Chapter 62: Team Building 101

Arthur was mid-thought, staring at his laptop screen with the smug satisfaction of a man who'd just discovered his club wasn't broke, when there came a hurried knock at his office door. Before he could answer, Allen burst in, looking like he'd just sprinted a marathon. His shirt was slightly wrinkled, his tie askew, and there was a thin layer of sweat glistening on his forehead. Clutched in his hands was a stack of papers that looked like they'd been stapled together in a hurry. "Boss!" Allen wheezed, stumbling over to the desk. He slapped the stack of papers down with the enthusiasm of someone who'd just uncovered buried treasure. "This is this month's financial statement. We're finally on track! Proper revenue, proper figures... I think we might actually be functioning like a football club now!" Arthur raised an eyebrow, glancing up at Allen, who was still catching his breath like he'd just outrun a pack of wild dogs. "You ran here, didn't you?" Arthur asked, motioning for him to sit down before he collapsed. Allen just nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "Didn't want you to wait too long," he panted, sinking into the chair. Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. The man looked like he'd just completed a triathlon for the sake of a few bits of paper. "Alright, let's have a look then," Arthur said, picking up the financial report and flipping through the pages. He already had a good idea of the numbers—he'd seen the system's balance sheet earlier—but still, he took his time. It was only fair. Allen had clearly busted a lung getting this to him, and the pages were meticulously organized. Arthur figured the least he could do was pretend to read every line. After a couple of minutes, Arthur closed the report, setting it back down on the desk. He looked at Allen, who seemed to have finally caught his breath, and leaned back in his chair. "So... Allen," Arthur began, his tone casual, "do you want to be the general manager?" The effect was instantaneous. Allen, who had just taken a sip of his coffee, proceeded to spray it all over Arthur's desk like a malfunctioning sprinkler system. The poor guy's eyes went wide with shock as he choked, coughed, and then desperately grabbed his sleeve to wipe down the mess. "S-Sorry, boss! Bloody hell..." he spluttered, dabbing at the coffee-stained papers with a mix of panic and embarrassment. Arthur just leaned back, thoroughly enjoying the chaos. "You good?" he asked, grinning. Allen finally managed to clean up the bulk of the coffee disaster and flopped back in his chair, still breathing heavily. He looked at Arthur like he'd just suggested selling Elland Road for a Tesco. "Boss... are you retiring?" he asked, voice hushed like he'd just discovered some dark secret. Arthur's grin only widened. "Retiring? Retiring my ass!" he laughed, shaking his head. "What gave you that idea, you big-headed fool?" Allen shrugged sheepishly. "I dunno... we're finally making money... and then you come out with this big offer... I just thought—" "Thought what?" Arthur interrupted, still chuckling. "That I'd sell the club, buy a beach house, and sit around drinking piña coladas all day? Nah, mate. You've been here... what? Three years now?" Allen blinked, pausing to think. "Uh... yeah. Over three years. Worked with the old boss for two, then you for the last year." Arthur nodded, his grin softening a bit. "Yeah... more than a year now," he repeated, almost like he was talking to himself. He glanced around the room—his office, cluttered but cozy, with matchday programs stacked up on one shelf and a whiteboard full of scribbled tactics on the other. It felt like home. Chaotic, slightly messy, but home. "Feels like yesterday," Arthur muttered, leaning back in his chair. "When I first got here, you were still running around making sure the fax machine worked." "Hey, that fax machine was a nightmare," Allen shot back, folding his arms. "I swear it was built in the Stone Age. Had to kick it twice just to get it to spit out team sheets." Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. "And look at you now," he said with a grin. "Nearly drowning my desk in coffee, but at least you're running around for more important things." Arthur leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers idly on the desk as he watched Allen shuffle nervously in the chair across from him. The conversation they'd just had played back in his mind. Allen, nearly choking on his own coffee, looking like he'd been hit by a bus when Arthur suggested he take on the role of general manager. But Arthur knew it was the right call. Back during the club's darkest days, when Leeds United was barely keeping the lights on, staff had left faster than fans at the final whistle of a 4–0 loss. Coaches, office staff, even the groundskeepers had packed up and moved on. But not Allen. He stuck around, manning the fort with a loyalty that Arthur never forgot. He didn't jump ship; he stayed in that cold, creaking office, fixing jammed fax machines and fighting off creditors like it was his own personal mission. And when Arthur took over, Allen had been right there with him, pushing through the worst of it, never once complaining. It was loyalty like that you couldn't buy. Now, with the club on the up, Arthur figured it was time to reward that loyalty. "Right," Arthur began, leaning forward, his elbows on the desk. "You've been here long enough to know this club inside out. You practically know where the skeletons are buried. I want you to be the general manager of Leeds United." Allen blinked, staring back at Arthur as if he'd just suggested he become the next Pope. "Me?" he stammered. "General manager? Are... are you serious, boss?" Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like I'm joking?" He spread his hands. "Look, I'm running around juggling ownership, coaching, press conferences, and whatever else this job throws at me. I need someone I can trust handling the day-to-day stuff. You've been here since the beginning. You know the ropes. And besides," Arthur added with a grin, "I'll double your salary and bonuses. You can finally stop living off Tesco meal deals." Allen's eyes widened. "Double... double the salary?" He was practically vibrating in his seat. "Of course I want to! Who in their right mind wouldn't want that? Heck, I'd be mad not to!" Arthur laughed, shaking his head. "You're right about that. And listen, with the promotion, you can start handling the small stuff yourself. No more running up here just because we need more printer ink or the Wi-Fi's acting up. Sort it out, make the call, get it done. I trust you." Allen's face was flushed with excitement. He looked like he was trying to keep himself from actually jumping out of his chair. "Thank you, boss!" he said, almost shouting. "I won't let you down. I swear!" Arthur waved his hand dismissively. "I know you won't. But let's not get carried away. First things first, why don't you grab me a coffee? I'm pretty sure I've still got about fifty emails to go through, and if I don't have caffeine, I might start responding with death threats." Allen practically leapt out of his seat. "Right away!" he chirped, nearly tripping over his own feet as he made his way out the door. Arthur watched him go, shaking his head with a chuckle. "General Manager Allen," Arthur mused, leaning back in his chair. "Hope the promotion doesn't go to his head. I don't need him bossing me around about the fax machine next." He laughed to himself, then turned back to the pile of papers on his desk. He knew this was the right call. Allen deserved it, and frankly, Arthur needed the extra pair of hands if Leeds United were going to keep growing. He picked up a pen, scribbled down a note on the top of the pile, and looked back at the door where Allen had just bolted out like he'd won the lottery. "Now," Arthur muttered to himself, cracking his knuckles. "Let's see if he can survive his first day without setting something on fire." *** Allen returned with the coffee, carefully placing the mug on Arthur's desk like he was handling nitroglycerin. "There you go, boss. Freshly brewed and still hot," he said, sliding into the chair across from him, looking a little less like he'd sprinted a marathon this time. Arthur took a sip, nodded in approval, and leaned back in his chair. "Alright, Allen. Let's talk business," he began, cracking his knuckles. "First things first, we need to expand the team." Allen blinked. "The squad? I mean, I know we're a bit thin in midfield, but—" "Not the squad, you muppet. The staff," Arthur interrupted, shaking his head. "Last year, we ran this place like a glorified Sunday league club. People left, and instead of replacing them, we just... didn't. You remember when Blackwell resigned? I didn't even bother hiring anyone new. I just promoted the youth team coach and hoped he wouldn't accidentally burn the training ground down." Allen chuckled nervously. "I did wonder about that. Thought it was some sort of master plan." Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Master plan? No, it was me being cheap. But hey, it worked out. We saved a pile of cash, I got to play head coach, and somehow, this club is still in one piece. But things are different now. We've got some money, and it's time to spend it." Allen's eyes lit up, and he leaned forward like a kid hearing about a new toy. "Alright, what's the plan, then?" "First order of business," Arthur said, leaning back and stretching his arms over his head, "we're expanding the scouting team. Right now, we're basically running with a couple of blokes who only know how to find talent if it's in a 50-mile radius of Yorkshire. That's not gonna cut it." Allen nodded eagerly. "I've been saying for months we need more scouts. I mean, I've only got one guy who even knows where Scandinavia is." Arthur smirked. "Well, that's changing. I want scouts stationed everywhere. Europe, of course, but also Africa, Asia, and America. Permanent spots. No more once-a-year visits where they watch one game, grab a pint, and come back. I want boots on the ground, constantly looking for talent." Allen raised his eyebrows. "That's a lot of travel costs..." Arthur waved his hand dismissively. "We're not sending them first class, Allen. They're not going on holiday. They're going to find us the next big thing. Listen, I've got... let's call it a good instinct for talent," he said, tapping his temple with a grin. "They find me the raw info—age, position, basic stats—and I'll know right away if they're worth it." "Just like that?" Allen asked, skeptical. "Just like that," Arthur replied confidently. "Think of it as... a hunch. But a really good one. If we do this right, we'll get our hands on players before anyone else even knows who they are. By the time the big clubs come sniffing around, we'll already have them locked up and in Leeds shirts." Allen scratched his head. "I gotta admit, it sounds ambitious. But... it might actually work. So, where do we start?" Arthur grinned. "Get me the list of our current scouts, what regions they cover, and then draft up a proposal for expansion. We're going global, Allen. By this time next year, I want us scouting in every corner of the planet. If there's a kid kicking a ball in the middle of nowhere with a bit of talent, I want Leeds United to know his name." Allen nodded, his face practically glowing with excitement. "Right away, boss! I'll get the details sorted. Should I make a budget estimate too?" Arthur laughed. "Yes, but keep it realistic. I don't want to see anything that involves private jets or champagne. We're not a rich club... yet." Arthur leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming thoughtfully on the wooden desk. "Right," he said, snapping his fingers. "Next on the list: the data analysis team. We need to get that sorted, and fast." Allen, still scribbling notes like a caffeine-fueled intern on his first day, looked up with a raised eyebrow. "Rebuild the analysis team? Weren't they disbanded ages ago?" Arthur nodded. "Yeah, budget cuts and all that. But it's different now. Data analytics are massive. You've seen it—sports are practically run on spreadsheets these days. Even bloody esports have analysts now! If some kid playing video games can have a data team, I reckon Leeds United should too." Allen snorted. "Good point. So, you want me to bring in a few stat nerds, yeah?" "Not just any stat nerds," Arthur corrected, leaning forward. "We need the best. I want our analysts tracking everything—pass accuracy, sprint speeds, bloody shoelace tightness if it helps us win. I want to know if Berbatov drinks too much coffee before training or if Deisler ties his boots one loop too tight on away games. If it's data, I want it." Allen chuckled, scribbling away. "Got it. Full squad of stat nerds. Anything else?" Arthur grinned. "Oh, plenty. Physiotherapists. Right now, we've got one team doctor and one physio. That's it. You'd think we were running a pub league team, not a Premier League club. I swear if someone sprains their ankle, the only thing we've got on hand is a bag of frozen peas and some aspirin." Allen laughed. "You want me to bulk up the medical team too?" "Absolutely," Arthur replied. "I'm talking state-of-the-art recovery. Ice baths, cryotherapy, maybe even one of those fancy machines that just beep for no reason but look really important. We need to stop treating injuries like we're back in the '70s. No more 'walk it off' nonsense. I want our players wrapped in bubble wrap if that's what it takes." "I'll add it to the list," Allen said, flipping the page of his notebook. "What else?" Arthur paused for a moment, rubbing his chin. "Scouting. Right now, we've got some bloke with binoculars checking out Sunday league games. I want proper scouts. Europe, Asia, Africa, the Americas—the whole lot. There's talent out there, and I want to know about it before anyone else." "Worldwide, then?" Allen raised his eyebrow. "That's a lot of scouts." "Exactly," Arthur said with a grin. "You think I want to be the last one to know when the next big thing pops up in, I don't know, Brazil or Ghana? The moment someone nutmegs three guys in a row on a dirt pitch in Lagos, I want it on my desk with full stats. Got it?" Allen scribbled furiously, nodding. "Scouts everywhere. Got it." As Allen stood up, notebook now packed with scribbles, he turned back to Arthur. "Right, I think I've got everything. I'll get the ball rolling." Arthur held up a finger. "One more thing." Allen stopped in his tracks, turning back with a questioning look. Arthur smirked. "You're general manager now, right? Remember to hire me an assistant." Allen's face lit up with a grin. "Oh, don't you worry, boss. I've been waiting for this day. You've been stuck with us sweaty blokes for too long. I'm getting you someone who actually brightens the place up. Mark my words, she'll be so sharp and efficient, you might even start coming to work on time." Arthur rolled his eyes, chuckling. "Get out of here before I change my mind." Allen just laughed, waving his notebook in the air. "Consider it done, boss. You'll have the finest assistant Elland Road's ever seen!" He walked out, still grinning like he'd just won the lottery. Arthur leaned back, stretching his legs out and letting out a satisfied sigh. "Not bad," he muttered to himself. "Maybe this whole 'running a football club' thing isn't so mad after all."