A Long Cold Train Ride

"They're back at it again?" asked Immanuel. He came around the freshly placed steel bleachers and sat down. "Anyone got a towel?"

"You should have asked before you sat down, moron," laughed Lorenzo.

"Can't be helped," Immanuel replied. "I'm surprised at how hard they're going. You know, given that we're just in the 7th tier."

"That's the passion of the sport, man!" Ian laughed. "No matter how you look at it. Don't you remember practicing your heart out at summer camps?"

"Hmm," Immanuel thought. "Decent point, decent point."

The five of them—Ian, Immanuel, Lorenzo, Roberto, and Pietro—watched as James and Richard trained every muscle in their bodies. They've been at it every day for the past three weeks. As their first match inched closer and closer, they trained harder and harder. Their movement improved, as if they had the same idea. Like they're one person.

"It's amazing, really," acknowledged Lorenzo. "They move in sync, like ballerinas."

"Ballerinas?" asked Ian. "I'd always thought they'd move like hip-hop dance groups."

"Hip-hop dance groups?" asked Pietro. "What?"

"Yeah," Ian replied. "The way they move is quick, but they still move as one. Like when they do all those insane flips and moves and none of them miss a beat."

They all agreed to that analysis. Still fascinated by the way the two enemies were training. When one moved, the other would mimic his movement. The passes skidded on the wet turf and were perfectly slotted into an open window.

The clouds grew darker, indicating that a downpour was imminent. Still, the boys sat around, laughing, smiling, and enjoying what they were seeing. They felt a sense of reassurance about the upcoming season. The right-winger slot still needed to be found. But Immanuel was impressing Tati during the numerous trainings they had. It was only a matter of time before the gaffer gave the all-clear.

The crew left the bleachers as the first sign of rain appeared. They waddled around the busy streets of Hoboken, as today was their off day. With just a couple days until the season began, all the major leagues were already in full swing.

--

"What makes a team a team?" asked Tati.

"The players?" asked Toyo.

"Well, yes," Tati smiled. "But what makes a team is more than just the players—more than just physical attributes. What makes a team is grit, mentality, and many more things."

Everyone agreed to that. Some were thinking really hard about what he had just said.

"I know you've all been at it," he continued. "Training is rough. Conditioning was the main focus. But there's a reason for that. So what if we're in the 7th tier? This is a rebuild, a revival. Many of the faces that were here last season are gone. Team morale has already looked great."

The team sat around their changing room. Tati was in the middle, spinning around like a ballerina so that he could see each and every one of the players. The squad looked strong during training. A few days beforehand, they had a small scrimmage with a 5th-tier team and won. Ian had played in that game but still needed work. However, he felt more explosive when running the midfield.

"The season has begun, boys," Tati stated. "I went to watch two games yesterday in our region. One being P.S.A. and Bravehearts. The other being Sparta Northeast and R.S.G. Jamaica."

"R.S.G. are the ones to beat, aren't they?" asked James. "Those guys have been through it."

"What do you mean?" asked Ian. "Sorry for speaking out, Tati."

"No, no worries," Tati replied. "If you don't mind, James, I'd like to speak about this."

James acknowledged and sat upright.

"R.S.G. Jamaica has a decent fanbase," Tati stated. "I believe around three thousand people showed up. The thing is, R.S.G. Jamaica is a strong team, full of strong players. They've been docked and cut out of the league due to betting. Filed for bankruptcy soon after. They started all the way back in the 8th tier due to some talking. They are the team to beat."

R.S.G. Jamaica is located in Jamaica, Queens, New York City, New York. They play their games at Jamaica Rail Stadium. Just a bit over 12k capacity, the stadium was finally brought back to life last year after being a ghost town. Their crest had a stork on it, and their colors are yellow, blue, and black. R.S.G. had made it as far as League One before going through all of their issues. Founded in 2004, they were a small, unnoticed club, just like many of the clubs in the U.S. If you weren't paying millions of dollars, you would get no light from any of the gods. Since the introduction of the promotion and relegation system, they've gained attention and have broken ground in a beautiful stadium. Winning the open cup once in their rise to the high life as a league-one team. Sadly, they lost out in the group stages of Copa.

"Listen up!" Tati shouted with a burst of energy. "As I said, the season's already begun."

Pietro smiled from ear to ear. Disregarding anyone's silence in the room. Jumping up from his seat and energetically pumping his hands in the air. "The season is here!" he shouted.

The mood in the locker room changed dramatically. Laughs and smiles filled the air as everyone was excited for this season.

"Alright, alright," Tati chuckled. "Settle down, please. There's still more I need to say."

He took out his tablet and started moving his finger up and down the screen.

"Our first opponent is Hartford Momentum," Tati stated. "They've been in this division for a few years and haven't been good recently. With the work we've put in, I know we can beat them. I recommend you all study up on their playing style. They play a high-line defense, and their midfield scatters themselves a ton. Their wingers aren't fast and can be dealt with easily. With that being said, they lack a nine, too."

The striker position, also known as the nine position, was part of the key to unlocking the full potential of a team. Without a strong nine, the whole team could struggle with the progression of shots being taken. Teams that lack such key players usually focus on defensive positioning or tend to fall off against many teams. Many times, the defense gets blamed for these actions. No one wants to divert their eyes from the defensive players. Defenders can be known as "replaceable."

"In honesty, we should be beating them easily," Tati said. "There is no room for error. If you make a mistake, fix it. If I sub you off, it doesn't mean you're bad. It means you need to cool off; today isn't your day."

The special meeting went on for some time. Night fell, and so did the snow. Leaving the clubhouse, Ian walked toward the train station with his hands in his pockets. The nightlife as he walked down the street in uptown Hoboken. Moving at a decent pace, with earbuds in, listening to a smooth melody. People walked by, drunk and civil. To his left, a pub with purple coloring indicates their support for Express Club, as they played tonight. All walks of life past Ian, whether it be skin color or way of living.

"Hey!" shouted someone behind him. "Ian, man!"

Ian turned around, looking everywhere, before spotting Klaus through the crowd of young and older adults. Klaus walked up to him and high-fived him before ushering him toward the group of people sitting on an apartment step.

"Lorenzo," Ian said. "I didn't know you lived around here."

"I don't," he replied. "Sometimes I say that, but I live in Raritan."

"Raritan," Ian repeated. "How do you get home?"

"RVL usually has train service later tonight," he replied.

"Ah," Ian voiced.

"So Ian," Klaus asked. "How's everything? Want a drink? Need some cash?"

"Nah, I'm good," Ian responded. He could clearly see the ladies sitting on the step, eyeing both Lorenzo and Klaus.

"It's snowing, and you're sitting out here?" Ian said. "Won't you get a cold?"

"Well, we've got hot drinks here, so we'll be fine," Lorenzo said. "Come on, sit with us, man. Get ready for the season!"

"Sorry guys, but I've got to get home," he said.

They were sad, but they understood that Ian had things to do. Lorenzo and Klaus were always going to be there for him. Like the older siblings he's never had. Waving and swinging his hands rapidly as the boys laughed brought a smile to Ian's face. The snow started to pick up as he sniffed more and more. His nose started to run a little and was also turning red as he made his way into Hoboken Terminal.

The wind blew softly as snow formed on the ground. The board showing each track and time for the trains was extremely bright for the eyes. Towards the bottom was the RVL that Lorenzo would be taking. But for now, Ian's train had already been boarding. Getting out of the cold and onto a nice, cozy, empty train was the best feeling so far. Ian's mind was a smooth place. He's doing something most kids dream of doing.

"Ticket?" asked Ian as the conductor walked by.

"Haha, no need," he smiled. "Save it for another time."

Ian tilted his head down and back up, thanking the conductor. The snow swiftly became heavy as the train jolted and swayed out of Hoboken for a long, cold train ride.