Out Of The Tunnel

The next day came much too slowly for Jerry's liking. He spent most of the night too excited about the fact that he was going to play, so he didn't sleep much. Even so, he wasn't tired at all. After waking up earlier than usual, he decided to do a few body stretches to loosen up his muscles. Once that was done, he hopped into the shower, letting the warm water wash over him as he thought about the game ahead. The excitement continued to bubble inside him, and before long, he was rushing to the dining hall. Breakfast was supposed to be eaten there, and it was also where everyone would listen to Tom explain the lineup, tactics, and other essential details about the match against Kawasaki Frontale.

By the time Jerry arrived, most of the squad had already gathered. He quickly found his seat, grabbed some food, and joined in. After everyone had eaten and settled, Tom, their coach, began speaking.

"All right, everyone, we'll be lining up in a 4-2-3-1 formation," Tom announced, his voice commanding and confident as usual. "Starting in goal will be Sheamus. He'll be supported by Isaac, Scott, Travis, and Tayo in defense. In the midfield, we'll have a double pivot of Carter and Davis, while Clev will play as the sole attacking midfielder. I've decided to start the two new kids on the flanks today. We're playing against a relatively weaker opponent, so this is the perfect opportunity for me to see what they've got. On the left wing, we have Jeremiah Hayes Jr., and on the right wing, we have Casey Simpson. Playing as the striker, we've got Jackson Tiller."

Jerry felt a jolt of energy course through him when his name was called. He glanced at Casey, who seemed equally excited.

"Alright, boys," Tom continued, "I don't have much information about Kawasaki Frontale, but from what I've heard, they like to play a high line. They might change their approach now that they're playing against superior opponents, but I need you to remember the philosophy, which is…" Tom trailed off, his gaze moving across the players expectantly.

"Attack! Attack! Attack…" Almost everyone echoed in unison, trying to match the enthusiasm in Tom's tone.

"Yeah, let's never do that again," Tom said, shaking his head with a faint smile. "I felt like I was going to vomit."

Laughter rippled through the room, breaking some of the tension.

"Defensively, we're using two defensive midfielders—two dogs who will cover much ground and do the dirty work. Clev, the offensive power in midfield is going to come from you. You will dictate play, you will play forward passes, and you will control the tempo. Carter and Davis are carrying the piano, and you are the artist playing it."

"Yes, gaffer," Jester nodded with determination, his nickname standing out among the serious tone of the discussion.

"As for the defenders," Tom continued, "I always say I need you to be compact in defense. Fullbacks, don't be afraid to take on your man one-v-one. I need you to commit to duels and fifty-fifty balls. Be very rough on their wingers. Only be careful if you're on a yellow card. Otherwise, I want you to bulldoze them."

Tom went on for a few more minutes, explaining defensive positioning and how he expected the backline to behave under pressure. Once he was done, he left the dining room with his assistants.

Jerry, however, was slightly confused. "What about our attacking tactics?" he whispered to Jester, who sat beside him.

"We don't have any attacking tactics," Jester replied with a grin. "According to him, at this stage, only the defenders need to be tactically disciplined. The attackers need to have their creativity, individualism, and some other fancy words I don't quite understand. In simple terms, we're free to attack as we see fit."

"Isn't that risky?" Jerry raised an eyebrow.

"That's what I thought the first time I heard it, but it surprisingly works so well," Jester said. "The scouts do their job well because everyone just has good chemistry with each other straight away."

"Can't be surprised about that," Jerry said, nodding in agreement. Before tactician managers became the norm, players usually had a lot of freedom to do what they pleased with the ball. Most teams played direct, attacking football, and it worked wonders.

"Yeah," Jester smiled, then left the dining table to check on other teammates. Unlike Jerry, Jester was truly captain material. He went from one player to another, offering words of encouragement and calming the nerves of the more anxious ones.

Jerry soon found Casey and struck up a quick conversation with him. The pair talked briefly, sharing their excitement for the game. After a while, they parted ways, with Jerry heading to his room to rest while Casey decided to hit the gym. Jerry had considered joining him but ultimately decided against it. He didn't want to risk overexerting himself before such an important match. Casey, however, seemed unfazed, and Jerry didn't try too hard to convince him otherwise.

The day passed more quickly than Jerry expected. Before he knew it, he found himself in the locker room of the Vilatenim Municipal Stadium. He stared down at his jersey, taking in the sight of the number eleven on the back. It didn't have his name on it, though. The under-sixteens players didn't have personalized jerseys; they simply wore the numbers allocated to their positions.

"Are you ready?" Jester approached Jerry and asked.

"Yeah," Jerry nodded, his voice steady but quiet. While he was a little nervous, he felt mostly fine.

"Alright then," Jester nodded approvingly before moving on to check on another teammate.

A few minutes later, Tom walked into the locker room. He gave a short speech, reiterating the key tactics and offering some final words of encouragement. Just as he finished, one of the match officials came in to inform them it was time to head to the pitch.

Everyone stood up and began filing out of the room. They walked down the tunnel in a single file, the sound of their cleats echoing against the walls. Jerry's heart pounded as he looked across the tunnel at their opponents. Kawasaki Frontale, a team from the J1 League in Japan, stood waiting on the other side. Most of their players looked Japanese, wearing their signature sky-blue kits.

"Let's move, boys," Jester called out, his voice filled with resolve.

And just like that, the referees led both teams out of the tunnel and onto the field. The stadium, though not packed to capacity, had a semi-filled crowd of fans eagerly waiting to enjoy the match. Jerry could feel the energy in the air as the cheers from the crowd grew louder. The field stretched out before them, the bright floodlights illuminating every corner of the pitch.

As they walked to their positions for the pre-match handshake, Jerry felt a mixture of nerves and excitement. This was his chance to show what he was capable of. He glanced over at Casey, who gave him a reassuring nod.

Jerry clenched his fists, feeling the fabric of his jersey against his palms. He was ready. It was time to play.

A/N:

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