Peak ratings. Every player carries an editorial rating (70–99) for that club and that era specifically — Ronaldo at 2000s Madrid is not Ronaldo at 2010s Juventus. Compiled by our football desk. Complaints by post only; they will be framed, not read.

Six attributes. Each rating is split into PAC (speed and acceleration), SHO (finishing and goal threat), PAS (range and accuracy of distribution), DRI (control and beating a man), DEF (tackling, marking, reading the game) and PHY (strength and stamina) — modelled from position, archetype and the player himself, so two 91-rated midfielders are never the same midfielder. The desk also adjusts for era: the modern game is quicker; the old game was craftier.

Wages. In the Wage Bill, every man asks the going rate in today's money — scaled from his rating, with a personal tweak at the negotiating table. These are not historical payrolls: the 1950s maximum wage was £20 a week, and printing it next to a modern contract would make the cap a joke. The desk indexes every era to the same market; the cheque book complains either way.

Archetypes & fit. Every man is a type — poacher, winger, target man; playmaker, destroyer, box-to-box; ball-player, stopper, full-back — and is posted to the slot in your formation that suits him. A destroyer anchoring the pivot gains a touch; a winger shoved into a central berth loses one. Out-of-position men are noted on the team sheet.

Team strength. Attack blends shooting, dribbling, passing and pace, led by the front line (55%). Defence blends defending, physical and recovery pace, led by the back line (46%) and the keeper (32%). Add chemistry — clubmates link up across the eras, +0.4 a pair to a cap of +2.2: the club's way of playing outlives any one side, so Maldini knows where a 2000s Kaká will be — and subtract an imbalance charge for gloriously lopsided sides. Big-game temperament only shows itself against elite (89+) opposition, and it follows the rating: the bigger the name, the bigger the night.

Home & away. A physical squad makes its own ground a fortress (up to +0.8 of margin). Away days are priced per opponent: Anfield, the San Paolo and Parkhead in the dark are not the Etihad on a Tuesday.

Styles. Nineteen opponents, four ways to hurt you: pressing sides test your passing and strength under it; counter-attacking sides test your back line's pace; possession sides test your defensive solidity; deep blocks test your creativity. Weaknesses cost up to 0.7 of margin a night.

The table. The other nineteen play each other too — all 380 fixtures are played and a full final table is published, so a bad season has an exact address. The golden boot race against the league's best is tracked matchday by matchday on the results wire.

The events. Every match is played out goal by goal: scorers follow shooting, assists follow passing, bookings follow temperament (destroyers collect them; five yellows is a one-match ban, a red is two), and one man of the match is named per game. Players pick up knocks (one to three games) and an absent star costs you real strength — there is no bench. The keeper is indestructible; we only have one of him. Match-by-match ratings build each man's season average.

Europe. Four knockout rounds, seeded so the final is the hardest night of your year. No draws — level ties go to extra time and penalties, weighted by the gap but never safe. Every European night costs sharpness in the league run-in: the double is meant to hurt.

Honours. The golden boot must beat the league's best scorer (21–29 goals, varies by season). Team-of-the-year places demand a 7.50 average. Scoring nine goals and demanding a medal is a Tuesday at some clubs; not at this newspaper.