The rhythmic TICK-TOCK of a large, old-fashioned clock on the wall seems amplified in the stuffy office air. Sunshine streams through the window, highlighting dust motes dancing in the light.
ERIC DEMPSEY stands near the window, looking out at the pitch. He's dressed impeccably in a sharp suit that seems slightly out of place amidst the office's comfortable weariness. He subtly loosens his collar, a bead of sweat tracing a path down his temple despite his composed exterior. He glances at his watch.
The office door opens. MICHELLE ROBERTS enters, holding a file. She offers a professional, polite smile.
MICHELLE
Mr. Dempsey? Mr. Watterson will see you now. He's just finishing a call. Can I get you anything while you wait? Water? Coffee?
ERIC DEMPSEY
(Turning, a quick, assessing glance)
No, thank you. I'm fine. Just admiring the... heritage.
His tone is neutral, but there's a hint of something else beneath it.
Michelle nods, places the file on Bill's desk, and retreats to a smaller desk near the door, beginning to type quietly.
The main office door opens again. BILL WATTERSON enters, ending a call on his mobile. He looks tired but straightens up as he sees Dempsey.
BILL WATTERSON
(Pocketing phone, extending a hand)
Mr. Dempsey. Bill Watterson. Thanks for coming in. Sorry to keep you. Endless bloody agents this time of year.
They shake hands. Dempsey's grip is firm, confident.
ERIC DEMPSEY
Part of the circus, Mr. Watterson. Though I imagine the calls are a little less frantic down here.
Bill raises an eyebrow slightly at the veiled comment but gestures towards the chairs in front of his desk.
BILL WATTERSON
Please, sit. Michelle, you know Mr. Dempsey. Could you perhaps rustle up some tea? It's a bit warm today.
MICHELLE
Of course, Bill. Two teas?
ERIC DEMPSEY
Just water for me, thanks. Trying to stay sharp.
Michelle nods and exits quietly. Bill settles into his chair, studying Dempsey across the desk.
BILL WATTERSON
So. Eric Dempsey. Quite the CV. Italy... Bulgaria... even a stint stateside, I read? Impressive trajectory. From saving clubs on the brink to... well, to sitting here.
ERIC DEMPSEY
Let's cut the preamble, Bill. May I call you Bill? Good. Look, your club finished 17th in the National League last season. You flirted with relegation, again. You haven't meaningfully troubled the Football League pyramid since... well, since before most of the current players were born. Am I wrong?
Bill shifts uncomfortably. He doesn't like hearing it put so bluntly, but he can't deny it.
BILL WATTERSON
We're a well-run community club, Mr. Dempsey. We live within our means. We have loyal fans, a proud history...
ERIC DEMPSEY
(Interrupting, leaning forward slightly)
A proud history of what, Bill? Treading water? Forty-five years bouncing around the same couple of divisions, give or take. The Northern Premier, the Alliance Premier, the Conference, the National League... different names, same postcode. Is that the summit of Altrincham's ambition? To be a permanent fixture in non-league's waiting room?
Michelle returns, placing a glass of water before Dempsey and a mug of tea before Bill. She remains standing near the edge of the desk, implicitly part of the meeting.
BILL WATTERSON
(Taking a slow sip of tea)
That's a rather... harsh assessment. We provide stability. Many clubs would envy our consistency, our lack of boom and bust.
ERIC DEMPSEY
(Scoffs softly)
Consistency? Bill, consistency is winning titles, achieving promotions, building momentum. What you have is stagnation. Inertia. You're consistently... here. It's comfortable, maybe. Safe. But it's a slow death for ambition. You're one bad season, one poor managerial appointment away from sinking without a trace.
MICHELLE
(Quietly, but firmly)
We did win the National League North title a few years back, Mr. Dempsey. Under Phil Parkinson.
ERIC DEMPSEY
(Acknowledging Michelle with a nod)
And commendable too. A necessary step. But where did it lead? Straight back to the familiar comfort zone. A step up, followed by... plateauing. My point stands. You hire another 'safe pair of hands', someone who knows the division, someone who promises 'consolidation'... and where will you be in two years? Fifteenth? Maybe twelfth if you're lucky? Then the cycle repeats. Or worse.
He lets the silence hang for a moment, taking a sip of water.
ERIC DEMPSEY (CONT'D)
You bring in some ex-pro looking for his first gig, or some journeyman happy for any job, and the rot deepens. Before you know it, you're looking at trips to Farsley Celtic again. Or god forbid, back fighting Workington for bragging rights in the Northern Premier. Is that the legacy you want, Bill? After all your years here? Presiding over the gentle, managed decline?
Bill looks genuinely troubled now. Dempsey's words, though brutal, hit a nerve.
BILL WATTERSON
What makes you think you are the answer? You come with... a reputation. Demanding. Volatile, some might say. You fell out with the board at Bari, didn't you? And the Bulgarian press wasn't always kind after you left Plovdiv.
ERIC DEMPSEY
(Smiling thinly)
Success breeds jealousy, Bill. And yes, I demand excellence. I demand resources. I push people – players, staff, chairmen – beyond what they think they're capable of. At Bari, we went from Serie C relegation fodder to challenging for Serie B promotion in two seasons before boardroom politics intervened. At Lokomotiv Plovdiv, they were dead last when I arrived. We stayed up, then qualified for Europe the season after. Results speak for themselves. I don't manage for popularity contests; I manage for trophies and promotions. Is that volatile? Or is it just... winning?
BILL WATTERSON
And why Altrincham? Honestly. With your record, surely there are bigger clubs, clubs already in the League, sniffing around? Oldham Athletic, perhaps? Closer to you geographically now, aren't they?
ERIC DEMPSEY
(Leaning back slightly, a flicker of something personal in his eyes)
Oldham? Maybe. They called. Decent club, bigger history in recent times, bigger budget probably. I could go there, build something, probably beat you comfortably twice a season for the foreseeable future. But... (He pauses) My mum and dad settled here, Bill. After moving from Ireland and Australia respectively. This town... Altrincham... it was home base while I was off chasing footballs around the globe. They stayed. They saw the team play occasionally. Never saw them get anywhere, mind you. Maybe there's a touch of sentiment. Maybe I just hate seeing potential wasted. Maybe I think it would be the ultimate challenge, the one people say is impossible.
MICHELLE
What kind of potential do you see, Mr. Dempsey? Realistically?
ERIC DEMPSEY
(Turning his intense gaze on Michelle, then back to Bill)
Realistically? People laugh at this level. But look at the catchment area. Look at the clubs nearby who've made the leap – Stockport, Salford, even further back, Wigan. It takes vision. It takes investment. It takes balls, frankly. Which brings me to my proposal.
He leans forward again, hands clasped on the desk.
ERIC DEMPSEY (CONT'D)
You hire me. You back me. Not half-heartedly, not with non-league budgets and non-league thinking. You give me the tools – control over recruitment, a competitive budget for this league initially, trust to overhaul the playing style, the training, the mentality from top to bottom. And here's the deal:
He pauses for dramatic effect.
ERIC DEMPSEY (CONT'D)
In five years – five seasons from now – Altrincham Football Club will not just be in the Championship. We will be established in the Championship, genuinely challenging for a Premier League play-off spot.
Bill stares at him, speechless for a moment. Michelle raises her eyebrows significantly. The clock TOCKS loudly in the silence.
BILL WATTERSON
(Finding his voice, incredulous)
The... Championship? Challenging for the Premier League? Eric, we are in the National League! That's three promotions! In five years! It's... it's fantasy!
ERIC DEMPSEY
Is it? Luton Town went from here to the Premier League in nine years. Is five impossible with the right leadership and backing? Difficult? Immensely. Requires near-perfect execution? Absolutely. But impossible? No. Not if the will is there. Not if the ambition shifts from 'survival' to 'domination'.
BILL WATTERSON
The money required... the infrastructure... the fanbase...
ERIC DEMPSEY
Money follows success, Bill. Infrastructure can be built. Fanbases grow when you give them something to believe in, something exciting. Imagine Moss Lane packed, under the lights, playing Derby County. Sheffield Wednesday. Sunderland. Imagine telling your grandkids you were the chairman who took Altrincham not just into the League, but to the brink of the promised land.
He gestures around the office.
ERIC DEMPSEY (CONT'D)
Or you can keep polishing the National League participation trophies. Keep remembering the 'good old days' in the Alliance Premier. Hire someone safe. And watch clubs with less history but more ambition sail right past you. Oldham might even thank you for making my decision easier.
MICHELLE
(To Bill, quietly)
It's... audacious. But the alternative he paints... he's not entirely wrong, Bill. We've been treading water for a long time. Maybe a shock to the system is needed.
Bill looks from Dempsey's unwavering, intense eyes to Michelle's thoughtful expression. He glances at a faded team photo on the wall, men in baggy shorts, black and white determination. He thinks of the fans, the volunteers, the decades of effort.
BILL WATTERSON
(Slowly, rubbing his temples)
Five years... Championship... challenging for the top flight... If you fail? If we're stuck in League One, or worse, back here?
ERIC DEMPSEY
Then you fire me. Simple as that. No pay-off beyond the standard notice. You tell the world Eric Dempsey, the miracle worker, couldn't crack Altrincham. My reputation takes the hit. But I won't fail if you give me the backing we agree upon. That's the guarantee. You back me properly, and I deliver the impossible.
Bill looks out the window at the empty pitch. He imagines it full, roaring, hosting teams he's only ever seen on television. The risk is enormous. The potential reward... transformative. He looks back at Dempsey. The man is radiating a borderline-maniacal level of self-belief. It's terrifying. It's also... intoxicating.
BILL WATTERSON
(Taking a deep breath, the decision forming)
You'd need significant resources. A transfer budget unlike anything we've ever had. Improvements to the training ground... More staff...
ERIC DEMPSEY
(Nodding sharply)
Yes. We'll thrash out the specifics. But the principle first. Are you appointing a manager to keep Altrincham safe, Bill? Or are you appointing a manager to make Altrincham matter?
Another long pause. The clock TOCKS. Bill looks at Michelle, who gives a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. It's enough.
BILL WATTERSON
(Leaning forward, extending his hand across the desk)
Alright, Dempsey. Alright. You paint one hell of a picture. Let's talk specifics. But God help you if this is just hot air. Because you're right, I don't want my legacy to be 'managed decline'.
Eric Dempsey breaks into a rare, genuine smile. It transforms his face. He grips Bill's hand firmly.
ERIC DEMPSEY
Hot air doesn't win promotions, Bill. Hard work, smart decisions, and relentless ambition do. Get ready for the ride. Altrincham's waiting room days are over.
Okay, let's continue the script, moving from the agreement in the office to the public unveiling.
(SCENE START)
INT. BILL WATTERSON'S OFFICE - DAY (CONTINUOUS)
The handshake lingers for a moment longer than necessary, a silent acknowledgment of the magnitude of the agreement. Bill withdraws his hand, running it through his already slightly ruffled hair.
BILL WATTERSON
Right. Okay. So... the tools. What exactly are we talking about here, Eric? Beyond just... ambition? Because ambition doesn't pay wages or sign players.
ERIC DEMPSEY
(Settling back into his chair, now fully in his element)
Precisely. First, mentality. Everything changes. No more 'plucky Alty'. No more 'good effort against the big boys'. We aim to be the big boys. Every player, every staff member, from the tea lady to the kit man, needs to buy into the belief that we are on a trajectory to the top. Complacency is banned. Fear is banned. Accepting mediocrity is grounds for dismissal – metaphorically speaking, for now.
He glances at Michelle, who watches intently, a thoughtful expression on her face.
ERIC DEMPSEY (CONT'D)
Second, recruitment. We rip up the old playbook. Forget just scouring the Northern Premier League for cast-offs or relying on favours for loan deals from League Two clubs. We need a proper scouting network. We need data analytics – yes, even at this level. We look abroad. My contacts in Italy, Scandinavia, even South America... there are hungry, technically gifted players who cost less than an average League One journeyman but have triple the potential upside. We find rough diamonds and polish them into assets.
BILL WATTERSON
Abroad? Data analytics? Eric, our scouting budget currently stretches to petrol money for Dave down the road to watch Bootle on a Tuesday night.
ERIC DEMPSEY
(Waving a dismissive hand)
That changes. That has to change. That's part of the backing I need. A budget that reflects the goal, not the current reality. Think investment, Bill, not expenditure. Every pound spent smartly now pays back tenfold in player value and league position later.
MICHELLE
It makes sense, Bill. If the aim is truly that high, the methods have to change drastically. Relying on the same old recruitment pools will only yield the same old results. It's high risk, but the potential reward aligns with the five-year target. Doing things the 'Altrincham way' hasn't exactly set the world alight for forty years.
Eric gives Michelle an approving nod.
ERIC DEMPSEY
Third, playing style. Forget hoof-ball, forget grinding out 1-0 wins by parking the bus. We play high-intensity, pressing football. We dominate possession. We are brave on the ball. It requires supreme fitness, tactical discipline, and technical quality. It might take time, we might lose games early on while they adapt, but it's the style that wins consistently at higher levels. We start embedding it now.
BILL WATTERSON
Our pitch isn't exactly the Emirates... And the fans are used to... well, something different.
ERIC DEMPSEY
We improve the pitch. We train harder. And the fans? They'll love it when we're winning 3-0 playing football they didn't think was possible at Moss Lane. Trust me. Give people quality, give them excitement, give them hope, and they will come.
BILL WATTERSON
(Sighs, looking genuinely weary but also resolute)
Okay. Okay. I'll need to speak to the board, obviously. They'll think I've lost my mind. Promising the Championship... funding international scouting... They'll need convincing. Serious convincing.
ERIC DEMPSEY
Then convince them. Tell them they can be part of history, or they can oversee the slide into irrelevance. Tell them Eric Dempsey doesn't do failure when he's properly backed. Tell them in five years, they won't be worrying about gate receipts from Gateshead, they'll be discussing TV revenue deals in the Championship. Your job, Bill, is to get me the tools. My job is to build the bloody rocket ship.
Bill looks at Michelle again. She meets his gaze and gives another small, decisive nod.
BILL WATTERSON
Alright, Eric. I'll back you. I'll fight for the resources. I'll take the heat. But this is it. This is everything riding on you.
ERIC DEMPSEY
(Standing up, radiating confidence)
That's all I ask. Now, when do we tell the world? The sooner we start shaking things up, the better.
MICHELLE
(Checking a diary)
We could arrange a press conference for early today? Give us time to get the contracts finalised and brief the board properly.
ERIC DEMPSEY
Perfect. Let the circus begin.