The Middlesbrough training complex at Rockliffe park sat behind a set of electronic gates off the A67, thirty minutes away from the city center. Arriving there gave Will the same feeling it always gave him since he was eleven. It was a mix of longing and aspiration.
He signed in at the reception. Sandra, one of the receptionists, was on the desk today. Sandra had worked there for eleven years. She knew every player by name, and was genuinely a nice person.
"Morning Will".
"Morning Sandra". Will said as be brought out his pass and showed it to Sandra. Sandra checked it and nodded him through.
The U18 changing room was almost full when he arrived. He went to his designated area and began changing. He was almost done and was halfway through tying his left boot when the door opened, and a black haired youngster walked inside carrying a Greggs bag in one hand and a bottle of Lucozade Sport in that other.
"Right". Marcus said as soon as he entered the room. "For the recocrd, a sausage and and egg muffin at eight in the morning is not a controversial dietary decision. It is a fucking nutritional strategy and I will not be repeating myself".
Most of the players currently inside ignored his statement, while he got a chuckle from a couple. Will looked up from his boots.
"It's a Greggs". Will said.
"It contains protein and carbohydrate". Marcus sat beside him, opened the bag and brought the Muffin out. "Protein and carbohydrate is what every sports nutritionist recommends before exercise so I am being very professional".
"You're eating a fucking Greggs before an eight-thirty session".
"I am eating a carefully considered pre-session energy meal". He took a large bit from his food.
"How was the park".
"It was alright". Will nodded. "Worked on my left foot".
"Still?"
"Yeah. It's getting better though, and it's only the third week". Will tied the laces of his other football boot. "How was Aliyah?"
Marcus's face squeezed. "It's uhh... It's complicated right now. We were supposed to meet yesterday, but I had the extended fitness session and I forgot to text her".
"You forgot to text her?"
"I was tired".
"Broo"
"I know, I know. I've been told". Marcus took another bite of the muffin. "I'll text her tonight".
"Text her now".
"I'm eating". Marcus said, chewing harder to raise his point.
"You can eat and text. You do it all the time".
"This is different. It's a thought full apology so it requires my full undivided attention". Marcus said. "Right?"
"No". Will said with a serious face. "You need to be as condescending and unremorseful as you possibly can".
Marcus considered it, before eventually shrugging and putting down the muffin. He took out his phone and typed for a few seconds before briefly reading it and hitting the send button. He kept his phone away and continued eating.
"Done".
"Good".
"You are a better man than me, man". Marcus shrugged.
"I know". Will said. causing Marcus to chuckle. The pair continued talking for the next couple of minutes before the door opened again and someone stepped inside.
It was a tall, dark-haired youngster. Jordan Price. He had a look of confidence about him. He had been at the academy since he was eight and came from a football lineage. His father used to be a semi-professional footballer and had played in the Northern League. His grandfather cached at Sunderland, so football was basically in the DNA.
"Smithson, Webb". Jordan said, while nodding in greeting at Will and Marcus. The duo nodded back and continued with their conversation.
The head coach of the Middlesbrough Under 18s arrived when it was ten minutes to nine, ten minutes before the session actually began. He was wearing his coaching attire which consisted of a club branded track suit, a clipboard and a whistle hung around his neck.
"Alright boys, two minutes". Hargreaves, the coach, shouted from the edge of the pitch. "Put on your bibs. We're doing the rondo first. Let me see you under pressure". He said while clapping repeatedly to rush everyone into putting on their bibs. "I want to see what you do when you can't see the pass and have to face the press".
The rondo, at least the way it was done in the training, was a six versus two in a measured twenty meter square. Will positioned himself on the outside ring, finding a bit of space with small adjustments and keeping himself in passing angles. His vision was enough form him to consistently monitor three or four players simultaneously without turning his head. He knew where the next pass was going before it arrived at his destination. He played the ball early, and very tidily with his right foot.
When the press came, his touch was fine, but he was a bit slow to make his decision. He held the ball for a bit too long, and when he released the ball, he was already closed down so it ended up deflecting off the legs of one of the two people inside of the rindo.
"Fuck me". Will said as he exchanged positions with the lucky person that managed to intercept his pass.
On the other side, Jordan received the ball under similar pressure a mere two minutes later, only that he responded to it in a much better manner than Will. He took a touch with his right foot and aligned his body in a way that made it seem as if he was going to pass the ball to his right, before using the outside of his left foot to flick it in the opposite direction, the ball passing through the little bit of space that had opened up from his fake movements.
"Good one Jordan". The head coach said while clapping for a couple of seconds.
Will watched Jordan receive the appreciation without making a word. He watched the specific movement that Jordan had used, and replayed it inside of his head.
('I could definitely do that'). Will thought to himself as he chased after the ball inside the Rondo circle.
After the Rondo, the boys were divided into teams of five and played a small sided game. Will did well in the game, he got two assists and his overall play was solid if he did say so himself.
When the session was over, and everyone was rushing to the showers, Will stayed on the pitch. It was a bit of a habit he had developed, he always stayed back to work of weaknesses that he recognized from the sessions. This time, he continued working on his left foot under pressure, this time, he tried to fashion the body feint that Jordan used earlier into his evasion technique.
He was still going when the coach walked across the pitch to the office building. Hargreaves give him a nod and Will went back to work.
---
Marcus and Will were in the car park. Marcus was drinking from the bottle of Lucozade he brought with him in the morning. He finished the bottle, and threw it inside of a waste basket.
"Roy Keane". Marcus said. Will and Marcus were in the middle of an argument.
"Fucking Patrick Viera bro". Will said while unlocking his bicycle.
"You can't seriously mean that". Marcus scoffed.
"I've been saying this thing for the past four years. Viera was better on the ball, better in the air, and he had a longer and more elite career. The fact that Keane was scary doesn't make him a better midfielder".
"Scarier is better. Intimidation is a football skill. And they're defensive players, Intimidation is part of the job description".
"It's a psychological skill. You're mixing up two different skill sets".
"In the context of football, they're not different skill sets, they're the same skill set".
"That's wrong".
"No it isn't. It's simply called being a complete midfielder". Marcus said. "You're wrong, and you've been wrong for four years. I'm going to need you to come to terms with it and stop being delusional".
They cycled to the bus stop arguing. Unfortunately, their argument did not have a winner.