Chapter 31: Back to the Grind
Friday, 2 January 2010
The Broadfield Stadium was quiet that morning.
The sky was grey, and it looked like rain could start at any moment. The ground was still wet from the earlier drizzle, with the floodlights reflecting off the grass.
Niels stood near the touchline with his hands in his coat pockets. It was cold enough that he could see his breath whenever he exhaled.
The New Year break was over, and training had started again.
Their next League Two game was only two days away. They would be travelling to face Torquay United on January 3. After that came the FA Cup Third Round, scheduled for January 5 or 6 depending on the broadcast arrangements.
There wasn't much time between the matches.
Niels watched the players train for a while without saying anything.
They had a busy few days ahead, and he needed to decide how to manage the squad.
With two important games coming so close together, there was little room for mistakes.
The training pitch was already busy when Niels arrived.
The players had returned from the break, and the sound of boots hitting the wet grass carried across the field. Most of them were quiet, focused on the drills.
Niels had already made his decision.
For the league match, he would rest some of the regular starters. Max, Luka, Dev, Korey, and a few others would stay on the bench or out of the squad. They would need to be fresh for the FA Cup.
That meant the reserves would have to play on Saturday.
Qazi was one of them, along with Toby and several of the younger players. It was a good opportunity for them to show what they could do.
Niels knew it was a risk.
Still, the FA Cup was worth it.
Crawley would be facing stronger opposition in the next round, and a good result could change how people looked at the club. There was even a chance they could cause an upset.
Part of Niels couldn't help comparing it to the games he used to play.
Back then, managing a squad had been simple. Rest a tired player, change the lineup, and start the next match.
Here, things were different.
The players weren't numbers on a screen. If he got his decisions wrong, there would be real consequences.
He watched the reserves continue their drills.
Qazi was probably the most noticeable. He chased after every loose ball and kept putting pressure on the others. He seemed to have endless energy.
Toby was different.
After scoring against Crewe, he looked more confident than before. He spoke to the others during the passing drills, telling them where to move and asking for the ball when needed.
The younger players were harder to judge.
Most of them were still academy players, and it showed. Some of their touches were good, while others were a little rough. They looked nervous, but none of them seemed short on effort.
Niels's Instinct Lens occasionally gave him small pieces of information as he watched.
[Press-resistant]
[Leadership aura]
[Good potential]
He didn't need to say much.
When someone made a mistake, he pointed it out. When a player made the right move, he gave a quick nod.
"Keep the ball moving," Niels called.
A few players looked toward him.
"Don't let it stick to your feet."
The passing continued.
Niels folded his arms and watched.
For some of these players, Saturday could be their chance to prove that they belonged in the first team.
Part of Niels still felt like he was living someone else's life.
If none of this had happened, if he hadn't been pulled away from his old world and somehow ended up here he'd probably be sitting at his computer right now, playing FIFA. He'd be changing formations, looking for young players with good potential, and complaining when his team lost a match it should have won.
Back then, fixing a mistake was easy. Restart the game and try again.
Things weren't so simple anymore.
The players on this pitch were real. Their fitness mattered. Their confidence mattered. Even their relationships with each other could affect what happened during a match.
Yet, as Niels watched Qazi steal the ball from a careless pass and charge up the field, he found himself enjoying it.
This was his team now.
Crawley was his responsibility, and whether he liked it or not, he had started to care about what happened to them.
Maybe this new life wasn't so bad after all.
The training session stopped for a short water break.
Niels walked over to the side of the pitch and found Max there, stretching his taped ankle while keeping an eye on the reserves.
Max noticed him.
"You sure about leaving us out tomorrow, boss?"
There was a grin on his face, but Niels could tell he wasn't entirely joking.
"You'll get your minutes in the Cup," Niels replied. "I'd rather have you fit for that than risk you playing both games."
Max looked back toward the pitch.
"Fair enough."
He didn't sound completely happy about it.
Niels couldn't blame him. Max clearly wanted to play.
Once a player got used to being on the pitch, sitting on the bench was never easy.
And apparently, that was true whether the player was real or someone Niels had once managed through a screen.
By mid-morning, Niels was sitting in the stadium boardroom.
It was a small room that always felt a little too warm. The carpet had seen better days, and through the windows he could see the empty stands.
Mr. Hargreaves sat at the end of the table with two other board members beside him. A few folders were open in front of them, along with scouting reports and a laptop showing a spreadsheet.
Niels glanced at the numbers and decided not to bother.
"We've got a bit of room in the budget," Hargreaves said. "Not a lot, obviously. League Two isn't exactly where the money is. But if there's a player you really want, we can make something happen."
"How much?"
Hargreaves looked down at the figures in front of him.
"About one hundred and fifty thousand pounds for transfers."
Niels raised an eyebrow.
"That's it?"
"For fees, yes. And don't forget wages." Hargreaves tapped the spreadsheet. "We've got around four thousand pounds a week available for any new signing. That's assuming we don't suddenly decide to throw money around."
Niels nodded slowly.
£150,000 in transfer fees.
£4,000 a week in wages.
It wasn't much, but it wasn't nothing either.
Back when he played FIFA, he could spend hours looking through player lists. He was always searching for young players who were cheap but had the potential to become stars.
It had been much easier then.
Find a good player, sign him, develop him, and sell him for a profit.
Could he do the same thing here?
His Instinct Lens seemed to answer before he could even think about it.
[Inverted winger potential]
[Elite spatial awareness]
Niels ignored the information for the moment.
"How much can I spend on one player?"
"I'd rather you didn't use the whole budget on one signing," Hargreaves said. "But if you find someone worth it, we could stretch to around a hundred thousand."
He paused.
"Personally, I'd prefer a loan, a free agent, or someone we can get for twenty or thirty thousand. That way we've still got something left if we need another player."
That made sense.
Niels was already going through the squad in his head.
They could use a quick winger who could give defenders problems. A reliable centre-back wouldn't hurt either. Another midfielder with good vision could also make a difference.
[One-touch intelligence]
Three positions.
One hundred and fifty thousand pounds.
Niels had a feeling he was going to have to be very careful.
"I'll put together a list," he said. "I'll check who's available first."
Hargreaves nodded.
The conversation continued for a while.
They went over wages, contract lengths, transfer fees, and the usual arguments about how much the club could afford. Niels listened and answered when needed, but his mind kept wandering back to the training ground.
The reserves would be playing tomorrow.
Then came the Cup.
A good result could give the club a huge boost.
Eventually, the meeting came to an end.
As Niels stood up, Hargreaves gave him a quick pat on the shoulder.
"You're doing alright, Niels. Keep it up."
For the chairman, that was practically a compliment.
Niels couldn't help smiling.
"Thanks."
He left the room with the transfer list already taking shape in his head.
£150,000.
He'd have to make it count.
Back on the training ground, the session was almost over.
The reserves were playing a small-sided game while Niels watched from the side of the pitch.
Toby won the ball with a clean tackle and immediately passed it forward to Qazi. Qazi took a touch and shot, but the ball went just wide of the post.
[Late bloomer]
"Dammit," Qazi muttered.
Niels caught his eye.
"Good run. Try it again."
Qazi nodded and quickly got back into position.
Toby had already started moving again, looking for the next pass.
Niels's phone suddenly buzzed in his pocket.
He took it out and saw a message from Elise.
"Mum's asking when you're coming. Says the pie's getting impatient."
Niels smiled.
He typed a quick reply.
"Tell her soon. Just got a few things to sort out."
He put the phone away and looked back at the pitch.
The next few days were going to be difficult.
They had the league match tomorrow, followed by the FA Cup. There was no guarantee who they would face in the next round either. A win could put them against a Championship side or even someone higher.
That was why he had decided to rest the regular starters.
It was a risk.
Still, Niels had seen enough from the reserves to believe they could handle it.
They weren't perfect, but they were improving. More importantly, they wanted their chance.
As the players finished up and started heading toward the dressing room, Niels stayed behind for a moment.
The pitch was almost empty now.
He thought about Milan and everything that had happened since his old life ended. There had been a time when he would have been sitting in front of a screen, worrying about virtual players and virtual matches.
Now he was standing here, worrying about Crawley.
It was strange how quickly things had changed.
He looked toward the stands.
This club was his responsibility now.
If they won, he'd be happy.
If they lost, he'd have to figure out what went wrong and try again.
Niels pulled his coat tighter as the cold air settled in.
Then he turned and followed the players inside.