Semifinals(1)

Jerry sat in a corner of the locker room, silently observing his teammates as they prepared for the match against Young Dragons Academy, which was set to begin in about an hour. The locker room was filled with a few scattered conversations between players, but the nerve-filled atmosphere was palpable. Everyone knew the stakes. This wasn't just another game—it was the semifinals, the kind of match that could define a season, maybe even a career.

Normally, Jerry would step up and give a speech, something to rally the team and get them fired up. But today, there was nothing he could think to say. The words just wouldn't come. It wasn't that he didn't want to encourage his teammates; it was that he felt the same nerves they did. And while Jerry was usually good at hiding it, this time was different. He had already received offers from several reputable clubs—an impressive feat for someone his age—but winning this tournament meant something more to him. There was no point in competing if you didn't aim to win, and now they were up against the toughest opponents they could have drawn. Despite the confidence he exuded during training, deep down, Jerry was nervous.

"No big speech for everyone this time?" Moses asked with a grin as he plopped down beside Jerry. His tone was light, but there was a hint of genuine curiosity in his voice. "Now I'm actually nervous. I don't think I've ever seen you like this before a match."

"I never thought I'd be nervous either," Jerry admitted, forcing a small smile. "Guess there's a first time for everything."

"Yeah," Moses replied. A brief silence settled between them, punctuated only by the low hum of conversation around the room. Then Moses spoke again. "You know you still have to give a pep talk, right?"

Jerry shrugged. "That's Victor's job."

"That's a leader's job," Moses corrected, his tone firm. "And like it or not, you're our leader... unfortunately."

"Fuck—fuck you, man," Jerry said, laughing despite himself.

"You're gay," Moses shot back quickly, attempting to turn the tables. It was a playful jab, his uno reverse card to the joke Jerry and Jordan had made a couple of days ago.

"You wish," Jerry responded with a chuckle as Jordan settled down on his other side.

Moses had a pained expression on his face when he heard Jordan's response. Jordan somehow did an uno reverse on his uno reverse!

Before their banter could continue, Victor strode into the locker room with an air of purpose. "Alright, boys! Gather round," he called, his voice cutting through the chatter. The players quickly fell silent, turning their attention to him. Victor was the team's emotional anchor, the one who could inspire confidence even in the direst situations.

"Now I know we're playing against an arguably better opponent," Victor began, pacing as he spoke, "but that doesn't mean we can't win. In fact, we can win. But only if you want it as much as—no, more than—the opposition."

Victor's words hung in the air, heavy with conviction. "I want you to put it all on the line out there. Defenders, I need you to throw your bodies on the line like your mum's life depends on it. Midfielders, I need you to run like mad dogs. Wingers, channel the spirit of prime Neymar. And forwards, I need you to be as clinical as prime Luis Suárez!"

His final remark earned a ripple of laughter, breaking the tension in the room. In just a few moments, Victor had managed to transform the atmosphere from one of nervous apprehension to one of determination and excitement. The players were smiling now, nodding along, their confidence visibly bolstered. They understood the message: leave it all on the field. Play with everything you have, as though nothing else mattered.

Even Jerry, who was typically unaffected by pep talks, found himself fired up. For a fleeting moment, he considered adding a few words of his own, but he decided against it. Victor had done his job brilliantly; anything Jerry said might dilute the impact. Instead, he stood up, grabbed his jersey, and turned to face the team.

"Alright, boys, let's get dressed so we can go and beat those frauds!" he shouted, his voice filled with renewed energy.

As Jerry pulled on his jersey, the nerves that had plagued him earlier seemed to dissipate. It wasn't just Victor's speech that had calmed him; it was the realization of his own ambitions. His goal was to become one of the best players in the world, and if he truly believed in that dream, he couldn't afford to be afraid of facing a group of fifteen-year-olds—never mind the fact that he was fifteen himself.

Outside the locker room, Victor stepped into the hallway and let out a sigh of relief. He hadn't been sure if his speech would land, but the players' reactions had exceeded his expectations. As he leaned against the wall, Eugene, his assistant, approached him.

"What did you say to them to get them so fired up?" Eugene asked, his curiosity evident.

Victor shrugged, a sly grin spreading across his face. Without saying a word, he pulled out his phone and showed Eugene the screen. The ChatGPT app was open, its interface displaying the remnants of a hastily typed prompt.

"Whoever the fuck it was that invented chatGPT deserves a fucking kiss on the lips". Victor said as he walked away.

***

[Today's matchup is a monumental one, as far as grassroots academy football in Manchester is concerned. Two of the strongest teams in the region are about to face off: Jeremiah Hayes Football Institution, owned by Manchester United's all-time leading scorer Jeremiah Hayes, and Young Dragons Academy, a powerhouse responsible for producing nearly ten percent of all youth players across southern England.]

[This semifinal clash feels more like a final. These are arguably the two best teams in the tournament, and many believe the winner of this match will go on to lift the trophy. Both sides have everything to play for, and the tension is already palpable. Who will emerge victorious? Only time will tell.]

Back in the locker room, the players of Jeremiah Hayes Football Institution were finishing their preparations. The energy was electric now, a far cry from the nervous silence that had dominated earlier. Jerry looked around at his teammates, his chest swelling with pride. They weren't just his teammates—they were his brothers, his family on the field. And as the minutes ticked down to kickoff, he knew they were ready to fight for each other.

"Alright, lads," Jerry said, stepping to the center of the room. His voice was calm but resolute. "Let's go out there and show them what we're made of."

The players roared in agreement, their voices echoing off the locker room walls. The game was about to begin, and they were ready to give it their all.