THIRTY SEASONS OF ENGLISH FOOTBALL. 1959–1989.
For anyone who misses the football games of the 80s.
Start at the bottom of the Fourth Division in 1959. Climb, or don’t, but everyone you meet remembers which.
A football management game set in the old Fourth Division, played out over thirty real seasons from 1959 to 1989. You pick the side, you take the meetings, and the town keeps its own account of how it went. Made by Pitchwork Studios, a small studio in Cardiff.
Real saves. Nothing staged.
The same game, laid out for the handheld.
Every screen in THE GAFFER has its own handheld layout, made for the Steam Deck’s 1280 × 800 display and for other Windows and Linux handheld PCs. Nothing is cut off, and the text is sized to Valve’s guidance for reading on a handheld. A whole season plays by touch alone. The handheld version comes out alongside Windows, Mac and Linux on 30 October.
Mouse and keyboard. Controller support is coming in a future update.
In the build going to Steam.
Pitchwork Studios, Cardiff. We take real inspiration from the games of the 80s and 90s. Not their limits, their honesty: a game you understood in thirty seconds, with real machinery running under a plain surface. That’s what we build now, with modern tools underneath a deliberately old surface. Every word anyone says in the game comes from our own Internal Intelligence system: dialogue written for the game and chosen by the moment, so we know exactly what the town can say. The simulation decides what happens; Internal Intelligence decides how it is said.
A club that remembers you. Every person keeps a record of what you did and said, for as long as thirty seasons.
Money that ages with you. Wages, fees and prices are priced honestly for whatever year the story has reached. 1959 money is not 1985 money.
A League that moves by the real rules. Ninety-two clubs going up and down on real tables, by the rules of each season: re-election, the Conference, and the first play-offs, which you play yourself.
A career that outlasts the job. Contracts run down, boards lose patience, and bigger clubs come calling. Lose the job and the career goes on somewhere else (a new town, a new pub, a new chairman, people who have never heard of you) and the town you left still remembers you if you ever go back. At the end of 1988–89 the final whistle goes on the lot, with a report on all thirty years.
Players with careers of their own. Every player in the game, yours or anyone’s, gets better by playing and by training, peaks at an age of his own, and fades his own way. The legs go before the touch.
A match played by the men in it. Every man on the ball reads the play and chooses for himself. A corner is a corner because the ball went out off a defender; a free kick is a free kick because a man was brought down on the ball.
Six people who actually run the club. The vice-chairman, the sponsor, a businessman, a councillor, the mayor, the supporters’ chair. Each wants something, and it moves the budget, the gate, and the job.
A matchday of its own year. Thirty seasons of what a ground looked and sounded like: the brass band and its drum, rattles and rosettes at a cup tie, toilet rolls over the goalmouth, the fences, the inflatables, plastic pitches in the 80s and the Saturday sports paper in pink.
The rules of the day, off the pitch too. The three-day week of 1974 and its early kick-offs, bookings that add up to a ban, the visitors’ share of the gate until 1983, the transfer deadline in March, and the ban from Europe in 1985.
A town that talks about what happened. The pub, the training ground, the press and the radio talk about this week (the result, the table, the signing, the weather) in lines written for the game and chosen for the moment.
30 OCTOBER 2026
£9.99 · $9.99 ON STEAM
Windows, Mac and Linux, with the Steam Deck and other handheld PCs alongside them. Wishlisting costs nothing and it genuinely helps a small studio.