The League One season will open today with 12 matches across several cities in the country. It was also the same opening day for the Championship, and League Two, as well as the semi-professional leagues below.
Sheffield Blades FC away against FC Wimbledon are considered to be among the tastiest affairs this first matchday, with the league giving it the latest start time at 7:30 in the evening.
The Sheffield contingent will travel for more than 3 hours from downtown Sheffield to the city of London, inside their black, red, and white colored team bus. The spirited, passionate players inside the bus can't hide their anticipation to start the season at last.
***
The players went out from the tunnel to large amounts of whistling, cheering, clapping, and shouting. This was the feeling of a packed stadium everyone has missed throughout the offseason.
It was as they say, football is incomplete without fans pouring their hearts out to give their never ending support to their clubs from the stands.
For Wimbledon, a club that was a former top flight mainstay, their fans are among the most rabid and loyal in the English lower leagues. They are undoubtedly the best supported club in League One— with fans that stayed through their multiple financial troubles, through their several relegations, through their atrocious performances, and through their worst days.
This hardy club promised better days to their embattled fans. Especially after seeing the light at the end of the tunnel with their promotion near miss last year, they are now focused on the promise of outright promotion this year.
Just like Sheffield.
***
Manchester.
Two piping hot mugs of coffee rested on a small table in the middle of a three sided sofa.
The weather was unexpectedly cool for a midsummer night, but for a game of football?
The weather was never better.
Blaise fetched a train ride from downtown Sheffield to Manchester as usual. This time though, he rushed to get home for dinner since his team's opening game of the season was something he's been looking forward to for weeks, added plus since it's their weekly father and son football night.
In his first life, weekend nights were spent just like this, with him and his father enjoying football games. Whatever it is, be it lower league football, a foreign top flight league, international fixtures, or just some random televised football game, they'd watch it over hot coffee on a weekend.
The fact that he can get to relive, and experience it again in this life is something that makes his return all the more phenomenal.
Blaise looked up at the digital clock plastered in the wall above their windows, and he leaned back on the cozy sofa.
It was now five minutes before the beginning of the match and Blaise already had his left foot up into the table as was usual. His father, though, is still dozing off.
A small snore caught the ire of Blaise. He threw a pillow on his left to the open mouth of his father, knocking him off his awkward sitting position.
"Dammit… you could've just slapped my thigh or something!" The irritated grunt coming out of his father was nothing to Blaise's ears. "Is it game time already?"
"Yep, look Dad, they're at the center circle already."
The father let out a yawn, and said. "I can picture it now. My son wearing that striped red white Sheffield jersey, with Atkinson at the back and the number… uhhh… what's your usual jersey number again?" He made several weird hand gestures. "Oh! It's 6 of course. How could this old man forget?"
"I'm gonna make that a reality, Dad. Just you wait!" Blaise stretched his right fist out to his father.
"Give me free tickets so I can watch you live." The proud father bumped his left fist to his son's right.
"...And we're underway, Wimbledon at home wearing their blue jerseys and on the away end, Sheffield on their black kits. We welcome you guys to the new League One season live here at Wimbledon..."
The commentator opened the match right as father Atkinson fetched some fried chicken, chips, and a few cans of beer. Blaise already realized that his old man had forgotten about the coffee.
His focus on the match is not on how the game will turn out, but he wants to see how good their first team really is once all of them are serious. He knew how not to trust the scouting report and what he's seen in training until there are tangible competitive game records to be seen.
Blaise cast a sidelong glance over at his 1.9 meter tall father. He's a complete football junkie. His dad had a season ticket for SC Manchester ever since his teenage years, and it made Blaise wonder why this father of his never took his own football seriously. Sure, he's a university professor slash lawyer now, but when Blaise was a child, his father taught him the beautiful art of set pieces, so he thought he might be some sort of tall midfielder in his youth.
The past him never asked his father about anything of the sort… so he might as well give it a crack now.
"Dad, why didn't you play football in your youth?" He saw his father downing an entire can of beer and crushing it with one hand. "You're pretty tall…"
"Where'd that come from all of a sudden…" The curious look of his father that Blaise has been all so familiar with was glued to him again.
Beaten, Blaise just drank the hot coffee in one gulp.
Blehhhhh!
Father Atkinson didn't even blink. He laughed at the misfortune of his son like a man possessed. His next reaction was to grab a piece of chicken legs and chomp on it.
"Shit!" Blaise didn't even look at the mess he made nor did anything to save his scalded tongue. He just grabbed a piece of chicken and chomped on it as well…
The match had only just begun but Wimbledon had already started to impose their strong midfield control style. Their three man central midfield are all adept at holding the ball in possession at passing it around for a large amount of time, while slowly moving forward in the process.
Their style of play grinds down on defenses with enormous pressure due to their superiority in possession and playing with the ball. In the lower leagues where games are more open and unpredictable, their mastery of a calm and collected style almost got this team promoted to the second tier last year.
Five minutes in, right as Blaise finished his first chicken leg, the first real chance of the match arrived for Wimbledon.