For anyone who has seen Ricky Gervais’ self-indulgent and satirical review of the decade, they will know that pinpointing the most significant event of the noughties is a difficult thing to do. Whilst Gervais mockingly suggests that The Office represents the turning point of the past 10 years, taking precedence over the war on terror, Barack Obama’s election as President, or the revolutionary steps made in the field of technology – it’s difficult to remember a time before the iPod – the turning point of my decade, the moment that can be pointed to as one which came to dominate my teenage years, was the moment my brother purchased Championship Manager 2000/01.
That blue disc, the beautiful disc for the beautiful game and the opportunity to prove my managerial potential on the grandest stage of all. Well, sort of. Since 1992, Sports Interactive have been producing the drug known as Championship Manager. In 2004, a split with publishers Eidos Interactive led to a loss of naming rights, though. As the two went their separate ways, Sports Interactive rebranded their product Football Manager, taking a flock of loyal followers and their huge database of players and stats with them. Under a new alias, ‘Champo’ lived on, and so could we after a potentially fatal blow to the very existence of the game.
THE LEGEND OF TSIGALKO…seven flashing text boxes later
To those who have never delved into the depths of the life-consuming, energy-sapping game, which is capable of turning even the most gregarious person into a social recluse, it appears incredibly mundane. Although FM has developed optional 2D and 3D formats, the old CM series was merely a set of flashing boxes and still images to the untrained eye. I looked upon the unconverted with pity, unaware that they did so to me. I felt the anger rise within me when told that it was just a game, much in the same way as when grown men grow anxious and petty when they are told that football is in reality ‘just a game’. I viewed this as the first stepping-stone to managerial stardom. It was a stage upon which I could gain invaluable experience handling troublesome players who missed training, such as Nicolas Anelka or Djalminha, whilst also bringing hidden gems to the club such as Maxim Tsigalko, To Madeira or Tonton Zola Mokouko. To the average football fan, these names will mean nothing, but to the Champo addict, they are your bread and butter. Some gamers have indeed taken it to the next level, submitting applications to professional football clubs, citing past gaming glories.
If ever you are in search of a diet plan, try purchasing Football Manager. Lunch descends into an irrelevant and time-consuming distraction time that could be better spent trying to get Rushden and Diamonds into the Champions League. As the real-life years of my childhood went by, ‘Champo’ years flew by.
When I met a friend at primary school as willing to devote his weekends and summer holidays to playing the game as me, I knew we were about to embark upon something truly special together. What ensued was an orgy of tactical tinkering, Scandinavian scouting and flashing boxes. The laptop we shared became the proverbial safety blanket as we transferred out youth and exuberance for misery and frustration interspersed with brief moments of joy.
Creators Oliver and Paul Collyer never anticipated such success, claiming the motivation for the game’s inception was that “We lived in the middle of fucking nowhere and there was bugger all else to do apart from shag sheep.”
It may sound far-fetched or even the kind of thing that only a teenage boy would get sucked into, but it is worth bearing in mind that professional footballers themselves have admitted to playing, whilst Championship Manager has been officially cited in 35 divorce cases.
As the on-screen points and playing hours accumulated, so too did dust and missed phone calls. I didn’t care, who needs friends when you have a 3-1-3-1-2 formation in sync. Dirty washing would have been a problem too had I been getting out of bed, but as people often find when they are ill or just incredibly lazy, clothes are an unnecessary luxury. As a spawn of both the ill and lazy, I was prone to spending whole days glued to the game. Only three days after the release of Football Manager 2010, I went to see some friends. As I walked in the lounge, I felt a spark of nostalgia as I was welcomed with a nod and a grunt by four friends who failed to lift their weary heads.
That day I was offered a free copy of the game. I declined for the sake of my degree and already faltering social life’s sake. I am currently clean, but Christmas is coming.
Add Your Thoughts