The opening day of four divisions below the Premier League was over, but the buzz has not died down yet. Talking points, analyses of different matches, and multiple betting results have popped up within the next few hours.
Manchester, morning.
Blaise was standing on the platform of the busy train station while on his black Sheffield Blades training pants, and a fiery red training jacket. Since it's a Monday, a large number of commuters are moving in and out of the train station in a rush.
It was close to 7 already and Blaise himself was rushing to catch his 8 AM training at Sheffield.
His mind didn't allow him to get much sleep past midnight, as he had organized so many thoughts that ran inside his 32 year old mind. He realized last night that he didn't really have the time to think about the many questions he wanted answers to, in the few weeks after travelling back in time. So, he wasted the entire night away contemplating life...
And here we are.
"Yo, brother, are you a footballer?" A teenager that reached only as high as Blaise's shoulder tapped him from behind.
Spacing out a little, he removed his earphones that had no music playing and replied without turning around. "Uhhh… yeah… just a youth teamer…"
The short teenager's mouth opened to a big O shape. "Wow… you're a real professional footballer…"
"Not yet… I haven't even made the first team." His eyes were droopy, yet was filled with determination. "I'm gonna debut soon, though. You better watch out."
Blaise jumped inside the train like it's the coolest thing he can do in a situation like this. Plus he's tired, and wanted to catch some z's on the way, so he really didn't give the kid much of a look.
As Blaise caught up on precious sleep time, the nameless kid from earlier was writing something on a small journal a coach away.
He was smiling ear to ear as if he's a groupie that caught his idol. Make no mistake though, he had no idea who the hell that guy earlier was. All he knew about the guy was whatever it was he told him, that he's a Sheffield youth team player.
On his small notebook, written beneath the date were three full uppercase words: GRADUATION YEAR BEGINS!
He thought that seeing a youth team member on his way to the academy on the first day of the school year, was a humongous boost to his luck.
It's a make or break year for the young lad. He's 16 now, and by the end of next year, his football academy will decide whether he'll be able to continue his scholarship and be promoted to the next level. He doesn't want to leave his boyhood club.
Yes. He's a footballer too, and an academy player at that.
He put away the notebook bearing the insignia of Sheffield Blades back to his small backpack, since he also wanted to catch up on some sleep after watching late night replays of yesterday's draw.
***
The first team always doesn't have physical training the day after a match. Instead, they are limited to some detailed video analysis of their game given by both the staff, and the players themselves in the video room.
This is very vital for the strategies of manager Bronson. One of his core philosophies is team cohesion, and a day in the video room to talk about how everyone felt about their overall gameplay like this is what he wanted his teams to have every after a match. Sure, he would have to deal with several egos that might flare up after disagreements on the discussions, but that's part of his job anyway.
Today, Steve Bronson knew it would not be as hard. Another loss against the team that ended their promotion run would be disastrous, but having a nail biting comeback draw with a real chance to win would be morale boosting instead.
As it was not yet the appointed time for the first team meeting, which was scheduled at 10 in the morning, the manager with a receding hairline thought that it would be alright if he visited the other parts of the team's complex.
He walked past the team's administrative building, and into the several pitches that dotted the area right behind their stadium. The pitches are for the football academy, the Under 18 team, the Under 23 team, and the first team.
Disregarding the deserted senior team pitch, he went straight to the loud and lively youth team setups. He stopped and took a look at the Under 23s team first.
This team is the reserve team, serving as the real back ups for the 25 man first team roster. If ever an injury crisis strangles the first team, the manager usually picks replacements from the Under 23 set up first.
He only glanced at the Under 23s team for a short while and made some brief mental notes of his observations, before moving on to the pitch just a ways behind him.
This place is even livelier, with a wild mix of academy prospects, recent graduates, and young players 18 and under signed from elsewhere. Bronson could already see some of his older first team players giving pointers and mixing in with the club's next generation from a distance.
He didn't try to suppress the smile forming on his lips.
Bronson sometimes played multiple future scenarios in his head about how he can bring about a golden generation for the club by staying and making every level of the club competitive. At this moment, as he's looking at a seemingly familiar young lad doggedly fighting the club's longest tenured icon, he knew that the many bright futures he imagined in his head for the club could really have a chance of happening.
He continued standing far enough to see what's unfolding clearly with his own eyes. This was just supposed to be a random inspection of the club's lower levels, but this sight triggered some sort of complex emotions within him.
A youngster fighting off an ex-Premier League captain in a 1v1 with people watching nearby. As if showing the determination that he can beat anyone, anytime.
A simple squint made him realize who Potts' opponent was. He recalled that he was the youngster signed from the exit trials, and was a part of both the goals of the youth team in the intra squad match…
"That guy sure has balls, eh."