Get the FREE Mirror Football newsletter by email with the day's key headlines and transfer news Sign up Thank you for subscribing We have more newsletters Show me See our privacy notice Invalid Email

A deathly presence stalks European football's gilded corridors of power.

It has been there for years, slipping silently between shadows, speaking only in whispers.

The press cameras, all greedy clicks and flash bulbs, never manage to capture it. Many who have worked in the game for years have never even laid eyes on it.

According to rumour – and, this being football governance, rumour is pretty much all we have to go on – that it has enemies and bears grudges. It grunts and brays like the stuff of horror films.

The name of this mythical beast? The Coefficient.

The monster certainly appears to have taken a dislike to English clubs in recent years, engendering a culture of fear that goes to the very heart of this nation's dizzy relationship with mainland Europe.

You may have heard the latest: two of our teams of brave warriors lost on Tuesday , making it five defeats in six continental ties this season. This, needless to say, is catnip for The Coefficient, whose arcane hunger for destruction grows with every passing moment.

Eventually, the beast will destroy everything you and your family hold dear. We know this for a fact, for we have procured important (and certainly not made-up) documents from the FA's in-house futurologist, detailing the future fate of our reams in Europe.

It doesn't make comfortable reading:

2017/18: A nation on its knees

Years of hilarious ineptitude from Arsenal and Manchester City have taken their toll. The Premier League loses its precious fourth Champions League spot to a resurgent Italy.

Tottenham, buoyed by the return of prodigal son Emmanuel Adebayor in a player/director of football role, finally manage to claw themselves above their north London rivals to finish fourth, only to discover the reward they had hoped for is no longer on offer.

Spurs manager Mauricio Pochettino sighs. The Coefficient smirks.

2020/21: The winter of discontent

Manchester United finally put the explosive final six months of Louis van Gaal's reign behind them (even if Marcos Rojo remains in a coma), getting their act together enough to claim third place. It is a glorious moment for the Red Devils, who can once again dream of losing away to Cluj.

Unfortunately, Arsenal's decision to withdraw from the 2019/2020 Champions League for humanitarian reasons means England gets to send two teams across the Channel.

Ed Woodward, Manchester United's newly-appointed Lord Chief Sultan, sighs. The Coefficient cackles maniacally.

2030/31: Darkness falls

So it comes to this. The halcyon, Gazprom-scented salad days are well and truly over.

English football, cosseted for years by the oil barons and talked up 24 hours a day by Jim White's dead-eyed, mechanically reanimated corpse, has eaten itself. Teams routinely play with ten men to ensure sponsorship logos at the side of the field don't get obscured so often.

This proves to be a hinderance in Europe, where the Apple-Google-Facebook Premier League's sole representative, London Zeppelins, are outplayed by BATE Borisov in the super-preliminary-realistically-you're-not-going-to-qualify play-off round.

And with that, the fraying tightrope linking England to the continent snaps. The long night falls on this green and pleasant land.

England – the nation who INVENTED FOOTBALL, you utter bastards – sighs. The Coefficient yawns.

2037/38: A new hope

They said it was impossible – that it couldn't be done. They were wrong. Plucky Truro City, rich in the wake of the discovery of neo-gold in the cloaked hinterlands of Cornwall, qualify for the Champions League at the first attempt.

It comes at a cost, admittedly. The years of doom have been hard on English football, meaning the FA has taken the extraordinary decision of renouncing Europe altogether and pitching in with the newly-formed Oceania-Antarctica-Mars Confedaration. So it's the Oceania-Antarctica-Mars Champions League. Probably should have specified before. Sorry.

The road ahead is a long one: Truro are not seeded, so face a gruelling journey to Dronning Maud Land, where it's so cold, away goals count treble. If they win that one, they'll be only four games – and two 260-day space shuttle rides – from the group stage.

Still... history! And hope! The Coefficient shifts uncomfortably in its chaise longue .

2050/51: Endgame

The continent of Europe lies in tatters, bloodied by decades of austerity and the Twitter Wars of the 2040s. Football exists only in the minds of those whose lives have been artificially extended against their will by Lord High Overseer Edvard Woodvard XII.

The rebels, against all odds, organise one last tournament: a Champions League on the decks of the Titanic. In the spirit of goodwill, England are invited to take part, with a reborn Arsenal getting the nod.

The campaign starts in promising fashion but ends in disappointment in the new year, the Gunners bowing out with a galling defeat away to Sporting Lisbon.

"It leaves us in a bad position but we are still in it," says a holographic approximation of Arsene Wenger, incorrectly, as civilisation as we know it crumbles.

The Coefficient settles down for a nap. His work here is done.