A small town with a very long memory.

Eldermoor is the kind of place where everyone knows the score before the final whistle, and the version of the story that gets told at the chip shop matters more than what actually happened.

The club sits at the centre of it. Floodlights over wet grass on a Friday night. Boots in the hallway. Someone's dad shouting from the touchline as if it still counts for something. For the boys who grow up here, football isn't a hobby — it's the shape of the whole year.

And because the town remembers everything, nothing ever quite gets left behind. Not the seasons that went wrong. Not the people who left. Not the summer nobody talks about.