#fm26

26th April 2032 - One More Step

The final day of the regular season should have felt like a celebration.

Instead it felt like a nervous breakdown stretched across ninety minutes.

Farnborough travelled to Poole knowing they had already secured a play-off place and, barring complete chaos elsewhere, would almost certainly finish inside the top three. The atmosphere beforehand was relaxed among supporters, with hundreds making the trip more interested in celebrating the season than worrying about permutations.

Players looked loose during the warm-up.

Tim Rowan absolutely did not.

For the first time in months, there was visible tension around him before kick-off. Staff later admitted Rowan had barely slept in the week leading into the game, spending ridiculous hours rewatching footage and tweaking tactical ideas despite already massively overachieving.

He had started the season talking cautiously about stabilisation.

Now he was one result away from the Football League.

And it had clearly got into his head.

The match itself was awful for Farnborough almost immediately.

A sloppy Kane Taylor turnover gifted Poole the opener and from there the home side looked sharper, calmer and far more emotionally free. Farnborough’s pressing lacked intensity, the midfield looked stretched and defensively they kept making mistakes they hadn’t made for months.

By half time they were 3–0 down.

The travelling supporters never really turned on the players.

If anything the mood was strangely accepting.

Supporters sang throughout the game anyway, almost treating it like a weird end-of-season party after the insanity of the previous months. Every time Farnborough attacked there was still noise behind the goal. Every Josh King sprint got applauded. Every tackle from Holzman still got cheers.

When King pulled one back midway through the second half, the away end celebrated like it actually mattered.

But Poole quickly killed the game again and the final whistle eventually confirmed a heavy 4–1 defeat.

Under normal circumstances it would have felt humiliating.

Instead, moments after the whistle, the travelling support began loudly chanting:

“Timothy Rowan’s barmy army.”

Then:

“We are going up.”

And finally:

“Super Tim Rowan.”

Players applauded the fans for ages while Rowan stood slightly behind them near the centre circle, hands in his pockets, looking emotionally exhausted more than disappointed.

Because despite the defeat, Farnborough had finished third in the National League.

Third.

Their highest finish ever.

Straight through to the play-off semi-finals.

The club that had nearly been relegated twelve months earlier now stood two matches away from League Two.

The scenes back in Farnborough that evening were surreal. Pubs stayed packed long into the night. Car horns blasted through the town centre. Videos circulated online of supporters climbing onto benches singing about Wembley and the Football League.

But inside the club itself, things suddenly became much more serious.

Rowan reportedly became obsessed almost overnight.

Staff noticed the shift immediately.

Training sessions became hyper-detailed. Tactical meetings ran for hours. Players joked that Rowan had started looking at opposition clips more than he looked at actual human beings.

Darron Wilkinson later admitted:

“I don’t think Tim enjoyed the week after Poole at all.”

The pressure had changed.

Earlier in the season every victory had felt free — a bonus during an already unbelievable campaign.

Now there was expectation.

Not necessarily from supporters, who still largely saw the season as a miracle already.

But from Rowan himself.

That was the difference.

He had publicly declared that Farnborough feared nobody.

He had openly spoken about establishing the club in the EFL.

And now he stood on the edge of actually delivering it.

The players could see it too.

Rowan still smoked the pipe constantly around training, still barked instructions with the same manic energy, still joked with players occasionally. But there was an edge underneath everything now.

A nervous intensity.

The play-off semi-final awaited.

Against either Chester or Chelmsford.

April 2032 - Touchline Wars

The victory away at Macclesfield felt so enormous that, for a few days afterwards, Farnborough supporters started allowing themselves to dream properly.

Automatic promotion.

Football League away days.

Sky Sports cameras turning up at the Saunders Transport Community Stadium every week.

Even Tim Rowan — usually reluctant to fully engage with promotion talk publicly — admitted after the match that the squad had “earned the right to think big.”

Then came Morpeth away.

And the momentum slammed straight into a wall.

The match itself was dreadful.

Cold wind, horrible pitch, scrappy football from the opening whistle. Farnborough dominated territory but never really looked comfortable. Every attack seemed to break down at the final moment, with crosses either overhit or cleared desperately away.

Josh King cut an increasingly frustrated figure up front while Pilley repeatedly tried forcing things individually.

Rowan spent most of the second half pacing furiously along the touchline smoking his pipe almost non-stop, visibly irritated by the lack of intensity from his side.

The 0–0 draw felt disappointing more than disastrous.

But it tightened the promotion race again.

And suddenly the pressure returned.

That pressure boiled over completely a few days later at Stevenage.

The atmosphere before kick-off was nasty from the beginning. Stevenage supporters had spent most of the week mocking Rowan online, particularly after clips of his “we fear nobody” comments resurfaced following the Morpeth draw.

The home crowd targeted him immediately.

Every misplaced pass.

Every missed chance.

Every time Farnborough conceded possession.

The abuse came constantly from the touchline.

Normally Rowan either ignored it or laughed it off.

Not this night.

After Stevenage took the lead midway through the first half, cameras caught Rowan turning directly toward supporters behind the dugout and sarcastically applauding them after one fan shouted:

“Pipe’s gone out now, Tim!”

Things escalated from there.

By the second half he was openly arguing with people in the front rows. Pointing back toward the pitch. Shouting across stewards. At one stage Darron Wilkinson physically pulled him back toward the technical area after another exchange near the dugout.

The image of Rowan standing underneath the floodlights snarling back at Stevenage fans with smoke drifting from the pipe hanging out of his mouth instantly became one of the defining photographs of the season.

The game itself was horrible for Farnborough.

Stevenage looked sharper, calmer and more emotionally controlled throughout. Farnborough’s equaliser briefly gave hope but defensive mistakes late on handed the home side a 2–1 victory.

After full time Rowan barely acknowledged anybody.

He walked straight down the tunnel looking furious while players apologised to the travelling support.

For a couple of days the mood around the club suddenly became nervous again.

Had the pressure finally caught up with them?

Was the emotional intensity beginning to boil over at exactly the wrong moment?

The answer came quickly.

Against Barrow at home, Farnborough looked much more like themselves again.

Aggressive.

Direct.

Front-footed.

The atmosphere inside the stadium was outstanding from the first whistle, supporters fully aware the season was entering its defining stretch. Kane Taylor completely controlled midfield while Nathan Brouder delivered one of his tidiest performances of the campaign.

When Farnborough scored the winner in the second half, the noise inside the ground was deafening.

This time Rowan’s celebrations were calmer.

Exhausted more than emotional.

He simply turned toward the main stand, raised a fist once and then immediately started shouting instructions again as if there were still an hour left to play.

The 2–1 win settled everyone.

And by the time the final week of the regular season arrived, the mood around Farnborough had become overwhelmingly positive again.

Whatever happened next, this season had already become one of the greatest in the club’s history.

A year earlier they had stumbled through spring terrified of relegation.

Now they were entering the final match of the season fighting near the top of the National League table playing fearless football under a manager who had somehow become:

adored by supporters,

hated by opposition fans,

and impossible for the rest of the league to ignore.

The town buzzed with anticipation.

Pubs around Farnborough were packed discussing permutations and play-off possibilities.

Kids wore fake toy pipes to matches.

3rd April 2032 - Macclesfield Away

By the beginning of April 2032, Farnborough supporters had stopped nervously checking the relegation places and started obsessively calculating promotion permutations instead.

Every pub conversation in town seemed to revolve around:

automatic promotion,

play-off positioning,

or whether Tim Rowan’s side could actually go all the way.

And waiting for them at the start of the month was the biggest league match the club had played in years.

Macclesfield away.

First versus third.

Friday night.

A stadium packed out well before kick-off.

Macclesfield had been the division’s benchmark all season. Organised, technical, relentless in possession. They had already secured their play-off place and sat five points clear at the top entering April. Most neutrals expected them to formally stamp their authority on the title race against Farnborough.

The away support travelling north were excited but terrified.

Even inside the club there was a feeling this would finally reveal where Farnborough truly stood. They had beaten good teams. They had scored goals against everyone. But Macclesfield were different.

Professional.

Controlled.

Cold-blooded.

Before kick-off Rowan appeared unusually composed. He stepped off the team coach wearing a long charcoal coat over a dark suit, pipe already in hand despite stadium officials repeatedly trying to stop him smoking near the tunnel area.

Players later said the dressing room beforehand was strangely calm.

No screaming.

No theatrics.

Just Rowan standing in front of the tactics board quietly saying:

“If we can hurt them, we can hurt anyone.”

Macclesfield started exactly as expected.

Sharp passing.

High possession.

Aggressive pressing.

Farnborough could barely touch the ball during the opening ten minutes and when Jalil Conteh smashed home from distance after only eight minutes, the stadium erupted.

For a moment it felt like reality arriving all at once.

Macclesfield supporters sang:

“Back down south you go.”

And Farnborough suddenly looked stretched everywhere.

Nathan Brouder was being overrun in midfield. Leon Elliott could barely get out of his own half. Josh King was isolated entirely.

But the biggest difference between this Farnborough side and the teams Rowan had managed in previous years was mentality.

They did not panic anymore.

Even while under pressure, they continued trying to play aggressively forward whenever opportunities appeared. Long vertical passes into channels. Direct runs behind the defence. Fast switches toward Pilley and Sharpe.

Slowly, the game became chaotic.

Which suited Farnborough perfectly.

The equaliser early in the second half changed everything.

A quick turnover in midfield saw Kane Taylor drive forward before slipping the ball into Jaiden Celestine-Charles, who drilled low across goal into the far corner.

Suddenly Macclesfield looked nervous for the first time all evening.

And suddenly Farnborough believed.

The away end exploded into life behind the goal while Rowan punched the air once before immediately screaming at the team to reset shape.

What followed became one of the defining performances of the season.

Celestine-Charles was unplayable.

His second goal came from sheer instinct — reacting fastest inside the six-yard box to head home after Leon Pilley’s dangerous delivery. From there the game became stretched beyond control as Macclesfield desperately tried forcing themselves back level.

That played directly into Rowan’s system.

Farnborough counterattacked viciously.

Every clearance turned into another sprint forward.

Every turnover became dangerous.

And in the 81st minute came the moment everyone remembered.

Celestine-Charles picked the ball up inside his own half and drove directly through the centre of the pitch. One defender backed off. Then another. The away support rose with every touch before he rifled a low strike beyond the goalkeeper into the corner.

Hat-trick.

3–1.

Pandemonium.

The away end completely lost its mind.

Players piled onto Celestine-Charles near the corner flag while Rowan turned away from the pitch laughing almost in disbelief, hands on top of his head as smoke drifted from the pipe still hanging from his mouth.

Even Macclesfield supporters applauded the third goal.

It was that good.

The final whistle felt enormous.

Not just because Farnborough had beaten the league leaders away from home.

But because they had done it playing fearless football.

At full time Rowan walked onto the pitch embracing players individually while the travelling supporters sang his name for nearly fifteen straight minutes.

The table suddenly looked unbelievable.

Farnborough were genuinely in the automatic promotion race.

March 2032 - "We Fear Nobody"

March 2032 became the month everything changed around Farnborough Football Club.

Not mathematically.

Not officially.

But emotionally.

Psychologically.

For the first time, people genuinely started talking about promotion to the Football League as something that might actually happen.

At the beginning of the month, Tim Rowan walked into a press conference before the away trip to Scunthorpe wearing a dark overcoat, black turtleneck and carrying the now-famous tobacco pipe that had somehow become part of his image.

When asked whether the club’s objective remained simply survival and consolidation, Rowan shrugged.

“We fear nobody. The mentality in this squad is excellent. The goal now is the play-offs. And if we get there, we’ll try to establish this football club in the EFL for the first time in its history.”

It was one of the boldest things he had ever said publicly.

Some supporters loved it immediately.

Others thought he had completely lost the plot.

A few local journalists openly questioned whether Rowan was creating unnecessary pressure for a squad still only a year removed from nearly being relegated.

Then the games started.

And suddenly the confidence didn’t sound arrogant anymore.

The month opened with an absurd 3–3 draw away at Scunthorpe in one of the most entertaining matches Farnborough had ever been involved in. Rowan’s side attacked relentlessly from the opening whistle, refusing to sit off despite Scunthorpe being direct promotion rivals.

Josh King scored early before Scunthorpe hit back immediately. Leon Pilley tormented defenders constantly down the left and Nathan Brouder completely controlled long stretches of midfield possession despite the game’s chaos around him.

By the final twenty minutes both teams looked exhausted, yet neither stopped attacking.

At 3–2 down late on, Farnborough could easily have settled for defeat.

Instead Rowan screamed at the team to keep pushing forward.

The equaliser arrived in stoppage time.

The away end exploded.

And as players celebrated in front of the supporters, television cameras caught Rowan simply standing near the technical area with his hands in his pockets, pipe smoke drifting into the cold Lincolnshire air while Darron Wilkinson celebrated wildly beside him.

That image ended up everywhere online.

Three days later Harrogate came to Farnborough and got absolutely steamrolled.

The 4–1 win was one of the clearest demonstrations yet that Rowan’s rebuilt tactical system genuinely worked. Fast vertical passes. Early crosses. Constant runs beyond the defence. The front four rotating aggressively while Kane Taylor and Brouder controlled transitions behind them.

Leon Elliott was outstanding at right back, repeatedly bombing forward and delivering dangerous crosses, while Edward Sharpe produced one of his best creative performances of the season.

The atmosphere inside the Saunders Transport Community Stadium felt completely different now.

Supporters were starting to believe.

Not hope.

Believe.

The away trip to Dover the following week was uglier but maybe even more important. Cold conditions, horrible pitch, aggressive tackles everywhere. The sort of game Farnborough teams from previous seasons would probably have lost.

Instead they ground out a nasty 1–0 victory.

Louie Holzman afterwards described it as:

“One of the most satisfying wins we’ve had.”

Then came Northampton.

And complete insanity.

The 3–3 draw at home somehow managed to be even more chaotic than the Scunthorpe game. Farnborough flew into an early lead, lost control entirely, then somehow rescued the match late on in front of a bouncing home crowd.

At one point Rowan was booked after furiously kicking a water bottle halfway down the touchline after a defensive mistake.

At another point he was laughing hysterically after Josh King nearly scored an outrageous volley from forty yards.

Nobody watching really knew whether Farnborough were brilliant or mentally unstable.

Possibly both.

The defining moment of the month came on Good Friday away at Yeovil.

Farnborough won 5–3.

And the score somehow still didn’t fully explain how ridiculous the game was.

Yeovil repeatedly punished Farnborough defensively, but Rowan simply refused to compromise. Even after conceding, his team continued launching bodies forward relentlessly.

Pilley and Celestine-Charles were electric on the counterattack while Brouder delivered one of the performances of his career in midfield.

When Farnborough scored the fifth, the away supporters spent the remaining minutes chanting:

“Football League, we are coming.”

Rowan tried to play it down afterward but even he was smiling during interviews.

The final match of March brought another huge result as Farnborough beat Bury 3–1 at home under the lights.

By now the Saunders Transport Community Stadium genuinely felt intimidating. The supporters had completely bought into Rowan’s chaos-heavy, ultra-direct football and every attack seemed to lift the noise level higher.

At full time players applauded the crowd while Rowan stood near the tunnel speaking quietly with staff, visibly trying not to get carried away.

But internally even he knew this had become something extraordinary.

Farnborough ended March sitting third in the National League.

Third.

Just twelve months earlier they had barely survived.

End of February 2032

The momentum from the brilliant start to February didn’t completely disappear, but the month stopped feeling quite so euphoric.

The trip to Chester had felt like a statement. Farnborough looked aggressive, confident and fearless, sitting right in the middle of the promotion race while the rest of the division slowly realised Tim Rowan’s strange direct system was not a gimmick anymore.

Then St Albans City came to town.

And absolutely battered them.

The 4–0 defeat was one of the most alarming results of the season. Farnborough looked completely exposed from the opening minutes, repeatedly caught trying to force vertical passes through pressure while St Albans broke forward ruthlessly every time possession turned over.

By half time the Saunders Transport Community Stadium had gone unusually quiet.

The goals themselves were ugly. Deflections. Defensive mistakes. Counter attacks where Farnborough’s shape completely disappeared. Leon Elliott and Okonola both endured horrible afternoons and Marley Tavaziva looked furious by the end, screaming at defenders after nearly every chance conceded.

On the touchline Rowan spent most of the game pacing furiously inside his technical area with the pipe jammed between his teeth, occasionally throwing his arms out in disbelief as attacks broke down.

For the first time in months, supporters briefly felt that horrible old panic from the previous season creeping back in.

Maybe the form had been a false dawn.

Maybe the system was still too chaotic.

Maybe the squad still wasn’t quite good enough.

The reaction over the next week ended up being one of the most important moments of the season.

Training reportedly became brutal after the St Albans defeat. Sessions were longer, more physical and far more confrontational. Rowan apparently stopped multiple drills to scream at players for losing second balls or refusing risky forward passes.

But underneath the anger there was clarity.

The players still believed in what they were doing.

And importantly, Rowan didn’t abandon the tactical overhaul just because of one humiliation.

That stubbornness paid off immediately.

A few days later Farnborough travelled to AFC Fylde and produced one of their grittiest performances under Rowan. It was nowhere near as entertaining as the Torquay game and nowhere near as dominant as the Chester win, but it showed another side to the team.

They dug in.

The midfield battled constantly, Kane Taylor covering enormous ground while Nathan Brouder slowed the game down whenever Fylde tried building momentum. Josh King chased everything up front and Louie Holzman produced one of his best defensive displays of the season.

The 1–0 win felt massive psychologically.

Not glamorous.

Not dramatic.

Just mature.

By the time February ended with a goalless draw against Hartlepool, Farnborough had stabilised themselves again. The football wasn’t always pretty, but they were still firmly inside the play-off picture.

And that alone felt remarkable.

Only a year earlier they had stumbled through spring terrified of relegation, unable to buy a win and mentally collapsing under pressure.

Now, despite the occasional disasterclass, they were entering March sitting fifth in the National League with supporters genuinely discussing promotion possibilities in pubs and online forums.

Early February 2032 - Birthday Blowout

February 2032 began with absolute chaos down in Devon.

Plainmoor hosted one of the strangest, most entertaining matches of Farnborough’s season as Leon Pilley suddenly transformed into the most dangerous player on the pitch. The young winger — who earlier in the campaign had gone more than sixteen hours without scoring — absolutely exploded against Torquay.

Four goals.

Away from home.

Under the lights.

And every single one seemed to increase the madness around the away end.

The opening stages were frantic. Farnborough’s new direct system immediately caused problems, with Josh King and Jaiden Celestine-Charles stretching Torquay constantly while Nathan Brouder sprayed aggressive passes forward from midfield.

Pilley opened the scoring after just eight minutes, reacting quickest to a loose ball in the box and drilling low into the corner. Torquay equalised almost immediately and for a few minutes the game threatened to become another one of those stupidly open Farnborough matches Rowan hated.

Instead, they just attacked even harder.

Pilley’s second came from a brutal fast move down the right, Leon Elliott flying forward before delivering an early cross that Pilley powered in with a header. His third early in the second half basically killed the game, and by the time he smashed home his fourth the travelling supporters were chanting his name nonstop.

Rowan barely celebrated any of the goals outwardly.

Instead he spent most of the night with his pipe clenched between his teeth, furiously directing players around like an orchestra conductor having a nervous breakdown.

But when Pilley completed the fourth, even Tim cracked.

He turned toward the away fans laughing, fists clenched, smoke trailing out around him into the freezing air.

The 4–2 win pushed Farnborough firmly into the play-off conversation.

And suddenly people around the league were beginning to take them seriously again.

The following week brought another strong performance against Chelmsford. Tight game. Ugly at times. Exactly the sort of fixture Farnborough had thrown away the previous season.

Instead they won 1–0.

The players looked fitter now. Sharper mentally. More aggressive without losing shape. Kane Taylor had settled brilliantly into midfield and Abdulhalim Okonola was becoming quietly important defensively, giving Farnborough far more authority in aerial battles.

By mid-February, Rowan’s side genuinely looked like one of the form teams in the division.

Then came Tim’s birthday.

And unfortunately for everyone involved, Tim Rowan celebrated like Tim Rowan.

On the evening before the away trip to Chester, photos started appearing online of Rowan in town alongside several members of his coaching staff. The manager looked absolutely steaming drunk, wearing a long dark coat over an unbuttoned shirt while holding a pint and laughing with a huge group that reportedly included “various local women,” according to one fan account.

Another blurry photo showed him standing outside a kebab shop at nearly 2am with his pipe in one hand and an arm around assistant manager Darron Wilkinson while appearing to passionately explain pressing triggers to a completely uninterested taxi driver.

Supporters loved it.

Rival fans absolutely rinsed him for it.

There were genuine questions the next morning about whether Farnborough would even turn up properly for the Chester game.

Instead, they delivered one of their best performances of the season.

Away from home against one of the division’s strongest teams, Farnborough played with total confidence. The front four pressed relentlessly, Brouder controlled possession superbly and Marley Tavaziva made several massive saves late on.

Josh King bullied Chester’s centre backs all afternoon and Edward Sharpe was outstanding creatively, constantly drifting into pockets and dragging defenders around.

When Farnborough scored the winner late on, the away end completely erupted.

On the touchline Rowan looked exhausted, pale and slightly hungover, but also absolutely delighted.

At full time cameras caught him hugging staff members while grinning uncontrollably, before eventually walking over toward the travelling support to applaud them.

One supporter could clearly be heard shouting:

“Get him another drink!”

Which even made some of the players laugh.

The 2–1 win lifted Farnborough into fourth place.

And suddenly the mood around the club had transformed completely.

A year earlier, the club had been collapsing toward relegation.

Now they were charging toward the National League play-offs playing chaotic, fearless football under a manager who seemed equally capable of:

tactical genius,

emotional collapse,

or ending up drunk outside a takeaway at two in the morning.

January 2032 - Back in the Fight

January 2032 started exactly how Timothy Rowan would have wanted:

Hard. Fast. Aggressive.

No nonsense.

After the entertaining chaos of December, Farnborough suddenly looked sharper again — like a side that had spent the Christmas break properly resetting both mentally and tactically. Training reportedly became extremely intense during the first week back, with Rowan drilling transitions relentlessly and repeatedly stopping sessions to scream about defensive positioning.

Players joked that he had “gone back into mad scientist mode.”

The opening away draw against Accrington was a proper battle.

Cold afternoon. Horrible pitch. Constant fouls.

The sort of game Farnborough used to completely lose control of emotionally.

Instead, Rowan’s side handled it brilliantly. Kane Taylor already looked like an important addition in midfield, bringing a level of composure and physicality Farnborough had sometimes lacked during rough patches earlier in the season. Nathan Brouder alongside him gave the team balance, while Leon Elliott’s pace at right-back continued making the entire defensive structure more secure.

The 1–1 draw felt important because Farnborough never looked rattled.

Rowan barely even exploded on the touchline.

That alone was newsworthy.

Then came Sutton United.

And suddenly everything clicked again.

The 3–0 win was one of Farnborough’s best performances of the entire season. The football was direct without being sloppy, aggressive without becoming chaotic. Josh King battered defenders physically, Edward Sharpe drifted intelligently between the lines and Leon Pilley looked full of confidence again after his breakthrough month in December.

By the second half the home crowd were genuinely enjoying themselves.

Every fast transition brought noise.

Every tackle brought cheers.

At one point Rowan turned toward the stand after another flowing attack broke down and simply grinned while puffing smoke from his pipe into the freezing air.

Supporters absolutely adored him by now.

The away trip to Hereford somehow became even crazier.

A 4–2 victory that perfectly summed up Rowan’s Farnborough: thrilling going forward, slightly terrifying at the back, but impossible to ignore.

Farnborough attacked constantly. Even after taking the lead they refused to sit back, continuing to throw numbers forward whenever possession turned over. Rowan spent most of the game pacing aggressively near the halfway line barking instructions while Hereford’s coaching staff looked increasingly exhausted trying to reorganise defensively.

After the fourth goal, travelling supporters chanted:

“Smoke the league away!”

Which visibly made Rowan laugh.

The final game of the month against Boreham Wood was very different.

Tight. Tense. Controlled.

And perhaps that made it the most impressive result of all.

A narrow 1–0 win under the lights kept Farnborough firmly in the play-off places and showed another side to the team. They defended maturely, slowed the tempo when needed and managed the game professionally in the closing stages — something Rowan’s teams historically struggled with badly.

When the final whistle blew, the stadium atmosphere felt genuinely significant.

Not euphoric.

Not shocked.

Believing.

A few days later, Timothy Rowan was named National League Manager of the Month for January.

Inside the club, Rowan himself reportedly treated it pretty casually. Staff said he gave a short awkward “cheers lads” when the players applauded him before training and then immediately moved on to talking about pressing triggers against upcoming opponents.

That was very Tim.

But outside the club, supporters absolutely loved it.

For Farnborough fans, it felt massive.

Not because of the trophy itself, but because of what it represented.

A few years earlier the club had been drifting around non-league football with tiny crowds, little expectation and no real identity. Now they had a manager recognised across the division for building one of the most entertaining and tactically distinctive sides in the league.

Social media went mental for it.

Photos of Rowan smoking his pipe on the touchline were reposted everywhere alongside the award graphic. Fans joked he looked less like a football manager and more like a war general.

One supporter banner at the next home game simply read:

“OUR GAFFER.”

And honestly, that summed it up perfectly.

By the end of January, Farnborough sat 5th in the National League.

The tactical overhaul had clearly worked.