Michael stood in his office, staring at a whiteboard that was currently blank except for the word HELP written in red marker.
Arthur Milton was sitting on the floor, sorting a bag of jelly babies by color. "Boss," Arthur said, holding up a green one. "If we hire a new coach, do I have to share my snacks? Because that's a dealbreaker."
"Arthur," Michael sighed, rubbing his temples. "We are trying to find an Attacking Coach. Someone who has scored 500 goals. Someone who understands the soul of a striker. I don't think they'll be interested in your gummy bears."
"You never know," Arthur muttered. "Sugar is a universal language."
Kenji Sato was pacing the room, holding a gold-plated iPhone. He looked furious.
"Zidane hung up on me!" Kenji shouted. "In French! It sounded very elegant, but I am sure he told me to go fuck myself!"
"Zidane isn't coming to Barnsley to be an assistant, Kenji," Michael said. "He's won three Champions Leagues. He's not going to put out cones for Jax."
