What inspired you to write It’s Always Sunny in Wrexham?

Lockdown and a lifetime of devotion, basically.

I’ve supported Wrexham for almost 50 years, so while my desire to write it was piqued by the takeover and long days spent in lockdown during the pandemic, it’s always been there. I’ve always wanted to be a writer, I put American Studies on my UCCA form because I liked the idea of being a writer and spending a year in the US, but I put law as my second choice and somehow got the grades.

So the writing itch never went away. When the takeover happened — when two Hollywood stars actually bought our little Welsh football club
reality became more unbelievable than anything I could have invented.

The concept of a man who wakes up in 2030 from a coma without any memory of his life beforehand was based on an idea
I’d been previously kicking around, and it became the engine for a flurry of weird and wonderful ideas. The pandemic gave me the inspiration,
and Wrexham gave me the story.

The title suggests optimism even through adversity. What does “always sunny” mean in the context of Wrexham?

Well, it’s a double meaning, obviously. It’s a nod to Rob McElhenney’s TV show It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia because what’s happened to our club is essentially a sitcom that nobody would have believed if you’d pitched it.

But it’s also deeply ironic, because anyone who’s stood on the Kop in February will tell you it is almost never sunny in Wrexham.

The original title was actually “It’s Almost Always Never Sunny This Side of Wrexham” which is probably more meteorologically accurate. But the optimism is real, underneath the irony. Even during the darkest years, there was always this stubborn belief that things would get better.

The beauty of it is that no-one knows what’s around the corner, but we can all dream the underdog just might have its day.
That’s what “always sunny” means. It’s the triumph of irrational hope over lived experience.
Which is, when you think about it, the entire basis of being a football supporter.

How did you approach telling Wrexham’s story?
Did you see yourself as a historian, a fan, a storyteller?

None of the above, really. Or all of them at once.

This isn’t a textbook about life, or football, or even Wrexham AFC. There are plenty of publications out there which tell such stories much better than I ever could. What I wanted to write was something that captured the feeling of being a Wrexham fan — the absurdity, the passion, the delusion, the hope — and wrap it in a story so ridiculous that it somehow told the truth better than a straight memoir ever could.

So I wrote a satirical novel set in 2030 where the protagonist wakes from a coma, Wrexham is a global superpower,
Hugh Jackman owns Chester FC, Gordon Ramsay is running the Turf Restaurant, Donald Trump is a ‘head in a jar’ after a series of assassination attempts,
Joe Wicks Prime Minister, the Monarchy crumbled, and of course, there’s an alien invasion. But woven through all of it are real memories, real emotions,
real references that proper Wrexham fans will recognise — the Kop, the cup runs, the players who graced the Racecourse.

I’m a storyteller who happens to be a fan.
Or a fan who happens to be a storyteller. I’m still not sure which.

The club’s recent rise has been well documented globally. What do people outside North Wales often misunderstand about Wrexham?

That it started with Ryan and Rob. That’s the biggest misunderstanding.

People see the documentary, they see the celebrities, and they think Wrexham AFC was invented in 2020.
This club was founded in 1864. It’s the oldest club in Wales and the third oldest professional club in the world. We beat Porto in Europe.
We beat Arsenal in the FA Cup. We had 87 consecutive years in the Football League before we went down.

The other thing people miss is the pain that came before the Hollywood chapter. The administration, the asset-stripping, the years of decline. Without understanding that, you can’t understand why this means so much to people. Rob and Ryan didn’t create the love for this club.

The love was always there. What they did was give it a platform and, crucially, the investment and ambition to match it.
But the soul of Wrexham AFC was built by generations of ordinary people in North Wales, not by Hollywood.

How has the ownership of Ryan Reynolds and Rob McElhenney changed the narrative and what has stayed the same?

Everything has changed and nothing has changed, which I know sounds like a solicitor’s answer.

The arrival of Rob and Ryan changed everything, it’s given the town of Wrexham as well as the wider region a real boost, and the club is now known all over the world. The investment, the ambition, the documentary, the global profile — it’s transformed the club’s possibilities.

We’ve had three consecutive promotions. We’re in the Championship. The stadium is being redeveloped.
There are Hollywood stars in the directors’ box. It’s extraordinary.

But what hasn’t changed is the core of it. The Kop still sings. The old boys still gather in the Turf before kick-off. Parents still take their sons and daughters through the turnstiles for the first time.

The connection between this club and this community is the same as it was when my father took me in 1978.
That’s the bit that can’t be bought or manufactured. And I think Rob and Ryan understand that, which is why it’s worked.
Though I’ll confess there’s always a quiet anxiety at the back of my mind for many of us, our current position still feels
too good to be true after the challenges the club has faced.
Old habits die hard.

As a writer, how do you balance emotion with objectivity when writing about something so personal?

I don’t, is the honest answer. I gave up on objectivity years ago.

I’m a solicitor by day, so I spend my professional life trying to be measured and precise and analytical.
The writing is where I get to let all of that go. The whole point of It’s Always Sunny in Wrexham is that it’s wildly, unapologetically subjective.

It’s one fan’s fever dream about the club he loves.

If I tried to be balanced about Wrexham, it wouldn’t be authentic, because no real fan is balanced about their club.
That said, there’s a darker thread in the books, an undercurrent of anxiety, a constant sense that this could all vanish tomorrow.
That comes from years of watching the club nearly go under. So while the tone is comedic and anarchic, the emotions underneath are very real.

The satire is the armour.
Take it away and you’ve just got a middle-aged Welshman who loves his football club more than is probably healthy.

What stories about Wrexham, past or present do you feel still haven’t been told properly?

The Supporters’ Trust years.
Everyone knows the Hollywood chapter now, thanks to the documentary, but the decade before that when ordinary fans pooled their money,
raised £127,000 in a single day, and literally saved this club from extinction - that story deserves to be told properly. Those people are the real heroes
of Wrexham AFC. They kept the lights on, kept the club alive, kept faith when there was precious little reason to.
Without them, there’s no club for Rob and Ryan to buy.

I’d also love to see someone do justice to the European nights, beating Porto in 1984 when we only had 13 professional players.
A Fourth Division club knocking out Portuguese giants. That’s Roy of the Rovers stuff.

And the personal stories, the families, the generational thing. Grandfathers taking fathers, fathers taking sons.
My dad taking me. Me taking my boys, Ianto and Iolo.

Those stories are the real fabric of the club, and most of them have never been written down.