ERIC DEMPSEY, in his late 30s but with an intensity far older than his years, sits hunched over a tray of untouched food. His eyes are locked on the small TV bolted high in the corner, tuned to Sky Sports News. A long scroll of fixtures rolls down the screen. His mouth twitches with every name. His coffee's cold, but the fire inside him is burning.
TV PRESENTER (V.O.)
Sheffield Wednesday beaten at home again, Southampton climb the table. Meanwhile, over in League One...
Eric rubs his chin thoughtfully, murmuring the names of the clubs.
ERIC
"Portsmouth… Derby… Stockport… bloody Wrexham. They all used to be nobodies. Look at 'em now... climbing. Fighting. Believing."
He leans back, folding his arms. A nostalgic glimmer in his eye. Then a small, unimpressed cough brings him back to Earth.
DEBBIE ANDERSON (O.S.)
I hope you're not auditioning for Gillette Soccer Saturday, Eric. I thought I was here for an interview, not a monologue.
Eric turns, slightly embarrassed, but with a crooked smile. DEBBIE ANDERSON stands confidently by the table. Late 20s, platinum blonde with sharp blue eyes, dressed in a smart-casual blazer and jeans. A notepad in hand. Her presence is magnetic.
ERIC
(Smiling)
Debbie Anderson, right? Sorry – lost in thought. Fixtures do that to me.
DEBBIE
(Sitting down)
Tell me about it. I used to copy them all into a scrapbook as a kid. Mum thought I was mental. Dad said I was prepping for war.
ERIC
(Laughs)
You from up here?
DEBBIE
Slough. Born and raised. You could say football was compulsory in our house. You either got obsessed or left the dinner table hungry.
Eric raises an eyebrow, impressed.
ERIC
So, you didn't just fall into the game. You chose it?
DEBBIE
(Shrugs)
It chose me. I was arguing offside decisions with my nan before I could spell "midfielder."
(Tapping her pen)
But passion hasn't exactly opened many doors. I've had to kick a few down.
ERIC
Good. We need door-kickers.
He leans in, lowering his voice.
ERIC
I'll be straight with you, Debbie. This job — it isn't tea and biscuits. I'm not looking for a PR puppet who parrots my quotes back to me.
DEBBIE
(Quickly)
Good. Because I'm not a cheerleader. And I've disagreed with a lot of your second-half shape at Bologna, by the way.
ERIC
(Surprised, but intrigued)
Oh really?
DEBBIE
Your 3-5-2 went flat after the 60th. No vertical runs. Wide men hugging the touchline with no rotation inside. Bologna were predictable. You nearly blew European qualification.
Eric stares at her. Most people don't speak to him like that. A pause. Then — he grins.
ERIC
Thank God. Someone with a brain.
DEBBIE
I've got brains, data, and a spreadsheet that would make your analyst cry.
(Sits back)
But seriously — what are you looking for in this role? What makes me more than just another clever fan?
ERIC
I want someone who tells me when I'm wrong. Who can dig deeper than gut instinct. Football's emotional — yes — but emotion doesn't win you the midfield battle at Eastleigh in February.
DEBBIE
(Smiling)
Been there. Mud up to the knees, 40mph wind, and a left-back who thinks he's Cafu.
ERIC
(Laughing)
Exactly. I need a thinker. Someone who sees beyond the obvious. I want analysis with teeth. And loyalty, yes — but not blind loyalty.
DEBBIE
Well, I'm not blind, and I'm not quiet. But I am loyal when it's earned.
A pause. They both nod slightly, as if an unspoken agreement has been made.
ERIC
Look around this place. Modest. Some might say small-time. But I've taken clubs like this — in worse states — and I've lit fires. Real fires.
DEBBIE
You want to light one here?
ERIC
I want to burn the whole league pyramid down.
(Sits back)
And I want people beside me who don't flinch at smoke.
Debbie leans forward, dead serious.
DEBBIE
Then I'll bring the matchsticks.
Beat. Eric chuckles again, shaking his head in admiration.
ERIC
Alright. Tell you what — we'll do this. You come in tomorrow, meet the staff. I want you on data, match prep, and opposition reports for the next fortnight. Sink or swim. Sound fair?
DEBBIE
(Smiling confidently)
Fair. But you better warn your lads — I take no prisoners when it comes to sloppy pressing stats.
ERIC
Good. They'll thank you when they're fitter, sharper, and two divisions higher.
DEBBIE
And when they're on Match of the Day, they can say it started here — in a cafeteria with a cold coffee and a southern blonde telling the gaffer he got Bologna all wrong.
ERIC
(Laughs)
God, I've missed this.
INT. ALTRINCHAM FC CAFETERIA – CONTINUOUS
The room is quiet now except for the low hum of the TV and distant footsteps outside. Eric sips his cold coffee, eyes still on Debbie as she organizes her notepad.
ERIC
You know, Debbie… it's rare I meet someone who actually wants to argue football with me instead of nodding along.
DEBBIE
(Smirking)
That's because most people don't want to lose their job.
(Lowers voice)
Or admit they don't have all the answers.
ERIC
Exactly. I'm tired of "yes men." They're a poison in the dressing room and the boardroom.
DEBBIE
So, this isn't about just being another cog in the machine?
ERIC
No. It's about building the machine. A damn fine one.
Debbie looks down, flipping a page of her notes.
DEBBIE
I have ideas. Systems I've studied. I want to get into player development and tactical innovation. But it's hard to break in without being one of the boys.
ERIC
(Sincere)
I'm not "one of the boys." I don't want "one of the girls" either. I want the right people. The ones who bring their brains and heart.
DEBBIE
(Smiles softly)
I like that. Feels like football's been a bit too macho about who gets to have a say.
ERIC
Tell me about it. I've been around enough dressing rooms to know that most decisions get made by ego and fear, not logic.
DEBBIE
That's where I come in — to shine the light on the numbers, the patterns. To give the players and coaches something solid to hold on to.
ERIC
(Smiles)
You speak my language.
They share a brief look of mutual respect and understanding.
ERIC
Alright, Debbie — before I forget. I want honesty. Brutal honesty. If I'm off track, you call me out. No sugar-coating.
DEBBIE
Deal. I'll be your conscience — even if it means you hate me for a week.
Eric chuckles.
ERIC
Better to hate me for a week than let the team drown.
Debbie packs away her notepad and stands.
DEBBIE
So, what's the next step?
ERIC
You shadow the training tomorrow. Watch the drills, the patterns, the players. Start your analysis. Then we meet again — strategize how to take this team up.
DEBBIE
I'll be ready. And Eric? Thanks for giving me this shot.
ERIC
No, thank you. Football's lucky to have someone like you.
They shake hands firmly — a new partnership forged.
DEBBIE
(Grinning)
Now, if you don't mind… you might want to stop staring at those fixtures like they're your last meal.
ERIC
(Laughs)
You're right. Let's get to work.
Debbie heads out. Eric watches her leave, the spark of ambition reignited.
ERIC (muttering to himself)
This could be the start of something special.