The Beautiful Game (Man of the Match Book 1) by A. Meredith Walters

Author:A. Meredith Walters [Walters, A. Meredith]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: A. Meredith Walters
Published: 2017-05-04T18:30:00+00:00

“THIS IS BULLSHIT! What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re running around like a bunch of little shits with no fuzz on their sack!” Jack Millwood bellowed. Everyone stopped and looked at the gaffer, knowing he was on the cusp of one of his epic blow ups.

For once I didn’t blame him. The lot of us were playing like crap. Simple set plays were being fumbled. I knew at least half a dozen were hungover as hell. And it was only the start of the season. This wasn’t a good sign.

“I know you think you’re all top dicks with your first big Premier League win. But that won’t mean anything if you can’t maintain it. If you can’t keep winning. You think anyone will give a shit that you won this game if you can’t keep your shit together to win more? Fans are fickle. The owners are impatient. And unless you give them results, you won’t last here!” Jack barked.

“Bradley, Hughes, Dubois, and Denham, get your asses into the weight room for some core training. The rest of you are running drills.” Jack turned to Fred. “Watch these wank stains, I need to speak to the boys.”

Jack headed towards the weight room, jerking his hand in a motion for us to follow him. I traded looks with the other guys and we jogged to keep up with our manager. Once in the weight room there was no pep talk. No dressing down either. He just put us to work.

After forty-five minutes, I was drenched in sweat and felt like I was going to vomit.

“We’re up against Barnet United next weekend, we don’t have time for you to be anything but at your best. I expect no more late nights. No more carousing. Stick to your diet. Stick to your training and we may be able to take the gunners,” Jack lectured.

“Yeah, okay,” I muttered, following my teammates into the dressing room.

“Bradley, wait a minute,” the gaf called out. “I know you don’t like me. I’m not too fond of you either. But I respect you as a player. You’ve got talent. What you have can’t be taught. But stop fucking about. You’re not hurting me when you slack. I could give a toss. I can move on to another team. You on the other hand are only as good as your last season. You’re still a babe in arms. Me, I’ve been around a long time. I was winning silverware when you were still sucking your mum’s tit. They care about Lucas Bradley now because you’re scoring goals. You’re winning games. You faff about, no one will care. You’ll be back in the lower leagues faster than the ink can dry on your contract.” Jack smiled almost as if he enjoyed reminding me that at the end of the day, I meant nothing. I was nothing.

I could kick a ball, sure. But he was telling me that next year there would be a bigger and better player.

And he was right.

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