This story is based on a Football Manager 2012 Handheld save (the iOS Handheld) - it is the first on FM-Base to be based on FMH! Please give constructive criticism, even if it seems picky, but make sure it is constructive! I will try and update this often, and it does help that the save is very portable (so I can go on it in any time I have spare, not just when I'm on the computer)! This story is not based on a real story, but completely fake, all the characters (apart from the board and players) are all fake. Please like this post, or leave a comment, if you like what I have written, to help motivate me to go on further! I hope to update this regularly, so please subscribe if you want updates on this story! Thanks for taking the time to read this, and enjoy the story!
Prologue: The Glory Days
Thursday 17th August 2006
The sun was shining on a beautiful summer's day in Devon, with the distinct smell of freshly mowed lawn floating around in the warm and gentle breeze. The salty tang of fish and chips could also be smelt, the smell drifted from the nearby burger stand. Children's voices could be heard, as they chattered away whilst hanging around in the street, and so could the roar of cars' engines. It really was the typical August day, a day perfect for lazing around on the beach, or having a barbecue.
The pitch was immaculate, there was not a trace of mud, nor a darker coloured patch of grass visible anywhere. The deafening whirring of the lawn mower, which had not been turned off, drowned out all other noises and made anyone nearby cover their eyes. Finally, the pitch caretaker had returned, and he finally switched the motor off. He then proceeded to inspect every inch of the pitch, to ensure there were no weeds, no potholes and no places where it was a little too watery. He saw that it was perfect, and went inside to hydrate himself, having been dehydrated by such a fierce sun.
Three hours later, the fans poured in, wearing an assortment of coloured clothes. There was the famous dark green of Plymouth Argyle and the red and white stripes of Exeter City. There seemed to be a massive queue for refreshments, with supporters of both sides pushing and shoving to get to the front of the queue and get their food before the big game kicked off. Slowly, the queue died down and the fans settled down into their seats, early anticipating the big game.
Fans clashed, so did players: after all, this was a fierce local derby in which a loss couldn't bear thinking about. This was not just about the three points, no, much, much more than that: it was for pride, tradition and for their cities. Friends were enemies, if only for a day, and there was intense hatred from one side to the other as blood boiled. That was what derbies were about, after all! The cheering before kick off was unbelievable, it was like a wall of sound, knocking anyone who dared to listen to it down and daring someone to silence them. It was almost a shouting contest, to see which set of fans could cheer the loudest, but the real deal would be settled on the pitch.
For the twenty two men on the field, this was one of the most important games of their lives, the big one. The one everyone was talking about, the one everybody was thinking about, and now it had come. It all relied on them to deliver, to deliver a performance worthy of their club, of their fans, of their city. It had to be a fight to the death, a typical derby scrap, with grit, determination and adrenaline. Finally, the game kicked off, to enormous roars from the crowd. The game had started, the game to see if the glory days would continue for Plymouth...