Defense, Defense

After the video analysis meeting was over and the players were about to exit the room, the manager stopped everyone. He scribbled on the whiteboard and showed it to everyone once he's done.

"No objections?" Steve Bronson raised his hands while his eyes looked over the crowd of shocked players.

"What in the actual f—" Blaise barely managed to stop himself from uttering a curse at the face of his manager. He didn't raise his hand.

"No objections then." He turned his back to his players and wrote something onto the whiteboard. "Here's how we'll line up."

The players looked at each other with puzzled glances. Some of the veterans of the team know that sometimes, their manager loved to spring surprise rotations or virtually baseless position changes. Now that they think about it though, it was always around December when these crazy changes happen.

Blaise can't help but swallow hard. He remembered saying that he wanted to play every position if that's how it could help the team before, but as a fucking center back?

'I'd rather play goalkeeper!'

He had experience playing goalkeeper in the Premier League once. It was a game where their main keeper was sent off, his back-up went down, and they had no more keepers on the bench.

He did fine for an outfield player filling in. Blaise can only remember that single save he made in his thirty minutes of keeper fame, making him kind of proud of his accomplishments. Conveniently erased in his memory were the four goals he gave up during that same span.

As for his center back experience? None. Nada. Zilch.

Will he continue doing what he can as he promised? Yes of course.

Is he excited? Not in any single way.

"Throughout this week, all of you that changed positions, will practice like for example, a real center mid, or striker." The manager had a bright smile on his face, a stark contrast to the players he's facing. He always relished the prospect of sending players out of their comfort zone through tactical changes, rotations, and out of the box maneuvers like this one. "I know we look like we're not taking this game seriously, but we are going to our next game with only one aim: to win. Rest up, we'll have grueling team drills in two days. Dismissed."

Alain tapped the unmoving person beside him by the shoulder, and waved his other hand in front of him. "Yo, Atkinson, why are you frozen over there? Don't wanna play defense or something?"

Blaise jumped up in a fighting position in surprise.

"Woah there!" Alain also got up in a fighting stance of his own.

"You fucks! What the hell's going on?" Captain and veteran Damian Potts was in the middle of things the next instant. There's no way these two are fighting, innit?

"I'm sorry, my trance was broken… it's just my fight or flight response." Blaise stood down, finally in the right piece of mind.

"I thought we're going to fight… I'm disappointed." He got a sly smile from the frustrated fellow Alain. "I won't play, and you'll play defense. We don't have it good this week, mate."

"Yeah…"

***

Night had fallen over the Sheffield United complex.

But the football pitches were still rife with activity.

Blaise was lounging at the bleachers of the under 18's pitch with Alain Prosser. They seem to definitely belong here as players under the age of 18 themselves.

Several youngsters from the lower age groups of the academy are still playing with the floodlights on, with pure energy and enthusiasm.

The two first team members watched on with interest as the next generation of Sheffield players showed their skills to each other and played with a purpose.

That was until Blaise's phone rang.

"Son!" His father's excited shout told Blaise all he needed to know about what the call was about. "I went and fucking did it! The defense was brilliant! Your dad's going to get a doctorate degree!"

He could hear the satisfaction of his father from the other side of the line in vivid detail, something that never happened with his doctoral thesis in his original life. Blaise couldn't help but pump his fists in delight at what his father achieved in this life.

'Maybe the little things I did helped.'

"That was absolutely brilliant, dad! I'm going to buy you some of your favorites before I go home, what else do you want? Let's celebrate!" Blaise's elation was evident.

"You got it. Don't forget to buy some scotch."

"I can't buy that yet… I'm 17…"

"Oh… bollocks."

***

Sheffield United's players today were like deer in the headlights.

Saying that their first half performance today was abysmal, was a ridiculous understatement. Most, if not all, of them were lost in their new, experimental positions in the truest sense.

Blaise was included in the shit show, of course. He was the primary reason the first goal was conceded by Sheffield. He was caught flat footed by a simple over the top ball, from a Shrewsbury Town midfielder, leaving the team's lone striker to latch onto it as he tried his hardest to recover. Hardest meant that he tried sliding in, only catching the dust the forward left in his wake.

Blaise thought someone else covered for his mistake afterward, only to find that the striker was already one on one with his keeper… who is a back up one too…

Let's not talk about the ensuing sequence.

After going a goal down, the hodgepodge formation of Sheffield further collapsed. To their credit though, their opponents Shrewsbury were playing well for themselves.

They were the complete opposite of their clueless opponents. The players know their roles, the team's structure is solid, and the team itself was like a well-oiled machine. Blaise knew that this was the kind of team an experimental line up like this one would have the most trouble facing off against.

Even though Shrewsbury's only failure was to extend their lead, their dominance still showed.

But as the Sheffield starting eleven reached the dugout, the tense and gloomy atmosphere that usually followed a bad first half was not there. Instead, the team was asking each other on how to improve in their respective positions.

For instance, George Williams was asking their usual right back for inputs on how to not lose his man on a counterattack while backpedaling. These simple maneuvers should have been very easy to understand for any professional footballer, but applying them in a professional game without much preparation, and in a different position too is a different thing. A lot of things has to change for it to bear fruit.

At the side, Steve Bronson was watching without the usual anger that should be in his face whenever his team is struggling by halftime. Instead, he had a calm and satisfied expression.

"Should I give you any instructions?" Steve Bronson's sudden question hushed the room. "You know what to do, right?"

'Yes of course, you're the manager!' Blaise's head came up with that reply in an instant, but he didn't dare say it out loud.

"Good. All I want is an improvement in your performance, and a goal..." Steve Bronson went full teacher mode the next few minutes, as the experimental Blades plot a resurgence. "Find a way to improve how you play the game."