or 17 years old.

His light brown hair is slightly tousled, and his athletic frame hints at the footballer he's destined to become.

Alan Shearer.

Young Shearer only wears a simple T-shirt and shorts. Upon seeing Richard, his eyes light up, and he strides toward him eagerly.

"Richard, how is it?" he asks, his voice filled with anticipation.

Making contact with a young talent like Shearer at this early stage was both easy and difficult. On one hand, it was easier because there was growing recognition of the importance of youth development.

Clubs like City were beginning to build more structured scouting networks to track and nurture young players. For example, City's scouting network had information on approximately 50,000 players across the country, allowing them to monitor numerous prospects.

On the other hand, the process was much slower than in modern times, where digital databases provide instant access to player profiles.

Now, everything was done manually—handwritten records, detailed notes, and the occasional video clip for the most promising talents. Scouts had to gather as much information as possible, compiling thorough reports before making any recommendations.

In Shearer's case, his name appeared in the records thanks to Jack Hixon, a scout at Southampton.

When Richard questioned why a Southampton player's details were in Manchester City's system, Ted Davies, his colleague, explained that Shearer had been closely tracked by a scout who was competing to sign him.

Scouting was a community-driven process, heavily reliant on personal connections and word-of-mouth. Traditional methods like phone calls and informal recommendations played a crucial role.

Sometimes, scouts would exchange player data when one club already had a player in a particular position and needed reinforcement elsewhere. Other times, if a player's style suited another team better, a scout might tip off a contact at a different club.

There were also instances where scouts closely followed their rivals, knowing they had an eye for talent. They would track their movements, observe the players they were watching, and often end up competing for the same prospects.

The race for young talent was never straightforward—it was a battle of information, instincts, and persistence.